A Journey in Griffonstone

Chapters

Silverstream I
Gilda I
Glenda I
Silverstream II
Gilda II
Silverstream III
Glenda II
Gilda III
Glenda III
Gilda IV
Silverstream IV
Epilogue: The Caravan

Silverstream I

Sometimes, she dreamt about what it would be like to fly. Launching herself from the Tower of the Sea, she'd race the gulls, scrape the waves, and touch the clouds, soaring as fast and high as her heart wanted.

The view would be incredible; the Tower of the Sea, the Royal Palace, the Harmonizing Heights, the hills and valleys of Aris, all of them would change if she could fly. She'd see them, understand them, in a new way, a way she'd never have even thought of before, a way no one would have ever thought of before.

But for now, that was just a dream, and she simply leaned on the railing of the Tower, leaning out into the wind, the waves, and the sky. She leaned, and looked, and dreamed.

Her brother found her there a few minutes later, chest heaving beneath his armor. "Silver," he panted. "the others are waiting for you at the docks."

"Ohmygosh!" she squeaked in embarrassment, whipping around. "I haven't kept them waiting, have I?"

"Don't worry," he replied, waving his hand in comfort. "You've still got time. But you need to start getting over there now; they leave in less than half an hour, and the city's starting to wake up."

She nodded rapidly, then raced down the staircase past him, feet almost skipping down the well-worn sandstone steps. The world outside raced past the windows, eventually coming to a halt as she bolted out of the tower gate and entered it.

She skidded on sand for a moment before finding her footing, grabbing onto one of the walls of the Sea Cleft to stabilize herself. Once she managed to, she began briskly walking again, quickly passing through the sandy crevice and onto the lush grass of the cliffs of Aris. She followed the rolling landscape down, away from the palace on the peak and towards the docks on the beaches, racing the rising Sun down the slopes. They were treacherous, rising and dipping almost every step of the way, but she was wise to their ways; she'd grown up on these hills, she knew them like the back of her hand. Even the edge of Snarling Cove, wet with spray even a safe five strides away from the cliff itself, was no trouble for her now. A wave even kissed her good luck as she passed it by.

Soon, she reached the tree-crowned hill that she knew marked the two-thirds way down the mountain, and slacked her pace. She could afford to slow down now, and she didn't want to miss anything interesting. The world had too many people who ignored it, who didn't pay attention to its wonders, she didn't want to make that number any bigger.

A gentle breeze sifted through her hair, bearing the smell of the sea. She could almost taste the salt in the air. Faintly, the Harmonizing Heights and the Bars sang her the song of the sea. The sea, the sea, the Sea!

The Sea was everything to Mount Aris; cradle, heart, shield. Thousands, or maybe even tens of thousands, of years ago, the first Briezin saw the peak of Aris rise above the waves, and the wide array of natural harbors that lay among its foothills made sure that they and those who followed them would see it do so again and again.

The beating of the waves became the beating of Mount Aris' heart; the Sea gave them food, shelter, and their livelihood, ships as numerous as the sands on the beach coming to the harbors to trade. Mount Aris, home of a thousand wonders, became host to a million; Abyssinian jade, Oddon bronze, Cadmun iron, Labradoror woods, Groverian wheat, even treasures from Zebrica and the lands beyond all came to the mountain to trade hands.

Of course, some ships came not to trade but to raid, and those the Sea helped Aris send to its bottom. The Cadmuns had dragonfire, and the Labrodorors their engineering, but nobody knew the sea like an Arisian. Their ally had only failed them once in history, when the King of Blizzards rose up from the south and icebergs scraped the Straits, and even then it had tried to help, protecting them from above as they sheltered in the tunnels beneath the mountain.

Skystar had taken her to see the tunnels, once, and it was an experience she'd never forget; she'd felt the weight of the world above as they descended, the solid silence of the mountain giving way to the faint murmur of the Sea as the tunnels passed beneath the waves. Nobody knew where they ended, or if they did; the abyss where Skystar had had them turn back still yawned in her dreams, daring and inviting her to explore it, a call only her cousin and family had stopped her from answering.

She was near the foot of the mountain now, Sandsong distantly approaching on the beach. She peered at the docks, the wooden veins of the city, and frowned; there wasn't much blood that she could see, only a handful of fishing boats and the ship she'd soon be boarding. Granted, she was a good distance away, but her eyes were keen, and by now she would've expected to see at least one foreign flag fluttering in the sea wind. Warily now, she continued her approach.

