Chapter 2

Mark let out a loud yawn as he tromped along beside Lyn, the two knights from Lycia flanking them as the group wandered down the road leading out of Bulgar. It was still early in the morning, and Mark would always be first to admit that he really wasn't a morning person.

Lyn, on the other hand, was annoyingly chirper, despite the early hour. The Knights, too, were fully awake and chattering along. It was only the tactician-strategist that was grumpy.

"How are you people so… so…" Mark groaned, trailing off into another great yawn.

"Awake?" Sain laughed, grinning from atop his horse.

"I dislike you," Mark deadpanned, glaring at the handsome knight.

"We knights keep to a rigid schedule," Kent supplied. "We must rise before dawn to feed and groom our mounts every day without fail."

"And I am used to rising with the sun out on the plains," Lyn added with a smile.

Try as he might, Mark just couldn't stay mad in the face of that innocent smile. With a sigh he sagged, muttering to himself about how soft he was. The quartet was travelling down the same road that Lyn and Mark had attempted to the previous day, which according to Lyn led to an ancient Sacaen temple where travellers went to pray for a safe journey. It had been Lyn who had suggested the side-trip, and Mark had simply deferred to her on this. He was, after all, her strategist. Kent had been a little less than enthusiastic, but the shrine wasn't even a day away from Bulgar; they could be well underway with their journey after a quick stop. Sain… Mark would freely admit that when Sain started talking, he stopped listening.

"Out of curiosity, how exactly do you pray?" Mark asked suddenly.

Lyn hesitated a moment, her face blank as she looked at the strategist. "I… do not understand your question."

"Well, back home we had sprawling cathedrals where faithful would go to pray to our deities, which consisted of a lot of scraping and bowing and muttering. So I'm curious. How's it work in Sacae?"

"What you describe sounds similar to the Light Worship in Lycia," Kent explained. "Where we pray to the blessed Light for safety and deliverance. I will admit, though, that I do not know how Sacaeans pray, either."

Lyn fidgeted a little, clearly put on the spot. She cleared her throat nervously before beginning to talk, Sain and Mark both smirking a little at the display.

"Sacaeans pray to the Mother Earth and Father Sky. Although 'pray' as Lycians understand it may be the wrong word. We offer rites and sacrifices to our Mother and Father to appease them, and to ask for a good hunt or for a dry rainy season. The shrine we are travelling to is home to a sacred blade named the Mani Katti. It is said to be a path for the Earth Mother's power. We touch the blade and ask for her to watch over us as we travel."

"Fascinating," Mark muttered. "Although it's not all that surprising that a race as undeveloped as the Sacaeans practice polytheistic nature worship. Are there other shrines that… why, uh, are you glaring at me like that?"

"Sacaeans are not 'undeveloped'," Lyn fumed. "We have a rich culture that stretches back to the time of The Scouring! Just because we don't live in stone castles like the other nations do doesn't mean we are savages!"

"Peace, Lady Lyndis," Kent soothed. "I'm sure he meant no harm by his comments. Right Mark?"

The strategist nodded quickly, torn between being taken aback by Lyn's rant and being grateful to Kent for saving him from his thoughtless social faux pas. He was also sure Sain was quietly laughing at him to the side, but chose to ignore that part.

"Lyn, I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect," Mark said quickly. "I chose my words poorly. I'm sorry. I am really interested in Sacaen culture and traditions, though. I was serious when I said they were fascinating to me."

"Smooth," Sain grinned, earning a withering glare from Mark and Kent both.

The girl huffed, crossing her arms as they walked in silence for a time. After a few minutes of this she cast a weak glare at Mark from the corner of her eye before looking back to the horizon.

"I should apologize, too," she muttered. "Sacaeans face much prejudice from our neighbours in Bern and Lycia. Savages, they call us. Uncivilized. It is… a sore spot."

"Well, from what I can see of the Lycian culture they're not much more civilized, anyway," Mark scoffed, pointedly eying Sain.

"I take offense at that!" the knight declared. "Lycia is home to men of passion and fire, a true haven to those who-"

"So Lyn, are there more shrines like the one we're going to?" Mark asked over top of Sain's speech, the green-armoured knight not even noticing.

"There is one other, where we go to mourn our dead and ask Father Sky to accept their spirit's into his embrace," Lyn explained in a small voice, looking away to the horizon again. "I… was there six months ago. I would prefer not to return."

"No problem, I was just curious," Mark said, nudging her shoulder with his. "Is there a fancy sword there, too?"

Lyn smiled up at him for a moment before shaking her head. "No, the second shrine houses the Bow of Gales, Mulagir."

"Makes sense," Mark nodded. "Sky, wind, bow. Gales. A sword is made of iron, which comes from the earth. I can see the connection, there, too. Hold on, let me make a note of this before I forget…"

Lyn giggled a little as Mark did an awkward little dance, trying to continue walking while still pulling his notebook and a piece of charcoal out of his pouch.

"Will you not trip if you try to write and walk?" Lyn asked with a grin.

"Nah, had lots of practice," Mark mumbled, already scratching away notes. "Remind me when we make camp to properly ink these notes, otherwise they'll smudge."

