Author's Note: This is the beginning of my fourth (and hopefully final!) rewrite of this novel. If you were read the previous version and would like a copy of it, let me know and I will give you the link to the Google doc where it's stored. That being said, I really hope you enjoy this version as much as I am so far! I will be working on this novel for NaNo 2017 and will be posting regular updates. Thanks for reading!

Prologue

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

That was all Felix Calder could think as he was led out to Damagra's city square. The rope was cutting into his hands behind him and his fingers had long since gone numb. Two sandy-haired men in the crowd jeered at him. One of them threw back his head and spit on him. Felix tried not to acknowledge them; this final insult hardly mattered when he would be dead within the hour.

Instead, he focused on the head of the Corovean man in front of him- his fellow prisoner and supposed co-conspirator, though Felix had only known il Ventanido for a span of three days. Behind him was Sir Evander Sullivan, with whom he had ventured to the Sarivandic Empire as an ambassador and protector of the King. Now it seemed like ten years had passed since they left their homes in Arcavis.

His stomach lurched as he thought of home. He would never see his father again, his sister, his wife, his son... They would only be left with the story-the lie-of how he had betrayed a decade of peace with cold-blooded murder. In that moment, he considered trying to make a break for it. But between the guards on either side of him, the bowmen stationed in the surrounding towers, and the thousands of citizens crowding around to watch him die, he knew that attempting to escape would just be another form of execution.

His feet guided him up the wooden stairs of the platform in the center of the square and he followed along as the Valthanic and Sarivandic soldiers directed him and the eight other prisoners to stand in a line facing the throngs of people. Felix looked out into the sea of heads, mostly fair-haired and cloaked in black in memoriam for their murdered Emperor. Only days ago, he had walked this same square freely, appreciating the severe architectural style of the buildings and watching pigeons gather around as people fed them. It was a far different place now.

Near the edge of the platform stood a man in his mid-twenties, around Felix's own age. He was dressed in elegant military regalia, the deep navy blue of Valthann, the golden epaulets that denoted a senior officer in the imperial army of Sarivand. The man's face, pale with a dark beard, wore a different expression than those worn by the thousands looking up at him from below. He almost seemed... happy. Gleeful. He had a zeal about him like a child on the first day of Midwinter.

As Felix examined him, he realized he knew this man. Not in the way he knew Evander or even the way he knew il Ventanido. He knew this man from the dining hall where their congress had been held. He was the servant of Nicolas Illarion, the ambassador from Sarivand's vassal state, Valthann, and son-in-law of the Emperor. Or, at least, Illarion was once the son-in-law of the Emperor; now he was the Emperor himself and his servant had clearly been elevated in status as well.

Felix observed all this with dead eyes. None of it mattered anymore. He simply stood where he was told to stand and tried not to look at the headsman's axe standing proudly nearby. The servant-turned-general began to address the crowd in what seemed like well-spoken Sarivandic and he tried to follow along, though he had only a passing understanding of the language.

"...who come here as lambs but prove themselves wolves. These are the murderers of your Emperor, blasphemers against your God, pretenders to peace who walk the paths of war. Today, we bring you justice!"

The crowd, which had been groaning in low moans during most of the speech, erupted into cheers with this last word. Felix shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. It would be over soon. He felt his heart fall to the bottom of his stomach as he thought again of Sarah holding their son in her arms, her soft gray eyes smiling up at him; he nearly fell to pieces then and there.

When he opened his eyes, he saw one of the soldiers leading the first victim to the block in the center of the platform. With a jolt, he saw that it was King Garidan; without a thought, he felt his legs pull himself forward, moving toward the headsman reflexively in a last effort to protect his King. But a sudden force collided into the back of his head and he fell onto the wooden planks with a heavy thud. His vision blurred momentarily and he felt his face flush at the sound of uproarious laughter from the audience.

"It would seem your life is spared a moment longer, Majesty," the servant-general said, with mocking emphasis on the last word. "I suppose even traitors such as you are capable of inspiring loyalty in those that serve you."

Strong hands lifted Felix back up to his knees and he saw Garidan staring back at him with apology in his eyes. "Bring the fool to the block," the servant-general barked.

Felix was dragged toward the large stone block. Sitting this closely to it, he could see what he imagined to be hundreds of years of blood soaked into its surface. He drew a deep breath and paused to collect himself. Before he could exhale, one of the soldiers that had dragged him to the block shoved him onto it with a foot on his back. Up above, the headsman gazed down at him dispassionately and raised his axe.

2: The Fall of Almsway

The wind churned the gray clouds and smoke in the darkening sky, sending ashes into a frenzy all around. The crops west of Almsway were burning in the wake of the Sarivandic army that had been pounding against the walls of the city since the small hours of the morning. Tristan's eyes ached with the heat and want of sleep. His throat was sore from shouting over the din of battle. And every inch of his body longed for rest. Down in the city streets behind the wall, he could see his grandfather, Odhis, handing out commands to their men and the sight gave him a small comfort; if the greatest hero of the Credo-Rauman wars was on their side, they couldn't fail.

He turned back to the burning fields, the massive army, and the exhausted men handling crossbows and ballistae around him and his uneasiness returned. With the exception of Dovepiece, there was no Arcavis west of Almsway. The Emperor's army had seized control of the cities and brutalized the countryside. Hundreds of refugees had flocked eastward, taking their families as far as their money could carry them. Several such families had settled in Almsway over the last few years, poor and broken with nowhere to go. There was no real reason that Almsway should be any different than Gullsforde or Amblelycke or Ashfirth.

One of the men nearby handed him a discharged crossbow, which Tristan traded with a loaded one. He wasn't a good enough shot to actually shoot the weapons and, as he was only fifteen, Lord Odhis had barely agreed to let him on the wall at all; Tristan convinced him in the end to at least let him load the bows. And so he stood behind a farmer's son and busied himself with the more menial task.

Without warning, there was a booming sound like thunder and the top of the wall fell away from his feet. Tristan grabbed at air in a futile attempt to keep from falling. A chunk of stone dashed against his head on the way down and suddenly he collapsed hard against the debris, his arm twisted, bruised, and cut, the wind forced out of him all at once.

He heard a roar above him, the cry of a thousand thousand men reveling in their victory. Rocks shifted all around him as the enemy made its way through the torn wall. One of them stepped on his back and a groan escaped his lips. A woman screamed from inside the city and the noise of it echoed through his pounding head. He moved his toes just to make sure he still could, began to pull his legs to action.

"Tristan!"

His grandfather's gravelly voice cutting through the stomping feet and skittering rocks and shouts from the city. The clash of steel and the sound of bodies falling to the ground. A hand on his shoulder, on his arm as it radiated sharp, deep pain.

Tristan opened his eyes dizzily and coughed a harsh, full-body cough that lit up all the other dull pains he had been ignoring. Odhis's calloused hands wrapped around his underarm and the back of his neck and pulled, Tristan's legs doing half the work of extracting himself from the rubble. Odhis wasted no time in pulling him as far away from the breach in the wall as possible and he stumbled along behind, struggling to keep up.

When Odhis stopped to look him over, Tristan nearly collided into him, his legs still shaking and sore. The Lord of Teadwyn didn't say a word, just looked into his eyes, examined the cut on his brow, and tenderly checked his left arm. The old man grimaced, his gray beard smudged with tar; his olive eyes passed over his grandson's swaying form and swept over the influx of enemy soldiers entering the city.

"Lucas!" Odhis shouted to Tristan's cousin, a dark and lanky young man some twenty feet away who leapt to his lord's side nearly instantaneously. "Take him to the Grounds. See if you can find someone to help him."

"I-I can fight," Tristan said numbly, the words falling flat on even his own ears.

"You should come with us, sir," Lucas said, ignoring Tristan. "At this rate, the enemy will have most of the city within the hour."

Odhis raised a shrewd eyebrow at this. "I have been at war most of my life. I won't stop now. Not after Felix." The silver-haired lord glanced first at Tristan, who was still too dazed to fully process what was happening, and then back to Lucas. "You have your orders. Go."

Lucas hesitated only momentarily before taking Tristan by his good arm and winding his way through the city, carefully avoiding the places dense with Sarivandic and Valthanic soldiers. Tristan gritted his teeth, more focused on the pain than the horror taking place around him. After what felt like an eternity, Lucas slowed to a halt, crouching behind some barrels in an alleyway.

Tristan looked ahead into the crossroads they had come to; three massive Valthanic soldiers were locked in combat with a tawny-haired man wearing the green and gold of the Calder family and two farmers, one old and curmudgeonly, the other young and lean. "Wait... isn't that...?" Tristan wondered aloud, his mind moving in slow motion to make the connection.

"Get down," Lucas hissed and yanked him down into a kneeling position. In his other hand, he was holding a small Escarian bomb, the outside of which was marked with inscriptions in a language Tristan had always thought must be at least half made up. Lucas pinched the fuse in two fingers and a small flame ignited between. "Bati! Move!" he yelled, standing up and preparing to throw the bomb.

The man in Calder colors turned and saw them. He motioned for the farmers to step back from the fight and hopped out of the way himself. Tristan's eyes followed the bomb as it sailed through the sky and landed noisily among the Valthans. The explosion sent dirt and pebbles flying and when the smoke cleared, the Imperialists were lying on the ground, a grisly sight.

Lucas ran out into the crossroads to greet his father, leaving Tristan to stumble forward, gaze locked on a soldier whose arm had come off in the blast. It was horrific to look at, blood and tissue splattered all around, but he couldn't look away.

"... come with us. It's dangerous out here," he heard Lucas say.

"I can do more good out here," Maddux replied stubbornly. "I owe it to the people and to Odhis."

"Lucas," Tristan interrupted.

"You owe it to me to live," Lucas argued. "Grampa made his decision, but you don't have to make the same one. We could escape. You, me, mother..."

"Lucas," Tristan said more urgently.

"We could take people with us," Lucas continued. "To Deepwalk... or further. That would be better for every-"

"Lucas!"

"What?!"

Tristan pointed at the dead soldier he had been watching. The stump of the man's arm gurgled at first, then there was a subtle movement in the bloody tissue at the end. Now, sinews had started sprouting from the stump, twisting around one another. Bone protruded from the center, first the marrow, then the hard exterior formed all around it. The soldier began to stir.

Lucas's golden skin had blanched slightly. "Revenant." His voice was hardly a whisper, nearly inaudible over the sounds of war now on the far side of town.

Tristan watched as the dead soldier's arm rebuilt itself. His blood ran ice cold as all three soldiers got back on their feet and smiled at them with sharp, toothy grins. "How-"

"Get to the Grounds," Maddux interrupted. "Now."

Tristan and Lucas exchanged nervous glances. "You're coming with us," Lucas demanded again, but Maddux drew his sword and stepped toward the Revenants.

"I'll hold them off but it will all be for nothing unless you go," Lucas's father said with a hardness in his voice.

Tristan nudged Lucas forward in the direction of Calder Grounds but Lucas remained firmly in place. "If you won't come with us, then we'll fight with you," he said defiantly, drawing two daggers from his side, each erupting into a coating of flame.

One of the Valthans charged and Maddux met his blade easily. The other two slowly ambled toward Lucas and Tristan with hungry, wolfish grins. Tristan drew his sword as well, the motion sending shivers of pain down his broken arm; he clenched his teeth together to keep from showing the agony of it on his face.

"Stay back," Lucas said quietly and lunged at one of the huge soldiers.

Tristan drew a ragged breath and met the eyes of the last Imperialist, raising his blade as an invitation. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he was in no shape to fight but he ignored it. He was going to die here anyway. It might as well be at the hands of some undead giant.

The Valthanic man carried a longsword in one huge hand with as much ease as Tristan might hold a willow branch and his wicked smile revealed pointed, yellow teeth. He said something in Valthanic, a deep, rumbling voice that shook in Tristan's bones. The soldier lifted his sword and brought it down heavily above Tristan's head.

Tristan mustered all his strength to block the attack, but his arm collapsed under the weight. His shaking legs buckled and he collapsed onto the ground, the edge of the sword landing a breath away. The Valthanic man boomed in laughter at this narrow escape before putting his large foot on Tristan's chest and bearing down on it.

Tristan gasped in pain but the cry was muffled as the air was pressed out of his lungs. He tried to push the man off him with one hand, pounded his leg with a balled fist, clawed at the hard leather pants he wore, but the effort only made things worse. His arm throbbed and his eyes grew heavy. He looked up at the dark-haired man smirking back at him and gave in.

Then something bright and orange caught his attention. The man's head was on fire. The weight of his foot moved off Tristan's chest and air flooded his lungs all at once. Lucas's form appeared above, his dark brows knitted together in concern, eyes red around the edges.

He took Lucas's hand and struggled to pull himself back to his feet. Standing upright, he saw the soldier that had nearly killed him dunk his head into a barrel of water. There were several bodies on the ground nearby; two of them were also on fire. The third wore green and gold... "Lucas," Tristan choked out but he was only tugged away, back into the dark alleys of the city.

Lucas was silent.

It seemed to take ages to reach their family's ancestral fortress, Calder Grounds, as they wandered along the edges of town, meandering away from the screams and cries for help. When they finally did arrive, Tristan thought he might collapse onto the stone path to the entrance.

It was an eerie sight seeing the castle fully prepared for war. Tristan had known war his entire life. He had seen soldiers set off for battle and he had seen them come back less than whole. But it had always been some distant thing, overseas, or in some other city, never Almsway. Never home.

His mother met them at the gate and flung her arms around both of them, her ivory skin paler than usual. "Praise Aren you're alright," she whispered into their necks. When she pulled away, Tristan realized she was wearing full leather armor and carrying a sword on her hip. "I saw the wall break and I thought...," she paused, her slate eyes sparkling slightly. "Well, nevermind what I thought."

"You're not fighting," he said more as a question than a statement. He had always known his mother to be a gentle woman, not prone to violence. Seeing her like this... he wondered if he might be concussed.

She gave him a sad smile and brushed some hair from his face. "They murdered your father. I'll gut every last one of them if given the chance." She spoke the words with the same melodic tones she had used to tell him stories when he was a child and the warmth of it surprised him. "Come on," she continued, "let's find someone to see to you."

Lucas followed behind him as she led them into the Grounds, her long, brown hair swaying gently behind her. Men in green and gold opened the doors before them to reveal a vast entrance hall with a tapestry hanging on the far wall, above a set of double stairs leading off to either noticed for the first time how dusty and worn the golden griffin rampant looked on the emerald tapestry. They continued on, through a smaller door under the stair landing, into the main hall, where wounded men and women were laid out on the various tables with volunteers from the city tending their injuries.

A leather-clad woman with caramel skin and dark hair spotted them from near the back of the room and pushed her way through the crowds of people gathered in the hall. Tristan's aunt, Lihara, pulled Lucas in for a tight hug, her hand wrapping around his head soothingly. Tristan noticed she had a crossbow hanging at her side.

A short, old woman grabbed his jaw, distracting him from his family, and examined the cut on his head before leading him over to a table to sit down. Soon, his arm was bound in a sling and his head bandaged as he sipped at a horrible concoction of the woman's own making.

The doors opened again at the end of the hall and a pair of men came stumbling in. One of them was covered in blood and barely holding onto consciousness. The old woman, satisfied with her work, hurried over to help the new arrivals.

Tristan's mother, Sarah, sat on the table beside him. "I have to ask you to do something," she said softly, taking his hand in hers. "And I want you to promise me that you'll do it."

Tristan turned an eyebrow up at her. "What is it?"

She hesitated and rested her head on his shoulder. "I need you to leave," she answered. "Through the garden passage. Go to Deepwalk. Get as far away as you can."

"What about Almsway?" Tristan asked, his mind thick with whatever had been in the old woman's concoction. Sarah didn't answer. "What about you? And everyone else?"

"Let Odhis and me worry about Almsway." She squeezed his hand. "You have to get out while you can. I won't watch them kill you like they did your father. Lucas will go with you."

"You want me to just..." Tristan let the words trail off in exasperation. "I can't. And Lucas... he won't go either, you know."

"He will. You both will," she said firmly. "This city is dying but our family will not die with it. Someone must make sure the crown does not forget these people as it's forgotten Amblelycke and Ashfirth."

Tristan swallowed, trying in vain to come to terms with her request. At last, he nodded and she hugged him close to her. She pulled a ring out of a pouch at her side. "Odhis knew he wouldn't make it back here. He gave this to me for safe keeping," she explained, pressing it into his palm.

It was his grandfather's ring, small but heavy with the golden griffin on the seal. Tristan's eyes began to burn. "He saved me...," he murmured. "I was on the wall when it fell and he saved me. And I just... I just left him there..." His hand was shaking and he nearly dropped the ring.

Sarah wiped a tear away from his face. "It's alright, dove," she whispered.

