Blood of the Covenant

by AMax76

Reeling from the theft of the Moonstone, the Brotherhood and Varian work to prepare for a fight they never expected. As Cassandra builds her strength and works to sway Varian to her side as the face of her rebellion, the family has to adapt time and time again as secrets new and old hinder their every move. It's a race against time, and the price for losing is death.

3. Red

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all y'all who celebrate it! If you don't, have a blessed day anyway!

On a slightly more non-celebratory note, I've been getting some weird messages recently on here. I've had about five or six messages supposedly from artists asking about "enhancing" my work for "low estimates." most of these messages are using the same verbiage, so I'm wondering if they're coming from the same person. Is this a new scam going around? If people want to make art based on my stories, I 100% support that and have even given shout-outs to artists on a few of my other platforms, but these messages are strange and I'm suspecting a scam.

Anyway, on to the chapter!I was remiss in not mentioning this earlier, but I wanted to say it now, especially since some of my readers are younger. The violence level in this fic will be quite a bit stronger than in Blood of my Brother, and far more intense than canon. This will include mild(ish) gore and character deaths. I just wanted to put this disclaimer out there up front; I will of course still be leaving trigger warnings on each chapter individually. As for this one:

Trigger warnings: some gore, blood, a dissociative episode, mentions of prison abuse, and character death.

They found the source of the noise, a young woman with her leg pinned under a fallen beam. Fresh blood matted in her hair, and her wide eyes stared unfocused out at Quirin and Varian as they approached. Her shoulders hunched up, but she made no other move as they rushed to her side. Varian knelt next to her while Quirin stayed back, watching the surrounding area.

"Hi there," Varian greeted. "It's okay now; we're here to help."

Her eyes narrowed as her brows drew closer.

"I'm Varian. This is my dad Quirin. From the looks of your eyes, you've probably got a pretty solid concussion. Nod if you can understand me."

She slowly nodded. "You're… not with them?"

"Who's them?"

"The… the bandits," she answered with a weak wave of her hand. "You just missed 'em. Been in and out for days now. We can't… we can't leave. They took everything. But they think we got more."

Quirin and Varian exchanged a glance. Quirin stepped forward and rested a hand against the beam. "Son, get ready to pull her out."

Varian nodded. "What's your name?" he asked her.

"Co—Colette."

"Colette, is it alright if I put my hands on your arms? As soon as Dad lifts the beam, I'll pull you free."

She nodded.

Quirin slid his hands under the wood. "Three… two… one." He hauled the beam up, resting it on his broad shoulder. Varian grabbed Colette under her arms, tugging her free from underneath it. She gave a short yell but fell silent again as Varian gently laid her back down. Kneeling by her legs, he pulled a canteen from his belt as Quirin lowered the beam and knelt next to them.

"Can I move your skirt a few inches?" Varian asked. "Looks like you've got a nasty cut here." When she nodded again, he pushed the fabric aside and poured some water out over the cut across her calf. When it was as clean as he could get it, he pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped the wound.

Quirin gently lifted her up into his arms at her assent. "We need to find everyone else. Do you know where they might have gone?"

She nodded and gestured towards the center of town, weakly resting her head against his shoulder. They started off in the direction she'd indicated.

Huddled under what had once been a stately building but was now little more than a half-open pavilion, a small band of townsfolk moved about, patching up injuries and passing around a few water skeins. In the center of the group, Hector stood, directing people about with a wave of his hand. He motioned them over as they approached. Breaking away from the group, he gestured for a man to come take Colette. As the girl was lifted out of Quirin's arms, Hector propped his hands on his hips and glared at them.

"Took you two long enough," he said. "We just missed all the fun. We're treating the injured now."

"You knew I was coming?" Varian grimaced. He should have expected it; he never could seem to surprise Hector, who knew him better than anyone.

"Of course I did." Hector knelt down, tilting his head up slightly to look at Varian. "You two needed to get this out into the open. But we'll talk about this later. I wasn't kidding; sometimes being a knight means following orders we don't like. There will be times I'll need you to listen to me, even when you don't understand. You'll have to obey without knowing why. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

Hector nodded and stood, ruffling Varian's hair. "Adira shouldn't be long. Let's get to work."

