He, Kintere and Blackfang had spent much of the day helping the sailors unload the longboats as they came ashore – granted, Rhayd himself had mostly co-ordinated the unloading. It made good cover for his injury. Much as he hated being seen as the aloof, commanding presence he knew he was, he hated the idea of exposing his weakness more. That girl didn’t help either, with her constant glaring. She thought he didn’t notice, turned away whenever he looked at her, but he knew better. She was watching him, and not likely to tell him why, either.

“Why do you keep staring at her?” Kintere asked, toward dusk. “What did she do wrong now?”

“Nothing,” Rhayd forced himself to reply, marking off the ship’s manifest. It had been handed to him by one of the hands hours ago, since the man was looking to do more than cross off box numbers for the remainder of his day. “She didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you can hardly hold that against her,” Kintere huffed, getting it wrong again. “These boxes are heavy, I don’t blame her for sitting out of the work.”

Rhayd laughed.

“Leave it to you to pick the obvious problem,” he said, folding his arms over his chest as his friend hefted up yet another massive carton. “That’s not it. She keeps staring at me. What else am I supposed to do? She won’t tell me why if I ask, and she’ll give you an answer you don’t like if you ask. So I’ll leave it alone, and we’ll keep glaring at each other.”

“Some of the sailors think you’re making eyes at each other. For private reasons.”

Rhayd could hear the discontent in the big man’s voice – he sighed, turning his gaze to the clouds. They barely hid the bulk of Jag Har’Oah, the god glowing green high above. Jag would set within the hour, the sun had gone down an hour before. Then the work would end for the night, and Rhayd could let himself sleep, before the next leg of their journey began tomorrow.

“I can assure you, Tere, that’s not it.”

“Well good,” Kintere muttered, barely placated. “Because that wouldn’t be right.”

The big man left with his box, without giving Rhayd the chance to respond.

It was disappointing, whenever Rhayd learned Kintere had gained another conversational trick like walking away before retort. He always felt robbed of the chance to understand his friend better.

Ah well. At least it was work, not drink, Kintere left him for now. That would have to do.

Except he’d forgotten to get the number from the box Kintere had taken away to mark down on his list.

“That man is an eternal frustration,” he said to no one, and for once, was glad of the lack of response.

The voice called from behind Kintere, causing the entire party to turn on their heels at the sudden words. Not ten spans away, where moments ago no one had been, a mountain of a man stood, easily dwarfing Kintere by a quarter span. Clearly a warrior by his muscle and bearing, the raven haired man stood with legs akimbo, bandage-wrapped fists planted firmly on his hips. Even as big as he was, with shining green eyes and pale, tattooed skin, Kintere had the sense there was much of this man which did not show. The way the hills of ice floating down the Penance coast during the spring seemed small, but much of their mass rested hidden beneath the sea.

“Curia,” the man rumbled, sketching a bow of the neck. Clearly, he did not defer to Thryche as others did.

“Halo,” Thryche returned, doubling himself at the waist with great effort. “I honour you.”

Suddenly, Kintere was very afraid of the mountainous man before them. To command so humble a greeting from Edvard Thryche – there was real power here.

“I see you,” the man returned formally. “I also see your students. Which are the two I am to take?”

“One, master. His name is Kienor Blackfang.”

Thryche indicated Kienor and the hunter stepped forward, thrusting out his chest, arms straight at his sides. Kintere couldn’t see his friend’s face through his mask, but he would have sworn the man was smiling.

“Pride. Good. You will be of great benefit. But what of the other, Curia? I am told there were to be two.”

Thryche nodded, placing both hands on the pommel of his cane.

“There were to be, master Legaeta. However, I have since reassessed the talents of the second, and see clearly he would be of no benefit to your school.”

“So he is weak.”

“Yes.”

Kintere drew a sharp breath. How dare the Curia call him weak! He tightened his fists, opened his mouth to speak…

And didn’t. The look in both Thryche’s and Mireya’s eyes stopped him. The Curia wanted him to be cautious. He had seen that look often during his teaching. It was no surprise, and he knew that Thryche would explain later.

Mireya, however. She looked frightened – though for what reason, he could not tell. Was she scared he would leave? Or that he would be hurt by this walking mountain to whom Curia Thryche bowed so easily?

Kintere decided it didn’t matter. He closed his mouth, bowed his head.

“He is more suited to the teachings Frost and Firehand can provide, rather than those of yourself and Master Cawna.”

Legaeta sighed, his hands falling from his hips. It seemed suddenly that a great weight collapsed his shoulders.