"I didn't say goodbye," he sputtered. "I didn't even say thank you." He pushed the ring back into her hands. "I don't... I-I can't..." He shook his head.

"Nonsense," Sarah countered. "This is who you are. Tristan Calder, son of Felix, son of Odhis." She took his trembling hand and slipped the ring onto one of his fingers. It was comically oversized and she had to suppress a small smile. "Although it would seem you have my slender hands..."

Tristan smiled feebly back at her.

"Here." She took the golden chain he wore around his neck, which bore a small griffin charm she had given him when he was a small boy, and added the ring to it before sliding it back over his head. Sarah ran a hand through his hair tenderly and kissed his forehead. "You need to rest. You've been out there all day." She took a pillow and blanket from a cart standing between tables and helped him remove his chestplate and sword. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you if I hear anything."

He nodded and laid back, his head sinking into the soft, down pillow. His arm was still aching, though the pain had dulled thanks to whatever awful brew the healer had given him. Tristan held the ring again and studied the ancient symbol of their family. Looking at it was like listening to an echo of Almsway's history, through wars and famine, harvests and industry. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach and a chill swept across his body that had nothing to do with the cold.

He decided to look out the window to the rising moon instead, but found it covered with clouds and heavy rain falling against the thick glass. He didn't remember hearing the rain start but now he heard it pounding against the roof up above. There was something relaxing in the steady pattering it made. He shut his eyes to rest them for a moment or two.

When he opened them again, the hall was dark and silent. He raised up to look around and found that his shoulder and arm no longer hurt, nor were they wrapped in the sling. More importantly, the room was entirely deserted. The rain was still pelting the windows outside and occassionally a flash of lightning made strange shadows on the walls.

Tristan slid off the table, leaving his blanket and pillow there. He picked up his sheathed sword from the bench where his mother had left it only moments ago. "Mother?" he called out into the shadows, hoping she might answer from some corner. Nothing.

He took a few cautious steps toward the door at the front of the hall. The sudden crack of thunder made him jump a few inches in the air and his heart flinched in his chest. He drew his sword, holding his scabbard at his side, and moved toward the door ahead. The whole world was deathly quiet except for the tapping of rain on the roof above. He reached out to the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open slowly.

The entrance hall on the other side was well-lit with candles. His mother was standing in front of him, smiling warmly back at him. The rest of the room was empty. "Miri?" Tristan asked. "Where did everyone go?"

Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but only a low, guttural croak came out. Her eyes widened. Her hands flew to her throat and red began to seep through her fingers. She crumpled to her knees, blood falling from her mouth now, and Tristan dropped his sword to try and catch her in his arms. She was trembling and pale against his tan skin, looking up, past him, to the ceiling, or to God, or to nothing. And like that, she was gone.

The doors of the castle swung open. Tristan didn't notice, didn't hear the clash of swords ringing out, didn't care. His mother was dead. Nothing else mattered. She had shown him how to plant a garden. How to read- and how to love reading. How to cook. How to dance. How to laugh and how to love with every piece of his soul. She believed in him the way she believed the sun would rise in the morning and he hadn't been there to protect her. He wished the Revenant had crushed the life out of him in the muddy streets of Almsway. It would have been easier that way.

"Tristan, wake up!"

The floor crumbled away beneath him and suddenly he was falling from the top of the city wall again, rocks and rubble plummeting alongside him. He collided with the earth below and his eyes jolted open.

Lucas was standing over him, coffee-colored hair falling forward to frame his face. "Finally. Come on. We're leaving."

"What?" Tristan asked blearily. Lucas pulled his blanket back and thrust his sword into his hand. "Wait, what's going on?"

"The bastards are in the yard outside," Lucas answered in a half-whisper as Tristan sat up on the table. "The doors won't hold them long. We have to go."

"What about everyone else?" Tristan gestured to the tables full of injured people all around them.

Lucas heaved a heavy sigh. "I know. But Sarah asked me to take you."

Tristan tried to count the heads in the room, but lost track of them somewhere around thirty-six. "How many can we get through the garden before the doors fall?"

"Of the wounded?" Lucas asked, his voice dripping in bewilderment. "Tristan, some of them aren't even fit to walk."

"How many of those that are?" Tristan asked again, this time with an edge to his voice. There was a loud bang coming from outside the hall and a hush fell over the room as everyone turned to see what would happen. The door remained shut.

Lucas shut his eyes and growled under his breath. "I don't know. Not many. And if we do, we'll leave a trail for them to follow us by. It's no good, Tristan."

Tristan nodded his head toward the two exits at the back of the hall. "Go make sure the way is clear. I'll get everyone ready to go."

Lucas glared at him and shook his head, but to Tristan's relief, he followed through anyway. Tristan glanced around the room; Lucas was right- several of the people lying on tables had bandages on their feet; others weren't even conscious. Some of them were children, not injured, but orphaned and scared. Others were doctors and healers who would undoubtedly be needed on the road. Some were soldiers with two strong arms that could fight if they had to. He tried to prioritize who would go first, but how do you prioritize human life? There was more pounding outside and he lost his focus.

He stood up, ignoring the thrumming in his arm, the stiffness in his legs. "Listen up!" he shouted, waving his sheathed sword to get everyone's attention. "We may have a way out, but I need your help to make it work."

Everyone was watching him expectantly and he felt a little queasy. He scanned the room again and spotted the old woman who had wrapped his arm and head earlier. "I need you...," he said, pointing, and looked again, this time picking out a grizzled veteran with bloodshot eyes and a red-spotted bandage around his shoulder. "And you... and you." He pointed out a lean man in thin leather armor who limped over to his table with the other two.

When they were near enough, Tristan spoke in a low voice. "We don't have a lot of time. There's a tunnel in the garden outside. It's narrow. Only wide enough for one person. What's the best way to get as many of these people out as possible with the least risk once they're out?"

"Is the end of the tunnel secure?" the veteran asked hesitantly.

"Lucas is checking now."

"The children should go first," the old woman said. "They're smaller. More of them will fit through at once."

"Not to mention, they're children," the veteran grumbled affably.

The scout shook his head. "The tunnel may be secure but the forests certainly aren't. We can't send children out there alone."

Tristan nodded in agreement. He turned to the veteran. "Gather up a handful of soldiers who can still hold a blade. They'll serve as our vanguard." The veteran bowed obediently and turned on his heel. Tristan turned to the old woman. "Organize the children. Have any healers follow them through." She nodded her head slightly, graciously. This only left the scout. "We need anyone skilled with a bow or the Elements." He raised his eyebrows apologetically. "They'll bring up the rear and take the most risk, but they're better equipped to protect us if the Imperialists break through."

The scout bowed. "Understood, m'lord," he said solemnly and set to his work.

The last word left Tristan reeling a bit. Lord? Him? He drew a deep breath and clutched at the ring hanging around his neck, fiddling with it absently. He walked to the back of the hall and opened one of the small doors that led out into the main courtyard. The rain had slowed, but it was still falling steadily. Clouds blocked the moon's light entirely, leaving the world in dark shadow. It would be difficult enough to get everyone through the small tunnel but in this weather it would be nearly impossible.

He heard splashing coming toward him through the shadows and the light from inside fell on Lucas, soaked through to the bones. "It's clear on the other end, as best I could tell," Lucas reported. "I can't see very far along the beach but... it'll have to do. What's the plan?"

Tristan held the door more widely open to allow Lucas to pass through. "You'll go through first and keep everyone together on the other side."

Lucas arched an eyebrow at him, his jaw set. "And trust you to come through on your own? You can't fight like this. What good do you think you're going to do if Valthann busts in?"

Tristan's shoulders fell. "I don't know," he said helplessly. "I haven't gotten that far yet. But I-"

"Good," Lucas interrupted. "Then you'll lead everyone through and I'll stay here and watch the back. And don't give me that look, either." He put a hand on either side of Tristan's head and shook it. "I have the common sense to leave when things get too dangerous."

Tristan stepped out of Lucas's reach. "You mean like at the crossroads earlier?" he retorted scathingly. Lucas made a face like he'd been stabbed and Tristan immediately regretted it. He averted his gaze, shuffling his feet.

Before he could apologize, there was a sound like splintering wood in the entrance hall next door and a wave of panic washed over the room. Tristan motioned for the veteran and his soldiers to follow him out the door. He patted Lucas on the shoulder. "Good luck." Lucas nodded before heading off to help the scouts and mages pile tables in front of the door between the entrance hall and the main hall.

The rain and wind outside had turned what had been a warm summer day into a chilly autumn night. Tristan held his broken arm close to his chest and picked out a path across the muddy courtyard and into the gardens his mother had so lovingly tended. He hated to trample the flowers and vegetables in the dark, but he reminded himself that it didn't matter anymore. The garden, along with the castle, would probably be burned.

When he came to the wall, he fumbled uselessly along its surface, looking for the rose bush that guarded the wooden panel. The veteran came up behind him with a lantern and together they found the tunnel's entrance: a small wooden panel at the base of the wall, built during the last war with Amennias in case of an attack on the city. But the only Amennian who had ever invaded Calder Grounds was his grandmother and the garden tunnel was more often used by Tristan and Lucas to escape to the beach and play than for anything of importance.

He ducked into the tunnel with the veteran just behind him and the lantern light filled the tiny space. It was smaller than he remembered and he had to stoop to walk through it, holding his arm tightly now to dull the ache in his shoulder. Spiders and earthworms crawled and slithered along the walls and floor and ceiling making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tried to focus on the exit a few dozen or so feet ahead of him but it was impossible to tell where the darkness of the tunnel ended and the darkness of night began.

At last, he felt the spray of rain and wind and sea on his face and he knew he was close. Then without warning he was nearly engulfed in water as a wave crashed headlong into him. He stumbled back and slipped in the loose soil underneath him. He heard a metallic clang and the golden light of the lantern went out as arms wrapped around him from behind, lifting him back up onto his feet. The veteran had caught him, but at the expense of their light source.

"Thanks," Tristan whispered, steadying himself against the tunnel wall. He waded forward through ankle-high water out into the cool night air. A pocket of dry land was about ten feet to the left and he stumbled toward it, grasping at a thin pillar of rock that jutted out of the ground near the edge of the water. He pulled off the thick bandage wound around his head and handed it to the veteran, who had followed him out. "Use this and whatever else you can find as rope, or else the kids will wash out to sea."

The veteran bowed deeply and set to work tying the bandage around the stone pillar. He watched as the veteran pulled it toward the tunnel until it was taut. But it was still about five feet too short. Tristan swore under his breath and looked around the dry land for a vine or even a particularly long piece of seaweed. He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around with his hand on his sword. It was only a child, wild-eyed and wet. He blinked at the child, then squinted into the dark to see the veteran had become the extra five feet of rope they needed and was helping person after person across the water to the shore.

Within a few minutes, two dozen people had made it over, mostly children with a few soldiers. Thinking they would make it further and were less likely to be seen if they left in small groups, Tristan divided them up and sent them on their way, telling them he would see them in Deepwalk in a few days. The truth was, he had no idea what he was doing or if they would make it to Deepwalk at all. But he had to tell them something and the children were terrified enough as it was.

High above them, on a steep cliff, the battle of Almsway was still being waged and he wondered if his mother and Lihara would make it out. The odds were slim, he figured bitterly. He still remembered his dream and he hoped that if his mother was dead that it had been swift and painless, that she hadn't been left trembling and alone.

He was sending off another group, this one comprised of the last of the healers, when he heard a scream coming from behind. He turned to see a swath of orange light flash like lightning inside the tunnel. People were pouring out of it, landing in the ocean and swimming as fast as they could. Some were too hurt to swim properly and they flailed aimlessly, drowning in the high tide. Another brilliant flash of orange and howling, tangled words in the harsh and punctuated language of the empire.

The veteran had let go of the make-shift rope and was swimming out to the people drowning in the salty sea. Some of the soldiers that had made it to dry land followed his example. Tristan scrambled to the stone pillar and grabbed the bandage rope, grasping it tightly as he made his way toward the tunnel. Waves broke over his shoulders and back with such force he nearly lost his grip.

There was another burst of light and this time Tristan was close enough to feel the heat roiling forward out of the tunnel toward him. They were coming in quick succession now. Flash. Flash. Flash. Each time the heat grew more intense and the wailing from inside grew louder and louder until there was a splash and two men fell into the water beside him. One of them was Lucas.

Tristan let go of the bandage rope and lifted Lucas up out of the water with the help of the scout he had spoken to before. Lucas's shoulders were heaving as he took in slow, deep breaths. "What happened?" Tristan asked but his question was answered when a Valthan came sprinting out of the tunnel behind them, his face covered in soot and dirt.

The scout dropped Lucas's arm and unsheathed the dagger at his side with frightening speed. Before Tristan knew what was happening, the Valthan was face-first in the water with the scout's boot on the back of his head. Another wave slammed into him, this time almost pulling him out to sea.

Tristan helped Lucas up, ignoring the twinges of pain in his shoulder. Most of the people who had managed to escape were on the shore now. There were a few still bodies drifting out to sea and Tristan felt a pang of guilt, though he didn't know what he could have done differently. Together with Lucas and the scout, he made his way back to the beach where the veteran was already dividing up the remaining people.

A quarter hour later, the last group of survivors was sent on its way, leaving Lucas and Tristan alone with the scout and the veteran who had helped them accomplish so much. "I never asked your names," Tristan said into the cold dark.

"It didn't seem important," the scout said in a low, flat voice.

"But it was," Tristan replied. "I asked a lot of you- too much- and you managed it without complaint."

The big veteran shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm used to taking orders; and it seemed like the right thing to do."

"Besides," the scout said without inflection, "if not for Master Wilder's flames, we would all be dead."

Tristan exchanged glances with Lucas who shifted his gaze to his feet. He still looked utterly exhausted, shivering in the rain. "He's right, you know."

"I only did what I had to," Lucas said raggedly.

Tristan patted him on the shoulder. "Still, you know our names," he continued. "If we're going to Deepwalk together, I'd like to have yours, too. Unless you'd like me to make some up?"

The veteran grinned toothily and Tristan saw he was missing a few. "Maxam," he answered and took Tristan's thin hand into his gnarled and calloused ones.

The scout didn't offer his hand, only gave a full bow. "Imlan, m'lord."

That term again. "Just Tristan," he corrected. "Please."

Imlan peered back at him with cool, dispassionate eyes. "As it suits you."

An explosion on the cliff above reminded them that they needed to move before they were seen escaping. Maxam led the way this time and Tristan was glad for the respite. As the others ambled off toward the forests on the other side of the beach, Tristan took one last look at the castle atop the cliff and the ocean-flooded tunnel, hoping to see a familiar form walking out across the water. But there was no one.

3: Deepwalk

The rain was falling harder now and except for the frequent lightning strikes, Tristan could hardly tell where his companions were. What was worse than the rain, however, was the wind. It blew in strong and frigid from the coast, through the trees between the road and the beach, making it difficult to tell that it was actually late summer.

They had been walking- trudging- through the muck for a while now, following the Coastal Circuit, the road that connected all the major ports of Arcavis, making a full circle around the island. The road was narrower here than in other parts of the country, or so Tristan had been told; not many people headed to the more rural, western side of the island nation, even before the war. Those that did, typically traveled by boat, tradesmen carrying large stockpiles of goods back and forth.

Though the road was out in the open, the rain and darkness made for good cover and if they came across any trouble, the forest on the left side of the road would provide plenty of opportunities to lose any pursuers. Of course, it would likely mean getting lost yourself, but Tristan was reasonably confident that he could find his way back to the Circuit.

He was less confident about his role in the group. He had been studying his traveling partners along the way and was coming up short in comparison.

Imlan was sunny-haired with pale green eyes, which one might take to indicate a bright disposition. But instead he was quiet and sharp-witted. He moved so cleanly and silently that you had to watch him for several minutes to notice he was still favoring his right leg. He was skilled with a crossbow as well as a dagger, knew the forests of Arcavis like the back of his hand, and saw most things coming three steps before they happened. In short, he was efficient and deadly.

Maxam, despite his age, was strong and muscular with long white hair tied up in a knot on his head. Not to mention a better swordsman than Tristan. He wasn't just a soldier, he was a veteran with hundreds of scars across his arms, chest, and face, which meant he knew how to survive. While not as clever as Imlan, he had the kind of intuition that only came with age. His quick thinking back at the tunnel had saved lives.

And then there was Lucas, Tristan's cousin, who had hardly spoken a word since they'd started walking. Although they were cousins, they were raised alongside one another as brothers. As such, he and Lucas shared many things: a childhood of memories, a tower in Calder Grounds, an Amennian heritage, a sense of adventure, a fondness for well-seasoned potatoes...

But for every thing they had in common, there were two more that put them at odds. While Lucas was a year older, he was the son of Odhis's younger daughter, making Tristan the heir to Teadwyn- for what that was worth now. While they shared the same blood, Lucas had inherited their grandmother Asurah's talent for the Elements and Tristan had not. While Tristan was reckless and opinionated, Lucas was cautious and reserved. For all that, theirs was an easy and familiar friendship.

