Redwall Abbey

Prologue I

It is oft said that many stories have a starting place. Slowly, these tales weave themselves, straying from their origins, wherever they may be, crawling in some other direction.

Two seasons before, one such tale begins in the Northlands, where the mountains tower and pierce the clouds, and the ocean waves are fierce and unforgiving. A warrior and a seer – an otter and a fox traversed from a falling sanctuary to a a rising fortress, and spun the wheel of fate with such vigour, that the sanctuary rose and the fortress fell, and the previously unmoving gates are creaked open. The two paid heavily with their valour, and soon they left the world behind through different paths.

Though this tale too begins on the shores of a sea, just like the last; it is seasons and miles away from when and where its origin was told. This tale, our tale begins in a much calmer location, with tranquil seas and peaceful beaches, and a halcyon city amongst sea and sand. This could have been a place for one to rest, away from all worldly troubles. A place far away from the petty grip of politics and machinations.

A pity about the bloodshed.

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Raevsvakt was not in turmoil despite the blood. Not yet, anyways.

It was not a full-on battle – there were no more than a hundred beasts on both sides combined, with all casualties limited to one single building. Within the building, two beasts were running up a flight of stairs.

"Are you sure he's up there, vermin?" said the first beast. He was an incredibly tall beast, even for otter standards. Being more heavily armoured than his companion did not stop him from scurrying faster up the stairway.

The weasel next to him simply nodded at the otter, for he was out of breath.

he wasn't really trained in the ways of fitness and athleticism, so normally he would attempt to avoid physical exertion. But a friend in need is always a good driving force, and the fact that the friend in question may soon perish could have pushed him to his full limits, had the circumstances willed it.

The two beasts had just finished clambering onto the last floor when they saw the guards. Four guards standing in front of a single room was definitely a suspicious sign. The otter pointed at the door. "That's the one."

He drew his sword only to be stopped by the weasel. "Please wait, Lord Stalwart. We are outnumbered, and..."

"Then what do you suppose we do?" snapped the lord.

"There are alternatives to carving your way out of problems," the vermin replied. "It would be better for us to pull a page out of Thordan's book. Please wait here, my lord."

The weasel walked forward as if he was in a hurry (which is not strictly untrue), almost crashing into a guard.

"Who goes there, weasel?" bellowed the hareguard. He squinted his eyes, trying to pick out anything suspicious under the vermin's tunic.

"Quick! Do you not hear the sound of battle? Lord Crestworth is in mortal danger! You must hasten to him!" the vermin frantically said.

The guard next to the hare replied, "Lord Canute? In danger? Pah! With the pup in here, not a'lot of beasts can toppl'im now!" He proudly exclaimed as he rapped his spear in front of the door behind him.

"Is the King of Parma one of them?" the weasel asked. "Last time I checked, he was down at the docks and crying for blood."

Ignoring the confused glares of his comrades, the hare was unfazed. "And why should we trust you? You're just some vermin who just ran here, somehow rushed right into the hold that we keep Lord Thordan in, and without anyone to vouch for you?"

"Easy, lads. He's with me." Lord Stalwart decided to show himself. "You should know that Lord Valdemar didn't call me up this blasted staircase just for a practical joke. The otterwhelp's grandfather is indeed here, along with his whole retinue. If anything bad does happen, guess what will happen to you?"

As a remarkably tall otter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart was an intimidating figure, even though the guards have never chanced upon him before. Even the captain looked shaked by the sudden appearance of the otter lord. He pointed to a hedgehog.

"Bertil, guard the lordling. The rest of you, follow me!"

The guards rushed down the stairway, leaving one guard and the duo. Two to one is better odds than two to six, thought Alfyn. But before he could draw his sword, the weasel handed a pouch to the lone guard.

"Here are a few dozen silvers. If you would kindly leave the spear and the keys to this room, and if you don't go blabbering around, you'll end up just a bit richer. I you don't, you'll be down for the count for the whole day, if you would consider yourself lucky. Got it?" the weasel asked.

The hedgehog stared at the weasel's knives, and then at the otter's sword, and then at the staircase. His captain was long gone. He nodded, tossed the spear to Alfyn, scrambled his keys from his belt, and hurtled down the stairway.

"It wasn't that hard, was it?" the weasel said as he fumbled with the keys.

"So the vermin uses trickery and deception to get what he wants. Typical." Alfyn sighed, earning him a cold stare from his target. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"I wasn't lying. King Thordan is indeed here." The weasel indignantly said as he opened the door.

The dimly lit room strung a lone figure, blindfolded and tied to a wall. Forgetting their differences for the moment, both woodlander and vermin rushed to aid the recently liberated prisoner. Frayed ropes were no match for steel daggers, and in a few moments Lord Thordan Swalestrom was free.

"Given your history of blind hatred towards vermin, whatever made you two work together must have truly been something," sighed Thordan as he removed his blindfold.

"Thordan, Canute Crestworth has seized your lordship. He allied with-"

"I told you we know that!" spat the weasel.

"How long was I in here, Egil?" Thordan inquired.

"Around three days," the weasel answered, "during which Doman soldiers took control of the Isles because you thought the Crestworths could be trusted!"

"You do not have permission to speak rudely to your betters, vermin!" Alfyn exclaimed.

"Can the two of you calm down for a few minutes?" Thordan snapped. "If the Parman King is indeed in here, it could be a trap for him."

"Agreed."

"Let's get moving."

Satisfied with his friends agreeing for once, Thordan opened the door.

On the other side of the building, two grey-furred squirrels were finding for that same newly liberated otter. One was smaller and thinner, with him being younger by about two seasons. The other was taller, more muscular, and very impatient.

"Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?"

"Shhhhhh. Someone approaches. Hide!" Denebas whispered. Despite being the younger brother, he was born with more caution and calmness than Altayras.

The squirrel brothers scrambled under a few crates full of arrows, then watched as a few guards entered the armory.

"Now listen. While Bertil babysits the lordling up on Northern Tower, we have to prep up for what's to come. King Thordan will never go on any expedition without 'is blinkin' daughter, and that's the one you buckos have to fear! Get better armour and get the blazin' Gates out of here!"

There was a sound by the door, and in rushed a hedgehog guard, who was clearly panicking. Denebas was sure that he heard the clinking of coins coming from the guard's uniform.

"Captain! There's an otter outside! He looks-"

The guard was unable to finish his sentence, as the door was kicked open by an otter, slamming him into a wall. He was wearing light armour, and in his eyes was a wavering glance, which hardened into a glare when they came into contact with the hareguard.

"Who in tarnation are you, bounder?"

The otter never even opened his mouth. Instead, he thought that reaching for his spear would be a more appropriate reaction. He's insane, thought Denebas. One against five would not be good odds, and he clearly isn't going to back down.

It was Altayras, and not the otter, that made the first move. Picking up his spear, he sprang forth from his hiding space and drove its point into the hareguard. Caught unawares, the captain was unable to do anything but watch as the speartip entered and exited him within the span of an instant.

The otter shouted a battlecry incomprehensible to Denebas, then dove into the rest of his shocked foes. Two battle-ready beasts against four panicking guards seemed better odds to Denebas. Make that three to four.

He grabbed the fallen hare's rapier and hastily prepared a stance, just like what he practiced back in Castle Burelas. But the fight was over long before that. Cornered and surprised, the guards simply stood no chance against the two spear-wielders. One of them fell after the otter slammed the spear into his neck, with blood splashing out onto the walls. Panicking, he rest made a break towards the exit, with the otter only able to stab one in the back. The other two sprinted out faster than Denebas could react, no doubt never to oppose them again.

It was at this inopportune moment that the hedgehog finally stirred from his unconsciousness, only to be greeted with the corpses of his dead comrades, the otter that had chased him around the whole shrine, and two squirrels that did not seem friendly in any sense of the word. He tried to bolt away, but lost his balance, falling flat on the ground instead. The otter swiftly flipped him over and pinned him unto the floor, then turned toward the squirrel lords.

"Apologies for the surprise. I am Erlend Swalestrom, Lord of Kaldos and Duke of Thavnair. You must be the brothers from Burelas, are you?"

"We have not met before." Altayras chose to ignore the question by asking one of his own. "How did you know?"

"Oh... King Garmund told me to keep an eye on you boys when he told me he will not be coming. Sending you two here was not really his best idea."

"Well, this is not the first time we struck into a fortified building." Denebas interjected, earning himself a hard glare from his brother. Ignoring the two siblings, Lord Swalestrom's attention returned to the hapless guard.

"Listen. We-" he turned his head to look at Altayras' cold glare, and settled on a slight edit of the pronoun. "I have no intention of hurting you, and I do not have the cause and the folly to do as such."

Bertil stared at the three corpses occupying the room. Two of their expressions were panicked screams, while the captain's look was no less undignified. He settled on defiance. "Funny. You seemed to have a different agenda on mind when you slaughtered half of us."

Erlend rolled his eyes. "Well, that was different. You see, you and your lord betray my son, nearly kill him, then lock him up in the highest tower in all of Meraholmer, then you have the audacity to request justification?"

The guard was clearly intimidated, and soon his next sentence faded into a whimper. The few beasts who knew Lord Erlend knew that he was a patient otter, slow to anger, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"He's free now, my lord." The hedgehog grovelled. "A tall otter and a weasel forced me away from the tower. It is unguarded and they have the keys."

Denebas knew of the tall otter. House Stalwart may have produced two young, strong (and giant, even for otters) sons, but Lorcan Stalwart was yet residing in Arnet. It had to be Alfyn. But since when did he start to consort with vermin?

"And a weasel?" Altayras must have had similar thoughts. "Did the otter give his name?"

"No!" The guard gulped. "No. The weasel just gave me this before telling me to run." He held up a sack of coins, and the otterlord's eyes lit up.

"How did a vermin get his paws on such an amount of money?" Denebas mused. "Must be quite the thief."

"That is, if you stretch the definition of thievery a bit." Erlend responded.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Altayras.

"Lending large sums of money, and reaping the interests." Erlend clarified. "The marking on the bag says it all. I know the weasel well – I owe his father quite a bit of gold." Due to a number of unforeseen factors, Erlend was the first Swalestrom since his namesake seventy seasons ago to go into debt – a fact that was pointed out by both his elder brother and the squirrelking he had once bowed to. Whether if turning his back on Southsward and aligning with Triel was a good move remains to be seen, but Erlend has not much to lose.

"You honestly thought that borrowing from vermin was a good idea?" Altayras interjected.

"Parman vermin, so he's double untrustworthy." Denebas chimed in.

"Well, the Parman king has got my back in all of this, so he would truly have it coming if he tries anything funny. I didn't marry his daughter for nothing, did I? Gates. I even named my son after him!" Lord Erlend and Lady Lorelei were married for political reasons, but the Parman king's sole daughter was quick to fall in love with her new husband, particularly after her first marriage to a much older beast. It would be a perfect match if one could excuse Erlend's constant infidelity. His brother Becker was a much better husband, and a more attentive father as well.

"If you would excuse us, we do have a lord to save. Let us never meet again." Erlend said with more than a hint of condescension, with the squirrels accompanying him, and the hedgehog still dazed, confused, and being utterly oblivious of what shall result from his multiple mistakes.

Prologue II

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Thordan muttered about how he despised stairs as he was trailing behind his companions.

In his defense, Alfyn and Egil were more athletic and trained in combat, while he was merely trained as a healer. Moreover, the two have not been locked in a tower for the past few days, thus giving them an advantage in mobility.

The stairway had been cleared of guards, and it was entirely devoid of corpses.

Egil's work, thought Thordan. If this was left to Alfyn Stalwart, this flight would be drenched crimson long before they would have saved me.

"I see someone." Alfyn said as softly as he could (which, admittedly still was not very soft). To Thordan's relief, Egil signalled him to stop as the taller lord peeked across the corner.

"Two Crestworth guards. They're rushing towards us!" Lord Stalwart prepared his sword. Seeing that he was still unarmed after his captivity, Egil tossed Bertil's spear to Thordan, and the two braced for a bloody encounter.

"Wait. They're not actually chasing us." Alfyn broke the silence. "They're fleeing from someone!" All three of them (even Thordan) knew that a demoralized foe is much more easily put to rout, and Alfyn knew exactly when to take action.

"Arnet!" Alfyn waved his sword out and struck. Though panicking and fleeing, the targeted guard still had the presence of mind to block his attack with his spear. Before the second guard could land a blow on the lord, his own sword was blocked by one of Egil's daggers. The weasel's left paw twisted around, slamming the hilt of his second dagger into the swordbearer's abdomen – enough to break his concentration. It only took an additional stab before the guard was no more. Egil headed to the lord's help – only to find him pulling his blade out from the guard's chest.

Thordan simply watched as the fight ended as quickly as it begun. Being trained as a healer meant that he had previous experience with blood and gore, but in battle... Why do my legs buckle up when beasts start killing each other? Swalestroms are supposed to be brave, for Fates' sake.

"Alfyn!" A voice from far away called. Thordan slipped out from his trance to see three beasts running toward them. An enemy would at least attempt to keep their approach a secret, so they must be allies.

Besides, who else but Denebas Burelas would wear a hat like that? The squirrel beside him must be his brother Altayras, and the otter next to them would be –

"Thordan!" cried Erlend Swalestrom. "Good to see that you're safe and sound!"

Erlend was clearly surprised at his son's newly liberated state. It was indeed a surprise, though one that was much welcome.

Oh. So he does care for me now. Actually helping me out for the previous three months would be a better idea. An even better idea would be not sending me away from home to accomplish a task well beyond my level, but who would have thought of that?

"Are you fine? Did they hurt you or something?" the father asked. Seeing Thordan's nonplussed expression, Erlend struggled to find the right words to his son. "I should not have sent you here. I apologize for my lack of foresight."

Altaryas and Denebas briefly focused their attention towards the father-son duo before turning back to Alfyn's vermin companion. Erlend may have warned them of dealing with Parman vermin for the first time, but they have not entirely unjustified cause to be worried. After all, vermin were all untrustworthy beasts, and Parman woodlanders are even worse than the vermin they knew. Who knew what schemes the weasel could conjure up?

"How about we stop the touchy-feely fluff, and actually get into dealing with the Crestworths here?" barked Alfyn.

Altaryas nodded. "King Garmund did not send us here to see you two talk. We should get moving."

"It could still be a trap," mused Egil. "Betraying Thordan so overtly could be some sort of ploy to bring all of Southsward's enemies together, and destroy them in one fell swoop." He pointed at Alfyn and the squirrel brothers. "You three may even charged headfirst into it!"

"A trap indeed, but one of our making," said Erlend. "Lord Canute Crestworth lacks the foresight to play a long game, and all the messages that the old fool sent were intercepted."

Thordan sighed in relief. "The Southard support that Lord Canute claimed should be false then." When he was trapped up in the tower, Lord Canute gloated and gloated for hours, and Thordan was actually starting to believe that Lord Becker had planned the whole thing. "He will be in for a surprise when the wrong Swalestrom comes crashing in, and-"

A couple of looks from Alfyn and Egil signified that he had said enough, and he shut his mouth with the same speed as he opened it. Some have said that he may resemble his father in looks, but in mannerism he is practically his grandfather.

With all talk over, the merged group progressed forward.

Isangrim was fighting for his life for the first time in seasons.

The lutrine guard swung his weapon at the fox, causing him to take a step backward, before striking the otter with his own quarterstaff. A short, powerful weapon was the best way to counter a spear, and without a sharp edge, Isangrim's quarterstaff was even more vulnerable.

The grizzled black fox quickly rolled out of the way of a second strike, right after the otter has just evaded his counter. The guard simply saw through his intentions, and stepped on the unfortunate vermin's tail, pinning him to the ground.

The fox howled in pain and dropped his staff as the otter swung to finish him off. Not being able to react in time, Isangrim braced himself for a strike - a strike that never came. Amazed, the fox opened his eyes to see another otter - one that he knew very well.

The two otters can be easily differentiated. The first distinction would be that the first had his grip around a mace while the second had no weapon but paws, claws and the gauntlets surrounding them. Another contrast would be that the first beast was a simple guardbeast while the second was the daughter of the very king of Parma.

The final and most important difference was that the latter was standing and the former was but a corpse, to be buried alongside with his past and passed comrades. There is little chance for survival if one's neck has been snapped from behind.

"I told you to get a better weapon than some staff." Lady Lorelei snapped. Females have scarce been trained for combat, even in tolerant Parma. But Thordan (her father, not her son) was adamant that his heir be raised like any Skyward that walked before him and her. He had discounted the possibility of fathering a son back when his daughter was in the cradle, and talk was rife that him or his Trielian wife was infertile - rumours the king had paid no attention to.

"Well, at least mine can reach more than my paws can reach!" Isangrim countered.

The black fox was one of nine beasts King Thordan could trust, and for good reason. Isangrim may let his heart rule over his mind, but his soul rules over his heart, and his loyalty to King Thordan ruled over his soul.

Lorelei was a female, and so cannot be seated on the Parman throne. She was simply not likely to be chosen, and if the unlikely did happen she would simply not be accepted, along with both her foreign-born sons. The most likely candidate would be Canute Crestworth – until now, anyways.

"Can you two not argue for a slight moment?" the elder Thordan barked. Being the king of the wealthiest of the Southern Realms, Thordan was not a force to be trifled with. Parma was a kingdom of many realms, and a realm of many kingdoms. Thordan may have been a king before he had learned to walk, but he was able to adapt to intrigue after intrigue, and he was able to outplay (not to mention outlive) his rivals. Lord Canute Crestworth may have ambitions on the Parman throne, but those designs have never amounted to anything yet. Now he would be stamped out, blown away like a leaf in the wind.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I recall that we were the ones doing the actual fighting." Isangrim countered. To talk back at a king was a serious offense, but Thordan needed him for his plans, in more ways than one.

"You're not as old as I am, fox." Thordan countered. He used to be called 'the Child' back in his native Garlesca, when he was just a babe in the care of conniving regents. Now, he was a grey-furred otter with an eyesight that was slowly declining with his advancing age.

Thordan may no longer be a child, or a teenage lordling like his namesake, but there had to be some sort of charisma underneath his eternal grin. Isangrim once overheard his other grandson say that he had the stupidest grin in all the Southern Realms, and his half-brother had to content himself with a very close second. The king reminded him not to disrespect his betters, though privately he was chuckling for days like some toddler.

"Lord Crestworth may have good cards indeed, but he played them too early," the king continued. "One can predict his plans well before they transpire, even without being-" Suddenly realising that their presence should be secret, the garrulous king was eager to silence himself.

"Our guards should be engaging the enemy on the lower levels. Crestworth knows not of our presence,"Lady Lorelei analysed. "Please, for the love of Great Seasons, remain silent. You should not have come here, father. My son is just the bait for us to land here, and we may have landed him in a danger greater than ever before. "

"Your husband does insist that the trap was his to spring." Isangrim reminded her. Lord Erlend was a timid beast, so him being outgoing confident was an occurrence as rare as a blue moon. Something, or perhaps someone, has changed him either for better or for worse.

The fox had met with the otter exactly once, when Lorelei was wedded to the lord. His brother put his lot in with the Jaysians, so something had to be done to put his plans to a sudden and immediate halt.

"Now would be a good time to take action," Thordan said as he burst from the room. He stopped for a moment and nodded, then turned to his daughter. "Erlend may be more of a worrier than warrior, and he can be insufferably boring at times, yes. But he is no fool and he's seldom wrong. I have foreseen that Crestworth would regret all of this - if he shall survive that long."

"I do indeed."

The trio turned to the other side of the corridor. Lord Canute Crestworth was never an imposing beast, but under his poorly exterior hides a passionate temperament, expertly masked by the experienced lord. His guards were another story, as was usual with guards.

"You seem rather poorly equipped for a king. Gates. You don't even have enough companions to form a host of adventurers," the lord continued. "Now, would you please move aside to let us make our escape? Preferably to the left. I don't want anyone damaging my possessions."

Thordan sneered. "Your possessions? Why couldn't you just be content just in a while? I am all too sure that the mighty Lord Crestworth has no need to covet all of three random islands." Both lord and king knew that this was but a figure of speech. Meraholmer was right at the median of Southsward and Parma, and a major node of trade betwixt Kaldos and Doma.

"Your Highness, you should have also considered the possibility that he doesn't want these islands, and merely wants to trade them off at the first opportunity." Canute countered.

The sound of pawsteps were heard, causing the otterlord to shudder and dispatch a further two guards downwards with a gesture, leaving five at his side. Either that or the yelling and screaming.

Thordan saw his chance. "You two are in league. You and Lord Becker Swalestrom - the elder brother. Which is why I simply cannot allow you to obtain the Parman throne. Nothing personal."

The yelling got louder and louder.

"Nothing personal? Well, I can tell you that nothing could be more personal than an act of old-fashioned regicide," Canute drew his sword.

Thordan sighed, while Isangrim and Lorelei stared at him with anger and disbelief respectively. "That would be treason, and we would not tolerate it!" the black fox declared indignantly. "You lords really make us vermin seem noble! Savour your breaths, for they are to be-"

Isangrim was never able to complete his lengthy battlecry as two grey squirrels rushed into the room, followed by three blood-stained otters and a weasel. He knew two of the otters, all right. Erlend Swalestrom was hard to mistake in that suit of armour, while young Thordan was the only beast that never seemed to fight, instead hiding at the back of everyone else. The squirrel with a spear ran through a guard, and his body clattered onto the floor, just alongside the remains of another guard which the sword-wielding otter cleaved messily in two.

A mouseguard hastily swung his sword at Erlend, which he managed to parry, and trap the blade within the hooks of his spear. Before long, he succumbed to the weasel's dagger, adding another corpse to the ground. The remaining two guards tried to escort their liege out of the door, but Lorelei put her footpaw down literally, tripping the hare and leaving him defenseless against the third otter's blade. Isangrim pounced at the lord, hoping to cut off the absconding lord, but was simply pushed aside by Lord Crestworth's last guardian. He swept at the mole's legs with his staff, but the mole simply leaped away from the staff - and right into Erlend's spear.

After being surprised from a winning situation, Lord Canute was indeed trapped. So he simply did what any trapped beast would do - fling himself at the nearest enemy, who in this case was Thordan Swalestrom. Caught by surprise, the young otter could do nothing as he was knocked down onto the ground.

By creating an opening amongst all the chaos, the lord would be able to flee as fast as an otter could (which admittedly was not very fast given his advanced age). The much younger squirrel gave chase, scrambling out of the room and attempted to reach the lord.

A pity the traitorous lord was counting on that.

He spun his rudder around, slamming it into the spear-wielding squirrel's stomach, then swung his blade at the helpless squirrel, who lifted his paws to block what he could, while knowing that it was futile.

Had his brother not defended Altaryas from that fatal blow, ensuing events would have been rewritten, for good or for ill. But the rapier picked up from one of his fallen guards was able to run through Lord Canute's wrist before the blade reached its target. With only a narrow wrist to stop the blade, neither squirrel nor otter were able to stop the blade from progressing further into the otterlord's body.

As blood spurted from the otter's torso onto the floor of the hallway, Denebas Burelas simply stood shocked with his mouth agape while his first kill toppled to the ground.

Book I: Lords of the Whorl

Fracture

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Castle Floret may be in open panic, but Lord Becker Swalestrom was not.

He remembered that King Gideon entered the council chamber with more haste than was necessary. The squirrelking was followed by his recent appointments to the council, all of them mice. The otterlord had previously suggested a few squirrel or otter appointments to defy Triel's expectations, but his liege decided to bide their time.

The consequences of the Second Range War were catastrophic for Southsward. Southsward's armies crossed the Greatrange to secure its hold over Burelas and Deilart, leading to six seasons of border warfare. It only took a few victorious sieges against mountain forts for King Ferrant of Triel to be lured into open battle, and that idea backfired with surprising efficiency, as three losing battles within one season was able to force Southsward to its knees, and the Parmans were unable to assist them, being preoccupied with the Valnainers. Triel was able to finish her weakened opponent off by placing the Southard capital under siege, enabling a complete victory and total submission.

Never again would this happen to Southsward.

Lord Harmon rushed through his report about how Crestworth forces were cleansed out of Meraholmer, leading to a few surprised gasps from the other lords, and even the king himself. They even kept their surprised looks after the meeting was adjourned. Only the elder Lord Swalestrom's face remained calm, which was not usual for the volatile and lively lord.

The beast behind him tapped him on the shoulder. Garrion Swalestrom was almost his father's total opposite. While the father was outgoing and adventurous, the son was timid and cynical, with an overweening pride of his sticking out like a sore claw. Even then, he was considered more humble than Becker's two other sons, and for good reason. Even their dress reflected their differences. Both wore gold and blue, the colours of Southsward, as opposed to the red and silver of Triel, despite the fact that red was also an Otterguard colour. But Becker was in more official dress, with his medals carefully hidden back in Castle Terrace. Garrion wore what little accomplishments on his chest for all to see, to his father's erstwhile annoyance.

"We have indeed lost this battle, father." If only Lord Canute could have waited for two or three months, thought Garrion. He could have gotten a crown on his head, but his rashness got him only a rapier through the chest. He is too rash to be a king.

"Not as much as Erlend would have hoped." The Swalestrom brothers were born in an era of peace, and proceeded to stir up conflict within the span of a few seasons. Becker, as the elder brother, inherited his father's old post of Skipper of the Floret Otterguard, while Erlend recieved his father's sworn lands back in Dravania. The two immediately took opposite sides when they came of age, as one was loyal to the cause of restoring Southsward to its independence, while the other saw it expedient to align with Triel to protect his Dravain interests.

The emnity between shared blood only managed to rise from there. The brothers supported opposing sides in the Parman War and cemented marriage alliances with both belligerents. Erlend was wedded to Lorelei solely for the Duchy of Thavnair, while Becker's marriage with Anzeka Baleblood grew into love on both sides.

"The death of Lord Canute probably means that our original plan has been sunken for now. Lord Valdemar believes that his father's death could be prevented if we had interfered, but he simply doesn't understand that we do not have the time and resources for a sea-borne enterprise."

"But Meraholmer is a highly strategic location." Garrion countered. "You told me yourself that whoever controls the isles will control the trade to Parma!"

"Trade? Southsward is close to war! We have better things to care about than trade!" Seeing the confused glares of the other lords, his tone shifted from a lord lashing out at his underling to a father educating his son.

"I know that you care about what happens next, but we should focus on the present instead of what is to come. Take a look. King Garmund of Triel only cares about keeping Southsward under his footpaws. Southsward is nothing to him but a route for safer trade, and a method to avoid the Jaysian toll over at Obring Strait! If something is not done, Southsward will simply be bled dry!"

"Father, I understand the situation will surely worsen if we don't break free just as well as you do! However, if Canute did take Meraholmer, then your Trielian brother can be flanked!"

Erlend may be both a vassal of Southsward and Triel, but Gideon of Southsward simply did not have the force to bring him into true submission. Slowly and gradually, Erlend of Thavnair rose from a lowly second son to a massive thorn in the tail for Southsward and her king. Gideon would have had to act fast for the thorn to be torn out without any lasting consequences. He did not succeed.

"Then we can be simultaneously pummelled from both sides of the Sound. Great idea. Thordan Skyward may be old, but he is not senile. He could just as easily bring Parma into the opposing side just for a better trade deal. As if the ones we are forced to offer now aren't good for them already!" Lord Becker raged as he kicked at an invisible foe.

Garrion's eyes gasped wide while he realised what his father told him. Triel and Parma standing together against Southsward! What once had been a faraway possibility is now a possible fate for Southsward, and the Swalestroms (of Floret, anyway) would not let that happen under any circumstances.

Becker must have seen his reaction. "Worry not, boy. I'll patch up our relationship with Lord Valdemar in no time! But first, we need you to keep Floret safe." Looking at his firstborn's flummoxed reaction, he decided to elaborate. "Yes! You! You just need to check if the forts alongside the arena are adequately primed and ready! Godred's already begun to fortify the East, and Bedric has just arrived at the Greatrange, so it would be time for you to actually do something! We may not try to start a war, but we would do anything but that for an independent Southsward! For King Gideon and House Swalestrom!"

Garrion nodded. "Yes. But what are you doing in the meantime?"

Bedric grinned. "Planning! You couldn't just rush into independence without knowing what is going on beyond the Range and the Sound! Diplomacy is key to our enterprise for independence, and I might even have to head to Arnet for a better shot at it!"

Garrion gave a smile in return, but as he walked away to obey his father's orders, he couldn't help keep a thought inside his head.

Why do I get the feeling that he's hiding something from me?

When General Ralos was invited to a small gathering with King Gideon was to be held between them and Lord Becker Swalestrom within Castle Floret, the squirrel knew that he had missed something very important.

He had just returned after accompanying Lord Bedric Swalestrom to Fort Tiernan near the Trielian border and thought of taking a short rest when the invitation was discovered. Rumours were rife about islands invaded and lords slain, so he had every cause to be worried.

In fact the last time he was as worried as this was when the Grey Horde invades two seasons ago. It was his first test as the General of the Southard Order of Defense, and he swept the invaders back into the north after they were within seeing range of Floret. The situation was so surprising that both Swalestrom brothers, Becker and Erlend, ceased their plotting and bickering, and lead a pincer operation into Mossflower, liberating it from the vermin from the Lands of Ice and Snow.

If only the campaign took longer for the brothers to reconcile, Ralos thought to himself as he walked through the streets of Floret.

Fort Riddian and Castle Floret were on opposite sides of the city, so it took a while for the general to traverse through. Houses and cottages were closely packed together, and children were called back into their homes by impatient mothers. I used to be a child like them, but I have taken more arrows than one could imagine. Gates. What good has decades of active duty done to me?

He recalled as he and Lord Gavin Swalestrom stood alongside each other as their soldiers were cleaving their way into the Doman lines, while the young Prince Garmund of Triel rallied both Southard and Trielian together to stand against the mighty King Otto of Parma back at Balv.

Some would say that war was glorious, and there is no better honour than to die for king and land. Others would tell tales about war's brutality, how it wrenches friend and friend, father and son, brother and sister, husband and wife. But when he stood near his future enemies at Balv, celebrating with friends who could and for those who could not, he knew the truth about the nature of war.

It was both.

He stood at the gates of Castle Floret as doorbeasts pushed them open. The castle interior was as well-polished as the hundreds of times he stepped through these gates, and the reception was as warm as a wet blanket as usual.

He ascended stairway after stairway, until he was met by guards, who let him pass after showing the invitation letter to them.

Only one of the three prepared seats was filled. Lord Becker calmly sipped his Parman damson as he noticed the General's presence. He was a beast of forty seasons, too young to fight alongside his father as he fought and died at Balv, his wounds festering so much that no healer would save him, but too old to be in open battle now. His brown eyes reflected the affability of his mother, and from this affability bred playfulness and mirth.

"Hello there," Ralos greeted.

"General Ralos! You were a bold one back in my father's days, and it seems that you still are. Please sit!"

Flattery right at the beginning? Typical Becker. He wants something from me. His tail bristled at his mental warning, and Becker caught onto the much older beast's confusion.

"You need not worry. King Gideon will come. He's dealing with a Parman messenger. Care for a glass?" Lord Swalestrom teased.

"Thank you, but that would not be necessary." The last thing Ralos wanted or needed was to wake up disheveled when there was so much to be done.

"I was away for the previous seven days, so could you tell me about what happened in Meraholmer?"

Becker's face contorted when the squirrel mentioned the island chain at the middle of the Sound, and his previously blithe tone faded out. "Lord Canute is dead, and my br- the Duke of Thavnair's son has been confirmed as the Lord of Meraholmer." He took a sip out of his glass. "All while you and I lay down idly, waiting for good things to happen. Brilliant."

Before Ralos can rouse the highborn from his atypical sarcastic despondency, King Gideon entered the room, and unlike the grand commanders of the armies of Southsward, he was actually in high spirits.

"Thordan's dead! The King of Parma is to be a threat no more!"

Ralos was shaken so much by the sudden news that he forgot to greet his king, but it also had the effect to revitalising Lord Becker. "Your Majesty, this is good news indeed. This calls for a small celebration!"

Ralos managed to compose himself. Thordan fought on his side at Balv, and was offered the Parman throne after Otto Crestworth was deposed after the battle. They were acquaintances once, but if his death would help Southsward in the long run, so be it.

"Your Highness, you wouldn't happened to have done something, had you?"

Becker spoke faster than the king. "No. We had no part in his death."

Gideon added, "He was old already, and his heart must be fragile enough from all that ruling. No wonder one day it just simply burst! But I would just like to ask you one thing." Ralos edged his snout further, waiting for the king to speak up.

"After all the injustices we have suffered from the paws of the Trielians, would it be better for Garmund to start a war than for me to start one?"

"It would appear to be so, Your Majesty." Becker affirmed. "Being the defender brings an advantage to the moral cause. All Southards would flock to join us!"

Ralos chimed in. "We cannot afford to fight an offensive war. It would be better to fight back with any allies we can gain than to be trampled under Triel after we get overconfident."

"I am indeed glad to see that you two agree with me. You must be ready for any Trielian declaration of war."

"We may not try to start a war, but we would do anything but that for an independent Southsward. It is my duty as Skipper to do what you order me," Becker added.

"Very well then. In order to achieve our goal of a free realm, we would have to commit acts that others consider to be extreme. Lord Becker, is reconciliation with your brother still possible?" The king asked from out of the blue.

Clearly taken aback by the question, Lord Becker forced his mouth open. "Alas, it is no longer a possibility. He is loyal to King Garmund just as I am to Your Highness."

"Then he is Triel's weakest link. Lord Becker, there will be no opportunity to earn your brother's forgiveness after this moon ends. You two can return to your residences, and we have mere days to prepare evreything for anything."

Had Ralos knew what was playing out in the heads of the two younger beasts, he would have retired from his post and fled to the ends of the earth, hidden from all that would seek to abuse his talents. For unbeknownst to the veteran squirrel, this is the exact moment where the crumbling peace fractures completely, burying the two kingdoms within a bloody spring.

Weight of a Whisper

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Thordan (no need to confuse him with his grandfather now) had been invested with a lordship, betrayed, rescued, and lost his grandfather within the span of a mere ten days. Egil pitied him.

After King Thordan's funeral, the normally bright and talkative otter had shut himself in his room for hours, weeping the heavens out, and the weasel didn't blame him. This kind of stress would have driven anyone mad.

He had known him for three seasons, beginning as a mere pawn in his father's debt schemes. Having been fostered in Triel for much of his childhood, the otter was eager to make a new friend, Thordan was (unpleasantly) surprised when he found out that his servant was a 'mere' vermin, but the otterlord was exactly the beast that will stoop to any form of companionship, and he soon managed to coax the shy weasel out of his figurative shell.

Thordan was exactly the kind of beast to get himself into trouble, but all of his misadventures were unwilling, dragged into them by his half-siblings from both sides of the family. He would much rather read a book, and share it with his friends later.

It was simply good fortune that he ran into Lord Stalwart in Raevsvakt. He was in Kaldos with his brother-in-law when Thordan's letter reached him, and he simply took a ship to the port city. Lord Canute was a fool to crow about his 'victory', sealing his fate at the paws of a young Trielian lord.

After he had slain the rebel lord, Denebas Burelas was quick to fall into shock. He clearly has not killed prior to that. Thordan may have calmed him down after the incident, but now even the otter was in a similar state.

As for Lord Alfyn Stalwart, he went with Erlend back to Arnet. Council meetings in Triel were usually held by mice and mice alone, but King Garmund of Triel was desperate for all allies, and Alfyn had a sister wedded to Erlend's other son.

Lord Sigurd bore little resemblance to his father in temperament. While Lord Erlend was quiet and unassuming, Sigurd was loud and boisterous - a born leader compared to his father and half-brother. His sister was as quiet as his father, but she had more emotional capacity than her father and twin - almost as much as Thordan, in fact.

Lady Lorelei was not delighted to see that her husband had been unfaithful prior to (and as it turned out, during) their marriage, though she remained devoted to him. Her love for him may be monodirectional, but she was able to gain his trust and, more importantly, his friendship after a few seasons.

Egil felt for her as well. To fall in love twice yet not to be loved even once was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy - not that he had one. His own parents may never have wed, by at least they frequently showed affection to each other.

He checked his letter for any spelling mistakes, then went on his way to the aviary to notify his father of the recent developments in both Meraholmer and Thordan. Writing about the emotional turbulence of a friend may not be an easy task, but it is at least better than orally transmitting information about the emotional wreck that was Thordan.

He opened the door of the aviary to see Lady Lorelei watching her own bird soar from the castle. He slid into a bow, though his movements seemed to be more rushed than anything. "My lady, did I disturb you?" He inquired politely, before suddenly recalling that she was now the Queen of Garlesca, and 'Her Ladyship' would not be the appropriate style any longer. You should have thought before you speak, you pigeon-brained fool!

"No, no. Not at all." The otterwife replied. Did she simply forget about styles and honours, or was she just simply too sad to care about formalities? I would say that it would be the latter.

The weasel was quick to change the subject. "Thordan is still mourning. For days he has only taken nothing but bread and water for all three meals, as if his hare-like appetite was simply sucked off. I...I am worried for him, Your Highness."

The Garlean Queen decided not to reply directly to the vermin servant's worries. "Has he been taken ill, or is he merely grieving?"

"The latter case is true, Your Highness."

"Then let it be known that I, his mother, who just happens to be Queen of Garlesca, Duchess of Thavnair, and Lady of Vargo commands her son to return to his lordship this instant."

Egil shuddered at her tone, then looked at her face. The warrior's look! This look was absent in both Thordans, but it is shared by both Queen Lorelei and her Truetide firstborn.

She must have sensed the weasel attendant's trepidation, and soon her voices returned to a more gentle, motherly tone. "Here. I'll handle your letter. It's to your father, right? Don't worry. My husband will not default on his loans yet - not when his situation is this precarious."

He handed her his letter, calmly walked out of the doorway, then ran through the hallways like Vulpuz himself was chasing him. How could she not give anyone the creeps?

Thordan II, High King of Parma, King of Garlesca, Otharn and Ilsabarna, ex-duke of Thavnair, and Lord of Vargo and Further Garlesca was dead.

His servants chanced upon him at dawn, when he was in bed, with a serenity in death that he was never able to achieve in life. For sixty seasons he was king of merely his mother's Garlean inheritance, his father's domains left to his uncle. He had managed to gain Parma after allying with the Trielians, and much less bribery than he expected. This was what he told his daughter, anyways.

The Kingdom of Parma was not like those across the Sea. Seven nobles gathered in Kurburg, and they discussed, plotted and connived until a king was chosen amongst them. In the previous century, however, the Lords of Vargo produced every single king aside from Otto of Doma, whose defeat at Balv signified a revival of the Skywards of Vargo.

Otters have ruled Parma since the great-grandfather of Thordan II got himself elected, ironically enough due to his lack of power. Within three kings and a century of incredibly opportunistic marriages, they have managed to obtain true control over Parma - something no previous king has ever done in over a hundred seasons.

With the last Skyward in the male line deceased just days after Otto's eldest son, Parma would be thrown into a crisis beyond every measure. From this chaos springs both opportunity and perdition.

Niels Crestworth, Lord of Hvidvande knew everything above, except for that last bit.

The younger Lord Crestworth had played no part in his brother's foolish scheme to defraud Meraholmer. He had been taken under one Thordan's wing, and he had did the same to the other. The art of healing was not considered to be a suitable discipline for a lord, but he studied and studied until he was said to be one of the masters of the science of restoration.

The only person who would say that Lord Niels Crestworth was not one of the best healers ever to live would be Lord Niels Crestworth, thought Isangrim. Which makes him another name on King Thordan's list of trustables.

He has ambition only to serve, so Thordan appointed him as Royal Vicar if things went the wrong way. And went the wrong way they did.

Events have gone awry the moment Thordan left this world and into the next. The inexperienced Niels quickly proved himself as incapable of healing a nation as he was capable of healing a beast, so he had to turn towards the unexpected for the slightest bit of help.

Which drove him into the paws of Isangrim the fox.

"His majesty always spoke highly of you." The fox paced around the room as he continued to analyse the situation. "Your gift for healing is unsurpassed, and you have obtained much experience in diplomacy and statecraft. Negotiating a peace with the Valnainers after five seasons of war would simply not be done without you."

Valnain lay at the southeast edge of Parma, so the southern kingdom breaking into revolt occurred periodically even before the Skywards took the throne. The first Thordan grudgingly accepted a white peace after his force was annihilated at Cleignan, and the his grandson and namesake was denied a decisive battle. Thanks to the influence of peaceable beasts on both sides (in which Niels was one of them), Thordan II was content to see a few lordships annexed to direct Parman sovereignty as dictated in the Treaty of Lorsa, and troubled the southern kingdom no more until his passing, focusing on bringing rebellious Ilsabarnese cities to heel.

"I am just a beast with no talent but loyalty to the old king. It is a true wonder that your lordship would ask for help from me."

"The situation can worsen to a higher degree if I do not ask for help. You know full well why Thordan trusts you." Although the true reasons are only known to him and you. "You have led his troops in both Valnain and Ilsabarna, and you are a strategist of the highest caliber."

The younger Lord Crestworth studied the sable-furred fox. He dressed quite simply for a royal servant, wearing a simple brown tunic and trousers, and his pale blue eyes revealed not determination or kindness, but some sort of hidden knowledge, not unlike the trivia young Thordan liked to spout, but kept more secret. He was, in a way, a walking, talking forbidden tome.

Thordan found the fox ten seasons after Queen Lorelei was born, and quickly took to him as one of the rare beasts he could always confide in. Strangely enough, he deceived other beasts less than any average vermin. In fact, Niels had never seen him break his word even once - an admirable quality that he has not seen in either of his own brothers.

As a child king, Thordan II would simply wander out into the streets to be free from grasping regents, visiting his subjects incognito at first, before doing so more openly once he knew how to fend for himself. The old king quickly gained the disapproval of his subjects by inviting commoners, woodlanders and vermin alike, to his wedding. His Trielian in-laws saw vermin as nothing but slaves, so were doubly embarrassed by Thordan's antics. Thordan would later say that he would carry the memory of the Trielian king's face to his final day, but no one now knows if he did.

"Oh? Parma needs not diplomats like you, nor militarists like me. The realm is in desperate need for administrators - beasts like Queen Lorelei, but I suppose you're too shy to ask her - for quite obvious, not to mention personal, reasons."

Niels folded his ears and fumbled for a response while Isangrim grinned. Before both of her marriages, he was barely able to pick up the courage to propose - and get rejected twice in the most brutal of manners. Lorelei was quick to joke on the hilarity of the situation. Niels was not.

The otterlord changed the subject quickly. "So who do you think should be High King?"

Isangrim shifted into a more serious tone. "Hmm... I don't have much of an idea, but Lorelei has plans to nominate her husband for the throne." Ignoring the otterlord's aghast reaction, the fox continued, "He would be a better candidate than both her sons. Thordan is simply too young, and Corrado is content with his Duchy of Garlesca." His voice began to lapse back into mirth. "Just how many places are called Garlesca anyways?"

Niels was not in the mood to joke anymore. "Erlend as High King? That would surely draw us into war! It is common knowledge that every single enemy of Southsward is connected to him in some way! Parma cannot afford a war! You know that as well as I do!"

Isangrim reverted to a more serious inflection. "And you are going to do something about it, I presume."

The otterlord sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am. As Royal Vicar of Parma, it is my duty to summon the Electoral Princes to Kurburg. If four in seven of them vote for any single beast but the Swalestroms, it would be enough. Queen Lorelei needs to be crowned in Imlizze before she would cast her vote, but she will have to respect the other voters' wish for some other candidate. Two of the Electors are Crestworths as well, so they would not vote for Erlend. That leaves four beasts, who all want a king as weak as possible."

Having heard enough, Isangrim asked, "Who are you going to support?"

Niels shaked his head. "I haven't thought of that. I do not have the right to choose who sits on a throne - I only have to govern the realm in an interregnum. Not that I want to, of course."

Isangrim knew exactly what to do. "Call them. Call them to Kurburg now, and waste not a moment of time." Niels quickly nodded, then walked out of the room, unsure of what this chaos will bring.

With the door closed, Isangrim finally had some time to adjust to this recent development alone.

Niels does not want Erlend nor Becker, hmm? We would have to act fast before anything happens to our plans.

He spun out of the room and clambered up a tower. Lorelei would be in for quite a shock, seeing the beast that loves her still derail her plans, but she will triumph in the end, as every Skyward before her has done.

For it is etched.

ARNET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

King Erlend Swalestrom felt like the unluckiest beast in the Southern Realms, which, of course, was no mere exaggeration.

He was usually calm and mild-mannered, slow to anger and rage. Before Raevsvakt, the last time he was truly livid was at Redwall, leading the Otterguard to victory for the last time. Now, he has lapsed into that same self-destructive fury thrice within a fortnight.

The first was when he found out that his younger son was held hostage by the Crestworths, thus causing him to personally retrieve his charge, like any model father would do. He might not prefer Thordan as compared to his other two children, but Lorelei's child was still his responsibility. Hence the rampage he went on Raevsvakt.

The second was when the other Thordan died at the worst possible moment. King Thordan of Parma considered making him King of Otharn (thus designated heir to for quite some time, and he had plans for his election while the Parman king was still alive. Needless to say, Thordan's death burned the Parman scheme to the ground, and the electors would not consider letting his young son on the throne. Lorelei, for all her faults, was still very much loyal to him, and he had already obtained the Garlescan throne by his marriage, despite his love towards another beast.

Which brings him to the third time he was angry. As far has his rages go, the first two times he was irked, the second time he was vexed, and now he was well and truly furious.

No one short of the poisoner deserved to die in such a manner. Sigrid had been administered a rare substance that does not even attempt to hide its symptoms. The unfortunate victim first emitted blood from the nose, then from the mouth, and finally from the ears and even eyes until there was not a single drop remaining the body. Who could have done this?

For the first time in what seemed like ages, King Erlend of Garlesca felt helpless.

And so he wept like a child. Exactly like his son Thordan when his grandfather died - and in a lot of other circumstances.

Sigurd would surely be devastated. His son was always close to his mother, and restraining him will be as hard as holding back the tears steadily flowing from his green eyes. He may be a strong child, a better warrior than his other son, but all beasts have their weaknesses, and tragedy hits beasts hard right in them. And what of Sigrun? His only daughter may hide her emotions and insecurities behind a straight face, but she too will be devastated.

Great Seasons, what is to happen now?

Before he had finished the question, the answer was there in his mind. And he did not like it

"She's absolutely adorable!"

Lord Lorcan Stalwart felt like the luckiest beast in the Southern Realms. Married to a beast who loves him and was loved back was a rare fortune for a lord, but Jehanne of Graille fitted into both of those categories. No lady would fit Lorcan better than the Valnainer. She had all the necessary virtues of a proper lady, and some of the unnecessary ones as well. Lorcan only knew of one such lady who was more important to him.

In his wife's arms lay an infant, no more than a month old. After nine months of waiting, Lorcan Stalwart was finally able to celebrate the birth of his first child.

Lady Lenorra was certainly a blessing on the Stalwarts. From hundreds of seasons of observations, it is known that beasts of exceptional height were infertile, so Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart were not expected to have a lot of, if any children. The Stalwart twins were always close, despite their differences. Their father named the firstborn after a legendary warrior, and the younger son after a no less famous healer. The names could not have been more ironic. Without his brother's prodding, Lorcan would simply not have went to his daily training sessions, preferring to spend his time in libraries, his snout buried deep into books and tomes. Alfyn has all the necessary skills to be a soldier, as shown by his muscular physique, contrasted to his brother's lanky build.

During his childhood in Arnet, Thordan Swalestrom said that beasts could ask for no better leader than Alfyn Stalwart, and no better friend than Lorcan. Thordan left Arnet after Lorcan's wedding, then spent the five seasons after wandering between Vargo, Floret, and a certain Redwall Abbey in Mossflower, with his final destination being his insular lordship. Lorcan always wondered why the boy chose to stay in Mossflower for the last two seasons, before his father summoned him back. Maybe he could not stand the Southern heat. But then he would have stayed in Floret with his uncle Lord Becker, which Lord (and now King) Erlend has no desire for this to happen. Or maybe the ever-curious child was awed by Mossflower and everything in it, which was most likely.

His daughter began to cry again. This may be Jehanne's first trial as a mother, but so far she was not failing in her ever present duties. After much comforting, the babe was lulled into her slumber once more.

"She's not as large as you are," teased the Valnainer. Her family has provided a number of brides for the other realms, most notably the mother of the younger Swalestrom brothers. Though this was their first pact with a Trielian lord, the tall, handsome Lorcan Stalwart soon proved to be a dedicated husband, neglecting his duties as Lord of the Trielian Otterguard for his wife and daughter's sake - to the chagrin of his ever hardworking brother.

"At least she's not going to bump her head into every single doorway like I do!" Lorcan joked.

They had played with their child for half an hour when their was a knock on their door.

"Who's there?" shouted the lord, clearly not happy at being disturbed from his leisure.

"King Garmund has called for a council meeting, and you are to attend immediately."

Duke Altayras Burelas stood as the seats were tamed by different lords. The squirrel may be barely twenty seasons of age, but his trip to Meraholmer had left him precious battle experience, which he will hold truly until the end of his life.

His brother insisted on staying in Burelas after his slaying of the traitorous Lord Crestworth, and Altair did not blame him. Slaying a lord was quite an offence, and Canute Crestworth was one of the seven Electoral Princes of Parma, making the consequences of Denebas' act of desperation multiplied by myriad times.

The squirrel lord recalled the events on the insular castle. How did I not see Crestworth's attack coming? I need to stop falling for the most basic of traps from now on. Caution is key.

A familiar presenceappeared in front of Altayras. Erlend Swalestrom was definitely in a bad mood, not as calm and confident as when they met in the Raevsvakt armoury, but a swirl of anger and rage. Something bad must have happened to him.

A few lords hurried to Erlend, no doubt inquiring about his recent Garlean accession, before hardened glares from the otter prematurely silenced them.

Altayras turned around only to bump into a tall otter. "Lord Alfyn?"

The otter chuckled. "No. I am just his less famous brother," he joked self-deprecatingly. "You must be Lord Burelas. You fought bravely at Raevsvakt. King Erlend told me all about you!" He turned to face the beast that he just mentioned. "Do you know what has gotten into him?" he asked.

"I have no idea what happened. I only know that he is not in any good mood, and it would be very unwise to approach him at this moment."

"Unwise indeed!"

Lord Lorcan leaped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his twin. "Alfyn! Could you just stop startling me for once? Lord Burelas and I were having a discussion on a quite serious matter."

"A serious matter? Last time I checked, you were not the sort of beast to make remarks of higher-ranking nobles behind their backs. Maybe you should try approaching him and see what would happen."

"To put it plainly, that would be plainly suicidal. I would not throw away my life in that manner." Lorcan remarked.

"Yeah, yeah. 'We only have one candle of life to burn', or something you found in your books." Alfyn quibbed.

Before Lorcan Stalwart was able to provide a lengthy an unwanted analysis of Oriel the Southard and his plays, the trio's brief conversation was put to an end by the herald's booming voice which signalled the arrival of King Garmund. All the present lords quickly returned to their assigned seats, and bowed their heads at the sight of the King of Triel.

King Garmund was not a beast of emotions and words, believing that actions speak louder than either. A pinched scowl was eternally sculpted on his face, and the heavy crown and robes seemed to suit him well, just like all kings of mighty realms.

"Your Majesty." All other beasts, whether they were high-ranking mouse lords or militant squirrels and otters, chorused in unison. But the king clearly had much more important matters to deal with.

"I have summoned all of you here for one sole purpose. Lord Becker Swalestrom has tidings to bear from our sister kingdom." He spat the last two words with the utmost contempt, like speaking to a rebellious child.

The doors creaked open, and with it entered a smug otterlord clad in white. The colours of an emissary, and under the protection of all laws, Southard or Trielian, Altayras remembered.

"Greetings, Lord Swalestrom. You must be exhausted, travelling from the northeast for such great a distance. Southsward is a kingdom most populous, and her diplomats are numerous and filled with talents. So tell me, what brings you, of all the beasts of our fellow realm, to Arnet?"

"I have come instead of Lord Harmon because of a reason common to all realms, large and small. The better, more trained diplomats are sent to the dignified and respectable states, and the tactless and incompetent are sent to states doomed to perish."

He pointed at the Garlean king and continued. "As my brother, the King of Garlesca might tell you, there is no single beast more bumbling and graceless than me. Even a vermin would be a better choice for a delegate. This is why King Gideon sends me here, of all the beasts of your fellow realm."

The council chamber erupted into a clamour. The mice lords turned to each other and discussed in shock, unable to comprehend that the weaker kingdom's envoy humiliated their kingdom in the most open of manners. The Stalwarts sat wide-eyed, and Altayras was simply confused by the entire thing. Only both kings remained impassive, their glares betraying not even a shred of emotion.

"Anyways, I am here to ask a simple question. Your Majesty, with your infinite wisdom, only need answer this inquiry."

The chamber died down rapidly, so much so that even snowfall could be heard.

"If the Kingdom of Southsward plans to reassert its full and independent rule over its own territories, with no need for further Trielian guidance, would you allow for the aforementioned events to ensue without starting a war?"

The King of Triel made a gesture in the air, and Erlend Swalestrom responded to the question not as a king, but as Duke of Thavnair, and thus a vassal of the Trielian King.

"As stated in the Peace of Uznair signed sixty seasons ago, the Realm of Southsward will remain as a subject to the Kingdom of Triel. For. All. Perpetuity. If the unthinkable event, which is what you have described previously, does happen, King Garmund will affirm to his duty as king and overlord, and defend his rights, which your king's ancestors have personally granted to him. And if he makes war upon those who unjustly rebel against him, then we are obligated follow his every command- and follow him we will!"

The tense silence between the Swalestrom brothers continued, only marred by the blurred whispers of puzzled lords.

Lord Becker opened his mouth to speak once again. "It shall appear that the unthinkable in which I have previously described is less unthinkable than Your Grace would perceive." His voice suddenly got even bolder, and, in the eyes of the Trielians, prouder. "As royal emissary of King Gideon of Southsward, I declare to Your Highness Garmund III, King of Triel and former overlord of Southsward, that Southsward is once again an independent nation, made so by the will of her king and subjects both."

