< Fear the Stick >

“Sing!”

Selbin d’Courte was no military expert, to be sure, but all the same he wasn’t able to work past the blatant absurdity of the command. He stared at his new mentor, blue eyes wide and thoroughly confused, and he almost stopped moving.

Loki gave him a look that said if he dared stop running before the drill was complete, there would be six separate hells to pay. The young prince redoubled his effort to keep his feet moving. “I don’t … understand! Why … would I … sing?!”

“I don’t recall the part where this is a dialogue!” Somehow, even though he tended to limp rather prominently when he walked, Junior Sentinel Loki Heiler — prized prodigy of the Third Guard — could run without anything even close to trouble. “Sing!”

Why was it so cold all of a sudden?

Selbin tried to think of something he could use to fulfill this ridiculous order. A lullaby, a skipping song, a nonsense rhyme, something.

As soon as he started to sing, Loki thwacked him with his quarterstaff, hard, against the left arm. Selbin yelped and stumbled to a stop, nearly tumbling flat onto his face. “Hey!” he almost wailed. “What was that for?!”

Loki stopped like a specter, as smooth as imported silk. “What did I tell you before this drill started, Your Highness?”

Selbin blinked, struggling to catch his breath. “… Y-You said … if I can’t … if I can’t … talk … then I’m running too hard. That I should … ease up.”

Loki nodded. He looked almost proud for a moment, and Selbin was more than a little surprised at how buoyant he felt, considering he barely knew this boy. Then the young officer’s face hardened. “If you can hold a tune, you’re not running hard enough. Come on! Up you get! Did you think this was a break? Get going!”

Selbin managed to hold his tongue as he brushed off his pants and started moving again, but it was a near thing. He rubbed his arm where Loki had struck him, licking at his lips and wondering if he could get a new trainer.

He didn’t see Loki’s supervisors anywhere in the training yard, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. And even though it was hard to keep a thought straight in his head with his lungs burning and his heart hammering the way it was, Selbin d’Courte knew that if he complained about his current teacher, they would be the ones to pick up the slack.

He thought about the hulking hammers hanging from Olrec Stoutfeather’s belt, stamped with the ivory tower crest of the Tenth Guard; he thought of the infinitude of knives hidden in Naya Belmont’s leather armor, and the curved swords she kept at her hips, and the longbow she tended to have strapped to her back, and the armor-backed gloves she wore even while sleeping.

Selbin decided he’d try his luck with Loki’s stick.

Page 72

Sythius would not speak, even when Loki commanded him several times to “Explain yourself! Get back here! Damn it, Rookie!”

Some part of Loki recognized the fact that the giant didn’t simply run off, leaving his mentor in the cobbles. His pace never picked up faster than Loki could keep up. Had there been more time to deliberate on this, Loki may have found himself affronted by such an action, but there wasn’t. Something had caught fire in Sythius’s eyes and his mind, and there was simply no time nor tolerance for questioning whatever it was.

Whatever intuition served the wild man for a compass led him and his young leader deep into the merchant stalls of the Middle Ring. Even the most shameless of hucksters seemed to know better than to get in Sythius’s way to sell him a pendant or a pair of boots. Some folks did try to stop Loki. The less observant of them offered sweets and toys; the smart ones offered boot-knives and swords that sheathed themselves in walking staves.

Loki ignored them all. He had eyes only for his monstrous charge.

They stopped, at one of the corners that made up the huge pentagonal shape of the ring. In between two storefronts was a single, neglected wooden door. It was reinforced by heavy, dull iron. It had the look of a portal that hadn’t been entered voluntarily in eons.

Sythius glared at the thing like it had personally offended him.

Loki forced his senses to sharpen, and thought for just a sliver of a moment that he could hear something behind that door.

Something like … breathing.

Page 71

Sythius changed faces at some point nearing the evening. It wasn’t something tangible that did it; it wasn’t some gradual shift, either. It just … happened. And even though Loki had been spending the entire day taking very special care to pay close attention to the big man’s mood ever since his first outburst, he hadn’t been able to predict this.

He’d looked one moment, and seen a look of grim neutrality — as though Sythius understood that there was a mission on, that he was supposed to take this seriously, but wasn’t sure why — and then he’d looked another moment and seen a look of savage fury.

Sythius’s anger wasn’t orchestrated. It wasn’t something that he built. It was simply there. For most people Loki had met, and for Loki himself, anger was a mechanism, something that slowly built and built until it had to be vented. The young officer had heard anger described as a good person’s natural response to the injustices of the world. Anything, in other words, that went against the teachings of the Four Saints, would bring anger out of the righteous.

For Sythius, though, there was no such process.

He seemed to not only elicit emotions; he became them.

Such that Loki suddenly found himself fearing not just for the object of the giant’s rage, not just for himself, but for the whole of civilization. The thought crossed his mind at least six times in as many seconds that — if he didn’t quell this monstrosity nestled in Sythius’s amber eyes — the White Wall of Phila would be torn down before dawn rose on its next day.

Page 70

Loki sat across from Sythius, toying idly with the meal that had been set in front of him, trying to figure out what to do. The giant was clearly fit for combat; he was one of the strongest, most resilient things the young pyromancer had ever seen.

But he didn’t seem to understand the finer points of soldiery.

He was protective, and Loki supposed that was good, but …

“Look, Rookie,” Loki said slowly. “It isn’t … we can’t … hurt the people,” he said. “We’re soldiers. We protect everyone. Not just the people we like.” He didn’t know if this was going to work. Sythius was staring blankly at him. He’d already devoured his food. He’d practically inhaled it.

Loki heaved a sigh. Sythius tilted his head, like a confused hunting dog.

Loki skewered a chunk of roasted pepper, ate it thoughtfully, toyed with his fork, and wondered if the authority of an officer was really worth it. Was he ready for this? He knew his way around his own body, sure enough, and he had the sharpest eyes in the Guard, even at his age. But did he have the patience to lead?

“Protect … everyone,” Sythius rumbled.

Loki blinked. “Yes.”

“Soldier … protects … everyone.”

Loki nodded. “Yes.”

Sythius put on one of his grins. He nodded, too.

“So … Sythius. Are you going to attack any more civilians?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Protect everyone.”

The slightest of half-smirks rose on Loki’s lips. “Good man,” he said.

