Intertwined

REMSFORD, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

As night descended on the realm, Somerled was examining his options. Stretching his shoulder, and letting out a whimper of pain, his mind came to an obvious fact.

Being defeated, or more accurately, routed brought little advantages.

For one, King Somerled's decimated army is trapped miles beyond enemy lines, with forts, rivers and two separate enemy forces in the way. King Garmund's own host, still in Bleswyn, is in no position to assist in any for a considerable amount of time.

This, though is but the least of Somerled's worries. His shoulder burns have been mostly healed, but the fact that some vermin was able to reach him in his dreams was unnerving, to say the least. Duke Kestutas of Burelas, being a beast of stars and phantoms, might have an answer to this pressing question, but he was long since dead and buried. It was rather uncommon, to say the least, for Somerled to actually wish for a dead rival to return to him, but fear does all manner of things to a beast.

Descending upon Floret along the River Rems was a viable option, taking a few river forts along the way being a strategy used by many before. This could have taken away one of Floret's rivers, but there was another. Besides, King Garmund explicitly told him not to go for Floret one more time.

Truth be told, Garmund himself could be headed towards Floret as Somerled was wasting time doing nothing but thinking to himself. But there was not much Somerled could do. After receiving Garmund's message, he began to understand why the Southard were not willing to bow to Triel. Not that he sympathised with them, of course. They were traitors who all deserved a traitor's demise, and deserved no place in history.

Recovering from Macolt was easy enough, but the real wound was targeted at the squirrelking's pride. A king losing to a mere lord was bad enough, but hearing that Lord Garrion had deferred his command to a lowly commoner turned that situation from a setback to a calamity. He had heard nothing of Galen Snowpath before, which was entirely normal, but that unknown otter had the bravery and audacity to defeat him. Somerled hoped that his luck would run out soon - as many had done before.

However, with the coming of a new hope from Parma, his luck seemed to turn the other way. The otter, Amalrik he was called, was the only beast who could manage to soothe his wounds, physical or otherwise. He was quite a jolly beast, and seemed not to have a care in the world, but there was always something that seemed to reside in his head, and nobody else. Somerled was almost tempted to throw a knife at his face at him a few times - the grin was unnerving, to say the least - but he was able to change his mind just in time.

And the games. Amalrik loved play almost as much as he loved his work. Even when healing his shoulder bit by bit, he always managed to take a look at his set of playing cards, with the figures on top never seeming to wear out. When he and the otter played a game of chess (just to relieve the king's stress), the pieces seemed to gleam when he was holding them in his paw. He could have sworn the healer grinned every time the squirreking made a move, though not without reason - the otter tended to win a lot.

Finally realising the coming night, the squirrel hoped sleep would come soon, and a dreamless one at that. The marten shall not trouble him again with his vermin sorcery further, and somehow he was sure of that.

STATION OF AWAKENING, THE RIFT

Clutching the golden object in his paws, Slyte found himself in the Rift once more.

The initial dizziness was overcome within seconds, though why in the heavens Arbert would call them here would be a mystery. Conjuration may be weaker than Thaumaturgy, but the former is more suited to making paths to other worlds than its sister power. Slyte barely had time to punch through the barrier after being chased by twoscore guards.

Standing in the little circle were the mole brothers. As usual, Dagbert wore his white and Arbert red - a little reminder to their duties as Archivist and Hunter - or more accurately, Emissary and Warrior. The clothes fitted them well - Dagbert's hobby being lazing around and Arbert's being brutally smashing everything that stood in his way.

They managed to track him down after what transpired in Greymorg, no doubt suddenly alarmed by the sudden lightning bolt that came from nowhere. After a few sudden explanations and an explosion of information Slyte was not prepared for in any way, he agreed to join them in their little campaign.

The Architect was always a different story, of course. While the moletwins joined for reasons incomprehensible and the pine marten for reward, the General of Sword joined for duty. One can even see the grim look on his face to guess that he was not enjoying the experience of working with vermin.