"What do you have in that book, anyway?" Sain asked, leaning over the neck of his horse to peer at the pages Mark was writing on. "Is this where you write your love poetry?"

"Why in… why would I write love poetry!?" Mark asked irritably as he wrote, not even looking up.

"Sain, enough," Kent said, his voice perfectly even. "We are meant to be on guard, remember?"

"Would it kill you to relax a little, old friend?" Sain sighed, leaning back in his saddle. "This is why you cannot find a woman to-"

"Sain!" Kent barked, his voice much sharper than before.

"Alright, alright," the green knight shrugged. "I'll 'be on guard'. No need to shout."

Mark clapped his book closed, looking up at Kent with a sincere expression. "Thank you."


They came upon a small village just after lunch, Lyn pointing to the first stone building Mark had seen outside Bulgar since he'd arrived in Sacae and explaining that it was the shrine they were heading to. The 'village' seemed to Mark to be little more than a glorified camp-ground, numerous smaller Sacaean caravans having converged on the flat area near the shrine. Various tents of differing design and colour were set up, horses tied up near wagons. There were no permanent buildings besides the shrine, just tents and carts set up around the various fire pits on the flat section of plain. It didn't look anything like the kind of village that Mark was used to, but after his blunder earlier that day he decided to not give voice to his opinion. According to Lyn the Sacaeans considered this area a village because there was almost always someone camped here, preparing for their journeys after having received their blessing from the Mani Katti blade. Merchant convoys were commonplace, too, and it appeared to Mark that once the sun went down quite the lively festive atmosphere would envelop the grounds.

As they drew closer, though, Lyn's brows furrowed. "Something's wrong."

"Indeed! That none of the beauteous Sacaean maidens have come out to meet us breaks my heart!" Sain professed.

"No, I mean something is actually wrong," Lyn repeated, glaring at the knight.

"Is he never not on?" Mark asked, glancing up at Kent.

The second knight ignored the strategist, though, urging his mount forward alongside Lyn to inspect the camp. "Where are all the people?"

Studying the village now himself, Mark realised that Kent was right. Cooking fires still burned, and the horses all looked to still be in good, well-cared for condition. The village hadn't been abandoned for long.

"The men should be out hunting," Lyn explained, her pace quickening. "But there should still be people here. Women and children and…"

"Lyn, don't get ahead of yourself," Mark cautioned, hitching his pack higher up onto his back. "We don't know what happened here. There's an explanation, so remain calm."

"I know," she nodded, eyes not leaving the village.

Coming closer to the caravan village Mark could see that there were still signs of life. Footprints churned up in the dirt between tents, and smoke still rising from the fire pits. He could even smell the leftovers from breakfast, something that made him realise how hungry he was; they had only had a quick lunch on the road of hard rye bread and a few nuts.

"Hello!?" Lyn called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. "I am Lyn, of the Lorca! Is anyone here!?"

The quartet froze as the camp suddenly burst back to life, a small horde of Sacaean women charging from the tents with weapons in hand. Various shades of blue and red flashed on their clothes, similar in design to Lyn's. All, without exception, had long hair past their shoulders, although many of the older women had braids and beads in their hair, for what reason Mark couldn't tell. And, again without exception, they all carried swords or wicked looking curved daggers, quickly surrounding the quartet with the weapons. Mark instinctively took a step back, and the two Lycians' mounts reared up at the sudden movement, but Lyn stood impassively with her hands out by her sides as the women approached them.

"Peace!" Lyn said calmly. "What has happened here?"

One of the women, clearly approaching middle-age if the silver streaks in her black hair was anything to go by, stepped forward and eyed the travellers warily. She wore a scarlet dress similar to Lyn's, but the bottom only reached her thighs and she wore a pair of hide pants beneath. Her hair clacked with beads as she moved, slowly studying the four newcomers. With a small nod, seemingly satisfied, she lowered her weapon, and the rest followed suit.

"You say you are of the Lorca? I didn't know any of them yet lived," she said plainly.

Mark expected Lyn to flinch back from the harsh words, but she stepped forward to face the older woman instead.

"I am Lyn, daughter of Chieftain Hassar of the Lorca. I am the last of my tribe."

The older woman nodded again before speaking. "I am Isal, wife of Chieftain Sudasu of the Uciar tribe. I am sorry for the loss of your tribe."

"Thank you," Lyn said, nodding graciously. "But tell me what has happened to make you all so suspicious of fellow travellers?"

Isal cast a wary glance at Mark and the two knights. "Will they not dismount?"

"All due respect, but we will remain mounted, milady, at least until the weapons are put away," Kent said.

"Kent, Sain, please," Lyn said over her shoulder. "It is customary to dismount when greeting others in their camp. It shows respect."

"Very well," Sain said with a roguish grin. "If you so decree, Lady Lyn, than I shall obey."

Kent frowned, but remained silent as he and Sain slipped from their saddles. Both knights drew closer, leading their mounts by the reins and still holding their weapons in hand. Sain flashed a winning smile at the crowd of women, seemingly being ignored.