Page 69

“Rookie!” Loki snapped. “What did I say?!”

Sythius eyed the boy owlishly. “Said … do nothing. No matter what … they say to me.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Didn’t … say anything to me,” Sythius muttered, almost pouting. “Said … to you.”

Loki blinked. “You … that’s your excuse? Let that man go! Now!”

Sythius looked back at the pitiful creature in his grip. The man struggled vainly, clawing at Sythius’s mammoth arm, and the giant had a look of something that looked like sick amusement before he tossed his prize away. He turned back to Loki and looked expectant.

Loki sighed, shook his head, and gestured. “Come on.”

He filed a note away: this hunter from the north was very literal.

There was something Loki didn’t notice, though, until most of the afternoon had passed them by. All the while—as the boy soldier introduced Sythius to the various landmarks and accommodations of the city that the old songs called the Homestead of the Stars—even through the seedier parts of the Outer Ring where even the higher-ranked officers didn’t go without keeping a hand glued to their weapons, there were no further incidents.

He wouldn’t think about the fact that the death of Master Akar’s prized assassin would have spread like wildfire, until later. He wouldn’t think about how impossibly Sythius had grabbed a fully-grown adult in one hand and pitched him aside like a toy until later, either.

At the moment, all he could do was focus every bit of energy into walking, because the last thing he wanted this hulking monstrosity to know was that his natural walk was so much more shunted and pathetic, and it wouldn’t do to show weakness to a new recruit.

He had no way of knowing that Sythius Sil’nathin already understood more about his physical condition than anyone in Moonguard, just from watching. From listening.

From feeling.

Page 68

“No matter what anyone says, do not answer.” Loki eyed his new protégé with suspicion. “Do you understand? Whatever anyone says to you, you will say nothing, you will do nothing. You will follow me. You will wear your badge in plain sight, and follow me.”

Sythius didn’t respond, but the set of his face changed. He adjusted his furs so that the Hawk badge was in plain view. He seemed to take some measure of pride in that badge, even though it was unlikely that he had any idea what it meant. The larger, broader constructs of social discourse weren’t just lost on this behemoth from the north.

To Sythius Sil’nathin, they simply didn’t exist.

Together, the two most unlikely compatriots in all of Moonguard stalked the roads of the Outer Ring.

As Loki had expected, there was derision. The poor district of any prosperous city had more reason than any to despise the forces in charge. In Moonguard, those forces were the Ten Guards. The vassals of Saint Vilaya herself.

There were any number of factions who would view the induction of a stranger, a prisoner, into the ranks of the army as proof of further infection.

“Can’t walk on your own, big guy?” someone jeered at the giant. “Need a babysitter to tell you when to step, when to bow, when to shit? Pathetic!”

Even when someone spat in Sythius’s face, he made no reaction at all.

But then something else happened.

“Well, well. The mystic’s cripple found himself a pet! Or maybe your mistress thought her precious widdle baby needed someone to wipe his ass?”

Sythius moved so fast that, at first, it looked like he disappeared.

A mammoth fist wrapped around a young man’s entire face, and slammed him up against the great white wall that Loki swore so many moons ago to protect with his life.

Sythius’s eyes narrowed, seemed to glow with some foreign power.

“... Did you talk?”

Page 67

Loki walked as briskly as his twisted body would allow him, and didn’t notice for a long time just how slowly his new charge had to walk in order to keep pace. He didn’t say anything; the first thing Loki had had to rid himself of, upon joining the Ten Guards, was his propensity to be offended.

“If you’re to join us on the field,” Sister Nan-Tamé had told him, “and have the chance to prove yourself worth the sum we paid to get you here, then I don’t have time to listen to you complain. Particularly about your own pride. You are elite. You are a precious commodity. Or you will be. The only person you have to prove yourself to, anymore ... is me.”

There was no way that Loki was going to go back to his commanding officers and bitch about his pet giant’s strides being too long. Back at the Landing, where he and his mother had eked out a life before coming here to the ivory gemstone that was Moonguard, he would have been too incensed to think straight.

Now, he barely felt a twinge.

Or, at least, he tried to tell himself that.

“You’re big,” Loki said, “and you’re strong, and you have skills. But now we have to know if you can listen. You heard what they said. You’re my subordinate. Do you understand what that means, Sil’nathin?”

Loki stopped, turned, and waited.

The big man blinked. Then frowned. Then he said, “... Follow orders.”

Loki nodded. “That’s right. Are we going to have a problem with that?”

Another blink. Another frown.

Then: “... No.”

Page 66

“Wear this at all times,” Sister Nan-Tamé said, pinning an embroidered badge to the giant's furs, marking Sythius as one of hers. “As of today, you begin working off your debt to Moonguard. You will learn to protect our people. You will become a guardian of our people. Do you understand?”

She spoke slowly, understanding as everyone else had so far that it was necessary. Sythius seemed to have reacted primarily to the words “protect” and “guardian.”

He didn’t seem to understand, or care, that he was being given a chance to avoid prison. Sister Nan-Tamé wondered if the big man had any idea what prison was, or that it would hurt his reputation.

“The people of Moonguard need you,” Captain Milford said sharply, catching Sythius’s attention. “There are people like Scratch, all around us. Men like you stop them from hurting the people here. Remember the little ones, that Breckenridge takes care of?”

Sythius blinked, then nodded.

“You will learn to keep them safe. You will work with us, to keep them all safe. Can you do that? Will you do that?”

There was a long stretch of silence.

Sythius nodded again.

The captain smirked. “Good man.” He glanced at Heiler. “He’s in your hands, Sentinel. Trust your instincts, and make sure he understands how this is going to work. Make doubly sure he understands that, if he can’t cooperate, we’ll have no choice but to toss him to the Wolves.”

Heiler nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Page 65

“You’re concerned about the fact that we are ignoring the law in order to land ourselves a new recruit,” said Captain Milford. Heiler nodded. “That isn’t quite what’s happening here, Sentinel. The commander is simply permitting Master Sil’nathin to exchange a prison sentence for military service. This is not an offer given to many, to be sure, but that has much more to do with temperament than anything else.”

“... Other criminals can’t be counted on to serve?” Heiler guessed.

