Whilst I know nobody seems to mind, I feel the need to point out that I'm having to make assumptions about the world again, mainly because I haven't been able to find many maps of the DOTA world. Oh well... leaves me free to make it up as I go.

Speaking of which, my thanks to annbe11 once again for allowing me to borrow yet more cues from High Priestess Marci. Your generosity and helpfulness are both much appreciated.


Chapter Twenty

Matters of Duty

Lina kept her expression neutral as she watched the fighters below, not really hearing the clashing of weapons thanks to the incessant roaring around her. Every seat around the vast, circular arena was full.

This had been one of Shabarra's smarter moves. Entertainment for the masses, something to distract them from the antics of their unstable, paranoid despot. For a small fee, you can watch people kill each other for your enjoyment.

Lina knew the rush of combat and the thrill of walking away victorious from a fight, but paying to watch other people have their heads lopped off seemed barbaric.

Would any of these people have the guts to face somebody in combat themselves? It was surprisingly easy to kill when fighting for your life, but it was also easy to run. Would any of these people fight? Or would they cower? This was what Lina had asked herself when she arrived, and this was why she thought it barbaric that they watched others fight and die for their entertainment.

She wondered what Mirana would make of this when she took the Solar Throne. She supposed they could always issue the gladiators with blunt swords, but would the blood-hungry crowds enjoy it in the same way?

Now was not the time to think about that. Princess Mirana was far away and Lina had a job to do. Right now, she just had to hope that the man she sought could stay alive.

So far, so good.

It was a melee down below, every man, woman and beast for themselves. The blood stood out starkly against the white sand of the coliseum. Lina could smell it from where she sat, and all of the cheering could not entirely drown out the screams of the dying.

Today's contest had included the usual slave fighters, as well as mercenaries and glory-seekers and a few exotic beasts.

Lina watched as a huge man armed with a poleaxe swept out the legs of his opponent, then smashed his enemy's head to pieces with the hammer-head of his weapon. Even she winced. Death by flame was not clean or pleasant either, but there was less blood to mop up. She supposed that was why they used sand in the coliseum—less chance of a fighter slipping in somebody's guts. It would be an embarrassing way to die.

The huge man roared and the crowd roared with him. The man's eyes were popping and his naked torso was covered in blood. If anybody was mad with bloodlust, this man was.

His next opponent was a little shorter, leaner but not by any means weak. Lina could see his biceps bulging under his leather-wrapped arms. His lorica was dented and scratched and his weapon, a spatha, was notched.

Unlike the other fighters, this man wasted no time showing off. When he killed, he killed quickly and efficiently. He actually appeared to be insulted, as if this was all beneath him.

He was unwilling. He was a slave fighter.

Lina needed him to stay alive. So far, so good. He was actually regarded as the best fighter in the coliseum and maybe even the entire Imperium.

Funnily enough, Lina knew that he had been beaten twice. She had seen this man fight before, and she found it hard to believe that he could have lost. The first loss might not have mattered much given that it had been for training, but the second was what had put him in this arena.

The goliath with the poleaxe charged, weapon high over his head.

Lina was probably thinking the same thing as the swordsman. Idiot.

She actually saw him sigh as the brutish warrior closed in. Almost lazily, he brought up his sword, braced himself, and let his enemy run himself through.

The huge man jolted and gasped. His would-be-victim, still holding the sword in place, stepped aside to avoid the poleaxe as it fell from the man's hands. The swordsman withdrew his weapon and let his dead foe fall face-first into the sand. With that done, he simply wiped his blade clean and walked away, victorious once again, stopping only to put a mortally wounded mercenary out of his misery.

His victory was no surprise to anybody, especially Lina. The people were sometimes disappointed with how quickly and simply this man killed, but he had made himself popular with the gamblers.

He was also defiant. He was a slave fighter. He was meant to die. But he would not die, and by acting as he did he spurned the unwritten rules of the coliseum. The gladiators were meant to be flamboyant and entraining killers. This man acted like what he was: a professional. He would not sell his soul for the sake of entertainment.