His face was still riddled with numerous scars obtained from all four battles he had been in - the big gash from Macolt. Slyte had met with his Bondbeast target there, and told him vital information in the usual manner of seers - that is, using many words to say nothing at all.

Unlike most beasts who called themselves seers, Slyte had the powers the Fates had granted, and he could use them as much as he wanted to - provided he had taken the necessary precautions, of course. He was levels above in Seercraft above Ralos, and about the equal of Dagbert and Arbert, who in turn are as strong as any Woodlander could be.

"I see that all four of us are in attendance." Arbert was the most experienced warrior among the four of them, so he fashioned himself the leader - conveniently neglecting the fact that he had his axe to talk for him. "Have you brought the object, Slyte?"

"I have indeed." Enamel-marked images, alongside with the magnificent jewels etched on it, made the Jaysian Crown perpetually recognizable. Placing the crown on the table, Slyte returned to a sitting pose.

"King Gideon would have need of that." Ralos sighed as he stood up and took the crown in his paws. "I see that the both of us are the only ones who had succeeded in our respective missions, though yours was definitely harder." Handing over the object to Dagbert, he managed a nervous smile - a smile that Slyte found himself copy unconsciously.

The elder mole closed his eyes to help with his concentration while his three partners watched on, the tension in the air slowly rising as the Recorder embraced Conjuration, seeking what was only known to him. Then-

Nothing happened.

When Slyte found it prudent to open his eyes once more, he saw nothing but frustrated sighs.

Dagbert opened his mouth - slightly disappointed, but not surprised. "This is no Augmenter."

Ralos rolled his eyes. "So it shall seem. That leaves no more than three possible options."

Arbert had no reaction on his stony face except a nod - which meant that everything was relatively normal. "The Sword of Martin from Redwall, the Lance of Corriam from Summerdell and one other from Salamandastron."

Dagbert concurred. "Verminfate. I believe you are on its trail, I take it?" The question earned another nod from Arbert.

Slyte found himself speak. "The Crown shall be left to King Gideon, but what about the other Conjuration Augmenters?" Thordan Skyward had already found and identified four - Heavensward from Dravania, Stormblood from Parma and Shadowbringers from who-knows-where (Triel, maybe?), as well as the Sword of Martin. He had possession of the former three, but was turned back from pursuing the fourth somehow. Killing him before he could divulge anything from his loose thing did not help matters.

"Lorelei must have Turned them." Ralos shook his head. "Perhaps they may serve a better purpose in the paws of her pet fox." The squirrel may be unskilled and untried as a seer, but he was learning quickly. At first he was unused to the world of skullduggery and intrigue, but beasts change with every tick of the clock.

"Moving on." The squirrel gestured with a flick of his wrist. "What are we going to do with Thordan? The younger one, I mean. It is basically confirmed he is indeed a seer."

"With Emmeroloth looming over him, there is nothing much we can do. We have to take him out of the picture soon." Arbert's gaze never left his own Amplifier - a weird blue crystal with jagged edges which he obtained from the Iceshard. It was almost as strong as an Augmenter, but his Conjuration had its limits, growing only linearly, or something like that.

It was a surprise to Slyte that his Seercrafting was the most powerful among the four, or that he was even a seer. The mole brothers helped him escape Greymorg via supernatural means, and after a detour to Seafoam Isle in the Western Sea, here he was in Floret, serving as an assassin targeting those who crossed the path of Southsward.

"But how?" The marten found himself ask. "We don't know what he's planning, and I doubt that we could even take him on at all, with his pesky Bond with Lorelei. At least her father's whereabouts are unknown." The fox was about two levels above Slyte in Seercraft, but those two levels could constitute the greatest of differences.

"He needs to be isolated." Arbert's reply was terse.

"So…" Slyte cocked his head to one side. "We do nothing until he makes a mistake? Sounds useless to me."

"Not nothing." Dagbert revealed a little smile. "We just wait until he makes some kind of misstep. Arbert will get Verminfate here, I will see to Southard affairs, and Ralos will be back in the field."