“Exactly. This one, however, had a very specific reason to kill. We have very little recourse in reprimanding this man, considering two facts: one, the only difference between a vigilante and a soldier is the time of day. Two, the Iron Wolves have been attempting to ... handle Scratch for some time now. He did us a favor.”

Heiler sighed. “... I see.”

“That attitude is a good thing,” Sister Nan-Tamé said slowly, causing Heiler to stare at her, “because this is an unusual circumstance, but one that I don’t think we can afford to let pass. You know as well as anyone, Sentinel, that we aren’t in much of a position to negotiate. We need new recruits.”

“I ... understand, my lady.”

“Good. Now, as I said, your attitude is a good thing, because I have an assignment for you. Your first, in fact, as an officer of the Third Guard.”

Heiler bowed.

“Sythius Sil’nathin is now your subordinate. You will work with him, train him, and ensure whether he is fit to join our ranks.”

“... Yes, My Lady.”

Page 64

“I think we can forego traditional training,” Captain Milford murmured to himself, as Sythius stood back up as a man. “His body is clearly conditioned. We needn’t worry about his physical state. It’s his mental faculties that concern me.”

“He’s not too bright,” Heiler conceded.

“Not exactly typical of us,” Sister Nan-Tamé murmured thoughtfully. Her countenance brightened. “Then again, perhaps that will be useful!” She eyed Sythius critically. “Sythius Sil’nathin.”

The giant perked up.

“My name is Ai. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She bowed.

Sythius frowned thoughtfully, then mimicked the gesture. “Pleasure,” he said.

“Welcome to Moonguard. Are you enjoying your time in the city, so far?”

Sythius looked confused for a moment. Then he said, “... Pleasure.”

“You arrived within our walls recently. Word has it that you ... killed a man, your first night here.”

Heiler blinked. “What?”

Sythius blinked, as well. He didn’t speak.

“An assassin. Uncle Scratch.”

Heiler did more than blink this time; he took a step back. “What?!”

Again, Sythius did not speak.

“Murder is a crime in Moonguard. Sythius Sil’nathin. No matter the character of the person you kill.” Sister Nan-Tamé raised an eyebrow. “What should we do about this?”

“Wait,” Heiler said, “you ... knew about him? Already?”

The Commander winked. “I’ve been debating how to get his attention for some time now. You’ve solved that problem for me, Sentinel. Thank you.”

Whatever might have passed for offense on Heiler’s face disappeared, replaced by confusion. “Uh ... yes. Well. Um ...”

Sythius still hadn’t spoken.

“I think perhaps there’s a better way for Master Sil’nathin to ... repay his debt to Moonguard, than prison,” said Captain Milford.

Heiler crossed his arms. “We’re being rather cavalier about a murderer. Aren’t we?”

“He killed an assassin who targeted children,” Sister Nan-Tamé replied. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t lose any sleep.”

Page 63

They could hear the stretching of muscles, the popping of bones, as the transformation took place. Sister Nan-Tamé and Captain Milford exchanged glances. The bear pelt wrapped around its bearer like a swaddling blanket, and melted into the rest of him.

After a handful of moments, a hulking bear shook its shaggy head and looked around.

Heiler raised an eyebrow, then reached out a hand and put it on the bear’s flank, scratching its fur like he would with a trained hunting dog. When Sythius did not respond, except to glance sidelong at him, the boy smirked.

Sister Nan-Tamé stepped forward. “Impressive,” she said. As always, her voice was cultured, calm, and not even the captain could guess what she was thinking. But there was something in her normally regal eyes that belied her impeccable façade.

“Mama—that is, my Lady Mother thinks that you would be able to help him learn to ... smooth out the transformation,” Heiler said. “She called it skin-walking.”

“It’s rough,” Sister Nan-Tamé said. “I’ve seen ... similar skills before, in Jul Nastae. He did not learn from a master, or a school.” She, too, put out a hand and touched the bear. “This is no illusion.”

Jul Nastae, cult city of Saint Ulria. 

The Bed of Wisdom, where the greatest scholars worldwide gathered to record, and share, their knowledge. It was no surprise to anyone that Sister Nan-Tamé would have been there before. As a priestess tasked with Ulria’s tenets, she would have trained there. Likely, she'd spent her childhood there.

“... Are you saying that this man,” Heiler said slowly, “is showing us magic that hasn’t been seen in the Great Library?”

It was the commander’s turn to smirk. “... It certainly seems so.”

Page 62

He was more than seven feet tall, and next to Heiler—who was small even for his age—he seemed even more monstrous; he was too big to be real. Sister Nan-Tamé knew that this was untrue; he was tall, yes, and he was large. But he was not gigantic to the point of not being allowed.

The child soldier next to him simply lent an illusion to his size.

Aric left the scene; Captain Milford arrived. He strode forward. “Sentinel!”

The boy with fire in his hands snapped to attention and mashed the knuckle of his right thumb against his forehead. “Sir!”

“Tell the commander what you told me.”

Heiler turned his attention to Sister Nan-Tamé. “Commander. An associate of my mother’s introduced this man to me. She said that he would be a good fit for our fold.”

Sister Nan-Tamé was well aware that Lady Anna Heiler was much more well-versed in the arcane arts than most. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who is this associate, my son?”

“Lady Sithe Breckenridge.”

The priestess’s gaze snapped wide, and she eyed the big man with renewed interest. “Personally recommended by a Breckenridge. Quite the impression you must have made. What is your name?”

The giant frowned. “Sythius,” he growled.

“A hunter from Tera Acerbis,” Heiler said. “He ... doesn’t talk much.”

“Mm. I see. If Lady Breckenridge thinks he’s fit to wear a hawk, there must be a reason. What can he do?”

Heiler gestured for Sythius to lean down; the giant dropped to one knee, and Heiler whispered in his ear.

Page 61

Sister Ai Nan-Tamé returned to her barracks, outside the main walls of the city, with too many thoughts for one mind. She ran her slender fingers over the flame-drenched hawk embossed upon her golden breastplate, and found a sigh.

Captain Aric Milford glanced up from his desk. “... Dare I ask?”

“Lisbeth is dead.”

Aric flinched violently. “Lorat bested Sister Cartwright? You can’t be serious.”

“It wasn’t the city,” Sister Nan-Tamé said slowly, hesitantly. “It was the forest.”

