A Realm Reborn

[MathLuk]

Through the Maelstrom

SJOVIN, LORSHIP OF SJOVIN, DRAVANIA

"Just how many have we lost?" Gustav Strandsor hollered. Sjovin Castle was quite a draughty building, and tbeing in a land just coming out of winter did not help the situation. Huddled near a fire, the otterlord sat with his son and a special guest.

"My brother lost three fifths of his force, all but two of his officers, and his life back in Hildrinn." Sigrun Swalestrom barely managed to escape the doomed siege, and absconded with her brother's remaining troops. They had to retreat to safe territory in the middle of the night, and the poor Dravain roads did not help.

"This is bad..." Haakon Strandsor sighed. He was a pensive young otter, with much experience in administering his father's fief. In contrast to his father's rashness, he was a calm, deliberating lord, more inclined to think than to do. His father was one of the foremost lords in Dravania, and his marriage to a Swalestrom bolstered his prestige threefold. Haakon Strandsor may have been the only fruit borne from this union, but Gustav insisted on not remarrying.

"We need to regroup fast, and we need your father back, Lady Sigrun. He started the whole thing, and without his guidance we cannot win! I threw my weight behind him, and he doesn't even appear! I should have just pulled a Rueford!" Gustav Strandsor raged, leaking profanity after profanity as he jumped up and down like an angry child.

"Father, I think that you should be a bit more... dignified, seeing that we have a Swalestrom in our presence. Haakon then turned towards Lady Sigrid. A son of a commoner she might have been, but she behaved as dignified as a noble would, and she was considered legitimate by her father, if not by anyone else. "I apologise for my father's actions. I hope you do not take umbrage to his behaviour."

"I am not offended - not by that, anyways. What are you two planning to do anyways? I know you Strandsors are feuding with the Ruefords for the better half of two centuries, but this is no excuse to exclusively target their lands while you could be helping us!" Sigrun was clearly looking for somebeast to blame, and two were sitting in front of her.

"We-" the elder Strandsor attempted to speak up, but his child was quicker to move.

"We have little to offer, Lady Sigrun. We have received no orders, either from Lord Erlend or your brother." He decided to switch the subject. "We should probably move to Kaldos now, Father. Godred's host must be heading towards us as we speak."

"Well we cannot retreat forever, can we? We need somebeast to guide us through this whorl of a situation - a maelstrom of chaos." Lord Gustav Strandsor's eyes seemed to glow brighter than the fire in the room. "We need any Swalestrom to become the whorl's lord. A leviathan to guide us through the maelstrom. We need a King of Dravania."

"A king?" Sigrun Swalestrom leapt to her footpaws. "Dravania hasn't got a king for a century!"

"Have you got a better idea, my lady?" Lord Haakon chimed in. "Dravania is divided. Its lords turn against each other even more than the Parmans, and everything we do seem to have no effect! We need someone to lead us, and it had better not be the Southards!" said Lord Gustav emphatically while moving further away from the fire and closer to the walls.

"But who- who can fill this role? The original Ulfingers have all but perished - all of us have been Southardised!"

"When Erlend the Ulfinger, last King of Dravania, left this world to join his Southard wife, he asked his descendants to promise that separation of his Southard and Dravain titles. A bit too late for a blasted rogue who ruined everything he touched." Lord Gustav sneered.

Seeing Lady Sigrun's confused look, Lord Haakon quickly added an amendment. "He did not mean to insult your ancestor, Lady Sigrun. Please forgive him."

"Your father spoke naught but truth, Lord Haakon. Dravania has been cast down hard by his claim and subsequent destruction of the Dravain throne." She moved closer to the fire. "It's almost depressing how poorly we have come to be."

A bellowing voice rung out from the back of the room causing the younger nobles to turn their heads towards Lord Gustav. "Not if we have this!"

The sound of cloth unfurling was quickly heard, followed by a startled gasp from Sigrun.

"The wolf banner! But how- how on earth could you have gotten your paws on that?"

"Lord Haakon Swalestrom was kind enough to hide this away, for a future Dravania in need." He turned his head towards Sigrun. "As you know, he was the only Swalestrom Lord to care about Dravania. While most of the others followed the bell, your father chose the raven, though it seldom made a difference."

Lord Strandsor continued. "I admit there were days that I dreamed of sitting on the Dravain throne, while watching the Southards gnash their teeth in defeat." He put a paw on the banner. "That proved to be an ill-conceived plan with great risk, so I kept this hidden until now."

"Let me guess," sighed Sigrun. "You will be using this to garner the hearts of the common Dravain folk. Then, they will rally to your side and support whoever calls himself Dravain King."

Haakon Strandsor spoke almost immediately. "Well, you got most of it right, except for the garnering of hearts."

His father nodded. "We are too weak anywhere outside Sjovin, and the peasants may resist us. We cannot recruit anybeast to our cause for now. We won't be using the banner in quite some time."

Peering into the lady's eyes, Lord Gustav's own pair gleamed with amusement. "You will."

THE SOUND

"Thordan made it," stated Lord Alfyn Stalwart while starting out into the calm blue sea. "I was beginning to worry that he will not come at all."

Egil remembered him well. The hot-tempered giant otter shook him around a few times before accompanying him to rescue Thordan.

"Of course we made it!" Egil smiled as he answered. "Us Parmans have a penchant for dramatic entrances of the highest order." To be frank, he was a bit late when he and Alfyn freed Lord Thordan from that tower. The lordling himself never complained, which was good for everyone involved in his rescue.

"Oh. I've read all about Parmans in my books. They are beasts thoroughly given to adultery, fornication, defilement, and every foulness; nevertheless, they are vigorous and brave in battle and generous to friends." Lord Stalwart said absentmindedly.

"You just said that out loud," said Egil.

Alfyn was clearly flustered - a first for Egil to witness. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that," he spoke with an embarrassed expression.

The weasel smiled. "Since when have you been so clumsy, Lord Stalwart?"

The otter's eyes narrowed. "You should at least try to entertain your betters with a set of manners, Eirik. Or what's it again?"

"Egil! I told you before!" The weasel exclaimed as his paws flailed around.

"If you did, I couldn't remember it," That's it! He's tooling with me!

"I did tell you! At Raevsvakt! When we rescued Thordan! Can't you recall even the smallest of details, Lord Stalwart?"

"Raevsvakt? I wasn't even at Raevsvakt!" Alfyn looked completely flustered by the whole thing.

"But-" Egil's words were cut off by the appearance of Thordan and... Alfyn? Wait. This is getting out of paw! Now there are two of them!

The Alfyn in front of him sighed. "Lord Lorcan Stalwart, at your service."

That's it! Alfyn had a twin! It sounds so simple!

"You seem confused, Egil," Thordan offhandedly remarked.

"You never told me they look the same!" Egil shouted at his friend. 'With all your rambling, I thought you should have mentioned it once or twice somewhere!"

Alfyn snarled at the weasel, causing him to leap backwards, almost knocking over Lorcan in the process. "How many times have I told you not to shout at beasts above your station?"

The other giant otter smiled. "Calm down, brother. You haven't quite introduced yourself, Einar."

"It's Egil!" hissed the weasel.

Thordan shook his head. "I thought you grew out of the habit of not remembering names, Lorcan. Can't you at least try?"

"Well, fatherhood didn't make him the slightest bit wiser," said Alfyn.

Lorcan rolled his eyes. "I do not think that wisdom is ever brought to any Stalwart after getting himself involved in fathering a child. Right, Alfyn?"

Alfyn's ears quickly swivelled. 'I don't know what you mean."

Lorcan exhibited a grin comparable to Egil's own, which was displayed at Bertil the hedgehog at the Raevsvakt tower. "Everyone in Triel knows of your little fling with Ikena. I even went to see your infant daughter when you went to Meraholmer. She's a cute one indeed."

"Wait, wait, wait," Thordan fumbled. "Alfyn, you're a father?"

Alfyn sighed. "Yes."

"That's... that's wonderful," stuttered Thordan.

Egil laughed. "Thordan here obviously meant that it would be even more wonderful if Lord Alfyn actually told us about his daughter."

"Speaking of which, you should have told us about the whole 'father' business," said Thordan as he recovered his composure.

"Yeah, yeah." Alfyn spat.

"Corrected by vermin... what will King Garmund say?" Lorcan Stalwart may have been a stoic beast, but even he could not resist taking a slight jab at his brother.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Alfyn as he leapt at Lorcan, who quickly turned tail and ran circles around the hapless weasel, with this brother in hot pursuit.

The brothers' little game was interrupted by a slight cough from Thordan. "Do any of us have any idea where to go next? Lord Becker has retreated, and Lord Sverker has not moved against us in any observable manner."

"Kaldos!" shouted Alfyn, exactly the same time when Egil declared for Doma, earning the weasel a hard stare from the Trielian.

"Why these two places?" Thordan asked.

Alfyn spoke first. "Well, we can't keep your brother waiting. After all, last time I checked, he's being holed up by your cousin Godred back in Hildrinn. Hildrinn can resist a long siege, but the sooner you can help him, the better."

"Well Sigurd can wait." Egil hastily said. "Sverker Crestworth is in desperate need of being taught a lesson, and he doesn't seem to have improved his defenses. Invading Doma would be as easy as flipping a paw in the opposite direction!"

"What about we regroup in Raevsvakt?" asked Lorcan. He was a beast given to compromises, so this little outburst was not surprising. "Meraholmer is directly between Kaldos and Doma, and we can act later according to the situation."

Without waiting for his friends' inevitable counter-arguments, Thordan Swalestrom smiled.

"Raevsvakt it is then!"

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

As Lord Valdemar Crestworth walked into the Kurburg shrine, he suddenly remembered his tardiness. He had just received a report from his passive son, telling him that Meraholmer is not to be bothered with unless he obtained the Parman throne - a piece of advice he had seen fit to ignore. Requests like that are the reason why he favoured his second son instead. He had quickly sent the hedgehog on another mission - one which

His steady steps quickly became a brisk jog as he reached the gates of the Electoral Chamber. With luck, the beasts inside shall not take offence - though its was almost a guarantee that Lorelei Skyward would see even that as an insult.

The doorbeasts slowly pushed the twin doors apart. Expecting to see the session underway, Lord Valdemar prepared an entrance.

What he did not expect, however, was the presence of a mere two nobles in the wide room.

The first, as usual, was Queen Lorelei of Garlesca. Valdemar sensed his eyes narrow and his ears fold. Their fathers were enemies, and after their deaths within days of each other, son and daughter continued the dance for the Parman throne. Rather curiously, she did not express her feelings today, if she had any - a far cry from her usual belligerent stance.

The other was his uncle, the Royal Vicar. Older than Lord Valdemar by less than five seasons, Niels Crestworth was not a strong beast in either body or mind, but those qualities made him such a prized asset to House Crestworth. He has made attempts to mediate between the two lutrine electoral houses before, with varied degrees of success.

"I see that only two electors have gathered today," sighed Lord Niels. In all seriousness, where have the others gone?

"We cannot possibly hold any session today, considering the lack of eligible voters," mused Queen Lorelei. Your plans have to be delayed once more. Truly a pity. Or is that what you have planned all this time?

Lord Valdemar spoke up next while glaring daggers at his rival. "I do wonder who is responsible for all this..."

"The answer, I fear, is standing right in front of you three."

Three otter heads turned to reveal a well-dressed mouse, with his burning green eyes dead set on the otterqueen.

"You!" exclaimed Lady Lorelei, no doubt angered by the sight by another of her father's old foes.

"Well, something had to be done," said Guido Aldabreschi, Lord Mayor of Brisca. " A few coins and threats did persuade your little electors to flee Kurburg for the safety of their own homes."

Another beast subsequently entered the room, a vole that was not tall even for his own kind.

"And we are here to do more." Lord Valdemar recognised both figures. Aside from the murine leader of the Valeran League, the voleking of Valnain also decided to poke his muzzle out from behind the curtain.

"Pardon my interruption, but mayhaps you two can explain your purpose here?" asked the Royal Vicar. He had every right to be confused - those two were merely old allies of his father, but even Valdemar was convinced that they had struck out on their own without consulting him.

King Guillame of Valnain let out a sneer. Unlike in Parma, where the King was chosen from seven, the Valnainers cycle the beast who sits on the throne, with which one species is replaced by another once the ruling king passes away. "We have come to ensure that no king is chosen."

"Only then shall our realms grow as strong as they should be." Guido Aldabreschi smiled as he turned to Lorelei. "Before your father came along, that is."

The queen let got a cold, mirthless laugh. "I suppose my father's death was the best thing that could happen to you two, could it?"

Guido winked at the lutrine trio. "We were not involved, if you wouldn't mind asking. As the saying goes, we let no crisis go to waste. We simply don't want any Otharn lording above us anymore, so it would do you well to delay electing anybeast."

"Preposterous!" cried out Lord Valdemar. A kingdom with no king? Must be the oldest joke in the world! "You'll be asking us to abolish the whole kingdom next!"

"If only that were possible..." sighed the mouselord. "For now, we will take our steps slowly and carefully. No one wants a civil war - not now, anyways."

The whole room was silent when the two figures left as smugly as they entered.

REMSFORD, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Ta-da! Found ya!"

Lord Somerled Deilart quickly jumped up - only to find out he could not do so.

He was floating in some kind of void, with a few crystals of ice floating around. And it was cold. Freezing, in fact.

What was truly interesting was the veiled figure floating in front of him. A pine marten. Dark brown fur matched similarly coloured eyes, and his tail moved from side to side, as if he was constantly nervous. The stench that drifted into Lord Somerled's nose signified the creature was some form of vermin, so the squirrel hastily prepared a stance - only to find that there was nothing he could do as a floundering beast.

"Finding ya had been tedious to be sure, but the results shall be oh so worth everything."

"Show yourself, vermin! I am Lord Deilart, and you are under me!" the squirrelord fumed. 'Or else I shall-"

"Ya shall what? We are but little specks in an ocean of naught. There's nobody to help you here." The figure laughed. "You know, I wassn't expecting fer a Trielian Lord to be a seer, but clearly my expectations have ter raise every single time I meet with somebeast here."

Lord Somerled tried to swim away from the figure, but the vermin seemed to appear out of nothing and from nowhere. "You can't escape me. Not even if you climb up the highest mountain or scurry into the deepest cave. Thordan of Parma did try, but his Conjuration failed him. No Conjurer can stand against a Thaumaturge - you, for all your prissiness, cannot flee!"

"What do you want with me, vermin?"

The shade ignored the question. "Tell me. If greater beasts, both in aptitude and personality, could not stand against me, what chance do ya have? Yer as helpless and hapless as a toad crushed by a tree! Come! Come ter die!"

"No!" Somerled panicked. "No! This is but a dream! A dream! You cannot hurt me here!"

"Do you think yer safe from me in a dream?" The squirrelord felt something gather from the vermin's paw, then that something was released. Almost instantly, a pillar of fire was flung at the squirrel. Only quick reflexes allowed the squirrel to dodge, with the pillar only singeing his shoulder's fur.

Somerled woke suddenly, as if nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing anyway. A brief look indicated that his shoulder was burnt, the fur almost completely turned to ashes, and the scent of burnt skin hovered in the air.

"This is a dream," said Lord Somerled. "This is a dream. This is just a dream, and I will wake up every time I dream."

A voice in his mind, though, claimed otherwise.

Will you? Will you indeed? Will you ever wake again?

[MathLuk]

The Only Path

MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Victory's ours, my Lord." Galen bowed his head in reverence. He had no idea why Garrion told him to take command - and he expected Garrion to have no idea as well. His behaviour had been erratic even before the tower fell on him, but a commoner commander was virtually unheard of.

"As I have expected. See? I was right to trust you." Garrion said as he grinned. "Where's the Trielian squirrel? His army's still mostly intact - you have much to learn in the ways of pursuing an enemy army."

"He ran away. The coward." Galen scoffed at the mention of the Trielian claimant. He couldn't even manage a little adventuring party of four, let alone an entire army. "Managed to take 'is force away too."

"This little occurence is probably because of the fact that you failed to pursue them," spat Lord Garrion as his eyes narrowed and his ears curled.

"M'lord, I had to make sure the beasts are taken care of first. I used to be one of them, you know." Galen said reassuringly as he and another bodyguard hooked Garrion's arm to the wheelchair built for the lordling.

Garrion sighed. "They would only live to fight the next battle and probably die. And the next. And the one after the next. Galen, this is war. We have to make sure that the enemy dies and stays dead. There is no other way to keep Southsward from falling - falling to a puppet king who burns children alive, falling to a young barbarian swamp-squirrel, or falling in the grasp of that Trielian warlord like we have done so before. It will not be."

"We still can't win without morale, Lord Garrion. A chance to see their loved ones, to enjoy the cool breeze of the sea, or to down a tankard in one go can motivate a soldier more than killing their enemies. They desire life, my lord, and I am bound by duty to let them keep theirs."

Lord Garrion turned his head.

"Do you have any sort of idea why I used you as a commander?"

Galen paused to think. "Because I saved you? From the rubble?"

"No. We may have built up quite a connection that day, but if my son was a blundering idiot, I wouldn't put him anywhere close to my troops." Seeing Galen's wondering expression, he quickly added, "The only reason I use you is that I like you. No more, no less. I like your way of doing things. With such focus, such enthusiasm, such drive, Southard is practically unstoppable."

"Milord, I don't think I have such abilities. Triel has much better generals, and-" Garrion raised his paw. "No need for excuses."

The Lord continued to speak. "I do like your candor. You, Galen Snowpath, are one of the only commanders who never tried to flatter me whatsoever." He smiled at his subordinate.

"Tell me. What do commoners lack most?"

Galen blinked once. Then twice. "They have to fill up their bellies, so gold is what they need. That's what I think, anyways."

The lord let out a long sigh, as if Galen's answer disappointed him. "When King Gideon asked my father the same question, he gave a much different answer. Come. Take a guess."

"I wouldn't dare guess, milord."

"One word," said Lord Garrion. "Ambition. Commoners lack the ambition to rise above their station. This is simply how the world works," He said with a solemn expression. "The weak perish while the strong survive. The poor starve while the rich feast. All the rules of life the ones in power have set in stone. But this is not the only path they could ever walk."

"If you were born an impoverished beast, and you bow to your fate, then you would lie in squalor until the day you die. Before that, you are but a tool in the paws of other beasts - a plaything of beasts in higher places. If you resist your fate, though, you can rely on none but yourself. Heroes of old are noble and common alike. If you continue your charismatic behaviour, build up your abilities, you can just wait. One day, what you desire would fall into your paws."

"So you're tellin' me to er... shape up?"

"Precisely. Not now though. We have a little celebration to undertake." The otterlord smiled. "Take a short rest before the coming storm."

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA

During his tenure as Lord of Meraholmer, Thordan Swalestrom had never known if he had met the expectations of his many subjects. The isles that he had ruled had been long seen a division between woodlanders and vermin, and none who walked before Thordan even attempted to bridge the gap.

Seeing their Lord starting to align himself with the vermin, the woodlanders of Meraholmer quickly panicked. They may be fewer in number and proportion compared to the vermin, but they held most of the power the Isles between the sound can muster.

This desperation quickly brought about the attention of Canute Crestworth. With his fleet and a small force, he quickly sailed here and garnered the acceptance of the woodlander population, driving their lord into vermin paws. Before a civil war could take shape, however, Thordan surrendered himself into Crestworth custody, believing that to be in his lordship's best interests.

However, Thordan was not the only beast to misjudge the situation. Before long, Lord Canute had gave the impression that he wanted to bring the Isles under Doman control. This, coupled with the long rivalry between the two lordships, finally brought the woodlanders of Raevsvakt to a conclusion - a conclusion that they should have come to long ago.

Vermin or woodlander, rich or poor, they were still Islebeasts.

Before long, numerous attempts to rescue Thordan from Crestworth paws were made in quick succession by vermin and woodlander alike, some led by a certain weasel named Egil. To prevent Thordan from ever seizing his lordship every again, Lord Canute was prepared to transport the lordling to Doma when the Parmans suddenly invaded.

Aided by some high-ranking Trielian nobles, Thordan was quickly rescued from his prison and reconfirmed as Lord, quietly forgiving his old domestic enemies while promising to shy away from destabilising changes.

Which is why Thordan had doubts about his degree of public acceptance. They have lasted all the way since his rescue, and persisted until setting footpaw in Raevsvakt for the second time.

As opposed to his chilly reception when he first succeeded to the Lordship at his father's request (or command), he was warmly greeted here. Whatever doubts he carried were gone well and fully now.

"Is Raevsvakt always this crowded?" Lorcan Stalwart asked after the four had just entered the castle. Unlike Thordan and his two other friends, the Skipper has never sat footpaw out of Triel.

"Well, the last time I was in it, the whole thing was all too chaotic," Alfyn said similingly. "We would do well to revisit your little city when the world's at peace.

"Last time, not a lot of beasts wanted me around." Thordan's face remained solemn, though his eyes betrayed a shred of emotion. "I'm glad things have changed this time."

"You glad to see woodlanders getting together with vermin?" inquired Egil with one of his diabolical grins. "You do need to show the twins it can be done."

Thordan nodded, though his expression didn't change."There's still much to be done."

"Why the frown?" asked Lorcan once more, no doubt glad to be rid of talk of the vermin-woodlander divide. "You weren't like this before."

Cold glares were quickly shot toward Lorcan, whose face revealed his obliviousness.

"Hate to break it to you,brother, but is grandfather just died," snapped Alfyn.

Lorcan sighed. "I'm sorry. I was insensitive again. Forgive me."

Thordan said nothing, though his gaze betrayed his intention of trying to speak.

"At least he still has his parents. They'll take care of him," Egil tried to twist the situation in a more positive light.

The otter twins quickly stared at the weasel, forcing him to quickly retract his words. Lord Bogdan Stalwart died before his two sons were even born, and his wife was quick to follow him to the grave.

"It's not just that." Thordan groaned. "Too much responsibility brought too much stress, and now I'm left to stew in it."

"You probably need a drink." Alfyn turned to see Egil day the same phrase at exactly the same time. Not surprising, considering their first meeting in Raevsvakt took place in a tavern.

Thordan looked up and sighed. To be completely honest, he still cannot pass the tower he was held before without a flight shudder, and there were times when he dreamt of being in that structure - dreams that he awoke in a cold sweat. Ropes cutting his wrists, being spoon-fed like a babe, Lord Crestworth's leering, taunting voice... all were remembered, etched in his mind.

"I don't really know. I still get nightmares about all that has transpired in the past few months. About being a captive, about Grandfather, about having to deal with a war that we cannot afford, about that mysterious otter-"

Lorcan broke the silence. "Hold on. What otter?"

"Looks like you have a lot of explaining to do..." grumbled Egil.

"Do you really want to know?" Thordan asked.

Lorcan's 'no' was dwarfed out by two 'yes's from Thordan's other friends.

Thordan sighed again. Can't catch a break. "Well, it all started on that night in Doma, when a shadowy lutrine told me to leave Doma. Some 'win or lose, the path you walk leads to oblivion' stuff." He took a deep breath. "Then that same otter stuffed himself into my dream, tells me to find my father, and gets tossed away like a leaf in a storm. And finally my father tells me that you are fighting Skipper Becker, and I arrived."

"So your arrival was ordained by some higher power! I knew Vulpuz was on our side!" exclaimed Egil excitedly.

"Or Thordan's getting stressed out and seeing things. Right?" Alfyn said as he looked at his young friend.

But Thordan was not listening. Clutching his head in pain, he heard a voice. Not the otter - this voice seemed more mature and experienced.

"Now! Now I have you!"

Thordan screamed as his friends looked on worriedly. Egil moved away, Alfyn called for a few guards, while Lorcan just stood there, shocked by the whole thing. He did seem to have heard it somewhere before. But where?

"Let expanse contract, league become digit..."

Thordan's screeches began to weaken when the otter started to feel faint. He plummeted to the floor, and his vision slowly faded into a bright white. The last things he heard before losing consciousness was that blasted voice.

"Throw wide the gates that we may pass!"

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Lorelei studied her young charge as she took the tea tray away. Isangrim had talked about the grey-furred vixen numerous times, and overall she had left a good impression on her. She's basically my Thordan, but even quieter. I've got to find a woodlander Bondbeast for her someday - to protect her of course.

"Now, for my meeting, you should scurry off somewhere else." She could still eavesdrop on everything though... "In fact, you may take the rest of the day off."

"Thank you, Your Highness." The vixen was a demure beast, Lorelei knew, but there's something about her that she didn't quite understand. Isangrim reported that she was a war orphan from the latest Parman-Valnainer war - born of Valnainer blood yet raised by Isangrim himself. Even so, the otterqueen wondered if she could be trusted.

As the foxmaid left the solar they were in, the otterqueen afforded herself a smile. Isangrim may have been in contact with the worst of beasts as Spymaster, yet he has exhibited an ability to find the best of them as well. Such is the power of a Thaumaturge.

Lorelei was not faring as well as her fox. Valnainers rebelling and the Valeran League convening as she breathed were not her only problems. However, rooting out that mole, finding her father's slayer, stopping Southsward from gaining independence, helping her husband keep his fiefs, and getting a bride for Thordan seemed distant compared to this. As the rebels' goal is to break down completely, she had a card up her sleeve. Not a literal card - that was her father's way of doing things - but one just as dangerous, and, in fact, stolen from the enemy.

Two figures glided into the room - an otter and a fox, both dressed in rich clothes and carried a noble air with them.

The first was recognizable instantly - not a lot of otters had a gaping scar across his face. Maurice of Graille, her husband's maternal cousin. Unlike his relatives, whom he shared an age, he was not particularly gregarious or shy - he knew when to open his muzzle, and when to close it shut.

It was the other beast that captured Lorelei's attention. Valnainers may have many issues of their own, but they see no difference between woodlander and vermin, though only woodlanders are included in the Royal Cycle, vermin are lords as well.

With an ever-present grin and a mouth that lied as naturally as it breathed, Renart of Maupert sauntered into a seat, while Maurice sat into one in a more dignified manner. The three stared at each other for a few moments, unsure of where to begin. As such, Lorelei took a few more opportunities to study the odd duo, though her thoughts were soon interrupted.

"You called us here for a reason, Your Highness." Lord Maurice opened the deadlock.

"Ah. Yes. Does King Guillame treat you two well?"

"You would have to stretch the definition of 'well' quite a bit, Your Highness," said Lord Renart. The fox had been well-liked by Lorelei's father - but only because he had found a kindred spirit in the fox. He had more... complex relationships with Lorelei, his fellow lords, and Isangrim most of all.

The fox continued to speak. "He's doing his best to fill up council seats with his own beasts, and he does his best to ignore our advice as well."

Lord Maurice nodded. "The only reason we haven't tried to depose him is that the country would quickly seep into chaos."

Lorelei convinced herself to frown. "That is unfortunate. I have much to apologise for, since my father actually invaded your lands. He must have been much worse than the king you have."

The otterlord shook his head. "You need not be so mired in guilt by your father's actions. The sins of the father have been absolved upon death, and you are free to start your reign anew, washed clean of misgivings." He's taken the bait. Good.

Renart was more angry than worried. 'Your Highness should be looking towards the future, not dwell on the past! Why are you talking about all this?"

"You ask the right question, Lord Renart." A frown lapsed into a smile, though the otterqueen kept it to a bare minimum. "Just a week ago King Guillame was here."

Lord Renart was clearly shocked. "What? That frogface actually came here without telling any one of us? What did he say?" Another fish on the hook. Now, to reel them in...

"He's in league with Guido of Brisca, and he wants to keep Parma from having a king. They even wished that the kingdom be destroyed right up to our faces!"

"How? What is he planning?" Lord Maurice betrayed his own shock.

"I have suspicions that your king desires to make war on us." Now, for one last step...

"Could this be?" mused Maurice.