Isal let out a long sigh before she sheathed her sword. "That is enough. They clearly mean no harm to us," she said before turning to Lyn. "I apologize on behalf of the Uciar for our disrespect, little sister, but we have had an eventful morning. You and your companions are welcome among us."

"Tell me, what has happened?" Lyn asked again.

The older nomad nodded, indicating that they follow her.

"We were attacked," Isal explained as she led the quartet through the village of tents. "Bandits or mercenaries, we do not know. But they waited until the men had left to hunt, then descended on the shrine. Some of us were wounded when they took the shrine, so we returned to the village."

"I'm beginning to notice a pattern with you," Mark deadpanned behind Lyn.

Isal smirked a little as Lyn faltered, unsure how to respond to the strategist's statement, but before she could the older woman stopped out front of a tent and held the flap aside. Isal ushered Lyn and Mark inside, Kent and Sain opting to remain outside with their mounts. However, Mark could tell that Kent, at the least, would be on guard in case of another attack. From the nomads or the bandits, it didn't seem to matter to the Lycian. Sain was clearly too busy grinning his roguish grin at any woman that would make eye-contact with him.

The inside of Isal's tent was much the same as Lyn's was set up in the evenings. No decoration to speak of, but what was present was brightly coloured with woven cloth in shades of red offset by black. Before Mark could properly study the tent a flash of movement interrupted him, his hand dropping to the hilt of his rapier automatically. Blinking, Mark realised a small child had just run up to hide behind Isal.

"Come, Ilit, we have guests," Isal said kindly to the child before looking up. "My daughter. She is still young."

Mark let a breath out his nose, relaxing and letting his hand fall from the hilt of his sword. He managed to catch a glimpse of sea-green eyes beneath a mop of dark-green-almost-black hair before the girl hid behind her mother's legs again. Lyn laughed as the girl hid from Mark, who huffed and crossed his arms. The younger nomad stepped forward, crouching down before Isal and smiling as she leaned a little around her.

"Hello, Ilit," Lyn said. "I'm Lyn, and my friend is Mark. It's nice to meet you."

The little girl leaned out again, earning a radiant smile from Lyn that even made Mark grin a little.

"Hello," Ilit said hesitantly.

"Did the men from before scare you, Ilit?" Lyn asked.

"Ooh, I already know where this is going…" Mark sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes as he felt a headache coming on.

Isal gave the strategist a curious glance while Ilit nodded. Lyn's smile dropped a little as she stood, her hand resting on the hilt of her own sword now.

"You have nothing to fear," Lyn promised. "My peerless strategist and I will slay the bandits."

"Please tell me we're at least taking the other two," Mark groaned.

"You cannot!" Isal cried. "There were at least ten of them! With only the four of you-"

"Three. I'm not really much of a fighter," Mark interjected.

"We will be fine, Isal," Lyn promised.

"You are set on this?" Isal persisted, her brow furrowing.

"I am," Lyn nodded.

"Don't bother, there's no changing her mind when it's made up," Mark sighed. "Is there someplace we can leave our packs? It would be nice to do this unencumbered…"

Isal stared at the pair for a moment, Ilit behind her looking back and forth between the adults curiously before her mother sighed.

"We cannot aid you," the older nomad said regretfully. "If you are to fail, you may anger the bandits. We will need everyone here to protect ourselves."

"We will not fail," Lyn declared.

"Ah to be young," Isal chuckled. "Very well. You may leave your packs here. Be safe, and return alive. We will sing and dance to your victory tonight."

Mark let out a relieved sigh, dropping his heavy pack and rotating his shoulders, much to Ilit's amusement. Lyn merely nodded her thanks, sweeping out of the tent without a backwards glance to relay her decision to the two knights. Before Mark could follow, though, Isal stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"There is a wall that was under repair on the western face of the temple," Isal told him. "You may be able to use that to get inside."

It took Mark a moment before Isal's words registered, and his face broke out in a predatory grin. "I like the sound of that."


Lyn and Mark watched as Kent and Sain rode off towards the front of the shrine in a plume of dust, off to play distraction while they struck from the back.

Kent had vehemently opposed Lyn's plan to aid the other nomads, citing their lack of numbers and pressing need to begin their journey to Caelin, but she had been resolute. Sain, however, had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of rescuing an entire village full of women. It wasn't until Mark had announced his two-pronged attack plan that Kent had relented, seeing that he was out-voted.

"Very well, Lady Lyndis, but please remember that the people of Caelin, too, are depending on your safe return. Do not take any undue risks," he had said.

"Hey, c'mon, she'll have me there with her," Mark had said with a shrug.

"Just be careful," Kent had repeated before he'd swung up into his saddle.

Now the two knights were charging at the shrine's entrance, leaving Mark and Lyn to find the broken section of wall Isal had spoken of. Lyn had set off towards the shrine at a trot, the focus in her gaze unshakable as Mark followed after her.

"Well, this should be fun," he grumbled.

"You could have stayed at the camp," Lyn pointed out.

"Nah. You lot would get killed without me," he said, forcing a grin.