“The Godswake hasn’t stirred in decades. How could—” Aric stopped, collected himself, and turned his attention back to the sheaf of parchment on his desk. “What will be done? We can’t . . . leave this. Can we?”

“Her Majesty certainly doesn’t believe so.”

The Captain stood. “This may not prove fortuitous, but we may as well.” He gestured. “Come with me. Heiler has a new prospect. You’ll want to see this personally.”

Sister Nan-Tamé blinked, surprised. “A new recruit? Now?”

“Just come with me.”

Captain Milford was a big man, a born warrior who never would have made rank in the magic-specialized Third Guard if not for the fact that he defied nearly every expectation of a man his size. He never would have seemed like a lifelong scholar to anyone who looked at his muscular frame and his wickedly bladed mace.

Despite his brutish appearance, though, there was no one who understood the theory of magic better than Aric Milford. What he lacked in practical ability, he more than made up for with strategy.

The first thing that Sister Ai Nan-Tamé thought, as she stepped onto her Guard’s training field, was that the man standing next to Sentinel Heiler made her captain—with his huge, hulking frame—look like a child.

Page 60

Sister Naya looked stunned beyond recognition. “... Oh.”

Big Olrec gestured dismissively. “Listen ter me, Naya. It’s been long and long since I took on students.” He said the word mockingly, as though he had no business using it. “I’m nae much fer takin’ on royal students, aside. But if’n it brings solace and honor ter the Guards, then who am I ter refuse?”

This brought the faintest of smiles to the priestess’s face. “I ... I’ll bring it to Her Majesty’s attention.”

The grizzled old veteran bowed deep at the waist. His beard scraped the ground. “Ye do that.”

Naya saluted, resting the knuckle of her thumb against her forehead, and turned back toward the tower. Olrec looked up at the huge, spiraling edifice that was rumored to have stood for a thousand years. Selena’s Walk, the tower that had inspired him to join the Ten Guards so many years ago.

Some malaise, some miasma of gentle discontent draped over the old man’s shoulders, as he remembered one woman who would never see that tower again. He glanced to one side, at the cart that held her silver-laced armor. Armor crafted by Lorith, the greatest godsmith to ever step into the White Walls.

Olrec said, “Ya seem ter’ve moved past Milady’s passing right quickly, Naya.”

Sister Belmont turned, and revealed the soft smile on her weathered face. She said, “It wouldn’t do to grieve, when a Sister of Aca falls in her service.”

Olrec smiled sadly.

“... Good. Good girl.”

She saluted again. “Thank you, Master.”

Page 59

“Whatcha mean, ‘after a fashion?’ Either he’s fit ter fight or he ain’t.”

“Sentinel Heiler is an exceptional mage,” Sister Belmont said, “but he hasn’t much stamina. Most mages in the Third Guard are like my archers.” A smirk reached her face. “Heiler is a ballista.”

“Aha,” said Big Olrec. “Takes time ter prime, but when he lands a hit ... summot’s gonna die.”

“You have it.” Toying with one of the feathers in his hair, Olrec stewed on this information for a while. Sister Belmont watched him. She chewed on an idea of her own for a moment before she said, “... You could train him.”

Olrec blinked. “What?”

The young priestess’s eyes were sparkling. “Yes! Of course! You’ve trained so many of us! With a pedigree like yours, there’s no possible way Her Majesty could say no! Just the trip back to Callistora would teach His Highness more than our training grounds ever could!”

It was almost terrifying to see Naya Belmont so excited. Big Olrec hadn’t seen her in years, yet he knew without conscious thought that the expression on her face, to say nothing of the tone of her voice, was supremely foreign.

“And what if I ain’t goin’ back ter Callistora?” Olrec asked slowly. “What’f I came back here ter tender me resignation, so ter speak?”

The excitement sloughed off Sister Belmont’s face in half a blink. “You—of course. Yes, you would more than deserve to retire. After ... after so long.” She bowed. “I’m sorry.”

Big Olrec snorted. “Silence that squabbling, girl! Ye should know better! I’ll die with hammers in me hands! Do I look like a mewling cripple?”

Page 58

Sister Belmont lowered her head like a girl of twelve who’d upset her Papa. She sighed heavily, adjusted the cowl that covered her face, and looked up at the sky.

“This talk of the princeling,” Big Olrec said. “Selbin, aye?”

“Aye,” Belmont replied without thinking, then flinched. “Yes. Prince Selbin. He was named Captain of the First Guard on his last dawning day. But the boy’s only seen ten summers, and hasn’t had any training whatsoever. The best we can say for him is that he knows how to read.”

“No small feat,” Olrec said, smirking. He chuckled. “Heard talk of another fledgling done taken the oath. On the road back home, this was. Folk callin’ him ‘fire-waker.’ Y’know, after the old song.”

“Junior Sentinel Heiler,” Sister Belmont said.

“What of his training, then?”

“Nearly complete. He will be fit for duty within the next parcel of days.”

“How old’s this’un?”

“A year more than the prince. You can see our concern, I trust. This hasn’t anything to do with the fact that he’s a boy. He’s a pampered boy. A spoiled boy. If he can’t be hammered into shape, there is no reason for him to hold rank. But Her Majesty is ...”

“Stubborn as an ox cast in iron?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Well. Nae for me ter question the princess. But if I’d guess, the army’s none ter pleased havin’ a boy in command. Aye?”

“Aye.” Big Olrec eyed Sister Belmont suspiciously, as though checking to see if she was mocking him. “Sentinel Heiler has proven himself time and again that he’s fit for battle ... after a fashion. But His Highness can barely heft a shortsword.”

Page 57

Sister Belmont followed Big Olrec outside, and they both maintained a tense silence as they descended from the top of Selena’s Walk to the bottom. By the time Olrec set his thick, heavy boots onto the sculpted lawns outside the tower, his breath was rasping; men far younger than he had been known to retire from campaigning, specifically due to their age, with no shame whatsoever.

The commander of the Serpent’s Sting, by strictest contrast, was dead silent. There was no sign that she had just made the same trek as Olrec had.

“... Why would you go into the Godswake?” she asked, when the old veteran didn’t move for a long moment—apparently a sign that he was willing to speak with her.

“I won’t pretend ter know Her Majesty’s political weavin’, so I wouldn’t guess why we been cast off across the Estron in the first place, but where would ye think a threat would come from, out there by the cradle?”