“Sadly, master Cawna is no longer among us,” Legaeta said with great reverence. “She joined her husband in places beyond last week. I have been forced to replace her with someone of other talents.”

“I am sad to hear that, master. Cawna was a fine sword and weaver. Might I inquire as to her replacement among the Elite?”

“Yes – my apprentice, Bloodlash, has proven herself quite adept in a number of fields. She takes Cawna’s place as the second among the Elite, and leads the Halo.”

Thryche nodded, as if it were only logical. Kintere felt he was missing a great deal of the history behind what was being said – he would have to ask Rhayd later what significance the Elite and this Halo had to the weavers. Legaeta was clearly too distracted to make hard consideration of the fact that he had lost a student.

“Master Legaeta,” Rhayd said, breaking his silence. “My name is Rhayd Khalenn. My sister, Rhailynn, has attended your school. I must ask – is she well? Is she here? I haven’t heard from her in quite some time.”

Legaeta narrowed his eyes on Rhayd, and what might have been a sinister smile appeared at one corner of his lips.

“Oh yes, she does very well,” the huge man said slowly. “She has made quite a name for herself among the weavers of Attensah and beyond.”

“Is she here,” Rhayd repeated, visibly frustrated by Legaeta’s avoiding the question.

“I suspect she will make herself seen if she chooses,” the master of the Elite said carefully. Kintere didn’t like his tone – where Curia Thryche deferred to Legaeta, there was a note in the Elite’s voice that said he would defer to Rhailynn, if she asked. From his answer, Kintere suspected she had, in fact, asked.

By the time the boat had made wharf at the city’s main harbor, Kintere had all but forgotten the previous night. He had not planned to be so angry with Mireya, nor had he planned to leave himself exposed to the Curia’s ministrations. He found, though, that he was glad of both. Mireya kept to herself as the ship weighed anchor at the small encampment down the coast from the burning city of Yeun, leaving Kintere and Blackfang with a longboat to themselves to cross to shore.

“I don’t envy you your position, Kintere,” Blackfang huffed in the tongue of the jungle. The language drew curious looks from the sailors manning the boat’s oars, but afforded the pair some measure of privacy.

“Why not? I go with my friends to a place where my past means nothing.”

“You’re a fool. Your past follows in your shadow, whether others see it or not. I, however, remain a hunter. Attensah will make of me the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. Let the elders call me tainted then, when the grime of my captivity is washed off by my deeds.”

Kintere envied his friend that optimism. Blackfang – Kienor, as he had been known before he took the mantle of hunter – had always been of a single mind. Like the arrows he favoured, the hunter walked through life with a purpose Kintere envied.

“My father will certainly not consider you tainted, Kienor. Your captivity was not within your control. What you’ve told me of this hooded one – clearly he is a Weaver, a Dweomercrafter such as those you now go to study with.”

“And yourself, Kintere. Where I go, I learn the ways of war. Where you go, who knows what knowledge awaits? I hope your thick skull allows some in.”

Kintere smiled.

“Still, you’ve chosen well in your friends,” Blackfang admitted, screwing his eyes to narrow beads and glaring out toward the boat which carried Mireya and Rhayd. “That noble, he must be a force when he puts his will to something.”

“If he is, I’ve not seen it. He rarely makes his will known clearly, if at all.”

“There is a great steadfastness in him,” Blackfang insisted. “I don’t think anyone has seen its shape yet. The girl comes closest, though. I’ve seen them fight. She knows just where to cut him to reveal the heartwood beneath his rough bark.”

“She knows that skill for everyone she meets,” Kintere agreed.

The boats made land, all twelve issuing forth a frenzy of sailors and land workers as the cargo from the longboats was removed. The small group, headed by Curia Thryche, made their way off down the coast, away from the mess. Kintere kept to the rear, ignoring the occasional glance from Mireya where she walked beside Thryche and Rhayd. He wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.

“He’ll be here soon,” Thryche said suddenly, stopping to stare out at the ocean.

“Who will?” Rhayd asked, crossing his arms in a gesture Kintere knew signified annoyance at Thryche’s continual cryptic behaviour. He didn’t blame Rhayd at all – the man was wearing on his nerves as well.

“The master of Attensah,” Thryche answered. “Jeeder Legaeta. Head of the King’s Elite.”

Immediately, she tried to focus on something other than the city itself. Yeun was built into the side of a mountainous island, so much of the city was visible even from a distance. Buildings far larger than any in Penance sprawled up the sides of the delta, standing three or even five stories tall, some of them nearing the size of the Court building and two, one on either side of the delta with a huge bridge between, were each the size of the entire ducal estate.