But even Lucas had given everything he had to stop the enemy from making it through the tunnel after them. What Imlan had said was true: Lucas had almost single-handedly saved all of them. If it came to it, he could do it again.

Which left the question: what use to the group was Tristan? He was a good enough swordsman to maim a man, but in his sorry state he couldn't even do that properly. He had spent the worst of the battle being rescued again and again. And yet for some reason, he was the one wearing Odhis's ring around his neck. The longer he thought on it, the more laughable it was. It was no wonder the ring didn't fit; he didn't fit. Odhis Calder was the single greatest hero of his generation, a man who had ended two centuries of war, who ruled the county of Teadwyn with equal parts honor and humility. Meanwhile, Tristan had spent the better part of the night tripping over his own feet.

Imlan stopped in his tracks, holding out a hand signaling them to stop as well. Everyone froze. Then Tristan heard it, too: the rhythmic thud-splash-thud-splash of hoofbeats on the road ahead. There was a moment's hesitation between the four of them as they mutely calculated their next move- flee or fight? Then the lightning came, and everyone could see everything. The other party was fourfold like theirs, clothed in black and red and atop well-bred Virevian horses.

Cover blown, Imlan lifted his crossbow without a word and prepared the shot.

"Wait!"

"Don't shoot!" Tristan shouted at the same time as one of the men on horseback. Imlan glanced back at him with a single arched brow. "Those are Bishop's men," Tristan explained, and the archer's shoulders dropped as he let out a long, slow breath.

"Are you refugees, too?" asked a young man as the new arrivals drew closer. He had slid off his horse and was leading it forward by the reins. He was dark-haired with sharp features and bright skin that shone even in the darkened night. "We've met several along the road already."

Maxam and Imlan turned to Tristan expectantly and he quietly resented them for it. "I guess we are." It felt weird to think of himself as a refugee and it hit him how vastly different everything was going to be for the rest of his life.

"Have you heard anything about Lord Calder? Is he alive?" the young man asked.

Tristan remembered his grandfather's touch, his piercing pale green eyes, his salt and pepper beard. "I don't..."

"For all purposes," Imlan said beside him, "you're speaking to Lord Calder. Lord Tristan Calder."

Tristan shook his head. "No, I-"

"You're Tristan?" the young man interrupted, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"Well, yes, but-"

"I see the resemblance now," he interrupted again, looking him over with a scrutinizing eye. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. My name is Kade. Bishop."

Tristan was mid-protest when he stopped short. He had heard stories of Sir Akkadyan Bishop, the youngest person to be knighted in a century and a half, who was undefeated in single combat and had slain undying soldiers at the Battle of Sweetebrook. He found himself feeling a thousand times more inadequate and he bit his lip to keep from swearing.

Kade gave him a curious look and when Tristan didn't say anything, he gestured to the men on horseback behind him. "This is Leodan, Rhys, and Seth; three of my father's best men. Lord Bishop sent us to do what we could to help Almsway, but... well, we heard what happened from the first group of refugees we met and we sent some of our number back with them. And again when we met more, until we were all that was left."

"So the others made it to Deepwalk?" Tristan asked.

Kade nodded. "And the road is safe. If what we heard about the city is true, and if you are the last refugees, we should head back. You look like you could use some rest."

Tristan frowned at his little group. They were worse for wear, every one of them. "Getting out of this rain would be a nice change," he admitted. He glanced back in the direction they had come and found it was dark and empty. "And I don't think anyone else is coming."

Kade and his men offered their horses to Tristan and his three companions and they all accepted, except for Maxam who insisted that, as the son of Lord Bishop, Kade should ride and not him. It was a dreary trip to Deepwalk. The rain didn't let up until the sun began to peek over the horizon, and even then it left a thick mist in its wake. It was around sunrise that they caught their first glimpse of Kade's home, a city not unlike Almsway, with thick walls and a fortress at the heart.

As they approached the gates, Kade took the lead. Without request, the gates were opened for the eight of them and they entered the city. Inside, Tristan saw the city was less like Almsway than he'd imagined from afar. it was larger, for one thing, and it had a greater variety of businesses. Where most people in Almsway were either farmers, fishermen, or produce merchants, here there were coopers, cobblers, tailors, bakers, butchers, smiths, glassblowers, and a thousand other things. The main thoroughfare through town also housed the markets, which smelled of spices and fruit and bread. Tristan's stomach rumbled as he watched merchants set up for the day's business in the early morning fog.

As they came to the center of the city, Tristan's attention was pulled from the sights around him to the imposing figure of the Sanctuary, the Bishops' home. As a boy, he had dreamed of seeing it, but Odhis had never taken him to Deepwalk, saying the roads were too dangerous during war. This only served to heighten his curiosity, of course, and he had read hundreds of books about the ancient tower.

Though a cursory glance at maps suggested that Halborn county was about the size of Almsway's Teadwyn, this only told half the story. Halborn and Deepwalk had been the seat of power in the former Kingdom of West Arcavis, and the Bishops had been its Kings, controlling large areas of what were now Pelendas, Aubela, and Dellethran counties to the north. As East Arcavis expanded in power, disputes over land along the border led to open war. In the end, the East won and the Bishops were relegated to the tiny patch of land that now made up Halborn county.

Some of the trappings of royalty still remained, however, and the Sanctuary was one of them. Larger than any other fortress in the west, it was composed primarily of a central tower so tall it tickled the sky. Around it were high-reaching walls as impressive as any city wall Tristan had ever seen. These walls connected with district walls in the city, forming a network of walkways leading all through town.

"Amelyon!" Kade shouted toward the tops of the walls as they came to the portcullis that gave entrance to the castle grounds. A man's head poked out of the ramparts above. "Let my father and Roma know we're here!"

Amelyon gave an obedient gesture and Tristan heard more shouting from up above as the portcullis slid upward, letting them inside. Kade dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to Rhys. Tristan followed suit, still ogling at the tower in front of him.

Kade gave a subtle grin. "You've never been here before, have you?"

Tristan felt a touch of warmth rise in his cheeks, realizing how childish he must look. He did his best to seem casual and was grateful when Maxam answered the question instead. "Only a couple times, but it's been years," the burly veteran rumbled. "At least since the last time I shipped off to fight the Raumans."

"How long were you overseas?" Kade wondered.

Maxam shook his head and when he spoke again, there was something different in his deep voice. It seemed... softer. "Sixteen years. Almost seventeen. A quarter of my life I'll never get back fighting for a cause I only half believed in."

"Which half didn't you believe?" Tristan hadn't heard Imlan walk up beside him.

The old man smirked. "The half that said our God was better than theirs." Imlan raised his eyebrows ever-so-slightly then made half a nod as though this were a satisfactory answer.

The doors at the base of the Sanctuary tower opened and two guards dressed in red and black came out, followed by a tall, slender man with Kade's same black hair and bright blue eyes and a young woman with fiery curls and smooth, caramel skin. Kade bowed smoothly before Lord Bishop, his hand moving elegantly to the hilt of his sword and sliding it about three-quarters out of its sheath. Tristan had heard of people making such a bow in stories, especially stories that involved kings, but he had never seen anyone actually do it. Then again, he thought, he had never seen a king before, either.

He noticed Kade peeking at him from the corner of his eye and suddenly became aware that he hadn't made any move to show respect to Lord Bishop himself. Tristan jerked his head down with such force it made him a bit dizzy and though his arm ached, he stayed there until he heard Lord Bishop speak. "What news did you find of Almsway?"

"The worst kind, sir," Kade answered, straightening. "We didn't make it to the city, but we did find Lord Calder." He gestured to Tristan.

Tristan felt the now all too familiar well of anxiety opening up in the bottom of his stomach. "I'm not Lord Calder," he said quietly, looking desperately from Kade to Lord Bishop, even to Maxam, who was watching the exchange with placid impassivity.

The gentle beginnings of a warm smile played across Lord Bishop's lips, the expression odd on his hawkish face. "It's Tristan, right?" he asked, his voice clear and gentlemanly with the barest hint of the crisp accent of east Arcavis.

Tristan gave a single nod. "Yessir."

Lord Bishop's forehead wrinkled almost imperceptibly and Tristan noticed for the first time how young he was, perhaps a little over twice Tristan's age. "My father was killed in Corovea not long after this war began. I was older then than you are now, but I remember that feeling of loss, not just of family, but of self."

Tristan cast his eyes on the ground, fumbling with his grandfather's ring.

"Deepwalk is your refuge," the lord continued, "and you are young. No one here will think less of you if you aren't eager to follow your grandfather's legacy. But that ring around your neck... a lord of Arcavis wouldn't part with it unless his time was at an end. Whatever happened to my old friend Odhis, you are his heir and one day you will have to take on his responsibilities."

That would be a dark day, Tristan thought to himself.

"For now, however," Kade's father said, his tone brighter now, "we will dispense with titles. You will be Tristan and I will be Karryhs." He made a motion in Kade's direction, then to the girl at his side. "You've met my son, Akkadyan, of course. And this is my daughter, Roma."

The resemblance between Kade and Lord Karryhs was uncanny: hair the color of night, a sharp nose and brow, ivory skin with the barest hint of freckles sprayed across the face, and brilliant blue eyes. Between Karryhs and Roma, on the other hand, there was very little; she was round-faced with emerald eyes and a golden, wheat-colored complexion. As Tristan recalled, he had heard from Odhis that the Bishops had an adoptive daughter from Arcya who Karryhs had somehow come across on his travels.

"Our Roma's the finest healer in west Arcavis," Kade bragged and she blushed furiously.

"I know a little," Roma admitted with a smile. "But I'm still learning. I could probably do something for that arm of yours, though."

"I would probably make an acceptable test subject," Tristan replied. "Maxam and Imlan are injured, too."

Roma looked them over and nodded. "Then I've got my work cut out for me."

Tristan took the opportunity to introduce Maxam, Imlan, and Lucas as well before they were led into the tower. Inside, the first level was open and round with stairs leading up on either side of the main entrance and doors all around. A red banner hung from the wall with the proud dragon of the Bishop family embroidered in black. Portraits hung around the walls as well and from the strong family resemblance, Tristan guessed they were all former Lords Bishop.

Roma led Tristan, Imlan, and Maxam to a door on the left side of the room while Lucas followed Kade upstairs to a bedroom for rest. If his arm wasn't throbbing, Tristan might have opted for rest as well, but the disgusting medicine he had drank back home had long since worn off. He slipped through the door Roma held open with Imlan just behind him and found himself in a small but well-kept infirmary. There were a handful of beds lining the exterior wall with wooden nightstands between them. Along the other walls were shelves laden with books and bottles, bandages and tools.

"Just have a seat anywhere you like," Roma said, entering the room behind them. She crossed over to one of the many shelves and took a jar full of wilted leaves, a bottle of some sort of murky liquid, and a small cup.

Tristan sat down on one of the beds and thought perhaps he had misjudged how tired he was. He was certain at the first touch of the cushion that he could sleep even if the room caught on fire. Aside from the few hours of sleep he'd had in the main hall the previous night, he'd gotten very little rest since the battle began the morning before. How many hours had he been awake?

Roma brought him a cup half-filled with the strange, greenish-brown liquid. "Drink this," she ordered. "It won't be pleasant, but it will keep the pain at bay."

Tristan took the cup, expecting something similar to the medicine before. Steeling himself, he took a long swig. Only halfway through did he realize this stuff was a thousand times worse than what he had drank in Almsway. It tasted like rotten vegetables and seawater. His stomach convulsed and he tried to lower the cup so he could spit it out- and then maybe drink a gallon of water instead.

Roma held the cup in place, rubbing a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Get all of it," she said softly. "I promise the alternative is worse."

When he had swallowed the last of it, she pulled the cup away and he coughed, nearly retching it back up. "What could possibly be worse?" he sputtered.

She gave him a wicked grin. "The pieces of your bones stitching themselves back together."

He opened his mouth to reply but his head felt thick and foggy and his eyelids were almost too heavy to keep open. "What... was...?" The question trailed off on his tongue as he felt her soft hands guide him back onto the cool, linen sheets.

4: An Ounce in Gold

Tristan blinked open his eyes to find he was lying in the dim glow of candlelight, alone. He didn't remember falling asleep, didn't remember dreaming, and yet he felt rested for the first time in a couple days. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed, the sheet falling off him as he did so. Taking stock of his surroundings, he saw that he was in an infirmary and that it was dark outside.

Then he remembered: the crumbling wall, his broken arm, his family, dead. And all at once he felt terribly small and solitary in the dimly lit room. He began to relive everything he had seen and done in the last two days. Smoke in the western sky. Lucas waking him in the middle of the night. A sea of torches marching toward Almsway in the dark with the solid thumps of leather boots. In the still quiet of the infirmary, every step he had made on the way to Deepwalk felt like a horrible mistake.

He noticed he was holding his grandfather's ring, noticed again that he was using the arm that had been broken only hours before, and noticed a third time that his arm, and in fact his whole body, was free of pain. He bent it back and forth, inspecting it. Roma was more than a simple herbalist, he realized; she was a mage like Lucas, only she knew the art of healing.

The sound of the door opening distracted him from this revelation. Warm light from the entrance hall poured in as a man entered carrying a tray in one hand. He startled when he saw Tristan was awake and nearly dropped the tray. "Lord Calder!" he said excitedly, "I didn't expect you would be up already."

"It's Tristan. And I didn't expect to be out so long."

As the man came closer to the candlelight, the door shut behind him, Tristan could see more of his features. He was plump with thinning hair and a slip of a mustache. The tray he was holding had a bowl of hot soup and some thick, crusty bread sitting on it; Tristan's stomach rumbled at the smell of it and he remembered that he had eaten even less than he had slept during their flight from Almsway. The man made a slight bow, offering Tristan the tray as he did. "Yes, of course, sir. My apologies."

Tristan seized the food with an almost ferocious appetite. "Thank you," he said, biting into the bread. "Do you know where they took Lucas?"

The man was watching him with raised eyebrows as he devoured his dinner and Tristan felt something of a spectacle. "Arrangements have been made for the two of you to share a room, sir. Third level, fourth door on the right."

Tristan nodded appreciatively. "I didn't know how hungry I was until you got here," he explained. "Did you make this yourself?"

His slim mustache parted for a shy grin. "No, sir. I merely deliver the food-- or anything else you might need. The kitchen staff are responsible for cooking."

"You work for Lord Bishop? What's your name?" Tristan asked, dipping a bite of bread in the quickly disappearing soup.

"Loughby, sir. I serve the house at large, making sure everyone of rank has everything they require." Loughby said this with a note of pride ringing in his voice, the sort a high-ranking officer might use to explain his duty, and Tristan suspected his job may entail far more than he let on.

"What's it like here?"

"Quiet, sir," Loughby said simply. Then, as an afterthought, "But less so than it once was. Master Kade and Mistress Roma keep things lively with their youth."

Tristan thought back on the lovely girl with the scarlet hair who had healed his arm. "She's from Arcya, isn't she?"

Loughby nodded, his mustache twitching. "Lord Bishop was on military excursion in the wilds of Arcya and found her there, all alone. Her village had been destroyed by the Imperialists. And so he brought her here and has raised her as his own daughter ever since."

This matched other stories he had heard of Lord Karryhs, tales of magnanimity and compassion. "Is he really like that?" Tristan wondered aloud without thinking.

"Like what, sir?" Loughby was eyeing him suspiciously, ready to defend his lord if given the wrong answer.

"I only mean that he seems different than how I'd imagined," Tristan replied. Loughby still seemed on edge and he decided he needed to do a better job explaining himself if he didn't want to end up having his eyes gouged out with a spoon. "He's descended from Kings. I've heard he single-handedly defended an Itanan village from an entire army of Valthans. He has every right to all the honor and praise his name carries with it. And yet, he asked me to simply call him by name. As though he were no one of any significance."

Loughby took a breath. "Lord Bishop does not rest on his title. He does not rely on the achievements of his predecessors to bring him honor. He has accomplished many things himself, though I don't know about fighting off a whole army on his own. Because of the life he has lived, the name Karryhs is considered by many to be more honorable than Lord Bishop." The servant spoke as if attempting to compose poetry for his lord, his eyes wistful. "But you are also correct, sir, when you suggest m'lord is humble. Despite everything, he doesn't consider himself above anyone. That is the mark of a good leader."

Tristan swallowed more of the soup-dampened bread. "What about Kade? What is he like?" It was a rapid series of inquiries, Tristan knew, but he wanted a picture of the Bishop family from someone who knew them well; so far each of them seemed so different than the sort of people he was used to dealing with and he didn't want to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

At this question, Loughby cast his eyes on the floor. "Master Kade used to be as gentle and kindhearted as his father. But the war has been difficult for him and he's not the same as the boy he was a decade ago. He can be...," he paused, biting his lip. "...prickly at times, but he's still a good lad. Obedient and loyal to the end."