King Garmund took a deep breath, then gave his answer. "As royal emissary of Southsward, it is your duty to inform your acting sovereign that it will be my duty to command him to submit to Triel, and obey the Peace of Uznair to prevent a war!"

Lord Becker gave a wry smile, as if he was prepared for that.

"And it would be mine to transmit my only and true king's refusal to stand by your unjust and incredible conditions."

"Then war it is." King Garmund stated the obvious, and the council room was plunged into chaos as Lord Becker exited the chamber with a flowing turn. Altayras would always remember Duke Erlend running out of the doorway as well, chasing after his wayward brother.

Less than a minute has passed before Erlend caught up to his brother, slamming his body against a castle wall.

"You were behind all of this! Sigrid's dead all thanks to you! My children will be left without a mother, and it's all your fault!" Erlend fumed.

"Sigrid's dead?" Becker looked surprised.

"Do not pretend that you know nothing! You had a paw in her death! I know full well!" If Erlend was furious earlier that day, he was absolutely incensed now. Tears dropped freely from his eyes as he raged incoherently as his brother.

"Erlend, calm down!" Becker implored. "I swear solemnly on the lives of my three sons that I am not responsible for the death of your lover." Nobles were nothing without their honour, and breaking an oath would not be something they would do. This applies to the elder Swalestrom brother as well, as his pride would not be able the indignity of breaking an oath.

Erlend took a moment to compose himself, only speaking a few seconds later. "Know full well that I will do everything and anything for my liege, as you will have done the same for yours."

For the first time in two seasons, Becker was called to agree with his brother. "No hard feelings. Got it. May the Fates guide you to the one you loved so much."

Erlend smiled after much difficulty. "Well, if I do indeed die in the war that you start, you won't have to share the world with me, won't you?"

As the two brothers met and laughed as true brothers for the last time in their lives, Erlend could have sworn that a single tear had flowed from Becker's hazel eye.

Fealty

If Floret was in chaos before, it was now in open panic. War has indeed come to Southsward for the first time in thirty seasons, and no beast was truly ready for it.

"You told me that war wouldn't happen!" Lord Garrion Swalestrom snapped at his father.

"I just told you that we would not start a war. You may recall that Garmund of Triel declared war on us. We are, in fact, not the aggressor. If any realm desires to check Trielian power, they would join the conflict on our side." Lord Becker has just finished his (not so) diplomatic to Arnet, and now he was under pressure from his family. All three of his sons have been recalled to Floret, and were indignant at being in the dark regarding their father's plans.

"King Gideon organised the assassination of someone close to Erlend, and he's now furious at us. All of us!" Becker exclaimed.

"What do you suggest we do now?" Lady Anezka questioned her husband. Judging by the fact that Lord Becker travelled to Reslen personally to ask for her hand, he and she were a good match, both personally and politically. She was tall for a Jaysian, and though she may not be as beautiful as some other noble ottermaids, her skills as a wife and parent were more than enough to provide a counterbalance.

On the more political side, Becker and Anzeka married to oppose the old king of Parma and his son-in-law. Infirm and weak, King Winchell Baleblood of Jayso is set to die without a male heir, and Anezka's two younger sons could claim either his insular realm or his Trielian duchy if he willed as such.

However, opening a second front against the Trielians was not part of Becker's plans now. He was much more preoccupied with the more defensive aspects of war.

"We hold the Greatrange. If that fails, we try to prevent total encirclement, but we will avoid pitched battles."

"Why avoid pitched battles?" asked Godred Swalestrom. Excelling in training with a sword or a bow, Godred Swalestrom was a born warrior, but without proper battle experience, it would be of little consequence.

"You should remember how the last war was lost. We arranged our forces into lines, we made sure we outnumbered the enemy, we charged - and we got hacked to pieces." Garrion reminded his younger brother. Having read all about battles, Garrion was definitely a self-taught tactician, who learned from the triumphs and mistakes of his forebears and long-dead rivals.

"Then how are we going to delay our foe?" Bedric piped up. Being the youngest of Lord Swalestrom's three sons, he resembled his father the most in personality if not looks. They were both bubbly and flighty otters, more suited at play than at work, and always managing to have fun whatever the circumstances. Perhaps that's why Mother fell for him, thought Garrion. Her brother is but an utter bore, and she would be quick to welcome a change of pace. She was lucky to walk a different path.

Garrion would certainly know much of marriage, seeing that he was the only married beast amongst the four siblings. Bellamy was to be betrothed to Sverker Crestworth of Doma, but the unexpected death of his grandfather quickly put an end to that. In Godred and Bedric, however, Anzeka and Becker decided to play their cards more carefully.

Ellisiv Rueford was a calm beast, well-read and cautious, never saying more than what should be said. Her father agreed to the marriage quick enough, with Erlend putting pressure on his territories in Dravania, foiling his plans for then.

"We stay in our forts and hold our chokepoints." Becker answered. "If the Trielians' supplies are cut, than they can do nothing against us."

"What about Erlend? He's the king of Garlesca now. Does that mean that the Garleans will be on their side?" Bedric continued to ask.

His sister decided to speak for the first time. "Queen Lorelei has another son from a prior marriage - Corrado, was it? Erlend's child with her would not be able to get his paws onto the Garlean throne, and he's Thordan! He wouldn't want to be king!" Corrado Truetide was married to Garrion's maternal cousin Eliska, so he would be a safe king if he finally receives his mother's inheritance, his father leaving everything to his elder son from a prior marriage.

Godred decide to give his own interpretation to Bellamy's explanation. "So if anything happens to Erlend or Lorelei, there would not be any Garlean support, wouldn't it?"

Lord Becker's face soured. "We would not try to slay our own kin, Godred Swalestrom! We are no vermin." Seeing that his son was now regretting his words, he continued. "We will try to devise the election of a Parman king friendly to us. He would restrain my traitorous kin. If that fails, we will still prevent the election of my nephew Thordan. He's too young to pose any direct threat to us, and he's as weak as any Swalestrom can be."

His wife contemplated for a while. "But what if Erlend himself becomes the King of Parma?"

Becker was surprised by the possibility, to say the least. "What? Erlend, King of Parma? By Great Seasons, I will ensure this will not happen!" He turned back to his children.

"Bedric, you will go back to the Greatrange. You are well acquainted with the terrain there, and Fort Tiernan will be receptive to you. After all, you have been there, and I'll ask Ralos to go with you once more." His youngest son nodded, prepared to follow orders.

"Godred, you will follow me to Dravania. We both know that your cousin Sigurd will put up a fight, and it will be a fight we will bring to him." Godred smiled, happy to do something for his father and kingdom.

"Garrion, your task is no less important." The firstborn's ears tensed, anticipating a mission with a large scale. Perhaps I'll lead a raid into Triel proper, or even get to wrest the Duchy of Obring out of Trielian paws!

"You are to defend Floret at all costs." Seeing the look of disappointment on his eldest son's face, Becker quickly added a few words to his orders. "Floret has never fallen since the days of the Foxwolf, and you are here to ensure that it will never fall since then. The life of your king, your wife, and your mother and sister rests wholly in your paws. If anything particularly bad does happen, I will return to help you. After all, Godred can manage in my absence."

"Bellamy, you will be safe behind these walls. Now may be too late for you to marry anyone of significance, but you will surely get your chance. Give your brother advice. He will need help from all sources, and you are certainly not dull."

Becker smiled at all his children. "Don't worry. I will return here safe and sound. I promise. Even if the worst happens, I'm proud of you four, and you can do more than I will ever do. And please don't follow in my pawsteps, and treat each other like your friends. It may be too late for me and Erlend, but your lives are just beginning, and you will not fail each other. Can you promise me that?"

A chorus of agreements erupted from the mouths of Lord Swalestrom's children.

Ralos was desperate.

He was expecting a war, but not a war so soon. The squirrel made his way towards the council chamber, and found that there were more lords than usual gathered there. It used to be just five. When has the number gone up to thirty?

Besides the Swalestroms (all four of them), old Lord Rueford was here, alongside his son. They must be glad to see their daughter and sister. Lady Ellisiv was a pact between lord and vassal, and Lord Becker planned this marriage well. Lord Strandsor was not seated next to the Ruefords as usual, but Ralos could not find him. There was simply no trace of the lords, father and son. Perhaps they were not called here.

A herald announced the coming of King Gideon, and the lords, whether mouse, squirrel or otter, all stood up to greet him, only sitting when their king commanded them to.

"It has come to our attention that Triel does not desire the formation of an independent Southsward, but for him to declare war of us is not an outcome we have guessed," the king announced. You have not guessed indeed. Sureluy you have planned for this to happen.

"Southsward is a kingdom, just like Triel. In fact we know that Southsward predates her sister kingdom by a hundred seasons, if not more! They have no cause to subjugate us, and they know this as well as we do! The truth is against their ambitions, so King Garmund and his henchbeasts saw fit to ignore it. The Peace of Uznair may be torn in two, like any scrap of paper, but the Trielians have not enforced its conditions, and they too have ignored its limits on their power. To summarise, they have broken the peace long before we were even born!"

Murmurs arose from the crowd. War was never a thing to be taken lightly, and most of the lords were content to see Triel held at bay, they do not know if war would be the best option. Ralos may have spent long periods of life in the field, but even he was not sure.

"So my lords, I implore you to stand with Southsward and me! All your obligations toward Triel are null and void, and Southsward will rise from the humiliation brought by her neighbour!"

A long silence followed, only broken by the sound of Lord Becker Swalestrom rising from his seat, and walking towards King Gideon. All the lords (Ralos included) waited wide-eyed as lord and king looked each other in the eyes.

The tension was only broken when Lord Swalestrom fell on one knee. He then opened his mouth.

"I, Lord Becker Swalestrom, Lord Skipper of the Southsward Otterguard and Lord of Hildrinn, shall let it be known that I have sworn, by my own will and volition, to render homage and fealty for my second time to King Gideon of Southsward. I swear once more to remain faithful to him, my king, to never cause him harm in any form, and to observe my homage to him completely and fully, against all beasts in good faith and without deceit. I also swear that I will destroy his enemies and their plans to the best of my ability. I will do so until the Crown does leave the throne, or if death shall take me, or the world end. This I, Lord Becker Swalestrom, shall swear on the life my children and the grave of my father!"

Ralos felt compelled to do the same, rushing out of his seat and knelt just like his predecessor had done. "Here do I, General Ralos of the Southsward Order of Defense, swear by mouth and paw fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Southsward: to speak and to be silent; to do and to let be; to come and to go; to serve and to teach, in such matters as concern this Realm; in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, until the Crown depart their throne, or death take me, or the world end. So do I swear on land, sea and sky!"

Lord after lord moved out of their seats and got on their knees.

"I, Lord Lorents Rueford, Lord of Svartemyrr shall swear on my House that..."

"I, Lord Francis, Minister of Coin does swear that..."

"I, Lord Garrion, Heir to the Southsward Otterguard swears that ..."

After the lords gave their oaths, King Gideon decided to complete his speech.

"And these oaths do we hear. And we, for our part, swear fealty to these lords and peers of Southsward and to all their households; to protect and defend them against every creature with all our power, until we depart from the throne, or death take us, or the world end. So say we, Gideon, King of Southsward, and former vassal to the King of Triel. We shall do our duty as King and lords of Southsward, and defend the Southard crown and the Southard realm!" The last word of the speech was drowned by the cheering of the lords.

Ralos was the only lord in attendance that was lost in thought. So the war has begun, in the thunderous applause of the high and mighty lords - lords that have never tasted any war before.

May Great Seasons ward us from what is to come, for we walk the path to ruin.

Weight of His Will

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA

In contrast to Becker's children being so certain about their triumph, the other Swalestroms of the next generation were wavering.

"So Mother's dead, Triel and Southsward are at war, and Parma is without a king." Sigrun Swalestrom gave the briefest of analyses on the current situation. Being also a quiet, pensive otter, Sigrun resembles her father the most out of his three children.

"Father's in Obring as of three days before. He's going to be made Garlean King alongside your mother, and hurry back to Triel to meet Southard forces." Sigurd was not a 'quiet, pensive otter' like his sister and father, having seen fit to be loud and boisterous. Out of the seven Swalestrom cousins, he was the first to be born. Erlend and Sigrid more a set of twins, and he clearly favoured them over his youngest son. Not that he minded.

Though his parents never married, Sigurd was recognised as his father's successor in full disregard with Southard law, but in complete accordance with Dravain custom, which only requires recognition compared to legitimacy. Thavnair, however will pass to his younger, legitimate son, having been given to her husband by Queen Lorelei. Garlesca was gained by marriage, so Lorelei's son by Corrado Truetide, another Corrado, will inherit the title.

"Everything just seems so complicated right now." Thordan complained. "It just seems like the world is trying to mess Father's plans up." Despite first meeting only when they were at the ages of thirteen and ten seasons respectively, Thordan had a good relationship with his paternal half-siblings, and thought of them just as well as Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart, the two otters he was raised with for most of his childhood. The fact that Sigurd was wed to their sister Avelyn, who remained in Arnet, bound these two families further - an alliance that was clearly expected to last.

"As I recall, Sigurd and I will try to take Hildrinn from Becker, establishing a base of operations. The locals will surely welcome him. Thordan, what task has father left for you?" Sigrun said as her brothers paced around the room. Can they just keep calm for a moment? The situation cannot get any worse, and panicking would only exacerbate it!

"Father never gave me any orders," Thordan answered, "and I know not of his plans." Sigrun's half-brother was never the most confident or competent of beasts, but for their father to not give any orders was odd, given the unstable situation. "Though Moth- Queen Lorelei told me to hold Meraholmer until the end of the war."

"She wrote that she wanted Father to be the King of Parma! If he does get elected, the war would be easy!" Sigurd said emphatically.

"This will not be likely, brother." Thordan sighed. "No sane Elector would ever vote for a Southard or Trielian."

"And he is a chief belligerent in the war!" Sigrun reminded her brother. "The Parmans are too rich to risk fighting on any side, ours or theirs, and they simply don't like Father!"

"Hmm, makes sense." Sigurd simply said. "We should get going, sister. We cannot delay for too long, as Lord Becker's forces will get to Hildrinn before we do. Thordan, do your duty."

His brother simply nodded as if he was not listening at all. Then his ears simply sprung up. "Sigurd, Sigrun, this may be the last time we meet. Becker knows that I'm here, and Hildrinn can be taken, but we won't know how long it will hold. I'm worried for the both of you, so..." He rushed forward and held his father's other children in his paws tightly, as though he was utterly terrified of letting go of the duo.

Sigrun interrupted. "You need not worry. We'll come back to you. I swear."

Sigurd was more emotional, as usual. "Always know that you can always call on me when you're in a bind, and I'll be always free to help you out!"

Thordan let go of his elder siblings, clearly overwhelmed by emotion. After struggling verbally, he spoke softly and gently. "I ... I will miss both of you. May your hearts and minds guide the both of you forth."

Sigrun smiled. The traditional Trielian blessing. "May them guide you on your way too!"

Thordan looked at the leaving ship from his place at the docks. With his brother and sister leaving on their way to Kaldos, he would have to simply play his part to the best of his abilities.

"They're gone?" A voice behind him caused him to leap up into the air, then fall back down in an unbefitting manner. Turning his head backwards, his eyes met those of a weasel.

"Egil, you need to stop sneaking on me!"

"Couldn't help it. You're always rushing out unguarded, and somebeast has to keep watch on you!" Thordan may have learned from his mistakes made on his last time setting foot on Meraholmer and stopped trusting everybeast he saw, but he still failed to keep guards nearby.

"Besides, your reaction was an extreme inducer of laughter!" Egil pealed. After killing a few guards in the process of saving his friend, he did not take long to act as any friend would - not that Thordan liked it.

The otter sighed. "Please do not do it again."

Egil smiled. "No guarantees, Lord Thordan." He May be beast prone to reflection and thought, but Thordan managed to coax a playful demeanour from the weasel. "Well it's back to business with you, isn't it?" The weasel continued.

The streets of the island were bustling once more, as if the shadow Crestworth cast on it never even existed. Beasts were bartering and calculating here and there, selling Southard legumes and vegetables at higher prices than ever before, and customers vented out their frustration in the most vulgar words and phrases Thordan has ever heard. The otterlord has placed a tariff on Southard goods to damage Southsward's potential for economic warfare, and now he was going to be hated for it.

Truth be told, Thordan never enjoyed his lordship. It's just a task too important for me. Why? Why would Father choose me, and not Sigurd or Gustav Strandsor or his son, or anyone else? Does he know something I don't? He always does! Or is it another of my grandfather's ploys? Not that can ask him now, obviously. It seems that the beasts I know always have a tendency to die at the most inopportune moments.

Egil's voice snapped him out of his world of thought. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Thordan hastily responded as the two beasts, woodlander and vermin, walked back to the castle. "Yeah, yeah. Back to the extremely tedious duties of lordship for me, I suppose. What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Me? I'll be staying with you, your lordship. My father has been quite insistent about yours paying his debts in full, and he sent me to check on you. Don't you remember?"

"My father is an honest beast. He will pay up, but there is always the war going on." Either Father would have to borrow even more from Parman merchants to give him a fighting chance, or would have to ask his wife for Garlean gold. Either way, his father would have to wait. "He'll simply ask for an extension."

"It's not that simple!" Egil exclaimed. "Anything could happen in war! He could be unable to pay back if he's captured or killed!"

Expect the worst in war. Thordan heard that a lot from his grandfather when he was still alive. Had he not died, he would be one of the few beasts able to prevent the exacerbation of the conflict. He might be one of the most annoying beasts some beasts have ever encountered, but he was nothing but a doting grandparent to Thordan during their two years spent together.

The younger Thordan was one of the first beasts who heard of the death of his grandfather. He wept for days, too much for even a grandson of a king, and drawing the attention of his mother, who immediately commanded him to 'cease his moping' and return to Meraholmer, which was the best place to defend Dravania from the newly ascendant Lord Valdemar Crestworth. How could she be so precise yet again?

"I'm sure that it will not be likely to come to that," Thordan said. "We can win, and even if we lose, we are sure get to gain something from it."

The two beasts finally arrived at the castle gates, only to see a beast outside them. The fox with black fur was clearly impatient, and his frustration was matched by the urgency of the situation.

Isangrim remembered the lord and the vermin beside him. The dagger-wielding weasel saved his life just in the castle he was standing before, and clearly he was recognised by the fox.

"I bring tidings from your mother." Isangrim tersely said as the gates were finally opened, the guards not trusting some fox from entering, as the last time he danced in, three woodlanders fell by his paw. Even though all three were Crestworth guards, their more loyal replacements were not exactly taking chances.

"Sorry for you to wait so long, Isangrim." Thordan was receptive to the fox though the guards were not. He was one of the nine beasts able to gain the elder Thordan's trust, and he was one of nine thousand in the case of the younger.

For the last thirty years Isangrim has helped the late king of Parma with matters great and small, clandestine as his methods might me, only known to the old king's associates and kin. Some more superstitious beasts even said that he was some sort of sorcerer, influencing the king in some method invisible from all beasts. All of them were, to put it simply, wrong.

"Your mother commands you to stay away from Parma when she fails to get an acceptable candidate on the throne. She's got Borwin Vorrad on her side, by the Crestworths too have two votes in the persons of Lord Valdemar and his brother."

"So she's just telling you to stay here, and don't go on that side of the Sound." Egil summarised as briefly as he can. "Got it, Your Lordship?"

"Exactly as he says. You will return when sombeast receptive to us does ascend though. It is etched that this will happen."

Isangrim seemed to know something more than he was letting on, and the other vermin caught on. "Etched? Where?"

"Never mind that," the fox said gruffly. "Anyways, remember that you will get to see your mother by the end of this spring." Twelve months was not a long time to wait, especially in wartime, though it would be convenient if a season lasted four times briefer.

"Don't go to Parma. I got that." Thordan simply said as he walked into his audience chamber. It was a rare occurrence when somebeast was actually there, as few foreigners would send envoys to some random islands in the middle of the Sound.

But all cases have an exception, as the trio walked closer, a hedgehog's body came into view - a very familiar hedgehog, in fact.

Whatever his original purpose, Bertil the former guards beast seemed unsettled by the presence of the weasel.

"Sorry I tried to kill you about a month before." Egil quickly apologised. "I was quite desperate back then."

Before the weasel could receive an answer, Isangrim quickly shifted Bertil's attention away from the past. "Why are you here, hedgehog?"

"Lord Valdemar brings a message. He shuddered for a bit, and then continued.

"He will honour his pact with King Gideon and Lord Becker, and he swears not to rest until Raevsvakt and all Meraholmer lies in his paws. You can either submit quietly and leave with all your forces intact, or try to defend what is not rightfully yours. In that case, we would simply lay waste to every single thing

Seeing the shocked and enraged expressions of the trio in front of him, the hedgehog quickly added a sentence, which was followed by more and more words..

"Sorry about last time. After Raevsvakt, Lord Valdemar discharged me from guard duty, and simply sent me here as an envoy without any kind of training. I am just here to deliver a message, and leave intact as befitting an emissary. What was said here reflects not my opinion, so I hope you'll understand."

Thordan swiftly changed his shocked expression for a look of certainty."We will understand, of course. Tell Lord Valdemar that he should not have sworn as such. If he desire's peace, then he should allow his head to calm down as he scrambles to find a solution. If he has no cause for peace, then he should get as much rest as possible. Us Islanders will put up a fight, and it is not possible to resist us half-awake. Go home and bear my message to your lord, and tell him that Lord Thordan Swalestrom, grandson of High King Thordan the Second of Parma, sincerely wishes for him to reconsider his unjustified and blatant invasion."

"Now you can depart with every right of an emissary. May your skills as a diplomat grow. May you fare better than your master. And may your heart and mind guide you forth."

As Bertil walked briskly out after more apologies, Thordan was startled by a clap on the back by the black fox. "You really deserve your grandfather's name."

Thordan muttered his thanks, still confused and perplexed by everything that transpired. The nascent lord would have a lot to do, and he would have to do even more if he had known that Lord Valdemar Crestworth of Doma would soon be the least of his worries.

Pennons Aloft

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

The host of King Garmund was on its way, coupled with his vassals and lords.

Orience was a bastion city located on the gulf which shares its name. With its sandy beaches and bustling centre, it could be a prime example of a capital city of a great Realm. However, Floret and Arnet towered above her in both glamour and prestige, so the city situated between two nations could not be more than a trading hub.

All was plain and simple, until the Southard kings found out that it could easily be used as a base of operations for wars against the Trielians. During the Second Reach War, the Trielians seized the citadel after half a summer of siege, and Triel decided not to tear it down, believing that such a mighty bastion could not be wasted. So they simply took it into their own paws in the Peace of Uznair signed after the war. The Peace may be broken, but Orience was still a Trielian possession, and the mouse king hoped to keep it that way.

Amongst King Garmund's war council, Lord Alfyn Stalwart could spot numerous figures that he knew. King Garmund took the war as a chance to put his valour to the test, and prepared accordingly, having commissioned a suit of plain armour (not suited for a king, but very practical), and with a large war-axe to match. His sons have not reached adulthood yet, so they were not in attendance, having stayed with their Parman stepmother Queen Bertrada in Arnet.

Just beside the mouse king was Duke Somerled of Deilart, their current host. Somerled was an untested battle commander, having been too young to fight at Balv, though some would say that inexperience could be balanced with loyalty. Lord Alfyn was not one of those beasts, and knew that Somerled could barely lead a small band of vermin, let alone an entire army of organised (and civilised) woodlanders.

At the other side of the king stood Duke Altayras of Burelas. Burelas was the last of the Six Duchies to submit to Triel, and Borellers have kept their old customs, being warriors of unparalleled bravery - and not a lot of wisdom to supplement it. It took over two whole centuries of constant border skirmishes, raids on farms and deposits, and the occasional full-blown invasion to negotiate a Trielian victory - one with very favourable terms for the Borellers.

Altayras' father, the late Duke Kestutas, was a lone scholar in a family of soldiers, and it did not take long for his heir to revert to his ancestral ways, but with the ability to think with clarity in his case. He and Alfyn did not share much words when they met in Meraholmer - Alfyn thought his brother much more agreeable. However, Altayras is indeed a scion of Burelas, and the blood of warriors flows within him. He would serve Triel well.

Lord Lorcan stood at the squirrel's side. Alfyn knew his twin well, having been raised with him for twenty long seasons. He was of little use in war, being a poet and scholar, but he would do his duty well, with his brother by his side, of course.

His brother may have been downright jubilant at his daughter's birth, but Alfyn expressed emotions that were more muted. According to Trielian and Southard law, any male in the family is higher in the line of succession before any relative in the female line. Before Lorcan sired a son, Alfyn was still his heir - a situation not unwelcome to King Garmund, but very undesirable for the brothers. Alfyn may have been the Arnet Skipper in all but name, but he desired not to supplant his brother. While his brother lacks the ability for decisive action, Alfyn lacked the patience needed for it.

"My Lords, Southsward has declared an unjust war against us." King Garmund's voice boomed across the hall. As Lord Becker Swalestrom told us, King Gideon has declared that Southsward will be free of Triel, thus breaking the Peace of Uznair in which his predecessors have agreed to. By this act, we now refuse to recognise him as King of Southsward - an oathbreaker and his line cannot be allowed on any throne." The lords muttered amongst themselves, amazed by this novel development, and hoping to gain from it, as was customary among highborns.

King Garmund continued, "He and his son are both usurpers from now on. By tracing genealogies and barring the traitors from the Southard throne, we have decided that there would be a King of Southsward of our own choosing." He then nodded at Duke Somerled, who stepped forth and knelt before the mouseking.

The king asked loudly,"Do you, Somerled of Deilart, wish to keep the Peace of Uznair, and prolong cooperation between the two realms of Southsward and Triel?"

"I do."

King Garmund asked his second question with a volume even louder than he asked the first. "Do you, Somerled of Deilart, Somerled of Deilart, wish to be completely and utterly loyal to Triel, and swear your allegiance to her?"

"I do."

"Do you, Somerled of Deilart, accept the Kingdom of Southsward, which was pried from the paws of traitors and oathbreakers?" King Garmund shouted.

"I do!" Lord Somerled responded for the third time.

"Very well. Rise, Somerled, King of Southsward and Duke of Deilart."

Somerled obeyed his lord and stood up. The squirrel bore a vibrant red pelt, unlike his Boreller neighbours. He was also more ceremonially dressed compared to the much more simple attires of the grey-furred brothers - Altayras wore light armour so as to move and strike swiftly, while Denebas wore nothing but his tunic and his signature red hat, with a Sparra feather on top. On the other paw, Somerled wore his silk garb, clearly dressed to awe the commons. Alfyn wondered if he could even lift a claw to defend his title held but in pretense.

Somerled? King? King Garmund is that desperate for a weak king, so he simply makes one. A perfectly normal thing to do for a king.

King Garmund's voice shook the hall once more. "Now, we will discuss our plans for the coming war."

"King Somerled, you will make for Floret for the first opportunity, together with the forces already under your control. Duke Altayras, you will be directly under my command, as you are still young, and have much to learn from more experienced beasts." The two squirrel nobles nodded their heads in agreement, Somerled with significantly less hesitation.

"Lords Lorcan and Alfyn." Alfyn's ears perked up while his brother's face was as stoic as stone - just like the previous two decades. "You two are to take the fleet to Raevsvakt. Lord Alfyn, you have been to Meraholmer before, have you?"

"You are correct, Your Highness." Though Garmund sent the Burelas brothers to gain experience for future battles, Alfyn went along to save his friend from harm, somehow succeeding in befriending a vermin in the process. Having only met for three hours, Egil the weasel was flightly and smiled constantly, even in the most adverse of circumstances. Lorcan would like him - not before studying all about talking to vermin, of course. Here in Triel, vermin are kept as slaves, while Southsward banned them outright. At least Parma knows how to make mountains of gold with their extra manpower and incentives. Damn those Parmans and their veritable maelstroms of avarice.

"Then you know you way there. I have received rumours from King Erlend of Garlesca that Lord Valdemar Crestworth will try to launch a full-scale invasion against the islands, as compared to his father's lacklustre operation. He has already instructed Lord Thordan on what to do, and you two will assist him."

Alfyn nodded. "We will not let you down, Your Majesty. Me and my brother both." Lorcan nodded as well, a split second slower than his brother. Lorcan read all too much about ships. Let him handle the planning, and I will deal with the fighting. He remembered a certain weasel's joke about he carving his way out of problems and instinctively smiled, tucking it back in before anyone else but his brother noticed it. Lorcan knows all about battles. He would surely know what to do.

"Very well. May your hearts and minds guide you forth, my young lords."

Alfyn knelt before his king, one paw over his heart. Seeing his brother's actions, the awkward Lorcan quickly followed. "May your heart and mind guide you, Your Majesty." Then they left the council chamber, hurrying to fulfill their easy task.

VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Denebas Burelas had not recovered fully from his first killing at Raevsvakt.

His brother always had no qualms about killing. As a typical Trielian, and a Boreller in addition, he was most definitely used to stabbing his way out of (and into) problems.

Denebas was less capable of violent action. He may have killed at an earlier age compared to his brother and gained his respect along the way, but something in him felt empty, like a hole bore into his heart. It has to be filled, but I don't want to be Altayras! Never will I relish in war!

Moving from Orience further into Southsward was easier than when the squirrel first expected. The Trielian host encountered no army, Otterguard or Sword (as the Southards called their Order of Defense). Bedric Swalestrom was supposed to hold the Range, but he and General Ralos have not appeared yet - not necessarily a good thing.

After his saved his brother from the paws of Lord Canute Crestworth, he struggled significantly against fainting, and finally succumbed to the urge to collapse. Thordan Swalestrom, being trained as a healer by his grandfather (and, in a cruel fit of irony, the brother of the beast Denebas had killed), quickly helped him to his feet, and his words quickly healed more than his herbs and bandages. Behind every warrior is a healer indeed.

During his recovery the younger Lord Stalwart and his weasel friend visited a few times, mostly for introductions, though the weasel did not say much, and Alfyn Stalwart may have tried to stay for hours longer than he was welcome. Only both the already garrulous Thordans could expel him from his resting chambers.

This all changed when his grandfather was found dead, never waking from his final slumber. Thordan was distraught, and only Alfyn and Egil could approach him. Denebas tried, at least, but Thordan quickly sent him away after a few minutes. At least he acted more civilly towards his former patient than to the black fox who butted in every hour or so, rambling on and on about the inevitability of destiny, and that all beasts are doomed to misfortune, and the like. Denebas would rather be burnt alive than have to speak with him ever again.

The weasel was said to accompany Alfyn Stalwart back to Raevsvakt, and the two of them were to face the night of Lord Crestworth single-pawed. King Erlend, the poor otterpup's father, advised his son to strike first and sail towards Otharn, though whether his advice would be taken is another story.

Altayras only spoke to him only when he returned back to Burelas, and not much as usual. His brother was ever an aloof beast, only speaking when it was his turn. He was a much better leader of other beasts, and Denebas and Vega felt compelled to follow him almost always in their childhood.

Speaking of his sister, Denebas missed her. She was one of the only beasts that was able to calm him down when he started having nightmares (Altayras failed with the singing, and Thordan Swalestrom had numerous issues with his concentration). Denebas loved his quiet, bookish sister, and objected to all plans to marrying her off to any random lord.

There was that one time she was betrothed to some Parman Elector's son back when their father was still alive, but the match was called off after Denebas and Vega pleaded for days (Altayras threatening to disinherit himself was the deciding factor). Their father never got over it, and asked Altayras to see that she marry a powerful lord after his passing, and his elder brother never told him his response.

Denebas was snapped out from his lengthy thoughts by his brother's brash footsteps. Altayras Burelas was clearly anxious to find him.

"Can you not hide in the middle of the woods talking to yourself while we are on campaign?"

"No." Denebas answered simply. "What is the matter now?"

"Our scouts have discovered the location of Lord Bedric's forces, and both sides are ready to give battle! Get to your crossbow unit immediately, for their pennons are raised aloft!"

Seeing that Denebas was still shocked at this recent development, the elder grey squirrel tried another approach. "As Duke of Burelas, I command you to fight for you king, homeland and your sister - our sister."

Altayras got formal? I'll give him formal!

"As your humble sworn knight, I will fight for Your Grace on one condition." Seeing his brother's ears perk up, he quickly added, "If I perish in battle, take care of Vega, and do not marry her off to a squirrel she likes not." His voice grew more desperate as he slowly broke into tears. "This I beg of Your Grace!"

Clearly taken aback by the younger squirrel's devotion towards his sister (and perhaps slightly ashamed of his own neglect), Altayras gave his agreement.

"You are already ruled by your heart. Brother, May your mind guide you forth. Raise your own pennons, and may you guide your beasts to victory over your foes!"

Denebas quickly returned the blessing, then scurried off to take command of the Boreller crossbowbeasts. This could be the last time I will speak to Alt, but we will both leave this world with no regrets. I am sure of that!

A Fine Death

HILDRINN, LORDSHIP OF HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Godred Swalestrom was awaiting his father's orders.

His cousin Sigurd somehow arrived at Hildrinn before the Otterguard, annoying father to no end. Now the city would have to be taken by force, and much time and beasts would be wasted, never to be returned to them.

When Lord Becker heard the news, his first reaction was no nearly faint in rage. His second, more dignified response was to build a few siege towers and catapults to intimidate Hildrinn's denizens, and are to be used only when it is absolutely necessary.

Which was now.

Due to the plans and machinations of Lord Erlend, the citizens of Hildrinn were staunchly anti-Floret. They would simply not tolerate Godred and his father. If they were so forthcoming as to invite the elder Swalestrom lord, there would be a high chance that a trap is waiting to be sprung.

Lord Becker refrained from assaulting - slow and steady may not always win races, but more haste does equal less speed. So they waited. And waited.

Godred never believed in miracles. There are seldom coincidences in politics, and exactly none in war, so everything happened for clear and specific reasons. His father was a bit more optimistic, however, and luck shone ever brightly on him indeed.

"Godred." His father called him, drawing him away from the newly-built siege engines, ready to be used. "I need you to handle the siege here. After the last parley session in the afternoon, I will have another task - one less important, though more useful to our cause."

Father's leaving everything here to me? This is a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one!

"I will not let you down, Father." Godred responded, trying (and failing) to hide the joy on his face. His father caught on fast.

"Don't get carried away now, Godred! You need to keep yourself calm for you to succeed. Rashness will goad you into a fine death, and we would not want that happening, won't we?" Godred hastily nodded, causing the elder lord to calm down.

"Now onto the parley. No matter what happens, Godred, do not speak. I will handle everything here. I handled my brother before, and his son would not be any different."

Becker and Erlend were known by deeds and character as 'The Serpent' and 'The Fox' by their enemies (though never by each other). Both of them were cunning, and they were one of the few beasts that can outplay the other. Their children were less suited to intrigue, to the serpent's joy and the fox's chagrin.

"Pardon me for asking, Father, but what will you be doing when I am besieging the city? Bedric and Ralos took the west, and Garrion is busy preparing defences in Floret. We are now in the eastern reaches of the realm. What remains of interest to you and your plans?"

"Meraholmer." Lord Becker Swalestrom responded. "I have a fox cub to catch, and he will not escape my grasp."

Before Godred was able to ask his father about what he wanted with Lord Thordan, the defenders of Hildrinn decided to accept his parley request.

Parley was serious business for highborn and commoner alike, and the Swalestrom twins were children of both. When they heard of their uncle's request for peace talks, they went about on their immediate preparations, and quickly affirmed their desire for a brief truce.

The first thing Lord Becker did was to apologise for the inconvenience he and his son had caused to the twins' plans for using Hildrinnas a base for an Eastern invasion of Southsward proper. Sigrun heartily accepted the apology while Sigurd was less accepting of the fact that Lord Becker constructed to dozen siege engines to inconvenience them.

Godred was also less than thrilled to see the twins. He and Sigurd were almost completely alike, and this only increased the bad blood between them. While their fathers were both carefree and understanding, children do not always resemble their parents, and it showed in the Swalestroms.

"My terms are as such," Lord Becker declared. "You two are to lead your forces away from Hildrinn, allowing us to take the city without casualties, and you will receive safe passage from Dravania."

Safe passage? Father really wants Hildrinn. But Sigurd tries too hard to be his father's son. He won't simply yield.

"As Hildrinn is de jure a Dravain city, you hold no authority here as Skipper of the Floret Otterguard." Sigurd Swalestrom shouted. "Your title as Lord of Hildrinn is also a fabrication by the false King Gideon of Southsward, and has been revoked accordingly by King Somerled. By his second decree after his accession, I am lord of this city."

Sigurd must have savoured the look of shock Lord Becker and his son shared on their faces. First it was one of confusion, then it was one of doubt, then their faces shifted into rage, with Godred trembling from it.

His sister decided that it would be her turn to speak. "Thus, you have no power to continue your negotiations, and it is our time to offer terms."

Waiting for Lord Becker's face to return to a tenuous smile, Sigrun Swalestrom continued, "Our terms are even more simple. You are to leave Dravania, and surrender all your titles to anyone King Somerled would grant."

Lord Becker's smile faded into a grimace. "While you may see these terms as natural, we simply cannot accept them. You may have the Strandsors and your brother on your side, but they will soon be just as finished. Rest assured that you will not be able to triumph over a just cause."

The twins stared at each other and muttered amongst themselves. Then Sigurd decided to give his response.

"You might have been struggling with the just cause thing. It is simply alien to you. This is going nowhere, and I see no point in continuing the negotiations if we just sling pointless insults at each other."

Godred finally decided to step up. "So are you surrendering or not?" Everybeast (even his father) turned to him with annoyance in their eyes.

"They will not be surrendering now, boy." Lord Becker sighed as he turned to his son. "It's up to you to change their stubborn minds."

Obviously thinking about the Trielian blessing, he added,"May their minds guide them forth until they see reason."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Bellamy paced worriedly within the halls of Castle Terrace. The Swalestrom family home has been used for more than a dozen generations, and the sandstone structure was small yet comfortable, neglecting the fact that the war has dimmed the hearts of Floret's inhabitants.

Her brother was diligent in his work, making sure fortresses were repaired, and that arms and supplies were transported by barge to forts on the Rems every single hour.

Her mother and Lady Ellisiv were not so sure about his talent for warfare, though they would not simply disobey Lord Becker's orders. As so-called proper ladies, the three of them did more talking than actually doing something, seeing that Southsward was at war again.

"I'm worried about your brothers, Bells." In contrast with Erlend and his cold treatment toward his wife, Anezka Baleblood had met Becker only days before they met, but they were devoted to each other - four children in the span of six seasons shall serve as a testament to that. She proved a doting mother, as all Jaysians tended to be.

"Why?" Bellamy asked with curiosity. Her three brothers may not be military geniuses, but her father trained them well. Father's seldom wrong, and all three of my brothers have their positions assigned due to strengths.

"Anything could happen in war, my dear. My father fought alongside the Parmans at Balv, and now my brother is a Trielian vassal. One single mistake can doom a realm."

"So what? Garrion and his brother's are not the sort of beasts to make mistakes. They have been trained well by their father." Lady Ellisiv Rueford was a less pacific husband than her mother-in-law, but Lord Becker needed every single drop of Dravain support against his disobedient brother. She and Lord Garrion were wed with surprising haste, but this did not stop the couple from becoming friendly towards each other, though romance was yet to come.

"You know little about war, young lady." Anezka countered. Being a senior does allow the Jaysian to circumvent 'proper' etiquette and speak in a much direct manner.

"My husband and Godred are in the process of besieging some Gates-forsaken city, Garrion is working his brain out improving fort defenses, and my youngest has been given the task of stopping the advance of the entire Trielian army. I can assure you that everything that may go wrong will go wrong, and often in the worst of fashions."

A messenger burst into the room, completely exhausted and out of breath. The three noble ladies turned to face him, and the message he brought was not good news in any sense of the word.

"Lord Somerled has trapped Lord Garrion in Fort Macolt. He is being besieged, and needs urgent help this instant."

VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

As was in most cases, Lady Anezka was right in more ways than one. For at the exact moment, another one of the Swalestrom brothers fared poorly against the Trielian foe.

Bedric Swalestrom did not realise something was off until it was too late. The Trielians were much less surprised to see his force, and King Garmund was cautious enough to ensure that he had brought enough beasts to withstand a Southard charge.

The young otterlord spun around, his Jaysian sabre cutting down a squirrel, then wheeled around to send a hare to his grave. His bodyguards dealt with the four other soldiers, then turned to face him.

Bedric realised that there was only one way to achieve victory. Their communication with General Ralos had been cut, mostly under the heavy fire of the Boreller crossbowbeasts and knights. Their remaining forces have been largely decimated, scattered away like petals in the wind. The only solution was for King Garmund to die, and the mouseking's location was known to all on both sides.

He still had about four hundred beasts under him, and they will obey his every order. Southsward was everything to them, and they will gladly follow him into battle.

"Soldiers, we have lost many beasts of our own. But if we make one last charge, King Garmund will be in our paws, and Southsward will be saved!" His encouraging speech was met with cheers, and they moved up the hill where the Trielian camp was.

Closely packed, the valiant soldiers of the Otterguard broke apart the defenses of the camp easily. The enemy never expected a strike so close to home, as the majority of the Trielians were busy routing General Ralos' forces off the battlefield.

Bedric slammed his sabre's hilt into a mole's stomach, and finished him off with a falling slash. King Garmund was close, and the young lord knew that. 'King' Somerled's forces were busy making their way towards Floret, and were absent from the battlefield. Garmund would surely regret the decision to send him away.

What Bedric did not expect was the fact that King Garmund was ready for battle. With heavy armour and an imposing battleaxe, he was terrifying even for a mouse. When he knew of the attack (too late for him to call back his army), he immediately flung himself into the thickest part of the melee, hewing down Southard after Southard.

Duke Altayras Burelas was alongside the king, which added a problem to the Otterguard's commander. At least their Otterguard remains nowhere to be seen, which was a good thing.

An arrow nearly buried itself within Bedric's snout, causing him to look back and make a break for the archer. A single slash later and he was no more. Jaysian sabres are weapons of high calibre, especially when made without high quality steel - one of the many disadvantages of the insular subkingdom.

Bedric spied a squirrel clad in black and white from behind, pulling his spear out of a fallen Otterguard soldier, and quickly wheeled around to face him. Duke Altayras wore his family's colours for the first time in battle, but the otter was able to recognise him, even if his face was veiled by his visor. He did not go unnoticed, and the young Boreller duke raised his spear in a defensive position.

If your foe builds up a defense, it is imperative to break it apart. Bedric still remembered the words of his father, who served as one of his battle instructors. I'll take my memories with him to my grave alongside this irksome squirrel!

The young otterlord quickly prepared an agile stance, then advanced from the right, and awaiting the inevitable counterattack.

The squirrel quickly stabbed forward, hoping to impale his foe from the front. What he did not know was the fact that Bedric predicted such a move - his father taught him that too. Spears are used for controlling the distance of an enemy. Wrench that control away from him, and he will be helpless.

He simply stepped to the left, leaving Altayras' spear dangling at a long-evaded opponent. Bedric slid through the spear's reach and struck, forcing the Trielian duke to step back to evade - dropping his spear in the process. Now facing an unarmed foe, Bedric smiles as he moved in for the kill.

At least until a shadow barrelled into him.

Bedric fell down and stood up, only to witness an advancing mouseking. Garmund of Triel was already terrifying, bloody battleaxe and all. But armour and axe were not the only things stained in crimson, as his eyes glowed with a deepest red.

The young otterlord could see the remaining part of his father's Otterguard being slaughtered left and right. The Trielians were never thrown into even the slightest bit of chaos during his ill-fated assault.

The mouseking charged at the otter, axe raised and screaming. Not screaming a battlecry, just pure, unadulterated screeching. Bedric was not paralysed by his fear, overwhelming as it might be. He spun leftward and dodged his blow, and attempted to parry his horizontal strike. His weapon being only a mere sabre, it simply could not withstand the immense force of the axe. It simply shattered under the impact.

The otter tried to escape to a better position, but a spear through the neck ended these plans. It never took long for Altayras Burelas to steady himself, pick up his spear, and charge at the king's opponent with haste.

Lord Bedric Swalestrom perished in battle at the age of nineteen seasons, and Southsward's hopes of delaying Triel has died with him.

For now, at least.

Weight of the World

DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Egil was glad to be on dry land after two long, tedious days at sea. The Sound may be a narrow passage, but the slightest bit of marine travel was able to make a certain green hue shine out from a face full of fur.

Thordan being Thordan, he obeyed his father's orders to the letter. The best defense is sometimes a good offence, and he led what little troops he had into Doman soil, hoping to cut off the troops of Lord Valdemar from rallying together. So far he has succeeded - four bands of Doman levies have been neutralised, their weapons and supplies wrenched away, and they have been forced to turn back with tails between their legs.

To seek a decisive battle here would be suicide. Lord Valdemar's son may find it safe to stay in the city of Doma proper, but if Sverker Crestworth does lead his troops out of the city, there is a high chance for Thordan's force to sustain heavy casualties in the process of being routed.

Lord Sverker Crestworth may be just as young as Thordan was, but his father and grandfather taught him how to lead soldiers on, while Thordan was quite lacking in martial ability. However, he was unwilling to take risks of any sort, buying Thordan ample time for besieging Doma itself.

Thordan was clearly not enjoying himself. As a healer, he was not used to being responsible of the deaths of other beasts, so he has right cause to be anxious. Egil had reminded him that panic will doom morale, and so Thordan did his best to hide his trepidation.

"We have to cut off all Doman access to the sea," Thordan said. "If Lord Sverker is able to take control of the Sound, an invasion of Meraholmer will surely be inevitable."

Egil thought for a while, then gave his opinion. "Why don't you try to take Doma? If Doma is yours, Lord Valdemar and his son cannot launch any offensive without their bastion here in Otharn."

Thordan Swalestrom was the only Lord in the Southern Realms to actually consider the opinion of vermin, after the passing of his grandfather. Even then, there are times when the easily persuaded lord can be surprisingly stubborn.

"No. Taking the city would likely lead to casualties on both sides. We will just box the city in for now, and we'll leave in about seven hours."

"But-" Egil tried to argue.

"Do not rebuke me!" Thordan snapped, causing Egil to mutter an apology. How could Thordan of all people suddenly fly into rages? He has always been cheerful and mild. Has his grandfather's death changed him so?

Seeing the damage he had done to his friend's spirit, Thordan's ears dropped down. "No, Egil. It is I who should apologise. You have advised me well since the day we have met, and it is unbecoming of me to discount your counsel. But there are days that your counsel should indeed be discounted, and today is one of them. Please forgive me for doing as such, for we will have little choice but to turn back to Raevsvakt."

Suppressing the urge to inquire further into the mind of Thordan Swalestrom, Egil spoke. "We should at least retreat slowly and without panic, or else the Domans will pounce onto our rearguard."

Thordan nodded. "You are always able to give sound advice. You are Skuli's son, after all!"

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Skuli has always enjoyed talking to his creditors.

Normally, they would simply deliver on their promises after a hearty meal and a drink, but King Erlend of Garlesca has always been a prickly otter.

The house in which the weasel resided was quite luxurious compared to the rest of his kind's residences - a symbol of a self-made beast's hard work and perseverance. Simple yet opulent in some ways, the manor was composed of a three floors, but there were no glamorous art within it. Merely a few paintings and tapestries were hung - just for their demand to increase and an insisted buyer to be found.

The dining room was not as spacious as some other merchant houses, but it still served its purpose. Skuli still remembered the first time Lord Thordan Swalestrom visited his residence and almost decimated the kitchen supplies. It took all of the elder weasel's self-restraint to stop himself from barring him from visiting ever again.

"Thank you for the meal, Mister Skuli." King Erlend expresses his gratitude while he wiped his mouth. His appetite may have been less than either of his sons, but they would surely be surpassed if the king was in his younger days.

"The pleasure is all mine." Skuli responded. "Now, Your Majesty eem to have collected a few coins during your Garlean crowning." When Erlend was crowned King of Garlesca, he managed to procure a large amount of gold from his subjects for the ceremony - and proceeded to rush through it, pocketing most of the raised amount. He could even be a beast that could rule over the whorl of chaos currently engulfing all realms.

King Erlend's ears perked up. "Oh yes, yes. The money, right? I can only pay about a tenth of that amount." Seeing the weasel's eats drop and angered glare, he quickly added, "I will surely return the rest after the war of course."

"And if you lose your life fighting the Southards?" Skuli quizzed. "You see, anything could happen in war, and I would definitely desire to have some sort of guarantee."

"You need not worry, merchant," the otterking responded quite affectionately as he sipped his Parman damson wine. As was stated in our new contract, the next Lord of Kaldos would have the responsibility of repaying my debts, whoever that might be."

"What happened to 'my heir-general'?" Skuli continued to ask.

"I don't think I'm departing all of my territories in one piece," Erlend explained. "Sigurd gets Kaldos and Thordan gets Thavnair. You should call your boy back to you before I pop my clogs. Triel will not welcome your kind, and for him death would be better than the other things that they can do."

"Where are you headed to in the meantime?" Skuli asked his third consecutive question. He was an inquisitive beast, even compared to his son across the Sound, though Erlend was a willing answerer.

"Back to Triel. My sons will hold Dravania, and I will enact my duties as Duke of Thavnair. Triel needs me almost as much as I need Triel, and I have a personal score to settle against my brother and his so-called king."

"Very well. Here's the moment when you say something about hearts and minds, hmm?" Skuli asked sarcastically.

"Correct."

For the briefest of seconds, Skuli saw a phantom smile appear on the otterking's muzzle.

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"I, Lord Mestwin of Worrad, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair and Lord of Vargo and Kaldos. He and no other."

Lord Niels watched as the fifth elector cast his vote. So far, one vote was for Lord Valdemar Crestworth and two were for Erlend Swalestrom. One squirrel elector voted for himself, and Bernhard of Lorsa somehow thought it prudent to vote for Niels of all beasts.

The Parmans have long claimed dominion over the entirety of the Southern Realms, and Triel and Southsward are subservient to them, at least in theory. For the sake of safer trade, the other two kingdoms are independent de jure as well as de facto, but Parman legitimacy still hold true.

The beast on the Parman throne will surely be the one to solve this Trielo-Southard War. Valdemar will throw his weight behind Floret, and Erlend does not bother to hide his intentions, and a foreigner to boot. The future of the world lies in the balance of these very seven fools.

The Swalestroms shall never be Parman kings.

"I, Lady Lorelei of Vargo, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair, and Lord of Vargo and Kaldos. He and no other."

Lorelei cast her vote for her husband, which was no surprise for anyone within the room. The queen returned to her seat at the left of the room, ignoring Lord Valdemar's wrathful glare.

The Skywards and Crestworths have been feuding for more than a century, and the death of the last male Skyward has not brought an end to it. Born a Crestworth but raised by Thordan Skyward, Niels was put in an awkward situation. He cannot serve either house without betraying someone who trusts him, so he decides to take a third-option and serve the realm instead.

After the first election yielded no clear victor, Niels had no choice but to call another one. He was starting to get used to the awful business of ruling an entire kingdom while the second round shall yield no result, just like the first one. Otto Crestworth will not simply vote for the husband of the last surviving Skyward.

"I, Grandmaster Otto of the Shieldbrothers, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Valdemar, Lord of Doma."

The Shieldbrothers were an anomaly in a realm of lords and mayors. While lords inherited their position and leaders of free cities were chosen from one amongst themselves, the beasts sworn to defend Parma were always a special case.

To be a Shieldbrother, one must swear to take no wife and father no children, and to never betray Parma and her king. The organisation put Otto Crestworth (not to be confused with his more royal grandfather of the same name) at its head due to Crestworth prestige, and he did not betray their expectations. Getting another vote on the Electoral Council was merely a slight bonus.

Yet another round with no king. One can say anything about Erlend or Valdemar, but Parma needs a king as soon as possible. The majority of the Parman lords desire a weak king - one that will not interfere in their affairs.

In their eyes, Valdemar Crestworth was not an option. He was efficient, yes, but he has too much of his father within him. Erlend Swalestrom might be yielding, but his loyalties lay with Triel - a fact that the Parmans will not accept. Besides, electing Erlend would see Parma and Southsward at odds once more.

Niels stepped up from his seat. "As no candidate for the kingship could gain a majority of at least four votes, there is still no king yet. A third round of elections will be called."

This does not help in any matters at all! They would simply fail to choose a king, and the whole thing repeats itself once more. No! Something must be done!

"If the next election shall yield no result, all seven Electors will be locked within this shrine until a candidate is found and selected!"

"What? You cannot do this, Lord Niels!" Lord Valdemar was clearly puzzled. "We need all the time we need to select a perfect candidate, with no one better to take his place!"

"On the contrary, Lord Valdemar," Queen Lorelei spoke as she gestured at Lord Valdemar and the Grandmaster. "As I remember, my father, the late King Thordan II, left explicit orders to appoint Lord Niels, your uncle, to the office of Royal Vicar, performing all the duties of a king during an interregnum. Now a king cannot be found - we are not yet in agreement. Now, Lord Niels desires a true, ruling king, as does all of us. We indeed require a king, and we need him fast."

Lord Mestwin Worrad spoke up. "Locking us in here may seem like an unsightly option, but I will do what I must for a king." The mouselord continued, "I agree with Lord Niels' motion for these measures, extreme they may be."

Grandmaster Otto spoke next. "Parma cannot have a king unacceptable to her people. It is indeed a luxury to choose our kings, so we will have to do naught but to find time for a king who would do nothing for himself and everything for Parma. If we are to sacrifice our liberty temporarily to ensure a truly Parman king, it will be done."

Seeing glances of approval from all seven Electors, Niels declared,"It is settled then. My lords, you may return to your residences while you await a third election within the next two weeks." Hearing this, the Electors stood up and walked out of the door.

Only Lorelei of Vargo smiled when she exited the double doors of the shrine. Niels returned the smile, until he remembered that he will owe her a favour - a favour that will be called in very shortly.

