I could feel the headache growing stronger inside of my head. It had started shortly after I parted ways with Second. The pain behind my eyes had only increased as further tension assaulted me from all sides. There were simply too many factors interfering with me accomplishing my goals.

  What was even more frustrating, was how seemingly simple those goals were. Rescue Magnus and return to my Den with everyone I cared for safe and sound.

  Visk shifted back and forth nervously in front of me. They had just gotten done telling me about their encounter with ‘Veda’ the Witch Hunter. I didn’t know what kind of favor Veda intended to call on me for, but I had little interest in accepting any new requests.

  The only thing I wanted to do right now was close off the entrance to my Den with My People ensconced inside and to tell the rest of the world to ‘Go Away’.

  “You… you alright Boss?” my Visk said softly. “Your eye is starting to twitch and it's kind of scary.” The elf teased the tips of their ears between their fingers. Visk was still getting used to their new features. Apparently their ears were now both softer and more sensitive than they had been prior.

  “I’m. Fine,” I growled, despite knowing that my tone indicated I was anything but ‘fine’. “I will wait until this ‘Council’ meeting is done. If Magnus has not been freed afterwards, we’re going with the ‘burn this place to the ground’ plan.”

  Cassia and Visk looked at each other sidelong. We were waiting in a disused store room approximately three levels below the Inn where Sir Kenneth was staying. It was more cramped than I would have preferred and smelled vaguely of rotten fruit.

  There had been some momentary debate about whether Cassia ought to return to her persona as a ‘traveling incognito’ noble lady. It was quickly tabled. Neither Cassia nor myself were interested in being separated again. The only reason Visk was comfortable leaving my side was due to them wanting to test their new stealth abilities.

  Those same abilities were now called into question. Visk had expressed great frustration with Veda being able to ‘get the jump on them’ upon their return to the storeroom.

  “So… this ‘Veda’,” I rumbled once the pain in my head lessened slightly. “They are an elf like you, yes? Are they one of the…” I glanced at Cassia, then fell silent. I had promised Visk to never speak of the secrets they had shared with me to other people.

  Visk chewed on their cheek and glanced at Cassia out of the corner of their eye. My Cassia sensed that there was some manner of unspoken tension, but she chose to wait politely until one of us enlightened her as to the circumstances. After a minute of awkward silence, Visk gave a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of their head.

  “I’m… I’m not comfortable talking about certain things,” Visk muttered loud enough for Cassia to hear. “It’s not because I don’t ‘trust’ you. It’s…” The elf’s moonlit eyes gained a distant quality as they looked off into the darkness, seeming to stare at something far away. “There are things that… if I say them and someone finds out… they’ll try to hurt you for hearing it and me for saying it.”

  “Does it have to do with why you look different now?” Cassia asked gently, trying to be considerate. “The silver tattoos look… nice, on you Visk.”

  Visk grumbled and ran their fingers through their hair before giving a deep sigh. “Yeah it’s to do with my change of appearance. Hells, that’s probably already going to cause a lot of trouble if the wrong people see it.” Visk looked over at Cassia with a bittersweet smile. “I know it’s kind of shite to be told you can’t know something when it’s right there in front of your face. But I do want you to know that… it’s a good thing, probably, and that it wouldn’t ever have happened if you hadn’t taken a chance on me.”

  Cassia blinked when Visk thanked her, but gave a polite cough and a nod in return.

  “As for what Veda is,” Visk continued. “They’re… not like me. I can’t really go into the differences right now, but I’ll say that seeing them was… definitely weird. The only time I heard about someone like them was…” Visk trailed off for several moments. “... In any case, they really don’t seem like they’re going to go out of their way to mess with us.”

  “I suppose we just have to hope that they were telling the truth,” Cassia commiserated with me and Visk. “In the meantime, Visk, do you think that you can make your way up to the surface stealthily? I grabbed a few odds and ends, but I don’t have much after those bandits robbed us.”

  Visk took a moment to look through the bag that Cassia had brought with her. After a second, they blinked and looked up at her.

  “So, not trying to judge,” Visk said slowly. “But why did you bring a dress…?”