"This does sound like what our king would do," sighed Renart. "The last war almost doomed both of our realms, and the peace must be kept." Brilliant. "Now, what would you have us do?"

"To put it simply, you need to persuade your council to impede every single war effort. A tyrannical king cannot be allowed to make war on anyone he pleases, can't he?"

"I understand. We will do our best to stop King Guillame's royal charade." responded Lord Maurice, a paw clapped on our chest.

"Yeah, yeah. But may I ask you a question, Your Highness." The foxlord stood and smiled.

"What have I to gain?"

The otterqueen smiled. Thank Great Seasons I was expecting that.

"Everything."

FLORET, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Clutching a crystal, Arbert walked away from the Castle Archives. Unlike his more bookish brother, Arbert was a mole of action. He would do well to walk a different path - they only path he could manage to walk.

This path is what led him to the Chamber of Stars. Originally built by Egbert, the original Castle Archivist of Castle Floret appointed by King Gael II, this was sort of a private residence of the Archivists to come - when they were not in Duncton, of course.

The Chamber was wide, and a bit more illuminated than the Duncton manor, but this served a different purpose. Within the middle of the room, two swords were planted, stabbing though the wooden planks that were used as a base. Finnbarr and Fatch. Twin swords that were given back to Southsward after their little intervention up in Mossflower - they were a Redwaller gift.

Gripping one of the swords in one paw, and the crystal in the other, Arbert began to angle this world to the next, making them similar in properties. Gently allowing Conjuration to flow out of his body into the crystal, and then guiding it out, Arbert smiled as a little door appeared, cleaving the space in front of him in twain. Tapping in more and more, the door was large enough to allow for a grown beast to pass through - which the mole swiftly did.

He landed in a wide disk, circular in shape, and edges covered with gold on one side, and silver on the other. Inside, another was waiting for him.

"At last you have decided to appear, hmm?" The pine marten grinned as if he finished a particularly hard task (which Arbert knew was not true), as was prone for him to do.

The mole decided not to answer his question, instead countering it with one of his own. "Why is the lord not dead?"

"Er... he woke up right when I was nearly destroying him," the marten sighed in defeat. "He'll be harder to deal with than King Thordan or Erlend's wench."

"This would not have happened if you did not taunt him for minutes," said the mole coldly. "But you need not worry. My brother's working on another seer, and after that, he'll ensure that the Serpent and the Fox both fall in line. In the meantime, you continue on your little burglary - through mundane means, of course. We wouldn't want to catch the attention of the fox and his Conjurer queen."

A grin appeared on the mole's muzzle as the pine marten smiled, a ring on his paw, and gripped Thaumaturgy to punch through space itself, revealing a Parman inn, with a creaky bed and ruffled papers, a starry night sky, and a few hundred coins - rightfully stolen property. Such is Slyte's way of doing things - Thaumaturgy and thievery. I should have left him at Greymorg if we didn't need seers so much.

But before the marten could close the door and leave, the mole ensured that Slyte heard what he had to say.

"No seer should be on the other side as we are. Leave Somerled to me."

[MathLuk]

Book II: The Path of the Righteous

Sacred Bonds

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

After a long voyage, one would think to lay head to the nearest inn for a short rest. A bit of food and drink would also be welcome - or even a full-blown feast.

These things would have to be content with a second place within the mind of Erlend Swalestrom, as he had more important matters to discuss.

Admittedly, Orience was a good city to be in. Its climate reminded Erlend of Kaldos, his birthplace, half a world away, yet they are almost horizontally aligned to each other.

As Duke Somerled was away, his duchy was governed by his half-brother Domnall, who may be sick of body, but with his mind mostly spared, he was considered an acceptable replacement. However, the regent soon proved to be feeble-minded and occasionally incapable. He was a decent beast, with some displays of quick-wittedness. Like his own Thordan, he had also kept a journal with him, so his thoughts must have been quite coherent, even legible. With him being incapacitated by occasional bouts of seizures, he was sidelined by Somerled's daughter.

Lady Morag may have been a young teenager who is quite obsessed with physical pleasures, but she has the ability to win the hearts of her subjects slowly but surely. Judging by the fact that Lord Domnall has a low probability of marrying (and an even lower one of having children), Lady Morag walked closer to the Ducal throne by each passing season.

Being betrothed to a Boreller did nothing to dampen the spirits of the lady. She may come of age in one season, but she has been already seen having affections - no, not affections. Having desires for any malebeast that crossed her path. Erlend was lucky to shake her off for a brief moment. Or two. He hoped for a few hundred more.

Right now, King Erlend had to contend himself with less personal issues.

The hedgehog, Bertil he was named, had a short message for him. "Your Majesty, Valdemar Crestworth, Lord of Doma offers his friendship, and would like to negotiate with you for the matter of the Parman throne."

Quite frankly, his candidature as future King of Otharn was surprising. The general rule was that a King was chosen from the Electors, and was crowned in Kurburg. Then, the king journeys to Ilsadia, and was crowned as her king as well. Finally, he (Lorelei may protest with varying degrees of success, but it's always a he) will arrive at the ruins of Old Parma, and was officially crowned as High King.

This, of course, had its problems. Numerous kings have seen antikings pop up from nowhere, though the requirement of four noble grandparents still stands as of now.

The second challenge lay in Ilsadia, which has long resisted the Parmans - for centuries, in fact. Erlend has fought them before on his father-in-law's behalf. They were tenacious foes in open battle, yes, but they could do nothing against theft, bargain and deceit. Only a war of attrition, alliances with other Parman foes, and a very timely surprise attack saved them.

Of course, the Parman nobles can ignore you and see themselves independent, and kings in all but name. Thordan neglected Otharn for Ilsadia, and his successor will pay the price, whoever he might be. If he acts to take the throne, the throne will act upon him.

Erlend may have been a beast of many flaws, but overlooking them was not one. He would not make a good king. If he could not handle Garlesca alone, then ruling the much larger Parma stands no chance.

He toyed with the thought of selling his claims to Parma for a large sum of money - wars are expensive, after all. Or forcing Lord Crestworth to give up his claim over Meraholmer. That could have worked as well, if his wife would agree.

But it would be easier for an ant to move a mountain than for him to persuade his wife to drop her ideas. Her first husband's death was unexpected, to be sure, but Erlend should have waited before the situation was ripe before going for her. Both of them had been content with the match, but none of them were truly happy with it. The only long-lasting impacts were an alliance with the late King Thordan, and a chance to make a grab for the Parman throne.

He dismissed the hedgehog ambassador with a few vague promises, and waited for something to happen next. In the latest four months, nothing good seemed to have happened. Erlend hoped that he would be able to travel to King Garmund or King Somerled fast enough to join up with their armies, leading his Thavnairese units in tow.

Of course, things may not go to plan, but in the end they will triumph.

Another messenger entered the room, this one more nervous than the last. Wearing Dravain colours, the otter hesitated with every single step.

"Speak up." Erlend took a deep breath. Whatever he's planning to say, it won't be pretty.

His belief was vindicated as the messenger said four simple words, and the sound of maddened screaming will be heard in every corner of the castle.

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

At this point of the war, the last things Lady Bellamy Swalestrom would have guessed it the horns of victory. Last time she checked, the Trielians have overrun most of the Southard defences. Fort Tiernan toppled, her brother Bedric killed, villages decimated - by the time the Trielians win, Somerled of Deilart will have been a 'glorious' king over a pile of ruins. Her mother said that Garmund had planned to do that, and she guessed that she was right.

Speaking of her mother, she was in a bad mood for the previous few weeks. It did not take long before Bellamy realised its origin - her brother was assassinated before he could name any heir, and the throne lies in the paws in a five-season old child. She might have nothing against the child, but either her cousin Anzeka or her Garlean husband must have been responsible for her uncle's death, as the only other likely candidate - King Thordan of Parma, was dead.

Garrion led the way of the victory procession, as was expected of a lord. He may be bandaged in many areas and had splints across his right arm and leg, but no wound that he had was expected to last. He was young and strong, after all, and father had plans for him.

It started when he was married in the most literal of manners. Her father managed to persuade Lord Lorents to give his daughter a larger than normal portion of land as the accustomed dowry. Seeing that House Rueford has been a valuable political ally in her father's struggle against the Dravanians, Lord Rueford has received favour upon favour, but this has served to push previously unaligned lords to Erlend's side due to simple jealousy.

"We should come to greet them!" Lady Ellisiv was clearly happy at her husband's return. Her marriage caused a small stir in the Southard court, as the bride's family was considered much inferior in rank compared to House Swalestrom. But of course, her father would accept this advantageous match - provided that Lord Lorents give away the aforementioned dowry. Bellamy spoke against the match privately, though she became fast friends with the young and very energetic Lady Rueford.

Floret's supply lines have been cut to shreds by the Trielians. Even without counting the Trielian main force advancing with a snail's pace, both the Otterguard and Sword have been hard-pressed against Lord Somerled's diversion.

Having been a maternal cousin to King Gideon meant that Somerled had quite a claim by himself, and the Deilart line was considered genealogically superior than the Southard Kings. The current kings managed were legitimate by the principle of proximity of blood, though primogeniture favoured the Deilarts. The previous Deilarn Dukes refused to press their claims due to Trielian pressure, though time and circumstances changed, and here Somerled was, calling himself a king at the head of an army.

This of course, was not the main point. Somerled was a beast given to ineptitude, and only his loyalty to Triel and previous experience at commanding an army allowed him to ascend. His weak and sickly brother could be a better puppet, but clearly Garmund of Triel had other ideas.

Despite the sufferings that have descended upon them, Floret's citizens were in a celebratory mood. Southsward square was packed with beasts of all sorts, and their victorious army can finally take a rest.

"I'm glad to see you two safe," said Garrion Swalestrom. He looked over their shoulders. "Where is Mother?"

"Mourning." Ellisiv said somberly. "Your brother is not the only casualty of this whole thing."

"King Winchell perished at the paws of a crossbow-wielding beast, and Corrado of Garlesca seized the throne. The younger Corrado, I mean."

"This is bad..." Garrion shook his head. "This is much, much worse than I first thought. We must stop them before they decide to get involved. It doesn't matter if Erlend or the elder Corrado leads the Garleans toward us. We're doomed either way."

A voice piped out from the back. "Unless if we brought the fight to them."

"I do not think you were supposed to speak now, Galen." Garrion sighed as he turned his head towards a tall otter at his side - clearly a bodyguard.

"Many apologies, my lord, but you were the one who told me to be more active." The other otter smiled. "And it is also not customary to disobey a lord."

Garrion smirked - which was not a major occurrence. Bellamy's older brother was usually a pensive scholar, who knew what to do but not what not to do.

"You have a point, Galen." Turning to his sister, he returned to his signature flat expression.

" I fear we have to call Godred back. He has a kingdom to win, and he should move with haste."

SOMEWHERE

Thordan woke up. Or did he?

It certainly did not seem like it. He seemed to be standing on another circle of glass, this time without the ornaments. Instead, the glass seemed to be coloured intricately. Red, green and blue circles hugged close to each other, together in an ocean of violet.

Thordan visited Kurburg Shrine when he was ten, and was amazed by all the stained glass windows. He can safely say that this figment of a dream surpassed everything the real world could make.

"You are here."

Thordan turned his head to see a mole clothed in white robes - emissary robes. He had met the mole before - at Floret, though the creature's name evaded him.

"You sound familiar. We have met in Southsward, have we not?"

"Yes. It is quite disappointing that you have forgotten me so soon, young Thordan. I am Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret."

"Oh." A few memories snapped into place, not all of them pleasant. "So you're the one who defeated me in chess five times in a row."

"Pardon me, but we have much, much more at stake."

"Just where are we?" Thordan wondered aloud. "You ought to have some idea."

"I don't have a name for this place yet. Mayhaps you can be so generous as to provide one. Moving on." The mole smiled, as if he knew something Thordan was, which in every sense was true. "Had you ever heard of anything called Conjuration before?"

"No. What is it?"

"It's a concept hard for you to understand..." Dagbert seemed to smile. "A river of power, infinitely strong, and hard to grasp."

Thordan shook his head. "I understood none of that."

"Perfectly normal. There is a lot I can teach you." Dagbert reached out a paw.

"And lead him astray?"

Mole and otter turned towards the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a black fox, with both ears folded in rage, and a face which seemed to be locked in a scowl - permanently so.

"You!" Dagbert exclaimed.

"If I remember correctly, yes, I am me." Isangrim never took his gaze off the mole. "Now what in the world are you doing in my charge's dreams?"

"I was planning on revealing on what you have hidden for so long, Darkening Cloud." The Archivist spat the last two words enough that the whole disk seemed to tremble and quake. "You cannot keep him locked out of the loop until the day he perishes - at your paws or otherwise."

"At my paws?" Thordan looked towards Isangrim, while remaining completely silent. "I swore to protect the kid, and you think I will kill him? You, who attacked his grandfather?"

Before Thordan can react, the mole snapped. "That was in self-defence! I had no choice! Besides, I took no part in his killing!"

Thordan gasped. Killing a king was sacrilege of the highest order, and who was responsible would be left in a world of pain if his mother ever got her paws on him. His vision was beginning to distort, like that time when Egil described drunkenness to him (which was, and still is an alien sensation to Thordan). This seemed much, much worse than having too much to drink though.

"Wait! Wait! Who killed hi-" Thordan felt his tongue growing heavy and his words slurring into unintelligible gibberish. Then everything faded away.

The last thing he heard was the panicked raging of a mole.

GYSTRA, DRAVANIA

Lord Becker Swalestrom was exhausted, starving and grumpy, but his situation could be a lot worse - he could have fallen under the arrows of the Trielians, or be led in chains to Arnet. But now was no time to worry. His army, his force, his Otterguard was intact, and will live to fight another day.

Now, he was talking with one of his subordinates in a firelit chamber. Lord Lorents Rueford was only younger than Becker by a single season, and was one of the few individuals who had more courage, if not drive, than his liege.

None of this was on Becker's mind. He had more personal matters to deal with.

When the phrase 'your son is dead' was uttered to Erlend, he broke down almost instantly and completely, breaking tables and chairs, and bemoaning the grip of fate had on him. Becker's reaction to this was to silently weep, hide his sorrow, reach for a bottle of Parman damson wine, and share it with his fellow lord, having undignified reactions all the way.

Here's the first

Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la la la"

Here's the first

Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la"

He who doesn't drink the first

Shall never, ever quench his thirst

Here's the first

An entire glass was swiftly placed between Becker's lips, while the dark red liquid whirled around within the lord's muzzle. Before he could sing another verse of that song, a figure suddenly appeared, Becker's guards flanking him.

"Huh? Who's this here?" Lord Rueford smiled drunkenly - Becker could not believe that he was drunk in less than forty-two seconds.

"An emissary," the guard sighed as he shook his head. "He came from Sjovin, and bears a message from Lord Gustav and Lady Sigrun."

Lord Becker groaned. It was not the alcohol - he was sure of that. It was more of the matter that Sigrun lost a brother to his plans. What she had to say will not be pretty.

"Pray tell. What does the young lady have to say?"

"I address you in a most direct manner, Lord Becker Swalestrom." The squirrel envoy talked in a very strange manner, but he seemed to be reading directly from a script. "Please listen, as if-" the squirrel's ears tensed, and his tail never stopped moving, twitching like some broken dowsing rod.

"Go on." Lord Becker nonchalantly replied, ignoring Rueford, who was seeping into the usual symptoms of inebriation.

"Please listen, as if you are an effective tactician and administrator, and not a drink-sodden piece of flotsam." Seeing Lord Becker's face, the poor squirrel started to rush his words.

"You are certainly not without accomplishments. Only the most distinguished of Skippers can boast of being unable to lead the Otterguard to defeat Greymorg without outside help."

Becker snarled. The squirrel trembled. Lord Lorents vomited.

"By participating in starting the whole war, you have brought upon the Southards battles, pestilence and unparalleled destruction. You are Southsward's siren, whose actions shall lead to shipwreck without doubt. But then-" The speaker silenced himself.

"Go on." Becker tried to keep himself calm. "Go ON!" He had failed.

"But then, like me, a lady of my realm, a female's role has suited you best from the exact moment you were born."

Lord Becker screamed, arching his arm back to throw the half-full bottle at the flinching squirrel. The bottle never made contact though. Remembering the rising prices of Parman goods - a side effect of the war - Lord Becker reverted to his stern glare, and he stood over the drooling body of his vassal. No words were spoken as he simply put the container down and pointed at the exit. It did not take long before the emissary took the hint, breaking into a panicked run soon after.

It seems that I don't have to share now. Back to the bottle.

[MathLuk]

Beyond the Unknown

STATION OF CALLING, THE RIFT

"Drat. I've lost him."

Dagbert crossed his paws as he watched Thordan Swalestrom's figure begin to wane. He may not have expected that, but he should have. Even without the fox's meddling, Thordan could wake at any moment.

Bringing him here took high amounts of Conjuration and an Amplifier, so Dagbert was not in his best form. If a confrontation was to follow, he would lose to the black-furred beast in front of him. The only way to survive is to play the emissary card.

"So you did, Conjurer." The fox smirked.''You Southards had a way with losing."

"What are you doing here, Emmeroloth?" The Thaumaturge had many names - Isangrim, Pallpelt, the Darkening Cloud, but Dagbert decided to make an impression. And an impression he did make, for the fox visibly twitched, but returned to his overconfident self ere long.

"Me? Following the orders of the beast you had a paw in killing." Emmeroloth seemed to spit his anger out word by word. He leered calmly ,"You have a tendency to interfere even when it is all too unwise to do so."

Dagbert felt a fury rise within him. "We were only trying to do the right thing!"

The Thaumaturge rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. How right is it to murder every single seer that is allied with us?"

The Recorder sighed. "Listen. What we have done I hope we do not do again. But we have no other choice - we cannot let you-"

Emmeroloth revealed a sharp scowl. "And that's why you have been trying to tempt Thordan to align with you?" Both woodlander and vermin stayed silent for a few tense seconds before the fox decided on changing the subject.

"You know, pretending to be an otter was a neat trick. The Veil was perfect. Masking yourself to look like the boy's grandfather was incredibly ingenious of you. A pity you got the look wrong, and the accent as well."

"How - how did you know?" The mole was clearly shaken.

"Well, I was speaking with the actual otter while you were doing ridiculous impressions of him. To be honest, you were too polite to imitate him completely, Conjurer. Trust me, you still have a long, long way to go in your acting career." The Thaumaturge sighed. "You see, it's quite fun talking to the only beast with any shred of conscience on your side."

What Emmeroloth said was not quite true. Aside from the Emissary, the Warrior and the Assassin, there was still the Architect, one more addition to their little union - one whose potential as a seer is as low as one can have, but a fearsome warrior nonetheless. "It's much less pleasurable talking with the only beast without morality on yours."

The fox sighed again. "I fear we would have a long way to go before we can achieve any sort of compromise. At least you do."

"We could talk only if you could divulge more than a little shred of your plans." Dagbert kept his eyes trained on the fox as he spoke. "You have already Sundered one Shard! What will you do next? What can you do next?"

Emmeroloth sighed for the third and final time. "What I do, I do for the salvation of this star." It only took a single impact through the Rift before the Thaumaturge stepped through the Gate of his own making, turning back from the scholar mole and stepping into the world that he considered to be real.

Dagbert just stood there, without making a single noise. He had failed in his mission, and his colleagues would not be happy.

Emmeroloth may be his foe, but the black fox had told the truth, as all seers are obligated to do. He had a long, long way to go indeed.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, DRAVANIA

After all that followed around her - all that tragedy that had descended upon her - Sigrun was finally home. Growing up with her brother and mother, Sigrun always had an affinity with the city.

After Hildrinn, Kaldos was the largest city in Dravania. Despite being cleaved neatly into twain by a narrow strait, barges frequented the harbours between. Kaldos proper was situated on an island, with the urban centre and main fortification atop. The other side, Koerthas as it was called, was being rapidly developed by the efforts of Sigrun's father, which caused some minor conflicts of interests with the Kaldosians along the way. Beyond that lay hills and mountains, protecting the city, but preventing it from developing further.

Walking behind Sigrun were the Strandsors, father and son. They were quite an odd pair, the father being wild and passionate while the son being calm and composed. It took less than three glances to see that they were trying to manipulate her into doing their bidding - they have made everything obvious. At least they have not seized control of herself yet - Father would rage for a few more days if they had tried to marry her to anyone.

Gustav Strandsor carried the Wolf Banner for her - the commonfolk cannot expect a lady to do everything herself, can they? Though its purpose seemed to have been fulfilled - beasts flocked to see her and her (nominal) subordinates carry a pennant never seen in a hundred seasons, which must be for a big reason.

And a big reason it was! The procession finally reached the main square of the city, and the main three figures ascended onto a platform specifically designed for the occasion alongside their bodyguards.

"Beasts of Kaldos, listen!" Gustav Strandsor shouted at the crowd. "Dravain legend tells of this banner, and this banner's own tale!" The beasts quickly silenced themselves, as the tale was known to all.

"In the past, Dravania was its own kingdom with its own king, but this was not to last. For fifty and two hundred seasons, they fought against Southsward." Pointing at the banner, he continued, louder than ever before. "For where this banner went, Dravain beasts followed. Where this banner went, we were a thorn in the squirrelking's tail. Not even with the might of both Southsward and Parma were we beaten."

A cheer arose from the crowd, only to silence itself moments later. They knew what happened next - every Dravanian knew.

"Finally, while the kingdom was being rent apart from within, Southsward pounced upon us for the last time. A small force was able to occupy a strategic location, but they were few in number." Lord Gustav decided to break out the dramatic paw gestures. "Ravens filled the air, calls of death following in their wake. Thousands of Southards thundered towards Hildrinn, their fires outnumbering the stars, and they carried the banner of King Riddian the Third - the King Riddian who was one of the best tacticians of all time!"

The older lord raised his paw up into the sky, as if he was a chorus in some ancient play. "We were supposed to not last a single hour, to be swept along the winds. But we fought! In a trickle, beasts did not flee, but fought to keep their homes and loved ones free from Floret's paws. That one trickle soon turned to many, and a flood of beasts exited the safety of their homes, and arrived at the field of battle. Farmers carried pitchforks, woodsbeasts carried axes, and nothing more but a few days of food. Everyone knew that they might not return - some even knew that they will not return! But the land had been theirs, and they would not parcel even a fistful of soil!"

Standsor shed a tear next, his paw falling. Then another tear trickled down. "The dead piled up in mounds, but our loyalty to the land was matched bit by bit by Southard fidelity to their king. Slowly but surely, we perished one by one." He paused to wipe off a few stray tears lingering on his face. "But not all of them died. The survivors, few they might be, lived and sired children. Seasons came and seasons went, till Dravania was but a distant dream. Weep for it! Weep for what is lost to you!"

Sigrun must have been hallucinating, for she saw the most forced of grins appear on the lord's face. "But there is hope left to us, in the form of a king! A King of Dravania to give our lives meaning! A King of Dravania to save us all!" Lord Gustav's smile became less forced by the second. "He is coming! He is coming! Seasons help us! Seasons help the world!"

The lady's thoughts were soon drowned out by the endless shouts of the crowd below.

RAEVSVAKT, DRAVANIA

"You're awake!"

Thordan Swalestrom has never been an otter with a strong constitution, but suddenly fainting in the midst of a conversation was a sign that something was very wrong. Lorcan may have been the only beast to keep a cool head outwardly, but inside he was spinning like a top. He managed to carry him to a bed, and summoned a few servants and a healer to attend to his needs, which, truth be told, are not much.

Thordan groaned as if he was shaken awake from a deep slumber, which he was. "Lorcan. How long was I out? Where am I? Where are the others gone?"

"Calm down, Thordan. You're very safe, and so are the others." Lorcan has a way of comforting those he cared about, though suddenly losing consciousness may spell disaster to his friend. Holding a cup of water, he beckoned Thordan to drink, which he swiftly did.

"You were turning and twisting a lot in your state." Lorcan tried and failed to suppress a giggle. "Were you dreaming of some pretty lass?"

"What?" Thordan's ears folded, an obvious reaction to the taller beast's teasing. "No. No such thing. It was simply..." Thordan paused, scratching his head. "I don't remember much. Two beasts were in it, one vermin and one woodlander. They said a lot of things. They argued and I woke up."

"Well, dreams could be important." Lorcan smiled as he finally sat down in an armchair. "You saw that otter before you helped us drive Skipper Becker back. Maybe someone's prodding you towards victory - like in the books! The hero gets advice from the ghost of a past hero, and he triumphs against all that he will face. Like Joseph the Bellmaker!"

Thordan shook his head slowly. "I don't feel like a hero at all. I'm just some lord who tries his best to fight for my father. Oh, and to survive as well."

"Well, they do say that all heroes have their own journeys to make. I do wonder why and how..." Lorcan shook his head. "If there is some sort of law or formula regarding the making of a hero, it lies beyond the unknown."

A tense silence followed, with both beasts hesitant to speak. Lorcan has never been a beast of many words, but Thordan made him look like a chatterbox.

A cough from Thordan signified an end to the silence. "So... where are Alfyn and Egil?"

Lorcan smiled. "Well, the healers said that you were fine physically, so they went off into the city to... er, enjoy themselves." He turned towards Thordan. "I trust that your weasel friend is also unmarried, is he not?"

"Y-Yes." Thordan sighed. "Why did you ask that of all things anyway?"

Thordan, you innocent little child... "Nothing. I'm just wondering what fun they could have right now..." Lorcan stared right into his friend's eye. "Speaking of marriage, has your father made any betrothal for you? He cannot hope to fight this war alone - he's married as well as your brother."

"I haven't thought about that yet..." Thordan leaped back into his usual musings. "I'm too closely related to every eligible ottermaid of any sort of importance. The only suitable choices are all taken."

"Your half-sister hasn't been promised to anyone yet as well." Lorcan winked.

Thordan's ears folded. "Father has many plans."

Another tense silence followed, this time lord than the last. This one was finally broken with a little revelation by the younger lord.

"I remember now! Dagbert the Floret Archivist! He and Isangrim!"

Lorcan raised a claw at his worried friend, no more smiles present. "Who's Isangrim?"

"The spymaster fox! From my grandfather's court! He said that my grandfather was killed - and we don't know who did it!"

BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"How did they slip through your claws?"

The two guards who defended the east door may have been just starting on the way to recovery, but Lord Denebas Burelas was planning to move in haste. Having just received a report that Captain Waycaster has escaped, alongside with one of his subordinates, the young lord had to fulfill his duties as commander with relish.

"We were tricked!" The hareguard shrieked. "Lied to! Deceived!"

"And on no other beast's watch but yours!" Borellers are not known for their calmness, though the younger Boreller duke was an exception. However, being also sticklers for honour, it did not take long for Denebas to be pushed past his breaking point.

The grey-furred squirrel took a deep breath, finally taking the cup of tea that had been prepared for him. "I say that you two did not try your best."

Denebas put his mouth to the cup and prepared for the serene taste of unsweetened tea - only to burn his tongue. Perhaps not coincidentally, he felt his anger return.

"Please, we were just-" The mouseguard attempted to beg.

"You two apparently do not know this one thing about Borellers." Denebas stood completely still, allowing his anger to melt. "The more you plead to one, the less inclined they are to listen."

Before the unfortunate duo can respond, Denebas continued to speak. "You two will make up for your mistakes. You will tell me which direction the two have went, and you two will accompany my unit to hunt them down, and bring both the traitors back into Trielian custody! Their location might be unknown, but it is our duty to go beyond."

He turned coldly towards them, eyes revealing a savage glare - his brother's glare. "Do you two understand fully and completely?"

"We do! We do!"

'Good." The squirrellord finally let his gaze avert from the pair of former guardsbeasts. "Now, you two will stand here and do nothing at all while I inform my king and my brother."

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

A warm spring may have followed a mild winter, but Niels Crestworth was basically shivering in public view.