The sand beneath her feet began to turn to wood as she reached the edge of the village, though thankfully no voices overtook the song of the sea; Auntie Novo wanted them to leave quietly, start their mission 'with as much discretion as they could,' and a crowd wouldn't make that easy. They wouldn't have to worry much, by the look of things; the streets were almost deserted, along with the harbor.

The steady cadence of an Anchor Watch patrol creaked to her left, and she almost giggled at the memories the sound conjured up. Her brother looked so proud in the picture Mom took of him joining, chest puffed up under his black-and-silver uniform so much he almost looked like a bird. Mom hadn't wanted him to join at first, not wanting to risk her precious boy getting hurt, but eventually he won her over. It hadn't been any easier to convince the recruiters to take him, but eventually he won them, too, and after a few months of hard training he won his uniform. She never saw him take it off; he was proud of his position, of his dream, and he wanted the whole world to know. And the world did know; anyone who knew about the Mount Aris Anchor Watch knew the name of Terramar, a name so honored that at least two ships had been given it after him.

But it wasn't the H.R.H. Terramar she was boarding today; no, the ship she and her family were taking was Allegiance. No Her Royal Highness'; Allegiance, like her captain, was a free player, servant of none. Auntie Novo had rescued her captain, helping lift her and her crew out of the poverty that had driven them to piracy, and in return she'd given Auntie Novo, and by extension Mount Aris, her allegiance, sometimes literally; whenever they needed a favor done, one that either the official government couldn't do, (or couldn't be seen to do,) Allegiance would fire up her engines. She helped Oddo, too, but her allegiance was first and foremost to Mount Aris, to Auntie Novo.

And to those who spoke with Auntie Novo's voice, like the ribbon she knew her mom was nervously rubbing under her cloak said she did.

She waved to them, and they gently waved back, waiting for her to cross the last strand of dock before speaking to her. She began walking over, but almost slipped as an unseasonably cold wind whipped past her. She felt herself begin to fall, but rebalanced herself in a moment, her years of practice saving her from a taste of the deep.

"Are you alright?" her mother, suddenly at her side and holding her tight, asked.

"I'm fine, Mom," she reassured her. "Just got a little taken by surprise."

"Are you sure?" her mother asked, face stern, eyes searching. "You're not just lying to make me feel better?"

"I'm sure," she giggled. "The only way I'm trying to make you feel better is by telling you the truth."

Her mom continued her search, eyes darting around like a hawk's, before eventually she closed them and sighed, "Alright. Just try to be more careful in future."

"Don't worry," she smiled back, gently grabbing and squeezing her mother's hand. "I will."

"Calm down, sweetie," her father murmured to his mate as he wandered over. "Silverstream isn't in any danger here, you don't have to worry."

"Maybe not here," Mom muttered back. "but what about on Allegiance, or in Griffonstone? Maybe it would be best if-if she stayed here."

Before she could protest, her dad took the initiative, saying, "The preparations have all been made, sweetie, we can't change them now. Besides, I thought you were the one who wanted her to come with us."

"Well," Mom stammered. "yes, but..." She trailed off, then leaned into her husband and whimpered, almost too quietly for Silverstream to hear, "I'm scared, Sky Beak."

"I know, sweetie," he replied, just at the edge of Silverstream's hearing. "I'm scared, too. But we can't let that stop us; she needs to live, not spend her whole life in a cave. We love her, it's only natural for us to be scared that something bad might happen to her, but we can't let that stop us from letting her do something if something good might happen to her."

She pretended not to see the tears as her mother cried and Dad just held her, softly humming that song he'd written for her back when they were dating. She wiped away a few tears of her own, then closed her eyes and listened, to the sound of her first memory.

Eventually, the song ended, and Dad let Mom go with one last squeeze and a kiss on the top of her head. Running his hand over his face, he softly smiled at Silverstream and asked, "Ready to go, Silver?"

Squealing in excitement, she nodded, and followed her parents down the docks towards their ship. At least, towards the ship that would take them to their real one; Allegiance would've been too noticeable in the harbor, so Auntie Novo had ordered her to wait out in the bay until a transport ship, smaller and less suspicious, could ferry them over.

So much secrecy, she wondered as Dad led them up the gangplank, and for what? What does Auntie Novo want us to keep quiet?

