Blake rushed back to Lady Sixin with a pair of Glasstooth squirrels in-hand. They hadn’t been hard to find, but only with the Serpent’s Cloak had he actually been fast enough to catch them.

  He returned with both the squirrels still alive, flailing in his grip. As soon as Lady Sixin saw them, her eyes went wide. “Live squirrels?”

  “You wanted a hunt, correct, ma’am? I mean, Honoured Lady.” Blake tilted his head.

  Careful, Ethbin warned.

  “If anyone was to kill them, I was expecting my husband to,” she said. “Alas, no, I cannot bring myself to kill them.”

  Blake chuckled. “Should I hold them until he comes back?”

  The squirrels flailed, their legs flailing, flinging themselves in every direction as they tried to escape Blake’s grasp. They chittered and nattered and tried to bite his hands or claw his wrists, but he had them by the scruffs of their necks.

  “No, Fates, no,” Lady Sixin said. “Just kill them. Kill them now.”

  “Alright.” Blake tightened his grip. Without the help of his Augmentation, he just relied on his enhanced body to snap the squirrels’ necks with a clench of his fist. They stopped moving immediately, and, knowing that it would make Lady Sixin squeamish, he held them out toward her. “Here you go, Honoured Lady.”

  She put on a performative retch, then motioned to one of her servants. “Take them, take them.” She repeated the command in the Nord language.

  Blake handed them to the servant as soon as he reached his hands out, then said, “Thanks.” The servant stared at him with a dumbfounded look.

  “I guess they didn’t learn English…” he muttered. In fact, this whole excursion would have gone over worse if he’d been speaking Nord. Sure, he needed the practice, but he also didn’t need to botch it too badly.

  But eventually, he would need to get better at speaking their language, and he couldn’t rely on the local Jarls or culture aficionados having a decent grasp on the language. People like Lord Tomskar and Lady Sixin must’ve learned in preparation for their journey, but something about their ability to speak the language seemed unnaturally gifted for two Jarls who were here on vacation.

  “Are all the natives of Shell like this?” Lady Sixin demanded.

  Blake shrugged. “Maybe, Honoured Lady. I could not say.”

  She shook her head and gave another fake retch, before finally, Lord Tomskar returned. He motioned to the corpse of the Shroomclaw he’d been dancing around for the past few minutes and said something to the servants in Nord—something like, “Store it.”

  One of the servants rushed over with his storage ring and drew the corpse of the Shroomclaw inside it.

  Overall, it was an uneventful first day. They travelled the mists a little while longer, until Blake found them a pack of howlers, which was enough to satisfy Lord Tomskar and Lady Sixin, and Blake encouraged it, because the servants were starting to shiver. At noon, he began leading them back to the longboat they’d descended in, and by late afternoon, they’d fired up the thrusters.

  Lady Sixin climbed aboard the longboat without a word to Blake, but Lord Tomskar faced him and said, “Thank you for your assistance this morning, young thrall. The Silk Fans were right—you are one hel of a tracker.” He patted Blake on the shoulder.

  Blake nodded. “Honoured Lord, if you don’t mind this one asking…how come you speak our language so well?”

  “Have you tried learning a new language after opening your Brain Meridian and flooding it with high-quality mana?” Lord Tomskar said. He didn’t gloat, nor did he chastise, but there was a sort of pity behind his words. “It becomes much, much easier to retain information that way, and drastically shrinks the hours needed to learn.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows, silently cursing himself for not knowing.

  “I will tell Stone Moon you did a good job, and…” Lord Tomskar reached into his robe and produced a small burlap pouch. “Five pounds of hacksilver. Consider it a tip.”

  “Thank you very much, Honoured Lord,” Blake said with a bow. He took the pouch and tucked it into his backpack.

  “You don’t have to return to the manaship if you don’t want. In fact, I think Lady Sixin would prefer it. She’s awfully cagey about the locals.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Blake paused, aware of his tone. He put on a smile. “That’s alright. I’ve got some things to deal with down here.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Then this is where we part. To your health, young thrall.” Lord Tomskar jumped back aboard his longboat, only to receive a verbal thrashing from his wife about giving out a tip. Blake didn’t catch the rest of the conversation while the longboat took off.

  “Well, thanks for the tip, I guess,” Blake muttered. He began walking back toward the city and the East Gate longboat yard. “I suppose half of that is gonna go toward a taxi.”

  I believe a taxi is three pounds of hacksilver, Ethbin said. More than half.

  Blake rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Gramps.” He shook his head. “Well, we still have time. Anything you can do to guide me through Foundation two?”