Of all the things Queen Lorelei could imagine to repay his favour from the Second Electoral Council, she had asked for a private dinner meeting. Not alone, of course, but with two other Valnainer lords - one of them a fox, even.

Of course, Lady Lorelei had a poor reputation prior. She was not particularly attractive, which had led to many mockeries and nicknames. Mouthpoke, Pocket-mouth, Satchel-mouth, the Big Mouth, the Mouth Bag, the Pocket-Mouthed, the She-Wolf of Vargol, the Ugly Duchess, and With the Pouch Mouth were all suffixes used for her, and for her alone. She, for one, bore all this with pride and dignity, though not exactly a lot of beasts would try to mock her in earshot.

"Lord Maurice needs more wine, Hersent." The queen gestured at her personal servant, a grey fox with fur the colour of ashes. As far as Niels knew, she was just some vermin randomly inducted into the court by Lorelei, though the Royal Vicar knew that this must have been a Skyward trait. Her father had vermin courtiers more numerous than woodlanders, and he scandalously preferred vermin females to either one of his wives. Perhaps this was due to his chaotic upbringing, or some other fact that Niels was blind to for now.

Ignoring a lustful look from Lord Renart of Maupert, the grey vixen soon left the room after fulfilling her duty, having no intent to linger there. The foxlord was known far and wide for having needs for physical pleasure that made Thordan look like a celibate. Sly, amoral, cowardly and wholly-self serving, Renart would not have amounted to anything in normal circumstances, but these vices allowed him to thrive in the Valnainer court. The common folk do say that Maupert was one of the best hiding spots for this errant lord - which was desperately needed due to his tense relationship with his soon-to-be-former liege.

Niels preferred the other Valnainer, Lord Maurice of Graille. After all, he had married his only full sibling, and they loved each other so much for the birth of two children, with a third following them by the end of the season. Plump and portly for an otter, he preferred the kitchen to the court, as cooks scheme significantly less than lords. However, even the slightest mention of the voleking seemed to spur the otter into action.

"You Otharnese serve good food," the otterlord smiled as he sipped from his goblet. "But we know that you do not randomly invite your guests to such gatherings without them having something to offer."

"Your intuition is good indeed, Lord Maurice. We have matters of a more serious nature to discuss than pies and wine." Lorelei grinned at Niels openly - a sign that she wanted something very badly. After all, they knew each other since childhood, but she was noteworthily cold towards him for the last forty seasons.

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

[MathLuk]

Flight

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

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

Queen Lorelei was never a beast to beat around the bush, but this was the most sublime way to discuss an open usurpation - even for a beast such as Renart of Maupert.

Everyone knew that King Guillame was trying to break free from Parman control, despite Valnain being subordinate to another kingdom for even longer than Southsward. While he was slightly (with emphasis on the slightness) more capable of diplomacy than King Gideon (who has set nary a step past the gates of Floret), he was no King the Valnainers need.

A series of loose-pawed Parman kings had allowed Valnain to flourish, but King Guillame had to ruin everything by suddenly declaring war on Thordan of Parma, no doubt with the encouragement of Thordan's other enemies, chief of them Lord Canute of Doma.

The Doman otterlord's ability to produce coherent speech suddenly faltered, and he was only able to sputter out a few confused syllables. Despite him being an accomplished scholar and healer, and arguably the most powerful person on the entire blasted planet, he has absolutely no idea how to talk with any female. Renart would have to remedy that someday after he has got his crown. Perhaps a venture or two to a few courtesans would help.

"Er... yes. King Guillame has clearly overstepped his boundaries, but I would rather give the throne to somebeast trustworthy if it were left to me." He wiped a few drops of sweat off his muzzle. "Lord Maurice, if you get some sort of opportunity to obtain the Valnainer crown, what is it that you would do?"

"I would much rather ignore the opportunity, your lordship." Maurice was ever a humble beast, cautious and prudent, but also moved imaginary obstacles into his view. He and Renart were 'like night and day', some said, but Renart would think that 'like fox and otter' would be more suitable for them. After all, he was the only woodlander he could rely on - even though he would not do so on a whim.

The Royal Vicar sighed. "Well, you have a long history of not being trustworthy, Lord Renart."

The fox rose from his seat. "Well, what are you going to do about that? Sic your shadow fox on me? I have already outplayed him twice before, and I would not mind a third." Isangrim was a good spymaster, able to appear everywhere he wanted, but he is just a normal fox with normal abilities. He is basically almost as overrated as sliced bread.

His words extracted no reaction from Maurice, a surprised and innocuous glare from Lord Niels, and a venomous stare from Lady Lorelei. The last one was able to make him sit down again. In his first visit to King Thordan's court, he made the mistake of trying his usual flirting tactics on her like any noble maid. Well, a few bruises later, he began to understand that she was no innocent damsel at all.

"Well, I can guarantee your loyalty, young lord." At the not-so-tender age of six and thirty seasons, Renart may have been the youngest lord in the room, but he had the most experience in plotting and intrigue. Now, he was going to make all his investments worth it all.

"How so?"

"By allowing your wife, the Lady and future Queen Hermeline to spend the duration of the entire campaign as a guest in Vargo."

Now this was an offer I would take. Not having to surrender Percehaie, Malebranche and Rouvel would be expedient, and they would not mind leaving their mother behind for a campaign. But there is always something more to a Parman offer...

As if on cue, it was Lady Lorelei's turn to speak next - though without permission. But who cared? She could beat all three of them bloody, and order the deaths of all of their families, friends and everyone they knew, the destruction of their lordships, and having all trace of them wiped from history with the same tone one might expect to pick a specific kind of tea for lunch.

Besides, Renart needed her.

'We would like a light Parman garrison to be stationed in Maupert as well." The otterqueen said without batting an eye. "We cannot trust you just yet."

A garrison? In Maupert? That is some high-pawed trick. I cannot run from the Parmans if, and only if, I was forced to betray them. But then... there's the crown.

Truth be told, there was like some little voice in his head telling him to accept this offer, to allow this small setback for a gamble for the Valnainer crown. But at what cost? The voice seemed to speak louder and louder moment by moment - to the point where his mind was almost shut out fully and completely.

"No. Not now." Had he not drunk that night, he would have savoured the shocked look on Lorelei's face more. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for what sacrifices you plan to make for me. But I can win my crown for myself and by myself." The voices stopped.

Gesturing to Lord Maurice, the lord stepped out the door, with his personal items packed up for them by attentive Parman servants. They would leave fast. They would have to create their own army, and topple a king who cares not about their subjects, without counting on foreign help.

Had they stayed for a moment longer, they would have heard Lorelei Skyward sigh. Not one of resignation, but one of utmost relief.

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA

"Your brother actually said that?"

Going back to a fully armed castle with a vermin in tow was awkward enough for Alfyn Stalwart, but he just had to reveal some things that should not be heard. Sharing gossip with him was indeed a bad idea.

"Yes, Egil." The otter did not know when he stopped referring to the weasel as simply 'vermin', but Egil did make a fine drinking and cavorting partner. Well, he did help rescue Thordan, so he deserves some reward. "Lorcan did indeed sing praises about his wife's ears. Really!"

"Couldn't he had chosen something else? His wife is one of the most beautiful ottermaids living, and he compliments her ears?"

"Correct." Alfyn could now see why Thordan Swalestrom was friends with the weasel. He was a playful beast, and always remained merry in the face of adversity. Alfyn was all the more amazed when he didn't speak as crudely as the vermin he saw at home - to the credit of his banker father.

"Well, I think we could agree that a lovely maid has more pleasing attributes than ears." Egil joked. "We know that by experience - trial and error, mayhaps?" Both beasts laughed as they passed through the castle gates, only to see another tall otter.

Lorcan Stalwart turned to face them, a solemn countenance etched on his face - one that had its roots in Thordan Swalestrom.

"Lord Sigurd is dead." Lorcan shook his head. "Godred Swalestrom has taken Hildrinn."

Egil swore while Alfyn stopped himself from doing the same. Alfyn has lost a brother-in-law the same moment his friend has lost a brother.

But there was more to come from Lorcan. "Gustav Strandsor wants Thordan in Kaldos. The Kingdom of the Dravanians has risen from the ashes, he said, and is now a realm reborn."

Lorcan had been the better scholar amongst the twins, but Alfyn knew what he considered to be the essential parts of Dravain history. Once a kingdom, the Southards, under their greatest king ever to live, had seen fit to conquer it in its entirety without taking the royal mantle, instead seeing fit to place it from a capable yet obedient scion of the Dravain ruling dynasty, who was very conveniently married to the Skipper of Floret's heiress. Three generations passed, each one having been more focused on Southsward than the last, until two Swalestroms lay dead on the field of battle, and brother fought against brother still.

Egil was the first to speak, as always. "So Lord Gustav's crowning Thordan?"

"It is too early to tell," mused Lorcan while pacing around the castle courtyard. "But this is very likely to be the case. Unless Erlend returns to Dravania."

The Skipper of Arnet shook his head. "I fear I could not accompany him across the Sound to Kaldos. King Garmund ordered me to target Doma in the meantime - we cannot risk anybeast stabbing us in the back -metaphorically or literally."

"Well your king does like meddling with plans, doesn't he?" Egil crossed his paws. "And where is Thordan anyway?"

"Packing." Lorcan shook his head. "He wanted to mourn, but he has to get to Kaldos before either Godred or his father surrounds the city."

His voice suddenly softened, as if a wind of doubt blew in his heart. "Can you protect him? You and the weasel?"

Alfyn found himself compelled to speak. "I will."

Egil followed suit. "I swear that I will never betray Thordan, and ward him from all harm."

"Very well." Alfyn's twin was trying to hold back tears now. "You two, do your duty. Fly towards Kaldos, and stay with him to the end. I can spare half of my troops for your use, brother. Use them well."

As Alfyn watched his brother finally break down in tears, he finally knew what it is to be ready for every single thing.

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

When Galen and him met for the first time after their first departure on the battlefield, Dirk was kindly asked to introduce himself to the leader of Sword himself, saying that the battle-hardened squirrel would have need of promising soldiers - and leaders in particular.

The squirrel's quarters were simply, being comprised of nothing more than a table, a few chairs and a bed between four wooden walls - just like a common soldier's barracks, with the sole distinction of being cleaner by a more-than-slight margin.

Dirk may had never complained about having the boring jobs, but even he had to be surprised when he saw the old squirrel in front of him. General Ralos was no living legend, but Dirk expected something more impressive than a decrepit old thing. But he was anything but feeble - a massive scythe on his wall should serve as a testament to his abilities.

It took little delay before the General himself showed his face. Scar after scar coursed through his face like rivers through the land, with one in particular arising from his right forehead and flowing down to his left chin. A soldier's wounds - wounds that Dirk was no stranger to.

But there was something more about all that. Like the squirrel knew something he did not.

"Ah, Dirk, was it?" Ralos smiled as he reached out his paw, which the otter promptly took. "I had heard about you before. You performed well at Macolt." The grey squirrel seemed to tremble with every step taken, due to him greying with age, instead of having natural grey fur like his Boreller cousins.

He continued, this time speaking even faster. "Forgive me. General Ralos Farin, at your service." Unlike otters, who had their last names easily read, and mice, who had theirs taken almost from random, the last name of a squirrel always corresponds to their birthplace, or, as time went on, that of a male ancestor. The squirrel, seemed to be born in some fortress-town near the Dravain border - a highly obscure place to look for a general.

General Ralos was a tactician of average caliber, and not a particularly good strategist, but he was absolutely unparalleled in the calculations of logistics. As the saying goes, an army fought on its stomach, and Farin knew this as well as any one of his subordinates would.

"Captain Dirk Tillwaters." Dirk had never took a liking to lords, (and Garrion Swalestrom in particular), but this one had the most peasant blood he had ever met. Though a descendent of Southard kings himself, Ralos was but a minor lordling in a wide world - enough for a relatively even conversation.

"So Lord Garrion sent you here." The squirrel never smiled, but a frown was not present either. "Or was that his father?"

"It was Lord Garrion, sir." Of all the beasts that could be counted as his superiors, this was the one who said the least and showed the least emotions. Dirk quickly decided that he liked him.

"And you led a flank at Macolt?"

"Yes." Honestly, it was mostly Galen's planning that led to the false squirrelking being routed, but a few improvisations from Dirk helped as well.

"Southsward needs more good captains like you." Ralos mumbled. "I'm getting older and older by the second, and Southsward needs me more and more."

"It is simply my duty to assist you."

"Very well." It took long enough for the squirrel to smile. "Do you know how to read?"

A few clouded memories of a time long ago crawled into Dirk's head like a snail, in which a mother dragged a son to a quill. "I can read well enough."

"Very well." Ralos sat down, and Dirk followed suit after a gesture from the squirrel. "We need to study what little knowledge our ancestors were able to pass down to us - especially about the sieges. They may not be glamorous, but sieges are how wars are won."

"Correct. A third voice made its way into the room, with a mole gliding in. Unlike the dirty uniform worn by Dirk or the cleaner one worn by his superior, the mole was clearly not prepared for combat of any sort, with his squeaky-clean long white robes.

"Dirk, was it? Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The two shook paws.

BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"So you are going to hunt after a single captain who has no connection to any important figure, has authority over one beast, and can talk his way out of almost everything?"

Altayras Burelas had few moments in which he was not as hardened as the steel he carried, but with his eyes the size of oranges, staring at his crimson-clad brother in front of him (red hat included), this had to be one of them.

"He escaped abruptly, with some information he might have brought with him! We cannot allow him to run free!" Denebas fumed as he paced around the room the brothers were in. Of the Borellers, Altayras was usually the strong and silent one, while Denebas was less strong, though just as silent. However, Captain Bodvar Waycaster's escape seemed to shake Denebas more than his older sibling - mainly because the otter captain was his responsibility.

Borellers placed too much emphasis on honour, even for Trielians. The escape was a life-changing experience for Bodvar, but a normal warleader would just write this incident off as a mere footnote. But not Denebas.

The two brothers remained silent, both hesitant to speak the first word. Until Denebas broke the silence, of course.

"King Garmund has already given his permission. He would not like me to take too many beasts with him, so I will take about six"

Altayras sighed. "This is probably one of the few cases in which your mind cannot be changed, I take it?" Seeing his brother nod, the elder squirrel sighed.

"I ask one thing of you only, brother." The squirrel clad in jet-black armour stepped forward. "Do not throw away your life when there is no need to. Understand?"

"I understand, brother. I swear, with you as my liege, that I would never risk my life without permission, or attempt anything foolish that ends in my death."

"Thank you, Denebas. May your heart and mind guide you forth on your journey, and may your fortunes fly high."

No squirrel needed to hold in their tears - there were none shed, and none held.

BRISCA, FREE CITY OF BRISCA, VALERAN LEAGUE OF INDEPENDENT CITIES

Guido Aldabreschi had a plan. Guido of Brisca always had a plan.

The Ilsabarn mouse watched impassively as his guests took their seats. The Voleking of Valnain took the one closest to him. He carried himself proudly - too proudly perhaps. The vole in front of him took pride in everything, and observers reported that he was arrogant and overbearing. It took something to goad Renart of Maupert, a noted coward, into open revolt.

His royal (or rather, loyal, considering the ones who went rogue) vassals were back at home, attempting to ensure that everything worked while the king was away, conveniently ingnoring the fact that things actually worked better without him.

The other visitor never even once captured his attention. The otter was not as strong has his father had been, but strength had led Aldernan nowhere. His father being a guiless skeleton did not help matters. Raimon of Aldernan may have been the ninth of his name to reign over his Southwestern plains of the Parman Realm, but his power has been undercut from the beginning by his overlords. To be honest, Guido was not expecting any other nation to act so aggresively.

The leader of Aldernan bore the title of Captal, which Guido guessed was something similar to 'head', but more Aldernese. Valnainese, Aldernese, Garlean may have shared many similarities with Guido's native Ilsabarnese, being all descended from Oldspeak, but they have drifted away from each other centuries before.

"We are here to discuss our attempt to achieve independence from the High Kingdom of Parma." Guido of Brisca was never an eloquent beast, so he decided to introduce his points all too directly.

"And how might we do so?" The Captal's paws formed a steeple as he spoke. "Parma is ready." Pointing at Guido, he continued. "The last time all of our nations were in an Anti-Parman Alliance, yours was the only one to come out unscathed."

Quite surprisingly, King Guillame nodded in agreement. Nobles were all the same - an engima to the Free Cities, but not to Guido. "King Thordan's mercy saved us at the last moment, but merciful is a word no one would ever use to describe his daughter. If anyone related to her takes the throne, we are all doomed. We cannot postpone the election for long."

Guido nodded and smiled. Corrado Truetide was a noted battle commander, and has control over the Jayso Isles through his son. Erlend Swalestrom was a beast too focused on Trielian and Southard matters - he may have nearly been elected, but the chances of him actually accepting would be slim. Thordan Swalestrom may have been weak of will and has the capacity of starting some sort of negotiations, but this is unlikely, to say the least, with his mother whispering in his ear.

"And this is why I have a proposal to make, even after actions were done to make this proposal a reality. I apologise to you for sending the invitation before informing you two, but what are your thoughts about offering Godred Swalestrom the crown of Ilsabarn?"

[MathLuk]

Intertwined

REMSFORD, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

As night descended on the realm, Somerled was examining his options. Stretching his shoulder, and letting out a whimper of pain, his mind came to an obvious fact.

Being defeated, or more accurately, routed brought little advantages.

For one, King Somerled's decimated army is trapped miles beyond enemy lines, with forts, rivers and two separate enemy forces in the way. King Garmund's own host, still in Bleswyn, is in no position to assist in any for a considerable amount of time.

This, though is but the least of Somerled's worries. His shoulder burns have been mostly healed, but the fact that some vermin was able to reach him in his dreams was unnerving, to say the least. Duke Kestutas of Burelas, being a beast of stars and phantoms, might have an answer to this pressing question, but he was long since dead and buried. It was rather uncommon, to say the least, for Somerled to actually wish for a dead rival to return to him, but fear does all manner of things to a beast.

Descending upon Floret along the River Rems was a viable option, taking a few river forts along the way being a strategy used by many before. This could have taken away one of Floret's rivers, but there was another. Besides, King Garmund explicitly told him not to go for Floret one more time.

Truth be told, Garmund himself could be headed towards Floret as Somerled was wasting time doing nothing but thinking to himself. But there was not much Somerled could do. After receiving Garmund's message, he began to understand why the Southard were not willing to bow to Triel. Not that he sympathised with them, of course. They were traitors who all deserved a traitor's demise, and deserved no place in history.

Recovering from Macolt was easy enough, but the real wound was targeted at the squirrelking's pride. A king losing to a mere lord was bad enough, but hearing that Lord Garrion had deferred his command to a lowly commoner turned that situation from a setback to a calamity. He had heard nothing of Galen Snowpath before, which was entirely normal, but that unknown otter had the bravery and audacity to defeat him. Somerled hoped that his luck would run out soon - as many had done before.

However, with the coming of a new hope from Parma, his luck seemed to turn the other way. The otter, Amalrik he was called, was the only beast who could manage to soothe his wounds, physical or otherwise. He was quite a jolly beast, and seemed not to have a care in the world, but there was always something that seemed to reside in his head, and nobody else. Somerled was almost tempted to throw a knife at his face at him a few times - the grin was unnerving, to say the least - but he was able to change his mind just in time.

And the games. Amalrik loved play almost as much as he loved his work. Even when healing his shoulder bit by bit, he always managed to take a look at his set of playing cards, with the figures on top never seeming to wear out. When he and the otter played a game of chess (just to relieve the king's stress), the pieces seemed to gleam when he was holding them in his paw. He could have sworn the healer grinned every time the squirreking made a move, though not without reason - the otter tended to win a lot.

Finally realising the coming night, the squirrel hoped sleep would come soon, and a dreamless one at that. The marten shall not trouble him again with his vermin sorcery further, and somehow he was sure of that.

STATION OF AWAKENING, THE RIFT

Clutching the golden object in his paws, Slyte found himself in the Rift once more.

The initial dizziness was overcome within seconds, though why in the heavens Arbert would call them here would be a mystery. Conjuration may be weaker than Thaumaturgy, but the former is more suited to making paths to other worlds than its sister power. Slyte barely had time to punch through the barrier after being chased by twoscore guards.

Standing in the little circle were the mole brothers. As usual, Dagbert wore his white and Arbert red - a little reminder to their duties as Archivist and Hunter - or more accurately, Emissary and Warrior. The clothes fitted them well - Dagbert's hobby being lazing around and Arbert's being brutally smashing everything that stood in his way.

They managed to track him down after what transpired in Greymorg, no doubt suddenly alarmed by the sudden lightning bolt that came from nowhere. After a few sudden explanations and an explosion of information Slyte was not prepared for in any way, he agreed to join them in their little campaign.

The Architect was always a different story, of course. While the moletwins joined for reasons incomprehensible and the pine marten for reward, the General of Sword joined for duty. One can even see the grim look on his face to guess that he was not enjoying the experience of working with vermin.

His face was still riddled with numerous scars obtained from all four battles he had been in - the big gash from Macolt. Slyte had met with his Bondbeast target there, and told him vital information in the usual manner of seers - that is, using many words to say nothing at all.

Unlike most beasts who called themselves seers, Slyte had the powers the Fates had granted, and he could use them as much as he wanted to - provided he had taken the necessary precautions, of course. He was levels above in Seercraft above Ralos, and about the equal of Dagbert and Arbert, who in turn are as strong as any Woodlander could be.

"I see that all four of us are in attendance." Arbert was the most experienced warrior among the four of them, so he fashioned himself the leader - conveniently neglecting the fact that he had his axe to talk for him. "Have you brought the object, Slyte?"

"I have indeed." Enamel-marked images, alongside with the magnificent jewels etched on it, made the Jaysian Crown perpetually recognizable. Placing the crown on the table, Slyte returned to a sitting pose.

"King Gideon would have need of that." Ralos sighed as he stood up and took the crown in his paws. "I see that the both of us are the only ones who had succeeded in our respective missions, though yours was definitely harder." Handing over the object to Dagbert, he managed a nervous smile - a smile that Slyte found himself copy unconsciously.

The elder mole closed his eyes to help with his concentration while his three partners watched on, the tension in the air slowly rising as the Recorder embraced Conjuration, seeking what was only known to him. Then-

Nothing happened.

When Slyte found it prudent to open his eyes once more, he saw nothing but frustrated sighs.

Dagbert opened his mouth - slightly disappointed, but not surprised. "This is no Augmenter."

Ralos rolled his eyes. "So it shall seem. That leaves no more than three possible options."

Arbert had no reaction on his stony face except a nod - which meant that everything was relatively normal. "The Sword of Martin from Redwall, the Lance of Corriam from Summerdell and one other from Salamandastron."

Dagbert concurred. "Verminfate. I believe you are on its trail, I take it?" The question earned another nod from Arbert.

Slyte found himself speak. "The Crown shall be left to King Gideon, but what about the other Conjuration Augmenters?" Thordan Skyward had already found and identified four - Heavensward from Dravania, Stormblood from Parma and Shadowbringers from who-knows-where (Triel, maybe?), as well as the Sword of Martin. He had possession of the former three, but was turned back from pursuing the fourth somehow. Killing him before he could divulge anything from his loose thing did not help matters.

"Lorelei must have Turned them." Ralos shook his head. "Perhaps they may serve a better purpose in the paws of her pet fox." The squirrel may be unskilled and untried as a seer, but he was learning quickly. At first he was unused to the world of skullduggery and intrigue, but beasts change with every tick of the clock.

"Moving on." The squirrel gestured with a flick of his wrist. "What are we going to do with Thordan? The younger one, I mean. It is basically confirmed he is indeed a seer."

"With Emmeroloth looming over him, there is nothing much we can do. We have to take him out of the picture soon." Arbert's gaze never left his own Amplifier - a weird blue crystal with jagged edges which he obtained from the Iceshard. It was almost as strong as an Augmenter, but his Conjuration had its limits, growing only linearly, or something like that.

It was a surprise to Slyte that his Seercrafting was the most powerful among the four, or that he was even a seer. The mole brothers helped him escape Greymorg via supernatural means, and after a detour to Seafoam Isle in the Western Sea, here he was in Floret, serving as an assassin targeting those who crossed the path of Southsward.

"But how?" The marten found himself ask. "We don't know what he's planning, and I doubt that we could even take him on at all, with his pesky Bond with Lorelei. At least her father's whereabouts are unknown." The fox was about two levels above Slyte in Seercraft, but those two levels could constitute the greatest of differences.

"He needs to be isolated." Arbert's reply was terse.

"So..." Slyte cocked his head to one side. "We do nothing until he makes a mistake? Sounds useless to me."

"Not nothing." Dagbert revealed a little smile. "We just wait until he makes some kind of misstep. Arbert will get Verminfate here, I will see to Southard affairs, and Ralos will be back in the field."

His smile dissolved as his eyes rolled towards Slyte. "In the meantime, you will head to Bleswyn."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It took nine days, three hours, twenty minutes, a letter from his father and a severe reprimand from the rest of the family to make Godred Swalestrom understand that killing his cousin is a bad, bad idea. Of course, this was not his fault - his beasts were overly eager to take the city, and Sigurd was overly eager to defend it.

Now, he was in for a talk with his close kinsbeasts about a matter of a vastly different nature.

"Wait. To summarise everything, you want me, of all beasts, to become the King of Jayso?

"Well, it's less about Jayso and more about Ilsadia, but you get the idea." Garrion continued to stare at him like he was some foreigner. Well, he was indeed a foreigner-to-be, but when was his brother so hostile?

It was like his father and uncle all over again. For three generations straight brother and brother had conflicts of interest within House Swalestrom, and a fourth was soon to follow.

'Southsward needs you, Godred." This time, it was Bellamy who spoke. Their mother was absent, being more and more withdrawn after the death of her lastborn child, though her daughter forced herself back into activity.

"But Jayso does not!" Thumping his paw on the table in front of him, he stood up. "And neither does Ilsadia!" He fumed on and on. "Why do I have to leave Southsward just to answer the call of some mouse who wasn't even born a lord?"

"Godred!" A shrill voice thundered through the room while Garrion failed to drop his stare. "Every country, every lordship are too intertwined now. I will do my duty taking on the Trielians, and Bells will do hers looking after mother. Now it's just you."

"Fair enough." Godred sighed as he walked away from the room. "My duty will be done indeed, but rest assured that I will not do it happily."

To accentuate the point, he closed the door behind him.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Kaldos was not the same as Thordan had remembered. He visited his father there about six or seven times, but this was different. His brother was dead, his father miles away in Triel, and he was here alone for the first time.

The city was not as well as he remembered it. Beasts have left the harbour long ago, preferring to strengthen their positions outside the city walls. Thordan heard that a new set of walls were to be built to keep the Southards out, paid for and organised by Lord Strandsor. He could only hope that it could work.

The harbours of Kaldos were the exact location he and his paternal half-siblings said their goodbyes, so it should make sense that there they would meet once more. Well, one of them anyway. The lordling may have never met with Sigurd much, but he was his brother nonetheless - and a good one.

I should have went with him. Grandfather has passed away, and Sigurd followed. Why does everyone connected to me need to suffer? It isn't fair.

The otter in his dreams told him that he and his father had spoken for the last time. Which may mean that his father would die far, far away from his eyes. Or that he would die before his father. Neither choice seemed entertaining to him.

There was also the significant possibility that the otter may be lying. Yes, he may have never gave his name and spoke in the vaguest of manners, but something told him that he was trustworthy. He was not telling the whole truth though. That he was certain.

He embraced Sigrun at the docks again, her afraid of losing him almost as much as he was of losing her. After a few more introductions (and funny looks from the Strandsors at Egil), he was invited back into the castle.

