Chapter Seventeen.

Aboard Ironwood's ship, a sword hung above his desk.
The sword was made of crimson and the grey of dust.
The sword had been all that had survived a crash in Atlas from years ago, the crash which had been reported by Laxin.
Unknown to all, the sword was watching.

Centarien, captain of the III Legion, sat at the workbench in his personal chamber. When the knock on his door came, he knew who it was instantly.
Nicholan, accompanied by Fultren the mute, joined their captain. 'You wished to see us, captain.'
'Nicholan, Fultren, my brothers.' The captain said, rising to greet his older brothers with wrist-grips. 'I see you have eluded our guests.'
Fultren snorted, signing his reply in battle-argut. 'Aye, that we did, captain. Left them in the sparring cages with our dear Cymar.'
The one he spoke of, Cymar, was a giant of a warrior. A brute as square-faced as his thunder hammer.
'Of course he is.'
Centarien turned to regard a scroll of tattered leather, the item he had been examining well before he had summoned his two brothers. He reached for the scroll and held it up to his brothers. 'Hierax, the leader of those overly religious fools gave me this. I can't make much of it, save that it is a doomsday prophecy of sorts. We are to aid him in this undertaking of his. His orders have been approved by a warrior in his Legion and one of our higher ranking officers.'
'Who?' Nicholan asked, passing the scroll over to Fultren.
Centarien chuckled. 'I am prohibited from sharing that information. But I shall say this, he has the Phenocian's ear.'
That made the sergeant scowl.
'Eidolon, Julius, perhaps even the Spider?'
'Perhaps. But doubtful. They are not likely to hand us over to the services of these fools. So what I want is for you two to keep an eye on those fools, Then when the time comes, end them.'
'What of our other brothers?'
'Galen will either swim with the sea, or against it.'

Well, that was short. Just wanted an interval before things kick into overdrive. Take care and enjoy.