And it was all burning to the ground.

Shortly, Mireya found herself surrounded by familiar presences, and abandoned her scrutiny of the city to find Rhayd, Kintere, and the Curia all at her side. It took her a moment to find Blackfang as well, wrapped as always in his hunting clothes, lounging like a cat against the rear castle. His eyes were cold, but anything else was impossible to tell through the burnoose hiding his head.

Rhayd was livid, that much Mireya could tell by looking at him, and Thryche was studying him – perhaps the two had had some harsh words below decks. Kintere was a blank slate. Never, since she had known him, had Mireya seen the man so calm while still awake. He was always giving something away with his eyes. Now, however, he looked more like Blackfang, with his jaw set tight, and his normally expressive eyes taking in the city of flames as if it were a threat. Perhaps it was.

Mireya caught Rhayd’s eyes, as he turned away from the city. He nodded – he saw a question there that she was unwilling to speak.

“Edvard knows what happened to the city,” Rhayd said, folding his arms over his chest. “But he’s refused to say.”

“I did not refuse,” the Curia corrected, pointing a gnarled finger at the young noble. “Don’t mince words. I told you it would do you no good to know what the cause was. There’s a difference.”

“It’s no help to is either way,” Mireya said meekly, drawing a confused look from the Curia. “We’re going to land there, aren’t we? Hadn’t we best know what we might find when we do?”

Blackfang laughed, drawing all eyes to him for a moment. The tall hunter shrugged, shaking his head.

“The girl’s right, master Thryche. For all we know, the dreaded xul are waiting in Yeun to take us all back to the underworld.”

“Bah,” Thryche spat – clearly, Blackfang had backed him into a corner. “There are no xul in Yeun.”

“But there were,” Kintere said, continuing his vigil on the city. “Two or more days ago.”

“Why so precise?” Rhayd asked, turning his own eyes on the city again.

“These flames are old, it’s the stone burning now. All the wood has been gone for at least a day. That’s why there’s so much smoke, and so little fire. Most of the city’s people are gone. If you look south, along the coast, you can see a small harbor where the other ships who have come in since the fire began have put in.”

“Impressive,” Rhayd breathed, obviously frustrated he hadn’t seen that himself. Mireya chided herself for the same feeling – she had focused so thoroughly on the city, she hadn’t even thought to look along the coast.

“Master Toralyon surprises us again,” Thryche said with a laugh, rapping Kintere on the back with his cane. “Yes, the xul were here. It seems their raiding has moved further than expected. And yes, those boats are the ones we were here to meet. This attack was clearly timed with knowledge that weavers from the schools were coming to collect new students. I expect that your classes will be quite thin, thanks to this. But you’ll be going to the places you were assigned. I can see the flag of Jinda on one of the boats.”

“And of Attensah on the other, I assume,” Blackfang chimed.

“Yes, and of Attensah. You’ll find your assignment quite to your liking, Kienor. The hunters of Attensah are second to no other.”

“Then I shall make myself chief among them,” Blackfang rasped – but Mireya thought she was the only one who heard. She met the hunter’s eyes for a moment, before looking to the others, only to see they had turned their gazes back to the city and its flames.

Nothing is ever easy.

In apology for the massive delays I’ve had the last week, Leila and I got together to make sure we could leave you all with something special over the weekend to say thanks for sticking around and putting up with the delays. So thanks, guys! This week’s going to be tense! – Ian

Dawn. A dull and inauspicious one, at that – dark clouds broiled with malcontent overhead to match the steel sea, white caps boxing at the sides of the boat, wan fingers of pink crawled across the sky. The night had felt endless, Mireya had asked herself question after question, the answers as distant as land. Now, with dawn marching relentless toward the boat, Mireya made her way to the deck with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Scratchy, cheap wool. Few of the crew were moving about yet, but those who were moved with an urgency that clearly betrayed their wish to make landing as soon as possible. Perhaps the deck was not the best place to keep out of the way. Making to turn back to the murky oppression of below decks.

Except there was Rhayd, wrapped in that awful cloak of his from neck to jackboots, leaning against a grain sack beside the entrance to the below-deck cabins. His eyes were obscured by the dark rings about them, hair a disheveled mess. He, too, had clearly suffered a sleepless night.

“He told me he spoke to you as well,” Rhayd said simply, his eyes not deviating from whatever mote it was in the middle distance he had focused on.