A silence fell over the room as Tristan finished his dinner and set the tray on the nearby nightstand. Loughby opened his mouth and shut it again, dancing on a question he seemed desperate to ask. Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "What is it?"

"Well, I..." Loughby shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I was just wondering... what of you?"

"What about me?" Tristan asked. Loughby said nothing, only stood there looking uncomfortable. Then Tristan understood: what was he like? So he was a spectacle, but not because of his voracious eating habits. He was the orphaned lordling refugee, the stranger come to live among them. Then an even worse thought occurred to him. "Karryhs put you up to this, didn't he? He doesn't trust me in his city."

Loughby's eyes widened as though Tristan were coming at him sword drawn. "N-no, sir, of course not!" he stuttered. "I was just curious, that's all...."

Tristan felt something unlock inside him. He thought of his mother dressed in armor, Maddux's body lying on the ground, Lucas's stony silence and red-rimmed eyes, he thought of a thousand things he had seen in the last few days and it all came tumbling out in front of Lord Bishop's misfortunate valet. "I'm so glad for the chance to entertain you," he said icily. "What would you like to hear about first? How my entire family was murdered? How we fought for twenty straight hours and couldn't hold them off? Or maybe you would like to hear about the last words of Lord Odhis Calder, Defender of Adhwen?"

"Sir, I-- please--"

"I am not a story," Tristan spat, "for you to tell your friends. I am flesh and blood and what happened to my people was real."

"I... I didn't mean to offend, sir." Loughby bowed deeply in an effort to show his apology.

"Thank you for dinner," Tristan replied dismissively. He stood up and headed for the door, leaving Loughby alone in the infirmary.

+-+-+-+-+-+

It took Tristan almost two hours to find Lucas. He had tried the room Loughby had mentioned, a fair-sized bedroom with two beds stationed on opposite walls, but Lucas wasn't there. His search took him all over the castle and along the way, he found a study, a war room, a couple bathrooms, a chapel, several storerooms, and a library, the last of which he spent a good amount of time in before continuing his search. Outside he found the stables, where he greeted the horses and promised to bring them carrots next time he visited.

It was from the stables that he caught sight of the Sanctuary's small garden and the lonely figure seated cross-legged on the edge of it. Tristan crossed the courtyard in the dark with only the light of the moon to guide his steps.

Lucas turned fractionally to see who had joined him and then turned back. "They need a better gardener," he said solemnly.

Tristan looked out to the small patch of vegetables and herbs. Several rows looked wilted and dry. Some of the tomatoes had holes in them where bugs had begun eating away at them. "I suppose they do," Tristan agreed as he took a seat. He took a deep breath and exhaled, taking in the peaceful night air. "I'm sorry," he continued, "about what I said before." Lucas gave him a questioning glance. "About the crossroads and leaving when it's dangerous."

"Don't be." Lucas looked back out into the garden. "You were right."

"I was cruel," Tristan countered.

"You almost died because I was too much of a fool to leave." Lucas plucked a few strands of grass and began twining them together. "If you had, my father would have sacrificed himself for nothing, and I would be alone right now. If I didn't die in the main hall with all the others."

Silence fell between them, filled only with the sound of chirping crickets and an owl somewhere off in the distance. Above, the light of the stars was dimmed only slightly by the lights of the city over the castle walls. Tristan rolled his grandfather's ring between his fingers, anxious in the uncertain quiet.

"How heavy is it?" Lucas asked with a subtle nod to the ring.

"About an ounce in gold," Tristan replied. "And another hundred and fifty pounds in anxiety, uselessness, and regret, with trace amounts of other elements."

Lucas cracked a smile. "Better you than me, honestly. But my father helped Odhis carry it and I'll do the same if you need me to."

"Thanks," Tristan said earnestly. They sat together on the edge of the garden for a while longer, neither saying a word, before making their way back to their bedroom. The walls were bare and there wasn't much furniture; Tristan found out later that it had been a storage room prior to their arrival. But the sheets were clean and the bed was soft and that was all Tristan could ask. Even though he had slept away the entire day, he found his eyes shut quickly once he slipped under the blankets.

5: The Listening Lord

The sun sifted in through the three windows along the outside wall, shining directly on Tristan's eyelids. He nestled his face into his elbow, determined to sleep just a few more minutes, but the sounds of Lucas sliding out of bed across the room convinced him to give up. He pulled himself up and put his feet on the cool stone floor. Then he realized he had no idea how he was going to spend his day.

In Almsway, it was easy. He was a Son of Calder, heir to Calder Grounds. He served the people in whatever way he could. Sometimes he helped farmers harvest their crops. Other times, he helped merchants move goods through the marketplace. He made sure the armory at home was well-kept. He helped make dinner and coordinate feasts on holidays. He cared for the horses in their stables. There was always something to be done and his grandfather, mother, aunt, and uncle were always there to guide him to the next task.

But here... he didn't know who he was anymore. According to the ring he carried, he was Lord of Teadwyn, however not only was he woefully unprepared for that responsibility, but what did the Lord of a captured county do? Try to seize it back? The only army he had to speak of were Imlan and Maxam and as fearsome as they may have been, they were only two men.

He thought momentarily about swearing himself to Lord Bishop and ceding all rights to Teadwyn, but his mother's words were ringing in his ears: "Someone must make sure the crown does not forget these people...." Even if he couldn't do anything now, the people of Almsway were counting on him. Karryhs was right that he would have to take on his title one day and it was up to him to make sure he was ready.

"Everything okay?" Lucas asked as he buttoned up his shirt.

"What are you going to do?" Tristan stood up to get his own clothes. There was a single chest between the two beds filled with old clothes of Kade's, which were too short for Lucas's long arms and legs and too narrow in the shoulders for Tristan.

"Well, I was thinking about breakfast and then...." He trailed off with a shrug.

"Yeah. Me too."

There was a knock at the door and Tristan crossed the floor to open it. Loughby was on the other side; at the sight of Tristan, he lowered his eyes awkwardly. He had two trays this time, with two plates each with eggs, bacon, and a biscuit. "Breakfast, sir," he said stiffly.

Tristan took them, murmured a thank you, and shut the door in his face. Lucas watched him quizzically. "We ran into each other yesterday."

"How are you already making enemies?" Lucas asked, voice dripping with exasperation.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's not like we're going to duel in the streets or anything." Tristan offered him his tray and took his own to his bed.

"That is exactly what's going to end up happening," Lucas argued. "I can see it now: steel clashing against steel, ringing out across the rooftops of Deepwalk, two mighty warriors defending their honor and dignity."

"'Mighty warrior'? Loughby?" Tristan let out a chuckle at the thought. The sound of it felt foreign to him.

Lucas nodded emphatically, taking a hungry bite out of a strip of bacon. "Haven't you heard of Loughby the Magnificent? Loughby the Undefeated? Loughby the Hero of the Red Tower!"

"Is that even a place?"

Lucas shrugged again, a playful grin dancing on his lips. "It sounds good, doesn't it?"

Tristan rolled his eyes with a laugh. "It sounds like something out of a bad story."

"Now that you mention it, it is," Lucas replied. "Remember? The one about the evil wizard and the living dead. It was the prison."

The memory swam forward in Tristan's mind. "Right. I remember that one. I don't remember how it ended, though."

"They always end the same," Lucas said, taking a scoop of egg. "The hero saves the day and lives happily ever after."

"Speaking of the living dead... those Valthans we fought... they were dead, weren't they?" Tristan remembered the image of the Valthanic soldier's arm growing back out of a bloody stump. It almost put him off his breakfast. Almost. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know, but I've heard about them." Lucas's smile faded and Tristan regretted bringing it up. "A refugee named Carston told me about how one of them had killed his entire family. I thought it was just a story at the time, something he made up to help deal with the pain. He called it a Revenant. Said he killed it over and over again, but it just kept getting back up."

"It has to be some kind of magic," Tristan said. "Like Roma. She healed my arm."

"Nothing like I've ever seen."  Lucas tore into his biscuit. "What Roma has is different. There's no healer in the world that can bring back the dead."

Tristan mopped up the last of his eggs with his own biscuit. "But what else is there?"

"In the Dovadh, sometimes demons give people power like that. But always at a cost."

Tristan failed to suppress a scoff. "Demons. The Dovadh is just a bunch of tall tales."

Lucas bristled at this. He had always been a more devout Crede than Tristan, ever since they were small. "That's what I said about Carston's story and look what's happened."

"How is believing in demons going to make any difference?" Tristan asked skeptically. "If I spend all my time looking for something that doesn't exist, who's going to stop the Imperialists from taking another city?"

Lucas heaved a sigh. "I don't have time to argue," he said, swallowing the last bite of his breakfast. "I'm going to see what I can do about that garden." He took his tray and headed for the door. "Try not to get into any trouble," he advised before shutting the door behind him.

Tristan scowled at the solid frame of the door. He set his tray on the bed and searched through the trunk for a shirt that fit a little better before heading out as well. He made his way down the three flights of stairs and was almost out the main door of the castle when he heard someone call his name from the other side of the hall.

It was Lord Bishop; his slender frame was cloaked in a black embossed tunic. "I was hoping I could give you a tour of the grounds?" When Tristan hesitated, he added, "I know all the best places to get a moment's peace and quiet."

"That would be a handy thing to know," Tristan admitted. He followed the Lord of Halborn out of the castle and into the open air. It was a lovely, warm day outside, especially after all the rain, and Tristan soaked in the sunshine.

"How did you sleep?" Karryhs asked casually.

"Better than I'd hoped."

"Excellent." Lord Bishop led him in the opposite direction of the stables and garden where Tristan had been the night before. The courtyard was a spiderweb of thick arches stretching between the main tower and the outside walls. On top of these archways were walkways leading into key rooms in the castle itself. These paths were patrolled by guards and were only half as tall as the perimeter wall, where a guarded portcullis led out to the rest of the city, connecting with the network of district walls outside.

It was these extra access points that rendered the Sanctuary into less of a lordly estate and more of a public service building. Rooms on the second level of the tower, such as the chapel, the library, a second infirmary, and a grand hall were all available to the people of Deepwalk during the day.

Karryhs pointed out one of these walkways. "That is a wonderful place to hide away from the world at night. It comes out of the library and the walkway is empty at night."

"Why isn't it guarded at night?" Tristan asked.

Karryhs pointed to a small tower along the exterior wall. "There is always at least one man with a musket in that tower there. If he sees anything odd, he can take care of it himself, or he can sound an alarm."

Tristan supposed this was supposed to be comforting, but instead all he could imagine was walking out there at night and ending up with a lead ball in his skull. "I found the library by accident last night. It's a great collection."

"It's had a few centuries to grow," Karryhs replied simply. They continued on quietly until they had passed under the stone arch leading into the library. "Have you given any thought as to what you might do now?" The Lord Bishop asked the question discreetly as he folded his hands behind his back, looking every bit as noble and stately as his position demanded.

Tristan shrank under his gaze. "I'm not really sure what's expected of me here," Tristan replied. "And I have to confess: I don't have a lot of useful skills to offer. Not like Roma and Kade."

Karryhs's face cracked into a charming grin, dashing the regal appearance he had so easily worn before. "You are useful for your recent experiences alone... and, I suspect, many more ways than you give yourself credit for. But a lord only really needs one skill: the ability to listen."

"With all due respect, sir," Tristan began, "how does listening help when there are thousands of Imperialists busting down your city walls?"

"A listening lord knows exactly what to do when the enemy is at the gates." Karryhs stopped their meandering stroll to explain. "He knows when the enemy will arrive because he has heard the reports of his scouts. He knows which of his warriors is the strongest because he has heard of their many victories. He knows where the weakest points in the walls are because his masons have told him which places need the most work. He knows what to expect from the enemy because he has listened to the plights of refugees." He gave Tristan a significant look.

"But... the people are doing all the work," Tristan argued. "The lord is just relying on them."

"A good lord should rely on his people just as his people rely on him," Karryhs countered. "A lord chooses which of his people's voices are more skilled, more important, and more valuable. If a lord has no other skills than to listen and discern, he will be a suitable enough leader for his people. If he can do more than this, then all the better."

Tristan thought of how he chose his three advisors from the hall full of the infirm back at Almsway. That had just been blind luck on his part. "What would you do in my position?"

"What do you want to do?" Karryhs asked.

"I--" Tristan faltered; the question had caught him off guard. He wanted more than anything to go home, but he doubted that answer would impress Lord Bishop. He wanted to raise an army and storm Almsway. He wanted to send the Valthans and Sarivandics back home. Preferably in wooden boxes. "What I want to do and what I can do are two very different things right now."

"Fair enough," Karryhs conceded. He began walking again, toward a tall and twisted larch with a stone table standing in its shade. "Then, may I ask, what do you think you can do?"

Tristan had to walk twice as fast to keep up with Karryhs's long legs. "I can cook and I'm good with animals. And I know how to use a sword, but I'm not very good."

"And so you would have me put you to work in the stables until you were called on to fulfill your role as Lord Calder?" Karryhs arched an eyebrow at him, undoubtedly judging the uncertainty in his slumped shoulders. "I have a suggestion, which I was hesitant to approach, but if this is your alternative... I think you may find my idea more appealing."

They had reached the stone table under the tree and Karryhs took a seat. "Halborn has served as a protector for Teadwyn many times in the past. Because of this, it would be principally sound if you, retaining all your rights as Lord of Teadwyn, were to serve me until your own land is able to be retaken."

Tristan blinked back at the Lord of Halborn before taking his own seat. "What would that mean for Almsway, exactly?"

"Almsway and Teadwyn would remain yours in name, but mine in practice. I would be responsible for their protection until you reclaimed them, which you would reserve the right to do at any time. Until that time, if I see the opportunity to take the city back from the enemy, I would be honor-bound to do so." If it had been anyone else, Tristan would have rejected the offer immediately. But Karryhs was all respect and trustworthy and nobility of spirit; there was nothing in the tone of his voice that spoke of dishonesty, nothing in his eyes that betrayed a lie. "This will preclude the crown or Lord Aston making any requests of you personally, as they might of a lord under normal circumstances."

Tristan's thoughts were whirling, trying to think of every scenario, every detail. "What would I do for you?"

"First, you would train with Akkadyan. Once he was satisfied with your combat skills, I might consider you for any tasks for which you prove suitable. You would have the role and responsibilities of a Son of Bishop, essentially. This sort of work should help prepare you to take your grandfather's title in full."

Tristan felt his heart beat in his chest as he began to understand what Karryhs was proposing. Though it was veiled in legal jargon, Karryhs was offering himself, completely, to serve as a sort of mentor to fill in the place Odhis had left empty. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"As I mentioned yesterday," Karryhs answered softly, "I've been where you are right now. My father was killed while at war and my mother was occupied with the political climate in Noreve. Lord Odhis helped me find my way; he taught me what it means to be a leader."

"I didn't realize you were so close," Tristan said. He had known his grandfather to make trips to Deepwalk often, but since it was such a large city and since they were at war, he never thought much more about it.

Karryhs grinned broadly and for a second, it felt like talking to an old friend. That was the mystery of Karryhs, Tristan noted; he could slip the facade of courtly stature on and off as easily as wearing a mask. When it was off, the person underneath had wrinkles around the eyes that danced when he laughed, the familiar demeanor of a childhood friend. "I met Odhis when I was a boy," he said. "He came here to see my father, with his wife Asurah, all excited about his plan to end the wars with the Raumans for good. My father called him an... 'idealistic fool', if memory serves. Three years later the wars were over and father was toasting his success over Midwinter dinner."

Tristan tried to picture it, but he couldn't remember a time when Odhis had been young and he had virtually no memory of his grandmother. Nevertheless, the image Karryhs painted left him beaming and warm inside. "What do I need to do to accept your offer?"

Karryhs chuckled as he let out a long sigh. "Oh, the greatest feat a lord could ever hope to accomplish: complete some paperwork."

Kade wasted no time seeking Tristan out to discuss training. He was helping Lucas repair the shabby garden, pruning dead weeds and pulling rotten tomatoes, when the young knight approached him. Kade seemed utterly perplexed by their chosen activity, as if he had never once had the desire to manage a garden-- which, Tristan realized, might actually be the case. "You two know you don't have to do this, right?"

Lucas stood up from where he was planting flowers on the other side, along the wall. His face was smeared with dirt where he had wiped sweat away. "Yes. We do. You'll thank us later."

Tristan snorted, trying to conceal the sound by scraping his spade on a stone. They had been mocking the poorly plotted garden all throughout their work, but he didn't want to offend their hosts. "Did you need something?" Tristan asked, distracting Kade from responding to Lucas.