"She's coming too?" Varian threw up his hands. "Did everyone know I was following you?"

"What's the story here?" Quirin asked. "Do we know who did this?"

Hector nodded. "Yes, to both of you. Come talk to the elder." He motioned to a man standing near the makeshift infirmary. As he and Quirin turned to go see him, Varian drew back.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna— I'll wait here," he muttered.

Hector cast him a curious look. Then he nodded. "Hang on." Leaving them, he stepped over to the man he'd indicated and touched his arm, gesturing back towards them. The man followed him over. Maybe forty-five, black hair streaked with gray, lean but muscular build. When he stood before them, Hector said, "This is my brother Quirin and my sword-son Varian. Tell them everything you told me."

He nodded. "My name's Brenneson. I'm the town elder. We haven't been established here long, just a few months. We're a trade town, so fairly well-to-do. Originally, we started off nearer to the coastline, but then the black rocks that came through last year destroyed our homes. We packed up and moved here to re-establish a base of operations." He rested his hands on his hips, scuffing his foot against the ground as his tone grew more serious. "Then the rocks came back. Tore apart the town. We've already lost so much, and that would be bad enough, but then the Yellowjacket bandits set their sights on us. We can't leave; they attack us every time we try. We've sent for help and gotten no answers. They've taken everything they could find. We thought they'd let us leave when they had what they wanted, but I'm afraid they've got bigger plans."

"What sort of plans?" Quirin asked.

"There's a caravan passing through soon, headed for Corona. They're bringing a pretty sizable payload. If we pack up and leave, they'll know something's wrong, and they won't come through here. We'd planned to get word to them to go around the town. The bandits want that payload, and this is a perfect spot to get the jump on them."

"What's in it they're so interested in?"

"We're not sure yet. Probably jewelry, imported foods, the like. Whatever it is, they're dead set on it."

Varian rested his fingers against his lips as he thought. "Then why would they burn the town? That's bound to get the wrong kind of attention."

"Maybe they want to play on the travelers' sympathy," Hector offered. "Get them to stop to try to help. How long do we have till the caravan arrives?"

"About a day, if my math is correct," Brenneson answered.

Hector nodded. "That's all the time we need. Adira, get all that?"

She grinned from atop a stack of salvaged boxes. "Got it. I'll stop that caravan. You deal with the Yellowjackets." Hopping down, she rested a hand lightly on Varian's shoulder. "I take inventory of my own herbs," she whispered. So saying, she left the pavilion and disappeared into the village.

"We can't ask you to do this for us," Brenneson insisted. "They're dangerous."

"So are we," Hector answered, eyes glinting. He motioned for Quirin and Varian to follow him away from the pavilion. When they were a distance from Brenneson and the villagers, Hector stopped and crossed his arms. "The Yellowjackets have never operated this far south," he noted. "Whatever this is, it's got their attention."

"Once Adira turns the caravan, the bandits will know something's wrong," Quirin added. "We'll have to move quickly. With the right bait, we can lure them out of hiding. Then we can deal with them." He turned a serious gaze to Varian. "We've talked to you about what it means to be a knight. Do you understand what you may face in this fight?"

Varian shrank back slightly. It was something he'd talked about with Hector many times, but the thought of taking a life… how could he consider it deeply, when he'd almost killed Cassandra and Queen Arianna? When he almost stained his hands with their blood? "I… understand," he answered reluctantly. "I don't want to ever hurt anyone. But I know that a knight raises their sword to defend."

"Exactly. Taking a life is never easy. I hope and pray you never have to. But this will be our first fight together, and I need to know you truly comprehend this. If you are in danger, I expect you to defend yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," he whispered. A bitter cold stung at his chest. Never easy. Except it had been in the moment. It had been easy, when he'd shut out the screaming voice in his head, when he'd thrown his battered and bleeding heart aside to keep it from stopping him.

It's not enough until you've endured the same amount of pain and agony I have!