"I fear that your father could not join us here," the elder Lord Strandsor sighed. "He is in Triel, you see, fighting for the beast He was nearing his fortieth season, yet he behaved like some kind of child, Egil, Skipper Becker, or some combination of the three. Thordan preferred his son to him, though he seemed quite likeable for the moment.

"Kaldos has waited for you for far too long, Young Thordan Swalestrom." Haakon Strandsor spoke next with his calm voice. "Anxiously, as we would like to add."

"What for?"

"This city is yours, Thordan. As the only loyal Dravanian lords, we would like to offer you the crown, the throne, and all of Dravania."

Thordan let out an audible gasp. "Why me, of all beasts?"

Lord Gustav stood up only to pace around the room. "I confess that I wanted the crown for myself in the beginning. But Dravania always needed a Swalestrom, and I was only married to one." He continued without even catching his breath. "Your father broke his marriage vows - " Thordan could hear Sigrun tense - "so he would not be accepted as king. As his only surviving son, you are our only candidate. Please consider it well."

Thordan spoke, and the world changed.

DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD

The beast who called himself Emetselk stood up, finally free of duties for the first day.

The only other beasts in the Aetherochemical Research Facility were both vermin. Emmeroloth was one of them, having travelled from the world he was born and arriving in this shard. Now with his master, King Thordan of Parma dead and buried, he would have the full allegiance of the fox - not counting Lorelei of course. The beast who called himself Emetselk was tolerated by the fledgling queen who finally got out of her father's shadow.

Emmeroloth was a mostly self-taught Thaumaturge, but Thordan had done well enough. He knows all the basics, the Triad of Death and so on, and the opening of Pathways. Of course, the beast who called himself Emetselk went further, heading to different shards with his secret apprentice, and learning by experience rather than by the book.

Of course, there were some who would stop them. Long have the beast who called himself Emetselk evade the moles from Southsward, losing Thordan Skyward on the way. Now, though, they have no idea that the beast who called himself Emetselk was still active, or even alive for that matter.

King Thordan had specified that Emmeroloth, as Isangrim, take care of his grandson, also called Thordan. The beast who called himself Emetselk thought that his other grandson, Corrado, would be tried and tested as a seer, but his many qualities were in fact all mundane. Emmeroloth suggested that this way because of his ancestor's blowing of Oliphaunt, which is likely, considering the evidence.

The other vermin, though, was slightly less familiar to Emmeroloth. The beast who called himself Emetselk had found his soul, floating in the void, his life cut short by events occurring in the Source. Of course, mundane means had done what Seercraft cannot do, and the brown-furred vermin soon found himself awake.

His first reaction was simple. "Why am I alive?" He had been a bit dead, but that problem was remedied not long after the beast who called himself Emetselk's arrival.

"Where is this place?" was his second. This was quite understandable. The beast had never been to another world before, and he had no power to wield Conjuration or Thaumaturgy. The beast that called himself Emetselk nearly mistook the Aetherochemical Research Facility for the Skein of Severance in the Windshard, but the poor beast was unsatisfied with the answer, correct it may be.

His last question was "Why am I a stoat?" Of course, the stoat was not born a stoat, but that did not matter in his new body. Who he originally was remained a secret between the three, and the beast that called himself Emetselk was able to lull the exhausted stoat to sleep before any more questions were asked.

Of course, the stoat was but the first step. Sooner or later, the Heaven's Ward will be complete.

It is etched.

[MathLuk]

Machinations

KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, KINGDOM OF PARMA

Of all the emissary training Bertil received, no piece of advice was more valuable than the Three Rules of Diplomacy.

Contrary to what may seem obvious to outsiders, the 'rules' were more like guidelines as opposed to actual rules. The first of those was to show no ill will towards anybeast, and to be polite to all beast who stand against you. Lord Sverker excelled in this aspect, though his father somehow always favoured his other son. Harald Crestworth was a born warrior who talks of nothing else but talk of looping heads off. It would only take but three guesses to why Bertil favoured Sverker, and the first two do not count.

The second is to never hate. This sounded hard, so Bertil settled with not expressing hatred. Again, Sverker was a master in this aspect compared to his brother - even Thordan Swalestrom would make a better diplomat than Harald - diplomats preferred shyness to impulsiveness, of course.

This is all because of the third rule - the only way not to break your word is not to give it. The world changes all too fast for trust to be given for long. So why bother? Silence speaks louder than words anyway.

He of course had not mastered the skills a diplomat should have, but enough had been done that his dispatches to Thordan and Erlend Swalestrom were received successfully. The son and the father were both quiet, unassuming, and maybe cowardly beasts, though Bertil did not need to guess why this was the case.

He had returned to Kurburg with Lord Erlend's message. Lord Valdemar was initially dismissive, but would meet with every single member of House Crestworth except for Lady Bengjerd, who is pregnant, and Lord Sverker, who remained in Doma in the time being.

Sverker was the more dutiful of the two, though he lacked his father's favour. After all, while his brother would very much like to rule the world by fire and sword, Sverker would like the same thing while remaining seated the whole time. Slothfulness may not be a virtue seen in a lord, but Bertil had faith in Sverker. After all, he was the one to recommend the hedgehog as an emissary, thus allowing him to bid a final farewell to the job he had learned to hate.

He never got on well with the rest of the guards, which is probably why he was left with the most boring jobs (just like his liege). Of course, this fact had saved his life back at Raevsvakt in the whole Thordan Swalestrom business. He was all too lucky not to have lost his head in the most literal of manners.

He walked into the room behind the Crestworths. The four of them were all of age, though Harald was barely so, being but ten and eight seasons old. He had always carried a look of determination that his brother and great-uncle had lacked.

The same can be said for his father, though in a different way. Harald may be fire, but Valdemar was stone, cold, unmoving and unyielding. He was stubborn, of course, and a natural enemy of Queen Lorelei. Bertil managed to hold a shudder at the thought of him claiming Meraholmer, and starting another great war, though he was always vague about his intentions. Sverker could be a good Lord of Meraholmer, better than his father, or Thordan Swalestrom for that matter. It was a pity that Harald was poised to take over that office as well.

Better that than two Lords of Doma. Doma was at the northernmost point of Otharn, though its inhabitants were more closer to Meraholmer and Dravania in blood and language. The whole Northern Coast of Parma used to be Dravanian, though most of the territories West of Doma, Vargo included, were assimilated into the Otharnese sphere of things; while the Eastern parts developed an identity closer to Laagmeer than Doma, with their disdain for kings and lords evident on their scowls and jeers, while living under the rule of chieftains.

Grandmaster Otto began the conversation, as always. Being the younger brother of Valdemar, he would much rather join the Shieldbrothers than be entitled to his portion of the Doman Lordship. He was a bright and affable otter, though a fearsome warrior nonetheless - he had not got the title for nothing. Pledged to serve Parma, Otto feared politics more than anything, so he never bothered to appear in the last of the three Electoral Councils - the one with but three otters participating. Obviously, that did not sit well with Valdemar, and so here he was.

"So what should be done now?"

"Aldabreschi would never let anyone among us be king after allying with him. We could use him, though not for long. And we cannot afford to make any more enemies. Lorelei is tacky enough, but with her son holding Meraholmer anything bad can happen. At least King Erlend is not interested in the Parma throne."

"We have to give credit to him." Niels spoke next. The lord was always calm, and helped mediate between his brother and King Thordan in previous disputes, and had always enjoyed a "He knows the cost of the crown."

"Well we need a king anyways!" Harald was ever brash, but this time the Crestworths needed such impulse - impulse Sverker did not seem to possess. "Father can fit the role very well!"

'Being king is not that easy, Harald." Lord Valdemar said with a flick of his paw. "We need support. The king, whoever he is, must be hated by none, and must be able to pass judgement and show mercy at the same time."

"These beasts are few in number." Otto laughed, as if he knew something the others did not.

"Indeed." Niels affirmed. A silence ensued when Niels finally realised why his nephew laughed. "Um... why are all of you looking at me like that?"

"You will be a great king, uncle." Otto said as he knelt.

"I am sure the Electors will agree with you, Otto. Queen Lorelei especially." Valdemar smiled - a rare occurrence.

Bertil found himself kneeling as Harald did, with the bodyguards following suit. Niels groaned.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

The courtyard of Castle Kaldos was not particularly silent for the recent months, but with the return of a lord to take charge of the long-neglected city, tranquility seeped in bit by bit. The grass was trimmed to a reasonable length, and the old oak tree were starting to grow leaves again, where under the shades friends sat and talked.

However, the adjective 'tranquil' was not (in normal circumstances) used to describe any single location where Lord Alfyn Stalwart was located in.

"Why in the world would you reject the crown?" the otterlord screamed. Egil may have taken a liking to the tall otter compared to when they first met in Raevsvakt, but the weasel was just as scared of him as he was

Thordan was never known for his best decisions, but Egil would have never guessed that he would throw away the Dravain crown just like that. Sitting under the oak tree of Kaldos Castle was no king, but a nervous little teenager. The Wolf Banner had been resting just by the tree trunk, with no breeze to make it move.

And Thordan knew it too. "I did not reject it! I just asked for a delay!" In Egil's opinion Thordan should had put the crown on his own head as fast as possible, and jammed it so tight that it cannot be taken off his head. But Thordan was Thordan, and not Egil the weasel.

At least Lord Strandsor had the good sense and good will to make him Regent of the Kingdom - an office with its little description being this too was not a desired outcome by Thordan, but he would do everything that keeps him away from the crown - not that this would matter in the long run, as the crown would descend on his head sooner or later, willingly or not.

"Well, you need to get yourself into something important soon." Lady Sigrun sighed as he sat down next to her half-brother. Her other brother's death affected her much, though she had refused to show it. Instead, she was carrying the whole 'Swalestrom against Swalestrom' business on her own. "Lord Strandsor wants you as a mere puppet - this I am certain!"

"Well, everyone does seem to have manipulating me as a hobby sometimes." Thordan erupted into a mirthless laugh, that seemed weird, terrifying even. "From the greatest of kings to the lowliest of vermin." He winked in Egil's direction without a smile on his muzzle, making sure that the weasel saw.

He knows! The contents of that little conversation the younger weasel shared with his father during his first meeting of Thordan have not been disclosed, but Thordan had a knack at guessing what was going on. Not a lot of vermin would go all out in befriending their betters, and Egil did seem excessively attached to the otterlord at first. Seasons, he knows!

Thordan then reverted into the long-expected smile. Egil sighed with relief as Alfyn sighed, for a different reason.

"While I do not approve of your rejection of the crown, I am bound to obey your every command. As I am but a landless otter of noble blood, I have no obligation to any lord for now. I wish to swear my fealty to you."

"You are a brave warrior and a true leader of beasts, Alfyn Stalwart. I shall be pleased to accept your sword and shield into my service." Thordan was visible trembling while his sister stood up and sat away from him.

"I pledge homage to you, Regent Thordan Swalestrom, rightful ruler of Dravania." Alfyn clearly memorised these words - these words that had brought weight and duty with them, and though sparingly used, came from the mouths of every single noble parent. "I will remain your devoted beast as long as my breath belongs to my body, and I will be at your side to fight your enemies as long as you are in need of my sword. I will uphold the claims and rights of you and your rightful heirs. This I swear!"

The otterlord took a deep breath before his mouth started moving again. "Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made."

Thordan never even blinked. "What is asked is given, and the price is paid." The traditional rhyme of fealty. "May you uphold your oath always, with proper courage and determination."

The Regent continued, every syllable louder and clearer than the last. "Let it be known that from this day forward, you are my sworn beast and vassal. I give you my protection and grant you the right to bear your arms in my name, and I pledge that shall not deprive you of your life, liberty and properties expect by the lawful judgement of your peers and the law and custom of the land. I shall also grant you the Lordship of Meraholmer, with all its rents, revenues and beasts at your command under my authority."

Egil's eyes grew as large as ripe oranges. Meraholmer to Alfyn? A Trielian? Half the island's population are vermin! Would they accept him? Or would they be put down? Alfyn is an efficient soldier, and - The weasel shuddered at the thought of Islander killing Islander.

Something must be done.

GYSTRA, DRAVANIA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"So Dravania has raised its banner against Southsward?" Lord Lorents Rueford was not known as the calmest beast of the realm, but even he was able to annoy Becker to such a degree that his ears will simply not stop buzzing as soon as the other lord entered the room.

"So it shall seem." Becker was most irritated by the news that the Wolf Banner was in Dravain paws once more, but so far he was able to show nothing of his wrath. Despite it being obvious that Thordan is nothing other than a puppet and a weakling, it would be a good idea to get him out of the picture as soon as possible.

The question is how.

"We need to march on Kaldos as soon as possible. Surprise the enemy." The Ruefords were not pleased when Thordan was declared Regent of the Realm, but was incensed when Gustav Strandsor got the position of Realmwarden. The two otterlords despised each other so, that whenever they met, words turn into spears, and tongues into swords. Lord Strandsor whispering into Thordan's ear did not help manners.

"I assure you that your vendetta of sorts will be settled, though you would have to wait." Becker shook his head. "Somerled of Deilart marches towards Hildrinn, and we can't be outclassed by Garrion, can we?"

"Well, I can deal with your wayward nephew. Just give me three thousand beasts and I will - "

"There is no need for division of the army. You are the best aide de camp I can ask for. Rest assured that I can deal with Thordan myself, though I think I need your son here. I have some mission for him soon."

Lord Rueford turned his head, ready to retire for the night in his positions across the river. The Udso was the border between Southsward and Dravania until King Riddian III crossed it, and Gystra built on both sides of the river and by the sea - a little melting pot for Southard and Dravain influences alike. When Thordan Swalestrom declared the Kingdom of Dravania revived, the Gystran Dravanians stayed loyal to Southsward. Their loyalty will be rewarded, of course.

Pawsteps from behind made Becker shiver, though he had grown accustomed to them.

"I heard that you have a little family problem," the hedgehog said as he smiled. Phronesis was a healer of the highest caliber, able to use herbs to their fullest potential, and a genuinely calm and friendly beast.

The hedgehog almost made Becker think of his brother. Last time Becker heard of him, he was slowly wasting away with grief while heading to Bleswyn. The seasons have been acted well on him, it seems.

"Care you care for me to take it off your shoulders?" Phronesis' smile turned suddenly lighter in magnitude and intensity.

"That depends on the circumstances."

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

"So you don't want a loan? Skuli sat up, intrigued by the suggestion of the young otterlord.

Corrado Truetide (not to be confused with his father or son of the same name) was a tall beast of twenty-two seasons, and he had his mother's Trielian fur. Of all the noblebeasts he had catered to, Corrado was the strangest, yet somehow most relatable.

He was kind enough to bring a court bard with him to Vargo. Eduard Muirsch, he was called, and was one of the few vermin able to worm his way into the heart of a lord - a strategy Skuli used himself with the youngest of his three sons. Unlike Egil, though, the rat was no childhood acquaintance, instead having been sought out by the otterlord himself, and now follows wherever the lord goes by his own will.

The reformation of the Kingdom of Dravania drew worries from everyone of note, and that included Skuli. Thordan Swalestrom, a king to be? What used to be a joke has soon become the harshest of realities. The fledgling nation would need a strong paw to guide it. Thordan would be a better king in a time of peace, but not now.

The same cannot be said for Corrado. Being a warrior by nature and having an eye for the boldest of enterprises, both his friends and enemies trembled before him, and for good reason. Being a beast of boundless ambition and drive, he resembled King Thordan a bit too much - not the one that died that season, but the one before that.

Thordan the First married the Lady of Hither Garlseca (whose title Corrado now holds), and started a tradition of marrying heiresses. His son married the Queen of Garlesca, and his grandson married the Duchess of Thavnair. Scholars now say that the Skyward holdings cannot be held together by long, and a long series of early deaths in the family minimised their hopes for dividing the family lands. With Corrado, who produced a son (with a crowned head, even) at age seventeen and continuing to pop out otterpups with his very attractive wife, there is some hope for stability.

Such dreams would have to wait until the war is over though. With Garmund's Trielites and Garrion's Otterguard dancing in the Greatrange, two Swalestroms, one of them Thordan (of all beasts!), closing on crowns, and Parma still being in interregnum, stability is a far-off fantasy.

"Yes. I come here to buy a full-on merchant fleet." Corrado smiled as he poured more wine into his goblet before a servant could reach for the cup. "Actually, part of it would suffice."

"Oh, I guess the prices would not be particularly affordable." Skuli chuckled.

"I would pay any price to safeguard the rights of my son." Corrado drank heartily from his goblet. "Speaking of which, my wife is with child again."

"Oh?" Not unexpected.

"I think I will deal with Godred Swalestrom and that slimy Aldabreschi before long." Corrado smiled. "My grandfather tried, of course, but I have faith that I can do better. Mother is trying to disentangle the Aldernese and Valnanier links of the chain, but she left Ilsadia to me."

The otterlord turned to his minnesanger. "Eduard? Play The Wanderer. Every performance does need a grand finale."

FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Birger Waycaster did not expect his brother's return.

As far as he was concerned, Bodvar was rotting in Bleswyn, a prisoner of the Trielian rampage into his homeland. Yet here he was, standing right in front of him, with his signature Waycaster grin on his face - a smile Birger returned in kind.

Birger was no stranger to battle himself - he was a foot soldier under the command of General Ralos, though he did not do anything much at Macolt. Bodvar participated in Vernoll, and escaped Trielian captivity using nothing but his wits and Pickner - a family friend.

Of course, the brothers still had their journeys to complete - Lord Becker needed every single bit of beastpower to firmly crush the rebelling Dravanians. Birger's ancestors may had came from Dravania themselves, but the brothers were Southards through and through. There was no questioning their loyalty.

The two brothers hugged each other for the first time in months. "Gates, I missed you." Birger spoke first, as he smiled warmly for the first time in months.

"How's things with Wayla?" Bodvar seemed downright giddy with joy while Birger blushed. After all, the two brothers may have been close, but Bodvar doesn't know how to stop prodding his nose into the love lives of other beasts.

"She accepted my proposal! We're t' be wed after the war's over!"

'That's good t' hear!" Bodvar war clearly infected by his brother's mirthful spirit. The two were always alike from birth, though they were born two seasons from each other.

The brothers laughed their way into the night.

[MathLuk]

Discordance

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

"Tell me what you know about Thaumaturgy, Hersent." Queen Lorelei smiled as best as anyone with her personality could, yet something fell short in the eyes of the grey vixen.

"Isangrim told me that it is a torrent of power, which has to be seized." Wielding the power of Thaumaturgy may be easier compared to Conjuration, but it shrinks away from one's touch like a rebellious child. "Awe and menace are all you can feel when holding it."

"Well at least you got the basics right." Lorelei said, taking out a book from her satchel. The two seers were not in the palace, instead having retreated away into Lorelei's mountain residence. Well, the otterqueen had to take a break from all that politicking somehow. The fact that the fox was sitting higher than she had ever been did little to disturb her thirst for knowledge though. As a matter of fact, it was heightened even more than before.

"And you do know how it can be used, right?" The sudden voice snapped her out of her trance. "Isangrim is not a beast to shy around the details."

She remembered what the black fox had told her. Conjuration is a gentle river with the Conjurer a waterwheel, with energy to power whole families and villages. Thaumaturgy, on the other paw, was wholly different. "It is but a force to be controlled and seized, like the howling ocean or something." She could not stop the last two words from seeping out of her mouth. It shall seem that there is much more to 'proper speak' than ditching an accent.

Fortunately, the otterwife paid no mind to her words as she threw a little statue to her. 'This in an Amplifier. As you know, you cannot access Thaumaturgy without one of these or an Amplifier - not in this world, anyway."

Loose lips again proved to be Hersent's undoing. "There are others?"

Lorelei glared at the grey fox, earning an apology in return. "Yes, yes. Or so I have heard anyway. Not that I have been to any one of them, of course. Isangrim would be more well-versed in this matter."

The otter continued. "All worlds were one once, but something happened that split it into seven. We live in the centrepiece, or The Source, while the others surround us in two triangles, attuned to Thaumaturgy and Conjuration respectively."

The otter turned back to Hersent, who felt herself straighten. "No more questions. I don't know that much, so keep your voice down unless you want to be Pressured into doing so."

Pressuring? Isangrim had told her about that before - a way to allow your mind and will to leak into another creature's. It could not happen to her, can it? "I understand."

'Very well." The woodlander returned to a sort of calmness, at least outwardly. "As Isangrim's notes had stated, you are already more powerful than every Conjurer to live, though Isamgrim is still a level or two above you. I am not particularly powerful as a seer, but as I had promised my Bonder, you will be my student in the time that he is gone. You can do the basics, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. At least you're better than both of my sons. One's a Truetide, so he's out. The other, though.. he acts just like you do. But don't try to Bond him just yet. We have other options open to us."

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

Nothing much had changed since Arbert's last journey to Salamandastron.

Of course, there were those hares with ale and wine for blood, carrying outrageous accents and insulting, obnoxious behaviours on their sleeves, and bearing ridiculously long names.

General Hollin (Arbert never knew his full name, and had no plans to do so) showed him to his quarters, where he sat musing. The loud and boisterous hare had defended the mountain when Greymorg played her paw of cards, descending upon Mossflower like the tides. Only with the efforts of Brink Rufeshodd the otter and Keetch the fox did Mossflower not only survive, but thrive. The appearance of both Becker and Erlend Swalestrom in Salamandastron and Redwall Abbey respectively did help, though the two incidents were not related.

Salamandastron was where Arbert came into play. His training as a warrior paid off well, and he helped sweep the vermin back into the Lands of Ice and Snow, where he met Keetch's ghost. He was the strongest in Thaumaturgy of all seers Arbert had met, but being dead, he was of no use to (or against) Arbert.

Having been to Mossflower meant that the mole could travel there again, as the destination has to be known before a beast opens a Gate. Arbert originally wanted to arrive suddenly within the mountain itself, but that was not exactly his brother would have called to be a safe decision. After all, those hares may not have recognised him and could spare so many arrows that he would soon look more like a hedgehog than a mole - they are similar in size.

It took half an hour for Lord Rathor 'the Tempest' to get ready to talk with him. The badgerlord was an imposing beast, taller than every beast he had seen, and almost every beast he had heard of. Living longer than everyone else was but another boon to badgers as a whole - as they were not overpowered already, being the best of warriors and (not exactly good) seers as well.

"I see that you have come to Salamandastron, friend." Rathor was a beast of clarity and logic, and would not enter a state of Bloodwrath easily - which cannot be said for Arbert. "For what are you here?"

"Seers are drawn to the mountain." Arbert replied with a nonchalant smile.

"You are a seer?" The badger was not a beast who was surprised often, but there is a first for everything - including finding a fellow seer right across a table.

"Indeed." I only have to speak like Dagbert for about an hour until this is over...

Arbert continued, "I am here to research the effects of meteoric steel on the ability of seers."

"Oh? Salamandastron's meteors have been rather rare as of late."

"I have heard that you have a sword forged with it."

"Do you mean the Sword of Martin the Warrior?" The badger smiled like an otter teaching his child how to swim.

"No. I mean Verminfate, the sword of Rawnblade Widestripe, who was not called Martin." Just give it to me. The sooner it is in my paws, the sooner you can see it returned to you! It is that simple, isn't it?

"You wish to borrow it?" The mole nodded.

"Well, the sword is my property, and I need it by my side." Damnation.

"I do not need to have it amongst my possessions for too long. Three days and two nights shall suffice. Or is that too long for you?"

"It is not." The badger's smile faded. "I was just afraid that you were about to steal it."

"I assure you that I will not do so." Arbert had never been mistaken for a sword thief before. Sure, he had stolen an axe in the past, but that was long ago.

"Provided that the sword does not leave the mountain, you can use it in any way without shedding blood." The badger returned to his signature calmness. "Out of curiosity, just what are you planning to do with it?"

A bit of humour would not hurt... "I intend to sleep with it like a child does with a doll. In the chamber where you badgerlords carve your visions under the influence of Bloodwrath." Seeing the shocked look on Rathor's face, Arbert grinned as widely as he did in Greymorg three seasons ago.

'You did say 'in any way', did you?"

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

To be honest, Lord Sverker did expect the arrival of troops on the Doman shores. He just got the commanding officer wrong.

While Thordan Swalestrom had been vacillating and weak, being swayed by the beasts he called friends, Alfyn Stalwart was a true warrior in every describable way. He had the body of a warrior, being taller than every otter Sverker had ever seen. He was brave too, and had the mind of a tactician.

But he was not the leader of the Trielians on the Doman shores, no. That honour would go to Lorcan Stalwart. The absence of a white border on his shell banner meant all the difference to Sverker and Doma.

The Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard was a strategist instead of a tactician, but he was smart enough to land his troops far, far away from enemy activity (unlike Thordan Swalestrom, who just came upon the city, and left as swiftly as he came). Now, he was ending his investment of the city, until the parley, that is.

It would not be honourable for a lord to refuse an attempt at parley, so here they were, with Castle Doma, sipping tea while praying silently for the other's defeat.

"I see that you have the city surrounded, Lord Stalwart." Sverker coolly said, while adding his second lump of sugar, unlike Lorcan, who did not add anything, or his brother Harald, who's cup of tea would resemble more of a sugary mush than any sort of liquid.

"I can see that as well." The tall otterlord drank deep from his cup, then continued, "It would break proper etiquette to ask you to surrender now, would it not?"

"I do not think that that would be a good idea," replied Sverker. Why did I choose the largest room for the parley anyway?

The shorter otterlord decided to change the subject - and fast. "You must be lucky to have your brother sworn in as Lord of Meraholmer, Lord Stalwart. Not a lot of beasts could claim that honour, me included."

The cup almost fell out of Lord Stalwart's paw, and his face contorted for a while, though he shifted back into his calm look almost instantly. Sverker understood the surprise well. Thordan may have been a beast given to logic and deduction, but giving away his main power base to a random knight was unprecedented - not least when there were other beasts, every one more influential than the last, who desired the position. Gustav Strandsor must be boiling with rage right now.

"I was not aware that this had happened." Lorcan sipped his tea, seeking some sort of calmness though this did not seem possible with a cup with no sugar (or milk, for that matter). The Trielian may have been quick to regain his composure, but Sverker could have sworn that he could have bitten off his twin's head right there and then if he had only been there.

"You need not be so shocked, Lord Lorcan." Sverker attempted to salvage what was left of the parley. "Sure, the new Lord of Meraholmer turned out to be your brother, and my grand-uncle Niels was chosen to be King of Otharn-"

Lorcan Stalwart, Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard choked on his tea in full view of his troops - not to death, though. Another parley, another incident. What could go wrong will go wrong, it seems.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Eavesdropping was never an easy task for the large and burly Alfyn Stalwart, so he would be glad there was Sigrun Swalestrom to teach him.

The ottermaid gestured at a large pillar. "Just stand there and don't do anything, and you'll hear everything."

"Oh. Just why are you helping me listen to your brother's little secrets anyway?"

"Well, Alfyn, Thordan hasn't been, you know, Thordan. Something seemed to have changed him."

"Must have been the kingship," Alfyn spat. "Look. I may not approve of Thordan rejecting the crown, but which fool had the idea to give it to him in the first place?"

Before he could wait for an answer, footsteps rang out from the other side of the hallway.

"To the pillar! Now!" Both otters slinked off into the shadows as the now familiar figures of two mustelids entered the hallway.

The first was a young weasel, with his diminutive stature and brown fur, and he seemed quite jumpy and energetic, like he had not shut his mouth in months, if not seasons. He was talking to the second figure, a taller otter in white healer robes, with his look indicating that his sole job in the world was to allow other beasts to cry on his shoulder, and not a promised king to a nascent kingdom. Though Egil is yet the same, Thordan had changed.

"So now let me get my facts straight," moaned the otterlord. "Your father told you to befriend me for the sake of all verminkind?"