Of course the Curia would talk to Rhayd, she would be stupid to think she’d had his sole attention, that his words had been just for her. The bitterness shouldn’t show, trying to call it back from her face. If there was one thing she’d learnt it was holding back her feelings, forcing her tone into the familiar dusky indifference. Drawing the blanket further around her shoulders – the dull fabric draping her like a sack. She narrowed her eyes, pursing her already narrow lips in an effort to bite back a response. Better to remain civil, this early in the day. Instead of making a remark she knew would just start a fight, she turned away to lean on the rail just beside her.

“He?”

“He has plans for us all, it seems.”

Mireya turned her head to look down at him, managing to do it whilst looking down her nose. It was a look she gave Kintere often enough, usually when drunk and proclaiming his undying adoration. Rhayd had just said something as stupid.

“I don’t think they’re plans, not so much as the only way he can see to hold back the tide he knows is advancing.”

Rhayd shook his head, his eyes sinking shut as he leaned back against the wood of the rear castle.
“They’re plans, at least insofar as they apply to me. You and Kintere, you get to progress, move forward. Me he wants to drag back into the past along with him.”

Mireya blew an errant strand of hair from her face, trying to un-hear the words, to erase the sinking despair in them. She recognized that tone of indignation all too well – had heard it from her own lips far too often.
“For the first time in my life, I know the truth today,” Mireya said at last. “Last night and every night before that, I thought I knew the truth – or at least what I could have learned when Auss would not let me learn more than he found convenient.”

Instantly, she found she was uncertain of the curse in her tone, tried to divert it with a toss of her hair and a change of her posture – but realized it would mean nothing. The toss was too harsh, the jut of her hips too exaggerated. Too late now.

“You’ve progressed every day of your life since you were eight, since the Curia created an Ioun Stone for you…Last night I found out they existed.” Really, all he needed was her understanding, but she couldn’t give it easily to him, not him, with her revulsion and scorn.
Rhayd blinked, brows knitting together.

“An Ioun… Oh, right, the testing. I never understood the point of one of those things – he wanted me to light it up somehow, but it wouldn’t shine. I could make it brighter, change its color when he had lit the stone, but I failed that test. And a number of others after. I assume you passed his challenge, then?”
Mireya rolled her shoulders, folding her arms under her breasts – again, a gesture lost to exaggeration, and she found herself frowning again. How did he manage to put her in such a foul mood with so few words?

“How can you pass something if you don’t know it’s a test?” She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but something lit inside her, and she found herself mimicking the mockery in his tone. Casting needles at him as he did at her. “I don’t think this is about us though, about Kintere, or me, or even you. We have these rare talents…Whatever they are, and it is for us to do what we can to do what is right. Even if it means doing things we may not want.” The strength of the words surprised her, all the disjointed thoughts that had run through her head over the last evening had come together. “No-one talks of the truths, just the stories that victors tell to make it all sound finished and themselves sound brave. I’d rather the dirty truth – would you?”

“I’d rather knowledge. Any knowledge, as long as its true, to having any decision made in my best interest without my allowance.” The first thing he had perhaps ever said which meant he agreed with her.

“So what makes you think you will not be moving forward?” Finally, the beginnings of a straight question.
But then he laughed, though it could barely be called that. A chuckle of desperation, perhaps.
“I will be moving backward. My role in all this is to take up the work that Edvard is doing, under his replacement. After three years away and uncountable days of immense training and study, I am to return to Ckuien Penance.”

So that was it. Plans. Mireya shrugged off the wool blanket, turning to face him properly at last, leaning back against the rail.

“Last week, my life was working in the Inn, that was all I could foresee and yet, here I am, on the way to a future that was not planned. The Curia told me that we would learn together, you, Kintere and I…Whatever the next years bring, your role will be defined by you and ultimately….By things not even the Curia can control. War may come, Rhayd.”

“My future, just as yours, will be defined by my abilities. Like it or not, Mireya, we are spiraling toward something of cataclysmic proportions. The work that is required in Penance is vital to our survival of this. And I am the best suited to it. That is why I am angry. Not because Edvard has forced anything on me, but because I know why he chose to plan the way he has.”

“Then we had best be ready” An easy roll of her shoulders, the hint of a smile on her lips. Not polished, not comely, just…A girl, with the weight of the world on her shoulders. At least, that’s what she hoped he saw. “Ready to use our abilities to the best they can be, if they define us then we need to shape them. These abilities, whatever they are…These are the only things we truly have that can’t be taken away. I can’t do anything else.”

“None of us can do anything else,” Rhayd agreed, sharing a weak smile with her for a moment, before turning his eyes to the ship’s crew, their bustling to prepare the ship for landfall. “Tomorrow, we’ll be on Lockwood isle. Everything will be new. Rhayd Khalenn the noble won’t exist. Nor will Kintere Toralyon the Namari tribesman, nor Mireya the serving girl. We’ll all be replaced. Rhayd, Kitere and Mireya. The exiles.”