O‴O‴O‴

The bearcats sniffed at the ground, following the bandits' trail. Behind them, Hector followed, trailing at a distance, eyes darting back and forth. Riki and Kiki had caught the scent easily and trailed it here, a mile or so from the town, in between a lazily-drifting river and a rocky cliff system. A good hiding place, well-defensible and with easy escape if needed. Their prey had dug in like the fleas he had to pull from his pets' fur. But, like fleas, they couldn't dig far enough to stop Hector from crushing them.

Smoke from a campfire wafted over the air. He grinned and motioned the boys to either side while he leapt easily into the trees. Hopping lightly from branch to branch, never stirring so much as a leaf, he followed the smell. As the small camp came into view, he settled with his back against a trunk to observe.

Seven bandits circled the fire, laughing and chatting. Hector sneered. No guards, all of them faced towards the fire, and their ill-gotten gain stashed off to the side out of view. Amateurs. The Yellowjackets had either lost their touch or started attracting a weaker quality of criminal since the last time Hector had fought them. In his years since leaving the Dark Kingdom, he'd only run into them twice, each time less impressive than the last.

He watched for a few more minutes before creeping back the way he'd come. Kiki joined him first, and Riki followed along soon after. Under a rocky overhang, Quirin, Varian, and Ruddiger waited for him. Hopping down from the trees, he leaned an elbow on Varian's head, ignoring his protests. "Seven heads, no brains," he informed them. "Did you find a good spot?"

Quirin nodded. "There's a ravine half a mile back."

"Then that's almost two miles from their spot. You sure you can run that far, old man?"

"As long as I don't have you slowing me down."

Varian shuffled nervously as his fingers tapped against the hilt of his dagger. "Will you be alright?"

Quirin gave a gentle laugh, slowly reaching up a hand to rest on Varian's shoulder. "Don't worry about me. It's been a while since I've gotten to have this much fun. I'll be fine, I—" Cutting himself short, he corrected, "I'll be fine."

With a short nod, Varian shoved Hector's arm off his head. "I'll be waiting near the ravine. Don't be late."

"Punctuality is important for gentlemen," Quirin replied with a wry smile. "I'll be right on time." Slinging a satchel over his shoulder, he left in the direction Hector had come from, Kiki guiding his way.

Hector hopped back up into the trees. "Get to the ditch. We'll meet you there. Don't leave that spot till we arrive."

"Be careful."

"Always am." He flashed a sharp grin. "And I'll keep an eye on the old man. Don't worry, he loves doing this."

Varian nodded and turned to head back to the trap he and Quirin had set. Hector watched him go, a softer smile replacing his carefree grin. Though Varian had initially balked at the idea of letting Quirin go by himself (and Hector could never forget the terror in his eyes when Quirin had went out alone to face the tyrant king, so scared he would lose his father yet again), he had relented when Hector assured him he'd be up in the trees, keeping a watchful eye on everything that happened. Quirin wouldn't be fully alone, though Hector would have no need to step in. His brother, though not one for theatrics the way Hector was, enjoyed the chase as much as the rest of them. And the excitement that lit his face when he'd suggested this plan was the excitement of a younger man, twenty-five years of jaded bitterness falling away from his shoulders.

Hector followed noiselessly, leaving Riki to stay with Varian and Ruddiger. His eyes met Quirin's through the softly-waving branches. As they traveled on, a spark raced through Hector's blood. This was as it should be, their family together again, shoulder to shoulder. This was everything he'd missed all those years alone at the Tree. First with Adira as the Tree fell apart, then again staring down an army with Varian in his arms and his siblings by his side, and now finally feeling the thrill of the hunt, both to protect the village and to track down the thief.

Shortly before the bandits' camp came into view, Quirin stopped. Kneeling down, he scooped up a handful of dirt, rubbing some on his clothes and face. As Hector watched on in silence, a change came over him; in place of the soldier Quirin, tall and proud with a noble set to his shoulders, there stood before him a weary, frightened villager, clutching the strap of his satchel in trembling fingers. With one last smile in Hector's direction, he stumbled on unsteady legs towards the camp.