  “Servant, Do I have any Clades active on that world?” a voice like golden sunlight spoke.

  Sunhaera Gullae twitched at the feet of their Maellek, their forehead kept at exactly two fingers above the heartwood of the Great Tree. The simplicity of the question belied its significance. Their Maellek and the other Honored Ones only spoke about one world in particular in such a way.

  “This lowly wretch has ensured that all Dok’yudhael remain leashed, as per your unending wisdom, Vikrae-Maellek,” Sunhaera answered without hesitation. Their ears remained perfectly still. The small bell attached to a golden ring, which bound their eartips together, was completely silent.

  “Then tell me, wretch, why did I feel one of the Sunless Traitors defy my will just now?”

  Overwhelming horror clawed at Sunhaera’s throat. Only their peerless mastery over their own willpower kept them from shaming themself in front of their Maellek. Of all the thousands of Jang who had competed for this position, Sunhaera alone had been selected. The joy they had felt when they slit the previous Sunhaera’s throat was now matched by the terror inspired by their Maellek’s displeasure.

  “If this vile pile of refuse with ears is allowed, oh Vikrae-Soorae, they will see this unthinkable act corrected.” Sunhaera could already feel the chaekra slicing the tender flesh of their exposed neck in their mind. There would be no satisfaction from a life of service. Their song would not be added to the great chorus of their ancestors.

  “Hmm…” The Honored One’s judgement hung in the air over Sunhaera’s head for several long moments. “Let it not be said that I am not merciful. Raise your head, Servant. Look upon me.”

  Sunhaera smoothly slid upwards from where they had knelt and balanced on the balls of their feet. Their clenched hands remained pressed together at the knuckles, settled at the small of their back. Not a single shiver of exhaustion ran through their body, despite having been left to kneel for several hours. Their throat was fully exposed to the Honored One’s whim.

  Their Maellek floated in the air above Sunhaera. The Honored One was just as beautiful as the first time that Sunhaera had beheld them. Every gentle curve was wrapped in glowing silk woven from the purest light. Even in their terror, Sunhaera basked in the blessing of their Maellek’s radiance. A small fragment of the World Tree’s sun was wrapped in perfect flesh right in front of them.

  Even that light’s temporary dimming was a wonder. Sunhaera would have happily let their eyes burn as they normally did when looking upon their Maellek, but these were ‘special’ times. Wonder of wonders, their Vikrae-Soorae was starting to show the slightest slope along her belly. It was for this reason that every last Dok and Yodd had been recalled. The entire Trunk bristled with blades pointed outwards, daring any who would interfere with the birth of a new Dareen.

  Unbidden tears streamed down Sunhaera’s face, an involuntary reaction entirely outside of their control. The sheer beauty and magnificence of the sight was simply overwhelming.

  “You have served loyally,” the Honored One said quietly. “I have not forgotten the ‘pet’ viper you strangled from my dear Cousin, or the five Tasters you spent to locate the source of the poisoned tea.”

  Pride swelled in Sunhaera’s chest. Both of those attempts had been called ‘gifts for the child’. To the Honored Ones, that was considered a polite congratulations rather than a serious assassination attempt. For their Maellek to even remember Sunhaera’s efforts was an immense honor.

  “This lowly servant blooms under their Maellek’s kindness,” Sunhaera said. They gave a deep bow, their head coming within half a finger of touching the floor. It was a risky move, but it drew an amused utterance from the Honored One’s lips. “If the Vikrae-Soorae would once more bless this servant, they will do anything within their power to sate the Honored One’s desire.”

  “Take care, Sunhaera.” The Honored One’s warmth turned to searing pain at a moment’s notice. Sunhaera suffered in silence, their eyes watching the heartwood floor smolder beneath them. Then a gentle cloud passed in front of the sun and the radiance settled to be soothing once more. “Do not presume to know what my desire is before I utter it…”

  Silence reigned for a full minute. A gentle breeze nudged Sunhaera to sit back on their heels once more. They did so gratefully, but kept their eyes lowered to just beneath their Maellek’s feet.