Lyn smiled appreciatively before turning back to the task at hand, leaving Mark's face to drop into a frown. As far as he was concerned Kent had been right on every count. They were vastly outnumbered, and while Lyn was skilled she had little experience and an almost non-existent fuse on her temper. The two knights were also an unknown, and he'd just had to trust that their training had been adequate enough that he hadn't just sent them to their deaths.

Up close Mark realized that the shrine itself was nothing special. Clearly it had been maintained well over the years, but judging from the build-up of moss and plant matter on the outer stone walls it was an old, old building. At least a few hundred. Rough sandstone blocks had been used to create the edifice, mined from where Mark couldn't say. He didn't know enough about the geography of the area to even make a guess, he realized. High, shuttered windows were spaced at regular intervals, closed now no doubt by the bandits that had taken the shrine. They were too high up to be of any use as potential entrances, anyway. Leaving, of course, the damaged wall that Isal had spoken of as their only option.

Mark and Lyn both slowed, looking back over their shoulders as the sounds of fighting began to ring out from the front of the shrine.

"Come, Mark, we must make haste!" Lyn said before doubling her pace.

With a sigh the strategist shook his head. "It's pointless to tire yourself out before we even get there."

On the western face of the building, just as Isal had said, they found a section of wall that was clearly undergoing repairs. The section, nearly twice as tall as Mark was, had begun to deteriorate due to vines growing through the mortar that held the blocks together. The monks in the shrine had set up scaffolding around the section of crumbling wall, being held up by logs propped against it as they replaced the damaged sections. A pile of new blocks was sitting to one side, and there was numerous tools spread about.

"So how do we do this?" Lyn asked, looking up at the scaffolding.

Mark just grinned, strutting over to a large hammer lying against the pile of new blocks. Hefting the heavy tool in both hands he turned his grin on Lyn before saying "Oh, I think I have a good idea how..."


Kent urged his mount faster, snapping the reins in his off-hand while he held his sword up with his right. Beside him Sain was laughing, the green-armoured man seemingly taking Mark's plans a little too seriously for Kent's liking.

Get their attention. Hit and run. Be loud. Be annoying. Draw them out of the shrine, away from the monks, and wait for us to strike from the rear.

The mere thought of knights of Lycia playing at being a distraction admittedly rankled Kent more than he'd like to admit, but Lady Lyn had given her orders. He had little choice but to obey.

A smirk rose to his face unbidden at that thought. Him, branded a traitor by Lundgren and his ilk for following his Marquess' orders, worrying about loyalty. It was almost enough to draw a laugh from him.

"Come on, Kent, you'll fall behind!" Sain shouted over the wind roaring in their ears.

The red-haired knight had to laugh at that; it was usually him admonishing Sain to let him strike first so that Sain could use the farther reach of his lance to greater effect. Urging his mount forward again Kent managed to pass the other man just as they came upon the entrance to the shrine, taking the two bandits stationed there on guard totally unawares. Kent's blade bit deep, practically slicing one man's arm off at the shoulder thanks to his momentum, while Sain executed a perfect lunge and dropped the other man. In the blink of an eye it was over and the two knights were past the entrance, but the damage had been done. More men were beginning to emerge now as Kent directed his mount to come around in a wide arc.

Sain was laughing again now, his grin almost manic as he followed so close to Kent their horses were nearly touching. Kent could only reflect that he wished Mark could see them now, in their element; Knights of Lycia running down their foes with speed, strength and skill unrivalled by even the Kingdom of Bern's riders or the northern land of Ilia's pegasus riders. Before the bandits could form a defensive perimeter the two knights passed through them again, two more bodies dropping in a cloud of dust and blood as the men's chargers forced their way through.

"This is too easy!" Sain laughed.

Kent resisted the urge to sigh as he gave the other knight a quick glare; he wasn't an overly superstitious man, but one thing that their old teacher, Knight Commander Eagler, had drilled into them was 'don't tempt fate'. And, as if on cue, Sain's horse began to lag behind Kent's, a noticeable gap widening between them. Biting back a curse Kent wheeled his mount around, coming to a dead stop as Sain caught up.

"Your mount is injured," he pointed out. "Use the last of your vulenary on it, I'll distract the bandits."

"But this vulenary was a gift from Lady Lyndis-"

"Just do it!" Kent barked, urging his mount back into motion.

He felt a little bad about being so hard on Sain; the man was an excellent knight and warrior, but he let the strangest things slow him down.

Kent only distantly heard Sain's cursing as the other man descended from his saddle to treat his mount's injury. The wind was whipping in his ears again, the steady beat of his own mount's hooves on the grassy earth combining with it to drown out all else in the world. His hand tightened on his sword's hilt. He counted at least six men now, waiting for him to charge back into them. This time they were ready, though, and he didn't have the advantage of Sain's reach at his back.

Too bad for the bandits they were still outmatched, Kent thought.

Now if only Mark could see what he was about to do, a Knight of Lycia. Perhaps the strategist's opinion of knights would improve a little beyond 'distractions'.


"Mark, this is taking too long!" Lyn repeated for the third time.