Seven heads looked up at his arrival, conversation halting in its tracks as he sprinted in their direction and abruptly stopped, mouth parting in surprise as his trained eye captured every detail of their campsite. Eight bodies stood frozen.

Quirin took a hesitant step backward, and that was all the Yellowjackets needed. One of them stepped forward, a mock friendly smile splayed across his ugly mug. "Hello there, friend," he began. "Out for a stroll? It's dangerous in these parts."

"I apologize for disturbing you," Quirin said, adopting the soft accent of the villagers they'd met. "I'll be on my way."

"Well we can't have that, can we? Never know what sort of folk you might run into." Around them, the bandits began to slowly circle to the sides to hem him in.

"Leave me be," Quirin ordered.

"Of course, of course… but perhaps you could spare some supplies for travelers such as yourself? Maybe that satchel, then?"

Quirin tensed. His fingers tightened around the leather strap. Taking another step backward, his eyes darted from one man to the next. Spinning around, he ran, darting past the bandits who tried to block his path.

Their leader motioned to his men. "Get him," he ordered coldly.

They followed after Quirin. Hector followed them.

The chase led them through the woods, Quirin keeping just close enough to his pursuers that they didn't lose hope of catching him. As he turned his head to see how far back they were, Hector caught sight of the poorly-concealed smile he wore. He was enjoying this, the smug cretin.

The ravine came into sight. A long, winding divot worn out by water and fallen trees, it concealed perfect hiding spots and offered plenty of ambush space. Most importantly, it offered Varian an opportunity to show off his skills.

Quirin jumped down into it, ducking under low-hanging limbs and darting with deceptive lightness around rocks. The bandits followed him in. If Hector had any doubt that every single one was inexperienced, he lost it as the last one descended. They didn't leave even a single one to follow along the top of the ravine.

Further on, the ravine widened out, leaving a hollow bowl-shaped crater. Quirin stopped in the dead center. The bandits swarmed in behind him. Cold laughs and the ringing of metal on leather filtered up to the trees. Quirin let his satchel fall from his shoulder.

"Nowhere to run now," their leader cackled.

Out from behind a boulder, Varian stepped. He held out Quirin's sword, hilt-first. Quirin took it and smiled at Varian. "Thank you, son."

Hector dropped from the trees behind the bandits, flicking his wrist to release his blade. They whirled around in surprise. His lips curled in a satisfied smirk, sharp canines glinting in the late afternoon light. The bearcats circled the group, snarling and growling.

The head moron recovered from his shock quickly. "It would appear we were expected," he said. "Did our little friends in the village scrape enough money together to hire some muscle?"

Hector motioned to his bearcats. "Go hunting," he ordered. "See if anyone else is lurking around." As they clambered out of the ravine and disappeared, he gave a sweeping bow. "It seems we've forgotten to properly introduce ourselves. Sir Hector, of the Brotherhood." Their faces paled a shade at that.

Quirin bowed next. "Lord Quirin Enlinson, of the Brotherhood."

Hector gave a small nod to Varian, who took a quick breath and echoed, "Sir Varian, of the Brotherhood." Crossing one of his short swords over his chest, he bowed as well.

The Yellowjackets shuffled nervously. These few must have heard from their predecessors just what the Brotherhood was and what they were capable of. Hector paced forward a few steps. "And pray tell, are you these fearsome rapscallions that bothered our friends? It's rather time you moved on, don't you think? Your work here is done."

"Is that so? Seems to me there's seven of us and only three of you." He cast a scornful glare at Varian. "Well, two and a half."

"I'll cut you down to my height," he threatened.

"If you think you have a chance against us, by all means," Quirin said. "We'll be happy to oblige."

Wisely, the man raised his hands. "We aren't here for bloodshed, gentlemen. We'll be on our way."