“You did it to help Lorat?” Sister Belmont guessed.

“Front lines or no, we’re still the first shield, Missy. O’course we’d help Lorat. That’s our assignment.”

“I’m sorry. You and Lizzy deserve better than this. But I’m only one person. They call us the Voice of the Moon. But we aren’t all-powerful. We can’t just ignore the will of the people. And considering ... what happened ...”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Big Olrec cut in. “It’s nae important.”

“But ... if not for that ...”

“Milady would’ve died in the Wastes, instead of a forsaken forest. Ye might think it different, but . . . dead’s dead.”

“But perhaps ... with the rest of us at your back ... where we should be—”

“Naya. Stop. Don’t ye feel guilty now. There’s nae ye could’ve done.”

Page 56

The entire council chamber was dead silent, quiet enough to echo.

Sister Belmont was the first to speak. Her voice had lost its quiet rasp; in its place was the quavering timbre of a lost girl. “... Lizzy’s fallen? How?”

Big Olrec closed his eyes. “How else? As a shield.” He looked around at the commanders again, and they could all see the lightning in his eyes. “Seems even th’ quiet streets o’ Lorat keep room fer threats. Threats enough ter topple a tower.”

“There’s no one in Lorat with half the balls it’d take to knock Cartwright!” Commander Burke snarled. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Olrec’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’ll forgive me, lass, if I keep silent. Don’t ye dare make orders on me. Ye aren’t my Commander.”

The fact that one of the old warrior’s heavy, gloved hands moved to rest on the pommel of one of his huge hammers was not lost on Lysandra Burke. She stepped back; where Princess Selena had caused her to remember her decorum, Big Olrec seemed to have caused her to remember something else entirely.

Something that put honest fear into her overly-bright eyes.

“I’d not desecrate this holy chamber with the marks of the dead,” Olrec intoned quietly. “Milady’s armor is waitin’ outside the chamber. Her weapon’s been lost.”

“Lost?” Princess Selena asked. “How could ... ? Where ... ?”

“The Godswake,” Olrec said slowly. “Y’know. The real threat down in Callistora. The one you fancy guv’ment dandies keep thinkin’ ain’t real.”

This done, he turned on a heavy heel and left the chamber.

Page 55

The other commanders all stared at each other for a moment. Commander Burke was the first to speak up: “Big Olrec? Stoutfeather? Where the hell did that come from? The day His Highness becomes a field medic is the day I turn in my armor for a cook’s apron!”

Princess Selena shook her head, and gestured.

At some point during the discussion, the door had opened; standing in the now-open doorway of the princess’s private council chamber atop Selena’s Walk, was a man.

A short man. A stocky man. A compact frame wrapped in corded muscle. This man would have fit without any reservations into Commander Burke’s berserkers. Considering the state of his clothing, however—tattered, dirt-streaked leathers—anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that he belonged to Sister Belmont’s scouts.

He had long white hair and an equally long beard—grey streaked with white, braided, with feathers woven in at seemingly random points.

Princess Selena strode forward, very nearly ran, to the man. She seemed to remember herself at the last moment, and drew herself up. “Senior Sentinel,” she said, clearing her throat.

“Aye,” said Big Olrec; his voice was gruff, low. Haggard. “So they tell me.”

The other Commanders stood. More than a few looked concerned, and a couple looked offended, that a mere officer would infringe upon a private meeting of the First Guard, but since the princess herself—the Commander of Commanders—had said nothing about it, neither would they.

“What is it?” the princess asked, staring down at Big Olrec—despite his nickname, he was by far the shortest man in the room. “What news from Callistora?”

Big Olrec sighed, shook his head, and straightened himself. He looked around at the other commanders. The pillars of Moonguard’s government. Specifically, his gaze leveled on the three ordained priestesses in the room: Sister Dalton, Sister Belmont, and Sister Nan-Tamé.

He said: “Milady is dead.”

Page 54

Prince Selbin was ten years old, and the only “soldier” in the Ten Guards who was younger than Loki Heiler. Despite this, however, he was a captain. The adjutant to the princess—his sister—herself, with an ego to match.

“If arrogance were cause for removing a soldier’s rank,” the princess had said, when Commander Burke had first brought forward her less-than-subtle issue with the prince’s attitude, “you would have been cast out of this city before my brother were ever born.”

“If this was about him being arrogant,” Commander Burke had replied, “I wouldn’t be talking about it! I’d be teaching him how to do it right!”

“You must admit,” Sister Belmont said now, so many hours later, after ignoring and returning to the subject of Selbin more than ten times in the same day, “that His Highness is reaching the age when proper training would be ... beneficial.”

“I know he is young,” put in Commander Breckenridge, still seated, “and you wish to protect him. But if he is to hold rank, he must earn it. Royal blood or not.”

“Proper training can only help him, Your Majesty,” Sister Belmont said. “It would be no different from any other apprenticeship. You would not have our prince, the next in line for succession, claim the title of Socialite, would you? Is that what our city deserves?”

Princess Selena still looked thoroughly nonplussed, but her anger had cooled.

Somewhat.

“Who should train him?” came a new voice, belonging to Commander Joleen Dalton.

Silence reigned.

The princess finally spoke again, in tones of quiet finality.

“... Big Olrec.”

Page 53

Commander Burke seemed to remember herself. Her breath came out in clouds as the air continued to crystallize about them all. She sat back down. “This is turning into a damned pissing contest,” she snarled, glaring at nothing in particular as she ran a hand over her head; like she was trying to run her fingers through hair that she didn’t have anymore.

Sister Naya Belmont, still hooded even in the presence of her closest companions, rose silently to her feet. “Your Illustrious Majesty will of course be forgiven for worrying after her only blood heir,” she said, in her soft, scratchy voice. “Perhaps a compromise is in order.”

Princess Selena raised a slow eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“We have been returning, ever and ever again, to the topic of the young prince’s credentials. I believe that even Your Majesty must admit that he is not currently fit for Captaincy. He has only recently seen his tenth dawning day. There is not a one of us here who would expect such a fledgling to take the field.”

All eyes flitted toward Sister Ai Nan-Tamé, even if no one was conscious of it. Because, of course, she had lain claim to the only true child soldier in all the Ten Guards.