"Look, either grab a hammer and help or shut up! These monks are better stonemasons than I thought!"

Mark grunted, smashing the hammer into the wall again. Fortunately the sound was being drowned out by the fighting at the main entrance, but the wall itself was far more solid than Isal had led them to believe. He'd been wailing on it with the large sledgehammer for a good few minutes now, and while the top had indeed come loose the repaired sections at the bottom were far from crumbling to create the hole they needed.

Lyn hissed out some Sacaean oath, her knuckles white on her sword as she paced.

"I was… serious you know!" Mark huffed, pausing to strike the wall again. "You could always… help me out a little!"

"You are taking up too much space!"

"If we rotated as we hit… there would be plenty… of space!"

"Stop wasting your energy on talking and break the wall!"

"I am… a strategist! Not a… stonemason!"

"This was your plan!"

"It was a bad plan!"

With a frustrated growl Mark tossed the hammer aside, resting his hands on his knees as he gasped and struggled for breath. "I should've paid more attention to the… damned fitness classes…"

"What are you doing?" Lyn asked. "We need to get in-"

"Up the scaffolding, go over the top," Mark panted.

"What? But that would leave us…" Lyn said, cocking her head slightly.

"Trapped, yes," Mark sighed, straightening. "Unless, of course, we go through the bandits. Which was the plan anyway. Want me to go first so you have something soft to land on?"

"I… you are sure about this?" Lyn asked.

"Sure, why not?" Mark shrugged, taking another few deep breaths.

"Very well," Lyn grinned. "I will lead. You watch the rear."

"Oh your rear is so watched- you know what, that sounded better in my head. Forget I said that."

Lyn, laughing so hard that tears began to form in her eyes, bolted up the scaffolding beside the wall with the sure movements of a gymnast. Mark watched her in awe before sighing and shaking his head, muttering to himself as he began to follow at a much slower pace. Hand over hand he climbed until he reached the gap where the damaged stones had fallen away at his blows, where Lyn was waiting for him, still grinning.

"How was my rear?" she asked playfully.

"I hate you right now," Mark grumbled, poking his head into the shrine.

Ignoring Lyn's soft laughter he scanned the interior. A small pulpit in one corner with three men standing near it; more bandits, none of them looking much older than he was. Towards the back, huddled in the corner were three more men in robes, who Mark assumed were the monks. The shrine itself was a simple affair; rough stone floors, worn smooth by generations of feet passing over it, the pulpit itself covered in a threadbare rug. Regularly spaced columns would provide cover if they needed it, something that the bandits didn't seem to be inclined to make use of. A sheathed sword sat on the pulpit, one of the bandits constantly looking back and forth between the entrance and the sword. Towards the entrance…

"Where the hell is Sain?" Mark hissed.

Kent was fighting alone at the entrance, the knight holding his own against at least five other opponents. Lyn leaned forward, too, resting her hand on Mark's shoulder to balance herself.

"Perhaps he was wounded?" she suggested.

"It doesn't matter, we're out of time," Mark said. "Use the columns as cover and follow me."

With that, he slipped forward and dropped into the shrine. He landed heavily and rolled onto his shoulder, coming up in a crouch behind the nearest column, the way he'd been taught. As he unsheathed his rapier Lyn landed behind him in a crouch, her catlike movements going totally unseen by the bandits. Mark could hear them, now, in a state of near panic.

"Glass, whadda we do?"

"Shut it! It's just one knight!"

"There were two of 'em!"

"So where's the other!?"

"They must'a got him already!"

"They killed Ames! And Naz, too!"

"I said shut it, Saul! Soon as we get the sword-"

"Glass, wake up! The sword rejected you! There're knights outside! We gotta scram!"

"Not without the sword! I'm the greatest swordsman in all of Sacae! I will have this blade!"

Mark grinned a little to himself as he listened to the men arguing. Of course it had to be a bunch of prideful idiots that had taken the shrine. Feeling a new sense of confidence the strategist stepped out of the shadow of the column he was behind, his rapier hanging limp in his hand. "You know, if you really were the best swordsman in Sacae one would assume you wouldn't need the fancy sword."

All three of the bandits spun, eyes wide as the beheld the lone stranger leaning casually against the column.

"Now, my friend here? She's about to take you to school. Pay attention," Mark added, his grin only growing.

With a wrathful shout, right on cue, Lyn sprung from behind her own column. Her old sword flashed, one of the bandits falling beneath her onslaught before he could even bring his weapon up.

"Have fun, Lyn!" Mark called, bouncing off the column with a lazy wave of his hand. "I'm gonna go help the Knights!"

"Seriously!?" Glass, the bandit's leader, snarled. "You make that big entrance then you leave the girl-"

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when he leapt back, Lyn's blade missing him by a hair's breadth as she snarled wordlessly at the two men.

"Cowards!" she roared. "You dare invade this sacred place!? I offer your blood as tribute to the Earth Mother!"

"Pah, ancient superstitious nonsense!" Glass snapped back, raising his own sword. "I ain't afraid of you or the Earth Mother! C'mon!"