Varian nodded to Ruddiger, perched up on the rocks. The raccoon yanked a rope, setting a small tree free from its precarious perch. Varian's traps were a thing of beauty. How had Hector been so lucky to have such a brilliant, wonderful boy as his sword-son? As the ring of felled trees dropped into their places, forming a barrier over the entrance to the crater and around the edges to prevent exit, a swell of pride rose in his chest. Yes, Varian would be a brilliant knight, a master strategist, and a crowning jewel in the legacy of Queen Val. The largest tree fell, crashing down in the midst of the Yellowjackets, and they scattered to either side— three on Hector's, and four with Varian and Quirin.

Hector gave a second mocking bow to their leader. "Shall we, my friends?"

To their credit, they tried their best. They really did. It wasn't their fault they'd been pitifully trained. As Hector swatted their swords aside and sent each one sprawling into the dirt, he fought back a yawn. They scrambled back up, lunging time and again. Hector crossed his right arm behind his back as he parried their blows. One of them withdrew a whip from his belt, lashing out at his right side. Hector ducked backward, grabbing the end and yanking it forward. As the man stumbled and fell, he brought his knee upward, slamming it into the bandit's face.

The remaining conscious two circled him warily. Tired of waiting, Hector darted forward, dispatching one with a kick to the side of his head. Then he caught their leader by the throat, pinning him against the fallen tree.

With wide and panicked eyes, the man rasped out, "First the crazy rock lady, then you freaks! I'm done. Let me live, and I'm out of here! Won't bother anyone again, honest!"

Hector tensed. Leaning closer to the man, he hissed, "What crazy rock lady?"

O‴O‴O‴

In all honesty, things had been going a bit too smoothly.

But Varian was really working to correct his overly-cynical worldview and think more positively, and he'd allowed himself to believe that things were working in their favor for once.

Two of the bandits rushed for the ravine walls instantly, but the barrier of branches and trees he'd set blocked their path. With no other option, they turned to face their opponents. Quirin engaged three of them in combat, while Varian took the fourth and last.

The man swung a thick club. Varian stepped back, slowly twisting his swords. Centering his mind the way Hector taught him, he ignored the nagging worry that demanded he check on Quirin. His father was fine; he was a knight of the Brotherhood, and these fools were hopelessly outmatched if they thought three was enough to subdue him. Varian, however, was a little less experienced. Tilting his head, he let his bangs fall over his right eye. It was harder to see from this angle, but keeping his head straight and his eye covered concealed his weakness.

He jumped back as the club swooped through the air at his head. Bringing the blade in his left hand up, Varian lunged forward and drove the end at the man's extended arm. Blood sprang up, staining his shirt and Varian's sword. Drawing his right hand up, Varian crossed his blades over the man's wrist. "Drop it," he hissed.

The heavy club fell to the ground. And so did Varian, as the man's other fist lashed up and caught him across the cheek. Scrambling up, he instinctively pushed his hair out of his face and lifted his swords again. But now the man carried a thick dagger, swiping haphazardly back and forth. Varian parried each blow, lightly stepping back each time. This man fought nothing like Hector; while his uncle's movements were lithe and graceful, unpredictable in their water-like flow, this man was all brute force, driving hit after hit in a reckless, erratic manner.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he knocked the knife away. The bandit lunged forward and grabbed his arm, yanking his sword away. Then the cool metal rested against Varian's throat, his back pressed against a burly chest. He drove his other sword back, and a sharp yell accompanied the tangy scent of blood as it connected with the bandit's leg. The sharp edge of his other sword dug into his throat, and he stopped moving. "Drop it," the man echoed his own words.

Gritting his teeth, Varian obeyed. His skin crawled, nerves on fire as he was forced to stand still in the man's hold. Waves of nausea tore through his abdomen.

Quirin slammed his forehead against one of his own opponent's face, knocking him to the ground. With a snarl, he whirled around, sword lifted and aimed at Varian's captor. "I'll kill you."

Hector leapt up onto the tree dividing the ravine. In a low crouch, he withdrew a knife from his belt, slowly spinning it in his fingers. "Let go of the kid," he drawled casually. "This ain't a fight you'll win." Over on the rocks at the edge of the ravine, Ruddiger hissed and spat, his small claws digging into the stones as his back arched.