A favour that could keep Parma inside Skyward paws.

He then put his paw up onto his face, covering it completely, finally catching on to his small mistake which shall lead to consequences which are by no means small.

DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Bertil watched with Lord Sverker while the besieging troops started leaving all of a sudden.

"They're leaving." Lord Sverker said for the umpteenth time as fires were put out, and anchors brought up from the boundless deep. He was always prone to staying the obvious, but he was not a dull beast at all, having a penchant for dry humour and irony. His capabilities do show up in other places, including when his father's city is under siege by their traditional enemies.

The otterlord continued. "It isn't like Thordan for him to just leave like that. His father would negotiate first, and so would his grandfather. Something must have happened to Thordan."

"My Lord, shall I give the order to pursue?" Bertil asked. "The Islanders are not prepared for an attack, and not a single beast is located in their defensive trenches." It was the perfect time to strike, and the meddlesome lord can perhaps be finally brought down. To be fair, Bertil liked the lordling - he actually treated the hedgehog rather well during his last visit. A pity he had to go.

"No. We remain in Doma." Seeing Bertil's visible confusion, Lord Sverker added, "Lord Thordan could be setting a trap for us. My duty here is to defend Doma during my father's absence, and not to hunt down enemy forces equivalent in size. To pursue is to go against my orders. We let them go."

"In the meantime, you get a mission of your own." Lord Sverker handed a folded and sealed envelope to the hedgehog. "Take this to my father. This letter should tell him to only go for Meraholmer if he obtains the Parman throne. If anyone else gets the crown, our own holdings are in danger of revocation."

Bertil nodded. Impulsiveness doomed Lord Canute, but his grandson sees fit to play a long game. But he remains oblivious to the fact that this game quickly increases in both pace and magnitude, and that there is still no lord of the whorl to carry the weight of the world.

From Fear to Fortitude

VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

By the time they pursuit ended, Denebas' unit had captured no less than fifteen soldiers.

He knew not how many his beasts had slain, of course, being crossbowbeasts. Skirmishers like them were usually deployed at the beginning of battles like this, then used to search for a fleeing enemy, or to slow down a pursuing force. They never knew if their bolts struck true, but loosing towards amassed beasts usually meant that that was indeed the case.

After making sure his captives were secure, Denebas rushed back to congratulate his brother - only to find that he was in no mood for congratulations. Guiding his spear through another squirrel, he turned to look at his brother. Deneb quickly drew his rapier (still kept from the incident back at Raevsvakt) and hastily joined his brother.

But there was no course for alarm. Nearby on the battlefield, a certain axe and its wielder was blazing into enemy lines. Tearing his axe out of one foe, King Garmund blocked a blow from a hare, and slid his paw forward, so that the hare's sword was trapped under the king's arm. Another strike from the axe saw the hare's head fly away from his body, long ears and all.

Denebas always had problems with punctuality, but this was never a normal situation. Rapiers were never good against armoured opponents, like the mangled mess on the ground. Lord Bedric fought hard and well against the Trielians, but superior tactics and strategies always triumph over raw bravery and impulsiveness. Deneb pitied him.

His Jaysian sabre lay beside him, a lonely thing tent away from its wielder. Jaysians compensates their poor iron quality with high calibre forging skills, and they were highly prized in the islands. Here, however, it was but some object that failed to cut apart the lightest of plate armour within one strike. Add to its troubles a lack of stabbing ability, it can even be called worse than a rapier. Against the average soldier though, it was effective - and brutally so.

Around the fallen otterlord allay a ring of bodies clad in red - all guards that tried and failed to retrieve his corpse. Their loyalty to their lord and master was admirable (for Denebas and perhaps his brother too), but they had better causes for loyalty - namely, Triel.

The battle was swiftly over. When Bedric and the now absconded General Ralos charged into the Trielian line, they found that their defenses have been stronger than they first expected. The Southards began to waver, first in a trickle, then in a flood of flesh and fur. Only Bedric's suicidal charge was able to stop King Garmund from giving the order to pursue. Before long, the brothers could finally get a rest after two hours of continuous fighting.

"You fought well, brother." Altayras praised. "It appears that you have captured a few soldiers."

"Think nothing of it, brother. You killed one of the traitorous Lord Becker's sons! That I don't think I could do." Deneb gushed.

"Well, as Duke of Burelas, I had to serve my king in all ways possible."

"And as your younger brother, I get to serve you!"

Altayras twitched. "Speaking of which, I have failed to thank you properly for saving me in Raevsvakt."

Denebas shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll get a lot of chances to repay the favour later. I may be far away from you, but I fight so that you don't have to."

Altayras shook his head. "I am just afraid we cannot save each other when the time comes for one of us to ... you know, perish."

"Perish? You really are afraid of the d-word, are you? I thought I was the cowardly one, but if you are well and truly scared of a word, you would need to harden yourself, and fast!" Deneb jokes, earning a weird look from his brother.

"Stop it." Despite his mostly serious tone, Altayras' voice hid an ounce of humour within.

"So what are you going to do now?" Altayras asked his brother. "King Garmund ordered us to rest for a few days before we march to reunite with Somerled and his own host."

"Oh? I'm going to write back to sister."

"Can I help in any way? I intend to pay a visit to your camp of prisoners later." Seeing Denebas' surprises glare, he quickly added, "I'm not going to torture them or anything! I'm just going to ask a few questions."

"Well, somebeast has to keep you from exploding with rage, so allow me to tag along." Deneb replied. "I will do my best to help you!"

Altayras quickly flourished a grin. "Thanks!"

EASTERN PARMAN SEA

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Southern Realms, another set of brothers (with the exact same temperaments) are not getting along not as well as the squirrels.

Lord Lorcan knew that being stuck in some sea smack-dab in the middle of nowhere was not good for one's mood, but Alfyn was clearly fuming after almost a month at sea.

'Fuming' was actually an understatement. Like any good Trielian lord, his brother thrived in battle - Raevsvakt served as a testament to his usual method of problem solving. When you have to be restrained from violence from vermin, you know something is odd.

Alfyn did not savour violence, unlike some other beasts Lorcan knew. But the euphoric sensation of charging into battle is one that Lorcan would never enjoy. During the last meeting of him and Lord Thordan (which was at Avelyn's wedding), he asked Lorcan to keep an eye on his brother, like any elder brother would do.

But Lorcan was merely older than Alfyn for about a mere ten minutes, and Alfyn simply was not content to be under his guiding paw for long. He was, as Lord Erlend would say, a loose catapult, perfectly content to do things is own way, and wilfully ignorant of what others expect of him.

When tensions flared once more amongst the two brothers, Lorcan did nothing as his brother moved from the flagship to one of the cogs. The Boundless may have got its name for its great speed, but a smaller ship moved faster as per the laws of physics (which Lorcan knew well). It shall seem that Alfyn was that interested in seeking excitement from the destruction of his enemies.

An arrow embedded itself within the door of Lorcan's cabin, bearing with it a message hastily scribbled on a piece of paper. Clearly surprised, Lorcan untied the string holding it together, and happened across Alfyn's signature pawwriting, if one could even call it that.

Dear Brother,

Lord Erlend Swalestrom is on my ship. He requests to be let on your ship, as he has a really important message to tell you.

P.S. All right, I will come too.

Regards,

Lord Alfyn Stalwart, Heir to the Trielian Otterguard

This may be bad, thought Lorcan. If Erlend's here, what he has to tell us is mostly unfortunate news.

It was about a quarter of an hour before Erlend was able to board onto the Boundless. This was the first time Lorcan saw him in full armour and with his spear, confirming Lorcan's suspicion.

"It is not usual for you to carry your spear into a brief conversation, Lord Erlend." Lorcan stated your observation.

Erlend pointed at his weapon. "I need Heavensward here for a reason."

When Thordan of Parma gifted this spear to his new son-in-law, it came with this name. Erlend thought of named weapons as an unnecessary concept at first, though he has grown to like it The spear was taller than its wielder, as spears tended to be, but the spear was made of meteoric iron, and the hooks on the tip (obviously for trapping other weapons and removing armour) proved it was forged by a true master.

"Lord Swalestrom - also known as my brother - has a fleet that has just been sighted. He is careening towards us at a steady pace. Battle will be joined within days."

Alfyn's eyes revealed his long-lost enthusiasm while Lorcan's face remained impassive. He knew that he had come for reinforcing Erlend's sons. One of them was his brother-in-law, while he was involved in raising the other. They needed all the help they can get, and that meant battle.

Yet Lorcan never expected to find battle before finding Thordan or Sigurd. He would have to rush in and rush out. He did read a lot about ships, and at least he could tell 'starboard' from 'larboard', or 'port' as the younger generations called it.

While there were many factors to fighting on land, naval warfare always manages to get more complicated than its terrestrial counterpart. Even the slightest wind could decide everything. I wish Alfyn was in command. He actually fought before, so surely he would know what to do.

It was no more than two hours before the Southard ships emerged into view. We may be prepared for battle, but our beasts are exhausted. This could go either way.

He knew that the Southards are preparing their own well-rested yet surprised beasts, and by the time his Trielians got to them they will be ready, and armed to the teeth. He would have to play safe.

"Tell all paws on every deck to slowly retreat, but not to let the Southards get out of view." A herald passed this information to the rowers down below.

Trielians usually used vermin-pulled slave galleys for marine travel, but within the last five seasons Lorcan has received advice from King Winchell of Jayso (who was also a Trielian vassal as Duke of Obring) to recruit sailors from woodlanders, just to be on the safe side and prevent incessant mutiny. King Garmund has also received reports on the relative efficiency of hired, professional woodlander rowers as compared to slaves. Where the king got this information from, Lorcan knew not, though all evidence points to the Parmans and their surprising ability to tolerate even the most unsightly of vermin. Alfyn had informed his brother that King Thordan oof Parma was in active contact with a sable-furred fox - adding more cause of suspicion towards Triel's neighbour across the already narrow Obring Strait.

The Southards may not be prepared for a battle - Erlend's only purpose was to lure them to sea of their choosing - but Becker is a wily and resourceful beast like his brother. After all, snakes are more suited to aquatic environments than foxes.

As if on cue, the Southards were quick to call for a parley session. Erlend's Parman vessel quickly hurried on his way, stating that King Garmund was waiting for him, as was his Thavnairese troops, who were without a leader for now.

King Garmund must have engaged the Southards by now, Lorcan thought. What happens on the border, I will know later.

"Tell Lord Becker that we will not attempt parley. Peaceful negotiation is not an option when dealing with traitors."

Now, this is our fight. My fight.

DUSKAI, DUCHY OF OBRING, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

Two fiefs, two realms.

Winchell Baleblood ruled over a Kingdom and a Duchy, but both were subservient to other kingdoms. No chance of independence from both of them.

His father with the same name had at least tried to wrest the Jayso Isles from Parman control, but Thordan of Parma soon put an end to these plans by an alliance with Triel, intimidating him back into line, and ensuring that his father would waste the gold used to fund his navy - the navy that he will now use.

Winchell had been Duke of Obring from ten seasons prior due to his mother's death. The Six Duchies of Triel are shared equally between mice, squirrels and otters, and the two of the same species were always rivals, with only no more than four exceptions within Triel's four hundred seasons of history.

Limse and Gridain were the mice duchies. Unlike the other two, they are not hostile towards each other - mostly due to the fact that Gridain was in the paws of King Garmund's eldest son, granted to him by his mother's untimely death three seasons previously. Duke Randyll would not dare revive old rivalries - especially if it means gaining royal emnity.

Burelas and Deilart - those two were very different stories. Deilart was Trielian long before Winchell was born, but Borellian acquisition led to two centuries of on and off warfare, causing the dukes to embrace a never-ending struggle. Duke Somerled may have allowed peace with his western neighbour by his daughter's betrothal, but anything could happen.

Thavnair and Obring did not border each other - they opposed each other due to the last two duchesses marrying a set of Parman rivals. Winchell may have only been crowned a year before, but the succession was still unclear - his sister's son should clearly be overshadowed by his grandson, but Eliska won the right to marry Thordan's elder grandson via tournament, causing Winchell much distress.

Konrad (or Corrado, depending on the translation) Truetide (not to be confused with his father) is just a boy of five, but he is Thordan's great-grandson and eventual heir, and Winchell cannot simply let him receive his forefathers' land - the land they have fought to prevent from falling into Parman paws.

The other option was Garrion Swalestrom, or his younger brother. The loss of one nephew complicated things slightly, yes, but one of the others would have to do. They would have no problem opening up a second front against the Trielians, and the Jaysian navy could change the war in their direction.

Finishing his will, Winchell quickly stamped his seal on the letter. Both Jayso and Obring were in good paws (if not safe paws), and Garrion would be his successor in both territories. Being the last of the male-line Balebloods was quite a complication, but naming him a surrogate son would convince the Jaysian nobles to accept Garrion.

A shout emerged from the door to his solar, and another soon followed. Winchell's ears perked up, and his heartbeat was heard more clearly than ever before in his life.

Then the door was opened, revealing a black-furred vulpine figure, holding a crossbow with both his paws. A whizzing sound was emitted by the weapon, and King Winchell of Jayso felt only a small prick when the quarrel entered his abdomen.

He tried to scream, but found out that he had not the strength to do so. Instead, he simply keeled over as his eyesight darkened, like a proper deadbeast would do.

The last thing he ever heard was the fox saying something he couldn't quite discern, and the sound of paper burning.

Blood for Blood

VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

When Bodvar saw the two squirrels, he knew that he was getting into more trouble than what was expected.

For one, he had tried to crush the lanky one's head with a mace, so he knew that something serious was heading towards him. He had only learnt of the squirrel's identity hours after his defeat - he had almost killed a (rather high ranking) noble, and the consequences can be much more severe than killing commoners.

He only had his paws bound - if Bodvar had laid a paw on the muscular squirrel, the results would have been much, much worse for the otter. While Denebas was a naive, bright boy, new to the world of battle, Altayras Burelas took to war like a fish to a stream. Borellers were warriors, he knew, and submitting to Triel voluntarily took no toll on their spirits.

He had succeeded in taking exactly no enemy lives - a toll not befitting for a captain of the Otterguard, and he has lost Lord Bedric in the chaos of fighting. At least he knew that General Ralos has escaped successfully with most of the beasts under him - not doubt remaining a thorn in the tail for the Trielians.

His brother was with him, so Bodvar assumed that he is now safe. I wonder how Birger is doing. Better than me, I suppose.

He did much better the last time he had went to war. The beasts from Greymorg were close to killing him a few times, though his comrades were able to drag him back from the grave, and he was able to repay the favour a few times. Of course, facing a few vermin was one thing, but facing a disciplined army of woodlanders was another. The ability to keep and create cohesion was a critical factor in open battle, and the Trielians were masters of this craft.

The two squirrels were of course trying to get him to reveal any secrets about future Southard operations, but judging by the lack of any instruments of torture nearby, the Borellers were clearly not intending to do any lasting damage to him. Then what on earth will they try to do to my mind?

The burly squirrel spoke first. "I am Duke Altayras Burelas of Triel. I will be in charge of the extract of information from you. You're a Captain, right?"

"So what if I am? I can't tell you anything. Not because I am not allowed to, but well... I simply have no idea. I haven't seen my superiors since the battle." That, at least, was completely true.

The younger brother quickly tugged his brother's arm and whispered in his ear. An agonising minute passed before Altayras opened his mouth once more. "Very well. We here will ask four questions. After you have responded to two of our questions, you get to ask one of your own. Do not attempt to deceive us - we have ways to tell truth from lie. Is that clear?"

Bodvar quickly nodded as the younger squirrel asked his first question. During his training as a soldier, Bodvar was told to only give his name and rank - nothing more. But Borellers are sticklers for honour, and if I can convince them to trade information... never mind that they get four questions and he only two.

"What is your name?"

Bodvar expected the first question. In his training days, the first question an enemy would ask was always about his personal identity.

"Bodvar Waycaster. Captain Bodvar Waycaster."

Without giving any reaction to Bodvar's answer, the elder brother asked his own question. "What do you expect we will do to you?"

This was a hard question indeed. Bodvar stuttered a bit before he managed to blurt out a coherent sentence. "I think that you would like to torture me for information, obtain information that may or may not be true, and proceed to torture me for fun."

Denebas looked confusingly at his brother, who returned the exact glare. "It is your turn to ask now," the younger gray-furred squirrel said.

"What happened to Lord Bedric?" he blurted out. Drat! I shouldn't have wasted one of my questions like that so easily! They would tell me this later to break my spirit - or something similar to that.

"Oh..." Lord Altayras seemed to be more than slightly embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

"Some idiot soldier who was lazing behind the battlefield got him with a spear." Denebas piped while his brother glared at him. Then he asked another question.

"What..." Denebas smiled as Bodvar's ears tensed up, clearly anticipating some question that would pry vital information.

"What is your favourite colour?"

"B-Blue. Oh wait. Green! Green!"

All of a sudden, Altayras grabbed Bodvar by the neck and hoisted him into the air, eyes burning with rage. "SO IS IT BLUE OR GREEN?"

"Green! Green!" Bodvar screamed.

Denebas giggled while his brother's snout showed the beginnings of a phantasmic smile. This is not going well for me. I wonder what Birger would say.

"Final question!" Denebas openly grinned. Oh no.

"Whatisthecapitalofparmabeforetheskywardsbecamekings?" Denebas rushed.

"What?"

"Denebas! You spoke too dear guest cannot hear you."\

"Sorry." Denebas spoke again, much slower this time. "What is the capital of Parma before the Skywards became kings?"

"I don't know that!" Bodvar replied. If you ask me about history of foreign countries, do not expect me to provide a good answer!

"Hmm..." Altayras then said, with an almost downright evil grin on his face. "If you cannot answer this question, you don't get to ask your own. Farewell."

"Then what's the point of all this? You don't expect me to know all of this, do you?"

"I expected Lord Bedric to." The elder squirrel clamly answered. "You hesitated before listing out your colour, so you are not a beast given to your own opinions. However, you don't know the answer of the third question, so you are not that well educated - concluding that you are not close with Lord Bedric. Grilling you for more questions will be an exercise in futility. Consider yourslef on probation."

Denebas chimed in once more. "For now, at least. And pray that we will not return!" Smiling devilishly, he turned and made his way towards another of many prisoners.

Bodvar stared at them with his mouth agape as they exited the tent.

MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Garrion woke up underground. Well, that was what seemed like.

Catapults may not hit a thousand pawsteps by a two hundred pound projectile, but they can do a lot of damage. As if falling for such a distance was not enough, he was buried under a pile of rubble as tall as a shrew (which was much more menacing when you are buried underneath it).

He was inspecting one of the towers when the rock hit. As his father expected, the fort was almost immediately besieged by Somerled of Deilart, the Lord who called himself a king. Ridiculed as a pretender by the whole of Southsward, Garrion had to agree that 'King Somerled' was the Trielians' sick idea of a joke.

After their first parley session went up in smoke (almost literally, Garrion would like to add), the False King was not in any way inclined to pull any punches.

His brother Bedric charged blindly into battle and perished as a result, a fifth of Floret has been burned to the ground, and he was trapped underneath what he was supposed to protect.

There was a sound coming from above, caused by the scraping of metal and rock. Garrion could do nothing as the noise became louder and louder yet. His eyelids clenched shut, and he braced for an impact with a Trielian soldier awaiting a trouvaille.

That impact never came. When light finally seeped into his eyes, two tall and muscular otters were staring at him.

"Sir! Captain Evran! We've found 'im!"

More and more beasts converged, all wearing crimson Otterguard uniforms, pulling away rock and stone. Before long, Garrion was being carried away on a stretcher. An armpaw and a footpaw were broken, but his internal organs were mostly unharmed - certainly a miracle that there were no signs of bleeding, external or internal.

Yet another miracle was that Deilart had been forced back by a surprise attack by some Swordbeasts, returning from Ralos' ill-fated southward strike. Of course, Lord Somerled will be licking his wounds and making another attempt at an assault, but his chances have been soundly reduced, and he would have to retreat to preserve the integrity of his whole army sooner or later.

Fort Macolt was the penultimate gateway to Floret, with Fort Riddian being the last line before the very capital was breached. Floret had only been taken by trickery, stealth and voluntary submission before - and never by force or storm.

Besieging Macolt was a good idea, and both Garrion and his father expected that to happen. Lord Becker Swalestrom always warned his sons of underestimating their opponents, and warned Garrion that 'Somerled is no fool'.

Assaulting Macolt, however, was not a scheme as bright as the former. Lord Somerled may be no fool, but he somehow is edging himself towards becoming one. Perhaps he believed that the fort would be under-garrisoned, or that the only way to break Floret's lines of communications was to take the stronghold fast. Of course, a more logical explanation would be that the squirrel lord acted upon his impulses once more.

He shouted to one of his bodyguards. "Do you remember who the two that saved me were?"

He heard a few turning of pages, then a response from some inaccessible place.

"Ah, yes! Otters, both of them were. Galen Snowpath and Dirk Tillwaters. They join'd the Otterguard from the bounty huntin' business, and are now currently in the field."

"Carry me to them now. I wish to meet them."

THE SOUND

Lord Becker has received no communication since the day he and his force set sail, so he did not expect the Trielians so far way from Arnet. He originally wanted to stall for a bit of time, but the opposing side clearly knew what was planned.

It was not natural for a lord to reject an attempt at parley. And Lord Lorcan Stalwart must have known this. Older than his brother by no more than an hour, Becker's opponent must barely younger than twenty-two seasons, and was quite a bibliophile. A scholar in a line of warriors. An anomaly. An aberration.

But Becker knew that no Trielian should be underestimated. After all, he is strong in body and mind alike, and he must have brought his twin here.

Alfyn Stalwart was one of the first beasts to locate and rescue Thordan Swalestrom, so he will not be like the beast he saved. He is more martial than his brother, and defeating the duo will not be easy.

Going for Meraholmer and Thordan seemed as easy as turning a paw, but the Trielians seemed to foresee every move he made. He had only told Godred about his plans, so either the Trielians have spies of the highest caliber, Godred failed to keep his mouth shut (which was quite ironic, considering Lord Becker's own difficulty) or the Trielians were just that lucky. Judging by their scrambled reaction for battle, Becker would say that the third possibility was true.

Thordan Swalestrom was no threat. Becker knew that without having to guess. During the boy's stay at Floret about three seasons prior, Becker (not-so-silently) watched him crawl away from every single problem rather than to face it, and sticking his muzzle into the nearest book he could find. Only himself and Bedric were able to coax him out.

Truth be told, he was not really that bad, considering his parentage. His mother was the son of one of the most unscrupulous kings in living memory (and was too similar to himself for comfort) and a wily, conniving Parman herself, and his father was... Becker would not go there.

There were times when Lord Becker thought him the key for Triel to drop her claim over Southsward. Being next in line to the Duchy of Thavnair, Thordan would bend at the slightest of pressures, either from Becker or his sons. Not that he would be a bad ruler on his own, but having a biddable kinsbeast as one of Triel's bulwarks would certainly be a great boon for Southsward and her population.

Of course, things went awry the moment Young Thordan was made Lord of Meraholmer.

Lord Canute Crestworth decided to 'nip the problem in the bud' without consulting Becker, and he paid the ultimate price for it. Having access to both sides of Southsward coupled with a genuine chance of obtaining the throne of Parma meant that Thordan Swalestrom was to become a great thorn in the tail for Becker and Southsward, whether he wanted to or not.

He had to be neutralised in some way or the other.

Of course, he never told King Gideon about his own thoughts. The last time this happened, his liege sent an assassin at King Thordan, only letting Becker know after he was ordered to incite Triel into war. Thordan was dead before the assassin even got close to him, and Becker could not risk being responsible for the death of his namesake, or Erlend would make sure that his brother would perish slowly.

And probably in great pain as well. If I lost any child of mine to the Trielians, I would do the exact same thing.

He snapped from his musings and walked out of his cabin. Tales have been told after every single sea battle of old - death and injury, and the waters stained red in gore and blood. But Becker cared not for these. His beasts were ready to die for their kingdom.

And so am I.

Under the Weight

INGOLPART, KINGDOM OF JAYSO, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"Do you, or do you swear to defend your realm?"

"I swear." Corradino didn't know what was said to him,but at least he knew how to respond.

Being only a boy of five seasons, one might wonder what business the otter had when he swore the first of three oaths. Such an important task was not left to children, after all. But the most desperate of times create the most desperate of beasts, and Corradino was needed here.

'Corradino' means 'little Corrado' in Garlean, and the boy's father and namesake watched approvingly as his son swore the first of the three customary oaths when a Jaysian king is crowned. Winchell II, second and last King of Jayso of the Baleblood line, lay dead at the paws of an unknown assailant, and dying unmourned was to be the last of a series of misfortunes the otherwise unremarkable king had to endure.

His mother Eliska was not as warm as her wife. After all, she had to put on a bold, dramatic face when she had to read out the oaths for her son. Winchell's only child, Lady Eliska Baleblood always had a poor relationship with her father, which was not helped by her swift marriage to Corrado, the grandson of the King's sworn enemy - High King Thordan of Parma.

"Do you, or do you swear to defend your subjects?" the highborn otterwife bellowed out.

"I swear." Another oath was said in Jaysian. Corradino only had the most rudimentary grasp on Jaysian, as the tongue of the Islanders was not related to any other in the vicinity. Triel and Parma may just be on the archipelago's two sides, but Jaysian showed no similarities with Obrinska or Garlean, and Trielo-Southard was a far cry compared to this tongue. Being a foreigner, King Winchell was very much surprised to hear that a simple toast of ale required the use of five syllables.

Perhaps not surprisingly, King Winchell was not well liked by anyone from Jayso, his sister Anzeka being the sole exception. The young otterpup in front of his mother had quite a poor impression of his grandfather. I don't like him. He's always mean to Mother, and says unkind things behind Father's back. I wish he was Great-Grandpa. He always smiled.

Corradino was shaken from his inner thoughts by his mother, who shouted aloud the third oath. He didn't need to know what it meant in Jaysian.

"I swear."

A mouse that he did not know stepped up, wearing the finest silk bearing a sword made of the finest of steel. Corradino knew that it was Stormblood, the legendary weapon of the Jaysian kings, wielded by every single one. Though it was used here as a ceremonial weapon, it had been proven to be deadly in battle as well.

"Then accept this sword through the paws of those who fight, who unworthy, yet consecrated by the authority of the rights bestowed on us, impart it to you by divine ordinance for the defence of the realm. Pursue the false and the unfaithful, help and defend widows and orphans, restore those things which have fallen into decay and maintain those things thus restored, avenge injustice and confirm good dispositions, that doing this, you may be glorious in the triumph of justice and may reign until the end of a long life."

The young king brandished the sword (with considerable difficulty due to his youth) for the cheering crowd, not once or twice, but three times, one for every oath he swore. A squirrel, clearly less well-groomed than the mouse, held in his paws a golden sceptre, and handed it to the king.

"Accept this rod of virtue and equity from the paws of those who work. Learn to respect the brave and to intimidate the coward; guide the straying; lend a paw to the fallen; repress the arbitrary and raise the just, and fill the hearts of your subjects with wisdom."

Then came the apex of the whole ceremony. A golden crown was brought forth from the crowd, with numerous images of previous kings etched of the whitest of enamel. Jaysian royal power came to be represented not simply by any common crown, but by just one specific object: the Crown of King Istvan. Legend dictates that any usurper that claimed it were fated to die within a single season, as it is the personal property of the long-dead Founder of the kingdom - possibly a story fabricated to ward off anybeast who coveted these isles.

Jaysian kings are accepted only on three conditions, and being coronated with King Istvan's crown was one of them. The other two dictated that the king was always to be crowned at Ingolpart Shrine, and by the Palatine of Jayso, who in this case was (rather conveniently) the king's father. The document that conferred him this title may have been of dubious legality, but he was always quick to seize control of the realm in disarray.

This also meant that the Kingdom of Jayso was a special state: they were not looking for a crown to inaugurate a king, but rather, they were looking for a king for the crown. Corradino of Garlesca was a child, and it would take more than a decade before he would reach his majority. It is most definitely in the interest of local nobles for the Garlean boy to ascend to the throne. Never before had a king so young sat on the Jaysian throne - two were ten when they were crowned, but as the Jaysians say, 'five is right out'.

The other choices were Garrion and Godred Swalestrom, grown otters who have been known to be headstrong and loyal to Southsward. In his last will, Winchell declared Garrion his successor, though its legality has been successfully disputed by his daughter. Holed up in Macolt and unable to move to Jayso, Garrion was quickly denied as a possibility. The Duchy of Obring has declared for Garrion, though as a Trielian vassal state, it would not be likely for him to accede.

Corrado the father decided that it would be time to play his part in the extravagant ceremony. "Be steadfast and hold fast to that place of which you have become heir by succession from your forefathers, and let your right paw be strengthened and your left paw be exalted. Let justice and judgment be the foundations of your throne and mercy and truth go before your face."

The father then put the crown onto the son's head carefully, so that the its weight would not be too uncomfortable for the boy. Even then, Corradino needed much effort to keep his posture upright - crowns were heavy objects, and this one was four and a half pounds - not light in any sense of the word.

The moment the crown was set on Corradino's head, the beasts standing below the stage, noble and commoner alike, shouted aloud, chanting the traditional phrase used since three centuries prior to this day.

"Life!"

"Health!"

"Happiness!"

"Victory!"

The loudness quite obviously startled the young king, though his mother was able to keep him calm after a few whispers into his ear.

After a few moments in the shrine, during which the cheering grew softer and softer, Corradino was led up to a hill, built up from soil from every single island. Drawing Stormblood from the sheath (again with a small struggle), the newly enthroned King of Jayso pointed the weapon towards the four cardinal directions - an act of symbolism to protect his kingdom from all four sides - which again drew cheers from the ever-growing crowd.

The next few moments passed exactly like a sharp gust of wind. After swearing once more to protect his realm and all it holds, Corradino was quickly marched back to the castle to receive the homage of all of his subjects. Noble and peasant alike came to greet him - a child can surely do no harm to anyone, can't he?

Then came the feast. Corradino sat between his parents as dish after dish was served to him. Shrimp and hootroot soup came first - a favourite dish of every otter. Corradino's soup was heavily diluted with the soup before having it served to him. After having everything tested for poison and other harmful substances (which took way too long, Corradino thought) he finally was able to taste it. It was not as good as what he had heard. Perhaps one day I'll be able to try the real thing!

The other soup Corradino liked much more. Fish, baby scallops, clams, shrimps, mussels and squid were mixed together in a tomato broth, and garlic, pepper and sea salt were swiftly added afterwards. Having never had anything like this back in Garlesca, Corrado took his first sip. More followed swiftly, and the whole bowl was empty within the span of a few minutes. Two more bowls were downed before Lady Eliska stopped him from procuring a surfeit of soup.

Bread and pies came next, and Corradino savoured every mouthful. Then came larger courses, like woodpigeons and fish, some of which Corradino never seen the likes of, and he tore into them with gusto. The Garlean penchant for food and more food was only surpassed with wine and more wine, though the child was barred from drinking more than a small goblet.

Dessert came last, as was customary. Beasts carved out of marizpan, woodlander and vermin alike, supported another marzipan structure - one molded into the exact shape of the crown Corradino wore just hours previously. All sense of discipline was quickly tossed into some corner invisible to anyone else as the otterpup tore into the strcuture.

After a night of ceremony and celebrations, the young king could finally cast of his heavy coronation robes, and get a good night of sleep.

Infancy had just ended for Corradino.

EASTERN PARMAN SEA

In little more than a thousand hours, Thordan gained a lordship, lost and regained the very same title, lost his grandfather, and was leading a military force for the first time in his life.

Now was not the time to have excessively vivid nightmares, but here he was.

He was standing on some kind of disk, with the areas near the fringe surrounded by many smaller circles (thirteen, Thordan counted), and the proper edge was coated with a golden ring.

But there was only one thing Thordan was interested in. Not a thing per se, but a beast.

He (probably a male, anyway) had all the distinguishing features of an otter. A tall, slender body, four webbed paws, and a strong, powerful rudder that can knock a beast over - like Canute Crestworth did back in Raevsvakt about two months before. He looked young, and a few ottermaids would easily fall for him - if he was still alive, of course.

"At last, I've found you."

Thordan flinched. That voice was familiar. He had been hearing it for the better part of two weeks, and it had finally grown to a coherent form three days ago. "Turn back," it sounded before. "Win or lose, you cannot be victorious if you are hindered in Doma."

Seeing Thordan's panicked reaction, the lutrine figure shifted his posture, to assuage the young lord that he was no threat. "Please! There is no cause for alarm! Though, I confess, that I have not expected to meet you here, of all places. But the place of our meeting is of no consequence - like the war we - no. Like the war you wage." The voice echoed around the plane, loud and clear, but Thordan was clearly not interested in these formalities.

The figure continued. "The better path leads you here. To me. I have need of you."

"Who are you?" The usual question when encountering unknown figures was uttered softly.

"I am afraid such questions would have to wait. We have precious little time, and your work is not yet done, as well as mine. We have barely bonded to the point that you can see me. I would simply say that I am a comrade of Isangrim."

"None of this makes any sense."

"None of this has to," the figure countered. "All you have to do is to sail westward."

"But Raevsavakt is in the other direction! What do you want me to do? FIrst you tell me to turn away from Parma, then you tell me not to defend my lordship! You have no idea what's at stake here! You have to send me back! Now!" Thordan snapped agitatedly.

"You have to see your father for the last time before everything starts to unravel. Adulthood has just begun for you, Thordan Swalestrom, and every single trickle of time must be cherished. It is etched."

He continued, "You simply cannot be crushed under the weight of knowledge, cursed or not. You will know who I am soon, and then you will be glad that you know. But now, we shall go towards the same destination using separate paths."

Before Thordan or the otter could speak another world, a crack suddenly manifested in the disk. It spread outwards and outwards, until everything started to burst apart, sending both otters flying into different directions.

Thordan's eyelids detached from each other when he sprung from the bed. Getting back to sleep will not be an easy task, he sighed as he lay down again, awaiting a more pleasant dream.

Childhood had just ended for Thordan.

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Of King Thordan's three last orders, two have been completed.

The first had been to take care of the business egarding Young Thordan Swalestrom.

The second had been to ensure that King Winchell followed him to the grave.

The third was to obey every single order given to him by Lorelei Skyward.

"So I'm forbidden to rest until when?"

The black fox moaned and groaned while his master watched impassively. Of all beasts, there was but one he feared, and she was standing in front of him.

Thordan Skyward's 'list of trustables' contain nine individuals, and though Isangrim was one of them, he just could not get to work with any of them.

Thordan Swalestrom was a boring, wispy child that made Niels Crestworth seem interesting by comparison, and his brother Corrado Truetide was temperamental and passionate, only outclassed by his mother.

Which brings him to his meeting with Lorelei Skyward on the eve of the Third Electoral Session.

"Your work is still unfinished. We still have to hunt him down!"

"But why? It isn't that we could catch him now! It was done from far away! You can't expect us to hunt him down here and now!"

"At least we have some clues. The strike that finished off my father was done with Thaumaturgy - the area of your expertise."

"At least we have enough evidence to deduce that a vermin killed him, that's certain. Thaumaturgy says it all. But what has all that have anything to do with the mole?"

"Thordan reported that the hunter had almost slain him by taking him by surprise. He could Conjure better than any woodlander had done before!"

That was a problem. A very big one, in fact. To the average Mossflower vermin, seers are danger, pronouncing curses upon entire villages, and leading warlords to victory or death. To the average Mossflower woodlander, seers are frauds, who gained access to the ears of powerful vermin warlords, and are the best way to frighten disobedient children. To Isangrim and Lorelei, seers are but conditions the Fates have inflicted on them - conditions King Thordan had decided to weaponise.

Thordan Skyward had the gift of the seer as well, as well as its limitations. He utilised season after season to study this specific state, and his results shall prove most useful in the future.

Though he was dead at the moment, his lingering will should be around them, especially if everything was to plan. However, he was separated from them at his own insistence, in order to slowly (yet surely) bring Thordan up in the ways of the seer. Being the bookish, ever-curious boy that Young Thordan is, Isangrim is completely sure of his success.

But the problem was not either one of the Thordans. That would have to wait.

"I think I would have another mission for you. Carrying Father's soul to Thordan was no dangerous quest. You'll get your rest eventually."

Isangrim grumbled under his breath. The last three seasons have been quite taxing on both Master and Apprentice. Sure, the Gates have been opened, but they were not the only ones to benefit from the world's new state. After a few more expeditions, and finding a disciple to call his own, Isangrim still could not get his rest. But still, he will eventually take a break. This may not be etched, but there is still a high chance.

"Your duty is to investigate the Southards. Rumours have started to spread that they were complicit in Father's death, and Thordan might just be another future casualty of their rampage."

This seems to simplify things. Corrado Truetide never seemed to like the black fox (though he got on with Hersent quite well), and it is a stroke of luck for Isangrim that he did not inherit the Skyward seer traits - perhaps his father was not the right choice. Young Thordan was, as usual, the unlucky one. Isangrim has yet to see what his Gift is, but it will not be useless in the trials to come.

"Should I take Hersent with me?" Isangrim asked. The Apprentice was a fox like Isangrim (blimey, does Vulpuz favour his own kind), though with grey fur instead of Isangrim's black. Mossflower vermin called him 'Pallpelt' when he was on that mission from ten seasons ago, and he has decided to use it as a byname when he travelled North of Southsward, as well as his little sojourn towards that blasted place he would do well to forget.

"No. She will stay here. You don't know what you will face."

"I'm just saying that-"

"She's fifteen, Isangrim Pallpelt. She's younger than Thordan, for Fates' sake."

Before Isangrim could utter another word, he sensed Lorelei's glare - an obvious bad sign if there ever was one.

He decided to slink out of the door as fast as he could, before he made any more mistakes.

I thought I was the one taking charge after I made that otterwife my Bondbeast. Gates. Now I have become a Skyward pet through and through, notwithstanding the fact that he's on the other side of the grave. Vulpuz help me.

"Wait!" barked Lorelei. Isangrim turned to meet a wooden box being thrown at him. Catching it before it was able to bruise his muzzle, he took a look at the container. It was as unadorned as any box could be, but when he asked Thordan what it contained, his mentor refused to give a straight answer.

"Go on. Open it. It's yours now. You know full well that I can't use it."

Isangrim clicked open the box, and flung the top open. Barely managing to keep his composure (and struggling to prevent his jaw from dropping), he grinned.

Apprenticeship has just ended for Isangrim.

Beneath Bloodied Banners

BLESWYN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

My dear cuckoo, thou have so pied feathers,

Oh thou fly dear cuckoo to my father and my mother,

Thou fly dear cuckoo to my father and my mother,

And do not tell dear cuckoo, I was killed here,

Do not tell dear cuckoo, I was killed here,

Oh tell, dear cuckoo, I was made to marry here,

Tell, dear cuckoo, I was made to marry here,

Oh I was made to marry here by a thin spear in the paw.

The troops continued to sing their melancholy war song while Altayras marched in front of them.

Music and song were always a big part of Boreller culture, and they quickly blended into war like wine in water. As a nation with a warrior culture, many songs have been composed to be used by troops on the march. However, there are some scholars who argue that the character of these songs was not march-like, but more lyric or epic. In time many wartime historical songs became war ballads, a unique genre all its own, and one that was alive and thriving to this day.

Burelas was subsumed into Triel only partly, as it was simply too well-defended by both natural and beast-made reasons. On one paw, the region was surrounded by the Greatrange on the North, and the Greymarsh on the other. Few lands can be fortified by invaders, whether Southard or Trielian, and what few forts they have build were quickly abandoned - no supplies could reach them safely.

On the other paw, invaders do not simply drive themselves away. Whether it was Rikard Swalestrom, Skipper of Floret and King of Parma, Ronnel of Gridain, whose army was great enough to rival kings, or Niall Deilart, whose house has had an intense rivalry with Altayras', they all tried and they all failed. One fell into a swamp and met his end at a speartip, another lost his entire baggage train (and thus the loyalty of his mercenaries), while the third managed to escape nearly naked through the swamps.

The cause was the ability of the Borellers to fight anywhere and everywhere. Armed with the lightest of armour and the wieldiest of weapons, they could appear in one battle, and vanish until the end of the season. These 'dances' took long enough, but war has ever been a game that can only be won with patience - which Altayras lacked.

He knew his faults, of course. His father made it all too clear to him. Calming a wrathful head was hard enough when Altayras was at rest, but everything seemed harder on the march. How could Denebas even manage?

His younger brother, of course was roped into the singing. More Trielian than proper Boreller, he always did his best to force himself into being a warrior. Try as he might, Denebas was more poet, bard, or something else. He could do everything that does not involve steel better than Altayras, but he had failed to wield a spear like his brother - after much struggling with everything else. Killing Lord Canute Crestworth did not help matters. At least he's a better leader of beasts than I am. A level head does help matters.

Snapping back to reality, Altayras raced to his brother.

"Denebas! Can you please tell your troops to sing something else? Mourning songs really aren't for marching."

"You want something more lively? How about The Golden Throne?"

"Turning yourself into a tree to avoid being a soldier does not help with morale. How about something else?"

"Consider it done." As the youngest of three siblings, Denebas was quickly accustomed to submitting to the wishes of others - even more than Young Thordan Swalestrom. Although this reverence may have brought Altayras many advantages, he secretly wished that his brother will grow a spine.

After much gesturing, the troops quickly sung a much more cheerful melody.

He trumpeted the first trumpet as he was riding off from the inner yard

As he was riding off from the inner yard...

He trumpeted the second trumpet as he was riding off from the outer yard

As he was riding off from the outer yard...

He trumpeted the third trumpet as he was joining the troops

As he was joining the troops...

I shouted loud and all the troops looked at me

All the troops looked at me...

And all the army had turned to me

The army had turned to me...

And a troop of Southards has come, a troop of brave ones

A troop of brave Southards...

When we've stood in the field, we've knocked all the Southards out

We've knocked all the Southards out..

Us Borellers are still strong, we were kings and we still are!

We were kings and we still are!

Of course, only one Boreller had taken up the kingly mantle before - and he only had a knife in the chest to show for it. Submitting to Triel might had been a humbling moment for the entire duchy, but this had allowed them a break in an age of constant warfare. Towns were rebuilt and developed, and trading relations started to normalise.

Even Deilart had to concede a few contested territories. With Burelas and Deilart guarding the Western and Eastern passes of the Greatrange, the Trielians had to notice that a peace had to be made and kept for more than a few seasons.

A marriage contract was quickly signed by Altayras' father and Duke Somerled three seasons prior, and the young Boreller was all set to marry Lady Morag, only child of the Deilarn noble. She was perhaps too talkative for any lady, but Altayras knew beasts who were much, much, worse. He'll handle the marriage well enough - if he survives this whole cesspool of a war.

Altayras decided not to sing alongside the troops. His brother would not like that.

EASTERN PARMAN SEA

Erlend was clearly not expecting his son.

Now, in the middle of nowhere, his youngest child suddenly intercepted his ship towards Triel.

A raucous awakening in the dark of night would not be odd in any way for a parent, but his son was nearing his seventeenth season - already of age. Thordan is no squalling babe having trouble sleeping at night any more.

"Why are you here?"

"Father, I..." Thordan stumbled on his words, like the boy was prone to do. "I have come to see you off."

Truth be told, Erlend was not quite a speaker as good as his brother. Thordan managed to share this trait with his father.

"Why so? Who told you I'm here?" Erlend said as he slightly raised his voice.

"It... it doesn't matter." Thordan said softly, averting eye contact. His son was never the bravest of beasts, but tonight he seemed even more unsure of himself. "I er... chanced upon your vessel, and decided to drop by."

Surprisingly, he rushed forward and hugged him, the first drops of tears already dropping from his eyes. "I... I fear that we won't meet again! Ever!"

Thordan has already lost a close relative barely two months before, and losing another would seem preposterous for Erlend. Parting his son on the head, he provided wisdom a father could provide. He may have been cold towards his wife, but she was now the only surviving mother of his children. Thordan was his son whether he wanted it or not.

On the day when Thordan left for Redwall, father and son had a small conversation. Erlend (rather tactlessly) asked Thordan if he wanted a replacement for a father. A flood of guilt washed over his face as Erlend realised that he cared more about Heavensward than Lorelei.

But Thordan was always able to provide an answer pleasing to anyone, despite being oblivious to the normally impassive Erlend's flash of sudden emotion. "I have only one father," he said, " and I do not need another."

"Father?"

Erlend snapped back into reality.

"Um... you spaced out for a moment - like I am prone to do too often." Thordan continued to avoid his father's gaze while the words leaked out of his mouth.

"I'm fine, son. Don't worry about me. I can handle myself well enough. Look after your tail... and Egil's too. Skuli's going to kill us all if his son dies on your - our watch. Honestly, why fret so much? You suddenly bring seven ships, fail to attack Doma, and just oh-so-conveniently chance upon me? You're going to get gobbled up by the Southards in a week, so shape up and fight!"

Thordan's ears sprung up. "The Southards are here?"

"Yes. They're just across the Sound. Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart are dealing with them right now. Grueling sea battle. Must be bloody. The waters painted crimson, and other things poets and skalds would say. How about you go help them? We don't know how strong they are. A bit of extra beasts and steel can help much more than mental support from the safety of your own ship."

"Thank you for the advice, Father. May your heart and mind guide you forth. And may we meet and speak again." Thordan said as he wiped his tears off his muzzle.

"Fine, fine. I already told you that there's no need for worry. Now go! Your old friends await you!"

THE SOUND

Erlend was usually right in his little predictions, and this was no exception.

Alfyn barrelled into an otter, and his shield quickly delivered a heavy blow to his lutrine muzzle, after which his sword was thrust all too quickly into the Otterguard's shoulder. The mouse quickly collapsed mid-scream, before falling into a pool of his own blood.

Lorcan had warned him about the dangers of naval combat. He knew all too well that ships are no simple battlefield terrain, and a simply slip may lead to death by stabbing, crushing, drowning, impaling or simply heatstroke.

Alfyn thought Raevsvakt was an affair bloody enough, but this was his first experience in open war. He'd fought off bandits, vermin, and even the occasional guard, but this was all too different compared to his experience in rescuing Thordan.

Beasts huddled in heaps, living or dead notwithstanding, while the metallic stench of blood surrounding the air. Not helping was the already strong smell of seawater, which assaulted Alfyn's nose with all the intensity of a sudden explosion.

To Alfyn's shock (and Lorcan's horror), the Southard navy had grappling hooks - a piece of technology the Trielians did not have. With both sides being evenly matched in number, the initiative had to be given up.

The wind was blowing in a good direction for the Trielians, but they were not able to take advantage of it due to the agility and maneuverability of the Southard ships. Adding the hooks to the equation meant that the chances of a Trielian victory were slowly slipping away.

Lorcan led from the back, as was customary. Too important to get himself killed. Alfyn's brother often told him that fighting alongside his soldiers can provide a boon in morale, but Skipper Lorcan paid him no heed.

It would actually make sense that Lorcan would shy away from the front. Although he was much better at the intricacies of leading beasts to war (and back), he was not accustomed to violence. Lorcan had a disposition all too gentle. He liked to think things over slowly and never liked to be careless. When around other beasts, he moved carefully, afraid that he might accidentally break something or hurt someone, unlike Alfyn who uses his size to his advantage. Now is a bloody good time to break something or hurt someone, Lorcan!

Alfyn would have no choice but to forge onward. The hooks brought the Trielian ships nearer to the Southards, but this worked both ways as well. With so much ships stuck together, this clash has become no different from a battle fought on terra firma.

The tactics of both sides were similar, as Lorcan had told him mere hours ago. Pepper the other side with crossbows, longbows and slings, and rush there with heavily armoured knights. This strategy was risky, but so far no other way has been invented. Both Becker and Lorcan would have to rely on more conventional methods of warfare.

"Give the order to advance!" shouted Alfyn. "Show those Southards what we can do!" His soldiers shouted their own battle cries after Alfyn's energetic response.

"Rend! Kill! The white raven flies!" The white raven, being a central figure in the founding myth of Triel, was known to every single inhabitant of Triel (the only exception being the vermin slaves). The royal banner was the image of a soaring raven, and the soldiers took delight in it.

Things died down for a moment, then a piercing roar arose from the Southard ships.

"The Bell has rung! The Bell yet rings! Free Southsward!" The Floret Bell was a design of Joseph the Bellmaker - the 'Second Founder' of the Kingdom of Southsward. Like the white and black ravens of Triel and Parma, the golden bell is the symbol of Southsward, and it is said that it will ring when Southsward is in grave danger. In danger from Southard idiocy, that is.

"I want those ships gone!" yelled Alfyn. Lorcan may have been passive this whole time, content to shower the Southards with arrows, while staying back from melee combat, but Alfyn was, in fact, not Lorcan.

The grappling hook hit the railing of the Trielian galley, and both ships braced for impact. Soldiers rushed to reinforce the port sides of their respective vessels, and with a mighty crash they made contact.

The whole situation quickly descended into chaos. With scarcely enough time to form up, beasts simply barreled into each other, drawing blood with every motion of their paws. Maces collided into muzzles, and arrows were loose at breakneck speed.

Plunging his sword into a hare, Alfyn spun around, knocking down an Otterguard in the process. All around him, chaos reigned supreme. He blocked an arrow shot from the other side from the ship, and had to sidestep a bolt from a certain crossbow-wielding hare. Seeing an axe cleave that offending beast's head apart, he turned back and leapt into the fray, crushing another member of the 'sacrosanct' Otterguard

Twenty minutes and around a hundred corpses later, Alfyn could finally take a short break. His beasts were exhausted as well. Weighed down by their arms and wounds, the otterlord thought that they deserved a rest as well.

But now was no time for rest. There is a significant chance that he might never see his brother or daughter again - anything could happen in a war. But Lord Alfyn Stalwart had been taught to gamble wisely and take his chances.

"You!" Alfyn shouted as he pointed at a mouse - a soldier of Triel.

'My lord, do you need me?"

Moving his paw a bit to the left, and thus pointing at a Southard vessel, Alfyn asked as softly as he could, "Do you see that ship over there?"

"Y-yes." The mouse said as he panted.

"I don't want you to." Alfyn breathed as he seethed with rage.

MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

King Somerled was never an observant beast, but even he was intrigued by the state the Southards were in.

Garrion Swalestrom not being dead was no surprise. King Garmund had warned him about the tenacity of his family, whether on his side or not. The fact that an arm and a leg of his were crushed and broken clearly did not matter to him, but it mattered very much to the squirrel.

After parleying once with the young Lord Swalestrom (and failing), almost taking and actually burning a part of Floret, destroying the supply lines of the Southards, and almost squishing Garrion Swalestrom into tiny little bits, it was very kind of the otterlord to invite him to parley. Again.

The Southards were beginning to gain the upper paw on his own forces - survivors of the Battle of Vernoll are quickly crowding towards the otter lordling and his crew, though none have actually made it to him. Somerled had little time here.

"What terms are you willing to make?" the squirrelking asked.

"We ardently desire your withdrawal from this land, and for you to resign your title that was given to you by legitimate, though misplaced authority."

"These are high-pawed terms indeed." Somerled said as he stared at the otterlord's bodyguards. Apparently a new face have decided to stand next to Garrion, The figure belonged to a muscular otter, and his grey eyes revealed a determination that his master's hazel pair was never able to possess. "I fear I am able only to achieve the former. I don't think the latter can be done without King Garmund's approval - these are but talks for a truce, not a full treaty."

"Hmm..." the otter mulled on his words for a few seconds. "I don't think we can simply let you leave. You have done enough damage here already. Villages and settlements burnt to the ground, mothers killed alongside their children... Will your greed ever end?"

Somerled tossed out his reply nonchalantly. "That depends on the magnitude of your rebellion."

"Then we have no choice but to resume our battle," said Garrion. "If any mother loses her son, if any wife loses her husband, if any daughter loses her father, there is no one but you that they can blame."

"Oh, could there be indeed?" The squirrelking stood up. "Your father just waltzed into King Garmund's throne room, disrespected everyone, and walked out like nothing ever happened. Could he be held accountable?"

Before he exited the parley tent, he made sure to twist the knife unknowingly embedded within the heart of the otterlord.

"Oh. Your brother's dead."

Frontiers Within

THE SOUND

For Lord Becker Swalestrom, everything was going well for once.

Lorcan and Alfyn were tenacious opponents, and they are not to be underestimated. Lorcan was a beast able to keep a cool head in the most adverse of circumstances, while his younger twin had boundless will and courage. Aside from that, their bigger-than-little physical condition shall prove to be a massive boon for one-on-one combat.

Dividing them proved to be all too easy.

Driving a wedge between the two started with a deliberately overextended ship or two. Lorcan will simply sit back and shower them with projectiles, getting in range in the process, while Alfyn would simply ram into them at full speed.

The twins were unstoppable only when together. They depended on each other too much. Without bravery, what good can thought do? Without introspection, what benefits can boldness reap? Over-specialisation made the Stalwarts strong and weak at the same time.

Leading from the rear was not seen as particularly brave by most beasts, but Becker and Erlend can get behind that idea - one of the rare things they can agree on. Erlend started life as a shy, timid otter, and would probably end life that way.

Becker was different. Loud and boisterous, he could be a real friend to whoever asking - providing that they are loyal to Southsward, of course. Bedric observed that King Garmund of Triel and King Gideon of Southsward would be beasts that people would go to ask for help and assistance (and in no other circumstance), while Becker and Erlend were the otter brothers that everybody liked. Everybody except each other, apparently.

He barked an order. "Get more ships focused on Lord Alfyn." If one brother was taken down (by capture, incapacitation or even death), then the Southards would have a much better time dealing with the other. "Send two more to block Lord Lorcan's communications. And send a few more to swing back and attack on my order."

Lord Becker went back into his cabin. As befitting a commander and captain of one of the most majestic vessels of the Southard navy, his quarters on the Halberd was the most open. Lit candles lay on spaces designed for them, while their unlit counterparts lay all across the deck. The tempting lure of his bed was agonisingly tempting, but Becker decided to sit and muse upon the future.