He was taking a chance here, letting Lyn fight the two remaining men on her own. But Lyn was a ferocious fighter, if a little unfocused. Mark sincerely doubted she'd have much trouble with them. Kent, on the other hand, he could already tell was tiring in the entrance. Sain was still nowhere to be seen, meaning that his plans had to be adapted.

Flourishing his rapier and breaking into a jog Mark did some quick assessments in his head. Five bandits were still crowding Kent. Three of which were currently in his face. Two had fallen back, both sporting wounds. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but Mark slowed as he approached to better mask his footsteps. With an impassive face the strategist studied the back of the closest bandit, the dirty man still glaring at Kent and clutching his wounded arm. With a nod Mark found the right spot, sliding his rapier through the bandit's cheap armour and into his heart. Dead before he hit the floor, the bandit's death still caught the attention of his friend. The second wounded one, bleeding profusely from a cut to his scalp, brought up an axe when he spotted Mark. The strategist sidestepped into the bandit's blind-spot, where he was blinded by the blood running down his face, and with another perfect lunge he felled the second man.

His teacher would have been proud of his form. The killing wounded men, while a necessity, wasn't something that he felt like taking pride in, though.

A sour look came onto Mark's face as he turned back to Kent. In the distance he could see Sain finally approaching on foot and his horse following behind with a limp, which explained where the other knight had been. Kent, panting heavily now, still swung his sword with what could only be described as 'parade-ground precision', but it was obvious he was tiring. Stepping forward into the melee, Mark decided to do something before there was more wounded on his side.

Between the three of them, the remaining bandits didn't stand a chance. He only hoped Lyn was doing as well as they were.


With a wordless roar Lyn stalked forward, knocking aside the axe-wielding man's blows and lashing out with a vicious kick at his midsection before dancing back again, the blade-wielding bandit moving in to defend his winded comrade. Lyn spun in response, her hair and clothes flicking out as she put more distance between them, bringing her battered old sword back up.

This wasn't the first time she'd fought two enemies at once. Her father had been diligent in his training, and more often than not had employed the assistance of the other men of the village to make her training more 'realistic'. The axe-wielding bandit was no issue. He was slow, unwieldly, untrained. But the other man, who had been named as Glass by the others… he was skilled. When Lyn went to strike at his partner, Glass would be there to deflect the blow. When Lyn had to make space, Glass was there pushing her further back. Already he'd foiled perfect killing blows on the weaker man twice now, and pushed Lyn back towards the columns three times.

He was good. The thought made Lyn grin.

"Find something funny, girl?" Glass spat. "Not so good now that I see you coming, are ya?"

"You never see death coming until it's too late," Lyn said, her eyes never leaving Glass'.

"Too true, little bird, too true," Glass chuckled. "What tribe are you from? Tell me so I know where to send your ashes."

"Glass, man, we don't have time for-" the other bandit started.

"Shut it! She's worth it!" he snapped, rounding on the other man before turning back to Lyn with a smile. "I'm Glass, formerly of the Kutolah, now a free man. Why don't you come with me? Together with our skills we could be the king and queen of this wretched country!"

Lyn spat, her grin becoming a scowl. "You face Lyn of the Lorca. And I'd rather marry a horse."

Glass snorted with laughter, shaking his head. "It's always the pretty ones that don't have a clue."

"Be silent!" Lyn snapped. "Are we going to talk or fight!?"

"By all means, then, Lyn of the Lorca!" Glass shouted, bringing his sword up. "Saul, go help the others! This one's mine!"

"But-"

"You're in the damn way! Get lost!"

The axe-wielding man, Saul, looked back and forth between Lyn and Glass for a moment before lowering his head and running off towards the entrance, leaving the two swordsmen to face each other without distractions.

Neither spoke, simply eying their opponent and waiting for an opening. Lyn knew that this moment was crucial; to act hastily now would spell her defeat, but to wait too long and miss her chance was also a possibility. Like her father had taught her, she needed to wait for just the right moment, watch his eyes, look for the tells…

Glass was doing the same. His brown-eyed gaze never shifted from hers, both of them still as statues as they waited for some unseen signal.

All at once both swordsmen burst into motion, charging towards each other. Their blades clashed two, three, four times in the blink of an eye, the sound almost one long clang their blows were so close together. And yet, through the storm of steel and violence, both combatants looked oddly at peace.

Lyn wheeled around, striking high. Glass ducked low, kicking out at her legs. Lyn leapt, summersaulting over him and striking at his shoulder. Glass shifted to the side at the last minute, his tunic opening where it had been cut. They danced away from each other for a moment before coming back together, their blades locked now as Glass tried to use his superior size against his smaller opponent. Lyn grit her teeth and dug in her heels, refusing to give any more ground.

"You're good," Glass commented through clenched teeth. "I think I'm in love! But… I don't think that old piece of crap… can handle much more, eh?"

Lyn risked taking her eyes off her opponent for the briefest of moments to study her sword. The old weapon her father had given her to train with had been in rough shape when she'd gotten it, but Lyn had made it last with proper care and maintenance. However it now appeared that the weapon was on its last legs, many more new chips and cracks in the blade now.