His smile dissolved as his eyes rolled towards Slyte. "In the meantime, you will head to Bleswyn."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It took nine days, three hours, twenty minutes, a letter from his father and a severe reprimand from the rest of the family to make Godred Swalestrom understand that killing his cousin is a bad, bad idea. Of course, this was not his fault - his beasts were overly eager to take the city, and Sigurd was overly eager to defend it.

Now, he was in for a talk with his close kinsbeasts about a matter of a vastly different nature.

"Wait. To summarise everything, you want me, of all beasts, to become the King of Jayso?

"Well, it's less about Jayso and more about Ilsadia, but you get the idea." Garrion continued to stare at him like he was some foreigner. Well, he was indeed a foreigner-to-be, but when was his brother so hostile?

It was like his father and uncle all over again. For three generations straight brother and brother had conflicts of interest within House Swalestrom, and a fourth was soon to follow.

'Southsward needs you, Godred." This time, it was Bellamy who spoke. Their mother was absent, being more and more withdrawn after the death of her lastborn child, though her daughter forced herself back into activity.

"But Jayso does not!" Thumping his paw on the table in front of him, he stood up. "And neither does Ilsadia!" He fumed on and on. "Why do I have to leave Southsward just to answer the call of some mouse who wasn't even born a lord?"

"Godred!" A shrill voice thundered through the room while Garrion failed to drop his stare. "Every country, every lordship are too intertwined now. I will do my duty taking on the Trielians, and Bells will do hers looking after mother. Now it's just you."

"Fair enough." Godred sighed as he walked away from the room. "My duty will be done indeed, but rest assured that I will not do it happily."

To accentuate the point, he closed the door behind him.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Kaldos was not the same as Thordan had remembered. He visited his father there about six or seven times, but this was different. His brother was dead, his father miles away in Triel, and he was here alone for the first time.

The city was not as well as he remembered it. Beasts have left the harbour long ago, preferring to strengthen their positions outside the city walls. Thordan heard that a new set of walls were to be built to keep the Southards out, paid for and organised by Lord Strandsor. He could only hope that it could work.

The harbours of Kaldos were the exact location he and his paternal half-siblings said their goodbyes, so it should make sense that there they would meet once more. Well, one of them anyway. The lordling may have never met with Sigurd much, but he was his brother nonetheless - and a good one.

I should have went with him. Grandfather has passed away, and Sigurd followed. Why does everyone connected to me need to suffer? It isn't fair.

The otter in his dreams told him that he and his father had spoken for the last time. Which may mean that his father would die far, far away from his eyes. Or that he would die before his father. Neither choice seemed entertaining to him.

There was also the significant possibility that the otter may be lying. Yes, he may have never gave his name and spoke in the vaguest of manners, but something told him that he was trustworthy. He was not telling the whole truth though. That he was certain.

He embraced Sigrun at the docks again, her afraid of losing him almost as much as he was of losing her. After a few more introductions (and funny looks from the Strandsors at Egil), he was invited back into the castle.

"I fear that your father could not join us here," the elder Lord Strandsor sighed. "He is in Triel, you see, fighting for the beast He was nearing his fortieth season, yet he behaved like some kind of child, Egil, Skipper Becker, or some combination of the three. Thordan preferred his son to him, though he seemed quite likeable for the moment.

"Kaldos has waited for you for far too long, Young Thordan Swalestrom." Haakon Strandsor spoke next with his calm voice. "Anxiously, as we would like to add."

"What for?"

"This city is yours, Thordan. As the only loyal Dravanian lords, we would like to offer you the crown, the throne, and all of Dravania."

Thordan let out an audible gasp. "Why me, of all beasts?"

Lord Gustav stood up only to pace around the room. "I confess that I wanted the crown for myself in the beginning. But Dravania always needed a Swalestrom, and I was only married to one." He continued without even catching his breath. "Your father broke his marriage vows - " Thordan could hear Sigrun tense - "so he would not be accepted as king. As his only surviving son, you are our only candidate. Please consider it well."