"Exactly." Egil probably knew that Thordan was quickly seeping into a bad mood, so he seemed to be less talkative than he already was. Where did he learn this tact, anyway? Alfyn was about to reveal himself when he saw Sigrun gesturing frantically. This is not the time to move yet.

"To put it simply, I am asked to become a lord, a king, and somebeast far more important. All while two of my kin lay dead, and the entire world is at war. You did not intend to come to confess your intentions, solely, do you?

The two stopped walking as the weasel's brain scrambled for a response. Alfyn could see full well that the nature of Thordan and Egil's relationship had changed. But where? But why? A quick glance over his shoulder indicated that Sigrun wanted to ask the same questions.

The time came for Egil to sigh. "I wish to leave your service for a while. As I said before, my mission is to befriend you in the hopes that you will keep woodlander and vermin balanced, and you did so more than every lord that came before you." He took a deep breath, and continued. "But now that Alfyn's Lord, I just don't know. You see, Trielians don't really like vermin. They just cage 'em up and force them to - ya know the rest." The accent that Egil picked up from seafaring vermin seemed to surface with the ferocity of the tides. "Ya see, no vermin haz ter werry 'bout dat if yarr Lord, but dey won't like anybeast who mistreats dem. I fear -" The weasel held back a sob as his accent faded. "I fear that the fragile beast would be ruined right under your nose, so I think I need to go with Alfyn. Back to Raevsvakt."

Thordan scratched his ears. "Is it because of the establishments back there?" If the otterlord was expecting a laugh, he received none, and he only produced a sigh in return.

"Very well. I hope Alfyn agrees to take you. Though I have to say that leaving me alone to face the entire might of Southsward is the cruelest thing that you have ever done to me. I hope that makes you happy - and your father as well."

Nobeast in the room moved a muscle as a dejected Thordan Swalestrom walked out of the room they were in. That is, until Sigrun Swalestrom decides that it would be the best of times to tap the confused weasel on the shoulder.

Egil gasped to see that not one, but two creatures were listening to the entire conversation, but the trio soon melted to form another one.

"Thordan has changed. A lot." Egil complained. "Kingship has not been well on him."

"That would be my fault," sighed Sigrun. "I was stupid enough to think that Thordan would make a great king. He would, but he would function much, much better if he wanted to be king."

"So it was your fault!" The weasel's face flickered with the slightest semblance of rage. "Honestly, with you two rambling about Thordan getting his crown, you two should marry and get crowns for yourselves!"

"Well, Lady Sigrun here is unmarried as of yet, and I'm set to marry Lady Bellamy Swalestrom after the war. Lorcan says that I'm a tool for peace just as a tool for war, but I don't really agree with him."

The three stood in silence for a while until Sigrun spoke to the tall otter. "So are you going to allow Egil here into your service?"

"That depends on what he plans to do with me. I can't let him order me what to do, can I?"

"I can promise you that that will not happen, Lord Stalwart." Egil bowed. "I hope you see that I am here to advise you. After all, I was born in Raevsvakt, and I know the folk back there. Especially the vermin."

"Well, rest assured that I will not force the customs that I was born with onto my lordship." Alfyn attempted a smile as he continued to speak, though it must have came out like an awkward scowl. "You will have to make do with a purely advisory role until I give another order. Understood?"

"I understand." Egil's ears stooped downward as he changed the subject. "But what about Thordan? Won't he think that I abandoned him by my own will, or something else that is not true?"

"Leave Thordan to me." Sigrun chose to intercede. "I can assure you that he will be back to normal in no time."

Alfyn wondered if the lady knew what she was talking about.

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Does it feel good to be back?"

Altayras always has trouble thinking before speaking, but this would be the first major misstep forward the young squirrel made on campaign. With no Denebas or Vega to guide him, it seemed almost twice as likely to make mistakes.

The beast being asked was Erlend Swalestrom, who had just lost his paramour and son due to the Southards. They will, of course, pay for all this, but not now.

"No, it does not feel good to be back, Altayras." The normally calm otterking seemed to be holding back his anger the whole time. He was a more pleasant beast to get along in previous seasons, but everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong had went wrong for Erlend.

"I apologise for the comment." Altayras said as he sat down across the table. "I do not know how it is to lose a beast that I watched grow up."

"I can handle it." Erlend said almost without a shred of emotion. "If Skipper Becker can handle it, I can!"

Altayras had happened upon Erlend hastily scribbling a few letters just minutes ago, and (wrongfully) decided to initiate a conversation. "Who are these letters for?"

"One is for my son, the second for my daughter, and the third is for a certain vermin banker which I owe a lot to," Erlend tersely said as he put down his quill - and stared into Altayras' eyes without warning, to which he gave the same reaction.

The otter gave out a hollow laugh, but there seemed to be genuine mirth in it at the end. "Altayras, from the moment we met in Raevsvakt, I've always likened you to Sigurd." He paused for a while, reaching for his spear. Heavensward, it was called, and it was a true weapon indeed.

"This is for you, young one. I don't think my days wielding it will last long, so I would rather give this to someone that actually wants it. You see, Sigurd likes swords and Thordan does not get himself into combat, so here. Take it."

Altayras did so, reaching for the spear. The hooks on the spear made it more halberd than spear, but the Parmans called it a roncone, whatever that meant.

The weapon itself was well-balanced for both otter and squirrel, but the focal point was that the spear tip was really not that simple. Altayras knew a good weapon when he saw one, but this was the best spear he had ever set his eyes upon. There was no jewellery, no adornments - not even a single piece of gold or silver. But the speartip, the blade, was forged out of iron from the heavens themselves.

It was a spear good for a king.

"Use it well," said Erlend, smiling for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. "Do not simply wield it, but become it. Let the spear become a manifestation of your will."

"I understand."

The moment was swiftly interrupted by a mouse scrambling into the tent that held the two nobles. The otter and the squirrel both turned their heads towards the intruder as he caught his breath.

"The Southards are here!"

Altayras scrambled for his armour while Erlend calmly walked towards his own equipment, him having arrived in the camp in mostly full armour.

Donning his helmet in the first time since Raevsvakt, Erlend sighed.

"It ends here, brother. One way or another, it ends."

[MathLuk]

Cold Salvation

HILDRINN, LORDSHIP OF HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Becker was not welcome in Hildrinn.

Of course, his son forcing his way into the city and almost massacring the whole population was a major factor, but Becker did nothing of note to the city himself. It's probably about the whole Thordan thing.

Now that there was an independent Dravania, Thordan Swalestrom, or more accurately, Gustav Strandsor, would very much like to have more and more troops be available to them. Lorcan Stalwart's Trielian reinforcements were certainly welcomed, but Becker would not want them to leech troops off of Southard Dravania.

After Somerled would be taken care of, Becker had made plans to head back to Gystra for supplies, but the situation called for an immediate march to Kaldos. At least Erlend had the mind to improve the roads of Dravania.

That was the only positive thought of his brother in months. Each of them had lost a son to the other's forces, but both of them had been focused on the other's total destruction more than ever before. Becker was sure that Erlend would attempt to break through Garrion's defences and open the way to Floret, while Becker was forced to resort to the most dishonourable tactics in order to pacify Dravania.

In the meantime, Godred was recalled by King Gideon, to open a new front in Parma. Godred would make for a good wartime king, but in peacetime his abilities would have to be questioned. However, just as Thordan has Strandsor, Godred has the almost legendary Guido Aldabreschi at his side. The mouse was one of the few beasts to oppose Thordan Skyward of Parma openly and live to tell the tale - unscathed, even.

The last three generations of Swalestroms had fathered at least two sons, and the way was always clear. The elder would inherit the Southard possessions, and the younger would serve as an unofficial viceroy of Dravania. It only took a century until the whole system goes awry, with a Swalestrom cadet branch rebelling against King Gideon, and even an otter who nearly called himself King of Dravania. It is but an empty title at best, but it is beasts that honour titles, and not titles that honour beasts. As long as the otterpup does not call himself king, the situation in Dravania can still be settled peacefully. With the Stalwarts and Strandsors guiding Thordan's paws though, there was little hope. Godred, being able to outrank his brother, will cause few problems at home.

Loud footpaws entered Becker's tent, carrying an otter just as large as his pride. Lord Lorents Rueford has not drink much wine in particular (as opposed to Becker), so Becker felt safe to bring him along on campaign.

"Have you heard? Your nephew had made Alfyn Stalwart Lord of Meraholmer." Lord Rueford said with a smile.

"Really? Alfyn Stalwart? I thought that he would appoint some Dravanian native. I suppose Trielians do enjoy the pomp and ceremony."

"Well, Lord Becker, there was no such thing. The Regent made Stalwart Lord under a tree, or at least that is what the Kaldosians say."

"A tree? Really?" Becker nearly laughed aloud. "Well, for a Trielian, Thordan's humble enough."

"Too bad Somered doesn't share this trait. I'm afraid the only thing that would teach him who's King of Southsward will be with cold steel."

Becker laughed. "Mayhaps we should allow him three guesses? With that small brain of his, the Deilart just cannot remember names that clearly."

The laughter soon faded as the two otters' conversation turned to more serious matters. "How's Joar?"

"He'll be fine. I had assigned some new guards for him, and he responded to his mission with quite a bit of enthusiasm."

"He will succeed. I can assure you of that. At least, that's what my mind is telling me."

The two sat in tense silence for a while - a silence which Becker soon broke.

"How about more wine?"

"Great Seasons, Becker, you know I can't handle the bottle well." From Lord Rueford's silence emerged a smile.

"You know I don't need to."

TARALIS, BALSAMU, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

Godred was welcomed by the lords of the Valeran League, but seemingly nobeast else.

Well, at least the League's 'lords' were welcoming him to their greatest abilities. Guido Aldabreschi was considered a living legend, with him being able to withstand the full might of Parma and all that.

The Valeran League's very purpose is to stop Parman expansion in its tracks, and its job seemed to be done with their victory over King Thordan, himself a figure of legends. Conceived in the reign of King Thordan the First, the League stalled Parman (or more accurately, Otharnese) influences from leaking into Ilsadia. After getting his army crushed in Valda almost a century prior, Thordan the First planned a compromise that the League would obey Parman will while being virtually independent, having possession of local jurisdiction and 'the right of kings themselves', whatever that meant. Of course, Lord Guido's ancestors intentionally let the phrase be worded very vaguely to make their rights seem as great as kings, but Guido took them in a vastly different direction.

Previous Kings of Parma are always Kings of Otharn who recieved a second coronation in the ruins of Old Parma, which empire reached from Mossflower to Vysparn. However, Guido used the League's 'rights' to elect their own King of Ilsadia, which in this case was Godred Swalestrom. After all, if Godred goes to Old Parma before anyone else, it would be Otharn's time to kneel before Ilsadia for the first time in six centuries.

However, Guido had his enemies, whether if they wanted to actually be his enemies or not. Niels Crestworth had declared himself King of Otharn but days ago, and Lorelei Skyward would have her own candidate - most likely one of her sons.

Ah, Lorelei. One single mention of the otter's name was able to send Lord Guido into the deepest of rages. Hatred for the Skywards ran deep in the League's veins, and this hatred extends towards all of that bloodline, even if they did not carry the name.

Corrado Truetide could be pinpointed as the one single beast Guido wants to drop dead the most. Him being heir to his paternal half-brother's property meant that the League was now isolated geographically by a single beast that had (incredibly good) reasons to hate them. As for Thordan Swalestrom, all that Godred could say was that he was in for a terrible fate if their fates ever crossed again. If Godred had no sword on him, he would simply use his knife, and if even that was not available, then he would crush Thordan with his teeth. Though Sigurd should not have died at Godred's paws back at Hildrinn in what had seemed like decades ago, Thordan would not be able to run from his fate like his sister did. He would die a quick death as seen in the likes of his brother - a traitor's luxury.

Guido's attendents bore with him a specific crown. The crown of King Istvan had been worn for generations of Jaysian kings, and Godred was never one to break tradition. The coronation had to be held in Ingolpart Shrine and be performed by the Palatine of Jayso, but Godred would be in Ingolpart in no time, with somebeast (like Raimon of Aldernan) could put the crown atop his head.

To be honest, Aldernan was a hard ally, with his whole realm being overrun with Parmans and all that. Raimon's sister is currently the best match for almost all eligible noble otters, with the exception of Godred's own sister. Rumour has it that Lady Beatritz was close to marrying two other lords aside from Godred himself, one of them being his half-crowned cousin, the other being Sverker Crestworth - the same beast who worked himself out of his prior betrothal to Bellamy.

Perhaps Lord Valdemar had a desire to play it safe, with him trying to rule Parma through his uncle and all that. After all, neutrality is an easy bet for the Kings of Parma, with them smiling and grinning, watching the action unfold across Obring Strait and The Sound.

But then, a decisively anti-Parman army had assembled on the island of Balsamu, where the rulers are more like chiefs than lords. The island itself used to be split into five parts, but of the five only two were left, the peace between them being kept by the League, and hence, Godred.

Of course, being crowned King of Balsamu was a contingency plan, but this chance of using Guido's little backup plan is rising day by day. The wind refuses to change, leaving the Valeran host trapped on a weird, mountainous island where water supplies were lacking.

In effect, they were basically a beached whale, yet on a much, much larger scale.

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

"Let me get this straight," Palatine Corrado stared straight at his mother. "While you were off into the mountains enjoying yourself, Niels, of all otters, just got a crown on top of his head, and the Hellgates League just pops up in Balsamu?"

Queen Lorelei had raised both of her sons to be strong. While Thordan's had failed, Corrado's had backfired in a manner most spectacular. He was one of three individuals who could stand up to her, the other being Old King Thordan and the mysterious Isangrim who cannot seem to afford himself some attention.

Ah, Isangrim. From the moment he bonded Lorelei, the otterwife had started to make him suffer, unintentionally or otherwise. It helped with managing him, though it was some sort of (admittedly, very) petty revenge for doing that to her without permission. Besides, it was good to see the fox be out of commission after her wedding night with Erlend. He managed to get himself (and by extension, her as well) all too drunk two days later, as some sort of retribution.

Aside from the circumstances from when they first met, and all the misadventures that they had since then, they managed to build up some sort of professional relationship. They were not friends, of course, but Lorelei had begun to see Isangrim as a part of herself, if only a bit more on the ignorant side. It also helped that Lorelei was not the first 'insane dragon queen' that Isangrim had served - at least that was what he claimed. He and Matoya had always had a superb relationship, though she passed when he was all too young.

"Mother?" Corrado's strong voice shook her back to reality.

"Ah, yes. Niels was a mistake, but while Valdemar has Niels by his side, I have you." Lorelei smiled at her son. Corrado Truetide may have been a thorn in her side at some times, but here he was useful.

At least, that was what Lorelei had convinced herself.

"I do not think so, Mother." The otterlord spat out the last word as if it was some phlegm stuck in his throat. "I have no intention of being king."

"But why?"

"I have no intention of being a puppet. As you might know by experience, I am not Thordan, and I have no wish at all to be made into him."

"And give up a crown?" Lorelei realised her mistake too late. 'Never be smug' was never in the rules of diplomacy, but Lorelei keeps falling into the holes she had dug herself.

"Yes. Let Crestworth beggar himself bribing electors. Once we worm our way back into Niels' favour, we shall surely have the upper paw. On the other paw, we have Godred Swalestrom on Balsamu, waiting for the wind to change while we do nothing."

Lorelei was quite aware that her own son was trying to change the subject from right under her snout, but the young Swalestrom was a problem."Godred is nothing but a spoiled pissant who is better suited to wear a cap than a crown. His allies will surely tire of him sooner or later."

"Corrado, he has your son's crown! Gates, you have no sense of timing, do you not? He wants to usurp your son's place, and probably yours and mine as well, not to mention Aldabreschi whispering orders into Swalestrom's ear every two seconds!"

The young otterlord walked towards a door. "I am aware that Godred poses a danger, and I have formulated a strategy well enough to defeat him once and for all. In the meantime, there is someone I want you to meet."

With a mighty pull the door opened, revealing a young vermin. Lorelei expected Eduard, the spoony bard that he was, but the figure proved otherwise. His armour had no place for a bard, and his sword was too expensive for one anyway.

The weasel knelt in front of the otterqueen while Corrado continued to speak. "Mother, this is Arn Skulason, leader of the Southpaws Band of mercenary vermin. I assume you had met his brother Egil in Ravesvakt, had you?"

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

With her two brothers both going to war, Vega had enough to worry about.

Admittedly, Orience was a beautiful city with wonderful beasts living in it, not like the dour and dank swamp castles of Burelas. With the city becoming more and more mercantile, different sorts of beasts began to crowd in, even without the Southards. Dark-furred Ilsadian appear in a street, and across a block you can see Valnainers with their cheerful gazes. Borellers with their stone-stoic faces and native Trielians lived side by side, often advertising their wares in the loudest of ways possible.

But no beast was as strange as Lady Morag. With an overabundance of brothers (two is actually a lot), Vega never realised how much she needed company of a more familiar sort. Morag served as a surrogate sister to Vega in her time in Orience. Where Vega was quiet and preferred the attention of her kin and friends (and nobeast else), Morag was boisterous and reaped attention like farmers did with wheat. Her father and uncle were both fed up with her antics, especially those involving the vermin that she owned.

Despite not understanding each other, the pair got along like they were born from the same mother (which, of course they were not). The Boreller maiden was the only squirrel able to keep Morag down for more than a second, and the Deilarn gave Vega some sort of vitality she was not born with.

"So your younger brother just went to get a Captain and drag him back to justice? How heroic of him! It's just like the knightly tales of old!"

Vega shook her head. "Denebas had read too much of them back in Burelas, I fear. This is just foolish and nonsensical! Leaving everything behind to go after one person? That's just silly!"

"Ah well, your other brother's a bit more sensible, I hope. He's one of King Garmund's most trusted creatures. You know, Randyll of Limse being shady as usual and my father being, you know."

"Well, just a teeny little bit, I think. Let's hope he actually does something important."

SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"Wait. They are actually real." King Somerled's brows furrowed at the thought. "They are real, and not tales used to frighten little children."

"Cor-rect!" Amalrik laughed with his ever-present cheerfulness and liveliness - traits that Somerled never possessed, though his daughter did. "And you're one of them! Lucky you!"

Somerled's eyes widened almost to the size of grapefruits, earning a surprised stare from Amalrik and his stoat bodyguard. The stoat never spoke to him, and somehow carried himself like a noble did, with the two-pawed longsword and all. Pathetic. All vermin were not good enough for titles and riches, but Parmans just loved to mess with the existing state of affairs, did they not?

"Tell me, healer, gambler, or whatever. What can I do with such 'outlandish abilities' that I possess somehow?"

'Well, you can sense the weather, for starters." The otter rubbed his cards.

"Or you can just look up." The stoat remarked, saying his first sentence in what seemed like eternities. "Saves the time and energy."

Before Somerled could slay the vermin for his insolence, the otter continued to speak. "Or you can just create rainstorms, or make trees and crops grow faster."

"Enough! Anything useful?"

"Well, you can create winds as big as a few hundred spans. Care for a demonstration?"

"Well yes-" The red squirrel barely finished his order before the entire tent the three was in was suddenly flung into the air, all while the otter grinned diabolically, while the squirrel and the stoat just stood there with mouths agape.

"I know now." The stoat simply said. "I know why the tales are told."

Somerled wanted to say something, but failed as the tent collapsed on him. When he awoke, Amalrik was there, with a faint glow in his paw.

'Ah, I see that you're awake. Mostly - whatever," the otter smiled gently - or at least he attempted to. "Healing is also an ability us Conjurers have as well, if you did not know. As you may know, vermin can destroy stuff better than woodlanders, but us Conjurers are always there to restore the damage they do."

"So we cannot just breath out fire? Or just explode Southards into little bits?"

"Apparently not. But our healing abilities surpass theirs by about tenfold." The otter smiled like a fish seeing bait on a hook, but with no fisherbeast reeling it in.

"What can healing do?" Somerled raged as he threw a chair at the stoat, which he dodged. "I mean, vermin get the powers that are needed in a war, while we get the agricultural ones? It's just not how things work!"

"Anything short of death can be healed," the otter said. His smile soon faded away, leaving only an almost morose look - a first for the otter. 'But death is nothing to fear, for salvation is at paw."

[MathLuk]

Steel Reason

BERSTRAATT, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

It is said of disaster that it descends like a pile of bricks. Berstraat was hit by one of these, though it was more like a sledgehammer than a pile of bricks in nature.

Of course, when Denebas and his band entered the village, he had no way of finding out until he met with the survivors.

"Can you tell me calmly what they did again?" The squirrelord knelt in front of a sobbing mouse. An army had passed there, that was quite evident. Building that had once stood for tens of seasons had been razed to the ground, their inhabitants either slaughtered or left homeless. Their only consolation was that winter had just passed, and freezing to death was unlikely.

"The soldiers," the civilian managed to stop a sob. "They ransacked the whole place. They killed my brother... His only crime was to defend our home!" Just like that, he broke down fully and completely, tears freely streaming from his eyes, crumpling against the wall in a heap.

Denebas had had enough. He exited the room with all the subtlety of a raging badger, and turned to his squadron. "We're leaving, but not together."

Murmurs quickly erupted from the six. The journey from Bleswyn to here took quite a long time, twenty and seven days to be exact. "What do you mean by that?"

"You all know what happened here."

The band nodded and another squirrel spoke up. "Permission to speak, your lordship."

It was the noble squirrel's turn to nod. "Go on, Valdas."

"Somerled. Hard to believe that our side is the one doing all the destruction and pillaging."

"That's why you will be staying here." Denebas sighed. "This is not the first time a Trielian army crossed the range, but to have crossed into Dravania? The folk here can hardly comprehend war - Dravania had been Southard for a century. You here, all of you will help them out. Somerled's marching to his death right now, so he won't disturb us. Help build back houses, buy food, tend to the sick and wounded, the usual." Seeing the confusion on his team's faces, the squirrel added quickly, "You'll all get triple pay for that."

Valdas was more concerned than in a celebratory mood. "But," he sighed. "Your Lordship, I am more worried about you than we are ourselves. As you might know by now, we have grown to be loyal to you more than anyone except your brother. I don't know what might happen if you go after Waycaster alone."

"Just do not worry and you all will be fine - and so shall I." Denebas smiled as he slung his pack over his shoulder. "May your hearts and minds guide you forth."

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

Erlend must have been the unluckiest fool to ever live. Everything actually went well for the Southards - a first.

At first, Lord Garrion had no way to stop the Trielian advance into Southsward. King Garmund of Triel was obviously no Somerled - he had experience and talent. But an army ran on its stomach, and it was the idea of some lowly Otterguard Captain who decided to use scorched earth tactics on the host.

When Erlend returned to the Garmund's host, he was all too aware of the situation he was in. Beasts were complaining left and right, and Erlend had to haul a few attempted deserters back to camp. They could count themselves all too lucky - Garmund would see fit to behead them one by one.

He had embraced King Garmund as an equal, both of them being kings, though Erlend was one by marriage and Garmund born one. What was more important was that they were not merely liege and vassal anymore, but more like a pair of brothers. Of course, Garmund's brothers died as infants and Erlend's life would have been much easier if Becker had bothered to follow suit.

"Keep the king safe! Don't let him come to harm!" The otterking gestured at Duke Altayras, and set off into the camp. Erlend was not like Becker at all - he would fight at the front of his beasts. After all, there was no better way to keep morale high.

Everything was on fire - a Southard ploy to create more chaos. No Trielian could be spared the indignity of having their camp raided and burnt down. How had this even happened?

Erlend began to recall. Was it true that somebeast from the enemy wormed his way into the kitchens to scout? It was not logical, though. That somebeast would have poisoned every beast of rank before absconding, and Erlend was strangely grateful that that did not happen.

It had to be the strange otter in an oversized Trielian uniform then. He avoided questions and just looked at friends. Erlend had assumed that he was an idiot, one who did not know his place in the army, but the truth was simply much, much worse.

Erlend flung himself into a Sword-sworn squirrel, his simple guisarme rending through uniform, sinew and bone with one simple strike, carefully blocking of another attack in the same movement of his weapon. It was no Heavensward, but it was good enough for the otter.

To be fair, Erlend missed his weapon. Forged from starborne steel and tempered in blood, the spear was a wedding gift from King Thordan of Parma. To be fair, the old otter was a better friend than a father-in-law, but Erlend was almost as loyal to him compared to King Garmund.

After all, who didn't like the King of Parma? Thordan was a gentle, noble soul, but capable of great sorrow and greater mirth. A pity he did not have any son to continue his legacy, though two grandsons shall suffice.

Corrado Truetide was to be heir in all too many of the late king's possessions, yet somehow he and Erlend shared a disdain for the prospect of occupying the Parman throne. Being only months older than Sigurd (Seasons rest his soul), Corrado reminded Erlend of him, despite the young otterlords never having met. After all, Lorelei needed somebeast strong enough to defend her claims and rights, and Erlend was not interested as he should be.

Young Thordan was even worse off in this regard. He shared his grandfather's love of learning and skills in healing, and his sister's capacity for kindness and selflessness, and his father's loyalty to his liege, but he had nothing in common with his mother or both of his brothers. Of that Erlend was certain. Lorelei's methods of toughening his child up had unwittingly created an atmosphere of intimidation and terror, and he was more timid and unsure of himself than ever before. His stuttering got worse as well.

When Erlend received information that he was to be Dravain King, he doubted it, and would much rather it be proven to be falsehoods. Only the confirmation of King Garmund, his old friend, did he believe. Thordan, a king? The lad did not have the strength to harm his foes physically, nor the will to harm them. Instead of keeping the realm safe, perhaps Thordan should look after himself a bit more.

Erlend screamed as another Otterguard fell to his spear. He would have to give his brother credit for the tactics that he had used. Organising it all required the makings of a military genius, able to attack, mobilise and defend at will, and not constrained by times and circumstances.

But Becker was not capable of such acts - this had to be the fruit of somebeast else's mind. Garrion? No. Not his nephew who knows all of running a realm and nothing else. Godred could have been a better choice, but he was off in Parma trying to make Parma free of Parmans. To put it in the simplest of terms, he would have no luck.

But who was responsible for this scheme? Perhaps it was no noble at all. Ralos? No. He would not pull any scheme with the slightest possibility of risk. He could reason with Trielian steel, but not against his own fears and worries.

Before long, all three of his enemies fell before him. He had no time to mourn anyone, friend or enemy alike. He had a king to save.

"I will fight to the end with my troops!" It was the king's voice, loud and clear. Though the flames and the fumes meant that nothing can be seen clearly under his helm, Erlend knew where his liege was now.

"My liege, you must retreat from the battlefield now, or risk losing your life!" Erlend had never seen Altayras that nervous before, and he still has not. But the raspy voice was just as unmistakable as their king's.

Erlend leaped over a burning pile of wood and quickly cut down an unsuspecting Southard, his last cry resembling more of a choking sound. Before long, he was with the two. They were fighting side by side to the exit of the camp, Landwaker and Heavensward in their paw. Garmund's axe having been stained with blood and gore, and Erlend's old weapon was in a similar state.

Every eight steps, there was an abandoned weapon of a soldier, dead, deserted or captured. Every five steps, there was some lost appendage lying on the ground, or feeding flames the Southards had started, wittingly or not. And every two there was a corpse. Red-uniformed Otterguards and Swordbeasts in blue were lying on the ground, surrounded by red and yellow clad Trielians, as if they were merely asleep. But the marks they bore - slit throats, arrows piercing bodies, burn marks and more - demonstrated that the circumstances of their 'sleep' was far from tranquil.

It was exactly like the legends the skalds had sung about the world's end. Brothers had fought and killed each other, and axes and swords rend shields apart. The world has been swept in a whirlwind, and mercy shall be known as a thing of the past. Thank you, Becker, for all that you have done for the world. Really. Your children would love it.