"Let me go," the thug ordered. "Or I'll spill his guts out." He pressed the sword closer to Varian's throat, the small hilt disappearing completely in his meaty hand. His other hand wrapped tighter around Varian's wrist, too much like manacles, too constricting and hard and unmoving and painful and too much likeback then, with cold metal and heavy fists on his skin, with sneering guards holding him too tightly—

His eyes met Hector's; a slight nod from the warrior and a quick cut of his eyes to Varian's left, where Quirin slowly lowered his sword, holding it loosely in one hand, his other hand by his side. Hector landed lightly on the ground, pacing forward calmly. "You won't do that," he said. "You're not stupid. You'll let him go, and you'll walk away. Or you'll end up like your pals here."

"Don't think I won't!" The man's hand shook. "You don't wanna see the kid get hurt, you back up!"

Hector lifted his hands placidly. "Calm down. I just— oh, Adira, finally!" He glanced over to his left.

The thug turned to see, the sword drifting away from Varian's neck. Varian dove to the left, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket. Quirin's left hand grabbed the back of Varian's shirt as his right fist slammed into the arm still holding Varian's wrist. Hector's sword flashed above their heads.

Something hot seeped into Varian's clothes, splattering across his skin, dripping down his hair and under his collar. It covered the side of his face, gathering between his lips and in his ear and under his eyelid. The scents of copper and salt drowned out his senses, flooding him in a field of red, red, red, red—

Then familiar yellow eyes entered his field of vision, and gloved hands hovered in front of him before drifting away to push Quirin's hands off of him. A soft, raspy voice murmured softly, like it was trying to calm a skittish creature. "That's it, you're safe, there you go. You did good, kid. That was good. I'm so proud of you."

Muffled sobs echoed in his ears, half-choked through breathless lungs. His throat ached. Was that him crying, then? Why? He was fine, and Hector was proud of him, even though he'd lost a fight to an untrained thug and been used as leverage against his family, and even though he was kneeling on the ground covered in someone else's blood. And the blood was in his mouth, and on his clothes, and staining his skin, but it wasn't his blood this time, so that was better, right? Wasn't it?

Hector's voice still shushed and whispered soft encouragement, while a gentle purring sounded near Varian's knees. A furry body brushed up against him, hesitant and gentle; when he didn't move, it pressed in further, the soft rumbling vibrating up his legs.

"Hector," Quirin's strained voice came from somewhere off to the side. It held an odd note of helplessness. Varian frowned. Quirin was never helpless; he always seemed to know exactly what needed to be done. Then maybe he'd misunderstood; maybe it was stress? Or frustration. Yeah, he got frustrated a lot. But that wasn't his frustrated voice.

"We need cloth and water," Hector ordered. "It'll do until we can get him over to the river and get him cleaned up properly."

"I'll head back to the camp. Anything else? Oh, clothes, we'll need more clothes." He stood and climbed up onto the fallen tree, walking up the trunk to get out of the ravine. Varian watched him go, a steady and familiar throbbing in his chest as the man's broad back disappeared into the forest.

"Hey, let's get this off, yeah?" Hector's hands lifted slightly, a cloth held in one. "Can I touch your face?"

Varian gave a jerky nod.

The cloth rested against his cheek, brushing slowly back and away. It slipped between his lips, clearing the acrid taste away. "There we go, got most of it. We'll get you all cleaned up when Quirin gets back. I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean for that to get all over you. Just… had to get him away from you. You're okay, right? Not hurt?"

Varian shrank away from his hands. His fingers dug into the fabric of his cloak, drawing it tightly around his shoulders. Sidling backward, he leaned his back against a large rock, drawing his knees up to his chest. Tremors ran up and down his frame, his muscles drawn and tight. His chest burned. How he longed to beg Hector to look away, to stop staring at him in such concern, to stop bearing witness to his weakness! For that's all this was, his weakness, all the proof they needed that Varian was no knight. He was no soldier. He was barely an acolyte, afraid of blood, unable to hold his own. The weak link in the chain. A disgrace to the lineage of Queen Val.