'I give you the victor!' The announcer's voice rang out even as the winner simply walked from the arena as if he had better things to do. 'Garrisan the Disgraced!'

People chanted Garrisan's name even as he passed the gates, head down.

Lina pulled up her hood and made her way through the cheering spectators. She descended the steps and nodded to the guard standing at the "Pits". The "Pits" were the barracks used by the gladiators, filthy, squalid, stinking of stale blood and steel. They were mostly used by slave fighters.

The guard nodded subtly and allowed her inside. This was one of the times when she was glad that Turlenas was part of their conspiracy. Marsian was a Legate, Turlenas was a senior officer in the City Watch. Like Marsian, Turlenas had many exceptionally loyal men at his command. Many members of the City Watch were fed up with enforcing Shabarra's paranoid whims, feeling that they were failing in their duties and forsaking their oaths. The Watch was sworn to protect the citizens of Rasolir. Under Shabarra's rule, the Watch had become an instrument of oppression.

Lina tried not to inhale too deeply. This place had not seen better days, and it would not improve overnight.

Lina's footsteps echoed as she made her way through the Pits. The scraping of steel was everywhere, accompanied by a tempo beat out by hammers striking metal. The slave fighters here, the ones who actually wanted to live a little longer, spent much of their time maintaining their limited equipment.

Turning the corner, Lina arrived in a quieter, cleaner section of the Pits. Again, this was where Turlenas' connections came in useful. For the sake of appearances, and in case Janulus' spies asked any questions, she slipped the guard a bag of gold. Gavenus had been generous enough to provide the coin, he said that he could afford to lose a little of it.

It was well known that rich women sometimes slipped down here and paid to spend an hour or two with the best gladiators. Lina was not here for that, obviously. The thickly walled cells used for "meetings" were ideal for what she had to do, and Turlenas' man would keep her conversation secret. He would even move away so as not to overhear.

He was waiting for her inside, tired and annoyed. Garrisan was arguably getting too old to fight. He was fifty-one now, but still solidly built and fit. His cropped fair hair had long since turned silver, yet his green eyes were sharp and alert despite his fatigue. Unsurprising, considering what this man had been before now.

Garrisan sighed. 'Make it quick.'

Lina closed the door and pulled back her hood.

'I've heard of you.' Garrisan muttered. 'I'm surprised.'

'Really?'

'No, I suppose not. You're only mortal.' Garrisan started to unstrap his armour. 'Give me a hand. Let's get this done. You're the fifth this week.'

'I'm not here for that.' Lina lowered her voice.

Garrisan raised an eyebrow. 'I won't pretend to be ungrateful. I would rather rest and I'm sore. What is it that you want?'

'To make you an offer.'

Garrisan folded his arms. His eyebrow remained arched.

'I know who you are.' Lina said. 'I know what you were: Commander of the Sun Guard.'

Garrisan sighed. 'Doesn't everybody know? They call me "Disgraced" for a reason.'

'I don't think they care. But I do.'

'Why?'

'Why not?' Lina countered simply. 'I know what happened that night, six years ago.'

Garrisan now deflated, losing his grip on what little pride he had left. 'This conversation is over.'

'No, it isn't.' Lina stepped closer, her fiery gaze intense. 'Garrisan, I've seen you fight. We need you to help us.'

'We?'

Lina simply fixed him with a meaningful look.

Garrisan shook his head. 'It was only a matter of time. But without a ruler, this city will descend into anarchy and the Imperium will collapse.' He turned away. 'But you don't need me. I failed them, Lina. I failed to uphold my oaths, and now the Imperium is paying for it.'

'We can replace Shabarra with somebody better.'

'Some Senator?' Garrisan scoffed.

Lina stepped a little closer, despite the loyalty of the guard outside. 'You did not fail that night. The Princess lives.'

Garrisan wheeled round, eyes wide. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a hiss of a whisper. 'What?'

'Princess Mirana is alive.'

'Don't lie to me!' Garrisan snarled, closing in until he was nose-to-nose with Lina. She did not back away, even though she was now in danger. Backing down would convince Garrisan that she was lying. 'She was found dead! I was told!'