"Erlend!" King Garmund waved his paw. It took another few leaps and a few Southards dispatched before the otter joined him.

"You must leave! Now!" This was the first time Erlend raised his voice at his king, and it might very well be the last.

"Bother me no longer," the king groaned. "And save your own fur!"

Erlend knelt. 'I am loyal, but if you do not flee now, I shall obligate you myself!"

The king took a deep breath (which was not easy, considering the flames), and conceded. Altayras turned away from the fleeing mouse, but Erlend was having none of it.

'Go with your king."

"But-"

Erlend silenced him by reaching for Heavensward. The two shared a tense silence, while Garmund took his leave and the Southards closed in slowly. "Pretty little thing, is it not?"The squirrel nodded, earning a smile from the otter. "Use it well. Become one with it." A pat on the shoulder, and the squirrel also departed.

Seems like I have nothing else to do... better do something Becker would have been proud of. After all, he can still talk about it long after I'm gone.

The otter turned towards the encroaching army. "I am Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair, Lord of Kaldos, and father to the Regent of Dravania. None of you rabble shall pass!"

A mocking voice (with Erlend's accent, even) erupted from the leader of the enemy troupe. The red-clad Otterguard clearly had some position of note. "Well, I am Captain Galen Snowpath, and you can go snuff it! The exit is that way, you pompous little-"

The other otter could not finish his sentence, as Erlend rushed toward him. Guisarme at the ready, he struck right as Galen parried his blow, his sword shattering into a thousand little pieces with the impact.

Before Erlend could finish off the downed otter, a hedgehog seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Throwing himself right at the otterlord, he managed to stall for enough time for Galen to draw his dagger and slash.

Of course, that did not work. Erlend's armour was made by the best of the best, and this body was unscathed. A gauntlet to the face quickly rendered the hedgehog unconscious, and the otterking soon stood up to face his challenger, now armed with only a dagger, once more.

A voice rang out from the back. "Abon!" It was another otter, a captain as well, but of Sword, as evidenced by his blue uniform. 'Abon' was not as much of a battle cry as much as worry for his incapacitated friend - the one who had a large bleeding dent within his head.

Erlend barely had time to kick Galen away before he had to avoid an axe coming at him. The Sword captain was no inferior to Galen, but he seemed to have the advantage of surprise with him. Not to mention the fact that this newcomer was obviously fresh, while Erlend was tired from all the killing.

Not just the ones that had perished in this. All their kin dead, Bedric and Sigurd Swalestrom included, and some of the beasts Erlend had led to war before. They would never see their families again, yet Erlend would simply be ransomed to fight again. This would not stand.

"By Great Seasons, a Dravanian spearbeast shall never run from battle!" He lifted his polearm and swung, intending to pierce his attacker's heart. But this one simply sidestepped his attack, and slammed the edge of his axe into Erlend's side.

Erlend held a scream in his throat. This wound could be fatal, even with treatment. After all, his armour was too light for a proper knight. The Dravanian otter had forsaken sturdiness for mobility, and now he paid the price.

Then Galen plunged a dagger into his knee.

Erlend screamed. The pain was too much for the otter, and all his warrior training seemed to fail him. Flailing around with his spear did no good in crushing his foes, and soon he fell into the ever present grasp of unconsciousness.

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

The world of dreams is a wondrous place. After all, anything could happen in a dream - including meeting mighty badger lords of the past.

"Who are you, mole, and for what do you intrude upon our slumber?"

Arbert spent a day and a night training for all this, so he quickly found the correct answer. "I am Arbert of Floret, and I seek answers and guidance from your wisdom."

The first lord stepped up his voice. "Do you know who we are?"

"You are the Badger Lords of Salamandastron, Protectors of the Shores."

The ghostly badger nodded. "So I see you know us more than you know your own fate."

The mole nodded. "This is indeed the case."

"Though we would have welcomed your learned brother more, we will impart our words on you, and you shall leave a wiser beast."

An older badger drifted to the mole. Clothed in green from top to bottom, he wielded a massive broadsword that was even larger than Verminfate the Augmenter. "I am Lord Brocktree, friend of hares and bane of hordes. Hear my advice, Arbert. You will head to a place of cold and death, woodlander and vermin both at your side."

The first badger soon faded, only to be replaced by another badger, this time in yellow, with a bird by his side - a kestrel. "I am Sunflash, called the Mace by friend and foe alike. "You will go to the Castle, for the betterment of friend and brother. If this is not the case, the Recorder shall perish, alone and by paws wrought from thunder and darkness."

Arbert suppressed his questions. He was not supposed to interact with those figures, lest they reject him. A third badger appeared, this time holding a ghostly imitation of Verminfate that could just as easily pass as the real thing.

"I am Lord Rawnblade Widestripe, bearer of the sword and defender of the bell." Arbert knew this one - Joseph the Bellmaker knew him before his journey to Southsward, and wrote fondly of him in his memoirs. "Beware of those who have returned - those who have perished by your actions, but whose wills lingered, poisoning beasts, nations and worlds with words and deeds."

A fourth and fifth leapt out, one being clad in armour the colour of gold, the other being white of fur all over that no trace of black can be found. The voices said in unison. "We are Urthstripe the Strong and Urthwyte the Mighty, twin guardians of the Western Shoreline."

The gold one spoke first. "Go to the place where past and future meet, and quickly so! Go to the first Abbey! Go to Loamhedge!"

"If you do not go, you will have sidestepped your fate," the white badger spoke in a mournful tone. "You will surely perish at the paws of those who do not want to see your fate fulfilled by flame and sword alike."

The two spoke in unison. "Meet the enemy there, but fight the fox not. Speak!"

More badgers rose from the ground, earning a surprised gasp from Arbert. A lord in blue clothes, carrying an axe showed his face. "Blood shall feed blood." Then all faded into white.

Two otters, taller than all those Arbert had seen before, swung their swords in perfect synergy, but the vermin the blades were seeking avoided one and parried another with his black dagger.

A badgerlady in red, with both eyes having been blank, but blood and fury seemed to leak out with every second passed. 'Blood shall call blood."

Lightning rained on the army clad in blue, and while the grey vixen directed flows of aether, as vermin and woodlanders were five, but one.

A badger in robes of a denizen of Redwall Abbey, with a knowing look and a kind smile, which faded when he saw the mole. "Blood was, and blood is."

The Trielian king stood and the fox knelt, in dread and panic, as the Juska were to have their hopes, both genuine and falsified, dashed to pieces by each other.

A scarred badger with a large bow held in one paw, a quiver hung behind him, and he had his lust for vengeance sated long ago. "Blood shall ever be."

The King of the Peasants guided his staff carefully, blocking a sword strike and hitting his assailant's chest, while clipping his brother's ankle.

A badgerlord whose eyes were tired from reading, who had the glare of one who had made a great discovery. "Death shall sow and winter burn."

The dancing shadows forsake their mortal coils and become one in body as well as in mind. "I am become you," the first shall say; and the second shall answer, "and we are become one!" Light and darkness radiated from them both.

Yet another boar glad in yellow, but with a mark of flame atop his head, and who had some capacity for controlling himself at the best and worst of times. "The Lord of Chaos shall come with spring."

Within the circle of darkness stood the Seeker of the Stars, seeking to drag a warrior's light into the abyss with himself, ignoring his own tears as he sunk into what he thought was his short but sure demise.

A badgermaid, younger than all that have walked before her emerged at last, with a book in her paw and a motherly gaze. "Great Seasons save us all from him."

The rat darted through the streets of Floret with his weapon in both paws, seeking the beast who was responsible for his death, his eyes burning with blood and rage all the way.

With a lurch, Arbert leapt awake, blankets falling off his makeshift bed and Verminfate clattering down onto the ground. Remembering where he is, Arbert sighed in relief, as he picked up the sword and embraced Conjuration. Within the span of a second, a Pathway reared its head with the middle of chamber.

Dagbert would have to know all about what the badgers said, but he would be too busy in the meantime, having to deal with politics and all that. I should remain here until his job is done.

The Pathway was closed with a motion of the paw, but it shall surely open in the near future.

[MathLuk]

Ever Upwards

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

For the first time in five seasons, there was no one Thordan could trust near him. Alfyn had gone to take up the Raevsvakt defences, with Egil in tow. They will do their job to the best of their abilities, but Thordan still worried about them. After all, will the Islanders welcome a Trielian for the second time?

When Thordan was confirmed as Lord of Meraholmer, the Islander vermin were fearful of him - a Trielian lording over them all was a horrible portent for what is to come. Thankfully, Thordan won the hearts of his subjects fairly easily - with thanks to Canute Crestworth's blunder.

But Alfyn and Thordan were different otters. He had bravery and will, but patience and savviness were beyond his reach. Thordan could only wonder if Egil would be able to hold him back, so as to speak.

But then, Egil was thebeast being held back during his friendship with Thordan. It was not over yet, though it had indeed hit a bump. Skuli Arnsson was a wily weasel, and he guessed that he would have wanted Egil to befriend him for some nefarious reason that only the merchant had any idea about.

Of course, Thordan found himself trusting Egil in the course of these five seasons. The weasel was one of the few beasts that were able to raise his spirits, and he was one of the few who can stop him from excessive foolishness in turn. After all, they had much in common, having one parent who was completely dominant with their life, and the other a distant figure.

Perhaps this was why they had bonded. After all, previous nobles had done so, though all of them had resulted in tragedy. Some kings even took vermin as lovers, much to the amusement of Lord Canute during Thordan's stay in the Raevsvakt bell tower. In the end, Thordan failed to convince the gloating oldfur that they were merely friends (and not sworn brothers or something) - though all that overheard him were either dead or regent of Dravania. Needless to say, Thordan favoured the former fate.

The gap that his friends' departure was filled by his sister. Sigrun had been attentive to his needs and wishes, though Thordan could not really decide on whether she can be trusted. After all, she had been the one to put the crown on his head, even though it may seem that his little fate worse than death had been delayed for a little bit.

Kinship did not help with the trust part. After all, his uncle's branch of House Swalestrom had indeed sided with their liege, while Erlend remained true to King Garmund. King Garmund. Who could say that he or she would know what was behind that stony face of his? He had been more expressive before his first wife's death, leaving behind two young sons and two daughters. Thordan liked them well enough, but their father would not be the same again. Queen Bertrada would have given birth to a child by now - enough months had passed for the pup to grow. This would not help Garmund though, as he was 'made of stone', or so Becker Swalestrom would say all too often.

Becker. He was coming to get Thordan now, he was certain. The kindly figure the young Regent had come to like was coming to wrench away all he was trying so hard to protect. His skills as a warrior were certainly fearsome, and Thordan will have a hard time fending him off. After all, every other Swalestrom was either a warrior or a maid - with Thordan being the odd one out, as was in any other circumstance.

The Southard otterlord will think that Dravania would be taken easily, and his train of thought has some truth in it. After all, the might of the Otterguard was not to be denied. The sacrosanct order of otters were born and bred to fight, and Thordan has blundered his way into being their next target. Thordan could only count on his fortifications to hold, and that another army could worm their way in.

Lorcan was still tied up in Doma - Sverker Crestworth was no warrior as well, but under his command were fierce Domans - Dravanians across the Sound, to the South of Meraholmer. It was hard to imagine that they were not Thordan's first problem, especially after they tried to seize Meraholmer from him just months ago.

In the meantime, the Garleans had not joined his father to war. After all, they were supposed to keep Godred Swalestrom within Balsamu. Guido Aldabreschi, that old enemy of his grandfather, had called Godred there. It was good for Guido that the Swalestroms were one of the few houses that still had more than one child. A younger son had to make a living somehow, and neither Erlend or Thordan were willing to give Dravania up for the next generation of Floret Swalestroms. Either that, or Godred was picked because he dealt with Hildrinn swiftly and effectively, with the opposing force losing half their beasts and their leader. Thordan ardently hoped that his mother would use Godred's own methods on him and his murine master.

"Everyone just seemed to want their own king nowadays," Thordan moaned, with only his sister listening to him. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone for a while?"

"Because you are a Swalestrom, and this is your duty, Thordan." Sigrun was always a calm beast, but seeing Thordan behave in such an 'bratty' manner unnerved even her. "My duty is to marry whoever you ask me to, for instance." In the latest generations of lutrine nobility, too few females were born, causing a general lack of marriage prospects. This had caused a multitude of problems, but that meant that Sigrun finding a husband would be much, much easier than Thordan finding a wife.

"I thought that was Father's decision." And I expect you to think that as well. Gates. I thought that you can think more with more detail just because you were older!

"It technically is," Sigrun smirked. "But you are the one in charge here. You are not an inferior of Father, being a king as well as he is." Strong Sigurd and genial Bedric may have left this world, and bravely so, but some things just remained the same.

"Exactly so." The two otters turned to see a third figure enter the room the pair were in. The black fox was familiar to Thordan, having met in Raevsvakt twice, and in Vargo all too many times beforepaw, but Sigrun's eyes squinted.

"Who in Great Seasons are you, vermin?"

"Isangrim, close confidante and spymaster of Queen Lorelei, at your service, King Thordan." The fox smiled, while. "How your grandfather must have waited for this day."

"He would be very proud when I actually become king. Now, he would just have to wait and see me attempt to squirm my way out of this mess." Thordan sighed. "I suppose he would have to wait a bit until then."

"Well, nothing is sure in these turbulent times, Thordan." Sigrun forced a smile. "All of us have no idea what is to happen next."

"Anyways, what tidings does Mother bring, Isangrim?" Thordan turned his head coldly towards the fox.

"Your mother congratulates you for your little promotion, of sorts. And she would like to offer some advice about marriage alliances and-"

"Is she here?" The otter fumed.

"No. You see-"

"She should be!" Thordan stopped pacing around the room and stared forward at Isangrim, causing the black fox to twinge. "I basically committed political suicide with all this Dravain business, and she does not even bother showing up!" Taking a deep breath, the otter sighed. "Do you intend to remain long?"

Isangrim nodded his head. "I think so. Queen Lorelei requested that I protect you until the war will be over."

"I understand." Why do I get the feeling that you will be a greater nuisance than protector in these few days?

But before Thordan could utter another caustic remark, Sigrun decided that the time for silence was at an end. "If you were supposed to be an associate of Queen Lorelei, where have you been in these few days?"

Isangrim laughed. "Ha! I've been on other missions, ottermaid, and all of them take precedence over mere politics."

"Please use her proper title, Isangrim." Thordan crossed his paws.

"Yeah, yeah."

"One affirmation shall suffice, fox." Thordan continued his glare.

"Whatever. Just watch over yourself. And your half-sister as well." Isangrim smiled as he sauntered off across a doorway. "Oh, and watch out for moles."

The mention of Dagbert seemed to have struck Thordan's mind. "Do not leave yet, Isangrim. Stay where you are."

The fox abruptly ceased his motion out of his room. "What now?"

"How did my grandfather die?"

"Well-"

"Tell me now, or I shall have you burnt alive in front of the whole court. After all, you can't just sneak into other people's dreams and expect no consequences at all, can you?"

"Wait," Sigrun's mouth started spurting out syllables. "The fox here has invaded your dreams before, and we knew nothing about it?"

The fox shook his head, and spoke. "Yes. I must confess that I had been beside Thordan from the very moment he was conceived, and I had entered the dreams of others before, Thordan included." The black-furred creature turned towards Thordan. "I had only the best of intentions when I invaded your privacy. Please forgive me."

"That will be done, of course, when you tell me about the circumstances of my grandfather's passing. All the details - everything that you know!"

The black fox sighed. "He was killed by a vermin whose identity we have no idea about. You see, both the vermin and Thordan were seers, so he entered the king's dream."

"King Thordan, a seer?" Sigrun failed to stop herself for the second time. "But the stories said that seers were all fake, and the ones that were real were evil beings hellbent on destruction!"

"Well, he was a Astrologian, to be exact." The fox grumbled. "It seems that I have to teach you about your true nature as well."

"My true nature?" The truth hit Thordan like a brick wall, which is not confused with Thordan walking into one. 'Wait. I'm a seer, am I?"

"Well, that was fast. You're already better than Hersent. Yep, you're one."

"So what can seers do? Do magic or something?"

"Perhaps Isangrim has a little deck of cards in his pockets, and could perform random acts of magic with them," Sigrun remarked. "After all, this befits a magician all too well."

"Well, you got me confused with King Thordan, Lady Sigrun." Isangrim put an emphasis on the penultimate word. "He was the one with the cards."

"What did Dagbert mean by Conjuration? Or something like that? I don't actually remember that much." The younger otter scratched his head. "You see, that was all too long ago."

"Well, Conjuration is but one of two aspects of Seercraft. Unlike Thaumaturgy, it is mainly used for healing and stuff. Well, it is woodlander stuff, and they can do no wrong, can they?"

"How did my grandfather use it? How did he train to use it?"

"He learned from the best, and only the best. I learned quite a bit from him too."

"I thought Conjuration, or whatever it was called, was only a woodlander thing. So how did you learn from King Thordan? As I recall, he was a woodlander." Sigrun's interest was piqued quite a bit, it seemed.

"Well, to use Conjuration is harder than to use Thaumaturgy, which is the other, more verminous type of Seercraft." Isangrim smiled. "Well, that's why I learned much faster than Thordan did."

"I still understand nothing." Thordan shook his head.

Isangrium sighed. "I take back the statement that you were better than Hersent. A comparison is needed." Stepping back a bit, the black fox recited what was passed down to him.

"You see, Thaumaturgy is like a grape. You put it in the palm of your paw, and clench it, and ta-da! You get grape juice." Quickly glancing at Thordan, Isangrim sighed with relief as the young otter nodded. "Good. You're not that dumb."

"But with Conjuration, everything is harder. Like getting juice from a spiky fruit from Vysparn. Some anananana thing."

"Like a melon?" Sigrun interjected.

"Yes. But sour. Anyways, it is hard and big, so one does not simply put it in one's paw. You have to get a hammer to break it, then squeeze it's contents out."

"What does that have to do with seercraft?" Thordan clearly had an interest in learning more - or he was simply tired of the fox. Either could be the case.

"Well, you cannot seize it the way you grip Thaumaturgy." Isangrim yawned, having explained this to someone else previously. "There's a block to Conjuration. Like a melon's thick skin. You need to seize it harder than Thaumaturgy. As hard as you do. You need something. An Amplifier or something." He looked straight at Thordan, who was clearly not concentrating at all. "Boy, do you still have those chess pieces that weasel gave you?"

"Yes, but they're inside my room. I have to walk a bit to-"

"Go get them. Now." Seeing Thordan's confused looks, Isangrim let loose a diabolical grin. "You shall see why."

"Understood." Thordan turned to exit the door when a voice rang out from the back.

"I'll go with you." Sigrun stood up, clearly not wanting to be left alone with a vermin. Isangrim may have been a close associate of Thordan's family, but Sigrun was not from the proper branch. Corrado Truetide may have better luck.

When they exited the room, Sigrun turned towards her brother. "I don't really trust the fox."

"Why?"

"He's just playing on your trust to do something he wants." Sigrun moaned. "He's vermin, Thordan, and he is different from your Egil in every way."

'My Egil?" Thordan's eyes widened. "Egil's his own beast! He's just one of my closest friends."

"Not close enough to prevent him from deserting you, apparently." Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Look closely, Thordan-"

Sigrun did not have enough time to eat her words after seeing Thordan's expression change.

"Get out of my sight immediately."

And she did.

Passing through a few rooms was not the hardest task Thordan had ever undertaken, nor was obtaining the pieces Egil gifted (or possibly bribed) him with. When Thordan went out of the room, he was greeted by none other than Haakon Strandsor.

"The Southard diplomats are to arrive later this day, my lord," he said in his dull voice.

"Thank you for the reminder." Thordan ran for Isangrim's room. "And I told you to just call me Thordan, did I not?"

When he returned, he was out of breath, and Isangrim was still waiting in Sigrun's chamber, with no ottermaid inside.

"Ah, I see you have returned." The fox smiled.

'We have to do everything fast," Thordan panted as he scrambled to get the pieces out. "What do you want with them?"

"Get the otterking piece, and hold it." Thordan mechanically obeyed the orders. "Now, concentrate on the piece. Reach out and grasp - not literally!"

Thordan closed his eyes, imagining a little void, surrounding the room and all two beasts in it. Very, very slowly, the void overtook everything. Windows built into the wall, a closet holding every gown a lady should possess, tapestries hung as little artworks for Sigrun's pleasure, the carpets on the floor - all consumed. Even the floor itself seemed to shrivel and turn black, collapsing into nothingness. Isangrim was the last to go, his black fur and caustic voice disappearing.

Then nothing happened. Not exactly nothing, but only the most attentive could spot the signs necessary. A little sensation crept up onto Thordan, causing his fur to stand up on their ends very, very slowly. Thordan did nothing as he surrendered to it.

Everything else was forgotten completely. From his last meeting with his father, to his argument with Egil, Sigrun leaving him, and then to Isangrim's every single order to him. All were cast off into the void surrounding him.

Then came the light. Within a slight second, Thordan could somehow feel the radiance emanating from his body. The void was gone, replaced by a warmness radiating into his very heart. Even his fur returned to normal.

The chess piece being wrenched away from his paws snapped him back to reality. The first thing that he saw was the black fox covering his eyes.

"Blimey, that was bright! I didn't know that you had the will to grip Conjuration so tightly! You did very well, Thordan. A bit too well, perhaps."

"I didn't grip it."

"What?" This was perhaps the only time Thordan had seen the smug fox shocked.

'I embraced it, surrendered to it."

"Oh." That was all that Isangrim could say. "I- I should return to Queen Lorelei immediately. I shall return to you soon after. Just wait in the castle."

The black fox searched his pockets and took out a little wooden box, then he made a gliding motion with his paw. Within an instant, the familiar environment of the Parman hills was right there, with Thordan's mother in it, talking to a grey fox that Thordan had never seen before.

But before Thordan could say anything, the fox was on the other side of the gate, and with no sound at all, the gate to Parma collapsed, leaving a very confused otter in his sister's room.

A familiar figure climbed out from the closet lying in the room, startling Thordan before he realised that she was none other but his sister.

"It is true," the ottermaid gasped. "The old tales are true."

Thordan panicked. "What did you see, Sigrun? Tell me!"

"I saw you holding something, then a burst of white light, then the fox stepping into nothingness. Did you see that as well?"

"Yes," Thordan shook his head. "I don't feel like myself for now - I should probably take a nap before the Southards arrive."

Sigrun did not stop him as he walked out of her room.

[MathLuk]

Tumbling Down

ARLEZIA, VALERAN LEAGUE TERRITORY

No beast could have expected the fox's return, having just popped out from some random Pathway. He was supposed to be out in Kaldos, protecting Thordan Swalestrom from all that would harm him.

Of course, that does not mean that Hersent was not overjoyed. After all, Isangrim was the fox that had raised her since her childhood, and he was just as happy to see her.

"You're back!" the vixen smiled at her mentor, who was inconveniently absent for the past month. But the elder fox silenced her with a swipe of his paw.

"Your Highness, your son had just made a great discovery."

The otterqueen scowled. "Isangrim! Had I told you not to just appear from out of nowhere? I could have been at a meeting with all that political stuff going on. You were in luck that Corrado's with his bard!" She rolled her eyes. "Now what did Thordan do?"

"He found another pathway in which Conjuration is used!"

The room fell into silence. Another pathway? Conjuration?

"Thordan embraced Conjuration instead of seizing it. Instead of controlling it, he surrendered to it, and changed it from within!"

"How?" Hersent failed to suppress her surprise.

"I don't know. It's a woodlander thing!" The black fox turned to Lorelei. "Try it!'

Strapping Shadowbringers onto her paws, the otter grimaced. "You know full well that this may simply not work, don't you? I am not exactly one used to surrendering."

"Just do it," the fox rolled his eyes as Lorelei closed her own. "Banish everything from your heart and mind, and imagine the void just like you usually do." The fox quickly hid his own trepidation in order to assist Lorelei in her experiment. After all, the Bond they had shared can transmit the slightest of emotions.

"Is it just me, or am I doing nothing?"

'You're doing something, all right." Isangrim smiled as gently as he could, but there was still a hint of mischief in his tone. "Forget everything you thought you knew, and surrender!"

Lorelei's face was in a stone-stoic state, with no sign of anything. Hersent knew full well that the otter used Conjuration like she used Thaumaturgy, as if all the power and energy one used has to be gripped tightly in one's paw. But if Conjuration cannot be seized, then what else can be done to wield it?

Before long, the vixen knew. A burst of wind wrought through the room, sending Isangrim and Hersent flying into the wall. Only a lucky recall from Lorelei saved them from impact. But the furniture was not so lucky, being blown off course like ships, and almost everything was clattered next to the wall.

"It worked!" The queen smiled as she lifted up her paws, ignoring the dazed foxes at the other side of the room.

"Could you had just used an Amplifier?" Isangrim sat up, scratching his head. "Shadowbringers is simply overkill."

"What fun would there be if I used something less powerful?" The queen purred like a cat. "Besides, it's just that fun seeing you panic. It doesn't happen often, you know."

"So did it work?" Hersent chirped like a bird scared away by the aforementioned cat. "Did you embrace Conjuration?"

"I think I did, Hersent. Or something like that. You see, I've never tried anything like this. Surrendering to it was unthinkable before today, but it worked." She then rose to her full height. "Please give my thanks to Thordan, Isangrim. He has advanced my plans threefold. Watch over him, or I'll tell him to watch over you instead!"

"Can't I at least take the morning off?" The black fox groaned. "Thordan's off sleeping and stuff. You know that I'm tired when you're tired, and vice versa."

The queen was having none of it. 'You know that I can't deal with politics half-asleep."

"Who said I was sleeping?" The fox smiled as he stepped through the door - and almost ran into Eduard Muirsch. Seeing the surprised look on the bard's face, and the even more incredulous look on his otter companion's, Isangrim pulled a wise retreat.

Corrado Truetide's eyesight returned from the pile of broken furniture. "What just happened?"

The ottermum told a half-truth without batting an eye. "Renovations."

"Renovations? Really?" The otterlord laughed.

"Your mother has a strange way of telling her tales." The rat cooly closed his mouth shut as he left the chamber, unwilling to poke his muzzle into state business. Of all the vermin of the land, Corrado chose the easy-going, indolent bard as his companion. Of course, Eduard seemed more like a model for all vermin than other favourites of nobles. Young Thordan had picked a hyper-active weasel, and the less said about Lorelei's, the better.

"Anyways," the otterlord brought his mother's attention back onto more pressing matters. Our fleet is in full position to strike at Taralis, and the journey there will take six days and five nights, if the wind blows in the right direction.

Hersent rolled her eyes as Lorelei grinned diabolically for not the first time. 'Well, I am all too sure that the wind shall be on our side."

"I would not be so sure, Mother. War is party to many factors."

"Well, the more you have under your control, the better. I shall go and change into more flexible clothing." With that, the otterqueen left her servant and child, and sauntered out into a corridor.

Corrado turned to the grey vixen. "She's getting madder and madder by the second, hmm? Things could be tumbling down around her, and she could still think that she's on top of everything!"

Hersent gave a wan smile in return. "Though sanity has its advantages, sometimes madness is the only thing that works."

SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

"No quarter for the false king!"

The army behind Somerled chanted this time and time again, adding to the king's embarrassment as he fled with his tail between his footpaws.

The battle started well enough for the squirrel, but he overcommitted all too easily. Flanking through a forest was too tempting an opportunity to pass, but he had no way of knowing Lord Lorents and his spearbeasts were lying in wait there.

This earned Somerled nothing but hundreds of casualties, and the collapse of his entire left flank. The centre and the right could not hold for too long, but Somerled was among the first to escape, with only four knives and a statue on his belt and nothing else to arm himself with.

Hiding in a nearby village would be impossible - he had burnt almost everything down in his army's methodical approach into Dravania, hoping to make his way towards Thordan's host in Kaldos. But Becker could not have that, could he? No, he just had to cut him off!