Sister Ai stood next, taking her fellows’ unconscious attention as a platform. “You are suggesting, I assume, that we address His Highness’s lack of training, rather than rescind his title.”

Sister Naya smirked, but it was a friendly smirk. However that was possible.

“Precisely,” she said.

Page 52

Princess Selena was not her name; it was much easier to say that it was her title.

Very, very few people knew her real name, and it struck her as surreal and almost laughable that none of the people in front of her right now could be counted on that list. Yet here they were, in their gleaming armor with their heavy weapons, trying to tell her how to do her job.

When the meeting had started, that morning, no one had been able to tell that she was irritated. But here they were, after nearly a full day’s worth of deliberation and debate, and there was no question: the reigning monarch of the most powerful city-state in Phila was irretrievably angry.

“This conversation is over,” Selena said, rising from her high chair with an air of absolute authority.

It was no surprise that Commander Lysandra Burke was the first to speak up. “The hell it is!” She threw herself upward, very nearly vaulting over the table at which they had been sitting for the past fourteen hours, her scarred face twisting in fury. “You may be the head of the snake, but don’t you dare think you can just snap your fingers! Not this time!”

The very air around the council chamber suddenly went cold.

Princess Selena stood still as a statue. Her light grey eyes were flashing like the constellations of a forgotten sky.

When she spoke next, her voice was a deathly chilled whisper.

“... Do not mistake me for a figurehead.”

Page 51

“The covens can’t do that,” Lady Heiler breathed, watching as the giant bear wandered about the garden, docile as any house-cat. “This isn’t just some skill he picked up. Where did you find this man?”

Sithe shrugged. “Happened across my door some nights ago. You see why I’ve brought this to your attention, Sentinel? I thought your commander might be ... interested in this sort of thing. And, of course, that you would.”

Loki was barely paying attention. His eyes kept wandering back to the bear. “... Huh?”

Sithe winked at Lady Heiler, gesturing to Sythius. You see? she mouthed. Lady Heiler nodded.

“You’ll want to report this to Sister Nan-Tamé,” Lady Heiler said to her son, who looked up at her dazedly. “She’ll want to know, and better it come from you than a civilian. She’s like to be busy. But there’s no better time than now to start recruiting. If he fights as well as he looks like he can, she might have him trained and ready by next spring.”

“Assuming he wants to fight,” Loki said slowly. “Does he want to join the Guards?”

“He’s a born defender,” Sithe said. “Tell him he’ll be training to protect the children. He’ll go along with it.”

“He’s a simpleton, isn’t he?” Loki asked. The bear was now trotting, head held high and clearly pleased. He looked like a trained parade horse, cantering about a town square. Lady Heiler laughed quietly.

“He understands more than you might assume,” Sithe said, “but ... for the most part, yes.”

Page 50

It wasn’t until night had fallen that Sithe called Lady Heiler back to the Children’s Home. Sythius had done precisely as she’d asked, and watched the children as they broke nearly every house rule Sithe had ever come up with. They were safe, to be sure; he’d kept them from injuring each other well enough, resorting at one point to actually lifting up Daniel and Leon by the collars of their shirts, and holding them several feet in the air until they stopped trying to kick each other.

But aside from that, Sithe learned a lesson that afternoon: do not trust wild men to babysit.

Once everyone was asleep, including the moon, Sithe brought her large compatriot out to the back gardens, and Lady Heiler arrived some twenty minutes later. As requested, she'd brought her son along with her. Campaign season was over, meaning that Junior Sentinel Heiler spent at least a few nights every ten-day at home with his mother. At her insistence, Sithe was sure. The boy had the countenance of someone who would have much preferred to sleep in his barracks with his brothers and sisters.

Loki Heiler was thin, short, with shoulder-length blond hair that was remarkably well-kept considering his profession. Sithe thought that all he would need to do was dye it, and he’d look like a fashionable young dandy.

She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from chuckling, or at least smirking, as the Heilers approached. Loki also had the look of someone who would have taken immense offense at being laughed at.

The boy saluted, holding a knuckle against his forehead, when he saw Sithe. “Goodeven, Lady Breckenridge,” he said. His voice was soft, archaically polite.

Sithe responded with a low bow. “An honor to meet you, Sentinel. Thank you for coming.” She turned to Sythius, whose eyes were centered on the child. “Introduce yourself,” she said, elbowing the giant in the midriff. “Tell them your name.”

Sythius blinked. “My name ... Sythius.” He mimicked Sithe’s bow.

Loki frowned. “He’s not from here,” he said. “His furs aren’t from here, either. What ... accent is that ... ?” The boy looked down, frowning, and eventually said. “Acerbian?” He looked up. “Are you from Aubrith, Sythius?”

“From ... north,” Sythius said. “Cold. Dark.”

“Tera Acerbis,” Sithe said; Loki was already nodding. “His coven’s name is Sil’nathin.”

“Impressive,” Loki said, “but I don’t understand why you brought me here. I guess you’re thinking he should be recruited?”

Sithe inclined her head. “Something like that. He’s been a help to us here, but not so much of one that he’s worth the cost of repairing the floors. And the walls. And the dishware.” At Lady Heiler’s questioning look, Sithe winked. “Figured that a boy this big would fit right in.”

“Probably,” Loki said, “but he looks like a better fit for the Tower, or the Dreadnought. Why talk to me?”

Sithe held up a finger. “Allow me to ... explain. Or, perhaps it would be better to show you.”

She glanced up at the giant, gestured for him to kneel down so that she could whisper into his ear.

Sythius nodded, smiling his odd smile, then he frowned and cracked his knuckles. The crunch echoed in the night air, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself; his grin turned devilish. Sithe wondered where he’d picked up that particular intimidation tactic.

Then he knelt down, and pulled the bear pelt over his head.

Page 49

Sithe waited a moment, then frowned. “... Okay. You've swayed me.”

Lady Heiler blinked. “What?”

“I wanted to know how serious you were, before I agreed to this,” Sithe explained. “You might think that the rich and affluent would be more than willing to pay a diamond-monger’s ransom to get what they want, but you would be wrong. That you would so willingly offer up your newfound wealth to enlist my help ... well. It’s more convincing than anything else you might have said.”

“You ... you don’t want payment?”