"Lord Bishop says I'm supposed to train you," Kade replied. He turned back to Lucas. "You too, if you're so inclined."

Lucas shook his head, pulling some leaves from a rosemary bush nearby. The leaves burned and turned to ash in his hand. "I'll be fine," he said, letting the ashes fall to the ground. "Thanks for the offer, though."

Kade half-frowned, half-smirked at this answer and Tristan wasn't sure if he was more surprised by Lucas's magic or his determination to dig around in the dirt. "Suit yourself, but I'm taking your help." Kade jerked his head as a signal for Tristan to follow. "...Enjoy?"

Tristan followed Kade to another corner of the courtyard, where a large door concealed a small stock of weapons and armor. As Kade rooted around for something, Tristan observed from outside, trying to get a better sense of his new teacher. Though they were almost perfect copies of one another, Kade was quite different from his father. The exact differences were harder to pin down. Karryhs was diplomatic and charismatic. On the other hand, it didn't take much wondering to figure out what was on the surface of Kade's mind; it wasn't that he was an open book-- he kept his share of secrets knotted up in his shoulders and hidden behind his eyes-- but when he spoke, as with everything else, he did so directly, with a clear goal in mind.

Kade re-emerged with a wooden sword and Tristan simmered at the insult. "You're not going to make me use that, are you?"

"I was planning on it," Kade replied. "At least until I see how much control you have over your weapon." He held the training sword out to him. "I've done my share of bleeding, and I'm not exactly anxious to do more if I don't have to."

Tristan took it from him. "I have control," he said, irritation plain in his voice.

Kade raised his eyebrows and drew the very real sword at his side. "Then prove it and we can move on."

Tristan scowled and got into the form his grandfather had shown him when he was a boy, completely prepared to knock the Son of Bishop senseless. He swung the wooden sword hard, aiming for Kade's shoulder but missing as Kade sidestepped the attack. He turned to swing again, but felt the flat of Kade's blade whap him in the stomach.

"Dead." Kade stepped a few feet away and repositioned his feet. "Again."

With both hands, Tristan brought the training sword down on Kade's head; Kade stepped aside again but this time Tristan caught him on the shoulder. Just as the wooden edge connected, however, he felt a sharp pain in his side, just under his ribs. He stumbled backward, afraid he'd been stabbed; he touched the tender flesh, but his hand came back dry.

He heard Kade laughing and looked up to see he had struck him with the hilt of his weapon. He flushed in embarrassment but felt some small satisfaction in seeing Kade was rubbing his shoulder as well. "Better," Kade said, "but you're still dead. And I think we might need some armor."

Tristan stood a little taller, pleased with his hit, and followed Kade back to the storeroom. Together, they each found a gambeson and scaled leather armor to protect them from any further injury and within minutes set back to their task. Tristan took several more swings at Kade, and as each one missed, he became more and more desperate. He charged, swung, missed; Kade took a step back, another, and another. Just when Tristan began to think he was gaining the upper hand, Kade ducked under his swing and tripped him. Tristan landed on the ground with a heavy thud, breathing hard with the effort of his attacks.

The point of Kade's shortsword speared the ground beside his face. "Dead."

"Can we take a break?" Tristan panted. He swallowed and wiped grime off his face. Kade watched him blankly, waiting for him to get back up; his face was still clean and dry and Tristan silently hated him for it. He flung the wooden sword back as he rolled into a kneeling position, attempting to take the Son of Bishop by surprise.

Kade kicked him in the ribs so he was lying on his back and pulled his sword out of the soil to point it at Tristan's throat. "That was sloppy."

Tristan frowned at the point of the blade at his neck. "Are you going to let me up or not?"

"No," Kade replied. "You asked for a break." The young knight's voice was so calm and smooth that Tristan almost didn't recognize it as a joke.

"Clever. But this isn't what I had in mind."

"If you fell on a real battlefield, do you know what would happen to you?" Kade asked, his form still as stone.

Tristan exhaled slowly, letting his head fall to the side, his mind returning to the muddy streets of Almsway and the Valthan crushing the life out of his lungs. "You don't have to explain what battle is like," he said darkly. "I've lived through one, remember?"

The hardness in Kade's expression gave way slightly and he took a step back, burying the end of his shortsword in the dirt again. "I'm sorry," he said, extending a hand to help him up, a sort of raw honesty in his clear blue eyes. Then he turned away and it was gone. "I only meant to say that... if you fall, you only have a second to decide what to do. If you take too long, you die. If you do the wrong thing, you die."

"So, what's the right thing to do?" Tristan wondered aloud.

"Roll," Kade answered with certainty. "Don't stop to think. Don't stop at all. Use the momentum of the fall to get back on your feet as quickly as you can. Of course, the best thing to do is not to fall in the first place."

"You tripped me!"

"And the Imperialists will do worse than that," Kade said. "Now, we need to talk about your speed. Who trained you in Almsway?"

The mention of Almsway called up images of warm summer days spent attacking straw dummies in the courtyard and playing at war with Lucas. "Sometimes my aunt and uncle, but mostly my grandfather."

Kade nodded thoughtfully. "Give me your hand." Tristan responded to the demand without thinking and Kade pulled it closer to him. Before Tristan knew what was happening, the Son of Bishop slid his blade along his palm.

Tristan jerked his hand back reflexively. "What was that for?"

"That was minimal force," replied Kade.

With a groan, Tristan pressed against the cut, blood seeping out around his thumb. "Are you sure? Because it feels like maximum force...."

"Relax," Kade laughed. "Roma can heal it back up in all of two seconds."

"It's not your hand!"

"I was trying to make a point--"

"I trusted you, you know," Tristan glowered.

Kade let out a heavy sigh, massaging his forehead. "Would you clam up and listen?" he snapped. "I met Odhis Calder a time or two. He was broad-chested and strong as an ox. You... well, you're still growing and maybe one day you'll be like Lord Odhis. But right now, you're only a breath larger than I am."

Tristan had given up trying to stymie the bleeding in his palm and was letting it drip down from his fingers into the grass. "I'm still not seeing your point," he said, trying to measure his anger.

"These swings you're taking," Kade continued, "you're putting too much force behind them. You're moving too slowly, tiring yourself out, throwing yourself off balance, and all of it needlessly. You're fighting as though you're built like Lord Odhis, because that's how he taught you to fight. But instead you should be attacking quickly and lightly. Even the slightest amount of pressure can kill a man with the right sword in the right place."

"That makes good sense," said Tristan. "But I still think I could have done without the visual demonstration."

"Which brings me to my next piece of advice: get used to bleeding." Tristan started to laugh, but stopped abruptly when Kade didn't join in. "Familiarize yourself with pain. The more acquainted you are with it, the less it will slow you down and the better you'll be at recognizing your limits."

Tristan took this advice to heart, not just for the reasons Kade suggested, but because he had seen the way Odhis dealt with pain. He had watched his grampa walk away from the gravest of injuries with a reassuring smile and a wave to the onlookers. It was the reason why as a child, he believed the old man to be invincible, why even now he held out out hope that Lord Odhis was still alive. He knew in his bones that if he was going to be as strong as his grandfather, he would have to learn to brush off pain the same way.

Over the next few days, Kade trained Tristan to move more quickly, to attack more swiftly, and to keep rolling when he fell. Each bout was over when one of them managed to "kill" the other. For the first couple of days, this was always Kade, but on the third day, Tristan surprised him and knocked him flat on his back. Once he knew it could be done, it was suddenly easier to do and he reveled in his victories. It still wasn't until the fifth day that Kade let him have a real sword, and only after a lecture on using the weapon as an extension of self, to which Tristan only half-listened.

On the seventh day, Tristan forgot to strike with the flat of his blade. For a split second, he was sure that he had killed the Son of Bishop for real; he panicked and shouted for Amelyon to get help. Roma was called in to deal with the wound. He was relegated back to the wooden sword for several more days and the guards gave him reproachful looks for weeks afterward. Despite everything, the misadventure made him more cautious and proved to Kade that he wasn't completely useless in a real fight.

It was about a month after they began their training that the real fight came.

6: The North Road

The Sanctuary's library was a labyrinth of bookshelves categorized by subject and alphabetized by author. On the days he found time to visit, Tristan wound his way through section after section until he found a book he liked and then scurried away with it to some dark corner where he could read without interruptions. Eventually, he found it was much easier to simply visit after dinner, when all the people were gone and he could relax wherever he wanted.

He was tucked away just outside the public door to the library, back resting along the short wall that guarded the edge of the walkway leading out to the city. On his knees, he rested a thick, old book with yellowed pages. Karryhs had been right about this place. No one bothered him here and the breeze was nice and cool.

He was reading a story about Arcayad, the first Arcyan Ciaradh; it was mostly legend and folklore, but most stories about the early Arcyan kings were. This one was particularly good, telling of how Arcayad and a few of his most trusted warriors thwarted Helviotic slavers along the coast of Ircevia. They were just about to begin their assault on the slaver camp when Tristan heard a creak from inside the library and someone calling his name. He shut the book in mild irritation and went back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

Lucas was standing by the desk where the clerk dealt with the public during the day. "Lord Bishop wants us in the hall downstairs."

Tristan's brow furrowed as he set his book on the desk and headed toward the interior door. "What's going on?"

"I think he's got a job for the four of us," Lucas replied with a shrug.

"Four?"

"You, me, Kade, Roma...." Lucas ticked each name off on a finger as he said them.

"Roma's coming?" Tristan had nothing against her; she was good company in the garden and made pleasant conversation at dinner, not to mention being a skilled healer. But he couldn't imagine what job Karryhs would have for the three of them that would involve her.

Lucas shrugged again, taking the lead down the stairs. By now, the various paths and passages in the Sanctuary had become second nature to them and they could navigate their way without becoming lost. At the base of the staircase, they crossed the round entrance hall and entered the large double-doors of the main hall, where Kade and Roma were already waiting with Karryhs and Leodan, one of the men who had been traveling with Kade the night Almsway fell.

"You found him," Lord Bishop said. "Good. Leodan? Report what you've seen."

Leodan bowed, his shaggy blond hair falling forward. "We've had reports of missing deliveries along the North Road; merchants who aren't getting their produce from Harlwyn and Sweetebrook. The road bypasses Dellethran, but we thought it best to see if this was a Valthanic attack."

"It's too soon," Kade said. "They're still trying to get Teadwyn under control." Tristan brushed aside a wave of nausea at the thought of home and of having even this refuge snatched from under him so quickly.

"Exactly, sir," Leodan continued. "We tracked down one of the missing wagons and we found this." He passed the broken shaft of an arrow to Kade. "The wagon was completely empty. No bodies, either."

Kade examined the arrow briefly and handed it to Tristan. "Were there any trails?" he asked.

The arrow was made of a water reed and a sharpened stone tip tied to the end with twine. Nothing close to the clean, wooden arrows sometimes used by the Imperialists. Tristan ran his hand along the edge of the stone.

"No trails, sir. That's the strangest part. There was struggle everwhere, but nothing leading to or from."

"How many deliveries have been delayed?" Lucas asked.

"Four so far," replied Leodan.

"Why were you only able to find one wagon?" This time it was Roma asking, and Tristan noticed for the first time since entering the room that she was carrying a sheathed sword in one hand.

"This one had a broken wheel, miss," the young soldier said. "We think they took the others with them, posing as merchants and selling the wares in another town. It's possible they're pirating wagons for the enemy as well."

"The North Road is a vital trade route," Lord Bishop said evenly. "Without it, Halborn could face serious food shortages. I need you to find the culprits and bring them to justice. Akkadyan, you will take the lead."

"Yes, m'lord," Kade answered, making the same genteel bow he had used the day Tristan and Lucas had first arrived in Deepwalk. "Leodan, I'll need a map of the location where you found the wagon."

"Yessir."

The Son of Bishop turned to leave and Tristan followed him out of the hall as he began rattling out orders. "Lucas, gather some traveling supplies: blankets, rope, whatever we might need. Roma, gather any necessities from the infirmary just in case. And Tristan, you're in charge of food. We'll need enough to last at least through tomorrow."

"We're leaving tonight?" Tristan asked.

Kade stopped and looked at him as if it were the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "Lord Bishop has given us a task. If he wanted it done tomorrow, he would have told us about it tomorrow. These thieves are a direct threat to the people of this county and they need to be dealt with as soon as possible. Are you up to the task or not?"

Tristan felt color rise into his cheeks. "Of course," he replied quickly.

Satisfied with this response, Kade continued. "I'll saddle the horses and get more details from Leodan. Outfit yourselves and meet me at the stables as soon as you can."

Tristan headed for the kitchens first. The staff consisted of three young women, with polite, rosy smiles that Tristan couldn't help but return; two sturdy men, one young and one old; and a gray-haired woman in her sixties who barked orders from the head of the table where they did most of their work. They had already finished cleaning and were getting things ready for breakfast the next day.

"We've already sent the remainder off, I'm afraid, Young Master," the old woman called out as he entered.

Tristan stopped short; he hadn't expected anyone to still be there. "Oh... no, I..." he trailed off as he realized he had never met any of these people before. In Almsway, he had known everyone that lived and worked in Calder Grounds; what's more, they had been friends. But here... he didn't even know their names and that fact made him feel selfish and ungrateful.

The woman with the silvered hair stopped kneading the biscuits she was preparing and turned to face him. "I'm sorry, dear, I just assumed. What can I do for you?"

Tristan's eyes dropped self-consciously and landed on her swollen feet tucked beneath the table. "I'm sure I can find what I need if you can point me in the right direction," he replied. "I just need some food that travels well. Fruit, bread, maybe some nuts?"

The woman pulled herself up, leaning on the table for a moment as she found her balance, and Tristan felt guilty for even asking. "Let me show you to the pantry."

He followed her to a small wooden door in the back of the kitchen. Inside was a fairly long, narrow room stocked with goods from all over. "It's mostly raw ingredients," the woman said apologetically, "but there are some apples, and some berries. I think there's a handful of potatoes in the back." She reached a shelf behind her and grabbed a large burlap sack from a shelf. "Let me know if you need anything, dear."

Tristan was only half-listening, silently calculating everything he could do with a pantry like this. "This will be just fine...."

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Within an hour and a half, the four of them were riding through the city gates and up along the North Road. Fortunately, it was a clear night and in the places where the canopy didn't completely cover the road, the stars could be seen twinkling in the sky above. Summer was quickly coming to an end, but despite the cool autumn wind sweeping in from the north, the warm humid air was still desperately clinging to southern Arcavis. Though pleasantly mild, it was a bad mix; the skies may be clear now, but they certainly wouldn't stay that way. Maybe it was just the memory of the storm he'd weathered when he fled his home, but the thought of more rain made Tristan uneasy.

They stopped for the night some distance away from Deepwalk, dismounting and removing the bulkier pieces of their armor. Kade sent Roma and Lucas to find wood for a fire. Tristan rubbed his hands together nervously, watching the sky for signs of rain while Kade tied the horses to a nearby tree. "We should unpack the tent."

Kade followed his gaze. "There aren't any clouds, but I guess it wouldn't hurt."

Glad that they agreed, Tristan set to work pulling the tent out and pinning it down on the dry ground. "Are you sure about all this?"

Kade was gathering stones for the fire pit a few feet away. "What's wrong with you? Why are you so jumpy?"

Tristan opened his mouth to answer, but froze when he heard leaves rustling in the forest. Scanning the trees, he saw a bird landing on a thin branch, causing it to sway up and down. He let out a breath and relaxed. "I'm not jumpy.... I just have a bad feeling."

"Well dismiss it. You saw the arrow Leodan brought back. It's just a few bandits. Nothing we can't handle."

"What about the missing bodies?" Tristan asked defensively. "Why would bandits take people?"

Kade tilted his head slightly. "They could be holding them for ransom, I suppose, which would complicate things a little. Why else would they take them?"

Tristan thought back on the story he'd been reading before they left. Did bandits take slaves? Anything was possible, but he didn't want to sound foolish in front of Kade.

"Wait...," Kade said, and Tristan froze again, listening for any strange sounds in the wilderness. "You think it was something else, don't you? A goblin, or a ghost, or a demon?" There was a teasing music in the Son of Bishop's voice as he said the last word, biting it off with a full-bodied laugh.

Tristan prodded him with one of the tent rods; when he didn't stop laughing, he swatted at him more solidly. "Don't be stupid," he protested. "Of course I don't."

"Ah!" Kade hissed, rubbing the back of his arm where he'd been hit. "Easy with that thing. If that's not it, then what? What are you afraid of?"

Tristan peered back at him with what he hoped was a scolding glare. "I'm afraid of being snuck up on in the dead of night in the middle of a storm," he retorted. "I'm afraid of having my throat slit while I sleep."

"Then you can relax," said Kade. "We'll be rotating watch so there will be no sneaking going on and there's still not a cloud in the sky."

Tristan looked up at the bright, clear moon. "I guess you're right."