Though she had her powers, she knew that like every Sun Guard, Garrisan was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. He could snap her neck in a heartbeat if he wanted to.

'I am no liar, Garrisan.' Lina retorted slowly. 'The Princess of the Sun is alive, and we intend to give her the Solar Throne.'

Garrisan fought to control his breathing, almost overcome by this revelation. He emitted a brief huff of mirth and actually smiled. 'Of course! I should have known she would get her to safety.'

'You're talking about the Princess' handmaiden, aren't you?' Lina had heard about her from Kashurra. He seemed to think very highly of her.

'Yes. Marci. I'll admit that I was doubtful when I was told to allow Hyses to train her in unarmed combat. How wrong I was.' Garrisan allowed another huff of mirth. 'Believe it or not, she once bested me in a fight. Thirty years as a Sun Guard, and she floored me and four of my best men without any help.'

'Kashurra mentioned that.'

'Did she survive along with the Princess?'

'Yes.'

'Stubborn girl. She would have been an excellent Sun Guard. There was no better guardian for the Princess.' Garrisan remarked. 'You mentioned Kashurra. Are you sure you can trust him?'

'As much as anybody else.' Lina answered. 'He's just pretending to serve Shabarra. He wants him gone as much as we do.'

Garrisan sighed and moved away, rubbing the back of his head. 'He was loyal to Mirana's father, I'll give him that. I suspect he's also the one who told Marci how to escape the palace during the coup. I always wondered how she and Mirana knew exactly where to go.' He shook his head. 'I would give my life to help the Princess to retake her Throne. But how I can help her here?'

'I can't tell you everything right now, but when the time comes, we will need loyal, skilled fighters to aid us.'

Garrisan nodded slowly. 'I understand.'

'We'll make sure that you take your place as Commander of the Sun Guard once again.'

To her surprise, Garrisan sighed and shook his head. 'No. I still failed, Lina. Others paid the price.'

'Garrisan—'

'You think that I regarded this as a punishment, Lina? I would have gladly died in battle. I still would be glad to die with a blade in my hand. I survive only because allowing myself to die would dishonour the Sun Guard who came before me.' Garrisan muttered. He sat down on the hard bench by the wall. 'I should have died that night. But others died in my stead.'

'The Emperor?'

'Amongst others.' Garrisan ran a hand over his cropped hair. 'You've heard the stories, Lina, they're all true. The Princess escaped, thanks to her handmaiden. She made a sacrifice because I could not stop Shabarra's assassins.' He stared hard at her, the weight of guilt darkening his eyes. 'Marci had to make a choice because of my failure: the Princess or her family.'

Lina faltered. 'Kashurra did say...'

'Did he tell you how?'

Lina shook her head.

'I was there. He made me watch. He had his butcher, Callardis, cut them to pieces with a cleaver, one by one, the youngest first. They fed what was left to the hounds, but put their heads on spikes. Before that, he received a report from his men. They told him that the Princess and Marci had been cornered and killed. Marci's family died believing that she was gone, that there was no hope left, that they had stayed and fought for nothing.' Garrisan exhaled and held his head in his hands. 'And it all happened because I could not save the Emperor. Mirana lost her parents and her rightful place as Empress. There is no redemption for that.'

'If they had stayed, they would have died too.'

'Instead, they've had to live with guilt for the last six years, forced to abandon their homeland and their lives.' Garrisan stood and squared his shoulders. 'I will fight for your rebellion, Lina. I will fight for the Princess. But the end I seek will be an end in battle. Do you understand me?'

'I understand.' Lina sighed and extended her arm. Garrisan took it.

'I will keep my sword ready. When the time comes, I will rally the other slave fighters to fight too. As I once swore, I will fight and die for the Imperium.'


Rasolir, thirteen years ago...

The clanging of steel was everywhere in the training grounds as they drew closer. The Sun Guard were rarely at rest, and even when they were not training, they were maintaining their equipment or on patrol. If people said that that Sun Guard only stopped to rest, they were not entirely wrong.

To become one of the Sun Guard, you had to be devoted to your duty.