After the battle was won, Lord Thordan Swalestrom is expected to fold easily. Becker knew first-paw that Thordan was little more than a pushover, and that he'll do what the beast next to him tells him to. The struggle to reach Thordan was the easy step - becoming 'the beast next to him' was a much harder struggle instead.

Sigurd Swalestrom, on the other paw, was unruly. He was only loyal to his father - and nobody else. Becker would be sad to see him go - though his death was necessary for Southsward to triumph. Better have a weak, scholarly teenager as Lord of Kaldos than a trained, hostile warrior placed in such proximity to their Parman trade route.

Becker knew full well that Erlend was a poor parent compared to his brother. He may have been an intelligent otter, but managing a fiefdom and taking care of children required two completely different sets of skills. He may have had children, but he had never been a father.

Erlend showed obvious care for no other beast than 'Lady' Sigrid. She was a commoner he picked up in Kaldos, and they continued their adultery even after his marriage to the greatest heiress seen in the Southern realms - a very unwise move, though there were no consequences to be seen. The elder Thordan and his daughter turned a blind eye, while the younger disapproved of the liaison, but liked her well enough as a beast.

Becker's affections never shifted toward any other female, unlike Erlend, Lord Alfyn or every single Garlean male over the age of twenty seasons. The otterlord may have only met his future bride after the betrothal (an already unconventional move, but Southsward was desperately in need of alliances), but it only took all too little time for them to fall in love with each other. This, coupled with the fact that Becker vastly preferred his marital and parental duties to those of a lord, made them a stable anomaly in a world of lechers and prudes.

As any son of a lord should be, Garrion was proud, and rightfully so. He was intelligent and a bibliophile, and he was brave on the battlefield as well. But he moves too quick into action sometimes, making every mistake an otter can make along the way.

If Garrion jumps into action with the speed of a rushing river, then Godred would leap into the fray just as swiftly as a bolt of lightning, with the sound of thunder accompanying his every move. He was brave, all right, and is clever enough, but Becker once theorised that impulsiveness would be the doom of his second born son.

His daughter's doom would be the exact opposite vice - inaction. She had been betrothed to a host of otterlords - Corrado Truetide, Lorcan Stalwart, Sverker Crestworth... the list goes on and on. The first two have been (happily) married to different ottermaids, and the third is closing in on a betrothal with Beatritz of Aldernan. Becker only hoped that his daughter could find a husband worthy of her (and him).

Of course, there would be no omitting of his last child. Bedric Swalestrom may have resembled his mother in looks, but his heart and personality was his father's through and through. He may have been (unintentionally) neglected by his parents, but Becker promised to care more about the needs of his lastborn.

There was a knock at the door before a beast blundered into the room. Raising to his footpaws, Becker quickly awaited the oncoming message. He was on the verge of victory - not a lot of things could damage the status quo. Even if something unexpected happened, Becker can still react accordingly.

"Islander ships have been spotted near the Trielians. Thordan has brought the fight to us."

The lord sprung to his footpaws, and ran out of the cabin, knocking down the messenger in the process. He spoke true - seven more ships suddenly sprung from the far reaches from the ocean, the fox banner of Meraholmer up on top of every single one of them.

"Sound the retreat!" shouted the otterlord. "We have destroyed more ships than them, so we are victorious! No need to linger here!" In any battle, an orderly retreat is better than a rout. Most casualties on land battles are caused by cutting down fleeing remnants of a defeated army, and this is most likely the case at sea as well.

At least the Islanders didn't appear from our backs. That would have been disastrous. Ships began to move away from the battle, Southard-made and recently captured Trielian vessels alike. The beasts actually believed that they have won. Becker knew otherwise.

Heavens cast you down, Thordan Swalestrom. Your mother raised you well.

MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

On the other side of the world, beasts are killing each other for the exact same reason.

Dirk Tillwaters had just received a promotion to the rank of Captain, which was a pleasant surprise compared to being thrust into battle again.

It all started when a scathing remark by the Trielian squirrel who calls himself king was heard by Garrion Swalestrom. Gale told him that the hall was thrust into violence almost immediately, and only the timely intervention of a few guards on both sides saved the nobles from further physical harm.

Dirk turned, tearing a Trielian hare's stomach apart. The battle was nearing its conclusion, with the Trielians close to breaking point. All this for three words and a truth revealed a bit too late. Stupid highborns and their refusal to quit.

As Lord Garrion is still currently incapacitated by his injuries, he has (quite shockingly) appointed Galen to serve as an impromptu replacement, to Dirk's joy and a few other nobles' chagrin. Garrion had only met Galen and Dirk for only less than a month - an incredibly short time for him to be appointed a commander. He was actually doing quite a good job even without experience - better than the snobby lordling himself would have done. An extended talent in producing flanking maneuvers proved to be decisive against the False King of Triel. This, added to Ralos' Swordbeasts (Sword somehow being an acronym for the Southsward Order of Defence) returning from their disastrous encounter in Vernoll.

Dirk and Galen had been friends when they met, when Galen wandered into the streets of Norleth, helping Dirk in his little bounty hunting business. He was the beast who found clues while Dirk searched for the beasts who were connected to these clues. They worked for two seasons until the war broke out, not being well-off by any means, but that was still better than starving to death on the streets of Floret.

Galen Snowpath was a Northerner from Mossflower, though his accent does seem that he came from somewhere else - but that didn't matter. Dirk remembered that he was more than slightly shocked by a tidbit of Gale's origins when he blurted a name out in a drunken stupor, but good partners are hard to come by (and good friends even harder), so Dirk didn't pry.

The pair had saved Garrion from rubble back in the ruined fort, and the lord was quick to reward them. Galen quickly accepted Lord Garrion's offer of being one of his bodyguards (Dirk has always taught that Garrion trying to recruit them is some sort of 'reparation' for two deceased guards who were crushed in the rubble) while Dirk has refused the offer. Garrion gave him a captain's role as an 'alternative compensation'.

Leading his little unit forth, Dirk met a mouse's blade with his shield, then tripped him over with his rudder. A stab to the throat followed immediately, and Dirk had just enough time to avoid an arrow, pulling out his sword in the process.

The last few Trielians swiftly lay down their arms, after taking enough time to allow Lord Somerled to run away with his tail between his legs. He will not live long - Dirk was sure of that. The travelling pine marten told him all too much about that.

He could see Garrion congratulating his soldiers who fought well, and speaking to a squirrel dressed in blue and a few medals clinging to his uniform - General Ralos, evidently. The squirrel had only taken a light wound in the shoulder, but he is expected to recover. His weary, greying face says it all - the battles will only increase in number - until any parley actually works.

HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It was a brutal sight.

Countless bodies were piled up together, preparing to be buried in some grave far away from the fortress and the city. Southard and Dravainer may have been at each other's throats when alive, but in death they will never be separated in any way.

Godred looked at his cousin's corpse, still clutching his sword. Wielding it is an advantage in a duel, but in open battle this can doom a lot of glory-seeking beasts. Having a few arrows in the limbs were not enough to kill Sigurd Swalestrom, and the bolt in the head could be counted as some sort of twisted mercy.

Some may have called Godred rash when he had ordered the assault, but the results have been worth it. No defender had expected an all-out attack on the city within a week of Lord Becker's departure - Sigurd least of all. It all started through a concerted rock barrage into a weak spot in the wall, with no more than ten archers protecting it. While Sigurd was still blinded by his own pride, Southard forces surged into the citadel. Sigurd lay dead before his footpaws, while his sister and the Strandsors absconded too fast for him to chase after them without risking his troops. Traps are everywhere, and Godred would not like to hand over a victory.

Truth be told, Godred always thought that his father was not that wise going after Thordan. He did not like Erlend's sole surviving son - his brief stay in Floret has seen to that. A mere scholar cannot be a threat to the realm, can it?

Sigurd's twin was another story - the fact that she remains unmarried in particular. The fact that she could marry any male with a rudder could be most damaging to Southard morale - Haakon Strandsor's paws are rumoured to be closing in on her, and Raimon of Aldernan couldn't wait to open a second front against the Parmans via the Sound. At least the married Lorcan Stalwart could not take her as his bride. That would be disastrous for Southsward.

Avelyn Stalwart never accompanied her husband towards Dravania, so there will be no worry of a posthumous child, waiting to avenge his father. Never mind that - his siblings and father will take charge from here.

If they survive that long.

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"What's your name?" the otterqueen asked.

"It's... it's Hersent, Your Highness." The teenage vixen shuddered. Isangrim had told her about the capricious nature of noblebeasts, but this was her first time meeting royalty. The fact that there was nobeast else in the room did nothing to assuage matters for her.

"Ah, yes. You might wonder why you were called here, Hersent." Lorelei's voice was as soft as a cord of silk that was just used to strangle somebeast.

The vixen continued to tremble fearfully. "Master Isangrim told me that he would be away in a while, so he would send me here until he returns."

"He told me to continue your training in the meantime." Queen Lorelei smiled. "Every second cannot be wasted, as Parma has need for seers like you."

"Forgive me, but Master said that vermin make much better seers as compared to woodlanders. He said that you teaching me would be like fish teaching birds to fly, or birds teaching fish to swim." It was true that vermin are much better at controlling the powers of a seer compared to woodlanders, which was also why Conjuration is much, much less effective than Thaumaturgy. That was what Isangrim claimed, at least.

"Well, young lady, there are swimming birds and flying fish. My father has seen both and lived to tell the tale." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I can fill you in the gaps in your training, alongside more practical skills, but on a few conditions." The grey-furred vixen's ears peaked up in interest.

"First of all, you would have to arrive when and where I want you to be. Like I said before, we don't have much time, so we would have to seize every moment."

Hersent bowed. "Understood."

"Then you would have to promise not to allow yourself to gossip or meddle in political matters."

"I can do that, Your Highness." That's easy.

"And at last you would have to assume the guise of one of my maidservants. I will not burden you with any labourous tasks, but simply leaving you around would cause a few suspicions. At least Isangrim was known to be Spymaster in my father's days. Mayhaps you can ascend to that role in the future."

"That is but a small price to pay for the knowledge you will pass to me, Your Majesty," said Hersent as she tried to suppress a smile. She was going to learn from Queen Lorelei herself!

"Then come to me. We have much to discuss."

BLESWYN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It only took less than a few minutes for Captain Bodvar Waycaster to leave the camp in which he was held. The guards were easily distracted, and the few ones that failed to look away at the right moment were easily incapacitatedt. Slinking out into the darkness alone was not easy, and only one of his subordinates went with him for fear of discovery.

"Captain, the exit's there." Pickner was not any beast with great capabilities, but he was brave and reliable. The mouse was observant too, and Bodvar liked him for this gift the most.

"We should take a detour. The guards there are quite obsessed with keeping us in." Bodvar replied, while pointing in the other direction. "We should probably make a big distraction before actually going away."

"How 'bout lighting a fire somewhere? The Trielians will surely go to investigate."

"Nah, that's overused and rather inefficient. Where are we going to get a fire without being seen? And can we run fast enough to avoid getting caught?" Bodvar said as he continued to scout the area.

"Good questions. How are we going to leave then?" Pickner asked.

"Hmm... Rushing out of the front doors is simply too risky. Any more solutions?"

"I don't think we have other options, but rushing out is simply foolish. How about we try something sneakier?"

"You have an idea?"

Pickner whispered in the otter's ear, "Well, we can try to sneak up from their backs, and surprise them once they know we're escaping."

Bodvar grinned. "I have a better idea." He whispered back in his companion's ear.

He walked up to the nearest guard, a dull-looking mouse, and waited for a response.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"And no lies!" shouted the hare next to him.

"Evidently, I'm Captain Bodvar Waycaster of the Southsward Order of Defence and I'm trying to escape. After this, I intend to run for the hills and laugh while my army destroys yours completely and utterly. Satisfied?"

"Seems like a lie," the hare said as he yawned. "I asked for the truth!"

"I dunno, I think he's tellin' the truth here," replied the otter as he had his crossbow loaded and trained at Bodvar.

The hare snapped. "If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have been so forthcoming, you idiot!"

Bodvar decided to butt in. "That indeed is the case, unless of course, I knew you won't believe the truth even if I told it to you plainly and simply."

The mouse was well and truly confused. "What does that-" He couldn't even finish the sentence before Pickner whacked him hard on the head with a stick. The hare barely had time to react before Bodvar rushed him, placed his paws on his neck, and waited for the hare to go under.

Seeing no trace of more soldiers, the pair quickly slipped off into the Southard plains.

Through the Maelstrom

SJOVIN, LORSHIP OF SJOVIN, DRAVANIA

"Just how many have we lost?" Gustav Strandsor hollered. Sjovin Castle was quite a draughty building, and tbeing in a land just coming out of winter did not help the situation. Huddled near a fire, the otterlord sat with his son and a special guest.

"My brother lost three fifths of his force, all but two of his officers, and his life back in Hildrinn." Sigrun Swalestrom barely managed to escape the doomed siege, and absconded with her brother's remaining troops. They had to retreat to safe territory in the middle of the night, and the poor Dravain roads did not help.

"This is bad..." Haakon Strandsor sighed. He was a pensive young otter, with much experience in administering his father's fief. In contrast to his father's rashness, he was a calm, deliberating lord, more inclined to think than to do. His father was one of the foremost lords in Dravania, and his marriage to a Swalestrom bolstered his prestige threefold. Haakon Strandsor may have been the only fruit borne from this union, but Gustav insisted on not remarrying.

"We need to regroup fast, and we need your father back, Lady Sigrun. He started the whole thing, and without his guidance we cannot win! I threw my weight behind him, and he doesn't even appear! I should have just pulled a Rueford!" Gustav Strandsor raged, leaking profanity after profanity as he jumped up and down like an angry child.

"Father, I think that you should be a bit more... dignified, seeing that we have a Swalestrom in our presence. Haakon then turned towards Lady Sigrid. A son of a commoner she might have been, but she behaved as dignified as a noble would, and she was considered legitimate by her father, if not by anyone else. "I apologise for my father's actions. I hope you do not take umbrage to his behaviour."

"I am not offended - not by that, anyways. What are you two planning to do anyways? I know you Strandsors are feuding with the Ruefords for the better half of two centuries, but this is no excuse to exclusively target their lands while you could be helping us!" Sigrun was clearly looking for somebeast to blame, and two were sitting in front of her.

"We-" the elder Strandsor attempted to speak up, but his child was quicker to move.

"We have little to offer, Lady Sigrun. We have received no orders, either from Lord Erlend or your brother." He decided to switch the subject. "We should probably move to Kaldos now, Father. Godred's host must be heading towards us as we speak."

"Well we cannot retreat forever, can we? We need somebeast to guide us through this whorl of a situation - a maelstrom of chaos." Lord Gustav Strandsor's eyes seemed to glow brighter than the fire in the room. "We need any Swalestrom to become the whorl's lord. A leviathan to guide us through the maelstrom. We need a King of Dravania."

"A king?" Sigrun Swalestrom leapt to her footpaws. "Dravania hasn't got a king for a century!"

"Have you got a better idea, my lady?" Lord Haakon chimed in. "Dravania is divided. Its lords turn against each other even more than the Parmans, and everything we do seem to have no effect! We need someone to lead us, and it had better not be the Southards!" said Lord Gustav emphatically while moving further away from the fire and closer to the walls.

"But who- who can fill this role? The original Ulfingers have all but perished - all of us have been Southardised!"

"When Erlend the Ulfinger, last King of Dravania, left this world to join his Southard wife, he asked his descendants to promise that separation of his Southard and Dravain titles. A bit too late for a blasted rogue who ruined everything he touched." Lord Gustav sneered.

Seeing Lady Sigrun's confused look, Lord Haakon quickly added an amendment. "He did not mean to insult your ancestor, Lady Sigrun. Please forgive him."

"Your father spoke naught but truth, Lord Haakon. Dravania has been cast down hard by his claim and subsequent destruction of the Dravain throne." She moved closer to the fire. "It's almost depressing how poorly we have come to be."

A bellowing voice rung out from the back of the room causing the younger nobles to turn their heads towards Lord Gustav. "Not if we have this!"

The sound of cloth unfurling was quickly heard, followed by a startled gasp from Sigrun.

"The wolf banner! But how- how on earth could you have gotten your paws on that?"

"Lord Haakon Swalestrom was kind enough to hide this away, for a future Dravania in need." He turned his head towards Sigrun. "As you know, he was the only Swalestrom Lord to care about Dravania. While most of the others followed the bell, your father chose the raven, though it seldom made a difference."

Lord Strandsor continued. "I admit there were days that I dreamed of sitting on the Dravain throne, while watching the Southards gnash their teeth in defeat." He put a paw on the banner. "That proved to be an ill-conceived plan with great risk, so I kept this hidden until now."

"Let me guess," sighed Sigrun. "You will be using this to garner the hearts of the common Dravain folk. Then, they will rally to your side and support whoever calls himself Dravain King."

Haakon Strandsor spoke almost immediately. "Well, you got most of it right, except for the garnering of hearts."

His father nodded. "We are too weak anywhere outside Sjovin, and the peasants may resist us. We cannot recruit anybeast to our cause for now. We won't be using the banner in quite some time."

Peering into the lady's eyes, Lord Gustav's own pair gleamed with amusement. "You will."

THE SOUND

"Thordan made it," stated Lord Alfyn Stalwart while starting out into the calm blue sea. "I was beginning to worry that he will not come at all."

Egil remembered him well. The hot-tempered giant otter shook him around a few times before accompanying him to rescue Thordan.

"Of course we made it!" Egil smiled as he answered. "Us Parmans have a penchant for dramatic entrances of the highest order." To be frank, he was a bit late when he and Alfyn freed Lord Thordan from that tower. The lordling himself never complained, which was good for everyone involved in his rescue.

"Oh. I've read all about Parmans in my books. They are beasts thoroughly given to adultery, fornication, defilement, and every foulness; nevertheless, they are vigorous and brave in battle and generous to friends." Lord Stalwart said absentmindedly.

"You just said that out loud," said Egil.

Alfyn was clearly flustered - a first for Egil to witness. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that," he spoke with an embarrassed expression.

The weasel smiled. "Since when have you been so clumsy, Lord Stalwart?"

The otter's eyes narrowed. "You should at least try to entertain your betters with a set of manners, Eirik. Or what's it again?"

"Egil! I told you before!" The weasel exclaimed as his paws flailed around.

"If you did, I couldn't remember it," That's it! He's tooling with me!

"I did tell you! At Raevsvakt! When we rescued Thordan! Can't you recall even the smallest of details, Lord Stalwart?"

"Raevsvakt? I wasn't even at Raevsvakt!" Alfyn looked completely flustered by the whole thing.

"But-" Egil's words were cut off by the appearance of Thordan and... Alfyn? Wait. This is getting out of paw! Now there are two of them!

The Alfyn in front of him sighed. "Lord Lorcan Stalwart, at your service."

That's it! Alfyn had a twin! It sounds so simple!

"You seem confused, Egil," Thordan offhandedly remarked.

"You never told me they look the same!" Egil shouted at his friend. 'With all your rambling, I thought you should have mentioned it once or twice somewhere!"

Alfyn snarled at the weasel, causing him to leap backwards, almost knocking over Lorcan in the process. "How many times have I told you not to shout at beasts above your station?"

The other giant otter smiled. "Calm down, brother. You haven't quite introduced yourself, Einar."

"It's Egil!" hissed the weasel.

Thordan shook his head. "I thought you grew out of the habit of not remembering names, Lorcan. Can't you at least try?"

"Well, fatherhood didn't make him the slightest bit wiser," said Alfyn.

Lorcan rolled his eyes. "I do not think that wisdom is ever brought to any Stalwart after getting himself involved in fathering a child. Right, Alfyn?"

Alfyn's ears quickly swivelled. 'I don't know what you mean."

Lorcan exhibited a grin comparable to Egil's own, which was displayed at Bertil the hedgehog at the Raevsvakt tower. "Everyone in Triel knows of your little fling with Ikena. I even went to see your infant daughter when you went to Meraholmer. She's a cute one indeed."

"Wait, wait, wait," Thordan fumbled. "Alfyn, you're a father?"

Alfyn sighed. "Yes."

"That's... that's wonderful," stuttered Thordan.

Egil laughed. "Thordan here obviously meant that it would be even more wonderful if Lord Alfyn actually told us about his daughter."

"Speaking of which, you should have told us about the whole 'father' business," said Thordan as he recovered his composure.

"Yeah, yeah." Alfyn spat.

"Corrected by vermin... what will King Garmund say?" Lorcan Stalwart may have been a stoic beast, but even he could not resist taking a slight jab at his brother.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Alfyn as he leapt at Lorcan, who quickly turned tail and ran circles around the hapless weasel, with this brother in hot pursuit.

The brothers' little game was interrupted by a slight cough from Thordan. "Do any of us have any idea where to go next? Lord Becker has retreated, and Lord Sverker has not moved against us in any observable manner."

"Kaldos!" shouted Alfyn, exactly the same time when Egil declared for Doma, earning the weasel a hard stare from the Trielian.

"Why these two places?" Thordan asked.

Alfyn spoke first. "Well, we can't keep your brother waiting. After all, last time I checked, he's being holed up by your cousin Godred back in Hildrinn. Hildrinn can resist a long siege, but the sooner you can help him, the better."

"Well Sigurd can wait." Egil hastily said. "Sverker Crestworth is in desperate need of being taught a lesson, and he doesn't seem to have improved his defenses. Invading Doma would be as easy as flipping a paw in the opposite direction!"

"What about we regroup in Raevsvakt?" asked Lorcan. He was a beast given to compromises, so this little outburst was not surprising. "Meraholmer is directly between Kaldos and Doma, and we can act later according to the situation."

Without waiting for his friends' inevitable counter-arguments, Thordan Swalestrom smiled.

"Raevsvakt it is then!"

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

As Lord Valdemar Crestworth walked into the Kurburg shrine, he suddenly remembered his tardiness. He had just received a report from his passive son, telling him that Meraholmer is not to be bothered with unless he obtained the Parman throne - a piece of advice he had seen fit to ignore. Requests like that are the reason why he favoured his second son instead. He had quickly sent the hedgehog on another mission - one which

His steady steps quickly became a brisk jog as he reached the gates of the Electoral Chamber. With luck, the beasts inside shall not take offence - though its was almost a guarantee that Lorelei Skyward would see even that as an insult.

The doorbeasts slowly pushed the twin doors apart. Expecting to see the session underway, Lord Valdemar prepared an entrance.

What he did not expect, however, was the presence of a mere two nobles in the wide room.

The first, as usual, was Queen Lorelei of Garlesca. Valdemar sensed his eyes narrow and his ears fold. Their fathers were enemies, and after their deaths within days of each other, son and daughter continued the dance for the Parman throne. Rather curiously, she did not express her feelings today, if she had any - a far cry from her usual belligerent stance.

The other was his uncle, the Royal Vicar. Older than Lord Valdemar by less than five seasons, Niels Crestworth was not a strong beast in either body or mind, but those qualities made him such a prized asset to House Crestworth. He has made attempts to mediate between the two lutrine electoral houses before, with varied degrees of success.

"I see that only two electors have gathered today," sighed Lord Niels. In all seriousness, where have the others gone?

"We cannot possibly hold any session today, considering the lack of eligible voters," mused Queen Lorelei. Your plans have to be delayed once more. Truly a pity. Or is that what you have planned all this time?

Lord Valdemar spoke up next while glaring daggers at his rival. "I do wonder who is responsible for all this..."

"The answer, I fear, is standing right in front of you three."

Three otter heads turned to reveal a well-dressed mouse, with his burning green eyes dead set on the otterqueen.

"You!" exclaimed Lady Lorelei, no doubt angered by the sight by another of her father's old foes.

"Well, something had to be done," said Guido Aldabreschi, Lord Mayor of Brisca. " A few coins and threats did persuade your little electors to flee Kurburg for the safety of their own homes."

Another beast subsequently entered the room, a vole that was not tall even for his own kind.

"And we are here to do more." Lord Valdemar recognised both figures. Aside from the murine leader of the Valeran League, the voleking of Valnain also decided to poke his muzzle out from behind the curtain.

"Pardon my interruption, but mayhaps you two can explain your purpose here?" asked the Royal Vicar. He had every right to be confused - those two were merely old allies of his father, but even Valdemar was convinced that they had struck out on their own without consulting him.

King Guillame of Valnain let out a sneer. Unlike in Parma, where the King was chosen from seven, the Valnainers cycle the beast who sits on the throne, with which one species is replaced by another once the ruling king passes away. "We have come to ensure that no king is chosen."

"Only then shall our realms grow as strong as they should be." Guido Aldabreschi smiled as he turned to Lorelei. "Before your father came along, that is."

The queen let got a cold, mirthless laugh. "I suppose my father's death was the best thing that could happen to you two, could it?"

Guido winked at the lutrine trio. "We were not involved, if you wouldn't mind asking. As the saying goes, we let no crisis go to waste. We simply don't want any Otharn lording above us anymore, so it would do you well to delay electing anybeast."

"Preposterous!" cried out Lord Valdemar. A kingdom with no king? Must be the oldest joke in the world! "You'll be asking us to abolish the whole kingdom next!"

"If only that were possible..." sighed the mouselord. "For now, we will take our steps slowly and carefully. No one wants a civil war - not now, anyways."

The whole room was silent when the two figures left as smugly as they entered.

REMSFORD, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Ta-da! Found ya!"

Lord Somerled Deilart quickly jumped up - only to find out he could not do so.

He was floating in some kind of void, with a few crystals of ice floating around. And it was cold. Freezing, in fact.

What was truly interesting was the veiled figure floating in front of him. A pine marten. Dark brown fur matched similarly coloured eyes, and his tail moved from side to side, as if he was constantly nervous. The stench that drifted into Lord Somerled's nose signified the creature was some form of vermin, so the squirrel hastily prepared a stance - only to find that there was nothing he could do as a floundering beast.

"Finding ya had been tedious to be sure, but the results shall be oh so worth everything."

"Show yourself, vermin! I am Lord Deilart, and you are under me!" the squirrelord fumed. 'Or else I shall-"

"Ya shall what? We are but little specks in an ocean of naught. There's nobody to help you here." The figure laughed. "You know, I wassn't expecting fer a Trielian Lord to be a seer, but clearly my expectations have ter raise every single time I meet with somebeast here."

Lord Somerled tried to swim away from the figure, but the vermin seemed to appear out of nothing and from nowhere. "You can't escape me. Not even if you climb up the highest mountain or scurry into the deepest cave. Thordan of Parma did try, but his Conjuration failed him. No Conjurer can stand against a Thaumaturge - you, for all your prissiness, cannot flee!"

"What do you want with me, vermin?"

The shade ignored the question. "Tell me. If greater beasts, both in aptitude and personality, could not stand against me, what chance do ya have? Yer as helpless and hapless as a toad crushed by a tree! Come! Come ter die!"

"No!" Somerled panicked. "No! This is but a dream! A dream! You cannot hurt me here!"

"Do you think yer safe from me in a dream?" The squirrelord felt something gather from the vermin's paw, then that something was released. Almost instantly, a pillar of fire was flung at the squirrel. Only quick reflexes allowed the squirrel to dodge, with the pillar only singeing his shoulder's fur.

Somerled woke suddenly, as if nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing anyway. A brief look indicated that his shoulder was burnt, the fur almost completely turned to ashes, and the scent of burnt skin hovered in the air.

"This is a dream," said Lord Somerled. "This is a dream. This is just a dream, and I will wake up every time I dream."

A voice in his mind, though, claimed otherwise.

Will you? Will you indeed? Will you ever wake again?

The Only Path

MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Victory's ours, my Lord." Galen bowed his head in reverence. He had no idea why Garrion told him to take command - and he expected Garrion to have no idea as well. His behaviour had been erratic even before the tower fell on him, but a commoner commander was virtually unheard of.

"As I have expected. See? I was right to trust you." Garrion said as he grinned. "Where's the Trielian squirrel? His army's still mostly intact - you have much to learn in the ways of pursuing an enemy army."

"He ran away. The coward." Galen scoffed at the mention of the Trielian claimant. He couldn't even manage a little adventuring party of four, let alone an entire army. "Managed to take 'is force away too."

"This little occurence is probably because of the fact that you failed to pursue them," spat Lord Garrion as his eyes narrowed and his ears curled.

"M'lord, I had to make sure the beasts are taken care of first. I used to be one of them, you know." Galen said reassuringly as he and another bodyguard hooked Garrion's arm to the wheelchair built for the lordling.

Garrion sighed. "They would only live to fight the next battle and probably die. And the next. And the one after the next. Galen, this is war. We have to make sure that the enemy dies and stays dead. There is no other way to keep Southsward from falling - falling to a puppet king who burns children alive, falling to a young barbarian swamp-squirrel, or falling in the grasp of that Trielian warlord like we have done so before. It will not be."

"We still can't win without morale, Lord Garrion. A chance to see their loved ones, to enjoy the cool breeze of the sea, or to down a tankard in one go can motivate a soldier more than killing their enemies. They desire life, my lord, and I am bound by duty to let them keep theirs."

Lord Garrion turned his head.

"Do you have any sort of idea why I used you as a commander?"

Galen paused to think. "Because I saved you? From the rubble?"

"No. We may have built up quite a connection that day, but if my son was a blundering idiot, I wouldn't put him anywhere close to my troops." Seeing Galen's wondering expression, he quickly added, "The only reason I use you is that I like you. No more, no less. I like your way of doing things. With such focus, such enthusiasm, such drive, Southard is practically unstoppable."

"Milord, I don't think I have such abilities. Triel has much better generals, and-" Garrion raised his paw. "No need for excuses."

The Lord continued to speak. "I do like your candor. You, Galen Snowpath, are one of the only commanders who never tried to flatter me whatsoever." He smiled at his subordinate.

"Tell me. What do commoners lack most?"

Galen blinked once. Then twice. "They have to fill up their bellies, so gold is what they need. That's what I think, anyways."

The lord let out a long sigh, as if Galen's answer disappointed him. "When King Gideon asked my father the same question, he gave a much different answer. Come. Take a guess."

"I wouldn't dare guess, milord."

"One word," said Lord Garrion. "Ambition. Commoners lack the ambition to rise above their station. This is simply how the world works," He said with a solemn expression. "The weak perish while the strong survive. The poor starve while the rich feast. All the rules of life the ones in power have set in stone. But this is not the only path they could ever walk."

"If you were born an impoverished beast, and you bow to your fate, then you would lie in squalor until the day you die. Before that, you are but a tool in the paws of other beasts - a plaything of beasts in higher places. If you resist your fate, though, you can rely on none but yourself. Heroes of old are noble and common alike. If you continue your charismatic behaviour, build up your abilities, you can just wait. One day, what you desire would fall into your paws."

"So you're tellin' me to er... shape up?"

"Precisely. Not now though. We have a little celebration to undertake." The otterlord smiled. "Take a short rest before the coming storm."

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA

During his tenure as Lord of Meraholmer, Thordan Swalestrom had never known if he had met the expectations of his many subjects. The isles that he had ruled had been long seen a division between woodlanders and vermin, and none who walked before Thordan even attempted to bridge the gap.

Seeing their Lord starting to align himself with the vermin, the woodlanders of Meraholmer quickly panicked. They may be fewer in number and proportion compared to the vermin, but they held most of the power the Isles between the sound can muster.

This desperation quickly brought about the attention of Canute Crestworth. With his fleet and a small force, he quickly sailed here and garnered the acceptance of the woodlander population, driving their lord into vermin paws. Before a civil war could take shape, however, Thordan surrendered himself into Crestworth custody, believing that to be in his lordship's best interests.

However, Thordan was not the only beast to misjudge the situation. Before long, Lord Canute had gave the impression that he wanted to bring the Isles under Doman control. This, coupled with the long rivalry between the two lordships, finally brought the woodlanders of Raevsvakt to a conclusion - a conclusion that they should have come to long ago.

Vermin or woodlander, rich or poor, they were still Islebeasts.

Before long, numerous attempts to rescue Thordan from Crestworth paws were made in quick succession by vermin and woodlander alike, some led by a certain weasel named Egil. To prevent Thordan from ever seizing his lordship every again, Lord Canute was prepared to transport the lordling to Doma when the Parmans suddenly invaded.

Aided by some high-ranking Trielian nobles, Thordan was quickly rescued from his prison and reconfirmed as Lord, quietly forgiving his old domestic enemies while promising to shy away from destabilising changes.

Which is why Thordan had doubts about his degree of public acceptance. They have lasted all the way since his rescue, and persisted until setting footpaw in Raevsvakt for the second time.

As opposed to his chilly reception when he first succeeded to the Lordship at his father's request (or command), he was warmly greeted here. Whatever doubts he carried were gone well and fully now.

"Is Raevsvakt always this crowded?" Lorcan Stalwart asked after the four had just entered the castle. Unlike Thordan and his two other friends, the Skipper has never sat footpaw out of Triel.

"Well, the last time I was in it, the whole thing was all too chaotic," Alfyn said similingly. "We would do well to revisit your little city when the world's at peace.

"Last time, not a lot of beasts wanted me around." Thordan's face remained solemn, though his eyes betrayed a shred of emotion. "I'm glad things have changed this time."

"You glad to see woodlanders getting together with vermin?" inquired Egil with one of his diabolical grins. "You do need to show the twins it can be done."

Thordan nodded, though his expression didn't change."There's still much to be done."

"Why the frown?" asked Lorcan once more, no doubt glad to be rid of talk of the vermin-woodlander divide. "You weren't like this before."

Cold glares were quickly shot toward Lorcan, whose face revealed his obliviousness.

"Hate to break it to you,brother, but is grandfather just died," snapped Alfyn.

Lorcan sighed. "I'm sorry. I was insensitive again. Forgive me."

Thordan said nothing, though his gaze betrayed his intention of trying to speak.

"At least he still has his parents. They'll take care of him," Egil tried to twist the situation in a more positive light.

The otter twins quickly stared at the weasel, forcing him to quickly retract his words. Lord Bogdan Stalwart died before his two sons were even born, and his wife was quick to follow him to the grave.

"It's not just that." Thordan groaned. "Too much responsibility brought too much stress, and now I'm left to stew in it."

"You probably need a drink." Alfyn turned to see Egil day the same phrase at exactly the same time. Not surprising, considering their first meeting in Raevsvakt took place in a tavern.

Thordan looked up and sighed. To be completely honest, he still cannot pass the tower he was held before without a flight shudder, and there were times when he dreamt of being in that structure - dreams that he awoke in a cold sweat. Ropes cutting his wrists, being spoon-fed like a babe, Lord Crestworth's leering, taunting voice... all were remembered, etched in his mind.

"I don't really know. I still get nightmares about all that has transpired in the past few months. About being a captive, about Grandfather, about having to deal with a war that we cannot afford, about that mysterious otter-"

Lorcan broke the silence. "Hold on. What otter?"

"Looks like you have a lot of explaining to do..." grumbled Egil.

"Do you really want to know?" Thordan asked.

Lorcan's 'no' was dwarfed out by two 'yes's from Thordan's other friends.

Thordan sighed again. Can't catch a break. "Well, it all started on that night in Doma, when a shadowy lutrine told me to leave Doma. Some 'win or lose, the path you walk leads to oblivion' stuff." He took a deep breath. "Then that same otter stuffed himself into my dream, tells me to find my father, and gets tossed away like a leaf in a storm. And finally my father tells me that you are fighting Skipper Becker, and I arrived."

"So your arrival was ordained by some higher power! I knew Vulpuz was on our side!" exclaimed Egil excitedly.

"Or Thordan's getting stressed out and seeing things. Right?" Alfyn said as he looked at his young friend.

But Thordan was not listening. Clutching his head in pain, he heard a voice. Not the otter - this voice seemed more mature and experienced.

"Now! Now I have you!"

Thordan screamed as his friends looked on worriedly. Egil moved away, Alfyn called for a few guards, while Lorcan just stood there, shocked by the whole thing. He did seem to have heard it somewhere before. But where?

"Let expanse contract, league become digit..."

Thordan's screeches began to weaken when the otter started to feel faint. He plummeted to the floor, and his vision slowly faded into a bright white. The last things he heard before losing consciousness was that blasted voice.

"Throw wide the gates that we may pass!"

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Lorelei studied her young charge as she took the tea tray away. Isangrim had talked about the grey-furred vixen numerous times, and overall she had left a good impression on her. She's basically my Thordan, but even quieter. I've got to find a woodlander Bondbeast for her someday - to protect her of course.

"Now, for my meeting, you should scurry off somewhere else." She could still eavesdrop on everything though... "In fact, you may take the rest of the day off."

"Thank you, Your Highness." The vixen was a demure beast, Lorelei knew, but there's something about her that she didn't quite understand. Isangrim reported that she was a war orphan from the latest Parman-Valnainer war - born of Valnainer blood yet raised by Isangrim himself. Even so, the otterqueen wondered if she could be trusted.

As the foxmaid left the solar they were in, the otterqueen afforded herself a smile. Isangrim may have been in contact with the worst of beasts as Spymaster, yet he has exhibited an ability to find the best of them as well. Such is the power of a Thaumaturge.

Lorelei was not faring as well as her fox. Valnainers rebelling and the Valeran League convening as she breathed were not her only problems. However, rooting out that mole, finding her father's slayer, stopping Southsward from gaining independence, helping her husband keep his fiefs, and getting a bride for Thordan seemed distant compared to this. As the rebels' goal is to break down completely, she had a card up her sleeve. Not a literal card - that was her father's way of doing things - but one just as dangerous, and, in fact, stolen from the enemy.

Two figures glided into the room - an otter and a fox, both dressed in rich clothes and carried a noble air with them.

The first was recognizable instantly - not a lot of otters had a gaping scar across his face. Maurice of Graille, her husband's maternal cousin. Unlike his relatives, whom he shared an age, he was not particularly gregarious or shy - he knew when to open his muzzle, and when to close it shut.

It was the other beast that captured Lorelei's attention. Valnainers may have many issues of their own, but they see no difference between woodlander and vermin, though only woodlanders are included in the Royal Cycle, vermin are lords as well.

With an ever-present grin and a mouth that lied as naturally as it breathed, Renart of Maupert sauntered into a seat, while Maurice sat into one in a more dignified manner. The three stared at each other for a few moments, unsure of where to begin. As such, Lorelei took a few more opportunities to study the odd duo, though her thoughts were soon interrupted.

"You called us here for a reason, Your Highness." Lord Maurice opened the deadlock.

"Ah. Yes. Does King Guillame treat you two well?"

"You would have to stretch the definition of 'well' quite a bit, Your Highness," said Lord Renart. The fox had been well-liked by Lorelei's father - but only because he had found a kindred spirit in the fox. He had more... complex relationships with Lorelei, his fellow lords, and Isangrim most of all.

The fox continued to speak. "He's doing his best to fill up council seats with his own beasts, and he does his best to ignore our advice as well."

Lord Maurice nodded. "The only reason we haven't tried to depose him is that the country would quickly seep into chaos."

Lorelei convinced herself to frown. "That is unfortunate. I have much to apologise for, since my father actually invaded your lands. He must have been much worse than the king you have."

The otterlord shook his head. "You need not be so mired in guilt by your father's actions. The sins of the father have been absolved upon death, and you are free to start your reign anew, washed clean of misgivings." He's taken the bait. Good.

Renart was more angry than worried. 'Your Highness should be looking towards the future, not dwell on the past! Why are you talking about all this?"

"You ask the right question, Lord Renart." A frown lapsed into a smile, though the otterqueen kept it to a bare minimum. "Just a week ago King Guillame was here."

Lord Renart was clearly shocked. "What? That frogface actually came here without telling any one of us? What did he say?" Another fish on the hook. Now, to reel them in...

"He's in league with Guido of Brisca, and he wants to keep Parma from having a king. They even wished that the kingdom be destroyed right up to our faces!"

"How? What is he planning?" Lord Maurice betrayed his own shock.

"I have suspicions that your king desires to make war on us." Now, for one last step...

"Could this be?" mused Maurice.

"This does sound like what our king would do," sighed Renart. "The last war almost doomed both of our realms, and the peace must be kept." Brilliant. "Now, what would you have us do?"

"To put it simply, you need to persuade your council to impede every single war effort. A tyrannical king cannot be allowed to make war on anyone he pleases, can't he?"

"I understand. We will do our best to stop King Guillame's royal charade." responded Lord Maurice, a paw clapped on our chest.

"Yeah, yeah. But may I ask you a question, Your Highness." The foxlord stood and smiled.

"What have I to gain?"

The otterqueen smiled. Thank Great Seasons I was expecting that.

"Everything."

FLORET, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Clutching a crystal, Arbert walked away from the Castle Archives. Unlike his more bookish brother, Arbert was a mole of action. He would do well to walk a different path - they only path he could manage to walk.

This path is what led him to the Chamber of Stars. Originally built by Egbert, the original Castle Archivist of Castle Floret appointed by King Gael II, this was sort of a private residence of the Archivists to come - when they were not in Duncton, of course.

The Chamber was wide, and a bit more illuminated than the Duncton manor, but this served a different purpose. Within the middle of the room, two swords were planted, stabbing though the wooden planks that were used as a base. Finnbarr and Fatch. Twin swords that were given back to Southsward after their little intervention up in Mossflower - they were a Redwaller gift.

Gripping one of the swords in one paw, and the crystal in the other, Arbert began to angle this world to the next, making them similar in properties. Gently allowing Conjuration to flow out of his body into the crystal, and then guiding it out, Arbert smiled as a little door appeared, cleaving the space in front of him in twain. Tapping in more and more, the door was large enough to allow for a grown beast to pass through - which the mole swiftly did.

He landed in a wide disk, circular in shape, and edges covered with gold on one side, and silver on the other. Inside, another was waiting for him.

"At last you have decided to appear, hmm?" The pine marten grinned as if he finished a particularly hard task (which Arbert knew was not true), as was prone for him to do.

The mole decided not to answer his question, instead countering it with one of his own. "Why is the lord not dead?"

"Er... he woke up right when I was nearly destroying him," the marten sighed in defeat. "He'll be harder to deal with than King Thordan or Erlend's wench."

"This would not have happened if you did not taunt him for minutes," said the mole coldly. "But you need not worry. My brother's working on another seer, and after that, he'll ensure that the Serpent and the Fox both fall in line. In the meantime, you continue on your little burglary - through mundane means, of course. We wouldn't want to catch the attention of the fox and his Conjurer queen."

A grin appeared on the mole's muzzle as the pine marten smiled, a ring on his paw, and gripped Thaumaturgy to punch through space itself, revealing a Parman inn, with a creaky bed and ruffled papers, a starry night sky, and a few hundred coins - rightfully stolen property. Such is Slyte's way of doing things - Thaumaturgy and thievery. I should have left him at Greymorg if we didn't need seers so much.

But before the marten could close the door and leave, the mole ensured that Slyte heard what he had to say.

"No seer should be on the other side as we are. Leave Somerled to me."

Book II: The Path of the Righteous

Sacred Bonds

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

After a long voyage, one would think to lay head to the nearest inn for a short rest. A bit of food and drink would also be welcome - or even a full-blown feast.

These things would have to be content with a second place within the mind of Erlend Swalestrom, as he had more important matters to discuss.

Admittedly, Orience was a good city to be in. Its climate reminded Erlend of Kaldos, his birthplace, half a world away, yet they are almost horizontally aligned to each other.

As Duke Somerled was away, his duchy was governed by his half-brother Domnall, who may be sick of body, but with his mind mostly spared, he was considered an acceptable replacement. However, the regent soon proved to be feeble-minded and occasionally incapable. He was a decent beast, with some displays of quick-wittedness. Like his own Thordan, he had also kept a journal with him, so his thoughts must have been quite coherent, even legible. With him being incapacitated by occasional bouts of seizures, he was sidelined by Somerled's daughter.

Lady Morag may have been a young teenager who is quite obsessed with physical pleasures, but she has the ability to win the hearts of her subjects slowly but surely. Judging by the fact that Lord Domnall has a low probability of marrying (and an even lower one of having children), Lady Morag walked closer to the Ducal throne by each passing season.

Being betrothed to a Boreller did nothing to dampen the spirits of the lady. She may come of age in one season, but she has been already seen having affections - no, not affections. Having desires for any malebeast that crossed her path. Erlend was lucky to shake her off for a brief moment. Or two. He hoped for a few hundred more.

Right now, King Erlend had to contend himself with less personal issues.

The hedgehog, Bertil he was named, had a short message for him. "Your Majesty, Valdemar Crestworth, Lord of Doma offers his friendship, and would like to negotiate with you for the matter of the Parman throne."

Quite frankly, his candidature as future King of Otharn was surprising. The general rule was that a King was chosen from the Electors, and was crowned in Kurburg. Then, the king journeys to Ilsadia, and was crowned as her king as well. Finally, he (Lorelei may protest with varying degrees of success, but it's always a he) will arrive at the ruins of Old Parma, and was officially crowned as High King.

This, of course, had its problems. Numerous kings have seen antikings pop up from nowhere, though the requirement of four noble grandparents still stands as of now.

The second challenge lay in Ilsadia, which has long resisted the Parmans - for centuries, in fact. Erlend has fought them before on his father-in-law's behalf. They were tenacious foes in open battle, yes, but they could do nothing against theft, bargain and deceit. Only a war of attrition, alliances with other Parman foes, and a very timely surprise attack saved them.

Of course, the Parman nobles can ignore you and see themselves independent, and kings in all but name. Thordan neglected Otharn for Ilsadia, and his successor will pay the price, whoever he might be. If he acts to take the throne, the throne will act upon him.

Erlend may have been a beast of many flaws, but overlooking them was not one. He would not make a good king. If he could not handle Garlesca alone, then ruling the much larger Parma stands no chance.

He toyed with the thought of selling his claims to Parma for a large sum of money - wars are expensive, after all. Or forcing Lord Crestworth to give up his claim over Meraholmer. That could have worked as well, if his wife would agree.

But it would be easier for an ant to move a mountain than for him to persuade his wife to drop her ideas. Her first husband's death was unexpected, to be sure, but Erlend should have waited before the situation was ripe before going for her. Both of them had been content with the match, but none of them were truly happy with it. The only long-lasting impacts were an alliance with the late King Thordan, and a chance to make a grab for the Parman throne.

He dismissed the hedgehog ambassador with a few vague promises, and waited for something to happen next. In the latest four months, nothing good seemed to have happened. Erlend hoped that he would be able to travel to King Garmund or King Somerled fast enough to join up with their armies, leading his Thavnairese units in tow.

Of course, things may not go to plan, but in the end they will triumph.

Another messenger entered the room, this one more nervous than the last. Wearing Dravain colours, the otter hesitated with every single step.

"Speak up." Erlend took a deep breath. Whatever he's planning to say, it won't be pretty.

His belief was vindicated as the messenger said four simple words, and the sound of maddened screaming will be heard in every corner of the castle.

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

At this point of the war, the last things Lady Bellamy Swalestrom would have guessed it the horns of victory. Last time she checked, the Trielians have overrun most of the Southard defences. Fort Tiernan toppled, her brother Bedric killed, villages decimated - by the time the Trielians win, Somerled of Deilart will have been a 'glorious' king over a pile of ruins. Her mother said that Garmund had planned to do that, and she guessed that she was right.

Speaking of her mother, she was in a bad mood for the previous few weeks. It did not take long before Bellamy realised its origin - her brother was assassinated before he could name any heir, and the throne lies in the paws in a five-season old child. She might have nothing against the child, but either her cousin Anzeka or her Garlean husband must have been responsible for her uncle's death, as the only other likely candidate - King Thordan of Parma, was dead.

Garrion led the way of the victory procession, as was expected of a lord. He may be bandaged in many areas and had splints across his right arm and leg, but no wound that he had was expected to last. He was young and strong, after all, and father had plans for him.

It started when he was married in the most literal of manners. Her father managed to persuade Lord Lorents to give his daughter a larger than normal portion of land as the accustomed dowry. Seeing that House Rueford has been a valuable political ally in her father's struggle against the Dravanians, Lord Rueford has received favour upon favour, but this has served to push previously unaligned lords to Erlend's side due to simple jealousy.

"We should come to greet them!" Lady Ellisiv was clearly happy at her husband's return. Her marriage caused a small stir in the Southard court, as the bride's family was considered much inferior in rank compared to House Swalestrom. But of course, her father would accept this advantageous match - provided that Lord Lorents give away the aforementioned dowry. Bellamy spoke against the match privately, though she became fast friends with the young and very energetic Lady Rueford.

Floret's supply lines have been cut to shreds by the Trielians. Even without counting the Trielian main force advancing with a snail's pace, both the Otterguard and Sword have been hard-pressed against Lord Somerled's diversion.

Having been a maternal cousin to King Gideon meant that Somerled had quite a claim by himself, and the Deilart line was considered genealogically superior than the Southard Kings. The current kings managed were legitimate by the principle of proximity of blood, though primogeniture favoured the Deilarts. The previous Deilarn Dukes refused to press their claims due to Trielian pressure, though time and circumstances changed, and here Somerled was, calling himself a king at the head of an army.

This of course, was not the main point. Somerled was a beast given to ineptitude, and only his loyalty to Triel and previous experience at commanding an army allowed him to ascend. His weak and sickly brother could be a better puppet, but clearly Garmund of Triel had other ideas.

Despite the sufferings that have descended upon them, Floret's citizens were in a celebratory mood. Southsward square was packed with beasts of all sorts, and their victorious army can finally take a rest.

"I'm glad to see you two safe," said Garrion Swalestrom. He looked over their shoulders. "Where is Mother?"

"Mourning." Ellisiv said somberly. "Your brother is not the only casualty of this whole thing."

"King Winchell perished at the paws of a crossbow-wielding beast, and Corrado of Garlesca seized the throne. The younger Corrado, I mean."

"This is bad..." Garrion shook his head. "This is much, much worse than I first thought. We must stop them before they decide to get involved. It doesn't matter if Erlend or the elder Corrado leads the Garleans toward us. We're doomed either way."

A voice piped out from the back. "Unless if we brought the fight to them."

"I do not think you were supposed to speak now, Galen." Garrion sighed as he turned his head towards a tall otter at his side - clearly a bodyguard.

"Many apologies, my lord, but you were the one who told me to be more active." The other otter smiled. "And it is also not customary to disobey a lord."

Garrion smirked - which was not a major occurrence. Bellamy's older brother was usually a pensive scholar, who knew what to do but not what not to do.

"You have a point, Galen." Turning to his sister, he returned to his signature flat expression.

" I fear we have to call Godred back. He has a kingdom to win, and he should move with haste."

SOMEWHERE

Thordan woke up. Or did he?

It certainly did not seem like it. He seemed to be standing on another circle of glass, this time without the ornaments. Instead, the glass seemed to be coloured intricately. Red, green and blue circles hugged close to each other, together in an ocean of violet.

Thordan visited Kurburg Shrine when he was ten, and was amazed by all the stained glass windows. He can safely say that this figment of a dream surpassed everything the real world could make.

"You are here."

Thordan turned his head to see a mole clothed in white robes - emissary robes. He had met the mole before - at Floret, though the creature's name evaded him.

"You sound familiar. We have met in Southsward, have we not?"

"Yes. It is quite disappointing that you have forgotten me so soon, young Thordan. I am Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret."

"Oh." A few memories snapped into place, not all of them pleasant. "So you're the one who defeated me in chess five times in a row."

"Pardon me, but we have much, much more at stake."

"Just where are we?" Thordan wondered aloud. "You ought to have some idea."

"I don't have a name for this place yet. Mayhaps you can be so generous as to provide one. Moving on." The mole smiled, as if he knew something Thordan was, which in every sense was true. "Had you ever heard of anything called Conjuration before?"

"No. What is it?"

"It's a concept hard for you to understand..." Dagbert seemed to smile. "A river of power, infinitely strong, and hard to grasp."

Thordan shook his head. "I understood none of that."

"Perfectly normal. There is a lot I can teach you." Dagbert reached out a paw.

"And lead him astray?"

Mole and otter turned towards the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a black fox, with both ears folded in rage, and a face which seemed to be locked in a scowl - permanently so.

"You!" Dagbert exclaimed.

"If I remember correctly, yes, I am me." Isangrim never took his gaze off the mole. "Now what in the world are you doing in my charge's dreams?"

"I was planning on revealing on what you have hidden for so long, Darkening Cloud." The Archivist spat the last two words enough that the whole disk seemed to tremble and quake. "You cannot keep him locked out of the loop until the day he perishes - at your paws or otherwise."

"At my paws?" Thordan looked towards Isangrim, while remaining completely silent. "I swore to protect the kid, and you think I will kill him? You, who attacked his grandfather?"

Before Thordan can react, the mole snapped. "That was in self-defence! I had no choice! Besides, I took no part in his killing!"

Thordan gasped. Killing a king was sacrilege of the highest order, and who was responsible would be left in a world of pain if his mother ever got her paws on him. His vision was beginning to distort, like that time when Egil described drunkenness to him (which was, and still is an alien sensation to Thordan). This seemed much, much worse than having too much to drink though.

"Wait! Wait! Who killed hi-" Thordan felt his tongue growing heavy and his words slurring into unintelligible gibberish. Then everything faded away.

The last thing he heard was the panicked raging of a mole.

GYSTRA, DRAVANIA

Lord Becker Swalestrom was exhausted, starving and grumpy, but his situation could be a lot worse - he could have fallen under the arrows of the Trielians, or be led in chains to Arnet. But now was no time to worry. His army, his force, his Otterguard was intact, and will live to fight another day.

Now, he was talking with one of his subordinates in a firelit chamber. Lord Lorents Rueford was only younger than Becker by a single season, and was one of the few individuals who had more courage, if not drive, than his liege.

None of this was on Becker's mind. He had more personal matters to deal with.

When the phrase 'your son is dead' was uttered to Erlend, he broke down almost instantly and completely, breaking tables and chairs, and bemoaning the grip of fate had on him. Becker's reaction to this was to silently weep, hide his sorrow, reach for a bottle of Parman damson wine, and share it with his fellow lord, having undignified reactions all the way.