  “... One Clade shall be sent. Choose one that needs to be Bled. Their target is one of their erstwhile kin, one of the wretches left behind when the Gate was sundered. It is somewhere to the far north of the Gateway. Seek any manner of Deviation and destroy it at the root.”

  “It will be done at once, Vikrae-Soorae.”

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  “Good. You may kiss my heel, then be to it at once.”

  Urgency warred with diligence as Sunhaera delicately rose the slightest bit upwards. The pain which bloomed in their lips as their flesh was charred was nothing compared to the energy roiling inside their chest. They would not fail their Maellek.

  This Sunhaera would live through their full service, no matter what it took to make that happen.

  Magnus woke up in an unfamiliar place. As he looked around, the fog that had been floating around in his head slowly settled into certainty. All of the confusion and pain that had buzzed through his mind evaporated into a feeling of safety.

  He wasn’t in the Tower anymore. Though he had only stayed there briefly, he had become familiar with its various quirks. As the thought floated upwards in his awareness, it shifted and changed. No, he was just tired and had misremembered. He’d only been in the Tower for a few minutes at most before his Teacher had come to collect him.

  Magnus looked around for the Mistress of Baedain. After his momentary confusion, he now recognized her private Cloister. It was full of light from prominent stained glass windows that dominated each wall. Verdant gardens could be seen beyond the windows, but only the small protected garden in the center of the Cloister was accessible through a door set in the far wall.

  Orderly rows of books were nestled onto padded bookshelves placed between each window. Numerous arrangements of seats and lounging couches were placed so that a reader could nestle in with their book of choice, without having the light from the windows in their eyes. Magnus’s sleeping space was nestled between two bookshelves and screened off from the rest of the room.

  He was already dressed in a clean tunic and trousers when he woke. A well fitted pair of shoes waited for him by the side of the bed. The scent of freshly laundered sheets clung to him as he slipped out from beneath the covers and put his shoes on. His staff was waiting for him, leaning up against a small bedside table.

  The staff’s familiar polished surface fit snugly into his grasp. It was an elegant instrument, a gift from his Mistress. There was no need for the rough hewn crook that he’d brought with him. Magnus’s amber colored eyes stared at the staff for a moment longer than was necessary to admire its beauty.

  He didn’t notice the tiny protest which whispered in the back of his mind.

  Magnus rose from the bed, his staff tapping lightly against the smooth mosaic of the Cloister’s floor. When he crossed onto an expansive wool rug, the tap gave way to a comfortable silence. Gentle familiarity surrounded him as he passed by his favorite reading chair. His Mistress would likely be in the inner Garden at this time of day, so he headed for the door.

  The heavy metallic surface of the door slid out of his way with a soft whisper as he approached it. A dull glow from the runic formations engraved in its surface washed over him briefly before it retreated into the wall. Light from the inner garden wrapped around him like a gentle blanket.

  Beyond the door was the Inner Garden itself. It was a ‘small and private’ place, surrounded by the white stone of the Cloister on all sides. A shaded peristyle with colonnades provided a place for someone to rest out of direct sunlight. ‘Small and private’ translated to half an acre of carefully tended plants and pathways.

  Magnus innately understood how to find the Mistress in the cultivated maze of flowers, hedgerows, and manicured fruit trees. Her presence was simply obvious to his mind, just the same as reaching out for his crook- staff. He blinked as the sun caught in his eyes for a moment, before he followed the appropriate path towards the Mistress.

  When he arrived at her location, she was sitting next to a small pond on a carved stone bench. A type of fish that he was unfamiliar with swam in the waters. Its scales were pristine white, overlaid with calico splotches of color. The fish’s mouth hovered just beneath the water, as if it expected to be fed.

  The Mistress herself had gentle white skin like porcelain. Her long hair on one side was a soothing brown-orange color and styled into a twisting spiral of curls. The other side was cropped close to her shoulder, raven black and unerringly straight. Wide and innocent green eyes were focused on the fish when Magnus arrived.