Marci watched them warily as they entered the barracks. Kashurra guided her and Mirana into one of the halls, a wide, empty space lined with benches. Mirana's idea had coincided with a new influx of potential candidates. Of those twenty teenage boys thought to be ideal Sun Guards, only seven had made it this far. The others would most likely end up joining the Legions or perhaps the city watch.

Marci should have been delighted. A chance to learn how to fight from the best soldiers in the Imperium? If she had known even a fraction of what these boys would be taught, she would have been truly unstoppable in the slums.

But when she saw the Sun Guard practising their hand-to-hand drills, she felt afraid. She started to tremble, her mind darting back to the day she had been ambushed.

She couldn't do this.

Marci stopped, her eyes wide as she noticed the new recruits. They were built like the boys who had attacked her, the ones who had taken her voice. Her trembling worsened and her eyes went wide with fear.

Mirana noticed. She turned and clasped her handmaiden's hands. 'You'll be fine, Marci. I'll be right over there,' she indicated the corner with her head. 'Think about it. You'll be training with the Sun Guard. They're the finest soldiers in the Imperium, and you'll be just as good as them one day.'

Marci shuddered and looked down at her feet. Mirana reached out and gently lifted her chin. 'You'll be able to protect me, just as I protect you. My Uncle won't trouble you again when he learns that you've been here.'

That seemed to do the trick. Marci set her jaw and nodded. She was still fearful, but she trusted Mirana to watch over her.

'Come, Marci,' Kashurra put a hand on her shoulder and steered her towards the instructor, a lean but muscular man with a neatly trimmed moustache. As they walked, Mirana noticed that some of the trainees appeared to be injured. She felt some misgivings surface, and hoped that she had not put Marci at risk of being further terrified.

Kashurra had not told either of them about the first test. When presented to the instructor, he would test the reactions and instincts of his trainees in the simplest way: by trying to punch them.

Two of the boys had bloody noses, one had split lips. Another was developing a fine black eye.

Chosen from amongst the noble families, these boys were actually rarely exposed to danger. Though some were trained as children, they had done so with utmost safety.

Kashurra knew that Marci already had an advantage. Though she had not been professionally trained as these boys had been, she had been partaking in actual scraps for much longer. She was the youngest one present, and the smallest, but she was more experienced. It was unlikely that any of the other trainees had ever been in a proper fight.

The other trainees were watching her curiously, one or two like sharks. Kashurra knew the type. Large, trained, powerful and given a sense of superiority and entitlement. They sensed weakness in Marci.

'Captain Hyses.' Kashurra gently pushed Marci forwards. 'This is the girl I told you about.'

Hyses was not the Commander of the Sun Guard, but he was the one in charge of hand-to-hand combat training. Commander Garrisan would have carried it out himself, but his place was at the Emperor's side, and Hyses was a master when it came to fighting without weapons.

Hyses had been given special dispensation to travel abroad to further hone his knowledge of various martial arts, to better improve upon the already formidable skills of the Sun Guard.

One of the most popular questions amongst the soldiers of the Imperium was who would win in a fight between Garrisan and Hyses. If it came down to swords, Garrisan would win. But in unarmed combat, Hyses would likely prevail.

Kashurra stood behind Marci now. 'By request of the Princess and the Emperor, Marci will be training alongside your other trainees.'

The teenagers chuckled at that. It had to seem ridiculous: the idea that this tiny, skinny, nine-year old girl would be learning how to fight alongside them. How on earth could she possibly learn to snap a neck with a simple movement? Crack ribs with a palm strike? Kill with a spinning elbow strike? Knock a man cold with a leaping roundhouse?

Hyses did not laugh. He appraised Marci quietly, crouching to look into her eyes. She tried to glance away. 'Look at me.'

Marci reluctantly met his eyes.

'You are small. That's good. A smaller fighter is harder to hit. Smaller fighters are faster.' He murmured. 'And the Viceroy tells me that you have fought before.'

Marci shuddered.

'You're afraid?'

Marci nodded.

'Good.'

Marci frowned, surprised.