“We’ll just be students, Rhayd…Everyone there, we’re all the same, all children of a changed world where more and more of us are born to be more than we should.” Again, echoing the Curia. “We’ll still be the people we carry inside though, Rhayd. You more than most I’d guess. You’ll still be a noble, I’ll still be known as a whore and Kintere will still be a tribesman who’ll bass heads at the first provocation. Everything will be different, but we can’t be new.”

“I won’t be known as a noble,” Rhayd demanded. “Kintere won’t tell anyone. Nor will you. Nobility is looked down upon, and I’ll have none of it. My family name can’t be known.”

“But you’ll still be a noble. Denial and untruths or not.” She looked down her nose at him again, the woman barely about his chest in her boots, and was made aware of how silly her haughty posture was as he stood, eyes narrowing at her words. “Being known as one or not, we’ll still carry it with us. I won’t tell anyone anything, Rhayd…I’m not here for socializing, the secrets you want to hide are as safe with me as my own.”

“As safe as the port of Yeun, perhaps,” he said cryptically, nodding to the fore of the boat. “Look, smoke.”

Mireya turned, her eyes widening first at his words, then at what she saw. Land, coming over the horizon. There was smoke, indeed, though that was almost an understatement. Where the land broke across a wide delta, the skeletons of buildings could barely be seen. It must have been a beautiful city, straddling the wide river the delta was at the end of. Now, however, the port of Yeun was ablaze, its light, and its great column of smoke, straining toward the sky as if to blot out the sun rising behind it.

“Correct, young one. She played the two of them against each other when Maredran was born. Rahrin she pushed to build something of the limitless potential she and Kahlus had created. And to Kahlus she gave the challenge of unending watchfulness.”

“Leaving Rahrin feeling as if he is owed no thanks for our crafting, and Kahlus caring for children not wholly his own.”

“You see the world far more clearly than I did at your age, Rhayd.”

“I believe I am barely beginning to understand. Surely there must be some recourse for Kahlus and Rahrin against Nieri.”

“Yes. We are that recourse. In our crafting, a bargain was struck, under the watchful eye of the Grandfather. None of the divine may directly interfere in our nature, our doings, or our destiny. They can but provide some hints, some aid in the form of talent such as weaving – be it dweomercraft which is the realm of Jag Har’Oah, or negation which Rahrin controls, or others which have perhaps not yet been discovered. They can also nominate, in a limited way, those who are to become Empyrean, their agents upon Maredran, to act in concordance with their plans more directly than others.”

“And it is these Empyreans who bear names such as Melyr’Oah has taken for himself? The names of the messengers of the gods?”

“Again, yes. The Empyreans are often easily recognized. Their contact with the gods makes them otherworldly, they often have unnatural skin tones, hair colours, or eye colours. And, uniformly, they are among the most talented and puissant of all dweomercrafters, no matter which of the gods choose them as a messenger. The last known, more than a hundred years ago, was also the world’s most powerful recorded Arcessitor – a creator of new beings. We do not know of a correlation between talent and nomination as Empyrean, but there are trends in the records.”

Rhayd shook his head, brows knitting in a frown that was too persistent to school his face from betraying.

“Why are you telling me this, Curia? What are you directing my attention to?”

Thryche nodded slowly, turning his eyes to the ground for a moment. The churning of his thoughts was almost audible above the creaking of the boat and smacking of waves against the hull.

“We are entering a time of increased confusion, Rhayd. The knowledge I have is disappearing, one morsel at a time, because so few these days are being schooled  in the methods and arts of the Curia. There is one at the schools – he will be your instructor, actually, as well as Kintere’s and Mireya’s. He is being groomed as the next Curia of the north. I can only hope he has enough time to take on the role, that the war does not prematurely end his training. He is young, for a Regulator, but especially talented, and not a reader of many books. You are, Rhayd, I know you study far beyond your scope, given the opportunity.”

Thryche looked at Rhayd, his eyes glazed with unshed tears, the hard light of a painful knowledge hiding behind them.

“My time is too short to remain and instruct a fledgeling Curia. I would like you to take the chance at Lockwood to learn every piece of knowledge that is available to you, and the amount will be significant. I would like you to learn, to become the studied one, the educated rogue.  To step in behind Frost, and become his Arbiter. His second hand, the shield to his sword. And, in time, to return to Ckuien Penance at his side, and finish the work which I began there sixty years ago.”