“Have you forgotten who I am? I'm a Breckenridge. I have all the resources I could ever need. Perhaps we’ll talk later about a donation to the cause, once this business is concluded. It’s important for us to remember the plights of the young and helpless. If you wish to express your gratitude that your child is safe and cared for, by doing your part to help those who are not ... I won’t stop you. But let's make sure he's safe and cared for, before we talk about that.”

Lady Heiler smiled. It was a lovely smile, untouched by bitterness or fear or cynicism. It transformed her face. “Thank you, Sithe Breckenridge. You are a credit to your family’s legacy.”

Sithe winked. “So my sire tells me. My uncles are less convinced.”

“They believe you fit for a ‘higher calling’ than what you have chosen?” Lady Heiler guessed.

Sithe shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve never bothered to ask.”

Page 48

Lady Heiler gave Sithe a strange, searching look. “He prays for, what, three hours each morning? What do you mean, he’s not a Son of Vilaya?”

Sithe shrugged. “He would be able to tell you far better than I. Suffice to say, I think the point’s been made. Just because he officially holds reign over his own decisions doesn’t somehow absolve you from worrying for him.” A silence stepped in for a long moment. “... I must ask, why have you come to me about this? Why not speak to Captain Milford? Or ... Sister Ai herself. Surely she would sympathize with your plight, and certainly she’d be much better equipped to actually help.”

Lady Heiler smirked. “... Better equipped, but not better able. I’m looking for something more discreet than that. You know discreet ... do you not?”

Sithe chuckled. “Hm.” She wondered why she wasn’t surprised that this woman from a fishing villa somehow knew her ... secret mission. Why not? She defied all other expectations. Why shouldn’t she be the only rich woman in the entire city to actually pay attention?

“Surprised?” Lady Heiler asked, as though she’d read Sithe’s mind. Then she flinched. “My apologies. I shouldn’t be so flippant. We’ve all our reasons for secrecy. Yours are more noble than most. Certainly more noble than mine.”

“I’ll admit that this is a first,” Sithe said. “Those few who know what I do make a habit of telling me when they find children in need of my ... intervention. However, your boy has the backing of the most irretrievably powerful woman on this continent.” Lady Heiler’s face screwed up into something derisive—clearly there was no love lost between this woman and Ai Nan-Tamé—but it turned neutral again bare seconds later. “Surely he doesn’t need my protection ... from anyone.”

“Will you help me or not?”

Sithe shrugged. “I can’t deny a certain curiosity. But ... I don’t work for free. This is a unique case, after all, and there’s far more danger involved than usual. If this gets back to me, I’ll have the feather-snakes on my ass faster than an Eastwharf gull during fishing season.”

Lady Heiler frowned. “Anything. What do you need? It’s yours, if you’ll help my Loki.”

Page 47

“Understand,” Sithe said, as she stepped away from the pot and glanced at the open doorway, leading back into the common room. “that I can’t ... guarantee anything. You know that, right? If this were a civilian situation ... well. But this is military business. My influence is limited.”

“I know,” Lady Heiler muttered. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s just so ... fast.”

“When the Guards want someone,” Sithe said slowly, “they stop at nothing. I’m guessing that’s how you completely bypassed the Middle Ring.” Lady Heiler nodded. “From copper tabs to diamond cuff-links. I can see why you would be concerned.”

“It’s not just that,” Lady Heiler said. “Loki is still a student. He barely knows how to use his gifts. I barely know how to teach him. They’re grooming the greenest of soldiers to take a spot on the front lines.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sithe said. “Milford doesn’t recruit someone whose abilities he doesn’t understand. And what he lacks in practical affinity, Sister Ai has in spades. If anyone on this continent is going to teach your boy how to use his power, it’s them.”

Lady Heiler grunted, and stared down at her lap. “I hate this. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. It’s not ... it’s nothing that I can control. It’s not even my choice anymore. As soon as he accepted that badge, he became an adult. I’m not even his guardian anymore.”

Sithe smirked. “Losing a title doesn’t mean losing the job,” she said. “You’ve met my sire, haven’t you?”

“Commander Breckenridge? Yes. I have.”

“He hasn’t been an ordained Son of Vilaya for seven years.”

Page 46

Sithe stared openly. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“Protect him,” Lady Heiler said, as fervently as the first time. “He’s barely eleven years old. He hasn’t a hair on his chin, and they’re making him an officer! This based purely on his skill with heat. The eventual benefit he’ll provide for the army is enough for them to bend over backwards to give him everything he wants. And what he wants, more than anything, is for a chance to advance. To prove himself.”

Sithe crossed her arms over her chest. “Surely he has that.”

“Yes, and he’s drunk on it.” Lady Heiler’s eyes flared. “Junior Sentinel Loki Heiler. Do you know how intoxicating a title like that is for a little boy who’s spent his entire life in exile? You know about his affliction, don’t you?”

Sithe frowned. “... Seizing sickness.”

“Yes! He can’t walk without his magic. That’s why I taught him in the first place! I said we lived in a fishing village. I’m sure you know the type. There’s no room for leisure. No time for wastefulness. No tolerance for sloth. Loki was ... nothing there. Worse than nothing. He was a drain on them. They hated him. I brought him here to get away from that, and now all of a sudden the exact opposite problem has him dizzy and wild with delusions of power. He won’t listen to me. I can’t protect him anymore. I’m his mother, and I can’t ... I can’t ... !”

Sithe flinched. She said, slowly, “... The only way to help him now is within the ranks. Civilians hold as much sway over the Guards as a family of rats over a baker. And even if I had the fortitude to make it through training, I wouldn’t earn a Hawk.”

Lady Heiler sneered. “I might have known. I should have guessed. There’s nothing for it, is there?”

Sithe frowned. “Not ... nothing. I wouldn’t catch the good Sister's notice, but I think I know someone who would.”

Page 45

“What do you know of the Third Guard?”

Sithe turned, slowly. “Sister Ai’s hawks?” she asked. Lady Heiler nodded. “I know that they’re exceptionally ... well, they’re taken care of. Their salaries are head and above any of the other regiments.” Lady Heiler bristled at this; clearly, this was not the answer she had been looking for. “Their skills are rare. Unknown. Some would say unknowable.”

Lady Heiler’s stern expression softened. “Magic,” she said. “They’re magic users.”

