A Realm Reborn

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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!

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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.

[MathLuk]

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."

[MathLuk]

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.