Here's the first

Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la la la"

Here's the first

Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la"

He who doesn't drink the first

Shall never, ever quench his thirst

Here's the first

An entire glass was swiftly placed between Becker's lips, while the dark red liquid whirled around within the lord's muzzle. Before he could sing another verse of that song, a figure suddenly appeared, Becker's guards flanking him.

"Huh? Who's this here?" Lord Rueford smiled drunkenly - Becker could not believe that he was drunk in less than forty-two seconds.

"An emissary," the guard sighed as he shook his head. "He came from Sjovin, and bears a message from Lord Gustav and Lady Sigrun."

Lord Becker groaned. It was not the alcohol - he was sure of that. It was more of the matter that Sigrun lost a brother to his plans. What she had to say will not be pretty.

"Pray tell. What does the young lady have to say?"

"I address you in a most direct manner, Lord Becker Swalestrom." The squirrel envoy talked in a very strange manner, but he seemed to be reading directly from a script. "Please listen, as if-" the squirrel's ears tensed, and his tail never stopped moving, twitching like some broken dowsing rod.

"Go on." Lord Becker nonchalantly replied, ignoring Rueford, who was seeping into the usual symptoms of inebriation.

"Please listen, as if you are an effective tactician and administrator, and not a drink-sodden piece of flotsam." Seeing Lord Becker's face, the poor squirrel started to rush his words.

"You are certainly not without accomplishments. Only the most distinguished of Skippers can boast of being unable to lead the Otterguard to defeat Greymorg without outside help."

Becker snarled. The squirrel trembled. Lord Lorents vomited.

"By participating in starting the whole war, you have brought upon the Southards battles, pestilence and unparalleled destruction. You are Southsward's siren, whose actions shall lead to shipwreck without doubt. But then-" The speaker silenced himself.

"Go on." Becker tried to keep himself calm. "Go ON!" He had failed.

"But then, like me, a lady of my realm, a female's role has suited you best from the exact moment you were born."

Lord Becker screamed, arching his arm back to throw the half-full bottle at the flinching squirrel. The bottle never made contact though. Remembering the rising prices of Parman goods - a side effect of the war - Lord Becker reverted to his stern glare, and he stood over the drooling body of his vassal. No words were spoken as he simply put the container down and pointed at the exit. It did not take long before the emissary took the hint, breaking into a panicked run soon after.

It seems that I don't have to share now. Back to the bottle.

Beyond the Unknown

STATION OF CALLING, THE RIFT

"Drat. I've lost him."

Dagbert crossed his paws as he watched Thordan Swalestrom's figure begin to wane. He may not have expected that, but he should have. Even without the fox's meddling, Thordan could wake at any moment.

Bringing him here took high amounts of Conjuration and an Amplifier, so Dagbert was not in his best form. If a confrontation was to follow, he would lose to the black-furred beast in front of him. The only way to survive is to play the emissary card.

"So you did, Conjurer." The fox smirked.''You Southards had a way with losing."

"What are you doing here, Emmeroloth?" The Thaumaturge had many names - Isangrim, Pallpelt, the Darkening Cloud, but Dagbert decided to make an impression. And an impression he did make, for the fox visibly twitched, but returned to his overconfident self ere long.

"Me? Following the orders of the beast you had a paw in killing." Emmeroloth seemed to spit his anger out word by word. He leered calmly ,"You have a tendency to interfere even when it is all too unwise to do so."

Dagbert felt a fury rise within him. "We were only trying to do the right thing!"

The Thaumaturge rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. How right is it to murder every single seer that is allied with us?"

The Recorder sighed. "Listen. What we have done I hope we do not do again. But we have no other choice - we cannot let you-"

Emmeroloth revealed a sharp scowl. "And that's why you have been trying to tempt Thordan to align with you?" Both woodlander and vermin stayed silent for a few tense seconds before the fox decided on changing the subject.

"You know, pretending to be an otter was a neat trick. The Veil was perfect. Masking yourself to look like the boy's grandfather was incredibly ingenious of you. A pity you got the look wrong, and the accent as well."

"How - how did you know?" The mole was clearly shaken.

"Well, I was speaking with the actual otter while you were doing ridiculous impressions of him. To be honest, you were too polite to imitate him completely, Conjurer. Trust me, you still have a long, long way to go in your acting career." The Thaumaturge sighed. "You see, it's quite fun talking to the only beast with any shred of conscience on your side."

What Emmeroloth said was not quite true. Aside from the Emissary, the Warrior and the Assassin, there was still the Architect, one more addition to their little union - one whose potential as a seer is as low as one can have, but a fearsome warrior nonetheless. "It's much less pleasurable talking with the only beast without morality on yours."

The fox sighed again. "I fear we would have a long way to go before we can achieve any sort of compromise. At least you do."

"We could talk only if you could divulge more than a little shred of your plans." Dagbert kept his eyes trained on the fox as he spoke. "You have already Sundered one Shard! What will you do next? What can you do next?"

Emmeroloth sighed for the third and final time. "What I do, I do for the salvation of this star." It only took a single impact through the Rift before the Thaumaturge stepped through the Gate of his own making, turning back from the scholar mole and stepping into the world that he considered to be real.

Dagbert just stood there, without making a single noise. He had failed in his mission, and his colleagues would not be happy.

Emmeroloth may be his foe, but the black fox had told the truth, as all seers are obligated to do. He had a long, long way to go indeed.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, DRAVANIA

After all that followed around her - all that tragedy that had descended upon her - Sigrun was finally home. Growing up with her brother and mother, Sigrun always had an affinity with the city.

After Hildrinn, Kaldos was the largest city in Dravania. Despite being cleaved neatly into twain by a narrow strait, barges frequented the harbours between. Kaldos proper was situated on an island, with the urban centre and main fortification atop. The other side, Koerthas as it was called, was being rapidly developed by the efforts of Sigrun's father, which caused some minor conflicts of interests with the Kaldosians along the way. Beyond that lay hills and mountains, protecting the city, but preventing it from developing further.

Walking behind Sigrun were the Strandsors, father and son. They were quite an odd pair, the father being wild and passionate while the son being calm and composed. It took less than three glances to see that they were trying to manipulate her into doing their bidding - they have made everything obvious. At least they have not seized control of herself yet - Father would rage for a few more days if they had tried to marry her to anyone.

Gustav Strandsor carried the Wolf Banner for her - the commonfolk cannot expect a lady to do everything herself, can they? Though its purpose seemed to have been fulfilled - beasts flocked to see her and her (nominal) subordinates carry a pennant never seen in a hundred seasons, which must be for a big reason.

And a big reason it was! The procession finally reached the main square of the city, and the main three figures ascended onto a platform specifically designed for the occasion alongside their bodyguards.

"Beasts of Kaldos, listen!" Gustav Strandsor shouted at the crowd. "Dravain legend tells of this banner, and this banner's own tale!" The beasts quickly silenced themselves, as the tale was known to all.

"In the past, Dravania was its own kingdom with its own king, but this was not to last. For fifty and two hundred seasons, they fought against Southsward." Pointing at the banner, he continued, louder than ever before. "For where this banner went, Dravain beasts followed. Where this banner went, we were a thorn in the squirrelking's tail. Not even with the might of both Southsward and Parma were we beaten."

A cheer arose from the crowd, only to silence itself moments later. They knew what happened next - every Dravanian knew.

"Finally, while the kingdom was being rent apart from within, Southsward pounced upon us for the last time. A small force was able to occupy a strategic location, but they were few in number." Lord Gustav decided to break out the dramatic paw gestures. "Ravens filled the air, calls of death following in their wake. Thousands of Southards thundered towards Hildrinn, their fires outnumbering the stars, and they carried the banner of King Riddian the Third - the King Riddian who was one of the best tacticians of all time!"

The older lord raised his paw up into the sky, as if he was a chorus in some ancient play. "We were supposed to not last a single hour, to be swept along the winds. But we fought! In a trickle, beasts did not flee, but fought to keep their homes and loved ones free from Floret's paws. That one trickle soon turned to many, and a flood of beasts exited the safety of their homes, and arrived at the field of battle. Farmers carried pitchforks, woodsbeasts carried axes, and nothing more but a few days of food. Everyone knew that they might not return - some even knew that they will not return! But the land had been theirs, and they would not parcel even a fistful of soil!"

Standsor shed a tear next, his paw falling. Then another tear trickled down. "The dead piled up in mounds, but our loyalty to the land was matched bit by bit by Southard fidelity to their king. Slowly but surely, we perished one by one." He paused to wipe off a few stray tears lingering on his face. "But not all of them died. The survivors, few they might be, lived and sired children. Seasons came and seasons went, till Dravania was but a distant dream. Weep for it! Weep for what is lost to you!"

Sigrun must have been hallucinating, for she saw the most forced of grins appear on the lord's face. "But there is hope left to us, in the form of a king! A King of Dravania to give our lives meaning! A King of Dravania to save us all!" Lord Gustav's smile became less forced by the second. "He is coming! He is coming! Seasons help us! Seasons help the world!"

The lady's thoughts were soon drowned out by the endless shouts of the crowd below.

RAEVSVAKT, DRAVANIA

"You're awake!"

Thordan Swalestrom has never been an otter with a strong constitution, but suddenly fainting in the midst of a conversation was a sign that something was very wrong. Lorcan may have been the only beast to keep a cool head outwardly, but inside he was spinning like a top. He managed to carry him to a bed, and summoned a few servants and a healer to attend to his needs, which, truth be told, are not much.

Thordan groaned as if he was shaken awake from a deep slumber, which he was. "Lorcan. How long was I out? Where am I? Where are the others gone?"

"Calm down, Thordan. You're very safe, and so are the others." Lorcan has a way of comforting those he cared about, though suddenly losing consciousness may spell disaster to his friend. Holding a cup of water, he beckoned Thordan to drink, which he swiftly did.

"You were turning and twisting a lot in your state." Lorcan tried and failed to suppress a giggle. "Were you dreaming of some pretty lass?"

"What?" Thordan's ears folded, an obvious reaction to the taller beast's teasing. "No. No such thing. It was simply..." Thordan paused, scratching his head. "I don't remember much. Two beasts were in it, one vermin and one woodlander. They said a lot of things. They argued and I woke up."

"Well, dreams could be important." Lorcan smiled as he finally sat down in an armchair. "You saw that otter before you helped us drive Skipper Becker back. Maybe someone's prodding you towards victory - like in the books! The hero gets advice from the ghost of a past hero, and he triumphs against all that he will face. Like Joseph the Bellmaker!"

Thordan shook his head slowly. "I don't feel like a hero at all. I'm just some lord who tries his best to fight for my father. Oh, and to survive as well."

"Well, they do say that all heroes have their own journeys to make. I do wonder why and how..." Lorcan shook his head. "If there is some sort of law or formula regarding the making of a hero, it lies beyond the unknown."

A tense silence followed, with both beasts hesitant to speak. Lorcan has never been a beast of many words, but Thordan made him look like a chatterbox.

A cough from Thordan signified an end to the silence. "So... where are Alfyn and Egil?"

Lorcan smiled. "Well, the healers said that you were fine physically, so they went off into the city to... er, enjoy themselves." He turned towards Thordan. "I trust that your weasel friend is also unmarried, is he not?"

"Y-Yes." Thordan sighed. "Why did you ask that of all things anyway?"

Thordan, you innocent little child... "Nothing. I'm just wondering what fun they could have right now..." Lorcan stared right into his friend's eye. "Speaking of marriage, has your father made any betrothal for you? He cannot hope to fight this war alone - he's married as well as your brother."

"I haven't thought about that yet..." Thordan leaped back into his usual musings. "I'm too closely related to every eligible ottermaid of any sort of importance. The only suitable choices are all taken."

"Your half-sister hasn't been promised to anyone yet as well." Lorcan winked.

Thordan's ears folded. "Father has many plans."

Another tense silence followed, this time lord than the last. This one was finally broken with a little revelation by the younger lord.

"I remember now! Dagbert the Floret Archivist! He and Isangrim!"

Lorcan raised a claw at his worried friend, no more smiles present. "Who's Isangrim?"

"The spymaster fox! From my grandfather's court! He said that my grandfather was killed - and we don't know who did it!"

BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"How did they slip through your claws?"

The two guards who defended the east door may have been just starting on the way to recovery, but Lord Denebas Burelas was planning to move in haste. Having just received a report that Captain Waycaster has escaped, alongside with one of his subordinates, the young lord had to fulfill his duties as commander with relish.

"We were tricked!" The hareguard shrieked. "Lied to! Deceived!"

"And on no other beast's watch but yours!" Borellers are not known for their calmness, though the younger Boreller duke was an exception. However, being also sticklers for honour, it did not take long for Denebas to be pushed past his breaking point.

The grey-furred squirrel took a deep breath, finally taking the cup of tea that had been prepared for him. "I say that you two did not try your best."

Denebas put his mouth to the cup and prepared for the serene taste of unsweetened tea - only to burn his tongue. Perhaps not coincidentally, he felt his anger return.

"Please, we were just-" The mouseguard attempted to beg.

"You two apparently do not know this one thing about Borellers." Denebas stood completely still, allowing his anger to melt. "The more you plead to one, the less inclined they are to listen."

Before the unfortunate duo can respond, Denebas continued to speak. "You two will make up for your mistakes. You will tell me which direction the two have went, and you two will accompany my unit to hunt them down, and bring both the traitors back into Trielian custody! Their location might be unknown, but it is our duty to go beyond."

He turned coldly towards them, eyes revealing a savage glare - his brother's glare. "Do you two understand fully and completely?"

"We do! We do!"

'Good." The squirrellord finally let his gaze avert from the pair of former guardsbeasts. "Now, you two will stand here and do nothing at all while I inform my king and my brother."

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

A warm spring may have followed a mild winter, but Niels Crestworth was basically shivering in public view.

Of all the things Queen Lorelei could imagine to repay his favour from the Second Electoral Council, she had asked for a private dinner meeting. Not alone, of course, but with two other Valnainer lords - one of them a fox, even.

Of course, Lady Lorelei had a poor reputation prior. She was not particularly attractive, which had led to many mockeries and nicknames. Mouthpoke, Pocket-mouth, Satchel-mouth, the Big Mouth, the Mouth Bag, the Pocket-Mouthed, the She-Wolf of Vargol, the Ugly Duchess, and With the Pouch Mouth were all suffixes used for her, and for her alone. She, for one, bore all this with pride and dignity, though not exactly a lot of beasts would try to mock her in earshot.

"Lord Maurice needs more wine, Hersent." The queen gestured at her personal servant, a grey fox with fur the colour of ashes. As far as Niels knew, she was just some vermin randomly inducted into the court by Lorelei, though the Royal Vicar knew that this must have been a Skyward trait. Her father had vermin courtiers more numerous than woodlanders, and he scandalously preferred vermin females to either one of his wives. Perhaps this was due to his chaotic upbringing, or some other fact that Niels was blind to for now.

Ignoring a lustful look from Lord Renart of Maupert, the grey vixen soon left the room after fulfilling her duty, having no intent to linger there. The foxlord was known far and wide for having needs for physical pleasure that made Thordan look like a celibate. Sly, amoral, cowardly and wholly-self serving, Renart would not have amounted to anything in normal circumstances, but these vices allowed him to thrive in the Valnainer court. The common folk do say that Maupert was one of the best hiding spots for this errant lord - which was desperately needed due to his tense relationship with his soon-to-be-former liege.

Niels preferred the other Valnainer, Lord Maurice of Graille. After all, he had married his only full sibling, and they loved each other so much for the birth of two children, with a third following them by the end of the season. Plump and portly for an otter, he preferred the kitchen to the court, as cooks scheme significantly less than lords. However, even the slightest mention of the voleking seemed to spur the otter into action.

"You Otharnese serve good food," the otterlord smiled as he sipped from his goblet. "But we know that you do not randomly invite your guests to such gatherings without them having something to offer."

"Your intuition is good indeed, Lord Maurice. We have matters of a more serious nature to discuss than pies and wine." Lorelei grinned at Niels openly - a sign that she wanted something very badly. After all, they knew each other since childhood, but she was noteworthily cold towards him for the last forty seasons.

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

Flight

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

Queen Lorelei was never a beast to beat around the bush, but this was the most sublime way to discuss an open usurpation - even for a beast such as Renart of Maupert.

Everyone knew that King Guillame was trying to break free from Parman control, despite Valnain being subordinate to another kingdom for even longer than Southsward. While he was slightly (with emphasis on the slightness) more capable of diplomacy than King Gideon (who has set nary a step past the gates of Floret), he was no King the Valnainers need.

A series of loose-pawed Parman kings had allowed Valnain to flourish, but King Guillame had to ruin everything by suddenly declaring war on Thordan of Parma, no doubt with the encouragement of Thordan's other enemies, chief of them Lord Canute of Doma.

The Doman otterlord's ability to produce coherent speech suddenly faltered, and he was only able to sputter out a few confused syllables. Despite him being an accomplished scholar and healer, and arguably the most powerful person on the entire blasted planet, he has absolutely no idea how to talk with any female. Renart would have to remedy that someday after he has got his crown. Perhaps a venture or two to a few courtesans would help.

"Er... yes. King Guillame has clearly overstepped his boundaries, but I would rather give the throne to somebeast trustworthy if it were left to me." He wiped a few drops of sweat off his muzzle. "Lord Maurice, if you get some sort of opportunity to obtain the Valnainer crown, what is it that you would do?"

"I would much rather ignore the opportunity, your lordship." Maurice was ever a humble beast, cautious and prudent, but also moved imaginary obstacles into his view. He and Renart were 'like night and day', some said, but Renart would think that 'like fox and otter' would be more suitable for them. After all, he was the only woodlander he could rely on - even though he would not do so on a whim.

The Royal Vicar sighed. "Well, you have a long history of not being trustworthy, Lord Renart."

The fox rose from his seat. "Well, what are you going to do about that? Sic your shadow fox on me? I have already outplayed him twice before, and I would not mind a third." Isangrim was a good spymaster, able to appear everywhere he wanted, but he is just a normal fox with normal abilities. He is basically almost as overrated as sliced bread.

His words extracted no reaction from Maurice, a surprised and innocuous glare from Lord Niels, and a venomous stare from Lady Lorelei. The last one was able to make him sit down again. In his first visit to King Thordan's court, he made the mistake of trying his usual flirting tactics on her like any noble maid. Well, a few bruises later, he began to understand that she was no innocent damsel at all.

"Well, I can guarantee your loyalty, young lord." At the not-so-tender age of six and thirty seasons, Renart may have been the youngest lord in the room, but he had the most experience in plotting and intrigue. Now, he was going to make all his investments worth it all.

"How so?"

"By allowing your wife, the Lady and future Queen Hermeline to spend the duration of the entire campaign as a guest in Vargo."

Now this was an offer I would take. Not having to surrender Percehaie, Malebranche and Rouvel would be expedient, and they would not mind leaving their mother behind for a campaign. But there is always something more to a Parman offer...

As if on cue, it was Lady Lorelei's turn to speak next - though without permission. But who cared? She could beat all three of them bloody, and order the deaths of all of their families, friends and everyone they knew, the destruction of their lordships, and having all trace of them wiped from history with the same tone one might expect to pick a specific kind of tea for lunch.

Besides, Renart needed her.

'We would like a light Parman garrison to be stationed in Maupert as well." The otterqueen said without batting an eye. "We cannot trust you just yet."

A garrison? In Maupert? That is some high-pawed trick. I cannot run from the Parmans if, and only if, I was forced to betray them. But then... there's the crown.

Truth be told, there was like some little voice in his head telling him to accept this offer, to allow this small setback for a gamble for the Valnainer crown. But at what cost? The voice seemed to speak louder and louder moment by moment - to the point where his mind was almost shut out fully and completely.

"No. Not now." Had he not drunk that night, he would have savoured the shocked look on Lorelei's face more. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for what sacrifices you plan to make for me. But I can win my crown for myself and by myself." The voices stopped.

Gesturing to Lord Maurice, the lord stepped out the door, with his personal items packed up for them by attentive Parman servants. They would leave fast. They would have to create their own army, and topple a king who cares not about their subjects, without counting on foreign help.

Had they stayed for a moment longer, they would have heard Lorelei Skyward sigh. Not one of resignation, but one of utmost relief.

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA

"Your brother actually said that?"

Going back to a fully armed castle with a vermin in tow was awkward enough for Alfyn Stalwart, but he just had to reveal some things that should not be heard. Sharing gossip with him was indeed a bad idea.

"Yes, Egil." The otter did not know when he stopped referring to the weasel as simply 'vermin', but Egil did make a fine drinking and cavorting partner. Well, he did help rescue Thordan, so he deserves some reward. "Lorcan did indeed sing praises about his wife's ears. Really!"

"Couldn't he had chosen something else? His wife is one of the most beautiful ottermaids living, and he compliments her ears?"

"Correct." Alfyn could now see why Thordan Swalestrom was friends with the weasel. He was a playful beast, and always remained merry in the face of adversity. Alfyn was all the more amazed when he didn't speak as crudely as the vermin he saw at home - to the credit of his banker father.

"Well, I think we could agree that a lovely maid has more pleasing attributes than ears." Egil joked. "We know that by experience - trial and error, mayhaps?" Both beasts laughed as they passed through the castle gates, only to see another tall otter.

Lorcan Stalwart turned to face them, a solemn countenance etched on his face - one that had its roots in Thordan Swalestrom.

"Lord Sigurd is dead." Lorcan shook his head. "Godred Swalestrom has taken Hildrinn."

Egil swore while Alfyn stopped himself from doing the same. Alfyn has lost a brother-in-law the same moment his friend has lost a brother.

But there was more to come from Lorcan. "Gustav Strandsor wants Thordan in Kaldos. The Kingdom of the Dravanians has risen from the ashes, he said, and is now a realm reborn."

Lorcan had been the better scholar amongst the twins, but Alfyn knew what he considered to be the essential parts of Dravain history. Once a kingdom, the Southards, under their greatest king ever to live, had seen fit to conquer it in its entirety without taking the royal mantle, instead seeing fit to place it from a capable yet obedient scion of the Dravain ruling dynasty, who was very conveniently married to the Skipper of Floret's heiress. Three generations passed, each one having been more focused on Southsward than the last, until two Swalestroms lay dead on the field of battle, and brother fought against brother still.

Egil was the first to speak, as always. "So Lord Gustav's crowning Thordan?"

"It is too early to tell," mused Lorcan while pacing around the castle courtyard. "But this is very likely to be the case. Unless Erlend returns to Dravania."

The Skipper of Arnet shook his head. "I fear I could not accompany him across the Sound to Kaldos. King Garmund ordered me to target Doma in the meantime - we cannot risk anybeast stabbing us in the back -metaphorically or literally."

"Well your king does like meddling with plans, doesn't he?" Egil crossed his paws. "And where is Thordan anyway?"

"Packing." Lorcan shook his head. "He wanted to mourn, but he has to get to Kaldos before either Godred or his father surrounds the city."

His voice suddenly softened, as if a wind of doubt blew in his heart. "Can you protect him? You and the weasel?"

Alfyn found himself compelled to speak. "I will."

Egil followed suit. "I swear that I will never betray Thordan, and ward him from all harm."

"Very well." Alfyn's twin was trying to hold back tears now. "You two, do your duty. Fly towards Kaldos, and stay with him to the end. I can spare half of my troops for your use, brother. Use them well."

As Alfyn watched his brother finally break down in tears, he finally knew what it is to be ready for every single thing.

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

When Galen and him met for the first time after their first departure on the battlefield, Dirk was kindly asked to introduce himself to the leader of Sword himself, saying that the battle-hardened squirrel would have need of promising soldiers - and leaders in particular.

The squirrel's quarters were simply, being comprised of nothing more than a table, a few chairs and a bed between four wooden walls - just like a common soldier's barracks, with the sole distinction of being cleaner by a more-than-slight margin.

Dirk may had never complained about having the boring jobs, but even he had to be surprised when he saw the old squirrel in front of him. General Ralos was no living legend, but Dirk expected something more impressive than a decrepit old thing. But he was anything but feeble - a massive scythe on his wall should serve as a testament to his abilities.

It took little delay before the General himself showed his face. Scar after scar coursed through his face like rivers through the land, with one in particular arising from his right forehead and flowing down to his left chin. A soldier's wounds - wounds that Dirk was no stranger to.

But there was something more about all that. Like the squirrel knew something he did not.

"Ah, Dirk, was it?" Ralos smiled as he reached out his paw, which the otter promptly took. "I had heard about you before. You performed well at Macolt." The grey squirrel seemed to tremble with every step taken, due to him greying with age, instead of having natural grey fur like his Boreller cousins.

He continued, this time speaking even faster. "Forgive me. General Ralos Farin, at your service." Unlike otters, who had their last names easily read, and mice, who had theirs taken almost from random, the last name of a squirrel always corresponds to their birthplace, or, as time went on, that of a male ancestor. The squirrel, seemed to be born in some fortress-town near the Dravain border - a highly obscure place to look for a general.

General Ralos was a tactician of average caliber, and not a particularly good strategist, but he was absolutely unparalleled in the calculations of logistics. As the saying goes, an army fought on its stomach, and Farin knew this as well as any one of his subordinates would.

"Captain Dirk Tillwaters." Dirk had never took a liking to lords, (and Garrion Swalestrom in particular), but this one had the most peasant blood he had ever met. Though a descendent of Southard kings himself, Ralos was but a minor lordling in a wide world - enough for a relatively even conversation.

"So Lord Garrion sent you here." The squirrel never smiled, but a frown was not present either. "Or was that his father?"

"It was Lord Garrion, sir." Of all the beasts that could be counted as his superiors, this was the one who said the least and showed the least emotions. Dirk quickly decided that he liked him.

"And you led a flank at Macolt?"

"Yes." Honestly, it was mostly Galen's planning that led to the false squirrelking being routed, but a few improvisations from Dirk helped as well.

"Southsward needs more good captains like you." Ralos mumbled. "I'm getting older and older by the second, and Southsward needs me more and more."

"It is simply my duty to assist you."

"Very well." It took long enough for the squirrel to smile. "Do you know how to read?"

A few clouded memories of a time long ago crawled into Dirk's head like a snail, in which a mother dragged a son to a quill. "I can read well enough."

"Very well." Ralos sat down, and Dirk followed suit after a gesture from the squirrel. "We need to study what little knowledge our ancestors were able to pass down to us - especially about the sieges. They may not be glamorous, but sieges are how wars are won."

"Correct. A third voice made its way into the room, with a mole gliding in. Unlike the dirty uniform worn by Dirk or the cleaner one worn by his superior, the mole was clearly not prepared for combat of any sort, with his squeaky-clean long white robes.

"Dirk, was it? Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The two shook paws.

BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"So you are going to hunt after a single captain who has no connection to any important figure, has authority over one beast, and can talk his way out of almost everything?"

Altayras Burelas had few moments in which he was not as hardened as the steel he carried, but with his eyes the size of oranges, staring at his crimson-clad brother in front of him (red hat included), this had to be one of them.

"He escaped abruptly, with some information he might have brought with him! We cannot allow him to run free!" Denebas fumed as he paced around the room the brothers were in. Of the Borellers, Altayras was usually the strong and silent one, while Denebas was less strong, though just as silent. However, Captain Bodvar Waycaster's escape seemed to shake Denebas more than his older sibling - mainly because the otter captain was his responsibility.

Borellers placed too much emphasis on honour, even for Trielians. The escape was a life-changing experience for Bodvar, but a normal warleader would just write this incident off as a mere footnote. But not Denebas.

The two brothers remained silent, both hesitant to speak the first word. Until Denebas broke the silence, of course.

"King Garmund has already given his permission. He would not like me to take too many beasts with him, so I will take about six"

Altayras sighed. "This is probably one of the few cases in which your mind cannot be changed, I take it?" Seeing his brother nod, the elder squirrel sighed.

"I ask one thing of you only, brother." The squirrel clad in jet-black armour stepped forward. "Do not throw away your life when there is no need to. Understand?"

"I understand, brother. I swear, with you as my liege, that I would never risk my life without permission, or attempt anything foolish that ends in my death."

"Thank you, Denebas. May your heart and mind guide you forth on your journey, and may your fortunes fly high."

No squirrel needed to hold in their tears - there were none shed, and none held.

BRISCA, FREE CITY OF BRISCA, VALERAN LEAGUE OF INDEPENDENT CITIES

Guido Aldabreschi had a plan. Guido of Brisca always had a plan.

The Ilsabarn mouse watched impassively as his guests took their seats. The Voleking of Valnain took the one closest to him. He carried himself proudly - too proudly perhaps. The vole in front of him took pride in everything, and observers reported that he was arrogant and overbearing. It took something to goad Renart of Maupert, a noted coward, into open revolt.

His royal (or rather, loyal, considering the ones who went rogue) vassals were back at home, attempting to ensure that everything worked while the king was away, conveniently ingnoring the fact that things actually worked better without him.

The other visitor never even once captured his attention. The otter was not as strong has his father had been, but strength had led Aldernan nowhere. His father being a guiless skeleton did not help matters. Raimon of Aldernan may have been the ninth of his name to reign over his Southwestern plains of the Parman Realm, but his power has been undercut from the beginning by his overlords. To be honest, Guido was not expecting any other nation to act so aggresively.

The leader of Aldernan bore the title of Captal, which Guido guessed was something similar to 'head', but more Aldernese. Valnainese, Aldernese, Garlean may have shared many similarities with Guido's native Ilsabarnese, being all descended from Oldspeak, but they have drifted away from each other centuries before.

"We are here to discuss our attempt to achieve independence from the High Kingdom of Parma." Guido of Brisca was never an eloquent beast, so he decided to introduce his points all too directly.

"And how might we do so?" The Captal's paws formed a steeple as he spoke. "Parma is ready." Pointing at Guido, he continued. "The last time all of our nations were in an Anti-Parman Alliance, yours was the only one to come out unscathed."

Quite surprisingly, King Guillame nodded in agreement. Nobles were all the same - an engima to the Free Cities, but not to Guido. "King Thordan's mercy saved us at the last moment, but merciful is a word no one would ever use to describe his daughter. If anyone related to her takes the throne, we are all doomed. We cannot postpone the election for long."

Guido nodded and smiled. Corrado Truetide was a noted battle commander, and has control over the Jayso Isles through his son. Erlend Swalestrom was a beast too focused on Trielian and Southard matters - he may have nearly been elected, but the chances of him actually accepting would be slim. Thordan Swalestrom may have been weak of will and has the capacity of starting some sort of negotiations, but this is unlikely, to say the least, with his mother whispering in his ear.

"And this is why I have a proposal to make, even after actions were done to make this proposal a reality. I apologise to you for sending the invitation before informing you two, but what are your thoughts about offering Godred Swalestrom the crown of Ilsabarn?"

Intertwined

REMSFORD, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

As night descended on the realm, Somerled was examining his options. Stretching his shoulder, and letting out a whimper of pain, his mind came to an obvious fact.

Being defeated, or more accurately, routed brought little advantages.

For one, King Somerled's decimated army is trapped miles beyond enemy lines, with forts, rivers and two separate enemy forces in the way. King Garmund's own host, still in Bleswyn, is in no position to assist in any for a considerable amount of time.

This, though is but the least of Somerled's worries. His shoulder burns have been mostly healed, but the fact that some vermin was able to reach him in his dreams was unnerving, to say the least. Duke Kestutas of Burelas, being a beast of stars and phantoms, might have an answer to this pressing question, but he was long since dead and buried. It was rather uncommon, to say the least, for Somerled to actually wish for a dead rival to return to him, but fear does all manner of things to a beast.

Descending upon Floret along the River Rems was a viable option, taking a few river forts along the way being a strategy used by many before. This could have taken away one of Floret's rivers, but there was another. Besides, King Garmund explicitly told him not to go for Floret one more time.

Truth be told, Garmund himself could be headed towards Floret as Somerled was wasting time doing nothing but thinking to himself. But there was not much Somerled could do. After receiving Garmund's message, he began to understand why the Southard were not willing to bow to Triel. Not that he sympathised with them, of course. They were traitors who all deserved a traitor's demise, and deserved no place in history.

Recovering from Macolt was easy enough, but the real wound was targeted at the squirrelking's pride. A king losing to a mere lord was bad enough, but hearing that Lord Garrion had deferred his command to a lowly commoner turned that situation from a setback to a calamity. He had heard nothing of Galen Snowpath before, which was entirely normal, but that unknown otter had the bravery and audacity to defeat him. Somerled hoped that his luck would run out soon - as many had done before.

However, with the coming of a new hope from Parma, his luck seemed to turn the other way. The otter, Amalrik he was called, was the only beast who could manage to soothe his wounds, physical or otherwise. He was quite a jolly beast, and seemed not to have a care in the world, but there was always something that seemed to reside in his head, and nobody else. Somerled was almost tempted to throw a knife at his face at him a few times - the grin was unnerving, to say the least - but he was able to change his mind just in time.

And the games. Amalrik loved play almost as much as he loved his work. Even when healing his shoulder bit by bit, he always managed to take a look at his set of playing cards, with the figures on top never seeming to wear out. When he and the otter played a game of chess (just to relieve the king's stress), the pieces seemed to gleam when he was holding them in his paw. He could have sworn the healer grinned every time the squirreking made a move, though not without reason - the otter tended to win a lot.

Finally realising the coming night, the squirrel hoped sleep would come soon, and a dreamless one at that. The marten shall not trouble him again with his vermin sorcery further, and somehow he was sure of that.

STATION OF AWAKENING, THE RIFT

Clutching the golden object in his paws, Slyte found himself in the Rift once more.

The initial dizziness was overcome within seconds, though why in the heavens Arbert would call them here would be a mystery. Conjuration may be weaker than Thaumaturgy, but the former is more suited to making paths to other worlds than its sister power. Slyte barely had time to punch through the barrier after being chased by twoscore guards.

Standing in the little circle were the mole brothers. As usual, Dagbert wore his white and Arbert red - a little reminder to their duties as Archivist and Hunter - or more accurately, Emissary and Warrior. The clothes fitted them well - Dagbert's hobby being lazing around and Arbert's being brutally smashing everything that stood in his way.

They managed to track him down after what transpired in Greymorg, no doubt suddenly alarmed by the sudden lightning bolt that came from nowhere. After a few sudden explanations and an explosion of information Slyte was not prepared for in any way, he agreed to join them in their little campaign.

The Architect was always a different story, of course. While the moletwins joined for reasons incomprehensible and the pine marten for reward, the General of Sword joined for duty. One can even see the grim look on his face to guess that he was not enjoying the experience of working with vermin.

His face was still riddled with numerous scars obtained from all four battles he had been in - the big gash from Macolt. Slyte had met with his Bondbeast target there, and told him vital information in the usual manner of seers - that is, using many words to say nothing at all.

Unlike most beasts who called themselves seers, Slyte had the powers the Fates had granted, and he could use them as much as he wanted to - provided he had taken the necessary precautions, of course. He was levels above in Seercraft above Ralos, and about the equal of Dagbert and Arbert, who in turn are as strong as any Woodlander could be.

"I see that all four of us are in attendance." Arbert was the most experienced warrior among the four of them, so he fashioned himself the leader - conveniently neglecting the fact that he had his axe to talk for him. "Have you brought the object, Slyte?"

"I have indeed." Enamel-marked images, alongside with the magnificent jewels etched on it, made the Jaysian Crown perpetually recognizable. Placing the crown on the table, Slyte returned to a sitting pose.

"King Gideon would have need of that." Ralos sighed as he stood up and took the crown in his paws. "I see that the both of us are the only ones who had succeeded in our respective missions, though yours was definitely harder." Handing over the object to Dagbert, he managed a nervous smile - a smile that Slyte found himself copy unconsciously.

The elder mole closed his eyes to help with his concentration while his three partners watched on, the tension in the air slowly rising as the Recorder embraced Conjuration, seeking what was only known to him. Then-

Nothing happened.

When Slyte found it prudent to open his eyes once more, he saw nothing but frustrated sighs.

Dagbert opened his mouth - slightly disappointed, but not surprised. "This is no Augmenter."

Ralos rolled his eyes. "So it shall seem. That leaves no more than three possible options."

Arbert had no reaction on his stony face except a nod - which meant that everything was relatively normal. "The Sword of Martin from Redwall, the Lance of Corriam from Summerdell and one other from Salamandastron."

Dagbert concurred. "Verminfate. I believe you are on its trail, I take it?" The question earned another nod from Arbert.

Slyte found himself speak. "The Crown shall be left to King Gideon, but what about the other Conjuration Augmenters?" Thordan Skyward had already found and identified four - Heavensward from Dravania, Stormblood from Parma and Shadowbringers from who-knows-where (Triel, maybe?), as well as the Sword of Martin. He had possession of the former three, but was turned back from pursuing the fourth somehow. Killing him before he could divulge anything from his loose thing did not help matters.

"Lorelei must have Turned them." Ralos shook his head. "Perhaps they may serve a better purpose in the paws of her pet fox." The squirrel may be unskilled and untried as a seer, but he was learning quickly. At first he was unused to the world of skullduggery and intrigue, but beasts change with every tick of the clock.

"Moving on." The squirrel gestured with a flick of his wrist. "What are we going to do with Thordan? The younger one, I mean. It is basically confirmed he is indeed a seer."

"With Emmeroloth looming over him, there is nothing much we can do. We have to take him out of the picture soon." Arbert's gaze never left his own Amplifier - a weird blue crystal with jagged edges which he obtained from the Iceshard. It was almost as strong as an Augmenter, but his Conjuration had its limits, growing only linearly, or something like that.

It was a surprise to Slyte that his Seercrafting was the most powerful among the four, or that he was even a seer. The mole brothers helped him escape Greymorg via supernatural means, and after a detour to Seafoam Isle in the Western Sea, here he was in Floret, serving as an assassin targeting those who crossed the path of Southsward.

"But how?" The marten found himself ask. "We don't know what he's planning, and I doubt that we could even take him on at all, with his pesky Bond with Lorelei. At least her father's whereabouts are unknown." The fox was about two levels above Slyte in Seercraft, but those two levels could constitute the greatest of differences.

"He needs to be isolated." Arbert's reply was terse.

"So..." Slyte cocked his head to one side. "We do nothing until he makes a mistake? Sounds useless to me."

"Not nothing." Dagbert revealed a little smile. "We just wait until he makes some kind of misstep. Arbert will get Verminfate here, I will see to Southard affairs, and Ralos will be back in the field."

His smile dissolved as his eyes rolled towards Slyte. "In the meantime, you will head to Bleswyn."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It took nine days, three hours, twenty minutes, a letter from his father and a severe reprimand from the rest of the family to make Godred Swalestrom understand that killing his cousin is a bad, bad idea. Of course, this was not his fault - his beasts were overly eager to take the city, and Sigurd was overly eager to defend it.

Now, he was in for a talk with his close kinsbeasts about a matter of a vastly different nature.

"Wait. To summarise everything, you want me, of all beasts, to become the King of Jayso?

"Well, it's less about Jayso and more about Ilsadia, but you get the idea." Garrion continued to stare at him like he was some foreigner. Well, he was indeed a foreigner-to-be, but when was his brother so hostile?

It was like his father and uncle all over again. For three generations straight brother and brother had conflicts of interest within House Swalestrom, and a fourth was soon to follow.

'Southsward needs you, Godred." This time, it was Bellamy who spoke. Their mother was absent, being more and more withdrawn after the death of her lastborn child, though her daughter forced herself back into activity.

"But Jayso does not!" Thumping his paw on the table in front of him, he stood up. "And neither does Ilsadia!" He fumed on and on. "Why do I have to leave Southsward just to answer the call of some mouse who wasn't even born a lord?"

"Godred!" A shrill voice thundered through the room while Garrion failed to drop his stare. "Every country, every lordship are too intertwined now. I will do my duty taking on the Trielians, and Bells will do hers looking after mother. Now it's just you."

"Fair enough." Godred sighed as he walked away from the room. "My duty will be done indeed, but rest assured that I will not do it happily."

To accentuate the point, he closed the door behind him.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Kaldos was not the same as Thordan had remembered. He visited his father there about six or seven times, but this was different. His brother was dead, his father miles away in Triel, and he was here alone for the first time.

The city was not as well as he remembered it. Beasts have left the harbour long ago, preferring to strengthen their positions outside the city walls. Thordan heard that a new set of walls were to be built to keep the Southards out, paid for and organised by Lord Strandsor. He could only hope that it could work.

The harbours of Kaldos were the exact location he and his paternal half-siblings said their goodbyes, so it should make sense that there they would meet once more. Well, one of them anyway. The lordling may have never met with Sigurd much, but he was his brother nonetheless - and a good one.

I should have went with him. Grandfather has passed away, and Sigurd followed. Why does everyone connected to me need to suffer? It isn't fair.

The otter in his dreams told him that he and his father had spoken for the last time. Which may mean that his father would die far, far away from his eyes. Or that he would die before his father. Neither choice seemed entertaining to him.

There was also the significant possibility that the otter may be lying. Yes, he may have never gave his name and spoke in the vaguest of manners, but something told him that he was trustworthy. He was not telling the whole truth though. That he was certain.

He embraced Sigrun at the docks again, her afraid of losing him almost as much as he was of losing her. After a few more introductions (and funny looks from the Strandsors at Egil), he was invited back into the castle.

"I fear that your father could not join us here," the elder Lord Strandsor sighed. "He is in Triel, you see, fighting for the beast He was nearing his fortieth season, yet he behaved like some kind of child, Egil, Skipper Becker, or some combination of the three. Thordan preferred his son to him, though he seemed quite likeable for the moment.

"Kaldos has waited for you for far too long, Young Thordan Swalestrom." Haakon Strandsor spoke next with his calm voice. "Anxiously, as we would like to add."

"What for?"

"This city is yours, Thordan. As the only loyal Dravanian lords, we would like to offer you the crown, the throne, and all of Dravania."

Thordan let out an audible gasp. "Why me, of all beasts?"

Lord Gustav stood up only to pace around the room. "I confess that I wanted the crown for myself in the beginning. But Dravania always needed a Swalestrom, and I was only married to one." He continued without even catching his breath. "Your father broke his marriage vows - " Thordan could hear Sigrun tense - "so he would not be accepted as king. As his only surviving son, you are our only candidate. Please consider it well."

Thordan spoke, and the world changed.

DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD

The beast who called himself Emetselk stood up, finally free of duties for the first day.

The only other beasts in the Aetherochemical Research Facility were both vermin. Emmeroloth was one of them, having travelled from the world he was born and arriving in this shard. Now with his master, King Thordan of Parma dead and buried, he would have the full allegiance of the fox - not counting Lorelei of course. The beast who called himself Emetselk was tolerated by the fledgling queen who finally got out of her father's shadow.

Emmeroloth was a mostly self-taught Thaumaturge, but Thordan had done well enough. He knows all the basics, the Triad of Death and so on, and the opening of Pathways. Of course, the beast who called himself Emetselk went further, heading to different shards with his secret apprentice, and learning by experience rather than by the book.

Of course, there were some who would stop them. Long have the beast who called himself Emetselk evade the moles from Southsward, losing Thordan Skyward on the way. Now, though, they have no idea that the beast who called himself Emetselk was still active, or even alive for that matter.

King Thordan had specified that Emmeroloth, as Isangrim, take care of his grandson, also called Thordan. The beast who called himself Emetselk thought that his other grandson, Corrado, would be tried and tested as a seer, but his many qualities were in fact all mundane. Emmeroloth suggested that this way because of his ancestor's blowing of Oliphaunt, which is likely, considering the evidence.

The other vermin, though, was slightly less familiar to Emmeroloth. The beast who called himself Emetselk had found his soul, floating in the void, his life cut short by events occurring in the Source. Of course, mundane means had done what Seercraft cannot do, and the brown-furred vermin soon found himself awake.

His first reaction was simple. "Why am I alive?" He had been a bit dead, but that problem was remedied not long after the beast who called himself Emetselk's arrival.

"Where is this place?" was his second. This was quite understandable. The beast had never been to another world before, and he had no power to wield Conjuration or Thaumaturgy. The beast that called himself Emetselk nearly mistook the Aetherochemical Research Facility for the Skein of Severance in the Windshard, but the poor beast was unsatisfied with the answer, correct it may be.

His last question was "Why am I a stoat?" Of course, the stoat was not born a stoat, but that did not matter in his new body. Who he originally was remained a secret between the three, and the beast that called himself Emetselk was able to lull the exhausted stoat to sleep before any more questions were asked.

Of course, the stoat was but the first step. Sooner or later, the Heaven's Ward will be complete.

It is etched.

Machinations

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, KINGDOM OF PARMA

Of all the emissary training Bertil received, no piece of advice was more valuable than the Three Rules of Diplomacy.

Contrary to what may seem obvious to outsiders, the 'rules' were more like guidelines as opposed to actual rules. The first of those was to show no ill will towards anybeast, and to be polite to all beast who stand against you. Lord Sverker excelled in this aspect, though his father somehow always favoured his other son. Harald Crestworth was a born warrior who talks of nothing else but talk of looping heads off. It would only take but three guesses to why Bertil favoured Sverker, and the first two do not count.

The second is to never hate. This sounded hard, so Bertil settled with not expressing hatred. Again, Sverker was a master in this aspect compared to his brother - even Thordan Swalestrom would make a better diplomat than Harald - diplomats preferred shyness to impulsiveness, of course.

This is all because of the third rule - the only way not to break your word is not to give it. The world changes all too fast for trust to be given for long. So why bother? Silence speaks louder than words anyway.

He of course had not mastered the skills a diplomat should have, but enough had been done that his dispatches to Thordan and Erlend Swalestrom were received successfully. The son and the father were both quiet, unassuming, and maybe cowardly beasts, though Bertil did not need to guess why this was the case.

He had returned to Kurburg with Lord Erlend's message. Lord Valdemar was initially dismissive, but would meet with every single member of House Crestworth except for Lady Bengjerd, who is pregnant, and Lord Sverker, who remained in Doma in the time being.

Sverker was the more dutiful of the two, though he lacked his father's favour. After all, while his brother would very much like to rule the world by fire and sword, Sverker would like the same thing while remaining seated the whole time. Slothfulness may not be a virtue seen in a lord, but Bertil had faith in Sverker. After all, he was the one to recommend the hedgehog as an emissary, thus allowing him to bid a final farewell to the job he had learned to hate.

He never got on well with the rest of the guards, which is probably why he was left with the most boring jobs (just like his liege). Of course, this fact had saved his life back at Raevsvakt in the whole Thordan Swalestrom business. He was all too lucky not to have lost his head in the most literal of manners.

He walked into the room behind the Crestworths. The four of them were all of age, though Harald was barely so, being but ten and eight seasons old. He had always carried a look of determination that his brother and great-uncle had lacked.

The same can be said for his father, though in a different way. Harald may be fire, but Valdemar was stone, cold, unmoving and unyielding. He was stubborn, of course, and a natural enemy of Queen Lorelei. Bertil managed to hold a shudder at the thought of him claiming Meraholmer, and starting another great war, though he was always vague about his intentions. Sverker could be a good Lord of Meraholmer, better than his father, or Thordan Swalestrom for that matter. It was a pity that Harald was poised to take over that office as well.

Better that than two Lords of Doma. Doma was at the northernmost point of Otharn, though its inhabitants were more closer to Meraholmer and Dravania in blood and language. The whole Northern Coast of Parma used to be Dravanian, though most of the territories West of Doma, Vargo included, were assimilated into the Otharnese sphere of things; while the Eastern parts developed an identity closer to Laagmeer than Doma, with their disdain for kings and lords evident on their scowls and jeers, while living under the rule of chieftains.

Grandmaster Otto began the conversation, as always. Being the younger brother of Valdemar, he would much rather join the Shieldbrothers than be entitled to his portion of the Doman Lordship. He was a bright and affable otter, though a fearsome warrior nonetheless - he had not got the title for nothing. Pledged to serve Parma, Otto feared politics more than anything, so he never bothered to appear in the last of the three Electoral Councils - the one with but three otters participating. Obviously, that did not sit well with Valdemar, and so here he was.

"So what should be done now?"

"Aldabreschi would never let anyone among us be king after allying with him. We could use him, though not for long. And we cannot afford to make any more enemies. Lorelei is tacky enough, but with her son holding Meraholmer anything bad can happen. At least King Erlend is not interested in the Parma throne."

"We have to give credit to him." Niels spoke next. The lord was always calm, and helped mediate between his brother and King Thordan in previous disputes, and had always enjoyed a "He knows the cost of the crown."

"Well we need a king anyways!" Harald was ever brash, but this time the Crestworths needed such impulse - impulse Sverker did not seem to possess. "Father can fit the role very well!"

'Being king is not that easy, Harald." Lord Valdemar said with a flick of his paw. "We need support. The king, whoever he is, must be hated by none, and must be able to pass judgement and show mercy at the same time."

"These beasts are few in number." Otto laughed, as if he knew something the others did not.

"Indeed." Niels affirmed. A silence ensued when Niels finally realised why his nephew laughed. "Um... why are all of you looking at me like that?"

"You will be a great king, uncle." Otto said as he knelt.

"I am sure the Electors will agree with you, Otto. Queen Lorelei especially." Valdemar smiled - a rare occurrence.

Bertil found himself kneeling as Harald did, with the bodyguards following suit. Niels groaned.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

The courtyard of Castle Kaldos was not particularly silent for the recent months, but with the return of a lord to take charge of the long-neglected city, tranquility seeped in bit by bit. The grass was trimmed to a reasonable length, and the old oak tree were starting to grow leaves again, where under the shades friends sat and talked.

However, the adjective 'tranquil' was not (in normal circumstances) used to describe any single location where Lord Alfyn Stalwart was located in.

"Why in the world would you reject the crown?" the otterlord screamed. Egil may have taken a liking to the tall otter compared to when they first met in Raevsvakt, but the weasel was just as scared of him as he was

Thordan was never known for his best decisions, but Egil would have never guessed that he would throw away the Dravain crown just like that. Sitting under the oak tree of Kaldos Castle was no king, but a nervous little teenager. The Wolf Banner had been resting just by the tree trunk, with no breeze to make it move.

And Thordan knew it too. "I did not reject it! I just asked for a delay!" In Egil's opinion Thordan should had put the crown on his own head as fast as possible, and jammed it so tight that it cannot be taken off his head. But Thordan was Thordan, and not Egil the weasel.

At least Lord Strandsor had the good sense and good will to make him Regent of the Kingdom - an office with its little description being this too was not a desired outcome by Thordan, but he would do everything that keeps him away from the crown - not that this would matter in the long run, as the crown would descend on his head sooner or later, willingly or not.

"Well, you need to get yourself into something important soon." Lady Sigrun sighed as he sat down next to her half-brother. Her other brother's death affected her much, though she had refused to show it. Instead, she was carrying the whole 'Swalestrom against Swalestrom' business on her own. "Lord Strandsor wants you as a mere puppet - this I am certain!"

"Well, everyone does seem to have manipulating me as a hobby sometimes." Thordan erupted into a mirthless laugh, that seemed weird, terrifying even. "From the greatest of kings to the lowliest of vermin." He winked in Egil's direction without a smile on his muzzle, making sure that the weasel saw.

He knows! The contents of that little conversation the younger weasel shared with his father during his first meeting of Thordan have not been disclosed, but Thordan had a knack at guessing what was going on. Not a lot of vermin would go all out in befriending their betters, and Egil did seem excessively attached to the otterlord at first. Seasons, he knows!

Thordan then reverted into the long-expected smile. Egil sighed with relief as Alfyn sighed, for a different reason.

"While I do not approve of your rejection of the crown, I am bound to obey your every command. As I am but a landless otter of noble blood, I have no obligation to any lord for now. I wish to swear my fealty to you."

"You are a brave warrior and a true leader of beasts, Alfyn Stalwart. I shall be pleased to accept your sword and shield into my service." Thordan was visible trembling while his sister stood up and sat away from him.

"I pledge homage to you, Regent Thordan Swalestrom, rightful ruler of Dravania." Alfyn clearly memorised these words - these words that had brought weight and duty with them, and though sparingly used, came from the mouths of every single noble parent. "I will remain your devoted beast as long as my breath belongs to my body, and I will be at your side to fight your enemies as long as you are in need of my sword. I will uphold the claims and rights of you and your rightful heirs. This I swear!"

The otterlord took a deep breath before his mouth started moving again. "Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made."

Thordan never even blinked. "What is asked is given, and the price is paid." The traditional rhyme of fealty. "May you uphold your oath always, with proper courage and determination."

The Regent continued, every syllable louder and clearer than the last. "Let it be known that from this day forward, you are my sworn beast and vassal. I give you my protection and grant you the right to bear your arms in my name, and I pledge that shall not deprive you of your life, liberty and properties expect by the lawful judgement of your peers and the law and custom of the land. I shall also grant you the Lordship of Meraholmer, with all its rents, revenues and beasts at your command under my authority."

Egil's eyes grew as large as ripe oranges. Meraholmer to Alfyn? A Trielian? Half the island's population are vermin! Would they accept him? Or would they be put down? Alfyn is an efficient soldier, and - The weasel shuddered at the thought of Islander killing Islander.

Something must be done.

GYSTRA, DRAVANIA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"So Dravania has raised its banner against Southsward?" Lord Lorents Rueford was not known as the calmest beast of the realm, but even he was able to annoy Becker to such a degree that his ears will simply not stop buzzing as soon as the other lord entered the room.

"So it shall seem." Becker was most irritated by the news that the Wolf Banner was in Dravain paws once more, but so far he was able to show nothing of his wrath. Despite it being obvious that Thordan is nothing other than a puppet and a weakling, it would be a good idea to get him out of the picture as soon as possible.

The question is how.

"We need to march on Kaldos as soon as possible. Surprise the enemy." The Ruefords were not pleased when Thordan was declared Regent of the Realm, but was incensed when Gustav Strandsor got the position of Realmwarden. The two otterlords despised each other so, that whenever they met, words turn into spears, and tongues into swords. Lord Strandsor whispering into Thordan's ear did not help manners.

"I assure you that your vendetta of sorts will be settled, though you would have to wait." Becker shook his head. "Somerled of Deilart marches towards Hildrinn, and we can't be outclassed by Garrion, can we?"