Sithe shrugged. “I suppose you could put it that way. It’s roughly as specific as calling Captain Milford an ‘enthusiast,’ but ... fine.”

Lady Heiler chuckled. Aric Milford was the only member of the Third Guard who had no skill in arcane manipulation at all. He made up for this deficiency with an encyclopedic knowledge of his subordinates’ abilities. In terms of practical ability, he was less than nothing. In terms of theoretical ability, he was a savant.

“If I recall correctly, there’s a new rising star in the Fire-Hawk’s ranks,” Sithe said. “His name is Heiler, too, unless I’m mistaken. You’ll forgive me if I assume that isn’t a coincidence.”

“My Loki is more than a rising star,” Lady Heiler said, unconsciously swelling with pride. “Sister Nan-Tamé is convinced that he holds the key to victory in Moonguard’s fight against the Sorcerer Tribes. After all, can you imagine how dangerous a pyromancer could be in a desert?”

“Pyromancer, is it?” Sithe asked. “A bit flowery. I wouldn’t have expected you to dig up that moniker. So ... I can only assume you’re talking about this for a reason. If you simply wanted to compare children, I think I have you beat. Just on pure numbers.”

“His training is nearing completion,” Lady Heiler said. “He’s earned a silver badge. Captain Milford will start sending him on assignments within a ten-day.”

“Again, I ask, what can I do for you?”

“... Protect him.”

Page 44

Breanne and William came into the common room from outside and, as soon as Breanne saw the giant, she squealed. Like a bolt shot from an over-tight crossbow, Sithe’s traumatized little butterfly flew into Sythius’s arms, and perhaps the most remarkable part of it all was the fact that William—usually sullen and angry—didn’t seem bothered by this.

If anything, he looked ... relieved. As though this stranger who called himself Sil’nathin were the sire he and his baby sister never had.

“Seems they’ll be distracted a while,” Lady Heiler said, pointedly. Sithe drew her attention back to her guest, and quirked an eyebrow. “May we speak in private ... Miss Sithe?”

Something about hearing that name on those lips sent a shock of cold straight through Sithe’s spine. She stood. “Sythius!” she barked. The big man looked at her. “Watch them. I have business.”

Sythius nodded fervently. Up, down, center.

Sithe gestured. “Come with me.”

She entered the kitchen, saw Gloria at the fire, cooking stew for the house luncheon. She nodded to her matron. Sithe said, “Where are the boys?”

“Godric is teaching Vincent archery. They’re on the Sixth’s training field. Fuller is running an errand for your Lord Sire.”

Satisfied, the matron nodded. “Help Sythius with the little ones. I have a private meeting to conduct with Lady Heiler.”

“Oh!” Gloria curtsied. “Welcome, Milady!”

Lady Heiler tapped her temple in a jaunty sort of salute. It was surprising in its casual air, and Gloria had no idea how to respond to it. She simply curtsied again, and bolted from the room.

Sithe glanced at the bubbling pot over the fire and said, without looking:

“What can this humble servant do for you?”

Page 43

As Sithe and Lady Heiler talked, a hulking giant came into the common room. Sythius was carrying two of the younger girls on his massive shoulders, and they were currently braiding various flowers from the back gardens into his hair. He seemed not to notice what they were doing. His gaze was wholly inward.

With a grunt, and a thud that shook the building, Sythius sat on the floor. The other children all halted their various games and migrated around Unca Syth, who seemed to have a golden touch. Mostly, Sithe thought, it had to do with his own child-like temperament.

The big man was simply too stupid to be threatening, in spite of his size and strength.

And ... his gifts.

“Who’s this?” Lady Heiler wondered. “Surely he’s a touch older than your usual suspects, Madam Breckenridge?”

“Call me Sithe,” the matron said dismissively. “My hair may be grey, but I’m no older than you are.”

Lady Heiler smirked again.

“His name is Sythius,” Sithe said. “I hear tell from a minstrel who came here some time back that he’s a hunter from Tera.” Sithe could tell from the way Lady Heiler’s eyes widened that she knew the name, and wouldn’t need any further explanation. “Come to think of it,” Sithe continued, “I haven’t the foggiest where that damned minstrel got himself to. Hmph. Typical.”

“Yet this hunter stays,” Lady Heiler noted. “Seems he’s popular.”

Sythius was currently using his superhuman strength to carry ... everyone on his back. He stood smoothly, seemingly without effort, and grinned so broadly that his face cracked.

Lady Heiler laughed. “Very popular.”

Page 42

Moonguard, as the crow flies, was a giant pentagon—a fitting design for a religious community—separated into three districts known as its “rings.” The Inner Ring was the home of the nobility, the rich and affluent, those who funded the city’s projects and more often than not acted as the collective voice of the people. The Middle Ring, where Sithe reigned, was home to the merchant class. Smiths, tanners, tailors, matrons. Guild masters. If you weren’t born in the confines of the Inner Ring, then this was the highest you could hope to rise.

Then there was the Outer Ring, where dwelled the laborers, the disenfranchised. Those like William, and Vincent, who only had a single name to their credit, carved out a life in the Outer Ring.

Typically, newcomers to the White Wall started their new lives of peace and prosperity on the outside. If they were talented, they quickly moved deeper, under the Golden Gate and into the mid-range districts. If they weren’t, they floundered and died with the rest of the poor, or else left entirely.

Anna Heiler, miraculously, had slipped right past the Golden Gate and the Diamond Gate, and lived in one of the largest manses on the sculpted lawns of the inner sanctum.

“I’ve long wondered something,” Sithe dared to say, as she sat opposite Lady Heiler at the small wooden table where, not so long ago, she’d adopted a little girl with scars on her body and deeper scars in her mind.

“Do tell.”

“You don’t dress like a diamond,” Sithe continued, leaning forward in her seat. “For someone as rich and affluent as your illustrious self, you seem quite ... unconcerned with such things.”

Lady Heiler smirked. She was a tall woman, older than she looked if her dark blue eyes were any indication, with jet-black hair and a clean, crisp, but homespun robe. “Truthfully ... I’m not. Before we came here, my son and I lived in a rundown fishing village with barely enough copper tabs to run itself into an early grave. Affluence. Illustriousness. It’s all alien to me.”

Sithe smirked in turn. “Is that right ... ?”