'Fear keeps you sharp, it keeps you alive.' He looked over at the large boys sat on the benches. 'When you can master it, fear can drive you to fight harder, faster and longer than you thought possible.' He looked back round at Marci. 'All I need from you is dedication. Do your best, and you will succeed.'

Without warning, his fist shot towards Marci's face.

Mirana gasped, her hands flying to her face, fully expecting to see blood spray when that fist inevitably broke Marci's nose.

But though Marci had lost confidence in her abilities as a brawler, her instincts and reflexes had not faded.

Marci dodged the punch. If Mirana had blinked, she would have missed it, and she would have missed what happened next.

If the other trainees had expected anything, it was not for Marci to reflexively lash out. The ones who were uninjured had either dodged or deflected Hyses' punch. But none of them had attempted to punch him in return.

Her instincts honed by years of fights in the slums, Marci automatically punched Captain Hyses right in the face.

Hyses jolted when Marci's small fist hit his nose.

Mirana stared, dreading the inevitable explosion of rage as blood started to trickle from Hyses' nose.

Marci was shocked at what she had done, and she had started to shake with fear. If Kashurra had not been behind her, she would have fled.

But Hyses simply lifted a hand and wiped the blood away. Then, to the surprise of everybody except for Kashurra, he smiled widely. Even with his moustache soaked with his own blood, he was pleased.

He reached out slowly and gave Marci's shoulder a squeeze. 'In the twenty years I've been doing this, nobody has done that before. You're going to be a good student, Marci. Chin up. Let's see what you can do, and then I'll see what I can teach you.'


Now...

Hyses had not been wrong. If anything, he'd uttered an understatement. Even after just a few days, Marci quickly established herself as the best trainee of the current crop. Hyses had even told Mirana that she was the best student he had ever trained. He actually thought that it was a pity they could not train her as a Sun Guard.

It was the first time Mirana became aware of Marci's unusual strength. Combined with her speed and training, it had made her a force to be reckoned with. Though Mirana had also been assigned a member of the Sun Guard as a bodyguard, she thought of Marci as her protector instead.

And it seemed that she was even stronger than Mirana had thought.

Marci was still trying to figure out what she had done to make the golden light appear in her eyes. Whatever it was, it vastly increased her strength and also made her incredibly durable. It seemed that Davion was not the only one trying to gain control of something. At least Marci was not in danger of becoming a monster.

Marci was a deep sleeper, but one thing guaranteed to wake her, aside from her nightmares, was food.

It was the smell of cooking meat which roused her. Her stomach rumbled.

Marci sat up, yawned widely, and stretched. She rubbed her eyes and wiped the drool from her lips. As she gathered her thoughts, wondering what she was about to eat, she wondered why there so was much noise, and why it was so hot.

And who was swearing?

Marci turned her head towards the source of the heat.

She jumped to her feet, staring at the column of smoke and fire rising into the sky.

'What the hell did you put on it?' Davion was demanding as he searched the saddlebags. Sagan had wisely moved far away from the conflagration.

'Wood!' Fymryn cried. 'I just used wood!'

'Then what were you cooking?' Mirana shouted. 'By Selemene! We're going to set the forest on fire! Marci! Help us!'

Marci had no idea how. She couldn't punch the fire out. Water! Water would do it!

But there was no water.

Fymryn seized a flask from the saddlebags and ran over. 'I've found some water!'

'What?' Mirana hurried forwards. 'No! No, that's alcohol!'

Davion was trying to put the fire out with a cloak. The results were predictable. 'Shit!' He threw the burning cloak down and stamped on it. Marci pitched in, grabbing some of the fur-lined cloaks they had bought to traverse the mountains. Between the four of them, they finally managed to smother the fire, sacrificing the cloaks in the process.

Marci stepped back, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Confused, she glanced at Mirana. How the hell had this happened?

As it turned out, Fymryn was a hopeless cook—worse than Mirana. She had decided to cook them something for breakfast before they woke, perhaps to make them trust her, or even to repair the recent rift they had suffered.

It had been a nice thought, even Mirana had admitted that. But as they said: the road to damnation was laid with good intentions. The smoke she had created could have been mistaken as the plume from a burning city.