  Ethbin was quiet for a few seconds, then said, I know just the thing. I think I can get you to figure it out without me telling you directly. What I want you to do is harness the part of the Honour Trigram you’ve been most neglecting: Loyalty.

  “I’ve been neglecting it?” Blake hopped over a snow drift and navigated over to the scampermen’s daily commute path—a trail of packed snow leading in and out of the city. He’d have to cross through the Blended District if he wanted to make it to the longboat yard anyway. “I mean, I’ve been drawing on my relationship with you a little. By keeping you safe, that’s loyalty, right? Plus, in this situation, who even is the lord and the servant?”

  I am the lord, of course, Ethbin said. Blake had no idea what the old man looked like, but from the tone of his voice, he imagined someone puffing out his chest.

  “Of course,” Blake said.

  But truly, you have only gained wisps from that relationship. You have no oath, and you are not my huscarl. Besides, for you to be a servant would…be a betrayal of what you are, I’d say.

  Blake winced. “A little. Okay, so that means I have to get servants.”

  Remember: a lord’s relationship with his people has to go both ways. Yes, they fight for him, with the expectation that he will look after them in other ways. He will lead them well, and he will do whatever he can to protect them, just the same as they would do for him. If you can keep your oath to those you serve, you will find the greatest source of Honour you’ve ever had.

  “And that’ll help me with Echo Resonating?”

  It will. You’ll see. Ethbin paused. It will also help you with your upcoming Shaping technique. Without an immense flow of Honour, you’ll find it difficult to sustain any true Shaping technique for long.

  “Then I think I have an idea.” Instead of turning east and making for the longboat yards, Blake ventured deeper into the Blended District.

  I can’t help but notice you’ve gone off-course.

  “How astute.” Blake grinned. “Don’t worry, Gramps. Just read my mind. You can do that, right?”

  Only if I try. The stronger you get, the harder it will be.

  “Then you’ll figure it out eventually. But, uh, telling you would take too much energy.”

  So that’s how it feels…

  ~ ~ ~

  Blake spent a pound of his tip on an admission fee to attend the qualifying round of the Lower Iron Hide Tournament—as an audience member. His tip was quickly dwindling, but hey, that was what mana-rat hunting was for.

  The Lower Iron Hide Tournament had to hold a variety of qualifying rounds, and they had to start much earlier than the tournaments on the manaship because of how many people there were who wanted to participate.

  The victor of the Lower Tournament got some monetary rewards, but most importantly, earned the status of a freeman if they didn’t already have it and gained guild recognition, which in turn could get them aboard the manaship. It was a lucrative prize.

  In the Blended District, even fewer people were allowed to qualify than normal. But it made the qualifying rounds much more interesting—apparently. He’d never participated in nor watched a tournament before.

  He found his assigned seat on a riser in the audience stands of an underground chamber. It was the repurposed parking lot of some old office tower, with the floors above removed to give it a slightly higher ceiling. A candle chandelier dangled from the rusty overhead girders, and no one had bothered cleaning any of the wax in years, turning it into a massive wax stalactite.

  The audience risers were a set of wooden benches wrapping around a central arena fifty paces across, where the first group of tournament entrees waited.

  Blake narrowed his eyes, scanning the participants. They were all Blended, which was why less of them were allowed to qualify. It irked the audience too much, they said, if there were too many.

  Finally, Blake picked Mingel out of the crowd. She stood at the edge, wearing her baggy trousers, a length of fabric wrapped tight around her chest, and a bandolier of throwing knives. Her cloak was nowhere to be seen.

  At the commands of the announcer, they took their positions in a grid throughout the arena, and an announcer, using an Augmentation technique to enhance his voice box, explained the format: to ensure enough contestants got eliminated, the first round would be a battle royale. Killing and maiming was discouraged, and you were eliminated if you got knocked off your feet.

  It began immediately. Most of the contestants were Foundation, and if they weren’t, they got eliminated almost immediately.

  Blake kept his eyes on Mingel the whole time, watching her navigate the arena’s edge, letting the others eliminate themselves. If she had to throw a knife, she made sure the blunt hilt hit first, not the blade.

  As expected, she made it to the top three of this skirmish, at which point the announcer invited in all the previous days’ victors, where they would fight in a massive elimination round.

  The crowd roared. Most of them were Blended themselves, and they were cheering on their friends.

  And when Mingel made it to the top three of the second elimination round, Blake couldn’t help but join in the cheering.

  It meant she could participate in the Lower Iron Hide Tournament.

  As soon as the fight was over, Blake rushed to the exit, hoping to find her on the way out. They had a lot they needed to talk about.