He finished piecing together the tent while Kade built the fire pit. Not long after they finished, Lucas and Roma made their way back to the campsite, arms full of dried wood they'd found in the forest, and Lucas lit the fire. Tristan unpacked the cooking stand and stood it over their new fire, attaching a small pot he'd taken from the kitchens to the hook directly over the flame.

"What are you making?" Roma wondered, peeking into the pot.

"Just something I found in the pantry," Tristan replied, unable to hold back a proud smirk.

"Ohh," she said slyly, "I didn't know you could cook."

Tristan shrugged and nodded to the sword hanging at her side. "I didn't know you could fight."

"She fights better than you do," Kade interjected under his breath as he took a seat by the fire.

Roma laughed softly and gave Tristan an apologetic look. "I'm trying to join the Order of the Lion, like Kade. I'm better with a crossbow, though."

Tristan eyed the bow tucked away in a bag on her horse, nodding slowly to himself. He'd always liked the idea of ranged weaponry, of picking off enemies from the shadows, but he couldn't remember having ever hit a target in his life.

"My mother was handy with a crossbow," Lucas said from his seat on the ground beside her. "She tried to teach me, but I never really had the taste for it."

"I could teach you if you want," Roma offered, her red lips curving upward as she ran an idle hand through Lucas's hair.

"I never really had the eye for it," said Tristan more loudly than he'd meant to. No one really seemed to notice.

"No," Lucas argued, "you never had the patience for it."

Tristan frowned at him. "Oh, ha. You really should stop spending so much time with Kade."

"Whatever's in that pot smells delicious," said Roma. She lifted the lid slightly and took a deep whiff.

"It's dharqberries." Tristan put a hand over hers, pressing the lid back down. "And a little sugar and water." He had found a large basket full of the small, dark red berries that grew wild in the forests of Arcavis and taken a little sack of them in hopes of impressing everyone with dessert.

"Dharqberries, huh?" Kade said, nudging the cooking stand with his foot. "My mother told me a story about them once."

It was the first time Tristan had heard anyone from Deepwalk mention the late Lady Bishop, who had been killed when Valthann ambushed Gullsforde almost ten years ago. "How did it go?"

"Let me see if I can remember..." Kade leaned back and tilted his head toward the stars. "It was back in the days when our world and the Otherworld were still linked together. Aren, King of Adhwen, had seven stones, which he had used to defeat the demon king Taranis. On these seven stones were written seven words, given to him by the goddess Arhasa: Creation, Nature, Sight, Mind, Time, Life, and Death. With each stone he controlled a different aspect of reality. But Aren was not a greedy king, and he often gave pieces of these stones away to heroes he chose from among humanity, people he deemed worthy to possess some small portion of his power. These were the Scribed and were the ancestors of all mages.

"One day, Taranis discovered that Aren possessed these stones and desired to have them for himself. He commanded the demon Qroth to steal the stone of Death for him, knowing that once Aren was once again mortal, he could kill the Hero-King and take the other stones too. The demon did as it was commanded; Qroth snuck into the land of Adhwen and found his way into Aren's castle."

"How?" Tristan interrupted. "Aren's castle was impenetrable."

"Simple," answered Kade. "The castle once belonged to Taranis. He could have told the demon all the secret entrances. Through cunning trickery, Qroth reshaped himself into the image of Aren and thus gained access to the seven stones. The real Aren possessed the stone of Sight, however, and saw all of this taking place in his mind's eye. He rushed to the room where the stones were kept, but he was too late; Qroth's touch had corrupted the stone of Death, turning it a deep blood red.

"The demon and the King of Adhwen fought for twelve days straight, and the force of their combat shook the entire universe. Lightning and fire and smoke could be seen from all corners of the three worlds. Aren refused to rest until Qroth was completely destroyed. When it was over, Aren took the stone of Death and smashed it into a thousand pieces and many of the shards fell to the earth outside Adhwen. These took root and became the dharqberry bushes seen all over Arcavis and Ircevia even today."

"I suppose that explains why people used to get them blessed at the chapel all the time," Lucas said casually.

Roma giggled at his side. "I forgot people did that."

"I hope none of you are superstitious, then," Tristan added, "because these are going to be delicious." He cracked the lid of the pot and let the scent of them waft out.

"Are you just going to keep teasing us with them or can we actually eat them tonight?" Kade asked.

"Oh!" Tristan grinned at him in mock surprise. "Oh, did you want some? I was just making them for myself."

Kade shook his head slowly, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "Get me a damn cup," the Son of Bishop ordered with a straight face. "You smug little shit. This is what I get for putting you in charge of food."

Tristan took four small tin cups from his pack and spooned out a portion of the sweet-smelling berries into each one as he passed them out. Truthfully, he felt like a bandit himself, getting away with all the best compliments without doing much work. Once everyone was finished eating, he, Lucas, and Roma piled into the tent while Kade stayed up for the first watch.

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By the time Tristan's turn came around it was early in the morning, about an hour before dawn. He woke to the feeling of Lucas lightly smacking him on the face and the sound of rain tapping against the top of the tent. Bleary-eyed and sleepy, he traded places without complaint. He sat down just under the edge of the tent, shivering against the spray of rain that came in from the opening, and the sense of dread at the notion of storms he'd felt earlier returned. He pulled a blanket over his linen shirt as he watched carefully through the pouring rain for any shifting shadows, but it was difficult to see anything in the dark.

Eventually, the rain passed and a thick fog rose up to take its place. Tristan had almost nodded off, reassured by the dissipation of the rain, but one of the horses whinnied and snorted on the other side of the ashes that had been their campfire. He wiped his eyes and looked out into the white fog; he could hardly see the horses through the clouds between them. Then his heart seized in his chest as he made out the shape of the tree where they had been tied. They were gone. He heard a twig snap nearby and he held his breath, searching for the source of the sound.

When he didn't see anything, he stood up, drawing his sword slowly, and took a couple steps out of the tent. An arrow whirred toward him; he failed to dodge it and felt the sharp edge of the stone tip tear through his shirt and graze his side. He shrugged off the pain and searched for movement in the direction the arrow had come from. A cloaked figure sailed out of the fog and landed on him solidly, knocking his sword out of his hand as he fell back onto the ground.

A hand clasped firmly over Tristan's mouth, cutting off the beginnings of a shout. A woman was astride him, pinning him to the ground with her weight. Her other hand held a dagger ready to strike deep into his throat. Tristan wriggled one hand free, then the other, and grabbed her wrists just as she moved to kill him.

The cloaked woman angled her dagger, cutting at his arm as he wrestled with her. "Don't worry about me or anything!" Tristan shouted to rouse the still-sleeping tent a few feet away. "I'm sure your rest is more important!"

The woman leaned in to bite one of his hands and Tristan recoiled. She quickly took the dagger from her other hand and moved to strike him again. Tristan yanked her other wrist down to the ground, pulling her with it. The dagger caught the top of his shoulder, narrowly missing his face, and an agonized cry escaped him. He caught her other arm again and used it to push her off him.

Tristan rolled on top of her in an effort to hold her in place and she let out an ear-piercing scream. Tristan winced at the sound of it. Suddenly, something solid hit him in the back of the head and he was rolling onto the ground again, dazed. 

7: A Thousand Choices

Tristan looked up and saw a man had hit him from behind with the handle of a bow. The man reached out a hand in an odd, gentlemanly fashion, as though the woman had not just tried to murder someone. The bowman tried to tuck her behind him, protecting her from something or someone out of Tristan's view, but she leapt back in front of him, a wild and dangerous glint in her eyes.

The trees reverberated with the sound of metal hitting metal. Kade had joined the fray. Tristan pulled himself up to watch the display, ignoring a touch of dizziness. The woman who had attacked him was scowling at Kade with hard eyes, her movements swift and deliberate as she matched every swing he dealt. Behind her, the bowman was readying a shot.

Tristan was about to spring back into action when he felt something cold and sharp against his neck. He glanced out the corner of his eye and saw a glimmer of iron. "Get up," a harsh voice said quietly from behind him. Tristan exhaled slowly and got to his feet. "Search him."

Another woman, this one dressed in boiled leather armor, knelt in front of him and patted down his legs, moving up and up until she was at his waist. She untied a small purse that was attached to his belt, looking up at him with a playful grin. Tristan wasn't concerned; the purse only contained a few copper coins and some packets of seeds he'd been planting in the garden.

He saw Roma and Lucas duck out of the tent. Roma dove toward the bowman and tackled him with a ferocity Tristan couldn't have anticipated, causing him to discharge his shot and sending the arrow flying over everyone's heads. The two of them rolled one over the other for several more feet, disappearing behind a small hill.

Tristan met Lucas's eyes and gave him a significant look. Lucas gritted his teeth and drew the daggers he carried at his sides. But as soon as he made a move toward Tristan and the couple that were robbing him, Tristan felt the blade at his throat stiffen and a firm hand gripped him by his wounded shoulder to hold him in place.

"Stay put," warned the man holding the sword behind him.

The leather-clad woman made a disgusted noise when she opened the purse. Nevertheless, she tied it to her own belt and kept going. Finished searching his waist, the woman grabbed his hips with the same teasing smile, and pulled herself back up to eye level. Her eyes caught on the chain around his neck and she withdrew the ring and charm from inside his shirt.

"Don't touch that," Tristan growled.

A small sigh passed over her lips as she examined Lord Odhis's ring. "No wonder there was nothing in your purse. Someone already took everything you had, didn't they, little lordling?"

"Leave it alone." Fury was bubbling up from the depths of Tristan's gut. Robbing him was enough insult, but to trifle with the symbol of his family?

The woman smiled at him, her dusty brown curls falling over her face. "Come now, I have to take something worthwhile or else we've wasted everyone's time." She reached around his neck and he felt the man's blade pull away slightly to accomodate her.

Tristan took the chance. He rammed his head into hers, sending her sprawling onto the ground. He grabbed the blade a few inches from his throat and the man's arm, rolling him over his shoulders and onto the ground beside her. The woman was already getting back on her feet, pulling out her own sword. As if on cue, a flash of flame split the air between her and Tristan; Lucas sprinted in, daggers raised.

The man tugged his sword out of Tristan's grip, slicing open the flesh of his palm. He rolled onto his side and leapt to his feet. Tristan scanned the ground, searching for where his sword had fallen in his scuffle with the cloaked woman. It was lying in the dirt behind the man, just a few feet away from where Kade was prevailing in his own fight.

Tristan's opponent was around thirty and looked like he'd been in a few skirmishes in his life. But his stance was wrong and when he lunged, he moved too slowly. Tristan dodged the man's first swing and danced around him, hoping to get closer to his sword. Then he thought of a better idea. He moved out of reach for the man's second swing and when he reached back to make a third, Tristan kicked him hard, square in the chest. The man fell backward onto the tent, the canvas falling on top of him.

While he fumbled with the material, Tristan took his sword from his hand and pointed it at his heart. "Call off the others," he said. When the man didn't say anything, he pressed the tip of the blade firmly against his chest. "Call them off or we won't stop until you're all dead."

"Lilah," croaked the man. Then, with more force, "Lilah! Stop!" Though he had spoken only to the woman fighting Lucas, the entire campsite came to a sudden quiet. Kade and Lucas looked up from their own battles with an equal mixture of shock and relief. Tristan felt warmth creep onto his cheeks as he realized everyone was watching, waiting for him to make a move.

The woman in leather, Lilah, paled at the sight of the man at swordpoint. "Let him go," she said evenly.

Roma came back up the hill with the other man in tow. She was sweaty, filthy, and breathless, but the man's hands were bound in what looked to be a leather bootlace. This sent the cloaked woman into a storm of anger and she moved to attack Roma.

"Stop!" Tristan shouted. "Make one more move and I'll kill him."

He hoped to make it a convincing enough threat. In reality, he had no intention of killing anyone, not if they could be taken alive. He guessed it was good enough, because the cloaked woman froze in place, studying his face to test his seriousness. Kade directed her to sit on the ground with a wave of his sword.

"Where are the horses?" Tristan demanded.

"In the forest a ways," the cloaked woman answered in a surprisingly small voice.

"Roma, would you fetch the rope?" asked Tristan.

"Sure." Roma passed the bowman's tied hands to Kade and disappeared into the foggy forest.

Tristan tried to calculate his next move carefully. "Who are you?" he asked the man lying on the crumpled tent.

"Brennan Mallory, m'lord," he replied disdainfully. "That's my wife, Lilah. And Silas and his wife Mari."

Tristan thought back to what Leodan had said: there were no bodies. He thought of Arcayad and the Helviotic slavers. Reminding himself of the possiblity that the victims might have just walked back home, he shut his eyes and drew a deep breath. That was too much to hope for. "What did you do with the people that were in the wagons you attacked?" he asked, opening his eyes again and searching Brennan's for the truth.

"What wagons?" returned Brennan, blinking back up at him, feigning innocence.

Tristan already knew the answer; he simply wanted Brennan to admit it. The tradespeople had been carted off to the west and handed over to the enemy. He had heard stories of people being forced to mine, or farm, or serve Valthanic and Sarivandic officers. He had even heard of slave soldiers, forced to fight for the other side. "What did you do with them?" he asked again, heat rising in his voice.

Roma made her way back to the road with the horses behind her. She tossed some rope to Kade and another piece to Lucas and they set to tying up Lilah and Mari.

Tristan's whole body was shaking now. He imagined his mother, face covered in dirt, swinging a pickaxe in some darkened mine. He imagined her bowing to a Valthanic officer. The thought made him sick. "Where did you take them?" This time his question was more of a demand. The point of the sword had creeped up from Brennan's chest to press into the soft flesh of his throat.

"Who were they to you, lordling?" Brennan spat. "Just a handful of peasants."

Tristan would have killed him, but a flurry of red hair gently pushed him back a few steps. Roma's green eyes peered into his, her eyebrows knitted together. "Don't," she whispered. "You'll only regret it."

Tristan glanced back at Brennan and knew she was right. He took another deep breath, steadying himself against the huge waves of anger still crashing into him. He looked around and saw that the other bandits were bound; he buried the nose of his blade in the soft dirt by the road and gave Roma a nod of thanks. Kade was a few feet away, waiting for Tristan's next move expectantly; they exchanged glances and without a word, Kade tilted his head minimally, as if encouraging him to continue.

Brennan was sitting up now that the threat of death was removed. He wore a smug grin, evidently pleased at the rise he had gotten out of Tristan. "Well, m'lord? Are you going to throw us into some dark and dingy dungeon?"

Tristan towered over the thief, calmly staring down at him. "They were my people," he said quietly. "Just like they were your people. And you betrayed them. You took them to Ashfirth or Amblelycke along with the rest of your ill-gotten goods and you sold them to the Valthans like they were cattle."

"It wasn't quite like that," Brennan backpedalled. "We didn't have a choice."

"You had a thousand choices," replied Tristan dryly. "You just made all the wrong ones."

Brennan opened his mouth and shut it, unused to being accused of slave-trading. "You're a child," he said at last. "And a lord. What do you know about the way the rest of the world works?"

"Maybe very little," Tristan admitted. "But I know that selling people is wrong."

"Yeah, well," Brennan replied dismissively and crossed his arms, "it's easy to take the high road when you have a warm meal prepared for you every night."

Tristan thought of the kitchen staff, of the old woman with the swollen feet. He thought of the refugees that had poured into Almsway after every battle out west. He thought of the three or four pennies in the purse Lilah had stolen and how dependent he was on Lord Bishop's charity. Then he thought of the Listening Lord. "You're right." He sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the thief, wincing a little as he put weight onto his cut shoulder. "But you have another choice right now."

Brennan's eyes rose in surprise. "You're going to let me choose which kind of rope to tie me up with?"

"If you sold your goods to the Valthans, it means you have contacts behind enemy lines." Tristan hesitated, not really sure that this was the right thing to do. "Do you have access to the cities out west?"

"Tristan, don't," Lucas protested from behind him. "You can't trust him."

Kade motioned him to silence. "Let him try." He was watching Tristan and the thief with an intense curiosity, as though listening to a suspenseful story being told.

Brennan chuckled at the question. "What, I find a way to sneak you in and you heroically retake the city?"

"No," answered Tristan, shaking his head. "You keep selling to them long enough to find their next plan."

"I don't think so." Brennan's demeanor shifted from the sarcastic rogue to ruthless negotiator as easily as Lord Bishop slipped into familiar friend. "If they find out I'm crossing them, I'm a dead man. And anyway, how can I trust that you won't just throw me in prison after the fact?"

Tristan sighed heavily. "I can't guarantee your safety in either case. Our arrangement would need to be secret, so as far as anyone else is concerned, you'd be a criminal in the eyes of the law. I would do my best to speak on your behalf, but I don't exactly wield a lot of power."