How long he sat lost in his own mind, he couldn't quite tell, but then Hector was kneeling in front of him again, a clean rag in his hand. "Let's get the rest of this off, okay? You'll feel better then."

Varian didn't move as the rag touched his skin. Cool water trickled down his skin from the fabric. Hector worked slowly, speaking to let him know what he was going to do before he made any movement. A gentle hand tipped his head back as the rag glided over his hair, working the blood loose from his braid and bangs. When Hector was finished, he gave a slight tug to Varian's shirtsleeve. "Wanna get this off and get some clean clothes on?"

He shot a quick glance over to Quirin, who once again knelt nearby with an open canteen in his hands.

His father stood. "I'll give you some privacy," he offered. Varian's breaths came a bit easier at that as Quirin paced a few steps away, turning away from them.

He let Hector help him out of the shirt. Once they'd gotten the blood off his shoulder and arm, he slipped on the spare. It was one of his longer-sleeved tunics. A sudden warmth sprang up in his chest at Quirin's thoughtfulness.

From over the tree barrier, Adira arrived, hopping down into the ravine. She paused, taking in the bodies strewn across the ground and the state of her family. "What the dickens happened here?"

A short laugh broke from Varian's chest at her use of Hector's slang.

"I leave you people alone for one hour," she grumbled, sitting next to Hector. "Can't let them do anything. Hector, you imbecile, if you broke my favorite nephew, I'll break your legs."

"Hey," he growled back. "Wasn't my fault." Then, with a thoughtful hum, he tacked on, "Actually… no, not really my fault, just… by proxy?"

"I'll break your legs by proxy, then."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

She ignored him and drew something from her bag. "Varian,malysh, take a look at this and tell me if it's what I think it is."

Varian lifted his head and blinked languidly. In her hands, she held a scroll, unrolled and faced towards him. Leaning closer, he examined the careful, small script. "That's… That's Demanitus's writing!" he gasped. "That's his code!" Sitting up straighter, he reached out and took the scroll. "Hm. Pretty scattered notes, nothing really definitive. Not like his usual work. But it's scratch paper, I think. Notes about the incantations. Mostly… yeah, this one's all about the Moonstone. Not a full incantation, just guesses and notes. Where did you get this?"

"How did you do that?" Hector muttered under his breath, shooting Adira a mock glare.

She gave him a smug smile in return. As Quirin rejoined them, she explained her trip to intercept the caravan. "The scrolls were in a locked box headed for Corona," she informed them. "Not sure who requested them, but they were originally from Galcrest."

"Well." Hector stood. "That explains a lot. And now we know what our friends here were after."

"Do tell," Adira hummed.

"Their head idiot— who, by the way, is tied up over there— mentioned a 'crazy rock lady'. Sound familiar? Said she hired them to do a job for her. Get something from the caravan. So now we know what she wants. And Varian was right."

"'Course I was." Varian lowered the scroll. "About what?"

"The handmaiden can't control the Moonstone's power. She needs more information, more incantations. Until then, she's just a kid with a weapon she don't understand. So now's the perfect time to take it from her."

Varian nodded. "Of course! Agh, stupid, stupid! I told her— I told her about the third and fourth incantations! Back in the Dark Kingdom. She knows the third one's on the scroll! But we have it, and she can't get to it, so she'll do the next best thing, which is to find the rest of Demanitus's notes and figure out how to translate them like I did. Or hope that some of them are written in a language she can read." His mouth opened in a soundless gasp. Of course! He should have guessed it weeks ago. "And… Oh. I know where she'll go next."

A note on culture and worldbuilding:

So the worldbuilding in TTS is, to put it bluntly, the bane of my existence. We've got fictional countries, real countries, and fictionally-named real countries. I'll be building the Dark Kingdom as a separate culture, not a fictionally-named real country, but it will be inspired by some real cultures that would be in the surrounding area of the DK and thus add to their cultural heritage. The "old tongue" of the DK will be fictional, but I will have some other languages referenced, such as Russian (The word that Adira calls Varian, Малыш [or malysh, means "little one" in Russian.) If anyone has any tips or advice, I'd love to hear it!

As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thank you and God bless!