And Amalrik was gone - disappeared to who knows where! He said he was to accompany the stoat to pay a visit to a very specific noble - one whose name was not disclosed. Thordan Swalestrom, perhaps? Or his uncle, if Somerled did not pay him enough for his services.

But then, the otter healer did give him the Amplifier, which was rumoured to work wonders upon the world, starting from simple healing. Somerled was no healer, but he knew that these things held power over all life (though not death, to the squirrel's detriment).

The healer spoke all too vaguely about how it is used, but the little statue was one of five things that could help him get out of his mess. The sky was darkening over Dravania, but those blasted soldiers were intelligent to bring torches with them.

Somerled slowly slunk back from his hiding place in the copse. Exactly right into an Otterguard.

The poor beast could only offer a choked scream as a knifetip entered his groin, which failed to alert the nearby searchers. But the damage had been done. The Southards will soon realise that one of them was nothing more but a corpse now, and so he had to run. Fast.

Clutching the statue in his paw, Somerled concentrated, pouring his desperation, his hatred, his downright loathing against all who stood in his way - and successfully summoned a wind.

Well, it was more like a breeze than a full-on storm, but it was enough to turn a few tracker's heads. The squirrel quickly ran into the woodlands.

Of course, he took the opportunity to get hopelessly lost. He had never been here, and the sun was sliding westward down the horizon. I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will survive. I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will live. I am a squirrel -

The thought hit him like an iron gauntlet. He was a squirrel! A squirrel! Finding an oak tree with leaves aplenty, the noble started his slow ascent.

Somerled had climbed trees in his youth, and in his adulthood he did so once, but that was fifteen seasons ago. But he knew how his paws, both front and hind, would work to propel him vertically, and it took less than two minutes before he was halfway there.

He would not make it though, as he was quickly wrenched from the mighty oak by some force he could not see. Tumbling down from the tree, all he could see is a black mole clad head to toe in white - in dress too fancy for his station. No commoner could become an emissary to kings, after all.

He landed on the ground with a mighty crack. Something was broken - his hip, perhaps, or maybe his thigh? It did not matter. He was doomed either way.

The short beast quickly descended upon the fallen squirrel, and quickly pocketed the statue. Then, with the swiftest of motions, he jammed a dagger of Somerled's into the squirrel's throat.

Screams failed the king as he found himself unable to keep his eyes open. He was forced to close them, and he knew that they will never open again.

I have failed you, King Garmund. This was not a fight you should have started.

Word shall leak out that Somerled, Duke of Deilart and called King of Southsward, accidentally stabbed himself while climbing a tree, while being pursued by enemy forces. Future generations shall remember it that way.

After all, history was written by winners of wars figuratively, and by Archivists in their books literally. Perhaps inconveniently for Somerled, his killer saw himself to be both.

THE SOUND

"Back to Ravesvakt, is it?" Alfyn made his move, playing his first pawn up, right into where Egil could capture it, which the weasel swiftly does.

"I guess so." To Alfyn, Egil was starting to prove himself a friend, though not on Thordan's level. After all, there was more to friendship than having the same benefits. "Beautiful town, is it?"

The weasel rolled his eyes as Alfyn traded his Runner for a Leaper. "City."

The otter shook his head. "Distinction without a difference."

A few more moves passed until Alfyn flung his Queen on the other side of the board, capturing a Pawn on the way. This set of chess Alfyn's, and it was bought from a trader residing in Kaldos. He was not new to the game, but Lord Stalwart needed a lot more practice. After all, even Thordan could defeat him not once, but thrice, each in different ways.

Alfyn rubbed his chin. "Nice move."

But Egil's mind was not on the chess game. 'How do you manage seasickness? I mean, otters can definitely stand a bit of water, but just how do you do it?"

"Hm, me? I just look into the horizon and hope that my sickness is gone. You should ask Thordan about it. He mastered seasickness by himself."

Egil looked to the horizon, taking the tall otter's advice. "Well, being a healer does have its advantages. His grandfather taught him well about who bodies work, though he had only studied woodlanders in detail. He can do first aid on me as well, if I keep myself still, of course."

"Is that even possible?" Alfyn smiled. To be fair, he could see why Thordan would have liked him. After all, the younger otter was a dour beast, and he needed someone, anyone, to lively him up. With Egil gone with Alfyn, how would Thordan even manage? SIgrun can help, of course, but nothing much could be done to help him until Egil, or somebeast like him arrived in Kaldos, and was not too obnoxious for Thordan.

"Yes, keeping myself still is all too possible, thank you very much." Egil grinned. That grin coming from a vermin usually meant that he wanted something.

"Can I ask a favour of you, Egil" Alfyn's smile faded into a scowl.

"What?" Egil's look became one of shock.

'Can you please stop moving my pieces when I'm looking out to sea? I'm tired of you cheating." The vermin's head hung lower at Alfyn's discovery. 'Do you use this scheme on Thordan?"

'No." Egil sighed. "He simply chooses to lose the normal way." A grin suddenly appeared on the weasel's brown-furred muzzle.

"Besides, you are that big of a fool!" Egil spun out of the cabin, laughing madly all the way.

Alfyn sighed. Vermin... "Hey, Egil! This time we're playing for real! No tricks and whatnot!"

"In a minute!" was the reply.

Thordan, you must be the luckiest fool to over live.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Walking out of the Pathway was easy enough for Isangrim.

After his little rest in Arleza, the black fox soon snuck back into the Aetherochemical Research Facility, carrying the news of the new method of Conjuration wielding.

Emetselk thought that this was why Arbert was able to momentarily overpower King Thordan in the Rift the last time they met. A likely suggestion, which would mean that the younger Thordan was not the first woodlander to discover Conjuration's alternate pathway.

But then, Isangrim never thought that a teenager would be the one to negate the Southards' advantage. That was still welcome, however, and all was well.

To be honest, a counter-push on Arbert would soon be a reality. After all, the moles are up to no good, yet they seemed to have done nothing lately. The word 'seemed' spoke volumes, as the two were always ready.

Then there was then the question of Thordan's killer. A vermin, he was, unless he had come from another Shard. Lorelei just could not wait for her to get his paws on him or her, yet patience is needed for every plan. After all, Emetselk needed time for his grand entrance into the Source.

"I see that you have returned, Isangrim." A familiar voice spread through the air. It was Thordan Swalestrom, who definitely expected him. He was sent to watch over the otter, after all.

"It did not take me long for me to leave your mother's company, smothering as it may be."

"The envoy is waiting, and we have - I mean you have delayed for long enough."

"Well, tell that to your mother." Isangrim rolled his eyes. Politics. How disinteresting. Thordan will walk out unharmed anyways.

It will be that simple - Joar Rueford, or whoever he was, will offer terms that Thordan will not accept, and he will storm out of the hall. Then Becker will come here and attempt to take the city, only to fail. Thordan does have a Thaumaturge on his side, and unless one of the moles was with Becker, Kaldos will stand.

"They told us to bring only one guard, and only two of them will enter the negotiation chamber. You will serve as mine for the time being. Nobody expects the random fox lying around here to be some seer."

"Thordan, with all due respect, I don't think their beasts would think that I am particularly mundane. You could have brought a woodlander guard, or even Egil perhaps, but some random black fox whispering into your ear? That would give something away."

"Aren't you supposed to have a disguise or something?" Thordan turned to the fox. "You are supposed to be a spymaster."

"Well, Lorelei does them for me. Veiling is a woodlander thing. Conjuration."

"So that would mean that I could do that for you!"

"Wait!"

Before the fox could react further, he felt the effects of Conjuration work on him. Thordan, ever eager to learn and try new things, was closing his eyes and clutched the chess piece just above his heart. Before long, Isangrim felt a warm wave silently rush up and drench him.

The vermin was no stranger to such waves - both the elder Thordan and his daughter had used it on him. But this, this was different. This healing wave was merely supposed to take away any malignant effects the fox might have on him - wounds or illnesses. However, Thordan seemed to have taken away his tiredness as well.

That must explain why Thordan sent his grandson to learn healing. He must have a Gift!

"Thordan, you're healing me instead of disgusing me."

"Oh." Within a blink of an eye, the sensations vanished. Lorelei would be very proud of you.

With a crash, a door opened, and random otter blundered into the seers.

"I'm Bodvar, the emissary's bodyguard. One of them, anyways. Sorry, Lord Whatever... What's it again?" The newcomer faltered, clearly expecting a response.

Thordan nodded like a true noble would, despite Bodvar's lack of manners. "Swalestrom."

"Phaw! You're the beast that calls himself King of Dravania nowadays, aren't you? I expected somebeast taller. Well, I'm actually sorry t' disturb you and your vermin friend, but where is the nearest garderobe?"

"Go down the hallway and take the third left."

"Thank you!" With a wave associated with close friends and not mighty kings, he sped down the corridor like a hare does when he sees a feast in front of him.

"Weird little beast, isn't he? I expected you to lose your temper at any moment, being almost king and all that."

"A king is polite and is groomed well," Thordan recited by heart. "And my title is almost one."

Another beast ran into the room, this time in a more civilised manner. A herald.

"The envoy is ready, Your Lordship."

The two stood up, and walked up to the negotiation table. It took a total of two minutes, but they were there at last.

Sitting in front of them were a hedgehog clad in white - the speaker - and nobody else. Well, the bodyguard was absent, inside a restroom.

The doors were closed as all three took their seats. Chests of treasure surrounded them, carried by another otter and a mouse.

Thordan spoke first. "Who are you? You do not suppose that I can be bought, diplomat?"

"I see that you have changed a lot since the last time we met, Lord Regent Thordan Swalestrom. You have wizened up, so as to speak."

"I do not think that we have met. I do not even know your name!" The otter cried out as Isangrim reached for the box Lorelei gave him under the table. This hedgehog cannot be trusted.

"Well I am sure Emmeroloth remembers, does he?" The Veil broke as the hedgehog disappeared, revealing the familiar snout of a mole.

"You!" Isangrim was merely able to pronounce one syllable before something curled across its muzzle, tying it shut. A glance to the left indicated that the same had been done to Thordan, and soon the two were floating up in the air, totally helpless. Isangrim fumbled for the Augmenter in his paw, only for it be wrenched away by invisible paws.

Dagbert immediately opened the box, only to find a smaller tin box that cannot be opened. tThat was his reward already, though he knew it not. "It is truly a pity that it has come to this, Thordan. I wanted to ask you to come to us willingly, but the whole Dravain business seemed to have stopped that from ever happening.

Within seconds, yet another coil of wind-rope surrounded Isangrim's neck, tightening before the gagged fox could form any coherent thought, crushing his throat. If his jaws were free, he would have howled for someone, anyone. Lorelei! Emetselk! Matoya!

Before his sight failed him and his sunk below, he saw Thordan's hopeless struggling come to an abrupt halt, the mouse down below gesturing at them, and Dagbert watching impassively, finally achieving the victory he had long hoped for.

[MathLuk]

The Tug of Fate

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

When the doors opened, Sigrun was surprised.

Of course, the entire negotiation business was supposed to take a bit longer than two minutes, but here the hedgehog was, dragging out his boxes of silver, gold and gems. His three guards were just alongside him, helping to heave the heavy chests out of the room.

"I thought that we were getting what's in the boxes," Sigrun nonchalantly breathed out the words. After all, were they not gifts?

"I understand what's in them is all too important to you and Dravania," the hedgehog quickly said, stopping his guards from speaking before him. "But then, he seemed to have some issues with the terms I offered. Although we are not accustomed for lords to walk away from us rudely, we will return if he comes back from his private chambers. For now, though, we shall leave the castle." The hedgehog bowed as he left Sigrun.

Thordan didn't manage to do anything, did he? He manages to flee into his bed every single time he receives a challenge. If he only knew that there were some that cannot be evaded.

Thordan's room was quite tidy, even for a noble. A double-poster bed with red and white coverings, a desk with a place for little candles, lit when reading books and writing letters at night, and a bookcase full of books, with not a single gap between them.

This seems strange. Even his journal's still here. When Thordan goes anywhere, there is bound to be at least one book beside him. If he did not take one, that would mean that he had left abruptly, without having time to grab one. That, in turn, would mean...

The sudden revelation hit Sigrun like a sack of books - almost literally. She sprung and ran into the hallways of the castle, and out of them again. She did not stop until she reached the walls.

She shouted at Lord Strandsor, for the first time in what must have been months. "Lord Strandsor!" she huffed.

"What happened?" The lord was busy trying to create a set of defenses impenetrable, and that dissatisfaction bled into his emotions as well. "It had better be importa-"

"They have taken him." Sigrun felt the tears fall down from her normally collected face. "The Southards have taken my brother!"

LORSA, LORDSHIP OF LORSA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA

"I see that you have found your candidate, Lord Valdemar." Bernhard of Lorsa descended from the stairs, staring at the otterlord all the way.

"Seeing that you had voted for him all those months ago, I suppose you need no further reason to do the same thing once again, I suppose." Lord Valdemar's paws scrubbed against each other, like they were cleaning themselves.

"Where is the otter himself?" Bernhard smiled, taking a seat while gesturing for Valdemar to do the same, which he did. "I very much wanted to meet him, but he seemed to be busy."

"My uncle is busy dealing with Worrad right now, while my son takes care of trouble back home, with the Trielians and all that."

"Worrad, hmm?" Unlike Vargo and Doma, or Gridain and Lorsa, it was a rare occurrence that two vassals of the same species could get along. But Lorsa and Worrad seemed more friendly than every duchy. After all, it was customary for members of one house to vote for the other in royal elections, until this one anyway, in which they had voted for different scions of House Crestworth, with Lord Mestwin voting for Valdemar.

"Yes." Valdemar was not a creature of many words, and this mouselord was not going to change that this easily.

"Of course I am willing to vote for Niels again. Why would I not?"

So it is that easy, winning him over? No. There always had to be a catch.

"But since I was so forthcoming..." Of course. "Would it make sense for King Niels to accept a little request of mine?"

"That depends on its nature."

"What would King Niels say if I asked him not to ally with Southsward during the war and after? You see, my sister and former heir Queen Bertrada is married to King Garmund of Triel, who is struggling in his war."

Ah, that. That made sense. Bernhard was all too close to his sister and vice versa. Bertrada even named her firstborn, delivered just two months ago, named after her only sibling. Some Otharn houses bypass female relatives for their male descendents, and now Bernhard Tiecelin was heir to Lorsa.

"That, I think, could certainly be arranged. Your contribution to our cause could certainly be welcome, and His Majesty himself has no intention of interceding in the war, unless it is to make a lasting peace. You would be welcome at his court and by his side, fellow lover of peace." Niels' will is not mine, though, and I will do as my heart calls me to.

To be fair, it was the Trielians' fault that they had invaded Doma. They had it coming. Thordan Swalestrom retreated after less than a day of attempts, to the amusement of Valdemar and the relief of Niels. Lorcan Stalwart may have been a wily leader, but his chief area of expertise was at naval warfare - he was untested on terra firma.

Valdemar continued, "I am glad we have a king who can bring the war across the straits to an end." Valdemar said truthfully. He may not be the most warlike of personages, but he has a mind for diplomacy, and more noticeably, healing. You would very much not regret calling him your king before any attempt at election."

"I am certainly glad for your newfound ability at the making of decisions, Lord Valdemar," Lord Bernhard nodded. "And you have my word that Niels would see his rudder on the Otharn throne in a month, and the Parman one in a season."

"That is good to hear." Valdemar answered curtly, yet tersely.

"Then I shall follow you to Kurburg within days, after I pack up. Aldabreschi may have broken us up once, but you know that this shall not happen again!"

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

"I think that remaining here is not my best option, Lord Sverker, so excuse me as I make a hasty retreat from Doma."

Lorcan Stalwart's rare display of eloquence shook everyone, including the otter himself. He was calm and collected, yes, but terseness was a family trait.

The siege had gone well at first, but Sverker let slip that he had a season's worth of food stockpiled within Doma. Assault was virtually impossible, and Lorcan was not his impulsive, impetuous brother.

Yet Alfyn was the decisive one. Lorcan wrestled with himself about leaving, and after sixty agonising hours, he decided to keep his beasts safe, and head to Kaldos where Thordan is. A king needs his friend.

"Just like that?" Lord Sverker had his doubts. Like Lorcan, he was a cautious beast, unable to come to sort of decision without thinking twice, yet he seemed to be more sluggish.

"Yes. We can't have your brother claiming all the glory, having to save your tail from the 'evil clutches of the rampaging Trielians', or something."

Once Harald Crestworth was mentioned, Sverker seemed more agreeable all of a sudden. "Well, off you go, then. You have a lord's word that I shall not pursue your forces." Sverker sighed, but his eyes betrayed a glare that seemed almost cunning. Almost. "It is dark now, and it may be one of your traps."

"Thank you for accepting my request for parley, Lord Sverker. I hope to work together in future seasons, and perhaps allow friendship to be born." With that final polite sentence, Lorcan Stalwart excited the room, the castle, the town, the beaches, and the shores of Parma.

ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

Somerled's death shook everybeast in the castle, though none could say for sure that they had not expected it.

Both Lord Domnall and his niece Morag were not on good terms with their late kin, and the same could be said for anybeast else. The only nobles of note to actually develop a facade of friendliness were the late King Thordan, the also deceased Duke Kestutas, and Lord Skipper Lorcan Stalwart, who as of this moment was alive.

Vega really could not point her finger at anything that she could blame. Altayras' new father in law was not a good creature, and certainly not an able one. He would have a hard time dealing with the after-effects of the war if he even got his bottom on the throne of Southsward. After all, having nobeast like you was bad enough, but having nobeast fear you or respect you was the deciding factor. After all, this was a squirrel who had lost every single pitched battle he found himself in.

Lord Domnall could only ascend the ducal throne if there was no posthumous legitimate son of his, which he did not due to being a widower, and if King Garmund recognised his ascension. The latter part was easy. Garmund had been wanting weak dukes since the beginning of his reign, and so far he had two child dukes on their thrones. One of them was his son Bohemond, and the other being Corrado of Jayso. If the mouse king got three dukes wrapped in his claws, the other three would have to band together.

That would not be possible - Garmund has always pushed for Thordan Swalestrom to succeed his mother instead of her elder son, nominally to prevent Thavnair and Obring from joining together. What he actually wanted was another weak duke, though the Dravania business seemed to impede the whole thing.

"I would say we should be leaving soon." A voice behind Vega spoke softly and politely, every word almost a whisper, and every breath almost silence.

The squirrelmaid turned to see another of her kind, shorter and sicklier than even her. Duke Domnall's pelt was as brown as loam, compared to his brother's flame-red fur that he had inherited from his Southard mother. Being born with seizures, a lisp and a lame right footpaw, he managed to keep a quick wit within his infirm body.

"What for?"

The elder squirrel sighed. "The Southards have broke through King Garmund's defenses. They are headed here all too directly."

"Here?" Vega gasped.

"Yes. I have issued orders that they city is to surrender immediately. The bloodshed is too much for the city to bear. We will be in Castle Deilart in the meantime."

"Why are we surrendering? We can still put up quite big of a fight, and delay-"

"Because King Garmund ordered me to." The Duke took a deep breath, no doubt exasperated at Vega being ignorant of what was not told to her. "You see, girl, it is custom in both Triel and Southsward that a surrendered city's properties should be left untouched."

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I still understand little."

"If Lord Garrion takes Orience, he would have to garrison it adequately. This would deplete his beasts and supplies quicker than imagined."

"Leading to them being unable to take more cities!"

The Duke smiled. "Exactly. By then, King Garmund would have blocked their retreat and starved them into submission. But there is one problem."

"And what is that?"

"They count King Erlend as one of their prisoners. They can easily trade him for anything they want, him being a noble of high status."

Vega remembered the otter - she was the only one able to calm him down after he found out that his son perished in battle. He said that she was like Thordan his son - which was not entirely a compliment.

"That is bad." Vega stated the obvious.

"We can only hope that everything changes for the better now."

"I'm sure everything would!" Both squirrels turned their heads to see another one poking out from a doorway.

"Morag! How many times did Father tell you not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others?"

"How many times did you tell me, Uncle? And how many times did I listen to either of you? You tell me, Vega."

"None and none, as I recall." Vega smiled.

"I get your point, but can you knock next time? Having you enter every single room secretly while I am concentrating can be quite... disconcerting, you see."

"Well, where's the fun in life without a little surprise?" Morag asked, earning a chuckle in reply from Vega. The two had always been friends despite their opposite personalities, and Vega was among the first to celebrate her brother's betrothal.

"I may not know the answer to your question, but I do know about surprise, Morag. You have my word that I would not be as pleasant was you see it to be."

VALERAN STRAIT

"How could they have arrived so early?" Godred fumed, kicking over a bucket full of seawater. "The wind favoured us more than them, and they appear just as we set sail!"

"These questions should be directed to Great Seasons, and not to me." Of all the beasts Godred had met, Guido Aldabreschi has got to be the most annoying of them. Only a beast of such caliber can displace Thordan from that title. "They have but a stroke of good luck, and nothing else in its entirety."

"What could even be worse?" Godred screamed as Lord Guido grimaced at the noise. Their navy had just left the harbour, and the Garlean fleet just appears out of nowhere! Godred should have just stayed in Taralis, or better, Floret.

"Being dead would be a great example, Your Highness." Your Highness. Godred hated the upstart mouse with a passion. Godred Swalestrom may call himself king and behave like a king, but unless the mouse stopped whispering in his ear and stopped giving orders in his name, he was merely a king in name, little better than a pretender.

Guido continued. "Retreat is still an option, Your Highness, and I doubt we can-"

'Give the order to advance." This mouse will not disobey him.

"But-"

'You made me king, and you cannot unmake me." Godred spoke, as calm as he could be, at his cowardly vassal. "A subject's first duty is to obey."

"A second duty is to protect. And I will not let you in harm's way!"

"I can handle myself without you nagging in my ear." Before waiting for a response, Godred retreated into the relative safety of his cabin to don his armour.

A set of armour is a noblebeast's greatest companion. The ability to block arrows and glancing blows was essential, and Godred, as a king, had to have it made well. A doublet was cast on top of his torso, followed by cuisses, pollens and greaves for the footpaws. Three pieces of armour act as one for the most protection.

The haubergeon followed, and the breastplate in turn. Canons on forepaws waited their turn, and soon everything was ready.

But not for direct impact.

The very moment Godred opened the door, a ship crashed headlong into their own. Godred thought that all the ships carried the banner of Jayso, but this one was Vargan.

This belonged to Queen Lorelei.

For a while Godred thought her manageable. Leaping onto the ship's stern, he attempted to strike at the impassive queen, dealing a deathblow to all opposition to his rule within a single second, a single swipe of a broadsword.

Then she swept her paw to the left, and somehow, somehow, he moved with it.

He fell into the churning waters below. Struggling under the weight of his armour, he surrendered to the will of the tides.

RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

"Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made." The last of those who considered themselves nobles, finally finished his oath of fealty.

"What is asked is given, and the price is paid." Lord Alfyn Stalwart was weary after an entire day of receiving homages, which was preceded by four days at sea. He managed to suppress a yawn and gave the squirrel permission to take his leave.

Finally! Egil stepped out from behind the curtains, being hidden the whole time. "See? I knew you would do fine!"

"Your confidence has surely been appreciated." Alfyn gave a crooked smile. It was Egil's idea that Alfyn immediately convince them to respect his authority - time was important, and more so in a time of war. "Though it is indeed a tiring job."

Unlike Thordan, who had Sir Lennart the Steward by his side (who betrayed him, and died regretting it), Alfyn had nobeast except for Egil to advise him - and it was known even to the weasel himself that his advice was not too reliable. "Thordan would be proud of you, working tirelessly to keep your fief safe."

Alfyn gripped Egil's paw. "Did I do anything wrong for now?" Seeing the weasel shake his head, the grip was loosened. "Gates, I sound very much like Thordan now."

"Well, the folk here like Thordan." Woodlanders saw him as yet another lord they were to obey, yet vermin were all too fanatical about a lord who promised to make them equal to woodlanders - and who just happened to edge closer and closer to the Dravain throne.

Alfyn promised Egil that he would continue his predecessor's policies, and in turn received a promise that Egil would meddle in anything political in nature. With both sides developing a sudden friendship, the likelihood that the agreement was to be kept has risen.

"I understand that I will never be Thordan - I know that much." Alfyn seemed almost pathetic now, with his tiredness overshadowing his looks. But there was also something else. "Yet I don't want to try to surpass him - the Islanders have standards too high. I am no king, and I have no intention of being one. But how will Thordan manage? If I can't bear a mere lordship, how will Thordan fare with a crown atop his head? He's not as strong as his mother wants him to be, and he seems to be weaker than even his father!"

But before Egil could offer up a response in return, a messenger blundered into the room. A brown squirrel, he was, and he could only give up a letter with the Dravain sigil, a wolf, on top of the seal. Before long, he was back to tending his birds

"It seems Thordan decided to send us something." Breaking the wax, Alfyn scanned the lines of the letter. But the more he read, the more likely the letter was sent by something else. Egil could see it on his face. Dropping the letter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart wailed in terror, fleeing from the room like a child.

Egil picked up the letter, and he would do the same after reading Lady Sigrun's plea for help.

[MathLuk]

Nemesis

SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON

"So this is what you call Conjuration." Lord Rathor sat impassively as his eyes fell on Arbert.

"You are correct, Your Lordship." Arbert tucked back Finnbarr into its sheath. The sword was one of two he had taken from the Chamber of Stars back in Floret, the other being in the possession of his brother. Or it could be still in Floret. Arbert did not know.

A gust of wind followed by a fountain of water were all that was needed to convince Arbert's Seercraft that it was real, not some trick taught to him by some vermin band.

"And why do you need Verminfate from me again?" The badger was kind and gentle, but that did not mean that he was to believe all that Arbert said.

"There are beasts that are trying to destroy worlds. So far, they have succeeded in one count. Hundred of millions of beasts lost their lives due to a cruel beast's will. The entire world has been frozen in ice, with its inhabitants willing to ingest the most lethal poison than to live in a world forsaken by all that could help them. My brother and I were unlucky enough to witness the few survivors trying desperately to end themselves - and succeed."

"Would this fate befall us as well?" This managed to grab the badgerlord's attention.

"This is unknown to me," Arbert told the truth. "But I suspect that their next target is to invade another world. One containing another myriad beasts."

"Can you tell me what they look like? I can notify you when I see them."

"One is an old otter with a regal bearing and dark grey fur, but that had been taken care of. We know of one other - a black fox with a smug smile and a staff."

"So he is what you call a Thaumaturge?"

"Correct. I can even say that he is the most dangerous beast living at this moment."

"That is serious. You are to stop him, are you?"

"Without a doubt. He will fall to my paws, I am sure."

"Then can I tell you of a dream I had last night?"

Arbert's ears rose. "Please do so, Lord Rathor."

"I saw you, in desperation, with the black fox in the same room as you are, and a third figure. He and you seemed to be staring at each other."

"Are you sure it was me?" Arbert pressed.

"He looked very much like you. You were in a white robe, and seemed to be fighting."

Dagbert? Why? "Do you know more? Where did the dream happen? Who was the third beast?"

"I am sorry, but it was not really clear to me. Dreams are hard to remember, and this one was all too difficult to remember. I got all the important things down, but I am afraid that some details are not really remembered."

"Thank you for telling me about this dream. I shall notify my companions immediately. They need to be prepared for what is coming next." With that, Arbert gripped Finnbarr's hilt, and aligned the points together. A Pathway to Floret was formed, like a tunnel passing through a mountain of space.

"Oh, and watch out for the black fox. I have a feeling he will come to the mountain soon."

Seeing the badger nod, Arbert stepped through the Path and made a beeline for the Chamber of Stars. He needed Fatch as much as Finnbarr.