Poor Fymryn, her hair and skin blackened by soot, had endured a loud lecture from Mirana and had been forbidden from cooking again. It had taken them a while to coax Sagan out of hiding. Marci had needed a long drink after whistling for long.

In a way, Fymryn had actually done them all a favour. Any differences between them had been briefly forgotten in their attempts to smother the fire.

Hoping that the massive fire had not attracted unwelcome attention, they gathered up their intact belongings, resorted to a breakfast of flatbread, and set off once again.


Davion's head had stopped throbbing. He still hated himself for lashing out at Marci, aware of his actions or not. She had only been trying to help him.

But the fact remained that he was dangerous.

He had thought about leaving them and putting an end to the danger once and for all. Although it would have kept them safe, he knew that he couldn't do it. Part of him still hoped that the sage they were seeking could help him. He had also sworn to aid Marci and Mirana.

He had also imagined how they might feel if they found him afterwards. Whatever the two of them had been through, they had suffered enough. Especially Marci.

Davion kept his distance, following behind. Although Marci was reluctant to be around him right now, she had still insisted on pressing the hunting spear into his hand that morning after defeating Fymryn's disaster.

She remained considerate even after what he had done. That just made him feel worse, though it also gave him hope.

If anybody was truly angry with him, it was Mirana. Though she remained civil, Davion could see the anger smouldering in her eyes.

The sky was overcast now, but the sky dragon had not returned. He was still licking his wounds.

As they walked, Marci sighed and slowed her pace until she was at Davion's side. Looking round at him, she extended her arm as she walked, her eyes hopeful and her expression contrite.

She didn't want there to be a grudge between them. She was stubborn in the best way, and really sweet. She really was his best hope if Slyrak tried to take over again. A sore head was a small price to pay if it kept him from unintentionally murdering his friends.

Davion reached over and shook her hand. Marci managed a small smile, then bumped her fist firmly against his arm. Don't do that again.

'Wouldn't dream of it.' Davion murmured sincerely.

Marci's smile widened a little and she bumped his arm again. She lifted her eyebrows. If you forget, I'll thump you.

'Fair enough.' he agreed. 'Thanks for the spear.'

She inclined her head towards his chest and made a chopping movement. You needed a weapon.

'Anything I can do in return?'

Marci patted his arm and shook her head.

'I could cook next time we stop.'

Marci bumped his arm for a third time and shook her head, smiling again. She knew that he was a decent cook, but she still preferred to do it herself. At the very least, she needed to keep Fymryn far away from fire.

'I suppose that's fair. You are the best cook here.'

Marci tapped Davion's arm and started to sign. She had to repeat herself before he understood what she was trying to say. She was blaming herself for the debacle with the sky dragon. She had obviously realised that she had attacked too early.

'Don't worry about it.' Davion told her softly. 'The first time I tried to fight a dragon, I nearly got myself and two other squires electrocuted. My hair stood on end for days.'

Marci raised her eyebrows.

'I had longer hair back then.'

Marci smirked.

'Yeah, it's better short.'

Marci lifted a hand and twitched the loose tufts at the back of her head, one brow arched.

'I like it. It's cute.'

Marci beamed, her eyes lighting up.

'Don't get too carried away with your flirting.' Mirana called.

'Spoilsport.' Davion muttered.

Marci concurred with a long, low whistle.

'If you're feeling left out...' Fymryn adopted a doe-eyed look and leaned towards Mirana. 'I could... compensate. Would you like that, Beautiful?'

'Don't. Even. Think. About. It.'

Fymryn rolled her eyes. 'Suit yourself. But have a little heart. I know she's pretty, but you can't keep Marci all to yourself.'

Mirana was not facing Marci and Davion. If she had been, they would have seen her blush.

'Fymryn, you really don't know much about humans.' Mirana remarked. Both Davion and Marci noticed a slight bite in her tone. Fymryn had touched a nerve. 'Marci's my handmaiden.' She glanced carefully over her shoulder, just enough to see Marci out of the corner of her eye. 'And my dearest friend.'