Please, just a little longer, old friend, she begged, her eyes returning to Glass'.

"I'd be more worried… about yourself!" Lyn snarled, ducking low and letting Glass' pressure carry him past her.

They both spun, clashed again, and this time Lyn's sword wasn't up to the task. The blade snapped, and Glass' sword bit deep into her shoulder.

The victorious laugh died on Glass' lips, though, as the broken half of the sword still in Lyn's hand came up beneath his guard. With a pained shout Lyn rammed the broken sword into Glass' undefended throat, the bandit choking as blood began to pour down his chest.

With the last of her strength Lyn shoved the man back, both of their weapons coming free as the two combatants fell. Glass landed heavily on his back and lay still in a widening pool of blood, his empty eyes staring up at the shrine's roof as his last breath left him.

"Father… Father s-sky… take you…" Lyn mumbled, falling to one knee.

Her arm hung limply at her side, and her vision was already beginning to blur from the blood-loss. She glanced up, first at Glass' body, then at the Mani Katti sitting on the pulpit at the back of the shrine.

Voices indistinct against the rushing sound of her blood in her ears said something, but Lyn couldn't make it out. Instead she felt a familiar stinging sensation as someone poured a medical vulenary on her injured shoulder, the flesh knitting itself back together with the help of the magical liquid.

"-be more careful, Lyn. These things aren't cheap."

"Mark?" Lyn muttered, looking up over her shoulder.

The strategist grinned down at her, already tucking the empty vial into his pocket.

"Nice work. How're you feeling?" he asked, offering her his hand.

"I want to take a bath," she said truthfully before she could stop herself.

"And some laundry too, I'd wager," Mark laughed, pointedly looking down at her blood-soaked clothes. "He got you good at the end there."

"He was a worthy opponent," Lyn agreed with a nod.

She glanced down at the half of her old sword still clenched in her hand and had to resist the urge to sigh. She had had the weapon for years, but it had given its last to defend not only her but the innocent monks as well. It was a fitting end for the blade, but she would miss it.

"Ah! My Lady Lyn, my heart! Are you well? Has your wound- Kent, stop pulling!"

Lyn glanced up to see the two knights approaching, their mounts tied up outside already. Kent was holding an over-excited Sain back with one hand on his scruff, the other man clearly struggling to get to Lyn's side. Mark sighed and shook his head, and it was then that Lyn realised she was still holding his hand.

"Apologies," she said, releasing him and looking away.

Mark just quirked his head, but remained silent as the two knights joined them.

"Are you both okay?" Lyn asked.

"Oh, my darling Lady, my heart, your worry for my welfare-" Sain started before Kent cut him off.

"Minor injuries, nothing a few vullenaries and a good night's rest won't fix," the red-haired knight spoke over Sain.

"Good, I'm glad," Lyn said with a tired smile.

"Anyone else injured?" Mark called over to the monks, now beginning to pick themselves up as they realized they had been rescued.

A particularly wizened looking man stepped towards them, two younger monks looking around at the carnage in a shell-shocked fashion. The older man had a great white beard and long, thin white hair he tied away from his face, and although he wore the same simple brown robes as the other two he exuded an aura of age and wisdom. His beard, however, could not hide the purple bruising to the left side of his face, nor the split in his lower lip. Clearly Glass had taken his frustration out on the monks.

"Thank you, travellers," the old monk said. "I never thought I would live to see the day Lycian knights were forced to save us from our own people."

"No, sir monk, it was not at our behest we fought," Kent said, bowing. "Your gratitude belongs to our Lord, Lady Lyndis."

The monk turned to regard the younger pair of Mark and Lyn, the Sacaean girl fidgeting uncomfortably before making a stiff, awkward bow.

"I see," the old man smiled. "A Lycian lordling who is quite clearly of Sacaean birth? It is a strange time, indeed. A strange, strange time… Raise your head, young one. I trust you've come to lay hands on the sacred blade, yes? I give you my blessing, and the blessings of the Earth Mother."

"Th-thank you, wise one," Lyn stammered, her nervous face splitting into a smile.

She stood for a moment, watching as the old monk walked back towards the pulpit and sword until Mark nudged her in the back.

"Go on, this is what we came for, yeah?" he grinned. "I'll take care of our pet knights. Now, you two. Show me your weapons. I want to check their durability."

Lyn smirked at Mark's business-like tone, even as he teased their two companions, before turning once more to the pulpit. Her boots were almost disturbingly loud in the near-silence of the shrine now the others had left. The two younger monks were already silently going about the business of clearing up the mess and removing the bodies, a task she didn't envy of them, but the head monk was waiting near the pulpit.

"Now, child, touch the Mani Katti's hilt, and be blessed on your journey," he said.

Lyn nodded, reaching out and gingerly running her fingertips along the worn leather of the Mani Katti's handle, before resting her palm atop it. A faint warmth suffused her hand, before spreading to the rest of her body and drawing forth a gentle smile from the girl.

A blinding flash of light surprised Lyn and the monks, Lyn dropping to a crouch and holding her broken sword like a dagger as she looked around for an incoming attack, but the head monk's gasp brought her attention back to the Mani Katti.