"Well, I can deal with your wayward nephew. Just give me three thousand beasts and I will - "

"There is no need for division of the army. You are the best aide de camp I can ask for. Rest assured that I can deal with Thordan myself, though I think I need your son here. I have some mission for him soon."

Lord Rueford turned his head, ready to retire for the night in his positions across the river. The Udso was the border between Southsward and Dravania until King Riddian III crossed it, and Gystra built on both sides of the river and by the sea - a little melting pot for Southard and Dravain influences alike. When Thordan Swalestrom declared the Kingdom of Dravania revived, the Gystran Dravanians stayed loyal to Southsward. Their loyalty will be rewarded, of course.

Pawsteps from behind made Becker shiver, though he had grown accustomed to them.

"I heard that you have a little family problem," the hedgehog said as he smiled. Phronesis was a healer of the highest caliber, able to use herbs to their fullest potential, and a genuinely calm and friendly beast.

The hedgehog almost made Becker think of his brother. Last time Becker heard of him, he was slowly wasting away with grief while heading to Bleswyn. The seasons have been acted well on him, it seems.

"Care you care for me to take it off your shoulders?" Phronesis' smile turned suddenly lighter in magnitude and intensity.

"That depends on the circumstances."

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"So you don't want a loan? Skuli sat up, intrigued by the suggestion of the young otterlord.

Corrado Truetide (not to be confused with his father or son of the same name) was a tall beast of twenty-two seasons, and he had his mother's Trielian fur. Of all the noblebeasts he had catered to, Corrado was the strangest, yet somehow most relatable.

He was kind enough to bring a court bard with him to Vargo. Eduard Muirsch, he was called, and was one of the few vermin able to worm his way into the heart of a lord - a strategy Skuli used himself with the youngest of his three sons. Unlike Egil, though, the rat was no childhood acquaintance, instead having been sought out by the otterlord himself, and now follows wherever the lord goes by his own will.

The reformation of the Kingdom of Dravania drew worries from everyone of note, and that included Skuli. Thordan Swalestrom, a king to be? What used to be a joke has soon become the harshest of realities. The fledgling nation would need a strong paw to guide it. Thordan would be a better king in a time of peace, but not now.

The same cannot be said for Corrado. Being a warrior by nature and having an eye for the boldest of enterprises, both his friends and enemies trembled before him, and for good reason. Being a beast of boundless ambition and drive, he resembled King Thordan a bit too much - not the one that died that season, but the one before that.

Thordan the First married the Lady of Hither Garlseca (whose title Corrado now holds), and started a tradition of marrying heiresses. His son married the Queen of Garlesca, and his grandson married the Duchess of Thavnair. Scholars now say that the Skyward holdings cannot be held together by long, and a long series of early deaths in the family minimised their hopes for dividing the family lands. With Corrado, who produced a son (with a crowned head, even) at age seventeen and continuing to pop out otterpups with his very attractive wife, there is some hope for stability.

Such dreams would have to wait until the war is over though. With Garmund's Trielites and Garrion's Otterguard dancing in the Greatrange, two Swalestroms, one of them Thordan (of all beasts!), closing on crowns, and Parma still being in interregnum, stability is a far-off fantasy.

"Yes. I come here to buy a full-on merchant fleet." Corrado smiled as he poured more wine into his goblet before a servant could reach for the cup. "Actually, part of it would suffice."

"Oh, I guess the prices would not be particularly affordable." Skuli chuckled.

"I would pay any price to safeguard the rights of my son." Corrado drank heartily from his goblet. "Speaking of which, my wife is with child again."

"Oh?" Not unexpected.

"I think I will deal with Godred Swalestrom and that slimy Aldabreschi before long." Corrado smiled. "My grandfather tried, of course, but I have faith that I can do better. Mother is trying to disentangle the Aldernese and Valnanier links of the chain, but she left Ilsadia to me."

The otterlord turned to his minnesanger. "Eduard? Play The Wanderer. Every performance does need a grand finale."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Birger Waycaster did not expect his brother's return.

As far as he was concerned, Bodvar was rotting in Bleswyn, a prisoner of the Trielian rampage into his homeland. Yet here he was, standing right in front of him, with his signature Waycaster grin on his face - a smile Birger returned in kind.

Birger was no stranger to battle himself - he was a foot soldier under the command of General Ralos, though he did not do anything much at Macolt. Bodvar participated in Vernoll, and escaped Trielian captivity using nothing but his wits and Pickner - a family friend.

Of course, the brothers still had their journeys to complete - Lord Becker needed every single bit of beastpower to firmly crush the rebelling Dravanians. Birger's ancestors may had came from Dravania themselves, but the brothers were Southards through and through. There was no questioning their loyalty.

The two brothers hugged each other for the first time in months. "Gates, I missed you." Birger spoke first, as he smiled warmly for the first time in months.

"How's things with Wayla?" Bodvar seemed downright giddy with joy while Birger blushed. After all, the two brothers may have been close, but Bodvar doesn't know how to stop prodding his nose into the love lives of other beasts.

"She accepted my proposal! We're t' be wed after the war's over!"

'That's good t' hear!" Bodvar war clearly infected by his brother's mirthful spirit. The two were always alike from birth, though they were born two seasons from each other.

The brothers laughed their way into the night.

Discordance

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"Tell me what you know about Thaumaturgy, Hersent." Queen Lorelei smiled as best as anyone with her personality could, yet something fell short in the eyes of the grey vixen.

"Isangrim told me that it is a torrent of power, which has to be seized." Wielding the power of Thaumaturgy may be easier compared to Conjuration, but it shrinks away from one's touch like a rebellious child. "Awe and menace are all you can feel when holding it."

"Well at least you got the basics right." Lorelei said, taking out a book from her satchel. The two seers were not in the palace, instead having retreated away into Lorelei's mountain residence. Well, the otterqueen had to take a break from all that politicking somehow. The fact that the fox was sitting higher than she had ever been did little to disturb her thirst for knowledge though. As a matter of fact, it was heightened even more than before.

"And you do know how it can be used, right?" The sudden voice snapped her out of her trance. "Isangrim is not a beast to shy around the details."

She remembered what the black fox had told her. Conjuration is a gentle river with the Conjurer a waterwheel, with energy to power whole families and villages. Thaumaturgy, on the other paw, was wholly different. "It is but a force to be controlled and seized, like the howling ocean or something." She could not stop the last two words from seeping out of her mouth. It shall seem that there is much more to 'proper speak' than ditching an accent.

Fortunately, the otterwife paid no mind to her words as she threw a little statue to her. 'This in an Amplifier. As you know, you cannot access Thaumaturgy without one of these or an Amplifier - not in this world, anyway."

Loose lips again proved to be Hersent's undoing. "There are others?"

Lorelei glared at the grey fox, earning an apology in return. "Yes, yes. Or so I have heard anyway. Not that I have been to any one of them, of course. Isangrim would be more well-versed in this matter."

The otter continued. "All worlds were one once, but something happened that split it into seven. We live in the centrepiece, or The Source, while the others surround us in two triangles, attuned to Thaumaturgy and Conjuration respectively."

The otter turned back to Hersent, who felt herself straighten. "No more questions. I don't know that much, so keep your voice down unless you want to be Pressured into doing so."

Pressuring? Isangrim had told her about that before - a way to allow your mind and will to leak into another creature's. It could not happen to her, can it? "I understand."

'Very well." The woodlander returned to a sort of calmness, at least outwardly. "As Isangrim's notes had stated, you are already more powerful than every Conjurer to live, though Isamgrim is still a level or two above you. I am not particularly powerful as a seer, but as I had promised my Bonder, you will be my student in the time that he is gone. You can do the basics, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. At least you're better than both of my sons. One's a Truetide, so he's out. The other, though.. he acts just like you do. But don't try to Bond him just yet. We have other options open to us."

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

Nothing much had changed since Arbert's last journey to Salamandastron.

Of course, there were those hares with ale and wine for blood, carrying outrageous accents and insulting, obnoxious behaviours on their sleeves, and bearing ridiculously long names.

General Hollin (Arbert never knew his full name, and had no plans to do so) showed him to his quarters, where he sat musing. The loud and boisterous hare had defended the mountain when Greymorg played her paw of cards, descending upon Mossflower like the tides. Only with the efforts of Brink Rufeshodd the otter and Keetch the fox did Mossflower not only survive, but thrive. The appearance of both Becker and Erlend Swalestrom in Salamandastron and Redwall Abbey respectively did help, though the two incidents were not related.

Salamandastron was where Arbert came into play. His training as a warrior paid off well, and he helped sweep the vermin back into the Lands of Ice and Snow, where he met Keetch's ghost. He was the strongest in Thaumaturgy of all seers Arbert had met, but being dead, he was of no use to (or against) Arbert.

Having been to Mossflower meant that the mole could travel there again, as the destination has to be known before a beast opens a Gate. Arbert originally wanted to arrive suddenly within the mountain itself, but that was not exactly his brother would have called to be a safe decision. After all, those hares may not have recognised him and could spare so many arrows that he would soon look more like a hedgehog than a mole - they are similar in size.

It took half an hour for Lord Rathor 'the Tempest' to get ready to talk with him. The badgerlord was an imposing beast, taller than every beast he had seen, and almost every beast he had heard of. Living longer than everyone else was but another boon to badgers as a whole - as they were not overpowered already, being the best of warriors and (not exactly good) seers as well.

"I see that you have come to Salamandastron, friend." Rathor was a beast of clarity and logic, and would not enter a state of Bloodwrath easily - which cannot be said for Arbert. "For what are you here?"

"Seers are drawn to the mountain." Arbert replied with a nonchalant smile.

"You are a seer?" The badger was not a beast who was surprised often, but there is a first for everything - including finding a fellow seer right across a table.

"Indeed." I only have to speak like Dagbert for about an hour until this is over...

Arbert continued, "I am here to research the effects of meteoric steel on the ability of seers."

"Oh? Salamandastron's meteors have been rather rare as of late."

"I have heard that you have a sword forged with it."

"Do you mean the Sword of Martin the Warrior?" The badger smiled like an otter teaching his child how to swim.

"No. I mean Verminfate, the sword of Rawnblade Widestripe, who was not called Martin." Just give it to me. The sooner it is in my paws, the sooner you can see it returned to you! It is that simple, isn't it?

"You wish to borrow it?" The mole nodded.

"Well, the sword is my property, and I need it by my side." Damnation.

"I do not need to have it amongst my possessions for too long. Three days and two nights shall suffice. Or is that too long for you?"

"It is not." The badger's smile faded. "I was just afraid that you were about to steal it."

"I assure you that I will not do so." Arbert had never been mistaken for a sword thief before. Sure, he had stolen an axe in the past, but that was long ago.

"Provided that the sword does not leave the mountain, you can use it in any way without shedding blood." The badger returned to his signature calmness. "Out of curiosity, just what are you planning to do with it?"

A bit of humour would not hurt... "I intend to sleep with it like a child does with a doll. In the chamber where you badgerlords carve your visions under the influence of Bloodwrath." Seeing the shocked look on Rathor's face, Arbert grinned as widely as he did in Greymorg three seasons ago.

'You did say 'in any way', did you?"

DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

To be honest, Lord Sverker did expect the arrival of troops on the Doman shores. He just got the commanding officer wrong.

While Thordan Swalestrom had been vacillating and weak, being swayed by the beasts he called friends, Alfyn Stalwart was a true warrior in every describable way. He had the body of a warrior, being taller than every otter Sverker had ever seen. He was brave too, and had the mind of a tactician.

But he was not the leader of the Trielians on the Doman shores, no. That honour would go to Lorcan Stalwart. The absence of a white border on his shell banner meant all the difference to Sverker and Doma.

The Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard was a strategist instead of a tactician, but he was smart enough to land his troops far, far away from enemy activity (unlike Thordan Swalestrom, who just came upon the city, and left as swiftly as he came). Now, he was ending his investment of the city, until the parley, that is.

It would not be honourable for a lord to refuse an attempt at parley, so here they were, with Castle Doma, sipping tea while praying silently for the other's defeat.

"I see that you have the city surrounded, Lord Stalwart." Sverker coolly said, while adding his second lump of sugar, unlike Lorcan, who did not add anything, or his brother Harald, who's cup of tea would resemble more of a sugary mush than any sort of liquid.

"I can see that as well." The tall otterlord drank deep from his cup, then continued, "It would break proper etiquette to ask you to surrender now, would it not?"

"I do not think that that would be a good idea," replied Sverker. Why did I choose the largest room for the parley anyway?

The shorter otterlord decided to change the subject - and fast. "You must be lucky to have your brother sworn in as Lord of Meraholmer, Lord Stalwart. Not a lot of beasts could claim that honour, me included."

The cup almost fell out of Lord Stalwart's paw, and his face contorted for a while, though he shifted back into his calm look almost instantly. Sverker understood the surprise well. Thordan may have been a beast given to logic and deduction, but giving away his main power base to a random knight was unprecedented - not least when there were other beasts, every one more influential than the last, who desired the position. Gustav Strandsor must be boiling with rage right now.

"I was not aware that this had happened." Lorcan sipped his tea, seeking some sort of calmness though this did not seem possible with a cup with no sugar (or milk, for that matter). The Trielian may have been quick to regain his composure, but Sverker could have sworn that he could have bitten off his twin's head right there and then if he had only been there.

"You need not be so shocked, Lord Lorcan." Sverker attempted to salvage what was left of the parley. "Sure, the new Lord of Meraholmer turned out to be your brother, and my grand-uncle Niels was chosen to be King of Otharn-"

Lorcan Stalwart, Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard choked on his tea in full view of his troops - not to death, though. Another parley, another incident. What could go wrong will go wrong, it seems.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Eavesdropping was never an easy task for the large and burly Alfyn Stalwart, so he would be glad there was Sigrun Swalestrom to teach him.

The ottermaid gestured at a large pillar. "Just stand there and don't do anything, and you'll hear everything."

"Oh. Just why are you helping me listen to your brother's little secrets anyway?"

"Well, Alfyn, Thordan hasn't been, you know, Thordan. Something seemed to have changed him."

"Must have been the kingship," Alfyn spat. "Look. I may not approve of Thordan rejecting the crown, but which fool had the idea to give it to him in the first place?"

Before he could wait for an answer, footsteps rang out from the other side of the hallway.

"To the pillar! Now!" Both otters slinked off into the shadows as the now familiar figures of two mustelids entered the hallway.

The first was a young weasel, with his diminutive stature and brown fur, and he seemed quite jumpy and energetic, like he had not shut his mouth in months, if not seasons. He was talking to the second figure, a taller otter in white healer robes, with his look indicating that his sole job in the world was to allow other beasts to cry on his shoulder, and not a promised king to a nascent kingdom. Though Egil is yet the same, Thordan had changed.

"So now let me get my facts straight," moaned the otterlord. "Your father told you to befriend me for the sake of all verminkind?"

"Exactly." Egil probably knew that Thordan was quickly seeping into a bad mood, so he seemed to be less talkative than he already was. Where did he learn this tact, anyway? Alfyn was about to reveal himself when he saw Sigrun gesturing frantically. This is not the time to move yet.

"To put it simply, I am asked to become a lord, a king, and somebeast far more important. All while two of my kin lay dead, and the entire world is at war. You did not intend to come to confess your intentions, solely, do you?

The two stopped walking as the weasel's brain scrambled for a response. Alfyn could see full well that the nature of Thordan and Egil's relationship had changed. But where? But why? A quick glance over his shoulder indicated that Sigrun wanted to ask the same questions.

The time came for Egil to sigh. "I wish to leave your service for a while. As I said before, my mission is to befriend you in the hopes that you will keep woodlander and vermin balanced, and you did so more than every lord that came before you." He took a deep breath, and continued. "But now that Alfyn's Lord, I just don't know. You see, Trielians don't really like vermin. They just cage 'em up and force them to - ya know the rest." The accent that Egil picked up from seafaring vermin seemed to surface with the ferocity of the tides. "Ya see, no vermin haz ter werry 'bout dat if yarr Lord, but dey won't like anybeast who mistreats dem. I fear -" The weasel held back a sob as his accent faded. "I fear that the fragile beast would be ruined right under your nose, so I think I need to go with Alfyn. Back to Raevsvakt."

Thordan scratched his ears. "Is it because of the establishments back there?" If the otterlord was expecting a laugh, he received none, and he only produced a sigh in return.

"Very well. I hope Alfyn agrees to take you. Though I have to say that leaving me alone to face the entire might of Southsward is the cruelest thing that you have ever done to me. I hope that makes you happy - and your father as well."

Nobeast in the room moved a muscle as a dejected Thordan Swalestrom walked out of the room they were in. That is, until Sigrun Swalestrom decides that it would be the best of times to tap the confused weasel on the shoulder.

Egil gasped to see that not one, but two creatures were listening to the entire conversation, but the trio soon melted to form another one.

"Thordan has changed. A lot." Egil complained. "Kingship has not been well on him."

"That would be my fault," sighed Sigrun. "I was stupid enough to think that Thordan would make a great king. He would, but he would function much, much better if he wanted to be king."

"So it was your fault!" The weasel's face flickered with the slightest semblance of rage. "Honestly, with you two rambling about Thordan getting his crown, you two should marry and get crowns for yourselves!"

"Well, Lady Sigrun here is unmarried as of yet, and I'm set to marry Lady Bellamy Swalestrom after the war. Lorcan says that I'm a tool for peace just as a tool for war, but I don't really agree with him."

The three stood in silence for a while until Sigrun spoke to the tall otter. "So are you going to allow Egil here into your service?"

"That depends on what he plans to do with me. I can't let him order me what to do, can I?"

"I can promise you that that will not happen, Lord Stalwart." Egil bowed. "I hope you see that I am here to advise you. After all, I was born in Raevsvakt, and I know the folk back there. Especially the vermin."

"Well, rest assured that I will not force the customs that I was born with onto my lordship." Alfyn attempted a smile as he continued to speak, though it must have came out like an awkward scowl. "You will have to make do with a purely advisory role until I give another order. Understood?"

"I understand." Egil's ears stooped downward as he changed the subject. "But what about Thordan? Won't he think that I abandoned him by my own will, or something else that is not true?"

"Leave Thordan to me." Sigrun chose to intercede. "I can assure you that he will be back to normal in no time."

Alfyn wondered if the lady knew what she was talking about.

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Does it feel good to be back?"

Altayras always has trouble thinking before speaking, but this would be the first major misstep forward the young squirrel made on campaign. With no Denebas or Vega to guide him, it seemed almost twice as likely to make mistakes.

The beast being asked was Erlend Swalestrom, who had just lost his paramour and son due to the Southards. They will, of course, pay for all this, but not now.

"No, it does not feel good to be back, Altayras." The normally calm otterking seemed to be holding back his anger the whole time. He was a more pleasant beast to get along in previous seasons, but everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong had went wrong for Erlend.

"I apologise for the comment." Altayras said as he sat down across the table. "I do not know how it is to lose a beast that I watched grow up."

"I can handle it." Erlend said almost without a shred of emotion. "If Skipper Becker can handle it, I can!"

Altayras had happened upon Erlend hastily scribbling a few letters just minutes ago, and (wrongfully) decided to initiate a conversation. "Who are these letters for?"

"One is for my son, the second for my daughter, and the third is for a certain vermin banker which I owe a lot to," Erlend tersely said as he put down his quill - and stared into Altayras' eyes without warning, to which he gave the same reaction.

The otter gave out a hollow laugh, but there seemed to be genuine mirth in it at the end. "Altayras, from the moment we met in Raevsvakt, I've always likened you to Sigurd." He paused for a while, reaching for his spear. Heavensward, it was called, and it was a true weapon indeed.

"This is for you, young one. I don't think my days wielding it will last long, so I would rather give this to someone that actually wants it. You see, Sigurd likes swords and Thordan does not get himself into combat, so here. Take it."

Altayras did so, reaching for the spear. The hooks on the spear made it more halberd than spear, but the Parmans called it a roncone, whatever that meant.

The weapon itself was well-balanced for both otter and squirrel, but the focal point was that the spear tip was really not that simple. Altayras knew a good weapon when he saw one, but this was the best spear he had ever set his eyes upon. There was no jewellery, no adornments - not even a single piece of gold or silver. But the speartip, the blade, was forged out of iron from the heavens themselves.

It was a spear good for a king.

"Use it well," said Erlend, smiling for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. "Do not simply wield it, but become it. Let the spear become a manifestation of your will."

"I understand."

The moment was swiftly interrupted by a mouse scrambling into the tent that held the two nobles. The otter and the squirrel both turned their heads towards the intruder as he caught his breath.

"The Southards are here!"

Altayras scrambled for his armour while Erlend calmly walked towards his own equipment, him having arrived in the camp in mostly full armour.

Donning his helmet in the first time since Raevsvakt, Erlend sighed.

"It ends here, brother. One way or another, it ends."

Cold Salvation

HILDRINN, LORDSHIP OF HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Becker was not welcome in Hildrinn.

Of course, his son forcing his way into the city and almost massacring the whole population was a major factor, but Becker did nothing of note to the city himself. It's probably about the whole Thordan thing.

Now that there was an independent Dravania, Thordan Swalestrom, or more accurately, Gustav Strandsor, would very much like to have more and more troops be available to them. Lorcan Stalwart's Trielian reinforcements were certainly welcomed, but Becker would not want them to leech troops off of Southard Dravania.

After Somerled would be taken care of, Becker had made plans to head back to Gystra for supplies, but the situation called for an immediate march to Kaldos. At least Erlend had the mind to improve the roads of Dravania.

That was the only positive thought of his brother in months. Each of them had lost a son to the other's forces, but both of them had been focused on the other's total destruction more than ever before. Becker was sure that Erlend would attempt to break through Garrion's defences and open the way to Floret, while Becker was forced to resort to the most dishonourable tactics in order to pacify Dravania.

In the meantime, Godred was recalled by King Gideon, to open a new front in Parma. Godred would make for a good wartime king, but in peacetime his abilities would have to be questioned. However, just as Thordan has Strandsor, Godred has the almost legendary Guido Aldabreschi at his side. The mouse was one of the few beasts to oppose Thordan Skyward of Parma openly and live to tell the tale - unscathed, even.

The last three generations of Swalestroms had fathered at least two sons, and the way was always clear. The elder would inherit the Southard possessions, and the younger would serve as an unofficial viceroy of Dravania. It only took a century until the whole system goes awry, with a Swalestrom cadet branch rebelling against King Gideon, and even an otter who nearly called himself King of Dravania. It is but an empty title at best, but it is beasts that honour titles, and not titles that honour beasts. As long as the otterpup does not call himself king, the situation in Dravania can still be settled peacefully. With the Stalwarts and Strandsors guiding Thordan's paws though, there was little hope. Godred, being able to outrank his brother, will cause few problems at home.

Loud footpaws entered Becker's tent, carrying an otter just as large as his pride. Lord Lorents Rueford has not drink much wine in particular (as opposed to Becker), so Becker felt safe to bring him along on campaign.

"Have you heard? Your nephew had made Alfyn Stalwart Lord of Meraholmer." Lord Rueford said with a smile.

"Really? Alfyn Stalwart? I thought that he would appoint some Dravanian native. I suppose Trielians do enjoy the pomp and ceremony."

"Well, Lord Becker, there was no such thing. The Regent made Stalwart Lord under a tree, or at least that is what the Kaldosians say."

"A tree? Really?" Becker nearly laughed aloud. "Well, for a Trielian, Thordan's humble enough."

"Too bad Somered doesn't share this trait. I'm afraid the only thing that would teach him who's King of Southsward will be with cold steel."

Becker laughed. "Mayhaps we should allow him three guesses? With that small brain of his, the Deilart just cannot remember names that clearly."

The laughter soon faded as the two otters' conversation turned to more serious matters. "How's Joar?"

"He'll be fine. I had assigned some new guards for him, and he responded to his mission with quite a bit of enthusiasm."

"He will succeed. I can assure you of that. At least, that's what my mind is telling me."

The two sat in tense silence for a while - a silence which Becker soon broke.

"How about more wine?"

"Great Seasons, Becker, you know I can't handle the bottle well." From Lord Rueford's silence emerged a smile.

"You know I don't need to."

TARALIS, BALSAMU, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Godred was welcomed by the lords of the Valeran League, but seemingly nobeast else.

Well, at least the League's 'lords' were welcoming him to their greatest abilities. Guido Aldabreschi was considered a living legend, with him being able to withstand the full might of Parma and all that.

The Valeran League's very purpose is to stop Parman expansion in its tracks, and its job seemed to be done with their victory over King Thordan, himself a figure of legends. Conceived in the reign of King Thordan the First, the League stalled Parman (or more accurately, Otharnese) influences from leaking into Ilsadia. After getting his army crushed in Valda almost a century prior, Thordan the First planned a compromise that the League would obey Parman will while being virtually independent, having possession of local jurisdiction and 'the right of kings themselves', whatever that meant. Of course, Lord Guido's ancestors intentionally let the phrase be worded very vaguely to make their rights seem as great as kings, but Guido took them in a vastly different direction.

Previous Kings of Parma are always Kings of Otharn who recieved a second coronation in the ruins of Old Parma, which empire reached from Mossflower to Vysparn. However, Guido used the League's 'rights' to elect their own King of Ilsadia, which in this case was Godred Swalestrom. After all, if Godred goes to Old Parma before anyone else, it would be Otharn's time to kneel before Ilsadia for the first time in six centuries.

However, Guido had his enemies, whether if they wanted to actually be his enemies or not. Niels Crestworth had declared himself King of Otharn but days ago, and Lorelei Skyward would have her own candidate - most likely one of her sons.

Ah, Lorelei. One single mention of the otter's name was able to send Lord Guido into the deepest of rages. Hatred for the Skywards ran deep in the League's veins, and this hatred extends towards all of that bloodline, even if they did not carry the name.

Corrado Truetide could be pinpointed as the one single beast Guido wants to drop dead the most. Him being heir to his paternal half-brother's property meant that the League was now isolated geographically by a single beast that had (incredibly good) reasons to hate them. As for Thordan Swalestrom, all that Godred could say was that he was in for a terrible fate if their fates ever crossed again. If Godred had no sword on him, he would simply use his knife, and if even that was not available, then he would crush Thordan with his teeth. Though Sigurd should not have died at Godred's paws back at Hildrinn in what had seemed like decades ago, Thordan would not be able to run from his fate like his sister did. He would die a quick death as seen in the likes of his brother - a traitor's luxury.

Guido's attendents bore with him a specific crown. The crown of King Istvan had been worn for generations of Jaysian kings, and Godred was never one to break tradition. The coronation had to be held in Ingolpart Shrine and be performed by the Palatine of Jayso, but Godred would be in Ingolpart in no time, with somebeast (like Raimon of Aldernan) could put the crown atop his head.

To be honest, Aldernan was a hard ally, with his whole realm being overrun with Parmans and all that. Raimon's sister is currently the best match for almost all eligible noble otters, with the exception of Godred's own sister. Rumour has it that Lady Beatritz was close to marrying two other lords aside from Godred himself, one of them being his half-crowned cousin, the other being Sverker Crestworth - the same beast who worked himself out of his prior betrothal to Bellamy.

Perhaps Lord Valdemar had a desire to play it safe, with him trying to rule Parma through his uncle and all that. After all, neutrality is an easy bet for the Kings of Parma, with them smiling and grinning, watching the action unfold across Obring Strait and The Sound.

But then, a decisively anti-Parman army had assembled on the island of Balsamu, where the rulers are more like chiefs than lords. The island itself used to be split into five parts, but of the five only two were left, the peace between them being kept by the League, and hence, Godred.

Of course, being crowned King of Balsamu was a contingency plan, but this chance of using Guido's little backup plan is rising day by day. The wind refuses to change, leaving the Valeran host trapped on a weird, mountainous island where water supplies were lacking.

In effect, they were basically a beached whale, yet on a much, much larger scale.

VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"Let me get this straight," Palatine Corrado stared straight at his mother. "While you were off into the mountains enjoying yourself, Niels, of all otters, just got a crown on top of his head, and the Hellgates League just pops up in Balsamu?"

Queen Lorelei had raised both of her sons to be strong. While Thordan's had failed, Corrado's had backfired in a manner most spectacular. He was one of three individuals who could stand up to her, the other being Old King Thordan and the mysterious Isangrim who cannot seem to afford himself some attention.

Ah, Isangrim. From the moment he bonded Lorelei, the otterwife had started to make him suffer, unintentionally or otherwise. It helped with managing him, though it was some sort of (admittedly, very) petty revenge for doing that to her without permission. Besides, it was good to see the fox be out of commission after her wedding night with Erlend. He managed to get himself (and by extension, her as well) all too drunk two days later, as some sort of retribution.

Aside from the circumstances from when they first met, and all the misadventures that they had since then, they managed to build up some sort of professional relationship. They were not friends, of course, but Lorelei had begun to see Isangrim as a part of herself, if only a bit more on the ignorant side. It also helped that Lorelei was not the first 'insane dragon queen' that Isangrim had served - at least that was what he claimed. He and Matoya had always had a superb relationship, though she passed when he was all too young.

"Mother?" Corrado's strong voice shook her back to reality.

"Ah, yes. Niels was a mistake, but while Valdemar has Niels by his side, I have you." Lorelei smiled at her son. Corrado Truetide may have been a thorn in her side at some times, but here he was useful.

At least, that was what Lorelei had convinced herself.

"I do not think so, Mother." The otterlord spat out the last word as if it was some phlegm stuck in his throat. "I have no intention of being king."

"But why?"

"I have no intention of being a puppet. As you might know by experience, I am not Thordan, and I have no wish at all to be made into him."

"And give up a crown?" Lorelei realised her mistake too late. 'Never be smug' was never in the rules of diplomacy, but Lorelei keeps falling into the holes she had dug herself.

"Yes. Let Crestworth beggar himself bribing electors. Once we worm our way back into Niels' favour, we shall surely have the upper paw. On the other paw, we have Godred Swalestrom on Balsamu, waiting for the wind to change while we do nothing."

Lorelei was quite aware that her own son was trying to change the subject from right under her snout, but the young Swalestrom was a problem."Godred is nothing but a spoiled pissant who is better suited to wear a cap than a crown. His allies will surely tire of him sooner or later."

"Corrado, he has your son's crown! Gates, you have no sense of timing, do you not? He wants to usurp your son's place, and probably yours and mine as well, not to mention Aldabreschi whispering orders into Swalestrom's ear every two seconds!"

The young otterlord walked towards a door. "I am aware that Godred poses a danger, and I have formulated a strategy well enough to defeat him once and for all. In the meantime, there is someone I want you to meet."

With a mighty pull the door opened, revealing a young vermin. Lorelei expected Eduard, the spoony bard that he was, but the figure proved otherwise. His armour had no place for a bard, and his sword was too expensive for one anyway.

The weasel knelt in front of the otterqueen while Corrado continued to speak. "Mother, this is Arn Skulason, leader of the Southpaws Band of mercenary vermin. I assume you had met his brother Egil in Ravesvakt, had you?"

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

With her two brothers both going to war, Vega had enough to worry about.

Admittedly, Orience was a beautiful city with wonderful beasts living in it, not like the dour and dank swamp castles of Burelas. With the city becoming more and more mercantile, different sorts of beasts began to crowd in, even without the Southards. Dark-furred Ilsadian appear in a street, and across a block you can see Valnainers with their cheerful gazes. Borellers with their stone-stoic faces and native Trielians lived side by side, often advertising their wares in the loudest of ways possible.

But no beast was as strange as Lady Morag. With an overabundance of brothers (two is actually a lot), Vega never realised how much she needed company of a more familiar sort. Morag served as a surrogate sister to Vega in her time in Orience. Where Vega was quiet and preferred the attention of her kin and friends (and nobeast else), Morag was boisterous and reaped attention like farmers did with wheat. Her father and uncle were both fed up with her antics, especially those involving the vermin that she owned.

Despite not understanding each other, the pair got along like they were born from the same mother (which, of course they were not). The Boreller maiden was the only squirrel able to keep Morag down for more than a second, and the Deilarn gave Vega some sort of vitality she was not born with.

"So your younger brother just went to get a Captain and drag him back to justice? How heroic of him! It's just like the knightly tales of old!"

Vega shook her head. "Denebas had read too much of them back in Burelas, I fear. This is just foolish and nonsensical! Leaving everything behind to go after one person? That's just silly!"

"Ah well, your other brother's a bit more sensible, I hope. He's one of King Garmund's most trusted creatures. You know, Randyll of Limse being shady as usual and my father being, you know."

"Well, just a teeny little bit, I think. Let's hope he actually does something important."

SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Wait. They are actually real." King Somerled's brows furrowed at the thought. "They are real, and not tales used to frighten little children."

"Cor-rect!" Amalrik laughed with his ever-present cheerfulness and liveliness - traits that Somerled never possessed, though his daughter did. "And you're one of them! Lucky you!"

Somerled's eyes widened almost to the size of grapefruits, earning a surprised stare from Amalrik and his stoat bodyguard. The stoat never spoke to him, and somehow carried himself like a noble did, with the two-pawed longsword and all. Pathetic. All vermin were not good enough for titles and riches, but Parmans just loved to mess with the existing state of affairs, did they not?

"Tell me, healer, gambler, or whatever. What can I do with such 'outlandish abilities' that I possess somehow?"

'Well, you can sense the weather, for starters." The otter rubbed his cards.

"Or you can just look up." The stoat remarked, saying his first sentence in what seemed like eternities. "Saves the time and energy."

Before Somerled could slay the vermin for his insolence, the otter continued to speak. "Or you can just create rainstorms, or make trees and crops grow faster."

"Enough! Anything useful?"

"Well, you can create winds as big as a few hundred spans. Care for a demonstration?"

"Well yes-" The red squirrel barely finished his order before the entire tent the three was in was suddenly flung into the air, all while the otter grinned diabolically, while the squirrel and the stoat just stood there with mouths agape.

"I know now." The stoat simply said. "I know why the tales are told."

Somerled wanted to say something, but failed as the tent collapsed on him. When he awoke, Amalrik was there, with a faint glow in his paw.

'Ah, I see that you're awake. Mostly - whatever," the otter smiled gently - or at least he attempted to. "Healing is also an ability us Conjurers have as well, if you did not know. As you may know, vermin can destroy stuff better than woodlanders, but us Conjurers are always there to restore the damage they do."

"So we cannot just breath out fire? Or just explode Southards into little bits?"

"Apparently not. But our healing abilities surpass theirs by about tenfold." The otter smiled like a fish seeing bait on a hook, but with no fisherbeast reeling it in.

"What can healing do?" Somerled raged as he threw a chair at the stoat, which he dodged. "I mean, vermin get the powers that are needed in a war, while we get the agricultural ones? It's just not how things work!"

"Anything short of death can be healed," the otter said. His smile soon faded away, leaving only an almost morose look - a first for the otter. 'But death is nothing to fear, for salvation is at paw."

Steel Reason

BERSTRAATT, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It is said of disaster that it descends like a pile of bricks. Berstraat was hit by one of these, though it was more like a sledgehammer than a pile of bricks in nature.

Of course, when Denebas and his band entered the village, he had no way of finding out until he met with the survivors.

"Can you tell me calmly what they did again?" The squirrelord knelt in front of a sobbing mouse. An army had passed there, that was quite evident. Building that had once stood for tens of seasons had been razed to the ground, their inhabitants either slaughtered or left homeless. Their only consolation was that winter had just passed, and freezing to death was unlikely.

"The soldiers," the civilian managed to stop a sob. "They ransacked the whole place. They killed my brother... His only crime was to defend our home!" Just like that, he broke down fully and completely, tears freely streaming from his eyes, crumpling against the wall in a heap.

Denebas had had enough. He exited the room with all the subtlety of a raging badger, and turned to his squadron. "We're leaving, but not together."

Murmurs quickly erupted from the six. The journey from Bleswyn to here took quite a long time, twenty and seven days to be exact. "What do you mean by that?"

"You all know what happened here."

The band nodded and another squirrel spoke up. "Permission to speak, your lordship."

It was the noble squirrel's turn to nod. "Go on, Valdas."

"Somerled. Hard to believe that our side is the one doing all the destruction and pillaging."

"That's why you will be staying here." Denebas sighed. "This is not the first time a Trielian army crossed the range, but to have crossed into Dravania? The folk here can hardly comprehend war - Dravania had been Southard for a century. You here, all of you will help them out. Somerled's marching to his death right now, so he won't disturb us. Help build back houses, buy food, tend to the sick and wounded, the usual." Seeing the confusion on his team's faces, the squirrel added quickly, "You'll all get triple pay for that."

Valdas was more concerned than in a celebratory mood. "But," he sighed. "Your Lordship, I am more worried about you than we are ourselves. As you might know by now, we have grown to be loyal to you more than anyone except your brother. I don't know what might happen if you go after Waycaster alone."

"Just do not worry and you all will be fine - and so shall I." Denebas smiled as he slung his pack over his shoulder. "May your hearts and minds guide you forth."

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Erlend must have been the unluckiest fool to ever live. Everything actually went well for the Southards - a first.

At first, Lord Garrion had no way to stop the Trielian advance into Southsward. King Garmund of Triel was obviously no Somerled - he had experience and talent. But an army ran on its stomach, and it was the idea of some lowly Otterguard Captain who decided to use scorched earth tactics on the host.

When Erlend returned to the Garmund's host, he was all too aware of the situation he was in. Beasts were complaining left and right, and Erlend had to haul a few attempted deserters back to camp. They could count themselves all too lucky - Garmund would see fit to behead them one by one.

He had embraced King Garmund as an equal, both of them being kings, though Erlend was one by marriage and Garmund born one. What was more important was that they were not merely liege and vassal anymore, but more like a pair of brothers. Of course, Garmund's brothers died as infants and Erlend's life would have been much easier if Becker had bothered to follow suit.

"Keep the king safe! Don't let him come to harm!" The otterking gestured at Duke Altayras, and set off into the camp. Erlend was not like Becker at all - he would fight at the front of his beasts. After all, there was no better way to keep morale high.

Everything was on fire - a Southard ploy to create more chaos. No Trielian could be spared the indignity of having their camp raided and burnt down. How had this even happened?

Erlend began to recall. Was it true that somebeast from the enemy wormed his way into the kitchens to scout? It was not logical, though. That somebeast would have poisoned every beast of rank before absconding, and Erlend was strangely grateful that that did not happen.

It had to be the strange otter in an oversized Trielian uniform then. He avoided questions and just looked at friends. Erlend had assumed that he was an idiot, one who did not know his place in the army, but the truth was simply much, much worse.

Erlend flung himself into a Sword-sworn squirrel, his simple guisarme rending through uniform, sinew and bone with one simple strike, carefully blocking of another attack in the same movement of his weapon. It was no Heavensward, but it was good enough for the otter.

To be fair, Erlend missed his weapon. Forged from starborne steel and tempered in blood, the spear was a wedding gift from King Thordan of Parma. To be fair, the old otter was a better friend than a father-in-law, but Erlend was almost as loyal to him compared to King Garmund.

After all, who didn't like the King of Parma? Thordan was a gentle, noble soul, but capable of great sorrow and greater mirth. A pity he did not have any son to continue his legacy, though two grandsons shall suffice.

Corrado Truetide was to be heir in all too many of the late king's possessions, yet somehow he and Erlend shared a disdain for the prospect of occupying the Parman throne. Being only months older than Sigurd (Seasons rest his soul), Corrado reminded Erlend of him, despite the young otterlords never having met. After all, Lorelei needed somebeast strong enough to defend her claims and rights, and Erlend was not interested as he should be.

Young Thordan was even worse off in this regard. He shared his grandfather's love of learning and skills in healing, and his sister's capacity for kindness and selflessness, and his father's loyalty to his liege, but he had nothing in common with his mother or both of his brothers. Of that Erlend was certain. Lorelei's methods of toughening his child up had unwittingly created an atmosphere of intimidation and terror, and he was more timid and unsure of himself than ever before. His stuttering got worse as well.

When Erlend received information that he was to be Dravain King, he doubted it, and would much rather it be proven to be falsehoods. Only the confirmation of King Garmund, his old friend, did he believe. Thordan, a king? The lad did not have the strength to harm his foes physically, nor the will to harm them. Instead of keeping the realm safe, perhaps Thordan should look after himself a bit more.

Erlend screamed as another Otterguard fell to his spear. He would have to give his brother credit for the tactics that he had used. Organising it all required the makings of a military genius, able to attack, mobilise and defend at will, and not constrained by times and circumstances.

But Becker was not capable of such acts - this had to be the fruit of somebeast else's mind. Garrion? No. Not his nephew who knows all of running a realm and nothing else. Godred could have been a better choice, but he was off in Parma trying to make Parma free of Parmans. To put it in the simplest of terms, he would have no luck.

But who was responsible for this scheme? Perhaps it was no noble at all. Ralos? No. He would not pull any scheme with the slightest possibility of risk. He could reason with Trielian steel, but not against his own fears and worries.

Before long, all three of his enemies fell before him. He had no time to mourn anyone, friend or enemy alike. He had a king to save.

"I will fight to the end with my troops!" It was the king's voice, loud and clear. Though the flames and the fumes meant that nothing can be seen clearly under his helm, Erlend knew where his liege was now.

"My liege, you must retreat from the battlefield now, or risk losing your life!" Erlend had never seen Altayras that nervous before, and he still has not. But the raspy voice was just as unmistakable as their king's.

Erlend leaped over a burning pile of wood and quickly cut down an unsuspecting Southard, his last cry resembling more of a choking sound. Before long, he was with the two. They were fighting side by side to the exit of the camp, Landwaker and Heavensward in their paw. Garmund's axe having been stained with blood and gore, and Erlend's old weapon was in a similar state.

Every eight steps, there was an abandoned weapon of a soldier, dead, deserted or captured. Every five steps, there was some lost appendage lying on the ground, or feeding flames the Southards had started, wittingly or not. And every two there was a corpse. Red-uniformed Otterguards and Swordbeasts in blue were lying on the ground, surrounded by red and yellow clad Trielians, as if they were merely asleep. But the marks they bore - slit throats, arrows piercing bodies, burn marks and more - demonstrated that the circumstances of their 'sleep' was far from tranquil.

It was exactly like the legends the skalds had sung about the world's end. Brothers had fought and killed each other, and axes and swords rend shields apart. The world has been swept in a whirlwind, and mercy shall be known as a thing of the past. Thank you, Becker, for all that you have done for the world. Really. Your children would love it.

"Erlend!" King Garmund waved his paw. It took another few leaps and a few Southards dispatched before the otter joined him.

"You must leave! Now!" This was the first time Erlend raised his voice at his king, and it might very well be the last.

"Bother me no longer," the king groaned. "And save your own fur!"

Erlend knelt. 'I am loyal, but if you do not flee now, I shall obligate you myself!"

The king took a deep breath (which was not easy, considering the flames), and conceded. Altayras turned away from the fleeing mouse, but Erlend was having none of it.

'Go with your king."

"But-"

Erlend silenced him by reaching for Heavensward. The two shared a tense silence, while Garmund took his leave and the Southards closed in slowly. "Pretty little thing, is it not?"The squirrel nodded, earning a smile from the otter. "Use it well. Become one with it." A pat on the shoulder, and the squirrel also departed.

Seems like I have nothing else to do... better do something Becker would have been proud of. After all, he can still talk about it long after I'm gone.

The otter turned towards the encroaching army. "I am Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair, Lord of Kaldos, and father to the Regent of Dravania. None of you rabble shall pass!"

A mocking voice (with Erlend's accent, even) erupted from the leader of the enemy troupe. The red-clad Otterguard clearly had some position of note. "Well, I am Captain Galen Snowpath, and you can go snuff it! The exit is that way, you pompous little-"

The other otter could not finish his sentence, as Erlend rushed toward him. Guisarme at the ready, he struck right as Galen parried his blow, his sword shattering into a thousand little pieces with the impact.

Before Erlend could finish off the downed otter, a hedgehog seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Throwing himself right at the otterlord, he managed to stall for enough time for Galen to draw his dagger and slash.

Of course, that did not work. Erlend's armour was made by the best of the best, and this body was unscathed. A gauntlet to the face quickly rendered the hedgehog unconscious, and the otterking soon stood up to face his challenger, now armed with only a dagger, once more.

A voice rang out from the back. "Abon!" It was another otter, a captain as well, but of Sword, as evidenced by his blue uniform. 'Abon' was not as much of a battle cry as much as worry for his incapacitated friend - the one who had a large bleeding dent within his head.

Erlend barely had time to kick Galen away before he had to avoid an axe coming at him. The Sword captain was no inferior to Galen, but he seemed to have the advantage of surprise with him. Not to mention the fact that this newcomer was obviously fresh, while Erlend was tired from all the killing.

Not just the ones that had perished in this. All their kin dead, Bedric and Sigurd Swalestrom included, and some of the beasts Erlend had led to war before. They would never see their families again, yet Erlend would simply be ransomed to fight again. This would not stand.

"By Great Seasons, a Dravanian spearbeast shall never run from battle!" He lifted his polearm and swung, intending to pierce his attacker's heart. But this one simply sidestepped his attack, and slammed the edge of his axe into Erlend's side.

Erlend held a scream in his throat. This wound could be fatal, even with treatment. After all, his armour was too light for a proper knight. The Dravanian otter had forsaken sturdiness for mobility, and now he paid the price.

Then Galen plunged a dagger into his knee.

Erlend screamed. The pain was too much for the otter, and all his warrior training seemed to fail him. Flailing around with his spear did no good in crushing his foes, and soon he fell into the ever present grasp of unconsciousness.

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

The world of dreams is a wondrous place. After all, anything could happen in a dream - including meeting mighty badger lords of the past.

"Who are you, mole, and for what do you intrude upon our slumber?"

Arbert spent a day and a night training for all this, so he quickly found the correct answer. "I am Arbert of Floret, and I seek answers and guidance from your wisdom."

The first lord stepped up his voice. "Do you know who we are?"

"You are the Badger Lords of Salamandastron, Protectors of the Shores."

The ghostly badger nodded. "So I see you know us more than you know your own fate."

The mole nodded. "This is indeed the case."

"Though we would have welcomed your learned brother more, we will impart our words on you, and you shall leave a wiser beast."

An older badger drifted to the mole. Clothed in green from top to bottom, he wielded a massive broadsword that was even larger than Verminfate the Augmenter. "I am Lord Brocktree, friend of hares and bane of hordes. Hear my advice, Arbert. You will head to a place of cold and death, woodlander and vermin both at your side."

The first badger soon faded, only to be replaced by another badger, this time in yellow, with a bird by his side - a kestrel. "I am Sunflash, called the Mace by friend and foe alike. "You will go to the Castle, for the betterment of friend and brother. If this is not the case, the Recorder shall perish, alone and by paws wrought from thunder and darkness."

Arbert suppressed his questions. He was not supposed to interact with those figures, lest they reject him. A third badger appeared, this time holding a ghostly imitation of Verminfate that could just as easily pass as the real thing.

"I am Lord Rawnblade Widestripe, bearer of the sword and defender of the bell." Arbert knew this one - Joseph the Bellmaker knew him before his journey to Southsward, and wrote fondly of him in his memoirs. "Beware of those who have returned - those who have perished by your actions, but whose wills lingered, poisoning beasts, nations and worlds with words and deeds."

A fourth and fifth leapt out, one being clad in armour the colour of gold, the other being white of fur all over that no trace of black can be found. The voices said in unison. "We are Urthstripe the Strong and Urthwyte the Mighty, twin guardians of the Western Shoreline."

The gold one spoke first. "Go to the place where past and future meet, and quickly so! Go to the first Abbey! Go to Loamhedge!"

"If you do not go, you will have sidestepped your fate," the white badger spoke in a mournful tone. "You will surely perish at the paws of those who do not want to see your fate fulfilled by flame and sword alike."

The two spoke in unison. "Meet the enemy there, but fight the fox not. Speak!"

More badgers rose from the ground, earning a surprised gasp from Arbert. A lord in blue clothes, carrying an axe showed his face. "Blood shall feed blood." Then all faded into white.

Two otters, taller than all those Arbert had seen before, swung their swords in perfect synergy, but the vermin the blades were seeking avoided one and parried another with his black dagger.

A badgerlady in red, with both eyes having been blank, but blood and fury seemed to leak out with every second passed. 'Blood shall call blood."

Lightning rained on the army clad in blue, and while the grey vixen directed flows of aether, as vermin and woodlanders were five, but one.

A badger in robes of a denizen of Redwall Abbey, with a knowing look and a kind smile, which faded when he saw the mole. "Blood was, and blood is."

The Trielian king stood and the fox knelt, in dread and panic, as the Juska were to have their hopes, both genuine and falsified, dashed to pieces by each other.

A scarred badger with a large bow held in one paw, a quiver hung behind him, and he had his lust for vengeance sated long ago. "Blood shall ever be."

The King of the Peasants guided his staff carefully, blocking a sword strike and hitting his assailant's chest, while clipping his brother's ankle.

A badgerlord whose eyes were tired from reading, who had the glare of one who had made a great discovery. "Death shall sow and winter burn."

The dancing shadows forsake their mortal coils and become one in body as well as in mind. "I am become you," the first shall say; and the second shall answer, "and we are become one!" Light and darkness radiated from them both.

Yet another boar glad in yellow, but with a mark of flame atop his head, and who had some capacity for controlling himself at the best and worst of times. "The Lord of Chaos shall come with spring."

Within the circle of darkness stood the Seeker of the Stars, seeking to drag a warrior's light into the abyss with himself, ignoring his own tears as he sunk into what he thought was his short but sure demise.

A badgermaid, younger than all that have walked before her emerged at last, with a book in her paw and a motherly gaze. "Great Seasons save us all from him."

The rat darted through the streets of Floret with his weapon in both paws, seeking the beast who was responsible for his death, his eyes burning with blood and rage all the way.

With a lurch, Arbert leapt awake, blankets falling off his makeshift bed and Verminfate clattering down onto the ground. Remembering where he is, Arbert sighed in relief, as he picked up the sword and embraced Conjuration. Within the span of a second, a Pathway reared its head with the middle of chamber.

Dagbert would have to know all about what the badgers said, but he would be too busy in the meantime, having to deal with politics and all that. I should remain here until his job is done.

The Pathway was closed with a motion of the paw, but it shall surely open in the near future.

Ever Upwards

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

For the first time in five seasons, there was no one Thordan could trust near him. Alfyn had gone to take up the Raevsvakt defences, with Egil in tow. They will do their job to the best of their abilities, but Thordan still worried about them. After all, will the Islanders welcome a Trielian for the second time?

When Thordan was confirmed as Lord of Meraholmer, the Islander vermin were fearful of him - a Trielian lording over them all was a horrible portent for what is to come. Thankfully, Thordan won the hearts of his subjects fairly easily - with thanks to Canute Crestworth's blunder.

But Alfyn and Thordan were different otters. He had bravery and will, but patience and savviness were beyond his reach. Thordan could only wonder if Egil would be able to hold him back, so as to speak.

But then, Egil was thebeast being held back during his friendship with Thordan. It was not over yet, though it had indeed hit a bump. Skuli Arnsson was a wily weasel, and he guessed that he would have wanted Egil to befriend him for some nefarious reason that only the merchant had any idea about.

Of course, Thordan found himself trusting Egil in the course of these five seasons. The weasel was one of the few beasts that were able to raise his spirits, and he was one of the few who can stop him from excessive foolishness in turn. After all, they had much in common, having one parent who was completely dominant with their life, and the other a distant figure.

Perhaps this was why they had bonded. After all, previous nobles had done so, though all of them had resulted in tragedy. Some kings even took vermin as lovers, much to the amusement of Lord Canute during Thordan's stay in the Raevsvakt bell tower. In the end, Thordan failed to convince the gloating oldfur that they were merely friends (and not sworn brothers or something) - though all that overheard him were either dead or regent of Dravania. Needless to say, Thordan favoured the former fate.

The gap that his friends' departure was filled by his sister. Sigrun had been attentive to his needs and wishes, though Thordan could not really decide on whether she can be trusted. After all, she had been the one to put the crown on his head, even though it may seem that his little fate worse than death had been delayed for a little bit.

Kinship did not help with the trust part. After all, his uncle's branch of House Swalestrom had indeed sided with their liege, while Erlend remained true to King Garmund. King Garmund. Who could say that he or she would know what was behind that stony face of his? He had been more expressive before his first wife's death, leaving behind two young sons and two daughters. Thordan liked them well enough, but their father would not be the same again. Queen Bertrada would have given birth to a child by now - enough months had passed for the pup to grow. This would not help Garmund though, as he was 'made of stone', or so Becker Swalestrom would say all too often.

Becker. He was coming to get Thordan now, he was certain. The kindly figure the young Regent had come to like was coming to wrench away all he was trying so hard to protect. His skills as a warrior were certainly fearsome, and Thordan will have a hard time fending him off. After all, every other Swalestrom was either a warrior or a maid - with Thordan being the odd one out, as was in any other circumstance.

The Southard otterlord will think that Dravania would be taken easily, and his train of thought has some truth in it. After all, the might of the Otterguard was not to be denied. The sacrosanct order of otters were born and bred to fight, and Thordan has blundered his way into being their next target. Thordan could only count on his fortifications to hold, and that another army could worm their way in.

Lorcan was still tied up in Doma - Sverker Crestworth was no warrior as well, but under his command were fierce Domans - Dravanians across the Sound, to the South of Meraholmer. It was hard to imagine that they were not Thordan's first problem, especially after they tried to seize Meraholmer from him just months ago.

In the meantime, the Garleans had not joined his father to war. After all, they were supposed to keep Godred Swalestrom within Balsamu. Guido Aldabreschi, that old enemy of his grandfather, had called Godred there. It was good for Guido that the Swalestroms were one of the few houses that still had more than one child. A younger son had to make a living somehow, and neither Erlend or Thordan were willing to give Dravania up for the next generation of Floret Swalestroms. Either that, or Godred was picked because he dealt with Hildrinn swiftly and effectively, with the opposing force losing half their beasts and their leader. Thordan ardently hoped that his mother would use Godred's own methods on him and his murine master.

"Everyone just seemed to want their own king nowadays," Thordan moaned, with only his sister listening to him. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone for a while?"