Marci smiled sweetly. She seemed to be convinced. Davion was not.

Fymryn dropped the subject. 'You're right. I haven't spent much time around humans. Truth be told, you're the first ones I've spent any time around.' She giggled. 'Are all humans so strange?'

'Nope. We're truly unique.' Davion quipped. 'We should get a bard to compose a ballad for us.'

Marci smirked and chuckled.

The village was not far away now. They were still unsure about how to cross the river. The map had revealed that the opposite bank was shielded by steep cliffs which would be nigh impossible to scale. Sagan had sharp claws, but there was no way he could pull himself up.

If Fymryn was right, they could somehow travel down the river and find a place to cross over. Failing that, they would have go all the down to the ford she had mentioned or swim. None of them fancied the latter.

Trust was still a prickly issue when it came to Fymryn, but at least Davion was back on decent terms with Marci and Mirana.

They carried on, Marci still trying to teach Davion more signs and whistles. Fymryn became interested and started trying to follow the lessons too. Like Davion, she had decided that she might as well try to understand Marci too. Though she remained distant at first, Mirana eventually relented and started to aid Marci's efforts.

Davion felt his own tension ease, the song faint in the back of his head, as Fymryn butchered a hand sign and made Marci laugh.

'What did I say?'

'Marci was showing you the sign for "forest".' Mirana was trying to suppress a smile, and failing badly. 'You said "cows".'

'Why is "forest" similar to "cows"?'

'Because cows have four legs.'

'Forests don't.'

'No, but we settled on forest before we got to cows.'

'All right,' Davion interjected. 'I have an important one: beer. What's that?'

Marci smiled and held up her hand, her fingers and thumb curled as if she was holding a mug.

Davion mimicked the sign, then slowly and carefully suggested that they have some when they reached the village. Marci grinned and nodded.

Mirana shrugged. 'I suppose we could all do with one.'


Kalin wiped his flail clean as he walked across the pier. He heard another splash as his men tossed another weighted body into the river. Clearing out the village had been a quick and bloody task.

The tiny militia had been no match for his trained killers. He and his men had swept through the village, killing anything which moved.

Figuring out where the Princess and her allies intended to go had been a simple matter. They had been following the group towards the river, and had noticed how their tracks had steadily shifted up towards the nearby logging village. Time had never been a friend to their targets, and for whatever reason they had not been erasing their tracks.

This village was ideal for Kalin's purpose. Unlike others, it was surrounded by a wooden palisade with a built-in gate.

Once the Princess entered, she would not be leaving alive.

It didn't matter to Kalin that he and his men had just killed an entire village of men, women and children. Wrong place, wrong time—for them, anyway.

'The village is secure.' one of his men announced, flicking blood off his sword. 'Nobody left.'

'Good.' Kalin looked to the sky, still overcast and dull. 'Get some of the men to hide their armour. When the Princess arrives, shut the gates.'

'Rats in a trap.'

'Exactly.' Kalin's flail rustled as he lifted it. 'Remember that the Emperor wants the Princess relatively intact, and we'll get a bonus if we present him with him with the handmaiden too.'

'Him and his spikes. You know that they'll probably rot along the way.'

'So pickle them.' Kalin shrugged. 'Salt them. He'll settle for them being dead.'

'And any others?'

'Doesn't matter.' Kalin stowed his flail. 'Dump them in the river with the others when we're done. Just be sure to take the tiara if you kill the Princess.'

'The Emperor needs that too?'

'Don't know. Don't care. Those are my orders.'

He had not been ordered to kill the villagers either, but that was just part of the job.

And Kalin was a man who got the job done, no matter the cost.


I know that Marci and Davion settled their differences pretty quickly, but hear me out:

First, I don't like prolonging grudges between characters. With my writing, it runs the risk of descending into petty spite based resentment. Second, Marci and Davion are not stupid. They know that they're not going to get far if they don't at least trust each other, especially in combat. Third, I seriously doubt that they'd want to remain angry with each other, not for long anyway. Davion likes Marci too much for that, and Marci is too sweet.