"The blade… I don't believe it…" the old man muttered. "Young Lyn, I would ask that you try to draw the blade from its sheathe."

Lyn rose slowly, furrowing her brow as she tucked the broken sword back into her belt. "I… will try, but the legends say none can draw the sword."

"I am aware of what the legends say," the head monk chuckled. "But please, indulge this old man's whim."

Nodding, Lyn stepped forward again and faced the sword. She reached out, her hands hovering above the blade for a moment before she lifted it up, sheathe and all. With a growing sense of trepidation she wrapped her main hand around the handle and slowly pulled.

The Mani Katti slid free of its sheathe with ease, the perfect blade glinting in the afternoon sun streaming in through the hole she and Mark had made. Eyes wide with wonder Lyn's mind froze, unsure what to do now. It wasn't until the head monk started laughing that she looked up from the sword in her hand.

"Strange times, indeed," the old man laughed. "To think, I'd live long enough to see the wielder of the sacred blade…"

"Wielder?" Lyn repeated breathlessly.

"Of course," the head monk smiled. "The blade chose you. The Earth Mother has entrusted her sword with no other. With excellent timing, too, I see."

Lyn blushed, angling her hips so her broken sword was slightly hidden behind her. The head monk just smiled and shook his head, stepping forward again and resting rough, callused hands on her shoulders.

"Lyn of the Lorca, you are the wielder of the Mani Katti," he said, the reverent tone of his voice ruined by the wide smile on his face.

Lyn nodded woodenly, her face still slack with shock.


That evening, after sending a group to help the monks clean the shrine, the nomad tribes of the village had deigned to throw a giant party for the 'discovery of the wielder of the Mani Katti'. It was well after dark now, though, and to Mark the festivities didn't look like they would be winding down any time soon.

Kent was talking with a number of the nomad men about the differences between Sacaean and Lycian riding techniques by the fire. The red haired knight was still almost as dour as the nomads he was conversing with, but Mark was happy to see that he'd found something to keep him occupied besides chasing Sain around.

The other knight in question was still busy merrily dancing with the young women of the tribes, their laughter ringing loud into the night. As long as he didn't do anything to anger their hosts, Mark was content to leave him be, too.

The strategist himself was sitting aside from the others, watching the party and making notes in his journal. This was the first time he'd seen a Sacaean party in person, and he was enraptured by his curiosity. Everything about them was so alien, so fascinating, just as he had admitted to Lyn earlier that day.

Lyn, though, had disappeared with Isal earlier, for what he had no idea. By then he'd already been attempting to sketch the way the nomads sat around the fire in his journal.

"Is this how my master strategist spends his victory celebration? Alone, with his nose buried in his book?"

Mark glanced up at the familiar voice, grinning. "Why should I spend it any differently to how I spend any other… uh… wow…"

He trailed off when he looked up at Lyn, smiling down at him. It took a moment to recognize her. She had traded her damaged tunic for a scarlet one, similar to Isal's but longer at the bottom, reaching to her knees. Her hair had been braided, too, beads and feathers mixed into the long braids that fell over her shoulders and down her chest. Her new sword, the Mani Katti that had been the source of the day's trouble, hung proudly from her belt, her hand never drifting far from it.

"Isal loaned me the tunic," she said bashfully. "She insisted on fixing mine personally. And Ilit… Ilit wanted to braid my hair."

"It looks… uh… different," Mark managed lamely.

"Do… you like it?" Lyn asked shyly.

"It… you… ah… look great," the strategist mumbled.

"Thank you," Lyn laughed, reaching down and dragging Mark up by the wrist. "Now, enough watching. Come, let me teach you how Sacaeans dance!"

"No, Lyn, I can't dance! Stop!" Mark laughed, slipping his journal back into his pouch as he was dragged towards the fire and the other dancers.

Lyn just laughed, smiling over her shoulder again, and Mark felt all of his resistance to the idea leave him.

"Well, okay, but you have to let me make notes afterwards."


AN: The first chapter has been updated to hopefully differentiate between Mark and Robin. Hopefully this chapter differentiates them a little more, too. However I still find myself going to type 'Robin' more often than Mark… force of habit, I guess.

So as you can all tell, I suck at naming stories. Blazing Trinity is just a place-holder until I come up with something better. Also, cover art. If any fan-artists out there want to contribute a piece as cover-art for this story, I'd be forever indebted.

What does this story mean for my other serials? Absolutely nothing. I'm still working on Future's End, and the Self Insert is still my go-to when I have writers block or am tired or had a bad day or… you know, it's just my go-to. But since Future's End is so close to being done, and now I've finished A Song of Dusk and Dawn as an expanded prologue, and because I did promise that this story would commence in 2017… here we are. Next chapter may take a while to get out, but we're making progress!

What lesson did I learn from Invisible Ties? Pacing. What lesson did I learn from A Song of Dusk and Dawn? Do. Not. Copy. The. Game. Script. Especially if you're going to add and expand on characters. Messes with your characterization.

Follow me on Twitter for updates! - metalloverCAB