Brennan lifted his shoulders expectantly. "Then why would I--"

"Because you know that selling people is wrong, too," Tristan interrupted. "Because you know that working with Valthann might help you now, but eventually they'll turn on you. And because you know it's better to be remembered as a war hero than a traitor."

There was a long pause as Brennan considered, his jaw set. "If I do this-- and I'm not saying I will-- what would I sell them? I'm guessing you're not going to let us keep pillaging wagons."

This was the point Tristan had been stuck on himself. He couldn't condone banditry on the North Road as a representative of Lord Bishop, and certainly not as Lord Calder. But he didn't have anything to offer, and even if he did, was it really wise to allow trade with the Valthans? He turned to Kade, hoping for an answer.

Kade's bright blue eyes met his, then looked away, scanning the campsite for ideas. He frowned in thought for a few minutes but his lips soon curled upward. Tristan followed his gaze and landed on one of the stone-and-straw arrows Silas had used earlier. "We'll use the scraps," the Son of Bishop announced. "Everyone in Deepwalk has scraps-- the tailors, the smiths, the masons, everyone. We'll get them to try and make something at least marginally useful out of it, then send it off to be sold. We'll only be losing our garbage and the Valthans will get shoddy equipment."

Tristan grinned at the idea of a Valthanic officer in a threadbare tunic. "Well, what d'you think?"

Brennan gave him a dubious look. "They'll only buy it for so long," he said. "And they'll wonder about the... well, the wagoneers."

"You're not selling anyone else," replied Tristan sharply. "Tell them whatever you like, but you're done with that business from here out. Clear?"

"Yes, m'lord." This time when he said it, it sounded... genuine; oddly enough, this irritated Tristan more than when he was mocking him.

"Do we have a deal?" Tristan held out his hand to shake on the proposal.

Brennan's gaze flicked to each member of his ragtag group. Mari was the only one who seemed to find the deal unfavorable and she wore her displeasure plainly on her face. The others, like Brennan, were hesitant but willing nonetheless. At last, Brennan took his hand and shook it firmly. "Deal. But I won't come to Deepwalk to get my goods. It needs to look real, in case I'm followed."

Tristan nodded acceptance. "We'll work it out."

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It felt strange to untie the bandits that had attacked them and let them go free into the forests again. Stranger than releasing bandits into the wild, though, was the sense Tristan got from Brennan that he was the unquestioned leader among them. The way the other three behaved around him wasn't at all dissimilar from the way Lord Bishop's guards served him-- there was a notion of unfailing loyalty that he hadn't expected to find in a group of thieves.

They coordinated with Brennan and Lilah to figure out the finer details of the plan, like how Lord Bishop's men would signal when it was their wagon riding down the road, or how Brennan's gang would communicate any information they found. While they made their plans, Lucas set about making breakfast and Roma healed Tristan's shoulder and arms and side, for which he was overwhelmingly grateful.

In a week's time, Deepwalk would send out a wagon full of their worst materials and goods. A red sash tied to the reins of the wagon would designate the mark as it moved on the North Road; in case this wasn't enough, the driver would also hum the tune of "The Waters of Sevan". Brennan's crew would wait in the wilderness and "ambush" the wagon just as they had done before, only this time it would all be for show.

The thieves turned spies would take the wagon with its contents to Ashfirth. If asked why they had no human cargo, they would explain that things had gotten violent and they'd been forced to kill the traveling merchants. Meanwhile, they would listen for any details about the Empire's plans of attack. If they heard anything dire, Silas would be the one to deliver it, as he was the quietest and swiftest of them all. He was directed to hurry to Deepwalk and given a passphrase that would grant him entry to the Sanctuary without delay.

Once Brennan and the others left for their own campsite, the four of them were left to clean up and head back to Deepwalk. Tristan and Kade worked together to pack up the tent, which was still a disheveled mess from where Brennan had collapsed onto it. Lucas and Roma cleared the fire pit and put away the cooking stand.

"Lord Bishop will be angry, won't he?" Tristan asked, finally voicing a fear that had been eating away at him for a couple hours.

Kade looked up from the tie he was working on. "About what?"

"We were supposed to catch them, not make a deal with them."

"Technically, we did catch them," Roma countered in a singsong voice.

"Sure," said Lucas, "but I somehow doubt this is what Lord Bishop had in mind. It's definitely not what I had in mind."

Tristan flashed him a nervous smile. Even after making all their plans, he worried that Lucas was right. Brennan and his crew were thieves and slavers collaborating with the enemy. Why did he think for a second that he could trust them?

Kade tossed a tent spike into the pile they were making. "I think Lord Bishop will only be angry that he didn't think of it himself."

"But what if they betray us?" asked Tristan as he pulled up another spike. "We practically just gave them license to rob whoever they want."

"Then we'll hunt them down again and kill them," Kade replied as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "That was the plan all along anyway, right?"

"I believe the plan was to capture them and deliver them to Karryhs," Roma corrected. She arched an eyebrow at him from where she stood packing the horses.

Kade was nonplussed. "Regardless, if they double-cross us, I will personally remove their heads from their bodies."

Tristan frowned. "I guess," he submitted, but his stomach was still in knots.

They finished packing their supplies and began the trip back to Deepwalk. The road leading home was considerably less distressing, Tristan noted; for one thing, the rain had passed overnight and as the day wore on, the sun came out again, shining merrily through the trees overhead. But also, the dread of being ambushed was over, replaced by the more subtle, uneasy fear of facing Lord Bishop and explaining what he had done.

He might have passed the trip in silence, content to dwell on his own nauseating anxiety, but Roma struck up a conversation. "So, any other hidden talents up your sleeve?" she asked. "Besides cooking, I mean."

Tristan was about to explain that cooking was really just a hobby and that he wasn't actually that good at it, when Lucas spoke up instead. "Don't flatter him too much or he'll get big about it."

"I'll flatter who I please, Mr. Wilder," Roma replied, biting her lower lip as she grinned at him. Lucas glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and Tristan thought he saw him straighten in his saddle a bit.

"Lucas cooks too, you know," said Tristan. "I mean, not as well, but he's not bad."

"Such slander," muttered Lucas, pretending insult. "How dare you?"

Tristan gripped the reins of his horse and nudged it forward with his foot, first into a canter, outpacing the others, then into an open gallop. It had been a long time since he'd been able to ride like this; as Valthann came closer and closer to Almsway, Odhis had expressly forbidden him to leave the city. The early autumn breeze felt good running through his hair and the trees on either side were a blur of bright red and orange. Lucas was the first one to catch up to him, with Kade and Roma not far behind, all of them laughing and wild and truly young.

8: Midwinter

Kade was right, of course, about Lord Bishop. When they told him of their deal with Brennan Mallory, a slow, sly smile had curled into his black beard. He embraced the idea more readily than Tristan had expected, sending out orders to the various artisans throughout the city to send whatever scraps they could spare to the Sanctuary. There were questions among the people, as expected, but Karryhs explained that the goods were being sent to Harlwyn to help them prepare for a potential attack. It was a good enough reason for most and they happily complied, sometimes sending in their finest products instead of scraps. These were kept, helping build a healthy armory in the process.

And so the first wagon was sent out, and robbed. And a second and a third. When they still hadn't heard anything from Brennan, Tristan began to worry again that he had made the wrong decision. Even Kade was eager to hunt the thieves down again and draw out their blood. But Karryhs insisted they hold to the plan. A fourth and fifth wagon were sent out with no reply. The sixth wagon wasn't ambushed at all, making it the entire way to Harlwyn without event and Tristan feared their spies had been found out and killed. When he expressed his concerns to Karryhs, the Lord of Halborn agreed and sent out scouts to look for any trace of Brennan and his band of thieves.

Soon winter set in and the Midwinter holiday was fast approaching, with Tristan's sixteenth birthday just around the corner. The week before the holiday found the entire castle in a frenzy of cleaning and decorating; everything had to be perfect in anticipation of some mysterious guests. It took Tristan a while to find out who the visitors were: Karryhs's mother, Lady Sophia and her great niece, the Princess Ariana.

Once he discovered this, Tristan joined the frantic bustling. He searched the city for a tailor to make clothes that actually fit him, offering some of the fruits of the garden in exchange. There was only one tailor who accepted the offer and in the end, his new clothing was simple and a bit drab, but they fit comfortably, which suited him just fine. He ended up trading a bushel of snap peas, several leeks, and a handful of potatoes for three outfits, plus two green and gold tunics for Maxam and Imlan, and a shirt he planned on giving Lucas as a gift.

He continued his training under Kade, who brought in Roma as an extra sparring partner. With the addition of Roma came Lucas, who was suddenly keen on practicing his combat skills. All three were excellent challenges for Tristan. Kade balanced his training in a variety of styles. Sometimes he was given a sword and shield, other times only a shortsword. One day he fought with a massive two-handed battleaxe; Tristan found it unwieldy and told Kade he was more likely to kill himself with it than anyone else. Kade snapped at him to practice with it anyway because "one day it will be the only weapon between you and five bloodthirsty Revenants." Tristan proceeded to prove himself right by losing his balance and nearly landing on the edge of the blade. He was only forced to use it a couple more times after that before Kade handed him a staff instead. This was a little easier to manage and he liked the way it felt in his hands.

On the day before Midwinter, Kade and Roma watched as he practiced with a sword and dagger combination against Lucas's flaming daggers. He had already been reprimanded (and "killed") for crossing the blades to block, a move he had seen in several games and shows put on by soldiers back home. It felt counter-intuitive to him and he still wasn't sure what to do with the extra weapon.

Lucas struck with such force and fluid grace it was almost all Tristan could do to block and parry. It was getting him nowhere. He blocked a strike from above with his sword and was immediately forced to dodge Lucas's second dagger as he lunged at his chest. Undeterred, Lucas undercut his legs in one smooth motion, sending him to the ground. Tristan rolled as Kade had shown him the first day but stopped short when he saw a small entourage of people in blue and white approaching with Lord Bishop and two noble women between them.

Tristan scrambled to his feet and sheathed his weapons. He rifled through his hair and smoothed his shirt, wiping away the dirt and trying for all the world to look like he hadn't been toppled over onto the ground for the billionth time. His hands searched for something to do, fidgeting with the edges of his clothes, resting on the hilt of his sword.

When they were closer, Lord Bishop gestured first to the older woman. "May I introduce my mother, Her Grace Lady Sophia Bishop, Princess of Arcavis." She was elegant and fine featured with long silver hair and deep brown eyes. Her shoulders were wrapped in black velvet and she wore an intricate purple gown.

There was a dramatic pause as Tristan and the others bowed to her. Tristan used the graceful "liege's bow" Kade had used the first day they met; after around an hour or so of practice alone in his room, he had finally perfected it and was rather proud of himself. Only when he rose from his bow did he realize that no one else had made the same gesture. He tucked his head down to hide his flushed cheeks as Karryhs made the second introduction.

"And Her Majesty, Ariana Fairfax, Crown Princess of Arcavis." Karryhs motioned to the young woman beside Lady Sophia, with delicate, sandy brown hair and warm, amber eyes. Her fair skin and freckles crinkled as she failed to suppress a smile after Tristan's gaffe. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but notice how well her tresses framed her face, how her eyes sparkled like stars.

This time Tristan avoided the embellished bow. Kade and Roma didn't, though, and Tristan flushed more deeply when it coaxed out stifled laughter from the Princess. He smiled weakly at her mostly to quell his nerves. Karryhs continued his introductions with the barest hint of amusement on his lips. "Naturally, you already know Akkadyan and Roma, but I don't believe you've met Master Lucas Wilder and Lord Tristan Calder of Teadwyn."

Lady Sophia looked at him with shrewd eyes; she was a lady of high birth and higher standards and Tristan felt her judgement upon him. He thought of bowing again but decided that would only make him seem thrice the fool. Instead, he nodded his head courteously and said, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintances, m'ladies."

When Lady Sophia made no move to reply, Princess Ariana curtsied in answer. "As are we," she said, giving Lady Sophia a sideways glance, "though it's tragic that our meeting is due at least in part to the loss of Teadwyn."

Memories of the battle at Almsway threw Tristan further off track. He searched for words but had forgotten how to speak. All notion of graciousness and propriety fled him. "I-I--" He stumbled over the simplest sound and unconsciously clutched at his grandfather's ring for support. The Princess was watching him expectantly, but unlike her aunt, there was warmth and kindness in her gaze. He relaxed. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm really bad at this."

"Yes, you are," Lady Sophia said at last.

"Aunt Sophie!" scolded the Princess before Tristan could look properly ashamed.

Lady Sophia made no excuses. "A gentleman should know his etiquette, especially with regard to the Crown."

Tristan sank into himself, wishing he could disappear, wishing everyone would forget he ever existed.

"I think you've been away from the west for too long, Mother," Karryhs said. "Courtly mores are hardly of concern here."

"To the detriment of society as a whole, I fear," argued Lady Sophia. "A lord who forgets his station loses the respect of his people by becoming too familiar, the respect of his peers by cheapening their rank, and the respect of his superiors by playing the peasant."

"A dismal philosophy," said Karryhs with a tone that suggested he had heard this argument before, "born of years in the cynical--"

"Born of years of experience," Lady Sophia interrupted.

The Princess gave Tristan an apologetic look. He bowed his head, thoroughly chastised. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said quietly. "I will make use of Lord Bishop's library to educate myself so I may avoid losing your respect in the future."

The sincerity in his voice seemed to take Lady Sophia by surprise. "See that you do," she replied with a small curtsy.

"Shall we continue our tour?" Karryhs asked, extending an arm to his mother. She took it and they walked away together.

The Princess lingered a moment longer, waiting until they were just out of earshot. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "She's been under a lot of stress lately.... Well, always."

"She was right." Tristan watched Lord Bishop and Lady Sophia strolling through the courtyard together.

"About some of it," the Princess admitted. She followed his gaze. "I have to go, but perhaps we could continue our discussion later, Lord Calder?"

"Tristan. Please, m'lady."

She flashed a half-smile. "Then I will be Ariana."

"I don't think Lady Sophia would like that very much," he replied uneasily.

"Then I suppose it should just be between us," said Ariana.

"As it pleases you." He gave another small bow as she began to leave, savoring the sweetness of her smile as she walked away.

Kade hit him over the head with the back of his hand. "What was that?!"

Tristan yelped, rubbing the tender place. "I know, I know, I should have studied etiquette more closely, but I was so focused on getting everything else right--"

Kade rolled his eyes. "Not that," he barked. "That!" He pointed to the place where Ariana had stood only moments before.

Tristan looked back and forth from the ground to Kade, bewildered. "I was just talking to her," he replied with a shrug.

Kade covered his face with one hand and walked away a few feet, muttering to himself. Roma interceded. "You were flirting with her," she explained delicately.

Tristan glanced back at the ground, replaying the conversation in his head. "No, I... we were just chatting. She was being nice."

"Looked like flirting to me," Lucas said, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Before Tristan could argue, Kade stepped back in. "Even if it wasn't!" he interjected. "She is my cousin, my grandmother's niece. Do you know how many conversations I've had with her?" Tristan shook his head and Kade held up a single finger. "One. And that was when we were children."

Tristan peered after the three elegant figures being guided through the courtyard by men and women in the King's colors. "Why doesn't anyone talk to her? It seems like she'd get lonely."

Kade let out an explosive sigh. "You're missing the point. She is the Crown Princess of Arcavis. One day, she will be your Queen. You are her servant, her pawn, not her friend. You are simply a tool in her hand. That is the meaning of the liege's bow; it signifies that you are hers, unequivocally, and she may do with you as she wishes. She should be set apart in your mind and revered."

"And if she wishes for me to talk to her like she's a human being?" Tristan asked in irritation. "There are too many rules. Too many people with too many different opinions of what's proper and what's not."

"They exist for good reason," replied Kade. "You heard Lady Sophia."

"Yes, she made her position very clear," Tristan grumbled.

"And you told the Princess you thought she was right." Kade's voice was low and icy, a tone Tristan had so far managed to avoid. As Midwinter approached, tensions were already high around the castle and it was becoming more and more difficult not to step on someone's toes, especially Kade's, whose mood had become increasingly foul.

"She was right that I should know the rules, but wrong about the rest." A small voice in the back of Tristan's head told him he was going too far, that he should stop talking, but he pushed it aside. "A people's respect for their lord is strengthened, not lost, by his familiarity and humility. And if something as frivolous as an improper bow can negate your love for your people--"

Roma placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "You should calm down," she said, looking from one to the other. "Both of you."

"I agree," said Lucas, stretching his arms with a yawn. "Besides, I think it's time for lunch and I won't have you two bickering while I eat."

"Fine," Kade relented, shrugging away from Roma's touch with a wave of his hand. "But be careful around her. Try not to make a fool of yourself any more than usual."

Tristan might have retorted at this, but a gentle pinch on his shoulder from Roma warned him to let it go. Lucas followed Kade toward the Sanctuary's main entrance, chattering idly about the kind of food he hoped they'd find waiting for them. Tristan let out a long, slow breath as he watched them go. "Thanks," he said to Roma.