"Because you are a Swalestrom, and this is your duty, Thordan." Sigrun was always a calm beast, but seeing Thordan behave in such an 'bratty' manner unnerved even her. "My duty is to marry whoever you ask me to, for instance." In the latest generations of lutrine nobility, too few females were born, causing a general lack of marriage prospects. This had caused a multitude of problems, but that meant that Sigrun finding a husband would be much, much easier than Thordan finding a wife.

"I thought that was Father's decision." And I expect you to think that as well. Gates. I thought that you can think more with more detail just because you were older!

"It technically is," Sigrun smirked. "But you are the one in charge here. You are not an inferior of Father, being a king as well as he is." Strong Sigurd and genial Bedric may have left this world, and bravely so, but some things just remained the same.

"Exactly so." The two otters turned to see a third figure enter the room the pair were in. The black fox was familiar to Thordan, having met in Raevsvakt twice, and in Vargo all too many times beforepaw, but Sigrun's eyes squinted.

"Who in Great Seasons are you, vermin?"

"Isangrim, close confidante and spymaster of Queen Lorelei, at your service, King Thordan." The fox smiled, while. "How your grandfather must have waited for this day."

"He would be very proud when I actually become king. Now, he would just have to wait and see me attempt to squirm my way out of this mess." Thordan sighed. "I suppose he would have to wait a bit until then."

"Well, nothing is sure in these turbulent times, Thordan." Sigrun forced a smile. "All of us have no idea what is to happen next."

"Anyways, what tidings does Mother bring, Isangrim?" Thordan turned his head coldly towards the fox.

"Your mother congratulates you for your little promotion, of sorts. And she would like to offer some advice about marriage alliances and-"

"Is she here?" The otter fumed.

"No. You see-"

"She should be!" Thordan stopped pacing around the room and stared forward at Isangrim, causing the black fox to twinge. "I basically committed political suicide with all this Dravain business, and she does not even bother showing up!" Taking a deep breath, the otter sighed. "Do you intend to remain long?"

Isangrim nodded his head. "I think so. Queen Lorelei requested that I protect you until the war will be over."

"I understand." Why do I get the feeling that you will be a greater nuisance than protector in these few days?

But before Thordan could utter another caustic remark, Sigrun decided that the time for silence was at an end. "If you were supposed to be an associate of Queen Lorelei, where have you been in these few days?"

Isangrim laughed. "Ha! I've been on other missions, ottermaid, and all of them take precedence over mere politics."

"Please use her proper title, Isangrim." Thordan crossed his paws.

"Yeah, yeah."

"One affirmation shall suffice, fox." Thordan continued his glare.

"Whatever. Just watch over yourself. And your half-sister as well." Isangrim smiled as he sauntered off across a doorway. "Oh, and watch out for moles."

The mention of Dagbert seemed to have struck Thordan's mind. "Do not leave yet, Isangrim. Stay where you are."

The fox abruptly ceased his motion out of his room. "What now?"

"How did my grandfather die?"

"Well-"

"Tell me now, or I shall have you burnt alive in front of the whole court. After all, you can't just sneak into other people's dreams and expect no consequences at all, can you?"

"Wait," Sigrun's mouth started spurting out syllables. "The fox here has invaded your dreams before, and we knew nothing about it?"

The fox shook his head, and spoke. "Yes. I must confess that I had been beside Thordan from the very moment he was conceived, and I had entered the dreams of others before, Thordan included." The black-furred creature turned towards Thordan. "I had only the best of intentions when I invaded your privacy. Please forgive me."

"That will be done, of course, when you tell me about the circumstances of my grandfather's passing. All the details - everything that you know!"

The black fox sighed. "He was killed by a vermin whose identity we have no idea about. You see, both the vermin and Thordan were seers, so he entered the king's dream."

"King Thordan, a seer?" Sigrun failed to stop herself for the second time. "But the stories said that seers were all fake, and the ones that were real were evil beings hellbent on destruction!"

"Well, he was a Astrologian, to be exact." The fox grumbled. "It seems that I have to teach you about your true nature as well."

"My true nature?" The truth hit Thordan like a brick wall, which is not confused with Thordan walking into one. 'Wait. I'm a seer, am I?"

"Well, that was fast. You're already better than Hersent. Yep, you're one."

"So what can seers do? Do magic or something?"

"Perhaps Isangrim has a little deck of cards in his pockets, and could perform random acts of magic with them," Sigrun remarked. "After all, this befits a magician all too well."

"Well, you got me confused with King Thordan, Lady Sigrun." Isangrim put an emphasis on the penultimate word. "He was the one with the cards."

"What did Dagbert mean by Conjuration? Or something like that? I don't actually remember that much." The younger otter scratched his head. "You see, that was all too long ago."

"Well, Conjuration is but one of two aspects of Seercraft. Unlike Thaumaturgy, it is mainly used for healing and stuff. Well, it is woodlander stuff, and they can do no wrong, can they?"

"How did my grandfather use it? How did he train to use it?"

"He learned from the best, and only the best. I learned quite a bit from him too."

"I thought Conjuration, or whatever it was called, was only a woodlander thing. So how did you learn from King Thordan? As I recall, he was a woodlander." Sigrun's interest was piqued quite a bit, it seemed.

"Well, to use Conjuration is harder than to use Thaumaturgy, which is the other, more verminous type of Seercraft." Isangrim smiled. "Well, that's why I learned much faster than Thordan did."

"I still understand nothing." Thordan shook his head.

Isangrium sighed. "I take back the statement that you were better than Hersent. A comparison is needed." Stepping back a bit, the black fox recited what was passed down to him.

"You see, Thaumaturgy is like a grape. You put it in the palm of your paw, and clench it, and ta-da! You get grape juice." Quickly glancing at Thordan, Isangrim sighed with relief as the young otter nodded. "Good. You're not that dumb."

"But with Conjuration, everything is harder. Like getting juice from a spiky fruit from Vysparn. Some anananana thing."

"Like a melon?" Sigrun interjected.

"Yes. But sour. Anyways, it is hard and big, so one does not simply put it in one's paw. You have to get a hammer to break it, then squeeze it's contents out."

"What does that have to do with seercraft?" Thordan clearly had an interest in learning more - or he was simply tired of the fox. Either could be the case.

"Well, you cannot seize it the way you grip Thaumaturgy." Isangrim yawned, having explained this to someone else previously. "There's a block to Conjuration. Like a melon's thick skin. You need to seize it harder than Thaumaturgy. As hard as you do. You need something. An Amplifier or something." He looked straight at Thordan, who was clearly not concentrating at all. "Boy, do you still have those chess pieces that weasel gave you?"

"Yes, but they're inside my room. I have to walk a bit to-"

"Go get them. Now." Seeing Thordan's confused looks, Isangrim let loose a diabolical grin. "You shall see why."

"Understood." Thordan turned to exit the door when a voice rang out from the back.

"I'll go with you." Sigrun stood up, clearly not wanting to be left alone with a vermin. Isangrim may have been a close associate of Thordan's family, but Sigrun was not from the proper branch. Corrado Truetide may have better luck.

When they exited the room, Sigrun turned towards her brother. "I don't really trust the fox."

"Why?"

"He's just playing on your trust to do something he wants." Sigrun moaned. "He's vermin, Thordan, and he is different from your Egil in every way."

'My Egil?" Thordan's eyes widened. "Egil's his own beast! He's just one of my closest friends."

"Not close enough to prevent him from deserting you, apparently." Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Look closely, Thordan-"

Sigrun did not have enough time to eat her words after seeing Thordan's expression change.

"Get out of my sight immediately."

And she did.

Passing through a few rooms was not the hardest task Thordan had ever undertaken, nor was obtaining the pieces Egil gifted (or possibly bribed) him with. When Thordan went out of the room, he was greeted by none other than Haakon Strandsor.

"The Southard diplomats are to arrive later this day, my lord," he said in his dull voice.

"Thank you for the reminder." Thordan ran for Isangrim's room. "And I told you to just call me Thordan, did I not?"

When he returned, he was out of breath, and Isangrim was still waiting in Sigrun's chamber, with no ottermaid inside.

"Ah, I see you have returned." The fox smiled.

'We have to do everything fast," Thordan panted as he scrambled to get the pieces out. "What do you want with them?"

"Get the otterking piece, and hold it." Thordan mechanically obeyed the orders. "Now, concentrate on the piece. Reach out and grasp - not literally!"

Thordan closed his eyes, imagining a little void, surrounding the room and all two beasts in it. Very, very slowly, the void overtook everything. Windows built into the wall, a closet holding every gown a lady should possess, tapestries hung as little artworks for Sigrun's pleasure, the carpets on the floor - all consumed. Even the floor itself seemed to shrivel and turn black, collapsing into nothingness. Isangrim was the last to go, his black fur and caustic voice disappearing.

Then nothing happened. Not exactly nothing, but only the most attentive could spot the signs necessary. A little sensation crept up onto Thordan, causing his fur to stand up on their ends very, very slowly. Thordan did nothing as he surrendered to it.

Everything else was forgotten completely. From his last meeting with his father, to his argument with Egil, Sigrun leaving him, and then to Isangrim's every single order to him. All were cast off into the void surrounding him.

Then came the light. Within a slight second, Thordan could somehow feel the radiance emanating from his body. The void was gone, replaced by a warmness radiating into his very heart. Even his fur returned to normal.

The chess piece being wrenched away from his paws snapped him back to reality. The first thing that he saw was the black fox covering his eyes.

"Blimey, that was bright! I didn't know that you had the will to grip Conjuration so tightly! You did very well, Thordan. A bit too well, perhaps."

"I didn't grip it."

"What?" This was perhaps the only time Thordan had seen the smug fox shocked.

'I embraced it, surrendered to it."

"Oh." That was all that Isangrim could say. "I- I should return to Queen Lorelei immediately. I shall return to you soon after. Just wait in the castle."

The black fox searched his pockets and took out a little wooden box, then he made a gliding motion with his paw. Within an instant, the familiar environment of the Parman hills was right there, with Thordan's mother in it, talking to a grey fox that Thordan had never seen before.

But before Thordan could say anything, the fox was on the other side of the gate, and with no sound at all, the gate to Parma collapsed, leaving a very confused otter in his sister's room.

A familiar figure climbed out from the closet lying in the room, startling Thordan before he realised that she was none other but his sister.

"It is true," the ottermaid gasped. "The old tales are true."

Thordan panicked. "What did you see, Sigrun? Tell me!"

"I saw you holding something, then a burst of white light, then the fox stepping into nothingness. Did you see that as well?"

"Yes," Thordan shook his head. "I don't feel like myself for now - I should probably take a nap before the Southards arrive."

Sigrun did not stop him as he walked out of her room.

Tumbling Down

ARLEZIA, VALERAN LEAGUE TERRITORY

No beast could have expected the fox's return, having just popped out from some random Pathway. He was supposed to be out in Kaldos, protecting Thordan Swalestrom from all that would harm him.

Of course, that does not mean that Hersent was not overjoyed. After all, Isangrim was the fox that had raised her since her childhood, and he was just as happy to see her.

"You're back!" the vixen smiled at her mentor, who was inconveniently absent for the past month. But the elder fox silenced her with a swipe of his paw.

"Your Highness, your son had just made a great discovery."

The otterqueen scowled. "Isangrim! Had I told you not to just appear from out of nowhere? I could have been at a meeting with all that political stuff going on. You were in luck that Corrado's with his bard!" She rolled her eyes. "Now what did Thordan do?"

"He found another pathway in which Conjuration is used!"

The room fell into silence. Another pathway? Conjuration?

"Thordan embraced Conjuration instead of seizing it. Instead of controlling it, he surrendered to it, and changed it from within!"

"How?" Hersent failed to suppress her surprise.

"I don't know. It's a woodlander thing!" The black fox turned to Lorelei. "Try it!'

Strapping Shadowbringers onto her paws, the otter grimaced. "You know full well that this may simply not work, don't you? I am not exactly one used to surrendering."

"Just do it," the fox rolled his eyes as Lorelei closed her own. "Banish everything from your heart and mind, and imagine the void just like you usually do." The fox quickly hid his own trepidation in order to assist Lorelei in her experiment. After all, the Bond they had shared can transmit the slightest of emotions.

"Is it just me, or am I doing nothing?"

'You're doing something, all right." Isangrim smiled as gently as he could, but there was still a hint of mischief in his tone. "Forget everything you thought you knew, and surrender!"

Lorelei's face was in a stone-stoic state, with no sign of anything. Hersent knew full well that the otter used Conjuration like she used Thaumaturgy, as if all the power and energy one used has to be gripped tightly in one's paw. But if Conjuration cannot be seized, then what else can be done to wield it?

Before long, the vixen knew. A burst of wind wrought through the room, sending Isangrim and Hersent flying into the wall. Only a lucky recall from Lorelei saved them from impact. But the furniture was not so lucky, being blown off course like ships, and almost everything was clattered next to the wall.

"It worked!" The queen smiled as she lifted up her paws, ignoring the dazed foxes at the other side of the room.

"Could you had just used an Amplifier?" Isangrim sat up, scratching his head. "Shadowbringers is simply overkill."

"What fun would there be if I used something less powerful?" The queen purred like a cat. "Besides, it's just that fun seeing you panic. It doesn't happen often, you know."

"So did it work?" Hersent chirped like a bird scared away by the aforementioned cat. "Did you embrace Conjuration?"

"I think I did, Hersent. Or something like that. You see, I've never tried anything like this. Surrendering to it was unthinkable before today, but it worked." She then rose to her full height. "Please give my thanks to Thordan, Isangrim. He has advanced my plans threefold. Watch over him, or I'll tell him to watch over you instead!"

"Can't I at least take the morning off?" The black fox groaned. "Thordan's off sleeping and stuff. You know that I'm tired when you're tired, and vice versa."

The queen was having none of it. 'You know that I can't deal with politics half-asleep."

"Who said I was sleeping?" The fox smiled as he stepped through the door - and almost ran into Eduard Muirsch. Seeing the surprised look on the bard's face, and the even more incredulous look on his otter companion's, Isangrim pulled a wise retreat.

Corrado Truetide's eyesight returned from the pile of broken furniture. "What just happened?"

The ottermum told a half-truth without batting an eye. "Renovations."

"Renovations? Really?" The otterlord laughed.

"Your mother has a strange way of telling her tales." The rat cooly closed his mouth shut as he left the chamber, unwilling to poke his muzzle into state business. Of all the vermin of the land, Corrado chose the easy-going, indolent bard as his companion. Of course, Eduard seemed more like a model for all vermin than other favourites of nobles. Young Thordan had picked a hyper-active weasel, and the less said about Lorelei's, the better.

"Anyways," the otterlord brought his mother's attention back onto more pressing matters. Our fleet is in full position to strike at Taralis, and the journey there will take six days and five nights, if the wind blows in the right direction.

Hersent rolled her eyes as Lorelei grinned diabolically for not the first time. 'Well, I am all too sure that the wind shall be on our side."

"I would not be so sure, Mother. War is party to many factors."

"Well, the more you have under your control, the better. I shall go and change into more flexible clothing." With that, the otterqueen left her servant and child, and sauntered out into a corridor.

Corrado turned to the grey vixen. "She's getting madder and madder by the second, hmm? Things could be tumbling down around her, and she could still think that she's on top of everything!"

Hersent gave a wan smile in return. "Though sanity has its advantages, sometimes madness is the only thing that works."

SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"No quarter for the false king!"

The army behind Somerled chanted this time and time again, adding to the king's embarrassment as he fled with his tail between his footpaws.

The battle started well enough for the squirrel, but he overcommitted all too easily. Flanking through a forest was too tempting an opportunity to pass, but he had no way of knowing Lord Lorents and his spearbeasts were lying in wait there.

This earned Somerled nothing but hundreds of casualties, and the collapse of his entire left flank. The centre and the right could not hold for too long, but Somerled was among the first to escape, with only four knives and a statue on his belt and nothing else to arm himself with.

Hiding in a nearby village would be impossible - he had burnt almost everything down in his army's methodical approach into Dravania, hoping to make his way towards Thordan's host in Kaldos. But Becker could not have that, could he? No, he just had to cut him off!

And Amalrik was gone - disappeared to who knows where! He said he was to accompany the stoat to pay a visit to a very specific noble - one whose name was not disclosed. Thordan Swalestrom, perhaps? Or his uncle, if Somerled did not pay him enough for his services.

But then, the otter healer did give him the Amplifier, which was rumoured to work wonders upon the world, starting from simple healing. Somerled was no healer, but he knew that these things held power over all life (though not death, to the squirrel's detriment).

The healer spoke all too vaguely about how it is used, but the little statue was one of five things that could help him get out of his mess. The sky was darkening over Dravania, but those blasted soldiers were intelligent to bring torches with them.

Somerled slowly slunk back from his hiding place in the copse. Exactly right into an Otterguard.

The poor beast could only offer a choked scream as a knifetip entered his groin, which failed to alert the nearby searchers. But the damage had been done. The Southards will soon realise that one of them was nothing more but a corpse now, and so he had to run. Fast.

Clutching the statue in his paw, Somerled concentrated, pouring his desperation, his hatred, his downright loathing against all who stood in his way - and successfully summoned a wind.

Well, it was more like a breeze than a full-on storm, but it was enough to turn a few tracker's heads. The squirrel quickly ran into the woodlands.

Of course, he took the opportunity to get hopelessly lost. He had never been here, and the sun was sliding westward down the horizon. I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will survive. I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will live. I am a squirrel -

The thought hit him like an iron gauntlet. He was a squirrel! A squirrel! Finding an oak tree with leaves aplenty, the noble started his slow ascent.

Somerled had climbed trees in his youth, and in his adulthood he did so once, but that was fifteen seasons ago. But he knew how his paws, both front and hind, would work to propel him vertically, and it took less than two minutes before he was halfway there.

He would not make it though, as he was quickly wrenched from the mighty oak by some force he could not see. Tumbling down from the tree, all he could see is a black mole clad head to toe in white - in dress too fancy for his station. No commoner could become an emissary to kings, after all.

He landed on the ground with a mighty crack. Something was broken - his hip, perhaps, or maybe his thigh? It did not matter. He was doomed either way.

The short beast quickly descended upon the fallen squirrel, and quickly pocketed the statue. Then, with the swiftest of motions, he jammed a dagger of Somerled's into the squirrel's throat.

Screams failed the king as he found himself unable to keep his eyes open. He was forced to close them, and he knew that they will never open again.

I have failed you, King Garmund. This was not a fight you should have started.

Word shall leak out that Somerled, Duke of Deilart and called King of Southsward, accidentally stabbed himself while climbing a tree, while being pursued by enemy forces. Future generations shall remember it that way.

After all, history was written by winners of wars figuratively, and by Archivists in their books literally. Perhaps inconveniently for Somerled, his killer saw himself to be both.

THE SOUND

"Back to Ravesvakt, is it?" Alfyn made his move, playing his first pawn up, right into where Egil could capture it, which the weasel swiftly does.

"I guess so." To Alfyn, Egil was starting to prove himself a friend, though not on Thordan's level. After all, there was more to friendship than having the same benefits. "Beautiful town, is it?"

The weasel rolled his eyes as Alfyn traded his Runner for a Leaper. "City."

The otter shook his head. "Distinction without a difference."

A few more moves passed until Alfyn flung his Queen on the other side of the board, capturing a Pawn on the way. This set of chess Alfyn's, and it was bought from a trader residing in Kaldos. He was not new to the game, but Lord Stalwart needed a lot more practice. After all, even Thordan could defeat him not once, but thrice, each in different ways.

Alfyn rubbed his chin. "Nice move."

But Egil's mind was not on the chess game. 'How do you manage seasickness? I mean, otters can definitely stand a bit of water, but just how do you do it?"

"Hm, me? I just look into the horizon and hope that my sickness is gone. You should ask Thordan about it. He mastered seasickness by himself."

Egil looked to the horizon, taking the tall otter's advice. "Well, being a healer does have its advantages. His grandfather taught him well about who bodies work, though he had only studied woodlanders in detail. He can do first aid on me as well, if I keep myself still, of course."

"Is that even possible?" Alfyn smiled. To be fair, he could see why Thordan would have liked him. After all, the younger otter was a dour beast, and he needed someone, anyone, to lively him up. With Egil gone with Alfyn, how would Thordan even manage? SIgrun can help, of course, but nothing much could be done to help him until Egil, or somebeast like him arrived in Kaldos, and was not too obnoxious for Thordan.

"Yes, keeping myself still is all too possible, thank you very much." Egil grinned. That grin coming from a vermin usually meant that he wanted something.

"Can I ask a favour of you, Egil" Alfyn's smile faded into a scowl.

"What?" Egil's look became one of shock.

'Can you please stop moving my pieces when I'm looking out to sea? I'm tired of you cheating." The vermin's head hung lower at Alfyn's discovery. 'Do you use this scheme on Thordan?"

'No." Egil sighed. "He simply chooses to lose the normal way." A grin suddenly appeared on the weasel's brown-furred muzzle.

"Besides, you are that big of a fool!" Egil spun out of the cabin, laughing madly all the way.

Alfyn sighed. Vermin... "Hey, Egil! This time we're playing for real! No tricks and whatnot!"

"In a minute!" was the reply.

Thordan, you must be the luckiest fool to over live.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Walking out of the Pathway was easy enough for Isangrim.

After his little rest in Arleza, the black fox soon snuck back into the Aetherochemical Research Facility, carrying the news of the new method of Conjuration wielding.

Emetselk thought that this was why Arbert was able to momentarily overpower King Thordan in the Rift the last time they met. A likely suggestion, which would mean that the younger Thordan was not the first woodlander to discover Conjuration's alternate pathway.

But then, Isangrim never thought that a teenager would be the one to negate the Southards' advantage. That was still welcome, however, and all was well.

To be honest, a counter-push on Arbert would soon be a reality. After all, the moles are up to no good, yet they seemed to have done nothing lately. The word 'seemed' spoke volumes, as the two were always ready.

Then there was then the question of Thordan's killer. A vermin, he was, unless he had come from another Shard. Lorelei just could not wait for her to get his paws on him or her, yet patience is needed for every plan. After all, Emetselk needed time for his grand entrance into the Source.

"I see that you have returned, Isangrim." A familiar voice spread through the air. It was Thordan Swalestrom, who definitely expected him. He was sent to watch over the otter, after all.

"It did not take me long for me to leave your mother's company, smothering as it may be."

"The envoy is waiting, and we have - I mean you have delayed for long enough."

"Well, tell that to your mother." Isangrim rolled his eyes. Politics. How disinteresting. Thordan will walk out unharmed anyways.

It will be that simple - Joar Rueford, or whoever he was, will offer terms that Thordan will not accept, and he will storm out of the hall. Then Becker will come here and attempt to take the city, only to fail. Thordan does have a Thaumaturge on his side, and unless one of the moles was with Becker, Kaldos will stand.

"They told us to bring only one guard, and only two of them will enter the negotiation chamber. You will serve as mine for the time being. Nobody expects the random fox lying around here to be some seer."

"Thordan, with all due respect, I don't think their beasts would think that I am particularly mundane. You could have brought a woodlander guard, or even Egil perhaps, but some random black fox whispering into your ear? That would give something away."

"Aren't you supposed to have a disguise or something?" Thordan turned to the fox. "You are supposed to be a spymaster."

"Well, Lorelei does them for me. Veiling is a woodlander thing. Conjuration."

"So that would mean that I could do that for you!"

"Wait!"

Before the fox could react further, he felt the effects of Conjuration work on him. Thordan, ever eager to learn and try new things, was closing his eyes and clutched the chess piece just above his heart. Before long, Isangrim felt a warm wave silently rush up and drench him.

The vermin was no stranger to such waves - both the elder Thordan and his daughter had used it on him. But this, this was different. This healing wave was merely supposed to take away any malignant effects the fox might have on him - wounds or illnesses. However, Thordan seemed to have taken away his tiredness as well.

That must explain why Thordan sent his grandson to learn healing. He must have a Gift!

"Thordan, you're healing me instead of disgusing me."

"Oh." Within a blink of an eye, the sensations vanished. Lorelei would be very proud of you.

With a crash, a door opened, and random otter blundered into the seers.

"I'm Bodvar, the emissary's bodyguard. One of them, anyways. Sorry, Lord Whatever... What's it again?" The newcomer faltered, clearly expecting a response.

Thordan nodded like a true noble would, despite Bodvar's lack of manners. "Swalestrom."

"Phaw! You're the beast that calls himself King of Dravania nowadays, aren't you? I expected somebeast taller. Well, I'm actually sorry t' disturb you and your vermin friend, but where is the nearest garderobe?"

"Go down the hallway and take the third left."

"Thank you!" With a wave associated with close friends and not mighty kings, he sped down the corridor like a hare does when he sees a feast in front of him.

"Weird little beast, isn't he? I expected you to lose your temper at any moment, being almost king and all that."

"A king is polite and is groomed well," Thordan recited by heart. "And my title is almost one."

Another beast ran into the room, this time in a more civilised manner. A herald.

"The envoy is ready, Your Lordship."

The two stood up, and walked up to the negotiation table. It took a total of two minutes, but they were there at last.

Sitting in front of them were a hedgehog clad in white - the speaker - and nobody else. Well, the bodyguard was absent, inside a restroom.

The doors were closed as all three took their seats. Chests of treasure surrounded them, carried by another otter and a mouse.

Thordan spoke first. "Who are you? You do not suppose that I can be bought, diplomat?"

"I see that you have changed a lot since the last time we met, Lord Regent Thordan Swalestrom. You have wizened up, so as to speak."

"I do not think that we have met. I do not even know your name!" The otter cried out as Isangrim reached for the box Lorelei gave him under the table. This hedgehog cannot be trusted.

"Well I am sure Emmeroloth remembers, does he?" The Veil broke as the hedgehog disappeared, revealing the familiar snout of a mole.

"You!" Isangrim was merely able to pronounce one syllable before something curled across its muzzle, tying it shut. A glance to the left indicated that the same had been done to Thordan, and soon the two were floating up in the air, totally helpless. Isangrim fumbled for the Augmenter in his paw, only for it be wrenched away by invisible paws.

Dagbert immediately opened the box, only to find a smaller tin box that cannot be opened. tThat was his reward already, though he knew it not. "It is truly a pity that it has come to this, Thordan. I wanted to ask you to come to us willingly, but the whole Dravain business seemed to have stopped that from ever happening.

Within seconds, yet another coil of wind-rope surrounded Isangrim's neck, tightening before the gagged fox could form any coherent thought, crushing his throat. If his jaws were free, he would have howled for someone, anyone. Lorelei! Emetselk! Matoya!

Before his sight failed him and his sunk below, he saw Thordan's hopeless struggling come to an abrupt halt, the mouse down below gesturing at them, and Dagbert watching impassively, finally achieving the victory he had long hoped for.

The Tug of Fate

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

When the doors opened, Sigrun was surprised.

Of course, the entire negotiation business was supposed to take a bit longer than two minutes, but here the hedgehog was, dragging out his boxes of silver, gold and gems. His three guards were just alongside him, helping to heave the heavy chests out of the room.

"I thought that we were getting what's in the boxes," Sigrun nonchalantly breathed out the words. After all, were they not gifts?

"I understand what's in them is all too important to you and Dravania," the hedgehog quickly said, stopping his guards from speaking before him. "But then, he seemed to have some issues with the terms I offered. Although we are not accustomed for lords to walk away from us rudely, we will return if he comes back from his private chambers. For now, though, we shall leave the castle." The hedgehog bowed as he left Sigrun.

Thordan didn't manage to do anything, did he? He manages to flee into his bed every single time he receives a challenge. If he only knew that there were some that cannot be evaded.

Thordan's room was quite tidy, even for a noble. A double-poster bed with red and white coverings, a desk with a place for little candles, lit when reading books and writing letters at night, and a bookcase full of books, with not a single gap between them.

This seems strange. Even his journal's still here. When Thordan goes anywhere, there is bound to be at least one book beside him. If he did not take one, that would mean that he had left abruptly, without having time to grab one. That, in turn, would mean...

The sudden revelation hit Sigrun like a sack of books - almost literally. She sprung and ran into the hallways of the castle, and out of them again. She did not stop until she reached the walls.

She shouted at Lord Strandsor, for the first time in what must have been months. "Lord Strandsor!" she huffed.

"What happened?" The lord was busy trying to create a set of defenses impenetrable, and that dissatisfaction bled into his emotions as well. "It had better be importa-"

"They have taken him." Sigrun felt the tears fall down from her normally collected face. "The Southards have taken my brother!"

LORSA, LORDSHIP OF LORSA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"I see that you have found your candidate, Lord Valdemar." Bernhard of Lorsa descended from the stairs, staring at the otterlord all the way.

"Seeing that you had voted for him all those months ago, I suppose you need no further reason to do the same thing once again, I suppose." Lord Valdemar's paws scrubbed against each other, like they were cleaning themselves.

"Where is the otter himself?" Bernhard smiled, taking a seat while gesturing for Valdemar to do the same, which he did. "I very much wanted to meet him, but he seemed to be busy."

"My uncle is busy dealing with Worrad right now, while my son takes care of trouble back home, with the Trielians and all that."

"Worrad, hmm?" Unlike Vargo and Doma, or Gridain and Lorsa, it was a rare occurrence that two vassals of the same species could get along. But Lorsa and Worrad seemed more friendly than every duchy. After all, it was customary for members of one house to vote for the other in royal elections, until this one anyway, in which they had voted for different scions of House Crestworth, with Lord Mestwin voting for Valdemar.

"Yes." Valdemar was not a creature of many words, and this mouselord was not going to change that this easily.

"Of course I am willing to vote for Niels again. Why would I not?"

So it is that easy, winning him over? No. There always had to be a catch.

"But since I was so forthcoming..." Of course. "Would it make sense for King Niels to accept a little request of mine?"

"That depends on its nature."

"What would King Niels say if I asked him not to ally with Southsward during the war and after? You see, my sister and former heir Queen Bertrada is married to King Garmund of Triel, who is struggling in his war."

Ah, that. That made sense. Bernhard was all too close to his sister and vice versa. Bertrada even named her firstborn, delivered just two months ago, named after her only sibling. Some Otharn houses bypass female relatives for their male descendents, and now Bernhard Tiecelin was heir to Lorsa.

"That, I think, could certainly be arranged. Your contribution to our cause could certainly be welcome, and His Majesty himself has no intention of interceding in the war, unless it is to make a lasting peace. You would be welcome at his court and by his side, fellow lover of peace." Niels' will is not mine, though, and I will do as my heart calls me to.

To be fair, it was the Trielians' fault that they had invaded Doma. They had it coming. Thordan Swalestrom retreated after less than a day of attempts, to the amusement of Valdemar and the relief of Niels. Lorcan Stalwart may have been a wily leader, but his chief area of expertise was at naval warfare - he was untested on terra firma.

Valdemar continued, "I am glad we have a king who can bring the war across the straits to an end." Valdemar said truthfully. He may not be the most warlike of personages, but he has a mind for diplomacy, and more noticeably, healing. You would very much not regret calling him your king before any attempt at election."

"I am certainly glad for your newfound ability at the making of decisions, Lord Valdemar," Lord Bernhard nodded. "And you have my word that Niels would see his rudder on the Otharn throne in a month, and the Parman one in a season."

"That is good to hear." Valdemar answered curtly, yet tersely.

"Then I shall follow you to Kurburg within days, after I pack up. Aldabreschi may have broken us up once, but you know that this shall not happen again!"

DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"I think that remaining here is not my best option, Lord Sverker, so excuse me as I make a hasty retreat from Doma."

Lorcan Stalwart's rare display of eloquence shook everyone, including the otter himself. He was calm and collected, yes, but terseness was a family trait.

The siege had gone well at first, but Sverker let slip that he had a season's worth of food stockpiled within Doma. Assault was virtually impossible, and Lorcan was not his impulsive, impetuous brother.

Yet Alfyn was the decisive one. Lorcan wrestled with himself about leaving, and after sixty agonising hours, he decided to keep his beasts safe, and head to Kaldos where Thordan is. A king needs his friend.

"Just like that?" Lord Sverker had his doubts. Like Lorcan, he was a cautious beast, unable to come to sort of decision without thinking twice, yet he seemed to be more sluggish.

"Yes. We can't have your brother claiming all the glory, having to save your tail from the 'evil clutches of the rampaging Trielians', or something."

Once Harald Crestworth was mentioned, Sverker seemed more agreeable all of a sudden. "Well, off you go, then. You have a lord's word that I shall not pursue your forces." Sverker sighed, but his eyes betrayed a glare that seemed almost cunning. Almost. "It is dark now, and it may be one of your traps."

"Thank you for accepting my request for parley, Lord Sverker. I hope to work together in future seasons, and perhaps allow friendship to be born." With that final polite sentence, Lorcan Stalwart excited the room, the castle, the town, the beaches, and the shores of Parma.

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

Somerled's death shook everybeast in the castle, though none could say for sure that they had not expected it.

Both Lord Domnall and his niece Morag were not on good terms with their late kin, and the same could be said for anybeast else. The only nobles of note to actually develop a facade of friendliness were the late King Thordan, the also deceased Duke Kestutas, and Lord Skipper Lorcan Stalwart, who as of this moment was alive.

Vega really could not point her finger at anything that she could blame. Altayras' new father in law was not a good creature, and certainly not an able one. He would have a hard time dealing with the after-effects of the war if he even got his bottom on the throne of Southsward. After all, having nobeast like you was bad enough, but having nobeast fear you or respect you was the deciding factor. After all, this was a squirrel who had lost every single pitched battle he found himself in.

Lord Domnall could only ascend the ducal throne if there was no posthumous legitimate son of his, which he did not due to being a widower, and if King Garmund recognised his ascension. The latter part was easy. Garmund had been wanting weak dukes since the beginning of his reign, and so far he had two child dukes on their thrones. One of them was his son Bohemond, and the other being Corrado of Jayso. If the mouse king got three dukes wrapped in his claws, the other three would have to band together.

That would not be possible - Garmund has always pushed for Thordan Swalestrom to succeed his mother instead of her elder son, nominally to prevent Thavnair and Obring from joining together. What he actually wanted was another weak duke, though the Dravania business seemed to impede the whole thing.

"I would say we should be leaving soon." A voice behind Vega spoke softly and politely, every word almost a whisper, and every breath almost silence.

The squirrelmaid turned to see another of her kind, shorter and sicklier than even her. Duke Domnall's pelt was as brown as loam, compared to his brother's flame-red fur that he had inherited from his Southard mother. Being born with seizures, a lisp and a lame right footpaw, he managed to keep a quick wit within his infirm body.

"What for?"

The elder squirrel sighed. "The Southards have broke through King Garmund's defenses. They are headed here all too directly."

"Here?" Vega gasped.

"Yes. I have issued orders that they city is to surrender immediately. The bloodshed is too much for the city to bear. We will be in Castle Deilart in the meantime."

"Why are we surrendering? We can still put up quite big of a fight, and delay-"

"Because King Garmund ordered me to." The Duke took a deep breath, no doubt exasperated at Vega being ignorant of what was not told to her. "You see, girl, it is custom in both Triel and Southsward that a surrendered city's properties should be left untouched."

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I still understand little."

"If Lord Garrion takes Orience, he would have to garrison it adequately. This would deplete his beasts and supplies quicker than imagined."

"Leading to them being unable to take more cities!"

The Duke smiled. "Exactly. By then, King Garmund would have blocked their retreat and starved them into submission. But there is one problem."

"And what is that?"

"They count King Erlend as one of their prisoners. They can easily trade him for anything they want, him being a noble of high status."

Vega remembered the otter - she was the only one able to calm him down after he found out that his son perished in battle. He said that she was like Thordan his son - which was not entirely a compliment.

"That is bad." Vega stated the obvious.

"We can only hope that everything changes for the better now."

"I'm sure everything would!" Both squirrels turned their heads to see another one poking out from a doorway.

"Morag! How many times did Father tell you not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others?"

"How many times did you tell me, Uncle? And how many times did I listen to either of you? You tell me, Vega."

"None and none, as I recall." Vega smiled.

"I get your point, but can you knock next time? Having you enter every single room secretly while I am concentrating can be quite... disconcerting, you see."

"Well, where's the fun in life without a little surprise?" Morag asked, earning a chuckle in reply from Vega. The two had always been friends despite their opposite personalities, and Vega was among the first to celebrate her brother's betrothal.

"I may not know the answer to your question, but I do know about surprise, Morag. You have my word that I would not be as pleasant was you see it to be."

VALERAN STRAIT

"How could they have arrived so early?" Godred fumed, kicking over a bucket full of seawater. "The wind favoured us more than them, and they appear just as we set sail!"

"These questions should be directed to Great Seasons, and not to me." Of all the beasts Godred had met, Guido Aldabreschi has got to be the most annoying of them. Only a beast of such caliber can displace Thordan from that title. "They have but a stroke of good luck, and nothing else in its entirety."

"What could even be worse?" Godred screamed as Lord Guido grimaced at the noise. Their navy had just left the harbour, and the Garlean fleet just appears out of nowhere! Godred should have just stayed in Taralis, or better, Floret.

"Being dead would be a great example, Your Highness." Your Highness. Godred hated the upstart mouse with a passion. Godred Swalestrom may call himself king and behave like a king, but unless the mouse stopped whispering in his ear and stopped giving orders in his name, he was merely a king in name, little better than a pretender.

Guido continued. "Retreat is still an option, Your Highness, and I doubt we can-"

'Give the order to advance." This mouse will not disobey him.

"But-"

'You made me king, and you cannot unmake me." Godred spoke, as calm as he could be, at his cowardly vassal. "A subject's first duty is to obey."

"A second duty is to protect. And I will not let you in harm's way!"

"I can handle myself without you nagging in my ear." Before waiting for a response, Godred retreated into the relative safety of his cabin to don his armour.

A set of armour is a noblebeast's greatest companion. The ability to block arrows and glancing blows was essential, and Godred, as a king, had to have it made well. A doublet was cast on top of his torso, followed by cuisses, pollens and greaves for the footpaws. Three pieces of armour act as one for the most protection.

The haubergeon followed, and the breastplate in turn. Canons on forepaws waited their turn, and soon everything was ready.

But not for direct impact.

The very moment Godred opened the door, a ship crashed headlong into their own. Godred thought that all the ships carried the banner of Jayso, but this one was Vargan.

This belonged to Queen Lorelei.

For a while Godred thought her manageable. Leaping onto the ship's stern, he attempted to strike at the impassive queen, dealing a deathblow to all opposition to his rule within a single second, a single swipe of a broadsword.

Then she swept her paw to the left, and somehow, somehow, he moved with it.

He fell into the churning waters below. Struggling under the weight of his armour, he surrendered to the will of the tides.

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

"Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made." The last of those who considered themselves nobles, finally finished his oath of fealty.

"What is asked is given, and the price is paid." Lord Alfyn Stalwart was weary after an entire day of receiving homages, which was preceded by four days at sea. He managed to suppress a yawn and gave the squirrel permission to take his leave.

Finally! Egil stepped out from behind the curtains, being hidden the whole time. "See? I knew you would do fine!"

"Your confidence has surely been appreciated." Alfyn gave a crooked smile. It was Egil's idea that Alfyn immediately convince them to respect his authority - time was important, and more so in a time of war. "Though it is indeed a tiring job."

Unlike Thordan, who had Sir Lennart the Steward by his side (who betrayed him, and died regretting it), Alfyn had nobeast except for Egil to advise him - and it was known even to the weasel himself that his advice was not too reliable. "Thordan would be proud of you, working tirelessly to keep your fief safe."

Alfyn gripped Egil's paw. "Did I do anything wrong for now?" Seeing the weasel shake his head, the grip was loosened. "Gates, I sound very much like Thordan now."

"Well, the folk here like Thordan." Woodlanders saw him as yet another lord they were to obey, yet vermin were all too fanatical about a lord who promised to make them equal to woodlanders - and who just happened to edge closer and closer to the Dravain throne.

Alfyn promised Egil that he would continue his predecessor's policies, and in turn received a promise that Egil would meddle in anything political in nature. With both sides developing a sudden friendship, the likelihood that the agreement was to be kept has risen.

"I understand that I will never be Thordan - I know that much." Alfyn seemed almost pathetic now, with his tiredness overshadowing his looks. But there was also something else. "Yet I don't want to try to surpass him - the Islanders have standards too high. I am no king, and I have no intention of being one. But how will Thordan manage? If I can't bear a mere lordship, how will Thordan fare with a crown atop his head? He's not as strong as his mother wants him to be, and he seems to be weaker than even his father!"

But before Egil could offer up a response in return, a messenger blundered into the room. A brown squirrel, he was, and he could only give up a letter with the Dravain sigil, a wolf, on top of the seal. Before long, he was back to tending his birds

"It seems Thordan decided to send us something." Breaking the wax, Alfyn scanned the lines of the letter. But the more he read, the more likely the letter was sent by something else. Egil could see it on his face. Dropping the letter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart wailed in terror, fleeing from the room like a child.

Egil picked up the letter, and he would do the same after reading Lady Sigrun's plea for help.

Nemesis

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

"So this is what you call Conjuration." Lord Rathor sat impassively as his eyes fell on Arbert.

"You are correct, Your Lordship." Arbert tucked back Finnbarr into its sheath. The sword was one of two he had taken from the Chamber of Stars back in Floret, the other being in the possession of his brother. Or it could be still in Floret. Arbert did not know.

A gust of wind followed by a fountain of water were all that was needed to convince Arbert's Seercraft that it was real, not some trick taught to him by some vermin band.

"And why do you need Verminfate from me again?" The badger was kind and gentle, but that did not mean that he was to believe all that Arbert said.

"There are beasts that are trying to destroy worlds. So far, they have succeeded in one count. Hundred of millions of beasts lost their lives due to a cruel beast's will. The entire world has been frozen in ice, with its inhabitants willing to ingest the most lethal poison than to live in a world forsaken by all that could help them. My brother and I were unlucky enough to witness the few survivors trying desperately to end themselves - and succeed."

"Would this fate befall us as well?" This managed to grab the badgerlord's attention.

"This is unknown to me," Arbert told the truth. "But I suspect that their next target is to invade another world. One containing another myriad beasts."

"Can you tell me what they look like? I can notify you when I see them."

"One is an old otter with a regal bearing and dark grey fur, but that had been taken care of. We know of one other - a black fox with a smug smile and a staff."

"So he is what you call a Thaumaturge?"

"Correct. I can even say that he is the most dangerous beast living at this moment."

"That is serious. You are to stop him, are you?"

"Without a doubt. He will fall to my paws, I am sure."

"Then can I tell you of a dream I had last night?"

Arbert's ears rose. "Please do so, Lord Rathor."

"I saw you, in desperation, with the black fox in the same room as you are, and a third figure. He and you seemed to be staring at each other."

"Are you sure it was me?" Arbert pressed.

"He looked very much like you. You were in a white robe, and seemed to be fighting."

Dagbert? Why? "Do you know more? Where did the dream happen? Who was the third beast?"

"I am sorry, but it was not really clear to me. Dreams are hard to remember, and this one was all too difficult to remember. I got all the important things down, but I am afraid that some details are not really remembered."

"Thank you for telling me about this dream. I shall notify my companions immediately. They need to be prepared for what is coming next." With that, Arbert gripped Finnbarr's hilt, and aligned the points together. A Pathway to Floret was formed, like a tunnel passing through a mountain of space.

"Oh, and watch out for the black fox. I have a feeling he will come to the mountain soon."

Seeing the badger nod, Arbert stepped through the Path and made a beeline for the Chamber of Stars. He needed Fatch as much as Finnbarr.

BALSAMU

The beast who called himself Emetselk had never loved the island, but here he was.

In a remote beach did the two beasts tumble out from a Corridor of Darkness. The beast that called himself Emetselk had his obligations to the beasts under him, dead they might be. Two souls did he carry, and a third was on its way.

Of course, the stoat was with him. Beneath the signature black cloak of the Ward (there was also a white cloak, but the stoat decided he looked better in black), there was a jet-black suit of armour, which was used to cultivate an image of doom and malevolence (quite ironic, since he was not actually a creature beasts consider to be evil). Well, if any beast had to strike fear into the enemy, it was the black stoat in black armour with a black Landservant sword, massive, thick and heavy, though more like a sword than a heap of raw steel.

He was a Black Knight, as the stories told. A knight with no liege - the beast who called himself Emetselk does not count.

The Protector, the stoat was called, despite having failed in his task of protection when he was a woodlander, and living. The name was not meant to be ironic when the beast who called himself Emetselk gave it to him, though the vermin himself bore it and its translation with pride. A second chance was not easily seized, after all.

But before his task of protection, there was something he had to do. Near the waters, there was a figure of within a suit of armour, unconscious. Apparently he was an otter who washed up during the battle of the straits, with his heavy armour impeding any attempt at swimming. But he was no corpse yet.

The stoat stepped forward, only to be stopped by a paw in front of him. The beast who called himself Emetselk had his own ideas. "Not now, Fandaniel. Not now."

After their misadventure with Somerled in Dravania, the duo rested at Dalagab for a while, then they came here as befitting to the will of the Fates. 'Amalrik' was to wait for another time where a disguise proved favourable to their goals.

The beast who called himself Emetselk rushed forward, examining the downed Godred Swalestrom. His pulse was still here, weak, but existent. Clutching his Augmenter from the Iceshard, a sword from their version of Redwall, he set to work. Embracing and surrendering to Conjuration as Emmeroloth had told him, droplets of water were expelled from Godred Swalestrom's mouth, first in a trickle, then in a flood.

Of course, this did not save him immediately. As the stoat watched on, the beast who called himself Emetselk Conjured flows of healing, patiently waiting for them to do their work.

Of course, the beast that called himself Emetselk was no slouch in the healing department. Before long, the otter coughed once, then twice. Cupping Lord Swalestrom's head, the stoat continued to observe as the beast who called himself Emetselk continued to heal him.

The otter on the sand spoke. "Thank you. Thank you very much." This, he said in Valeran - a big mistake. Balsamu had its own language, which is similar but not all that related to the Valeran, Garlean and Parmese languages of the Ilsadian language family.

The beast who called himself Emetselk spoke in Trielo-Southard, just so Fandaniel the stoat can understand. "It shall seem that you are better than before."

Godred did a double take, clearly not expecting more Southards in Balsamu. "What are your names? I wish to reward you once this whole war thing was over."

"Call me Amalrik." The beast who did not call himself Amalrik laughed. "The stoat does not talk often, especially to a child of Lord Becker."

"You two know who I am?" A flash of worry erupted before Godred Swalestrom's eyes.

"Yes." The beast who called himself Emetselk nodded, and the stoat swung his weapon, cutting through fur, skin, tendon, muscle and bone, until Godred's head was permanently separated from his neck.

"We are not kin anymore, Godred," the stoat seethed under his helm.

DRAVANIAN HINTERLANDS

Is this how it all ends? Dying in a box?

Thordan was clearly not thinking straightly simply because he was not able to do so physically. He had awoken inside a chest, bound and gagged, and the moment he struggled, he realised Isangrim was with him in the container - too close for any sort of comfort.

They had only let the two out once for who-knows-when, to sluice him in a river, after which their invisible bonds have been replaced with material ones, and his clothes were sent down a river - to 'confuse your friends', the mole or hedgehog said.

Thordan had always refrained from hating anyone, but Dagbert really came close. He knew that taking him by any other method would lead to suspicion, but this was truly hellish. This scheme, of course, came from a mind that knew Isangrim was dangerous - Thordan's grandfather always told him that vermin seers were prickly beasts - but this was too extreme for the mole.

Thordan remembered he was a kindly beast back in Floret, a better avuncular figure than Becker, even. So why the cruelty now? Either he was doing this on the orders of someone, or he had to do something for Southsward - mere patriotism. Thordan desperately hoped it was the latter option that was offered to the mole.

"Keep with us a second. We're almost there." This 'Bodvar' otter had talked to him since he was confirmed to have awoken, despite the (quite obvious) fact that he was still gagged. He was annoying, to say the least.

Isangrim did not help matters. Thordan had learned smells and scents during his time in Healer training, but he had only heard of a fox's pungent smell which was emitted when he or she was scared once, in an offpaw mention by Niels. Well, he was forced to experience it for more than twenty-three hours a day. And horrible it was, even without counting the times that the both of them relieved themselves out of fear or failure to hold it in. They were fed nothing during the journey, and Thordan overheard something about starving them for the time being, if only to add to Thordan's ever-growing list of worries.

He must have dozed off, for when the next time he opened his eyes, he was in that box, but there was no fox in it. He waited.

Voices. From afar. Moving in.

"Oh, Birger. I am sure he would cooperate for a bit. He's not had food for Gates knows how long, and beasts like him are not used to hunger." The definitive and irksome voice of Captain Bodvar Waycaster. How welcoming.

"I'm just afraid that he'll still resist. Try to escape. You know what is to happen if he does, don't you? If the worst happens-" The mouse.

"Don't worry, Pickner. All will end well for us, having a lord in our back pocket." Someone new.

The box was quickly opened, and Thordan squinted at the sudden influx of light. One head was definitely Bodvar, and the other two were guards as well. Next to the otter and the mouse was another otter, though in a blue uniform instead of red.

"Wakey wakey, lordling!" The vexing captain untied his muzzle, and Thordan tried too hard to resist biting his paw. He succeeded - the only thing that went his way today.

The ropes around his body were then curled away and tossed to the side, while Thordan took the younger otter's paw. Stumbling for a bit, it took half a minute for him to stand upright, with a bit of help, of course.

The captain half-dragged him to a wooden chair, where Thordan sat down without much prodding. He was then left tied up, of course. All four of his paws were bound to one of the chair's appendages - frontpaws to armrests and footpaws to chairlegs. Even his tail was tied to another chairleg, while he did nothing to struggle against his bonds. He had taken enough punishment already.

Then they left him unattended for a while. That was the disconcerting bit. Having other beasts discuss your fate while you sat as helpless as a fish on a tree.

"The swordstaff-"

"-no, we wouldn't want him-"

"- to feel relaxed, not-"

Thordan must have slept without knowing again, beacuse the next thing he felt was a bucketful of water sloshing down his muzzle.

Bodvar sighed in mock disappointment. "Ah, you've fallen asleep again."

"What else was I to do?" Thordan muttered behind his breath, ensuring nobeast heard his sudden outburst..

"Tell me. Do you want to play a little game, otterlord?"

"A game?" The naked otter couldn't believe that.

"You know, a structured form of play for entertainment. That's what Phronesis told me anyway."

Still too nervous for normal thinking methods, Thordan quickly nodded. "You're not going to hurt me if I play, are you?"

"No!" the mouse cried out almost on impulse.

"Well, not a lot, anyway." The third otter was inclined to disagree.

"Oh, try to shut up for a while, Birger." A first name basis usually is a sign of familiarity - Thordan was sure they were close. Brothers, maybe? Or commander and soldier? "The Boreller brothers invented it, and I made a few adjustments as befitting your status."

Thordan stared blindly and blankly at the trio as the elder otter fumbled for his weapon. It looked like a sword on a stick, but was definitely not a spear. A Dravain weapon somehow found its way into a Southard with a Dravain name.

"Alright. Here are the rules. We point the swordstaff at you. You just sit there, being totally silent while we ask you questions with no definite answer. Then we will move the spear closer or farther away from you depending on the answer."

"Depending on the answer?"

"That means we will move it to you if we don't like your answer." The mouse (Pickner, was it?) smiled like a demon from Hellgates.

'Alright. What is your name?" Captain Bodvar asked the first question, the swordstaff horizontally held to Thordan's neck.

Name. Not title. "Thordan Swalestrom."

True to his word the blade was moved about an inch towards the back. Hiding a shocked expression, the otter asked his second question. "What is your favourite colour?"

"Grey." The swordstaff was retreated a another inch.

"Gates, you're good at this!" Captain Bodvar smiled - not a sadistic one as a prisoner was interrogated, but one that appeared when a game was played. "Let me see - I forgot the last question." He gestured at Birger. 'Whatsit again?"

The second otter was nonchalant. "What was the capital of Parma before the Skywards became its kings?"

For once, Thordan was glad about studying history. "Kurburg."

For the first time, the swordstaff did not move as Bodvar scratched his head. "Was it Kurburg?"

"That's what Phronesis said it was, anyway." Pickner whispered into his companion's ear, but Thordan caught the words.

The spear retreated further back and Bodvar complained in his usual mocking tone. "You're no fun, lordling. At least Joar gave us a few chances before he fell sick an' had to walk away from the mission. You're better than the fox at it anyways."

'The fox?" For the first time in what seemed like millenia for Thordan (yet was actually a few hours), Bodvar managed to get his attention.

"Ah, yes. When we asked about his name, he refused t' answer, even when the spear drew blood. Phronesis called him over to his side, and we have no idea what's happening t' him."

"You must not treat us seers so." Dagbert may not have been the usual interrogator, but with Ralos absent, he had no choice but to leave the three guards with Thordan and deal with Emmeroloth himself.

"Seers? You call yourself a proper seer?" Three hours of interrogations yielded no results, and the fox was resilient indeed. "Aren't you at least a bit ashamed, calling yourself that? Like a rabbit calling himself a hare?"

"You know we do not know everything, but-"

"Well, we know you know nothing, and I'm not telling you anything, so there's that." The fox would have crossed his paws if he was not tied spread eagle by bonds of air.

"Very well." The mole turned around and sauntered away, walking away from a tent into another, weaving the Veil along the way, where the three guards were trying to get something out of Thordan. Judging by the whole three feet from the swordpoint to the unclothed otter, it was not going very well.

"You three, go outside for a while. I have words for you." The woodlander guards swiftly obeyed his orders, leaving Thordan seating on his 'throne'.

"I see that you were having quite a bit of fun back there." Dagbert stated.

"Well, you ordered us not to draw blood from him like we did to Emmeroloth, so we to try new methods." Bodvar's smile disappeared, as if expecting punishment.

'Well, I need help with breaking the fox."

"The one you called the seer?" This time, it was Birger Waycaster who spoke out of turn. "Well, seers are quick to anger, and should not be treated like a mere prisoner."

An idea hit Dagbert. That was the problem. Everybeast fears him - even I do. Before we could break him, our fear and our respect of him has to be shattered once and for all.