  “Did you sleep well, dear Apprentice?” the Mistress asked him as he approached. “Let me know if anything disturbs you. We do not want your education to be… disrupted.” Her gentle words were soothing to listen to. Difficult lessons became as easy as breathing, when her voice was the one to convey it.

  “I did have a strange dream, Mistress,” Magnus said with a placid smile. “I think there might have been a dragon. It was… scary.”

  “Hmm, a dragon? That does sound scary.” The Mistress gave a gentle chuckle and patted the bench next to her. Magnus walked over and sat down, balancing the staff in the crook of his elbow. “I’ll brew you some tea tonight so that you sleep better.”

  Magnus idly wondered if he could get a pack of playing cards as he turned to watch the calico fish in the water. It continued to hover just beneath the surface, mouth opening and closing. In an idle fancy, he thought that the fish might be trying to speak to him. Both thoughts flew out of his head as the Mistress reached over and softly patted his head.

  “After our lesson today, I’ll be away on business for a little bit.” The Mistress’s fingers smoothed out a cowlick that stood up on the back of Magnus’s head. “It shouldn’t be more than a day or two. Some books will be laid out for you to read while I’m gone.”

  A sigh passed Magnus’s lips. He felt a sudden bout of sadness from hearing that the Mistress would be going without him. Being by her side was reassuring. Nothing ever bothered him when she was near. Why couldn’t it just be the two of them in the Cloister?

  “I’m sorry, dear Apprentice,” the Mistress said before tenderly squeezing his cheek. “But this isn’t something I can delay. I’ll return as soon as possible. Now then, let us begin. Tell me what you learned from the reading I assigned you last night.”

  Magnus smiled and began to recount a low level examination on the nature of the Elements. He didn’t notice how the Mistress’s eyes changed color when he wasn’t looking, or how the fish continued to try and warn him from inside the koi pond.

  Sigurd swung the axe with all his strength.

  It embedded itself into the hunk of wood. The vibration from the bad swing was transferred up the haft and into his arms. In turn, the haft of the axe jumped out of his hands and pain flared in his arms. A curse left his lips as he stumbled and fell onto his backside.

  Sir Rothlain stopped what he was doing and looked over at his squire. An eyebrow crept upwards as he set down the drawknife he’d been using to shape a new bow.

  “You did work on a farm, didn’t you Sigurd?” he asked as he stood from the narrow stool he’d been sitting on and strolled over to the young man. Sigurd rubbed at his sore arms and grumbled as he approached. A hand was offered down to help him to his feet, which Sigurd reluctantly accepted. “I’d have thought you knew how to split firewood.”

  “I do know how to split wood!” Sigurd growled as he brushed off the backside of his tunic. As the spring went on, it had become too warm to work outside and wear all of the heavy garb he’d been given. “But I’ve been splitting wood all morning and you said you’d train me to swing a sword.”

  “If you’ve got the spirit to complain, I’ve clearly not been working you hard enough,” Sir Rothlain commented dryly. “But sure. I promised to teach you how to use a sword.” His eyes glanced around and he picked up a discarded piece of wood. This was his fourth attempt to carve a bow properly. The stick was one of his rejects.

  “Take up this ‘blade’ and strike me,” Sir Rothlain said as he offered the stick to Sigurd. “If you hit me, I’ll help split the rest of the wood with you. If you don’t manage to hit me in five strikes, you’ll go back to splitting the rest of it by yourself.”

  Sigurd took the stick and glanced over at the wood stack warily. He’d been cutting wood since sunrise. It was approaching mid day and he’d still only worked through a third of the pile. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be splitting wood until the sun set.

  “So all I have to do is hit you with the ‘sword’ once?” Sigurd asked Sir Rothlain suspiciously. He could tell that it was a trap, but there wasn’t any backing out of it now. Not after he’d made such a fuss. Sir Rothlain had ‘Opinions’ on cowardice.

  The knight nodded encouragingly. “Indeed. One strike. We’ll start three paces apart.”

  Sigurd and Sir Rothlain stepped away from the wood pile to an open section of the yard in front of the Knight’s house. It was one of the larger dwellings in the village of Greenreimse. Sir Rothlain had bought it from an elderly widower for a fair sum, after which the old man went to live with his daughter and her family nearby.