"He didn't mean that, y'know." She patted his shoulder and let her arm fall to her side. "He just gets this way sometimes. Especially at Midwinter."

"What? Broody and irritable?"

Roma held back a grin. "No, it's his mother," she explained. "She was killed by Valthans out in Gullsforde several years ago."

Tristan refrained from pointing out that his own mother was killed just a few months ago and that he didn't go around treating everyone badly because of it. Then he thought of what it was going to be like to celebrate Midwinter without her and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. No more curling up next to her feet with warm apple cider. No more listening to his grandfather tell the story of Dimuredh. No more organizing outdoor feasts for the people of Almsway. No more "hunting demons" along the city walls and alleyways. What would Midwinter even be like in Deepwalk?

As if she could read his mind, Roma wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him toward the main hall. "I know the war has been difficult for everyone, some more than others. Kade's just one of the many and he deals with it poorly. He always has."

"I think I understand," Tristan replied, trying to quell the flurry of anxiety knotting up his stomach. "Can you help me with something?"

She smiled at him and mussed up his hair. "What do you need?"

Tristan pulled away from her hand with a laugh. Roma always had that effect on him; she was better than Lucas at lifting his mood. He would never understand how Kade could stay so dark and angry when she was around. "I want to do something special for Midwinter, but I'll need help convincing everyone to go along with it."

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It took most of the next day to set everything up but Tristan didn't mind. It was nice to have something to keep his mind off the loss of his family. He rounded up Imlan and Maxam and several of the Sanctuary's workers to help him build a short platform in the city square near the fountain. He put Loughby in charge of spreading the word throughout the city and asked Lucas to take care of lighting the general area surrounding the square. Roma approached the butchers and bakers and produce merchants about contributing extra food. Convincing Karryhs had been simple, but Tristan gave the Lord Bishop the more difficult task of telling Lady Sophia about their change in plans.

By evening, everything was finished. People from all over the city gathered into the square to celebrate Midwinter together. The torches Lucas had set up shone in the twilight like stars in a sea of people. Throughout the crowd were tables filled with food from kitchens all over the city and in the center of it all was the platform where Lord Bishop stood waiting to welcome them to dinner.

Tristan stood beside a table set on top of the platform. As badly as he had wanted to sit among the people, concerns for Ariana's safety won out in the end. The princess smiled at him as she took the place on his right and Lucas elbowed him surreptitiously on his other side. Kade and Roma were on the other end, near Lady Sophia, with the place of honor in the center reserved for Karryhs.

A hush swept over the crowd as Karryhs prepared to speak. His voice rolled out over the people like a thick winter fog, bouncing back off the faces of buildings and filling the entire square with its smooth, crisp tones. "Long ago, the demon king Taranis sought to conquer Adhwen and brought his armies to the gates of heaven, where the Great Tree stood. The Hero-King, Aren of Adhwen stood against him and brought the whole of his might and the might of his armies to face the demonic host of Amredh. The two sides clashed with a sound like thunder, and blood fell to the ground like rain. For five days, demons devoured the sons and daughters of Adhwen, body and soul. And for five days, Aren's soldiers slew goblins and imps and demons while the mortal folk of Damenhan watched in horror as the battle roared on.

"The tide of war turned on the sixth day, when the demons broke through Adhwen's line. To stop them from getting into his kingdom, Lord Aren sealed the gates to both Adhwen and Amredh, trapping both armies in Damenhan. The sons and daughters of Adhwen were surrounded. To save them, Aren drew strength from the six stones of power: Knowledge, Nature, Change, Time, Thought, and Healing. The seventh stone, the stone of Immortality, had been destroyed and scattered through the three worlds. Aren brought down fire on the heads of the demons and turned their thoughts against themselves, causing them to kill one another. With one hand, he destroyed the army of Amredh.

"But Taranis knew the words of power written on the stones because they were also written onto the flesh of his heart. He shielded himself from Aren's flame and protected his mind from Aren's grasp. When his army was destroyed and Aren believed the fight was over, Taranis leapt through the smoke and death and plunged his sword deep into Aren's chest.

"Without the power of the seventh stone, Aren died. This is why the place was renamed Dimuredh, the Place Where God Died. Taranis howled in victory as the Hero-King fell. When Aren's heart beat its last, the king of demons bounded for the gates of Adhwen, but he could not open them. Infuriated, he tried to open the gates of Amredh instead, but he could not open them either. Realizing he was trapped in Damenhan, he collapsed on the ground, beaten.

"For an entire day, the host of Adhwen and the people of Damenhan wept for the fallen King who had saved them. Their sorrow was so great on the seventh day that the goddess Arhasa heard their pain in the heavens beyond and descended from her throne to see what was wrong. When her eyes fell upon the place where the Great Tree stood, she began to weep too, for she had loved Aren.

"Arhasa bound Taranis with vines from the Great Tree and plucked out his heart as he struggled against her. Taranis, once immortal and powerful, was slain at last. The goddess banished his stone heart to the farthest corner of Damenhan so the demon king's evil could never trouble anyone again. Once it was gone, she turned to Aren's lifeless body. With a single word, she brought him back to the living and he breathed again, slow and deep. Arhasa inscribed her own name onto Aren's good and kind heart and he was once again restored to his former strength. She reopened the gates of Adhwen and Amredh so the living might return to their homes and when everyone had gone through, she sealed them again.

"The Dovadh says these gates reopen each year on Midwinter and the three worlds are once again connected. This is why we gather together, because on this day the worlds are open and those we've lost can come through and join us. This is also why we feast, because on this day the goddess Arhasa defeated darkness and raised our Lord Aren from the dead."

Tristan joined the crowd in applauding. It was a good retelling, colorful and poetic, but his heart still longed for his grandfather's version. Lord Bishop lifted a hand and the applause subsided. "Tonight, we have gathered many worlds in this square. Some of us are natives of Halborn, proud hosts of the feast before us. Others are refugees, from Sepelin or Dellethran." Karryhs gestured to Tristan and Lucas and Tristan shifted his gaze to the handpainted plate on the table in front of him. "It was Lord Calder, a son of Teadwyn, who brought us all together to celebrate as one family."

The people applauded again and Lucas clapped him on the back. Tristan did his best to look dutifully gracious, but his cheeks were glowing and he badly wanted to duck away into the crowd. Ariana chuckled beside him and he blushed more furiously than before.

"Of course, there is another world represented among us tonight," Lord Bishop continued. "From Noreve, Lady Sophia Bishop, Princess of Arcavis." More applause from the crowd, coupled with a booming cheer. It seemed that, despite her grim philosophy, Lady Sophia was popular among the people of Halborn. "And Her Majesty, Lady Ariana Fairfax, Crown Princess of Arcavis." This time, the roar of the audience was deafening. Tristan and Ariana exchanged glances as she waved to the crowd. "All of us, noble and commoner, share a table tonight under one sky." The crowd erupted into applause again as Karryhs made his way to his seat at the table.

Tristan pulled out Ariana's chair and she smiled with a gentle nod of her head as she sat down. "This is..." She hesitated, searching for the right word, as she looked out onto the people gathered in the square.

"This is how we celebrated in Almsway," Tristan said as he sat down beside her. "Well... almost."

"What's different?" Ariana asked.

Tristan arched an eyebrow. "Besides everything?" He watched a group of people nearest the platform as they dug into the food at their table. Eating apart from everyone was the biggest difference; despite Karryhs's flowery words, it was still evident who in the square was of noble birth and who was not. In Almsway, everyone was the same on Midwinter; it was as though his grandfather were simply the head of a very large family. Here... well, the people seemed content, at least, with the feast. Of course, he could say none of this to the Princess without offending her. "We used to play games," he said at last. "We would divide people up into demons and hunters and chase each other through the streets and across the rooftops. But I doubt Lady Sophia would consider that proper."

"You're probably right," Ariana sighed. Some of the glitter in her golden eyes faded.

"We could play dice, though," suggested Tristan. "Ever played Sena set Qira?"

The princess gave him a curious look. "I... don't suppose so? What is it?"

"A game of chance," Karryhs said on the other side of her. He was spooning food onto his plate with everyone else. "One with some colorful metaphors, if I recall correctly. Quite a few men and women came back from the Rauman lands playing it. My father was such a one."

Tristan took a few of the small, roasted potatoes sitting near him. "Our grandmother brought over a dice set, but it was lost when...." He hovered over the end of the sentence. He had tried to avoid the subject; the last thing he wanted was their sympathy. "Anyway, I finally finished making a new set a couple days ago."

"So that's what you've been up to," Lucas said with a note of satisfaction.

Tristan nodded. "They're not perfect, but they roll."

"That's all they really need to do," Karryhs submitted. "It will make for an interesting diversion after dinner."

Tristan felt warm inside, even in the chilly winter air, and he wasn't sure if it was thanks to the cider in his cup or the notion of playing such a long familiar game. They continued their dinner, making idle conversation. They talked about the price of Escarian spices, about the full and yellow moon and the possibility of snow, about the rumors of bandits on the North Road. Even after they had finished eating, Karryhs told them stories of his adventures with his father, Thelan-- of hunting trips with the King of Corovea, of Mazakite priests with the power of invisibility, of the demonic Qi Shoa in far off Tenga.

Then, when the stories petered out, an area surrounding the platform was cleared and Kade dazzled the crowd with a display of swordsmanship, first fighting off Lucas, then Tristan, then Roma, then all three at once. By the end, Tristan was sweating despite the cold wind and Kade was making a genteel bow to the crowd. Tristan resented being made a fool in front of the princess again and Lucas reminded him that he could have won if he'd paid better attention during their training matches.

As Lucas, Tristan, and Roma made their way back to the table on the platform, Kade offered a challenge to the audience: a hundred gold pieces for anyone who could defeat him. For a moment it looked like he would stand unopposed, but then Karryhs spoke up. Kade humbly declined at first, but was goaded into it by a few young men nearby.

It was a beautiful fight. Kade was direct and deliberate with his attacks. Karryhs was elegant and composed with his parries. Tristan realized a few minutes in that Karryhs was only blocking Kade's attacks, never attacking outright. It wasn't for lack of opportunity, nor lack of skill. It was as though Karryhs was making a show of how well he could anticipate his opponent's attacks. Kade wasn't discouraged by this. In fact, soon Kade's attacks were so swift that Tristan struggled to keep up. Even so, the two kept their smooth, dance-like rhythm of thrust and parry without missing a single step. Without warning, Karryhs made his first and only attack and Kade's sword went skittering across the cobblestones. Kade faltered for only a moment before falling on one knee before his father. The cheers, which had been divided between father and son, cried out as one again, strong and proud at the success of their lord and the honor of his son.

Karryhs offered Kade a hand to help him to his feet and the two of them came back to their table. Tristan withdrew the six dice he had made from a pocket deep in his coat. They were seven-sided, pentagonal prisms with symbols carved on every side but one. Ariana picked one up to inspect it and Tristan watched to catch her thoughts on his craftsmanship. A few of the symbols had been tricky, but all told, he was pleased with how they'd turned out.

"Why is this side blank?" she asked, betraying neither approval or otherwise. She held it out to him so he could see.

"That side represents death," he answered. "It's blank because the afterlife is unknown." He didn't mention that some sets had a skull carved on this side. It had been difficult enough to carve a palm and a fig leaf on the small surfaces of each die, so he had opted to make the more traditional set with the blank side to save himself some time. There was no need to admit this to the princess, however. "If you roll that side, you're out of the game."

"If you roll more than one, you can choose to take someone else out with you," Lucas added.

Ariana's eyebrows wriggled. "That's a little gruesome." She rolled the die around in her fingers. "An eye, a sword, a crown, the sun..." She muttered each symbol quietly to herself.

"The sun earns the most points," Tristan explained. "You could win the entire game with a few suns, even if you roll blanks early on."

"Why the sun and not the crown?" Kade asked from across the table, near Lady Sophia, who had picked up another of the dice.

Tristan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Well, the sun represents God...."

"The sun represents Raum, not God," Lady Sophia corrected. She was looking down her nose at his handiwork and Tristan felt warmth creep across his cheeks. "Thelan used to love this game," she added wistfully. "You've done a marvelous job on these. The crown could use some work, but they're as good as the set he brought home from the wars."

"Thank you, m'lady," Tristan replied. It was the first kind thing she'd said to him since she and Ariana arrived in Deepwalk the day before. "Have you ever played?"

"It's been years," she said. The lines around her eyes gathered and the corners of her lips curled upward. "It's not a popular game in the capital, thanks to some lingering dislike for Rauman culture, but my Thelan carried a set with him everywhere he went. He once convinced Lord Salein to play a game with him. He ended up winning the Lord Aston's finest Virevian draft horse."

Tristan was reminded of a similar story about his grandfather, who had played a local farmer for a lower price on his radishes. Once the game was finished, the farmer left with triple the worth of his crop. "I think that's a great idea, m'lady," he said with an impish grin. "I say tonight we play for every horse I currently own."

"Ah, those are high stakes," Lucas said. "How could anyone pass up the chance to win an empty stable?"

Tristan collected the dice and placed them in Ariana's hands. "I'll show you how to play."

Ariana smiled at him, her fingers closing over the dice. "Okay. I'll see your zero horses and raise you one silver piece." She took out a silver coin and laid it in the center of the table dramatically before scattering the dice across the table.

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The first game of Sena set Qira was over quickly. Lucas rolled a pair of blank sides in the first round and eliminated Tristan before he'd ever gotten a chance to roll. Next to go was Karryhs, Sophia, and then Kade, leaving only Roma and Ariana. Roma won the first match but declined to take the silver piece in the center. They played several games until eventually Ariana won her coin back and they were all too tired to continue.

The people in the city square dissipated as the hours slipped by and when Tristan and the others left for the sanctuary there were only a handful of tables that still had people sitting at them. Lucas and Roma walked together several paces away, giggling and bumping shoulders with one another with more and more force until Lucas nearly fell over. Kade was nowhere to be seen and Lord Bishop and Lady Sophia were far ahead.

Tristan ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the night sky. The stars were twinkling overhead on a clear blanket of midnight blue. It was a perfect night, even if it was a bit cold.

Ariana fell into step beside him. "They look like a million diamonds, don't they?" she asked, tilting her head to watch the stars with him.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

She nudged him. "What are you thinking about?"

Tristan drew a breath and turned his gaze on her. Her soft, brown curls were falling around her face and her golden eyes were sparkling in the moonlight. She was every bit as lovely as the sky above, maybe moreso. "Well, if Adhwen exists, it's supposed to be up there, right?"

"If?"

Tristan shrugged. "I haven't seen Lord Aren riding in with a thousand white stallions to save us all from the Valthans." He kicked a rock on the ground, sending it sailing across the stone road below. "Have you?"

"No," Ariana admitted. "But Aren has always sent us heroes when we needed them."

"My grandfather was one, but they killed him," Tristan snapped bitterly. Ariana was silent. He glanced at her apologetically. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said. "I only meant... maybe you could be one of them."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I don't think so." His eyes were burning and he blinked to compose himself again. "Not me. Maybe Kade. Or Roma. Or Lucas. Or... literally anyone else. Maybe Loughby."

Ariana stood in front of him, her head tilted to one side. "Why not you? Don't you want--"

"Of course I do," Tristan interrupted. "Of course I want to chase the bastards out. If I could, I would already be on the Circuit, heading west with an army at my back." He made a wild gesture in the general direction of Almsway. "But I can't, because I..." He trailed off, gaping at the futility of it all. "I'm just one person. I don't have horses and I don't have an army. Even if I did, I wouldn't know the first thing about leading it. Now, if you want me to grow enough potatoes to smother the Emperor to death, I might be able to accomplish that, given enough time."

"Tristan," she said gently, her eyes narrowed, "look what you accomplished in a day." She motioned toward the city, now on the other side of the Sanctuary's gates.

"That--" He cleared his throat. "That was a party, not a battle."

"You organized it," Ariana countered. "You mobilized the entire population. Because of you, there were refugees tonight that didn't spend Midwinter hungry and alone. You did all of this with just your voice and your own two hands." She grabbed his fingers, turning his palms up. "Imagine how much more you could do on a battlefield."

Tristan stood speechless, staring at his hands, then back at the princess. He drew a breath, searching for words, but none came to mind. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he was only trying to make Deepwalk more like home. That all he did was ask for a few favors from friends while he helped construct the platform. But there was something reassuring in the way she looked at him, in the touch of her hands on his, in the lilt of her voice.

She squeezed his cold fingers and gave him a smirk. "You'll see one day," she promised and began walking toward the castle again, pulling him along with her. They parted at the stairs in the entrance hall and Tristan was left to climb the stairwell with her words ringing in his head like a puzzle he couldn't figure out.