'Come with me." Momentarily later, the four were in Emmerloth's tent. He was still helpless, away from his Augmenter, and Dagbert kept his Thaumaturgy locked away, so he was useless in the physical sense.

The mole-as-hedgehog whispered into his guard's ears. "Laugh when you want. No need to keep a straight face."

Calling his winds, Dagbert, the beast who called himself Phronesis yet was not, severed Emmeroloth's bonds and blew him towards the hedgehog himself. A slight trip was enough to send the starved and weakened fox tumbling down into Dagbert's lap.

He is a monster responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions, and is totally willing to doom another five times that number. And he dares to withhold information that can be used to save thousands of millions. The time for normalcy is over.

"Are you going to tell me where the Iceshard Worldcleaver is, or are you going to suffer?" Dagbert took on Arbert's voice and mannerisms for this beast and his alone

"How about I give you a fast death that you do not deserve, and burn everybeast in Southsward to a crisp? That is the right thing to do, as you might put it."

"I see." Dagbert sighed. So this is what it has come to.

Flipping Emmeroloth over with Wind, Dagbert proceeded to spank the most powerful Thaumaturge in the Source like a disobedient child.

Of course, he resisted at first. He snarled, and raged, and gave wild threats that were as impotent as his previous ones. Then he howled, not in anger, but in pain. Not only pain, but rage as well - rage at one of the sole beasts in the world who dared oppose him, and rage at all the beasts that watched him suffer, and did nothing.

"Now," Dagbert smiled like a mother to her child. "Will you please tell us where it is?"

"Damn you! Damn you all!" The fox shrieked before he could curse a third time - as Dagbert began again. The guards's silences became sniggers, and soon evolved into full blown laughter, just as Dagbert intended. All the while, the fox's tears began to fall one by one. Not from pain, or the promise of further pain, but humiliation. Humiliation breaks proud beasts.

"Where is it?"

"I am not-" Dagbert raised his paw up again, and the fox's attitude changed like the wind. "It's in the Aetherochemical Research Facility in the Windshard! It's with Emetselk!"

Dagbert stood up, and Emmeroloth flopped onto the ground, still crying. Serves him right - and his queen too.

He was about to leave the tent when he was intercepted by Bodvar Waycaster, who was still trying to hold in his laughter, and his two companions.

"Well, that was effective. Should we use it on Thordan next? I mean, he won't be seriously hurt or something, but-"

Dagbert's face changed so fast that his Veil almost peeled off. "No! No. Thordan's as humble as nobles could be - humiliation would not work as well. Stick to physical methods."

The mole recalled a little incident in the Earthshard, in the castle they used as a base. It was about a pine marten who was a prisoner of a hare which he had heard from a witness, far in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow.

"Well, Captain Waycaster, there's quite a method I want to see used on our little lordling..."

Calamity Unbound

TARALIS, BALSAMU

'You actually knighted the vermin?" Lorelei's tone was more incredulous than scrutinising.

"Yes, Mother." Corrado Truetide was the only figure in her immediate family who could stand up to her, and she always took a liking to him because of that.

To be fair, Arn Skulason actually performed all too well as a commander, considering that he was only five seasons older than Corrado - or that was what Lorelei had heard.. The Southpaws had been dismissed, and almost all of them were relaxing in the city. Strangely, for a band of mercenary vermin, they had actually obeyed the order to leave all within the walls untouched. That meant that the inns that night were crowded, but the city was untouched, winning a victory against the Valerans without even fighting a battle.

"Lord Guido escaped though, and we don't have the gold and soldiers to finish him if he is entrenched in his home territories." The battle in the straits was a resounding victory, though it was a close-run thing. A quarter of the Garlean ships were actually repurposed ships from a merchant fleet bought from Arn's father, and a quarter of all twenty eight galleys were either destroyed completely or were awaiting repairs.

"Well, we can finally get him to stop harassing Parman soil, though he will refuse to bend the knee to his rightful king." Lorelei replied, her mind clearly not where it should be.

"Niels." Like Thordan, Corrado was raised by the kindly healer when Lorelei had had enough of him and his antics. "I may wish that we have a better king, but we have to make do with what we have got."

"Then why don't you declare yourself King of Parma here and now?" Lorelei raised a brow. "Your troops love you, you crushed Aldabreschi while Niels talked and talked, and you are King Thordan's grandson!"

"Parma doesn't need me." Corrado dismissed his mother's plea with a swipe of his paw. "With all of Grandfather's conquering and consolitdating, the realm needs peace more than anything. Who better to give peace than the most peaceful otter in the whole realm?"

"Who, your brother Thordan?" Lorelei flinched at the name.

"Mother, we don't even know where he is. Those Southards have carried him away to who-knows-where. The fiends!"

"Well, I know where he is." Lorelei gave a poisonous smile. "Though getting to him will be difficult, considering who is holding him prisoner right now. I have a rescue mission organised, and the beasts responsible shall depart tonight."

"Tonight?" Corrado's eyes widened. "It could be too late by now. Thordan could have been feeding fish right now, and nothing good will come of a mission that fails!"

'Just don't worry and we'll be together again. I can promise you that, at least." With that, mother and son parted ways - only to find that the beasts they seek were talking to one another.

"Eduard? A word." As Corrado led his bard away, no doubt to discuss wages, Lorelei gestured Hersent to her side.

"Do you know how to open Pathways? I think I need you quite a bit."

"I know, the Isangrim business." Hersent showed determination - an emotion that was born to her when she discovered that Thordan and the fox were abducted. "I need to know where he is first. Or where he is around, anyway."

"The Bond tells me that he is somewhere in the Dravain Hinterlands, and there is only one fort of any importance around there. That's where they're spanking Isangrim. Gates! You don;t know how much I want to pay that idiot measure for measure!" Aside from the black fox's physical punishments, Lorelei felt all of his sadness, anger and hopelessness as his bottom was studded thrice a day.

The vixen nodded. "Viksten. You told me about it. What is it like?"

"I have no idea, but I know the town around it." Lorelei's mind drifted back to much happier times. "Erlend showed it to me once. When I was carrying his child. Buildings dotted the riverbank, while the grass grew around the mountains. Three bridges crossed the river, and-"

"I got it!" The vixen laughed with glee as she opened a Pathway - to Vargo Palace. "Well, we could find paintings of Dravain towns in the collection King Erlend gave you. Then I can study it and open a Pathway there.

"Sounds annoying, but we do not actually have a choice." Lorelei sprinted into her home, with the fox in tow.

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

The marten slinked behind the squirrel and spoke. "Everything alright?"

Ralos jumped up with surprise, but soon relaxed when he saw that it was Slyte. The two had worked together, yes, and though Ralos carried the Southard dislike for vermin of all sorts, he was the only Thaumaturge on their side.

The first time Ralos saw him was in a visit from Dagbert to the general after Macolt. It took five and a half decades before he knew that he was a seer, with more than three being stuck in army work. He was not a good seer, but he was one, and liable to be attacked by all who stood against Southsward - and himself as well.

Seers are the only beasts who are liable to be possessed against their wills by those who have left this world, but were stuck between the living and the dead, so Ralos was trained for a while in defending against all that seek to harm him. His scythe being an Amplifier was also a deciding factor, though the most Ralos could do with it was to make banners move withoit help of the wind and fanning the smallest of fires.

But he found his talent, or Gift as it was called. Battlefocus, it was called, and with it the ability to bolster the will of allies was his. If his beasts needed encouragement and will, then Ralos would give it to them, as befitting his duty.

"No, Slyte, everything is not alright. And stop bothering me."

"Well, I'm tasked t' deal with this problem here." The vermin pointed at the unconscious Erlend Swalestrom. His wounds had gotten so bad that he had to be kept unconscious at all times, with the help of herbs and medicines. "Arbert, or was that Dagbert? No. it had t' be Arbert." The marten scratched his head. "Arbert wants him a bit on the dead side. He says that Lorelei would be deprived of an ally while this would prevent her from birthing more seers. Pah! A bunch of nonsense! That otterwife is too old to create half a pup!"

"She is not fifty yet, and even older wives have birthed," said Ralos, rolling his eyes.

It was then when footsteps were heard coming from the door. Before Ralos could whisper 'hide under the bed' Slyte hid under the bed, a mere three seconds before Garrion and his bodyguard appeared from the doorway, alongside Dirk. The three otters shared some sort of friendship now, and

"I see that Erlend has not awoken yet." Garrion spoke first. 'I wanted to talk to him, but I fear this should wait for another day."

Ralos waited a while before speaking. "He was your kin, and should be treated as such, despite being our enemy."

"Can you tell me what you know about him?" The younger otterlord's voice seemed to creak. "I barely knew him at all, close in blood that we may have been."

Ralos sighed. Memories of earlier days, months and seasons were coming back to him, whether he wanted or not. "He was a brave warrior and a good friend to all who would approach him, but he was as humble as a lord could be. He loved his subjects too much, and this led him to prefer them to his liege. He may be a traitor, but he made the choice he thought was right."

"He's dying, is he?" Galen spoke out of turn too much, it seemed, yet Garrion seemed to see him and Dirk as more of equals than subjects.

"I fear that he would not live to see tomorrow's dawn." He himself wondered if the statement was actually more than a half truth. Even without Slyte to help him to the Dark Forest, his condition seemed to turn worse day by day.

"Oh..." Garrion was not in the best of moods himself, having taken a wound in the recent battle as well. His arm had healed, yet his bad mood continued to express himself. Seeing his uncle fight to the death against his best friends must have contributed to it.

"Lord Garrion!" A messenger awaited him near the doorway. "News from Dravania!"

As the three otters moved to the mouse herald, Dirk made sure to wink before stepping out. Whether it was signalled towards Ralos or the marten under the bed was a mystery for later.

The door was closed, and Slyte soon leapt into action. He grabbed a vial from his belt, and prepared to pour it into Erlend's muzzle - just before Ralos stopped him.

"You killed his paramour with this, did you not? Tell me."

Slyte nodded. It was this marten that killed the beast responsible for Erlend's mental wellbeing. It was this beast that started a war that killed thousands.

But this was also the beast who was crucial to save millions, and millions more. All grievances could wait for later. "Use something else. Erlend Swalestrom deserves a painless death."

In a way, he did deserve one. Within seconds, Slyte produced another flask - one to kill himself with should his mission fail. He could escape from chains, yes, but he had no idea what tortures could await him. Then the foul liquid was poured down the otter's throat.

"Sleep well, Your Highness." It really seemed like the spear-holder was going to sleep, though his chest seemed to go up and down more slowly. Then it stopped moving - he stopped moving.

"Another job well done." Slyte smiled as he prepared to climb away from a window. "Arbert's here to pick us up, and we'll be good to go."

But the old squirrel was not in the mood to smile. Not because of the otter's death, but due to something else.

"Drat." The pine marten turned to Ralos, who banged his fist on the nearest table. "We forgot about the spear Augmenter! We forgot about Heavensward!"

VIKSTEN, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Isangrim sat on the ground, waiting for another session with Dagbert.

The room, or more accurately, cell, he was in was completely and utterly devoid of light, and Isangrim had no Augmenter or Amplifier to light up his surroundings. The luxury of lamps, torches and candles were denied him as well, to 'teach him a lesson', as the mole told him.

There was no rational reason for him to be left in darkness. He was not afraid of the dark - foxes see well in dim light. They did it just to humiliate him.

Isangrim moved slowly to the corner, weakened by an entire week of hunger. The otters gave him water, but nothing else. The fox's paws curled around his footpaws, as he was still naked from the cold. Another attempt at resistance would result in either his fur being shaved off or his tail being hung up in the main square in Duncton, and the choice was not his.

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, but they were swiftly wiped away. He will not cry. He is one of the Heaven's Ward, and crying is for lesser beings. But the humiliation was more painful than anything the fox had ever faced. He remembered all too vividly how he was turned on his knees and spanked like a disobedient child. Only one beast did that before, and Isangrim by then was indeed a disobedient child.

Now he was the most powerful being in the Source. And Dagbert's sole reaction was one of mere annoyance! Annoyance! He treated Emmeroloth - a Warder - like a pebble in his path, barely worth the slightest of notices. How? How had he lost control of the situation so quickly and abruptly?

They will pay. They will pay! I am the Darkening Cloud!

In the end, he had spilled his secrets. The stoat, the otter, Dalagab, the Aetherochemical Research Facility, how the Ward was pulling beasts back from the grave, and Thordan Swalestrom. Revealing the last one's nature and Gift was the straw that had broken his back, and now... the less said about him, the better.

Pickner the mouse told him that there will be no session tomorrow, and he will finally be given food the day after! Food! What he had taken for granted had seemed like a good of luxury now.

"Emmeroloth."

The fox's ears perked up immediately. Had he imagined the voice? It was like a swift chill, after all, and these things could be illusory.

"You have failed greatly, Emmeroloth." He was here.

From the shadows crept out an otter and a stoat - his bodyguard, though not a Bondbeast yet. As of this moment, only vermin bonds were stable enough to be created without any risk of failure, and this time the Bonder and Bondbeast were both technically woodlanders.

After a gesture, the stoat was sent back into the shadows, leaving only the otter. "You have failed to protect the boy, who suffered much, much more than a mere spanking." He could have sworn that the dark furred otter was holding in a laugh, and the thought infuriated him, but now was the time for submission, not rage. "You have revealed yourself and lost secrets that are all too valuable for the Ward." Emetselk shook his head as he approached the fox, cards slowly being taken out of his pockets. "Perhaps most unfortunately and importantly," the fox twinged visibly at the last word, stressed by the Angel of Truth as he was healed, the cards forming an imitation of a starry sky surrounding the Thaumaturge. "You let yourself get captured by your enemies, and allowed yourself to be broken."

The stoat returned with a new set of clothes, and a little figure of a wolf made of glass. An Amplifier. Not an Augmenter, but it shall do fine in the meantime.

"You have been given one last chance." The otter spoke like a corpse, which he technically was. "Do. Not. Fail."

"We shall be heading back to Dalagab in the meantime." Isangrim's ears perked up once more as he finished putting on his new clothes. "We shall meet where the mole flees."

The otter walked back into the shadowy corridor, yet the stoat remained here. Then Fandaniel spoke - the first order from him entered Emmeroloth's ears.

'Keep my brother safe, or I swear by Great Seasons that my paw shall warm your bottom for every single day of your miserable life." He left, trailing after the otter.

Isangrim decided that obeying the other Warder was a very good idea.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

"I am all too glad that all of you have come today." Gustav Strandsor's normally joyful look seemed to have withered away and grounded into dust in the last week. The Southards had smuggled a king from right under his shoulders, so he had reason and cause to stave off sleep for days on end. "Dravania cannot stand alone, you see. WIthout Thordan Swalestrom, we are all too vulnerable here."

"Enough talk, Realmswarden." Alfyn was in an all too similar mood. "What will you have me do?"

"We need a Regent of the Realm. Whether if he is Thordan does not matter."

Lord Gustav had little time to regret his mistake as Lord Alfyn Stalwart of Meraholmer put his paws above his throat and dragged him to the wall. Apparently the elder otterlord missed a few cues that saying that his most powerful vassal's friend 'does not matter' is a very, very bad idea.

'What my father meant was for you to take your responsibilities as Regent." During the two months for Alfyn Stalwart to know Haakon Strandsor, he presented himself as a less nervous Thordan Swalestrom, but one who had more duties than friends.

Alfyn let go of the lord. "Oh. So I am Regent now. Brilliant." He snarled. "I am the second creature who you deemed worthy to declare Regent without having been asked. Your foresight is completely and utterly without fault. Well, I am not as malleable as Thordan, so get your power hungry tails out of here and be what you want to be!"

"If we were after power," Lord Strandsor huffed. "We would have got it already! Haakon here could marry Sigrun, convince Thordan to waive his rights, and get his behind on the throne!"

'What matters is that this did not happen, and will never happen." Haakon breathed a sigh of relief as Alfyn appeared to calm down.

Be like Egil and smile and laugh, veiling your thoughts from your opponent's mind. "I propose a little switch in responsibilities." Alfyn smiled. Be like Thordan and change from within, instead of forcing change from outside. "I see that you desire the position of regent, so I will allow you to take it. Be like Lorcan, and try to convince those before you that what you plan is indeed sound. "You see, I have more experience in fighting than manner of ruling a state, while you have the opposite." Kill Sir Alfyn, and let the Lord of Meraholmer arise from his broken tomb. "I say that you shall be Regent while I take the office of Realmswarden, and put a stop to Lord Becker."

"Your reasoning is reasonable, Lord Alfyn. I accept your bargain." Alfyn made a gesture to kneel before his new liege lord, but with a wave of his paw Lord Gustav commanded him to stand.

"As my first act as Regent, I declare Thordan Swalestrom, former Lord of Meraholmer and Regent of Dravania, King of the Dravanians. The Ulfingers have always watched over Dravania and the crown has always been on their heads as long as history can remember. As the realm is in a state of crisis far beyond all that we have seen before, we need a king, and desperately so."

"Long live King Thordan!" Haakon Strandsor said softly, and Alfyn found himself unable to resist repeating the sentence. Oh, Seasons have mercy. Thordan, please forgive me.

The Edge

VIKSTEN, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

The good news was Thordan did not have to worry about dying in the box. Isangrim had been placed in another one, just to relieve some of his pressure.

The bad news was that Thordan was in unknown territory, locked up in a barrel (which was much, much smaller than the chest he was locked in) with only his left footpaw sticking out, and could only listen to what was happening to the outside world.

He was still bound, gagged and naked to the fur, and no chamber pot was offered to him. As a consequence too obvious, he was stinking in this enclosed space, and Thordan knew not which was worse, the former or the latter.

The container was only opened for Captain Bodvar or Birger to untie his muzzle and pour water in - food was a thing of the past, and he would have done anything for it. The otterlord's grandfather had taught him that a beast could survive without food for three whole weeks, but Thordan just knew that he wouldn't live to see a second week - not literally nor figuratively.

At least they have stopped moving the barrel. Bodvar told him that nobeast but the four who transported him knew he was here, though the same could not be said for Isangrim. The otter captain also asked too many questions, even non-rhetorical ones. But then, he forgot that Thordan was gagged every twenty minutes, so there's that.

Pawsteps. Thordan heard pawsteps. Pawsteps usually meant that somebeast was approaching his barrel. That same somebeast who would proceed to do unspeakable things to him - his last drink (which, for some reason, was much, much larger than the ones preceding it) had just been a mere two hours ago.

He had not given up hope of escape yet - Swalestroms were not supposed to be afraid. Though there were many, many things that made his blood turn as cold as a river in winter, including approaching pawsteps, and he was totally terrified, yet decided to act brave anyways.

But those same pawsteps stopped, and Thordan could smell nothing other than the usual stench of his excretions - that, he had got used to, at least. And as the brave face melted, he realised that scared him all the more.

Then the rushing sound of water. No liquid seeped into his confines, but it did not take a second guess that they were planning something sinister for him, though what exactly it was was unknown to him, adding to the otter's confusion.

Why were they doing this anyway? What on earth did I do to them? What did I do to deserve all of this torture?

He got his answer as something creeped up his footpaw. A cold sensation crawled up onto his pawpad, and Thordan shivered. Water, he hoped it was. If not, then what?

Then after the cold came the heat. The barrel (and Thordan) was carried to the fireplace, and Thordan made no resistance. Resistance usually meant foolishness, and foolishness usually meant more torture, torture which may actually draw blood. And for the next thirty or so minutes, Thordan sweated and baked in the barrel. It was not as worse than the box, with Isangrim absent, but his nose was assaulted by stenches of all sorts.

"Well, you've been sitting here in silence for all too long, pup." Bodvar. He started to act weirder every time his voice was heard. But why?

Forgetting that he was still gagged, Thordan tried to speak, but the only things he produced were a muffled growl and a horrible sinking feeling.

"Is it sensitive enough?" A voice. Not Bodvar - the mouse, perhaps? Or the younger otter? Thordan's mind swam.

"I think so." That was Bodvar.

Before Thordan could guess what 'it' meant, a paw crept up onto his footpaw. Then another one. Thordan was sick of physical contact, but he can do nothing but whine at the familiar, unwelcome touch.

Then the tickling began. Twin paws worked themselves over the balls of his footpaw, creating an itching sensation, almost painful, that was impossible to ignore. Before long, his remaining resistance crumbled, and he laughed.

Or at least he tried to. He was still gagged, so a few sniggers cae out, but they were swiftly replaced by an attempted roar of pain.

"MMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHH!" Thordan struggled. The saltwater and the heat made his footpaws all too sensitive, and his tormentors were all too ready to take advantage of it.

Not the pawpads, Thordan thought, not the pawpads... but he could do nothing as they went for them. Thordan screamed again, tasting blood at the back of his throat. Despite the gag and the panic the torture brought, Thordan heard himself beg coherently. All the names that he called for, all the calls for help, all the words used to beg for mercy... but nothing was heard - the gag did its job well.

His body continued to struggle against the ropes that had held him, convulsing and kicking, as he continued to scream as the assault on his senses continued. He wanted to vomit so, so much, but there was nothing his stomach, empty for almost a week or so, could expel. Nausea had set in once the smell had grown too bad at around the third day, but now it had surely reached its peak.

Then he lost control of his bladder, adding to the stench the previous days had collected. But unlike before, he failed to stop himself, and the liquid, his very own waste, flowed, and the smell was indescribable in the awful sense. All the while, Dagbert's cronies continued to torment him, scratching against his pawpads.

There was no dignity left to him, pissed away by his weakened body.

His destiny was robbed away by a beast who tortured him just to break him.

And he could do nothing but weep.

So weep he did.

He wept until the torture stopped, and he could only hear a mere few words spoken.

"... get him out..."

"... the hedgehog will..."

"That's what we have..."

The barrel was opened, and Thordan squinted from the sudden light. Before he could get used to the radiance, he was dumped into another barrel, this one filled with nothing but water. More screaming and thrashing quickly followed, and when Thordan was finally pulled out from the cold water, he was but a shivering, whimpering mess.

A towel was draped around him, and a glance indicated that Bodvar's eyes were strangely empty, devoid of malice or regret. What had Dagbert done to them? And what will he do to me?

When more ropes were tied around him, Thordan did not resist. His time in the barrel was over, but he knew he was broken.

For the first time in two whole weeks, Thordan had an adequate grasp of his surroundings. He was in another one of those Sword-forts, though one within Dravain territory. Suits of armour seemed to be staring straight at the towel-clad Thordan, and the thought of them seeing him made his ears droop. He had suffered enough humiliation.

Is that what Dagbert meant when he talked about seeing my father for the last time? Having to endure being tortured to death while he is worried sick about me?

His still shivering body was deposited in a chair, his bonds severed and his gag finally removed as he came face to face with his chief tormentor. Dagbert did not look as smug as he was expected to, having caused so much pain.

"Forgive me, but I did what I had to do." Thordan's old chess piece, the otterking, began to glow in Dagbert's paws.

Thordan was too exhausted and broken to say anything.

"Seers are normally resistant to Pressuring," Dagbert rambled on, "so your mind had to be crushed before Emmeroloth poisons it."

For a moment, Thordan wanted to resist as Dagbert's Conjured spell entered his mind, but he just couldn't. He didn't have the energy or the drive. He never had them.

And so, he just sat as he felt a semblance of obedience, a sense of longing for Floret, the need for companionship among the scholar mole and his warrior brother...

All of a sudden, a spear of ice tore through the door, rousing Thordan from his clouded mind. Dagbert dodged it, of course, and countered with a blow just as hard - a torrent of water.

When the blast cleared, Thordan was still in his chair, shocked, Dagbert was holding a book which he pulled out from nowhere, and Isangrim was choking and gasping from all the water.

"You never learn, do you not?" Ropes of Wind bound the incapacitated fox to the ground, his muzzle bound like the last time all three were together, with Dagbert still as Phronesis.

There was nothing Thordan could do. Or so Dagbert thought.

He charged at the mole, barreling into him, and wrenched the wooden otter carving from his grasp as they tumbled onto the ground.

Then the both of them surrendered.

A hammer of air was Conjured out of Thordan's paw, but was just stopped from smashing the mole's head in by a shield, also seemingly of solidified air. No sound was emitted from the impact at all, as both combatants prepared their next moves, which clashed against each other before the pair knew what they were, staggering back as if cut with an actual iron knife.

But it soon became clear that they, Recorder Dagbert of Duncton and King Thordan of Dravania, were planning to do to each other. They were trying to sever the other from embracing Seercraft, but ran into each other's flows of aether!

If anybeast not a Conjurer nor a Thaumaturge walked into the room the two were in, say Bodvar Waycaster, they would have witnessed perhaps the staring contest with the highest of stakes to ever occur. None would have guessed that it was a duel, perhaps to the death. Warriors sang with swords and diplomats danced with words, but this was a duel as intense, perhaps more intense, than the others.

"All your planning shall come to an end!" Dagbert smiled, earning a puzzled look from Thordan. "Time has been wasted on the both of you. Too much time" But it has become apparent that Dagbert was taking not to Thordan, but the immobilised fox. "I mean for you to pay, me Emmeroloth. Isangrim, Pallpelt, Darkening Cloud, whatever!" The mole's voice started to deepen as Thordan pushed harder, forcing him to do the same. 'You have led to ruin enough!"

"Ruin?" This taxed voice belonged to Thordan as he stepped towards the downed fox. "I have no idea what you mean."

Dagbert growled as Thordan got one small step closer to clamping his trap over Dagbert, before the mole halted his advance."Your foxy little friend had destroyed all too many lives! Long ago, there was one world, and its inhabitants wielded both branches of magic freely. However, the world suffered a world was split into seven, six of them are mere Shards of the original world. A sole ratmaid was cast off into the Rift between the worlds from the Windshard, and was saved by an otterking who had the gift of a seer. Though she was a vermin and he woodlander, she taught him how Thaumaturgy is used. However, being a woodlander, he was forced to use Conjuration like Thaumaturgy, yielding results that are far and few between. It was only when the ratmaid passed on and the king took on a vulpine apprentice shall more be discovered, while the moles of Duncton figured out as well. Then the two proceeded to rent these worlds apart one by one!"

The mole's voice continued to sink deeper and deeper as he blathered on and on, but Thordan was no longer listening, continuing to walk step by step towards Isangrim despite the strain. Are you truly that confident that you would win, Recorder? Why do you talk? Are you looking for an opening to throw all your strength at me?

Both sides were starting to sweat. There was quite a lot on Thordan and on Dagbert's face as well, slowly dripping from forehead and muzzle to the ground.

That's it! Thordan almost jumped up with the revelation. It was not anger deepening Dagbert's voice! It was strain! It was tiredness! Dagbert did not throw his full might into his cage because he simply could not. He was already using his full strength! He was wordy because he needed a distraction, because they were at a stalemate!

They were equal in power!

Thordan picked up Isangrim's glass wolf. "Oh yes, the vermin and woodlanders both have their Augmenters and Amplifiers, but-" Dagbert could speak nary a word more as the otter hurled the wolf at him. The figure hit Dagbert between the eyes before the mole managed to catch it, albeit awkwardly, in his right paw, but the damage was done, and the force of Thordan's clamp slammed right into the momentarily distrait Recorder.

Dagbert dropped to the floor like a heavy pail of water, and Thordan's legs were too weary and trembling for him to not follow suit. But he still had the presence of mind to mimic Dagbert's earlier moves, and soon Dagbert was bound and muzzled - exactly like Thordan in Kaldos.

He had done it. He had faced a fully-trained seer and defeated him.

On Thordan's left, Isangrim's bonds unraveled as Thordan willed them to, and the fox panted and sputtered, coughing out more droplets of water. Then the duo turned towards Dagbert.

"What are we supposed to do to him now?" Isangrim gave the mole a leering smile, causing him to mumble something through his gagged muzzle.

"I'll have a closer hearing." Before the fox could protest, his Amplifier was blown back to him by Thordan's wind as the Recorder's mouth was unbound.

The mole took a deep breath. "We can still come to some arrangement, if I am freed again. There is much that I would like to teach you."

"I am not sure that I can trust you." Thordan was blunt and terse in his wording.

"Well, all seers cannot lie." The mole prisoner continued.

Thordan turned to the fox. He seemed to be in even worse shape than Thordan was, and looked ready to faint at every moment, yet something forced him to stand. Hatred, perhaps. "Is this correct, Isangrim?"

"Being forced to tell the truth does not imply that he is trustworthy."

"Looks like you would have to follow us back home, then. Isangrim, can you prepare one of those Gateways or something?"

A Pathway did appear, but from the look on Isangrim's face, it was not one of his making. Indeed, another mole ran through the portal, and he held twin swords in his paw.

Finnbarr and Fatch.

The sight of the mole was enough to make Thordan drop his concentration - and run. But he wasn't fast enough - a sphere of gravity pressed him down onto the floor.

And all faded into black.

Dagbert felt the bonds on his body fade, and those on his mind as well - Conjuration had returned to him. His captors were both unconscious, weakened by days of torment, humiliation and starvation.

"I'm glad you're safe." Arbert smiled as he embraced his brother for the first time in weeks, with Ralos and Slyte emerging out of the Pathway as well. "Nothing much had happened, I take it?"

The Recorder pointed at the downed otter. "Well, Thordan here taught me much. And Emmeroloth kindly informed me about all their plans and secrets. But these would have to-"

The pine marten butted in. "I feel it again. Thaumaturgy is being gripped!"

Dagbert stole a glance at Isangrim. But he is still out, so the Thaumaturgy comes from. Oh no!

The four beasts desperately rolled to one side when a bar of crimson flames, as tall as a full-grown shrew, emerged from the wall. Where it struck, everything turned to ash, and Dagbert was lucky to not stand in its way.

The scholar had ample time to form a spherical shield of Wind as Lorelei emerged from the wreckage, eyes red with rage, and the figure of another fox could barely be seen. Shadowbringers in paws, the otterqueen leapt at the shield, and Dagbert expected something being hurled at the dome with Conjuration.

But the impact was of another sort. Forgoing all else, the otter simply tried to punch through the spherule of solidified air, and Dagbert shuddered. Arbert struggled to create a Pathway at the back, and both Ralos and Slyte were ready to defend the shielded moles.

The air's cracks widened, and the mole was clearly straining to keep everything held together. Fates afire, Lorelei is a tough one! We need something new...

The solution was simpler than Dagbert had thought, but it still hit him later than when he had expected. With an audible grunt, Dagbert broke the shield himself - then sent the broken, jagged pieces of air towards the unbalanced otterqueen.

Lorelei blocked the little shards of glasslike air, and tried to pounce at the quartet again, but they were gone. They were headed to the Castle of Skulls, and there they would await the Ward.

Thordan woke up after what had seemed like centuries. His eyesight wandered across the room until they collided with a grey fox.

"Good day. I'm Hersent. Isangrim's apprentice. Nice to meet you." The vixen reached out her paw, which was taken.

"Thordan." No doubt too exhausted to list out his titles, the otterlord was terse. Terse enough not to ask any questions to his seeming rescuer, in fact, but not terse enough to act wholly trusting.

"Relax, Thordan." The otter turned towards where Isangrim was, and he was not in a good state - even worse than Thordan's, in fact. "You can trust her. She's with me."

"Whatever," Thordan rolled his eyes and turned his head to his mother. She calmly made her way to her son - and less than calmly slapped him so hard that his face jerked. "You almost got the both of you killed because you put your trust in the wrong beasts again! How many times have I told you not to get yourself in danger, boy?"

"All too little, mother." Thordan almost spat the last word. "How many things have you kept from me? How many times do I need to suffer because I don't know things that you and Dagbert do?" He tossed the statue onto the ground, and it rebounded before skidding to a halt. "I want nothing to do with seers anymore. Nothing at all!"

Then he ran. Ignoring Isangrim's calls for him to return, he sprinted out of the door and into the hallway, as fast as his food-deprived body would allow. Statues and suits or armour were ignored as he tried to get away from the fort, and all those who sought to control and manipulate him, whether because he was a Swalestrom, or because he was a seer.

Then he barreled into an otter.

Before Bodvar Waycaster could respond or even draw his weapon, Thordan quickly changed directions and bolted down another hallway. Turning back to gauge the two beasts' distance, he saw nobeast chasing him, and sighed with relief as he continued to dash.

His relief would soon be proved to be short-lived, as he tumbled down a flight of stairs, landing with an audible 'crack'.

"You shouldn't have treated the boy so harshly, Lorelei." Isangrim mused. "I doubt he will obey you ever again."

"I know Thordan better than anybeast else, and-" Lorelei was cut off by a tap on the shoulder, given to her from the black furred fox. She turned her head, but her face never stood a chance against the black paw which connected with her jaw. She fell onto the floor as easily as a stone.

Isangrim nursed his own snout, which was also in pain. The two had Bonded back before Thordan's birth, and he now feels everything Lorelei did pain included. "If you have the nerve to physically hurt your own flesh and blood after he had already suffered horrendous torture, then you don't really have a right to raise him, do you?"

Lorelei said nothing, as she rubbed her jaw, definitely grateful that all her teeth were there.

"Your father tasked me to protect him, but never, and I mean never had I imagined that I have to protect him from you!" Isangrim took a deep breath, but failed to calm down. "I see, at long last, why nobeast seems to like you, despite everyone respecting you! And I see that -"

Hersent coughed quite loudly, and all other heads in the room turned to her.

"Er - I tracked Arbert's aetherial signature to the Earthshard, and it's in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow. Judging by the hastiness of their retreat, it is in our interest to pursue."

"Could be a trap." The other fox gave a bitter smile, still trying to remove his jaw from his imaginary pain.

"Well, It's just that of a great opportunity." Lorelei proved to be more enthusiastic. "Besides, we now know where they are hiding - when they're not in Duncton, of course."

"Alright. We'll do it. For Thordan." Isangrim raised his glass wolf up, and punched through the Rift separating the worlds.

And the three stepped through.

Meteor

CHILLGRAVE, KINGDOM OF ICE AND SNOW, THE EARTHSHARD

The four figures ran up a flight of stairs, mossy and creaky after seasons of neglect.

"You spanked Emmeroloth?" The first of them spoke. He was a pine marten with fur as dark as pitch, and had a sense of humour to match as well.

'Well," the second and third were both moles, but one was in 'seer gear', as they put it, and the other was in plate armour. The second beast continued. "I thought of the only way to break Arbert, then applied it on the fox."

"Very funny." The other mole raised his brows and rolled his eyes. His failure to retain Verminfate was not the first failure he had received, but he took it with stride. After all, he had Finnbarr and Fatch. What need is there for a sword so big that he could not swing it without leaving himself open?

"I think he is being completely serious." The fourth beast was the only one doing nothing but running for now, but him being the fifty-seven season old General Ralos Farin, he was the slowest of them all. "Humiliation must be applied to pride like a bandage to a bad wound."

"Hey! If it works, it works!" Slyte failed to suppress a laugh when they reached the tower's top. Castle Chillgrave was a massive structure built of sandstone on the whim of a wolverine king, aspiring to imitate the Amplifying power of Redwall. A pity he did not know about Redwall's actual secret...

The tower they were on was called The Grasping Claw, back in a time when the castle was not abandoned, when there were slaves hauling bricks up towers, and kings decorating corridors with skulls of all species, woodlander and vermin alike. But it was merely a shadow of its former self now. Only the most intrepid of explorers and children dared to come here, and most returned... but not the same.

Which made the whole place a good base to strike out from, at least from Ralos's perspective.

Peering down from the tower, Ralos could almost see everything without a roof over it. Other towers, claw-shaped and sharp, jutting out from the land itself. A courtyard, neglected for six whole seasons, teeming with all the wrong sorts of plants (all withered now). A quarry from afar, where sandstone's supposed magical qualities were reaped from the earth. The sea, stretching towards where Ralos' old eyes cannot see. And the walls. The castle could very well be envied by Triel or Southsward, will walls as study and thick like this. And this masterpiece was commissioned and built by vermin!

"Alright." Arbert took on his leading position. "I sensed a presence. A strong aetherial signature. Undoubtedly Emmeroloth." His subordinates nodded.

The Warrior continued. "Once they open their pathways here, we will be waiting for them. Dagbert, you'll head to Ishgard. Ralos, Slyte, you two to the tunnels. Stop anyone from entering." Arbert pointed to himself. "I'll stay here, looking out for the fox."

"We got that." Dagbert opened his Pathway and appeared in another tower, this one not as high as the one Arbert was on. Slyte opened his own Pathway, then he walked right across it into a tunnel leading to the sea, with the squirrel in tow..

"See you on the other side." Arbert softly said as everybeast took their own positions.

Finding their way to the docks was the easy part. Isangrim's skill with Pathways had improved since the last time he went adventuring in another world, and Lorelei was grateful for that. She could not grasp or embrace Conjuration enough to open one.

"They must be up there." The fox gestured at the castle.

"I sense Conjuration." Lorelei's ears and hackles raised. "Two sources. Water."

Suddenly, seemingly in an instant, the waters around them rose in two gigantic pillars. Waves, they were, and they were as tall as beasts. The moles have Amplifiers, but how could they be so infernally strong?

Before the waves converged, Lorelei saw Isangrim had barely enough time to slink into one of his Pathways, while the waters took everything - the docks, the pillars, and even Lorelei herself into the depths.

The waters were black, lightless, churning, and even the most accomplished of swimmers could not fight such a tide. But she would not die here! She was a queen of her own realm, and the daughter of the most powerful person in the entire Source! But she could do nothing against this terrifying force of nature. Hunks of wood seemed to fly around as the world spun around the otter, and soon her eyesight seemed to dim.

Remember your training, girl. King Thordan's voice leaked into her ears. But what could she do, if not fight? Her father fought, Corrado fought, but what could she do?

The answer seemed to come in the form of her other son's books.

If you cannot attack, defend.

If you cannot defend, flee.

If you cannot flee, surrender.

If you cannot surrender, die.

Thordan yielded to Conjuration, and became all too powerful. If that frail little boy can, I will.

Then she did what she thought was impossible, as the waters took away all breath.

She surrendered completely to the will of the Fates.

Conjuration filled her - she let Conjuration fill her as bubbles of air converged around her, and she drifted up like the pieces of wood around her. Clutching one of them in her paws, she took a deep breath and waited for a moment to aid her Bonder.

But not now. It was rest she needed. If only for a minute. Or two.

To be honest, Hersent was quite nervous about this whole 'battle' thing.

She knew who their enemies were - seers who would like nothing more than Southard dominance over the Southern Realms. Why they would want that, Hersent knew not.

The tunnels below the castle were like a maze, Hersent thought. And if I just stick to the walls on the right... I'll find the exit!

She trudged along the cold, slimy ground, moistened by decades of seawater, and went into the deeper regions of the castle.

Cursing under his breath, Isangrim appeared on the walls from his fifth Pathway. He could feel his Bondbeast struggling not to drown, and could only offer silent prayers to her - and keep calm for her. She would not need more panicking, from his side of the Bond or hers. That would do no good for the both of them.

He could also feel Thaumaturgy being gripped by two others, two others that did not seem to break into fighting yet. One was Hersent, already in the castle. Who was the other?

Must be the one who killed King Thordan, then.

Though he could only feel the torrent of Thaumaturgy rush through far, far away, but it was not him that they were after. Isangrim prayed to Vulpuz that he would reach Dagbert before everybeast else. He longed to see the mole die, or better yet, beg for his life, but he would have to reach him first.

In the end, though, he had no need to do so, as the moles stepped out of their Pathways and lifted up Finnbarr and Fatch, hastily dropping into battle stances. Glass wolf in one paw, and wooden staff in the other, the black fox reached for Thaumaturgy.

Slyte slunk through the cold passages of Castle Chillgrave, as he knew the others were fighting. The battle had been joined, far, far away from the duo, yet all they did was walk. Thaumaturgy was being held in one place - the walls, and sometimes he sensed another. Had they received another recruit? Slyte could only hope that they would not have turned another vermin seer against them.

Dagbert and Arbert were the only beasts in his entire life to treat him acceptably well, and Slyte would be grateful - though the riches they offered seem to have clouded his judgement for a bit. Ralos was the slowest of them all to warm up to him, but that was still to be expected. The squirrel had used the most of his life to fight against vermin, and working with one had not really crossed his mind. Yet still, they were quite good as a team, and Ralos seemed grateful.

But then, he could have had a more leading role in any other organisation. He was the only Thaumaturge on their side, but he was simply seen as 'the vermin' in Floret or Duncton. Just because the moles were technically nobles, and the squirrel was older than his father, did not mean that he was to finish last.

Pawsteps startled the resting pair. Ralos reached for his scythe, while Slyte kept a paw on one of his daggers, and the other paw on the Augmenter Dagbert took from Emmeroloth.

"Can you help me?" The creature stepped out, revealing her features. Her long and narrow snout and pronounced ears labelled her as a fox, even though her grey fur was different than most of her kind's orange or red. "I was exploring the castle, then I got lost." Her voice was lighter than the average fox, childlike, even. "I must have left my equipment somewhere, and-"

"You do know that this is a strange place to be exploring," Ralos snorted. "And are you aware that you are too young to be here?"

"Yes!" The vixen chirped. "But I don't think I care a lot about these things. Can you tell me what all this commotion is about? There seems to be a battle going on."

"Well, lass, somebeast wants to break into the castle, and we-"

As Ralos spoke, Slyte felt his blood run cold. He revealed his dagger, and the grey vixen gasped in surprise.

"She's a Thaumaturge!" A dagger flew from his paw, which she nicely dodged, and a circle of ice materialised around the three - the vixen's work.

She wanted a battle to the death, and Slyte found himself very interested.

As Emmeroloth spun the ring of fire around the two moles, Arbert knew exactly what to do.

Conjuring the greatest of winds, he sent the flames back to the fox. The flames should do no damage at all, but the heat would travel back to its maker.

And travel back it did. The fox groaned in pain for a split second, but apparently, he was used to it, and soon bolts of lightning emerged from the skies, forcing Arbert and his brother to bid a speedy retreat. When he turned his head, Isangrim's clothing was singed, yet the beast was evidently not harmed, though cursing profusely he certainly was.

This mode of warfare would require more... psychological methods.

"Well, fox, this is not the first time you found yourself in a sticky situation. If you consider yourself lucky, only one of use get to spank you until you beg for us to stop again. But if not-"

The mole's taunting quickly stopped as a massive cloud of mist suddenly emerged from just in front of Arbert, resulting in an explosion of purple.

A whiff of the gas made Arbert collapse to his feet, coughing and sputtering. Poison! Emmeroloth knows its making!

Feeling a possible impact from Emmeroloth's wooden staff whistle past his ear, Dagbert got to his brother, who simply fell limp. Before their foe could do anything, or even say another word, the moles stumbled through another Pathway.

Hersent was never one to laugh in the face of danger, and she never intended to to as such. Maybe taking on two at once is not that great of an idea...

Ralos the squirrel shied away from Conjuration attacks in order to simply use his scythe, but he was not too fast for the grey vixen. The slippery floor did not help manners for the woodlander, as he battled this lack of friction caused by a rapidly freezing battlefield as hard as he did the Thaumaturgic vixen.

The marten, though proved troublesome. Being in possession of the little tin box meant that he could effortlessly overpower her if push came to shove, but she had the element of surprise. He was forced to divert his energy towards the narrower realm of physical fighting - which was little comfort for Hersent.

Wreathing his twin blades in the power of fire, Slyte leapt at her, which she blocked with a narrow shield of ice. Vapour quickly emerged from the contact, and the fox leaped back, eagerly waiting for a second blow from the second vermin.

But that blow never came.

Instead, a massive scythe, levitated with wind, was thrown at her with all the strength Ralos could muster. She could only gasp as a fatal blow was narrowly missed, but she felt the line of metal scratch against her face.

Then came the taste of blood, and by then she had fled through a Pathway, leaving her at where she started exactly three minutes ago, but with a massive gash down her face.

If this doesn't get healed quickly, I'll die!

Casting away her panic, she began to open another Pathway, slowly and securely.

But the time for running is over, and she will stand and fight. Until the day of her passing.

'You worried me for a second." Lorelei smiled as Isangrim sat down on the castle walls, exhausted after finally driving away his twin assailants. "I could feel you drown!"

"Well, can you feel me not die?" The otterqueen winked at the fox, who stood up. "You don't need to talk to me about doom and gloom every time you feel it from me!" She sniffed. "What about Arbert and Dagbert? Where are they?"

"They retreated. I used a foul blast on them, and they slunk away to heal." Isangrim spat. "Arbert must have known the consequences of taunting. Coward."

"We need to go after them! Now!" Lorelei felt her fists tighten as she felt what Dagbert did to Isangrim again. The spankings were horrible, and it would have broken Lorelei had that been done to her. But they still have the moles to defeat - thoughts on bloody vengeance must wait.

"Isangrim, can you take me to the tallest tower?" Lorelei turned her head back to the fox, who was in his own pensive thoughts.

He was clearly not listening.

"Hersent has fought their vermin." Isangrim trembled. Two sources of Thaumaturgy are being used close to each other! She's in danger!"

The otter huffed. "Alright. You'll drop me anywhere in the castle. I'll try to be a normal otter and walk. Happy now?"

"Very much so." The fox carved open all space to reveal a narrow room, with cupboards, fireplaces and even a big cauldron.

A kitchen, with windows towards the open sea.

"I will go for my apprentice, and you get to punch the heavens out of moles. You feeling overjoyed yet?"

Lorelei felt the corners of her mouth rise before she could control it. "Obviously."

During his first ascent into Ishgard from the Great Hall directly below, in his second sojourn into another world, Dagbert deduced that the tower's name meant 'Tower of Ice' in some Otharnic or Dravain tongue, and Dagbert was quite surprised that somebeast up north had named the tower like this.

The fool who built this clearly has no qualms about being identified as a clearly obvious villain.

He tried to scan for Conjuration, but could only sense a weak 'scent' somewhere underground - definitely Ralos. Dagbert wondered if they were alright - Ralos, of all beasts, using Conjuration was not a good sign.

Dagbert tensed.

Rapid, heavy pawsteps can be heard bit by bit as somebeast decided to ascend the narrow, clawlike tower.

They stopped.

Then he could sense Conjuration being embraced.

Then the stone under him tumbled down as a very angry otter punched through wood, brick and stone.

Dagbert quickly formed a shield around his body split seconds before Shadowbringers could destroy his bones. He had used it before, but this time there was not even one ball of blazing fire to warn him.

He should have been less surprised when the shield almost broke at the moment of her impact, but he broke the shield and sent it back at his assailant, just as he did back in Dravania.

But the shards of the shield never reached Lorelei, as Dagbert simply forgot about the otterqueen able to form shields of her own. Within a second, the mole was the one who had jagged, sharp slivers and shards of solid air hurled at him.

Instead of expending more energy, Dagbert weaved his way between the fragments of air. Skidding across the wooden base of the tower's top level, the mole found himself at the edge of the circular building.

Which is exactly where Lorelei pushed him off.

This little vixen's putting up more of a fight than many of my soldiers!

Twisting away from a blast of concentrated ruin, Ralos threw himself onto the bleeding fox, only for her to send another spell of the same make towards him, causing him to crumple onto the ground, a paw on his shoulder.

Slyte attempted to move closer, but somehow a wall of ice barred his path, forcing him to retreat across the Pathway the vixen had made, and to where Ralos slowly rose.

"Give up, vixen." Ralos was not used to being the negotiator, yet here he was. "If you would surrender, perhaps we can heal your wound, and train you properly - or something like that."

The grey vermin was not having any of it, as she sprinted across the room to her Pathway, crossing over to another part of the castle.

'"Wait!" Slyte and Ralos could do nothing but halt mere paces before the portal as the Pathway was closed, not vertically as in normal Pathways, but horizontally.

Ralos knew the significance of the vixen's last move, but he was too late to stop her. He scarcely had enough time and energy to form the shield around himself and the marten as the entire room exploded around them.

A great roar blasted into Isangrim's ears.

When the explosion hit Isangrim's nose like an explosion, as explosions tend to do, the fox raced towards the room. It used to be decorated with carpets, cushions and a marvellously crafted table, but after the castle had been abandoned, it was a shadow of its former self.

The explosion ruined all the beauty that remained of the room. Walls were reduced to rubble, and all the luxury of the room were either coated in ashes, or became ashes themselves.

In the middle of the room lay an unconscious vixen, a massive scar overtaking her head and almost her entire body burnt to a crisp.

"Hersent!' Isangrim rushed towards his apprentice, who said nothing in reply. Great Vulpuz, please let her be alive.

She seemed to remain unresponsive to him, as the black fox finally realised what had happened. She had tried to destroy a creation of Thaumaturgy, and thus released a mighty blast upon this world, and in this castle in particular.

Admittedly, healing had never been amongst his talents, but he seized Thaumaturgy anyways, and tried to reduce the size of her wounds. Every single time he opened his eyes, the slash on her head seemed less red, less hot, and the burn marks she bore seemed to fade into oblivion as well.

The vixen stirred, first slightly, then she bounced awake.

"Master Isangrim!" She tried to stand up, but fell back down onto her legs. Her paw found Isangrim's as she mustered enough strength to stand.

'Hersent." The elder of the two foxes looked at his apprentice pleadingly. 'Please do not do it again. Do not undo a Pathway in haste!"

"I would do that only if lives are at stake, Master Isangrim." She attempted to break into a jog, but her legs took a while to obey her.

Isangrim tried to approach her, only for an open paw to be shown to him as she turned her head towards her mentor, the big scar still on it - she needs a woodlander to deal with it. "I can fight still, Master, and I will."

"Then we go." The two rushed towards the heart of the castle.

"So we just wait here until Lorelei comes down?" Arbert asked. He had managed to save his falling brother by conjuring a cushion of air to protect him, and Lorelei still had no idea that he was still alive.

"Yes," Dagbert gave a sudden nervous smile. "And then we blast her with Water and Earth."

"A trap." Arbert found himself repeating the obvious.

"Once we-" Dagbert turned in the direction of pawsteps coming their way, and two foxes coming straight at them, clearly well-prepared.

Twin beams of fire and ice launched themselves at the moles, but their targets rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding being burnt and frozen in one go. Dagbert was about to call his winds when Lorelei slid down the tower staircase, eyes blazing red with rage once more.

The effect of her arrival was mitigated by another Pathway opening, revealing two beasts with clothing almost completely burnt away. Slyte limped out of the circle, with an almost burnt out Ralos in tow.

They looked more burnt that what was expected to be found in a kitchen.

Seeing her chance, Lorelei rushed towards the weakened squirrel, twin Shadowbringers in paws. Dagbert managed a shield of air while Arbert crafted a wave of healing over his two weaker comrades.

The entire dome of solidified gas trembled and shook as the otter in Bloodwrath pummeled the shield until cracks of it seemed to fall off with every hit, only for her to stop.

Dagbert was nearly spent when he saw the spear of flame conjured by Emmeroloth, but Arbert's two accomplishes were healed, and was able to form a shield of his own, rending it apart and sending the pieces back, driving the otterqueen into the back of the room.

So Dagbert saw fit to surrender.

Not to Lorelei.

Not to Emmeroloth and his upstart apprentice.

Not even to Conjuration.

Dagbert surrendered to Arbert.

For if the two were to be one, one had to lead and the other had to submit.

Seeing what is going on, Slyte tossed the tin box to Arbert, and surrendered just as well as any woodlander as Ralos proceeded to do the same. Now, Emmeroloth was well and truly caged.

Lorelei let out an audible gasp as she snapped out of Bloodwrath, and muttered a curse; as her train of coherent thought was swiftly interrupted by a blossom of flame, forged from Arbert's Earth, Dagbert's Wind and Slyte's Fire, combined by their link into a single burst of energy in conjunction with two Amplifiers and a single Augmenter.

The three in front of Arbert stood no chance as flames, taller than even the Stalwarts, erupted from everywhere at once, though it was clear to Arbert that only four were created, one from each corner of the room.

Everyone in the room heard the piercing whine of fires exploding around the room, but only Arbert knew that it was the sound of death.

As the fires extinguished themselves, no figure in the room was standing upright.

Ralos and Slyte were unconscious, no doubt exhausted after a rapid healing and their effort in Arbert's gamble.

Lorelei was mumbling incoherently as she flopped across the wall, though her two vermin friends were in even worse states, slumped together.

And finally, Arbert and Dagbert knelt in pain as they finally saw what they had done. Though nobeast had died for sure, the hall was scorched, to the point of inability to be called a room, let alone a hall, anymore.

It was at that exact moment of false triumph that Arbert sensed a fifth source of Conjuration.

Aligning the pathway, the beast that called himself Emetselk simply walked through like he was never dead.

A mole - clearly Arbert - gasped when they saw him. "You!"

"Yeah, I think I am me indeed." Projecting his cards in a circle, he lit the surroundings in a starry circle, enough to keep his friends going for a while.

"Father!" Lorelei shouted as she stood, unable to keep the secret he had hidden for so long.

The beast that stubbornly continued to call himself Emetselk smiled. "I knew you would know. I'm not exactly subtle, you know." Then he opened another Pathway.

Clearly expecting another attack from the long-dead King Thordan, Arbert barely faltered to produce a shield, tempered with both halves of Seercraft.

But he deceived himself.

The Pathway opened within the confines of the shield, and an armoured stoat stepped through. Fandaniel raised his greatsword, and swung - only to be stopped by a moleand his steel. Blocking Fandaniel's sword-strike with Finnbarr the Sword-Amplifier, Dagbert was able to hold him - for only about two seconds as the tall stoat's sword restruck, cleaving through clothing, sinew and bone.

Dagbert screamed as his right paw was severed from him, but before the vermin and his sword could do any more damage, a burst of wind threw him back to the edge of the room, a shield was propped up, and a Pathway produced.

The beast that was King Thordan Skyward could do nothing but watch as his enemies slipped out of his grasp for the second time.

This battle did not happen in the mind or dream of another beast.

This battle did not happen in the Rift between all seven worlds.

This battle happened in a world where beasts considered it all too real.

A meteor has been dropped on all worlds, Source or Shard.

The seeds of destruction, long sown, have been watered.

Days of Ruin grow ever closer for the Earthshard, and for the others of its kind.

After all, it is etched.