  The Squire held the stick with both hands like he held an axe. Sir Rothlain stood across from him, hands casually planted on his hips. Straw blonde hair which hung to the knight’s shoulder waved gently in a spring breeze. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

  With a growl, Sigurd sprang forward. He whipped the stick up over his head and tried to bring it down on the Knight. Sir Rothlain simply stepped to the side and watched as his Squire charged past. A quick kick to the boy’s rump sent him tumbling into the dirt.

  Sigurd didn’t bother to complain about the knight attacking him back. It would be stupid to assume his teacher was going to just let him swing unimpeded. He dragged himself back to his feet and rounded back on Sir Rothlain, stick in hand once more.

  The second, third, and fourth swings were no better. Each time, Sir Rothlain simply dodged around Sigurd’s wild blows. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat while Sigurd himself was panting heavily from the adrenaline pumping through his body. Each riposte that the knight delivered to him only made him angrier. He knew it was stupid to get upset, but the cocky grin on the Knight’s face was simply infuriating.

  On the fifth swing, something snapped inside of Sigurd. A mounting pressure that he’d been ignoring for days finally burst.

  “Gods DAMNIT!” he screamed as he swung the stick with all of his might. He couldn’t see it, but his irises flashed gold for just a moment. What he could see was that Sir Rothlain’s smile vanished in an instant. There was a sound like tearing fabric as the stick moved faster than Sigurd’s own eyes could track.

  It was ripped out of his hands by an unseen force that overwhelmed his grip. Splinters were embedded deep into his palms as the miscarved bow shattered on its way out of his hands. Sir Rothlain dropped to the ground just in time for the stick to fly by his head, shaving off a few hairs from his straw colored locks in the process.

  By great misfortune, the stick-turned-shrapnel flew right into the side of Sir Rothlain’s house, shattering several stout bricks and leaving a hole in the wall. A woman’s furious scream from inside alerted both the Knight and the Squire that they would be in quite a lot of trouble soon.

  “Good gods Sigurd,” Sir Rothlain said as he picked himself up from the dirt. He didn’t seem concerned about the undignified spill he’d taken. Instead he marched right over to examine his Squire’s hands. Large splinters were embedded into his palms and fingers. “I said swing at me, not try to decapitate me!”

  Sigurd was distracted by staring at where he’d punched a hole into the Knight’s house. For just a moment, he felt like he could have chopped through an oak tree in a single blow. Now, his arms were as flabby as jelly. He couldn’t even hold them up properly for Sir Rothlain’s examination.

  “I’m… I’m sorry, Sir,” Sigurd managed to say after opening and closing his mouth several times. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Hmm… Well the Baron said you’re not a Sorcerer so… ‘blessed by the Gods’ must be true,” Sir Rothlain mused as he carefully began plucking splinters out of his Squire’s hands. “I can tell just by looking at you that there’ll be no more chopping wood today. You’ll have to finish it tomorrow.”

  Sir Rothlain looked Sigurd in the eyes with a serious gaze. “Sigurd, I want you to listen to me closely. Whatever just happened, do not rely on it. Do not invoke the name of the Gods lightly, if they are indeed paying attention to you. The power of the Gods is not meant for mortals like us…”

  “... It always ends horribly. When I have you cut wood for hours on end, or carry heavy stones on your back, or any other seemingly useless task, it is to train your body. When you are on a true battlefield, your own strength and endurance will be the difference between life and death. You must train, train, and train some more before you will be ready.”

  The knight clapped him on the shoulder once the worst of the splinters were removed. “You’ve got some muscles on you from your life before, but that’s not enough. Your diet seems to have been… basic. Trust me and my beautiful wife to feed you well and train this body of yours into a real Warrior. That way you won’t need… whatever just put a bloody hole in our wall.”

  “Oh and by the way-,” Sir Rothlain said grimly as his wife came charging out of the house. “The fire wood is for my beloved, so she can cook us dinner. Don’t let me catch you slacking off on it, or she’ll have both our hides.”