BALSAMU

The beast who called himself Emetselk had never loved the island, but here he was.

In a remote beach did the two beasts tumble out from a Corridor of Darkness. The beast that called himself Emetselk had his obligations to the beasts under him, dead they might be. Two souls did he carry, and a third was on its way.

Of course, the stoat was with him. Beneath the signature black cloak of the Ward (there was also a white cloak, but the stoat decided he looked better in black), there was a jet-black suit of armour, which was used to cultivate an image of doom and malevolence (quite ironic, since he was not actually a creature beasts consider to be evil). Well, if any beast had to strike fear into the enemy, it was the black stoat in black armour with a black Landservant sword, massive, thick and heavy, though more like a sword than a heap of raw steel.

He was a Black Knight, as the stories told. A knight with no liege - the beast who called himself Emetselk does not count.

The Protector, the stoat was called, despite having failed in his task of protection when he was a woodlander, and living. The name was not meant to be ironic when the beast who called himself Emetselk gave it to him, though the vermin himself bore it and its translation with pride. A second chance was not easily seized, after all.

But before his task of protection, there was something he had to do. Near the waters, there was a figure of within a suit of armour, unconscious. Apparently he was an otter who washed up during the battle of the straits, with his heavy armour impeding any attempt at swimming. But he was no corpse yet.

The stoat stepped forward, only to be stopped by a paw in front of him. The beast who called himself Emetselk had his own ideas. "Not now, Fandaniel. Not now."

After their misadventure with Somerled in Dravania, the duo rested at Dalagab for a while, then they came here as befitting to the will of the Fates. 'Amalrik' was to wait for another time where a disguise proved favourable to their goals.

The beast who called himself Emetselk rushed forward, examining the downed Godred Swalestrom. His pulse was still here, weak, but existent. Clutching his Augmenter from the Iceshard, a sword from their version of Redwall, he set to work. Embracing and surrendering to Conjuration as Emmeroloth had told him, droplets of water were expelled from Godred Swalestrom's mouth, first in a trickle, then in a flood.

Of course, this did not save him immediately. As the stoat watched on, the beast who called himself Emetselk Conjured flows of healing, patiently waiting for them to do their work.

Of course, the beast that called himself Emetselk was no slouch in the healing department. Before long, the otter coughed once, then twice. Cupping Lord Swalestrom's head, the stoat continued to observe as the beast who called himself Emetselk continued to heal him.

The otter on the sand spoke. "Thank you. Thank you very much." This, he said in Valeran - a big mistake. Balsamu had its own language, which is similar but not all that related to the Valeran, Garlean and Parmese languages of the Ilsadian language family.

The beast who called himself Emetselk spoke in Trielo-Southard, just so Fandaniel the stoat can understand. "It shall seem that you are better than before."

Godred did a double take, clearly not expecting more Southards in Balsamu. "What are your names? I wish to reward you once this whole war thing was over."

"Call me Amalrik." The beast who did not call himself Amalrik laughed. "The stoat does not talk often, especially to a child of Lord Becker."

"You two know who I am?" A flash of worry erupted before Godred Swalestrom's eyes.

"Yes." The beast who called himself Emetselk nodded, and the stoat swung his weapon, cutting through fur, skin, tendon, muscle and bone, until Godred's head was permanently separated from his neck.

"We are not kin anymore, Godred," the stoat seethed under his helm.

DRAVANIAN HINTERLANDS

Is this how it all ends? Dying in a box?

Thordan was clearly not thinking straightly simply because he was not able to do so physically. He had awoken inside a chest, bound and gagged, and the moment he struggled, he realised Isangrim was with him in the container - too close for any sort of comfort.

They had only let the two out once for who-knows-when, to sluice him in a river, after which their invisible bonds have been replaced with material ones, and his clothes were sent down a river - to 'confuse your friends', the mole or hedgehog said.

Thordan had always refrained from hating anyone, but Dagbert really came close. He knew that taking him by any other method would lead to suspicion, but this was truly hellish. This scheme, of course, came from a mind that knew Isangrim was dangerous - Thordan's grandfather always told him that vermin seers were prickly beasts - but this was too extreme for the mole.

Thordan remembered he was a kindly beast back in Floret, a better avuncular figure than Becker, even. So why the cruelty now? Either he was doing this on the orders of someone, or he had to do something for Southsward - mere patriotism. Thordan desperately hoped it was the latter option that was offered to the mole.

"Keep with us a second. We're almost there." This 'Bodvar' otter had talked to him since he was confirmed to have awoken, despite the (quite obvious) fact that he was still gagged. He was annoying, to say the least.

Isangrim did not help matters. Thordan had learned smells and scents during his time in Healer training, but he had only heard of a fox's pungent smell which was emitted when he or she was scared once, in an offpaw mention by Niels. Well, he was forced to experience it for more than twenty-three hours a day. And horrible it was, even without counting the times that the both of them relieved themselves out of fear or failure to hold it in. They were fed nothing during the journey, and Thordan overheard something about starving them for the time being, if only to add to Thordan's ever-growing list of worries.

He must have dozed off, for when the next time he opened his eyes, he was in that box, but there was no fox in it. He waited.

Voices. From afar. Moving in.

"Oh, Birger. I am sure he would cooperate for a bit. He's not had food for Gates knows how long, and beasts like him are not used to hunger." The definitive and irksome voice of Captain Bodvar Waycaster. How welcoming.

"I'm just afraid that he'll still resist. Try to escape. You know what is to happen if he does, don't you? If the worst happens-" The mouse.

"Don't worry, Pickner. All will end well for us, having a lord in our back pocket." Someone new.

The box was quickly opened, and Thordan squinted at the sudden influx of light. One head was definitely Bodvar, and the other two were guards as well. Next to the otter and the mouse was another otter, though in a blue uniform instead of red.

"Wakey wakey, lordling!" The vexing captain untied his muzzle, and Thordan tried too hard to resist biting his paw. He succeeded - the only thing that went his way today.

The ropes around his body were then curled away and tossed to the side, while Thordan took the younger otter's paw. Stumbling for a bit, it took half a minute for him to stand upright, with a bit of help, of course.

The captain half-dragged him to a wooden chair, where Thordan sat down without much prodding. He was then left tied up, of course. All four of his paws were bound to one of the chair's appendages - frontpaws to armrests and footpaws to chairlegs. Even his tail was tied to another chairleg, while he did nothing to struggle against his bonds. He had taken enough punishment already.

Then they left him unattended for a while. That was the disconcerting bit. Having other beasts discuss your fate while you sat as helpless as a fish on a tree.

"The swordstaff-"

"-no, we wouldn't want him-"

"- to feel relaxed, not-"

Thordan must have slept without knowing again, beacuse the next thing he felt was a bucketful of water sloshing down his muzzle.

Bodvar sighed in mock disappointment. "Ah, you've fallen asleep again."

"What else was I to do?" Thordan muttered behind his breath, ensuring nobeast heard his sudden outburst..

"Tell me. Do you want to play a little game, otterlord?"

"A game?" The naked otter couldn't believe that.

"You know, a structured form of play for entertainment. That's what Phronesis told me anyway."

Still too nervous for normal thinking methods, Thordan quickly nodded. "You're not going to hurt me if I play, are you?"

"No!" the mouse cried out almost on impulse.

"Well, not a lot, anyway." The third otter was inclined to disagree.

"Oh, try to shut up for a while, Birger." A first name basis usually is a sign of familiarity - Thordan was sure they were close. Brothers, maybe? Or commander and soldier? "The Boreller brothers invented it, and I made a few adjustments as befitting your status."

Thordan stared blindly and blankly at the trio as the elder otter fumbled for his weapon. It looked like a sword on a stick, but was definitely not a spear. A Dravain weapon somehow found its way into a Southard with a Dravain name.

"Alright. Here are the rules. We point the swordstaff at you. You just sit there, being totally silent while we ask you questions with no definite answer. Then we will move the spear closer or farther away from you depending on the answer."

"Depending on the answer?"

"That means we will move it to you if we don't like your answer." The mouse (Pickner, was it?) smiled like a demon from Hellgates.

'Alright. What is your name?" Captain Bodvar asked the first question, the swordstaff horizontally held to Thordan's neck.

Name. Not title. "Thordan Swalestrom."

True to his word the blade was moved about an inch towards the back. Hiding a shocked expression, the otter asked his second question. "What is your favourite colour?"

"Grey." The swordstaff was retreated a another inch.

"Gates, you're good at this!" Captain Bodvar smiled - not a sadistic one as a prisoner was interrogated, but one that appeared when a game was played. "Let me see - I forgot the last question." He gestured at Birger. 'Whatsit again?"

The second otter was nonchalant. "What was the capital of Parma before the Skywards became its kings?"

For once, Thordan was glad about studying history. "Kurburg."

For the first time, the swordstaff did not move as Bodvar scratched his head. "Was it Kurburg?"

"That's what Phronesis said it was, anyway." Pickner whispered into his companion's ear, but Thordan caught the words.

The spear retreated further back and Bodvar complained in his usual mocking tone. "You're no fun, lordling. At least Joar gave us a few chances before he fell sick an' had to walk away from the mission. You're better than the fox at it anyways."

'The fox?" For the first time in what seemed like millenia for Thordan (yet was actually a few hours), Bodvar managed to get his attention.

"Ah, yes. When we asked about his name, he refused t' answer, even when the spear drew blood. Phronesis called him over to his side, and we have no idea what's happening t' him."

"You must not treat us seers so." Dagbert may not have been the usual interrogator, but with Ralos absent, he had no choice but to leave the three guards with Thordan and deal with Emmeroloth himself.

"Seers? You call yourself a proper seer?" Three hours of interrogations yielded no results, and the fox was resilient indeed. "Aren't you at least a bit ashamed, calling yourself that? Like a rabbit calling himself a hare?"

"You know we do not know everything, but-"

"Well, we know you know nothing, and I'm not telling you anything, so there's that." The fox would have crossed his paws if he was not tied spread eagle by bonds of air.

"Very well." The mole turned around and sauntered away, walking away from a tent into another, weaving the Veil along the way, where the three guards were trying to get something out of Thordan. Judging by the whole three feet from the swordpoint to the unclothed otter, it was not going very well.

"You three, go outside for a while. I have words for you." The woodlander guards swiftly obeyed his orders, leaving Thordan seating on his 'throne'.

"I see that you were having quite a bit of fun back there." Dagbert stated.

"Well, you ordered us not to draw blood from him like we did to Emmeroloth, so we to try new methods." Bodvar's smile disappeared, as if expecting punishment.

'Well, I need help with breaking the fox."

"The one you called the seer?" This time, it was Birger Waycaster who spoke out of turn. "Well, seers are quick to anger, and should not be treated like a mere prisoner."

An idea hit Dagbert. That was the problem. Everybeast fears him - even I do. Before we could break him, our fear and our respect of him has to be shattered once and for all.

'Come with me." Momentarily later, the four were in Emmerloth's tent. He was still helpless, away from his Augmenter, and Dagbert kept his Thaumaturgy locked away, so he was useless in the physical sense.

The mole-as-hedgehog whispered into his guard's ears. "Laugh when you want. No need to keep a straight face."

Calling his winds, Dagbert, the beast who called himself Phronesis yet was not, severed Emmeroloth's bonds and blew him towards the hedgehog himself. A slight trip was enough to send the starved and weakened fox tumbling down into Dagbert's lap.

He is a monster responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions, and is totally willing to doom another five times that number. And he dares to withhold information that can be used to save thousands of millions. The time for normalcy is over.

"Are you going to tell me where the Iceshard Worldcleaver is, or are you going to suffer?" Dagbert took on Arbert's voice and mannerisms for this beast and his alone

"How about I give you a fast death that you do not deserve, and burn everybeast in Southsward to a crisp? That is the right thing to do, as you might put it."

"I see." Dagbert sighed. So this is what it has come to.

Flipping Emmeroloth over with Wind, Dagbert proceeded to spank the most powerful Thaumaturge in the Source like a disobedient child.

Of course, he resisted at first. He snarled, and raged, and gave wild threats that were as impotent as his previous ones. Then he howled, not in anger, but in pain. Not only pain, but rage as well - rage at one of the sole beasts in the world who dared oppose him, and rage at all the beasts that watched him suffer, and did nothing.

"Now," Dagbert smiled like a mother to her child. "Will you please tell us where it is?"

"Damn you! Damn you all!" The fox shrieked before he could curse a third time - as Dagbert began again. The guards's silences became sniggers, and soon evolved into full blown laughter, just as Dagbert intended. All the while, the fox's tears began to fall one by one. Not from pain, or the promise of further pain, but humiliation. Humiliation breaks proud beasts.

"Where is it?"

"I am not-" Dagbert raised his paw up again, and the fox's attitude changed like the wind. "It's in the Aetherochemical Research Facility in the Windshard! It's with Emetselk!"

Dagbert stood up, and Emmeroloth flopped onto the ground, still crying. Serves him right - and his queen too.

He was about to leave the tent when he was intercepted by Bodvar Waycaster, who was still trying to hold in his laughter, and his two companions.

"Well, that was effective. Should we use it on Thordan next? I mean, he won't be seriously hurt or something, but-"

Dagbert's face changed so fast that his Veil almost peeled off. "No! No. Thordan's as humble as nobles could be - humiliation would not work as well. Stick to physical methods."

The mole recalled a little incident in the Earthshard, in the castle they used as a base. It was about a pine marten who was a prisoner of a hare which he had heard from a witness, far in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow.

"Well, Captain Waycaster, there's quite a method I want to see used on our little lordling..."

[MathLuk]

Calamity Unbound

TARALIS, BALSAMU

'You actually knighted the vermin?" Lorelei's tone was more incredulous than scrutinising.

"Yes, Mother." Corrado Truetide was the only figure in her immediate family who could stand up to her, and she always took a liking to him because of that.

To be fair, Arn Skulason actually performed all too well as a commander, considering that he was only five seasons older than Corrado - or that was what Lorelei had heard.. The Southpaws had been dismissed, and almost all of them were relaxing in the city. Strangely, for a band of mercenary vermin, they had actually obeyed the order to leave all within the walls untouched. That meant that the inns that night were crowded, but the city was untouched, winning a victory against the Valerans without even fighting a battle.

"Lord Guido escaped though, and we don't have the gold and soldiers to finish him if he is entrenched in his home territories." The battle in the straits was a resounding victory, though it was a close-run thing. A quarter of the Garlean ships were actually repurposed ships from a merchant fleet bought from Arn's father, and a quarter of all twenty eight galleys were either destroyed completely or were awaiting repairs.

"Well, we can finally get him to stop harassing Parman soil, though he will refuse to bend the knee to his rightful king." Lorelei replied, her mind clearly not where it should be.

"Niels." Like Thordan, Corrado was raised by the kindly healer when Lorelei had had enough of him and his antics. "I may wish that we have a better king, but we have to make do with what we have got."

"Then why don't you declare yourself King of Parma here and now?" Lorelei raised a brow. "Your troops love you, you crushed Aldabreschi while Niels talked and talked, and you are King Thordan's grandson!"

"Parma doesn't need me." Corrado dismissed his mother's plea with a swipe of his paw. "With all of Grandfather's conquering and consolitdating, the realm needs peace more than anything. Who better to give peace than the most peaceful otter in the whole realm?"

"Who, your brother Thordan?" Lorelei flinched at the name.

"Mother, we don't even know where he is. Those Southards have carried him away to who-knows-where. The fiends!"

"Well, I know where he is." Lorelei gave a poisonous smile. "Though getting to him will be difficult, considering who is holding him prisoner right now. I have a rescue mission organised, and the beasts responsible shall depart tonight."

"Tonight?" Corrado's eyes widened. "It could be too late by now. Thordan could have been feeding fish right now, and nothing good will come of a mission that fails!"

'Just don't worry and we'll be together again. I can promise you that, at least." With that, mother and son parted ways - only to find that the beasts they seek were talking to one another.

"Eduard? A word." As Corrado led his bard away, no doubt to discuss wages, Lorelei gestured Hersent to her side.

"Do you know how to open Pathways? I think I need you quite a bit."

"I know, the Isangrim business." Hersent showed determination - an emotion that was born to her when she discovered that Thordan and the fox were abducted. "I need to know where he is first. Or where he is around, anyway."

"The Bond tells me that he is somewhere in the Dravain Hinterlands, and there is only one fort of any importance around there. That's where they're spanking Isangrim. Gates! You don;t know how much I want to pay that idiot measure for measure!" Aside from the black fox's physical punishments, Lorelei felt all of his sadness, anger and hopelessness as his bottom was studded thrice a day.

The vixen nodded. "Viksten. You told me about it. What is it like?"

"I have no idea, but I know the town around it." Lorelei's mind drifted back to much happier times. "Erlend showed it to me once. When I was carrying his child. Buildings dotted the riverbank, while the grass grew around the mountains. Three bridges crossed the river, and-"

"I got it!" The vixen laughed with glee as she opened a Pathway - to Vargo Palace. "Well, we could find paintings of Dravain towns in the collection King Erlend gave you. Then I can study it and open a Pathway there.

"Sounds annoying, but we do not actually have a choice." Lorelei sprinted into her home, with the fox in tow.

HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD

The marten slinked behind the squirrel and spoke. "Everything alright?"

Ralos jumped up with surprise, but soon relaxed when he saw that it was Slyte. The two had worked together, yes, and though Ralos carried the Southard dislike for vermin of all sorts, he was the only Thaumaturge on their side.

The first time Ralos saw him was in a visit from Dagbert to the general after Macolt. It took five and a half decades before he knew that he was a seer, with more than three being stuck in army work. He was not a good seer, but he was one, and liable to be attacked by all who stood against Southsward - and himself as well.

Seers are the only beasts who are liable to be possessed against their wills by those who have left this world, but were stuck between the living and the dead, so Ralos was trained for a while in defending against all that seek to harm him. His scythe being an Amplifier was also a deciding factor, though the most Ralos could do with it was to make banners move withoit help of the wind and fanning the smallest of fires.

But he found his talent, or Gift as it was called. Battlefocus, it was called, and with it the ability to bolster the will of allies was his. If his beasts needed encouragement and will, then Ralos would give it to them, as befitting his duty.

"No, Slyte, everything is not alright. And stop bothering me."

"Well, I'm tasked t' deal with this problem here." The vermin pointed at the unconscious Erlend Swalestrom. His wounds had gotten so bad that he had to be kept unconscious at all times, with the help of herbs and medicines. "Arbert, or was that Dagbert? No. it had t' be Arbert." The marten scratched his head. "Arbert wants him a bit on the dead side. He says that Lorelei would be deprived of an ally while this would prevent her from birthing more seers. Pah! A bunch of nonsense! That otterwife is too old to create half a pup!"

"She is not fifty yet, and even older wives have birthed," said Ralos, rolling his eyes.

It was then when footsteps were heard coming from the door. Before Ralos could whisper 'hide under the bed' Slyte hid under the bed, a mere three seconds before Garrion and his bodyguard appeared from the doorway, alongside Dirk. The three otters shared some sort of friendship now, and

"I see that Erlend has not awoken yet." Garrion spoke first. 'I wanted to talk to him, but I fear this should wait for another day."

Ralos waited a while before speaking. "He was your kin, and should be treated as such, despite being our enemy."

"Can you tell me what you know about him?" The younger otterlord's voice seemed to creak. "I barely knew him at all, close in blood that we may have been."

Ralos sighed. Memories of earlier days, months and seasons were coming back to him, whether he wanted or not. "He was a brave warrior and a good friend to all who would approach him, but he was as humble as a lord could be. He loved his subjects too much, and this led him to prefer them to his liege. He may be a traitor, but he made the choice he thought was right."

"He's dying, is he?" Galen spoke out of turn too much, it seemed, yet Garrion seemed to see him and Dirk as more of equals than subjects.

"I fear that he would not live to see tomorrow's dawn." He himself wondered if the statement was actually more than a half truth. Even without Slyte to help him to the Dark Forest, his condition seemed to turn worse day by day.

"Oh..." Garrion was not in the best of moods himself, having taken a wound in the recent battle as well. His arm had healed, yet his bad mood continued to express himself. Seeing his uncle fight to the death against his best friends must have contributed to it.

"Lord Garrion!" A messenger awaited him near the doorway. "News from Dravania!"

As the three otters moved to the mouse herald, Dirk made sure to wink before stepping out. Whether it was signalled towards Ralos or the marten under the bed was a mystery for later.

The door was closed, and Slyte soon leapt into action. He grabbed a vial from his belt, and prepared to pour it into Erlend's muzzle - just before Ralos stopped him.

"You killed his paramour with this, did you not? Tell me."

Slyte nodded. It was this marten that killed the beast responsible for Erlend's mental wellbeing. It was this beast that started a war that killed thousands.

But this was also the beast who was crucial to save millions, and millions more. All grievances could wait for later. "Use something else. Erlend Swalestrom deserves a painless death."

In a way, he did deserve one. Within seconds, Slyte produced another flask - one to kill himself with should his mission fail. He could escape from chains, yes, but he had no idea what tortures could await him. Then the foul liquid was poured down the otter's throat.

"Sleep well, Your Highness." It really seemed like the spear-holder was going to sleep, though his chest seemed to go up and down more slowly. Then it stopped moving - he stopped moving.

"Another job well done." Slyte smiled as he prepared to climb away from a window. "Arbert's here to pick us up, and we'll be good to go."

But the old squirrel was not in the mood to smile. Not because of the otter's death, but due to something else.

"Drat." The pine marten turned to Ralos, who banged his fist on the nearest table. "We forgot about the spear Augmenter! We forgot about Heavensward!"

VIKSTEN, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

Isangrim sat on the ground, waiting for another session with Dagbert.

The room, or more accurately, cell, he was in was completely and utterly devoid of light, and Isangrim had no Augmenter or Amplifier to light up his surroundings. The luxury of lamps, torches and candles were denied him as well, to 'teach him a lesson', as the mole told him.

There was no rational reason for him to be left in darkness. He was not afraid of the dark - foxes see well in dim light. They did it just to humiliate him.

Isangrim moved slowly to the corner, weakened by an entire week of hunger. The otters gave him water, but nothing else. The fox's paws curled around his footpaws, as he was still naked from the cold. Another attempt at resistance would result in either his fur being shaved off or his tail being hung up in the main square in Duncton, and the choice was not his.

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, but they were swiftly wiped away. He will not cry. He is one of the Heaven's Ward, and crying is for lesser beings. But the humiliation was more painful than anything the fox had ever faced. He remembered all too vividly how he was turned on his knees and spanked like a disobedient child. Only one beast did that before, and Isangrim by then was indeed a disobedient child.

Now he was the most powerful being in the Source. And Dagbert's sole reaction was one of mere annoyance! Annoyance! He treated Emmeroloth - a Warder - like a pebble in his path, barely worth the slightest of notices. How? How had he lost control of the situation so quickly and abruptly?

They will pay. They will pay! I am the Darkening Cloud!

In the end, he had spilled his secrets. The stoat, the otter, Dalagab, the Aetherochemical Research Facility, how the Ward was pulling beasts back from the grave, and Thordan Swalestrom. Revealing the last one's nature and Gift was the straw that had broken his back, and now... the less said about him, the better.

Pickner the mouse told him that there will be no session tomorrow, and he will finally be given food the day after! Food! What he had taken for granted had seemed like a good of luxury now.

"Emmeroloth."

The fox's ears perked up immediately. Had he imagined the voice? It was like a swift chill, after all, and these things could be illusory.

"You have failed greatly, Emmeroloth." He was here.

From the shadows crept out an otter and a stoat - his bodyguard, though not a Bondbeast yet. As of this moment, only vermin bonds were stable enough to be created without any risk of failure, and this time the Bonder and Bondbeast were both technically woodlanders.

After a gesture, the stoat was sent back into the shadows, leaving only the otter. "You have failed to protect the boy, who suffered much, much more than a mere spanking." He could have sworn that the dark furred otter was holding in a laugh, and the thought infuriated him, but now was the time for submission, not rage. "You have revealed yourself and lost secrets that are all too valuable for the Ward." Emetselk shook his head as he approached the fox, cards slowly being taken out of his pockets. "Perhaps most unfortunately and importantly," the fox twinged visibly at the last word, stressed by the Angel of Truth as he was healed, the cards forming an imitation of a starry sky surrounding the Thaumaturge. "You let yourself get captured by your enemies, and allowed yourself to be broken."

The stoat returned with a new set of clothes, and a little figure of a wolf made of glass. An Amplifier. Not an Augmenter, but it shall do fine in the meantime.

"You have been given one last chance." The otter spoke like a corpse, which he technically was. "Do. Not. Fail."

"We shall be heading back to Dalagab in the meantime." Isangrim's ears perked up once more as he finished putting on his new clothes. "We shall meet where the mole flees."

The otter walked back into the shadowy corridor, yet the stoat remained here. Then Fandaniel spoke - the first order from him entered Emmeroloth's ears.

'Keep my brother safe, or I swear by Great Seasons that my paw shall warm your bottom for every single day of your miserable life." He left, trailing after the otter.

Isangrim decided that obeying the other Warder was a very good idea.

KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

"I am all too glad that all of you have come today." Gustav Strandsor's normally joyful look seemed to have withered away and grounded into dust in the last week. The Southards had smuggled a king from right under his shoulders, so he had reason and cause to stave off sleep for days on end. "Dravania cannot stand alone, you see. WIthout Thordan Swalestrom, we are all too vulnerable here."

"Enough talk, Realmswarden." Alfyn was in an all too similar mood. "What will you have me do?"

"We need a Regent of the Realm. Whether if he is Thordan does not matter."

Lord Gustav had little time to regret his mistake as Lord Alfyn Stalwart of Meraholmer put his paws above his throat and dragged him to the wall. Apparently the elder otterlord missed a few cues that saying that his most powerful vassal's friend 'does not matter' is a very, very bad idea.

'What my father meant was for you to take your responsibilities as Regent." During the two months for Alfyn Stalwart to know Haakon Strandsor, he presented himself as a less nervous Thordan Swalestrom, but one who had more duties than friends.

Alfyn let go of the lord. "Oh. So I am Regent now. Brilliant." He snarled. "I am the second creature who you deemed worthy to declare Regent without having been asked. Your foresight is completely and utterly without fault. Well, I am not as malleable as Thordan, so get your power hungry tails out of here and be what you want to be!"

"If we were after power," Lord Strandsor huffed. "We would have got it already! Haakon here could marry Sigrun, convince Thordan to waive his rights, and get his behind on the throne!"

'What matters is that this did not happen, and will never happen." Haakon breathed a sigh of relief as Alfyn appeared to calm down.

Be like Egil and smile and laugh, veiling your thoughts from your opponent's mind. "I propose a little switch in responsibilities." Alfyn smiled. Be like Thordan and change from within, instead of forcing change from outside. "I see that you desire the position of regent, so I will allow you to take it. Be like Lorcan, and try to convince those before you that what you plan is indeed sound. "You see, I have more experience in fighting than manner of ruling a state, while you have the opposite." Kill Sir Alfyn, and let the Lord of Meraholmer arise from his broken tomb. "I say that you shall be Regent while I take the office of Realmswarden, and put a stop to Lord Becker."

"Your reasoning is reasonable, Lord Alfyn. I accept your bargain." Alfyn made a gesture to kneel before his new liege lord, but with a wave of his paw Lord Gustav commanded him to stand.

"As my first act as Regent, I declare Thordan Swalestrom, former Lord of Meraholmer and Regent of Dravania, King of the Dravanians. The Ulfingers have always watched over Dravania and the crown has always been on their heads as long as history can remember. As the realm is in a state of crisis far beyond all that we have seen before, we need a king, and desperately so."

"Long live King Thordan!" Haakon Strandsor said softly, and Alfyn found himself unable to resist repeating the sentence. Oh, Seasons have mercy. Thordan, please forgive me.