Thordan spoke, and the world changed.

DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD

The beast who called himself Emetselk stood up, finally free of duties for the first day.

The only other beasts in the Aetherochemical Research Facility were both vermin. Emmeroloth was one of them, having travelled from the world he was born and arriving in this shard. Now with his master, King Thordan of Parma dead and buried, he would have the full allegiance of the fox - not counting Lorelei of course. The beast who called himself Emetselk was tolerated by the fledgling queen who finally got out of her father's shadow.

Emmeroloth was a mostly self-taught Thaumaturge, but Thordan had done well enough. He knows all the basics, the Triad of Death and so on, and the opening of Pathways. Of course, the beast who called himself Emetselk went further, heading to different shards with his secret apprentice, and learning by experience rather than by the book.

Of course, there were some who would stop them. Long have the beast who called himself Emetselk evade the moles from Southsward, losing Thordan Skyward on the way. Now, though, they have no idea that the beast who called himself Emetselk was still active, or even alive for that matter.

King Thordan had specified that Emmeroloth, as Isangrim, take care of his grandson, also called Thordan. The beast who called himself Emetselk thought that his other grandson, Corrado, would be tried and tested as a seer, but his many qualities were in fact all mundane. Emmeroloth suggested that this way because of his ancestor's blowing of Oliphaunt, which is likely, considering the evidence.

The other vermin, though, was slightly less familiar to Emmeroloth. The beast who called himself Emetselk had found his soul, floating in the void, his life cut short by events occurring in the Source. Of course, mundane means had done what Seercraft cannot do, and the brown-furred vermin soon found himself awake.

His first reaction was simple. "Why am I alive?" He had been a bit dead, but that problem was remedied not long after the beast who called himself Emetselk's arrival.

"Where is this place?" was his second. This was quite understandable. The beast had never been to another world before, and he had no power to wield Conjuration or Thaumaturgy. The beast that called himself Emetselk nearly mistook the Aetherochemical Research Facility for the Skein of Severance in the Windshard, but the poor beast was unsatisfied with the answer, correct it may be.

His last question was "Why am I a stoat?" Of course, the stoat was not born a stoat, but that did not matter in his new body. Who he originally was remained a secret between the three, and the beast that called himself Emetselk was able to lull the exhausted stoat to sleep before any more questions were asked.

Of course, the stoat was but the first step. Sooner or later, the Heaven's Ward will be complete.

It is etched.

A/N: Ah. Another chapter complete, with cliffhangers everywhere. This is actually my favourite chapter at the time of its completion, so I hope you like it!

But first, there is always the responses!

One-Eye: Yeah, last chapter is indeed my twentieth chapter, in case you have not noticed. I am glad you did, though.

Sebias: Will Lorelei survive? With every seventh chapter introducing a new beast to take advantage of chaos, every character is in mortal peril, even if some do not know it. You have a point about Alfyn and Lorcan - I would take them over the Boreller squirrels all day. I hope that you see Ralos as even cooler than before, after the events of this chapter. Denebas' chances are not really that high, but more unlikely things had happened before... And we get another puppet Swalestrom. Lovely. Who will die trying to get to the top? Who will die why trying not to get to the top? Who will die crying? Who will die laughing? Who will give up on living and choose to die? Who will give up on dying and choose to live?

Grey: Journeying indeed! Godred and Thordan being kings was not expected by anybeast of political importance, but perhaps the readers did? Borellers are tough indeed, but they have limits. I wonder what would it take to leak or break... Dirk meeting Ralos and Dagbert was a scene that I considered scrapping, but now you see why I kept it here. You will see soon what Lorelei wants Renart to do? Is it a trap? Perhaps... though seeing Renart get outfoxed was most entertaining, of course.

In the next chapter, we will go back to some characters that we have not seen for quite a while. Some of them have not even appeared in Book II!

Chapter 22 (Machinations) will be ready on around 4/5 September!