A memory of a glance bubbled up in her brain, a split-second look she'd gotten at Novo's orders to her parents. One word, scratched in capitals and rough ink; ATHANG. It looked like a Cadmun word, though not one she'd ever heard, not even in any of her stories. What did it mean? Why had Auntie Novo seemed so scared of it? And what did it have to do with Griffonstone?

As the gangplank lifted up and the transport's engines sparked to life, she whispered a prayer to the Sea, asking it to help Aris once more, to help all its Celestial-bordering children with... whatever it was that was giving them trouble.

Again, the unseasonable wind chilled her, while the Sea stayed silent.

Gilda I

As much as she wanted to deny it, the Runery did give her the creeps.

It was a bloated corpse that refused to die, an undead gravestone to a time long past. Once the center of Groveria's "magical" learning, its glory (and structural integrity, she noted with a nervous glance at a swaying roof shingle) had been ground into the dust by time's march, though it tried to rise from that dust again and again. Nobody had the heart, or the courage, to dissuade it; the Rune-masters were seen as old parents, senile sages who kept giving the same counsel that had been old back when there had still been a king. That senility was still in just enough doubt for them to be taken seriously, though; some people thought that there was still value in what they had to say, or at least that they still knew enough to make an example of those who acted like they didn't. The runes carved in the cracked cobbles up to the Runery's entrance were long rubbed out, but no one could say for certain that they didn't work anymore.

She took a deep breath, then nodded forward. "Come on," she ordered her aide. "Let's get this over with."

He nodded, then followed her up the broken road, flicking nervous glances at the ruined statuary they passed on the way. She would've told him not to be so jumpy, if she wasn't as tense as him. Her sword hand clenched and unclenched nervously as they walked, almost going to her scabbard when she thought she saw one of the statues wink at her. She shook her head, reached up to her phoenix, then pressed on, a few steps faster.

As soon as she reached the door, she prepared to knock on it, wanting to spend as little time in the dead place as she could. Before she could, however, the door eased open, though nobody was there to open it.

"They need to keep a better eye on the locks in this place," she tried to silence her pounding heart. "Not everyone who comes here is as friendly as we are."

"That will not be a problem, my good captain," the Arch Rune-master called, turning her heart into a drum as she whipped around to look at him. "The Runery can protect itself, and its ability to do so grows by the day."

She glared at the willowy man. "If that's the case, then why do you need that armor?"

He smiled infuriatingly as he held up one arm, copper plates jangling as he did so. "Do you like it?" he asked. "I found it while investigating some of my precursors' possessions. According to their notes, armor like this was standard issue for Rune-masters taking the field, providing some measure of protection without interfering with their magic. With our art's renewed strength-"

A sliver of steel glinted near the mouth of her scabbard. "Strength which the Golden Steel are more than capable of matching-"

The Arch Rune-master raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Don't worry, Gilda Ironclaw," he replied simperingly. "My siblings and I have no designs on the outside world, so long as it does not try to impose its designs on us."

She glared at him, hand itching to smack that sickening smile off his face. Moving a hand to her phoenix, she took back control, and said, "The outside world has no designs on you, either, so long as you keep up your end of the bargain." And stay in here with the rest of your creepy friends.

He nodded back amiably, then stretched out a hand. "I believe you have the fruits of one of those bargains to show me?"

Curtly nodding, she passed him the paper Sir Cloudfloor had given her, the end to centuries of chaos. It had taken a long time, and a lot of effort, but Sir Cloudfloor had finally managed to get the main power groups in Griffonstone to come together and choose a leader they were all willing to obey, someone who could finally start pulling the empire back together. The negotiations had finished up barely three days ago, and it had looked like Maren and the Darkbolts were going to back out at the last minute, but the House of Otto convinced (or, more likely, bribed) them to accept. Now, only the Runery had to accept the proposed leader.

(Her sword hand went to her scabbard again; ideally, the Arch Rune-master would accept of his own volition, but she wasn't going to let Griffonstone keep crumbling just for some old man. If he accepted, great; if not, the Runery would find itself a new Arch Rune-master, one who would accept. If none of the Rune-masters did... the place wouldn't just be half-dead for long.)

Fortunately, the old man hummed in approval as he read, before turning to face her with a smile, slightly less sickly this time. "Guthwin used to come here when he was younger," he said fondly. "For a time, I even thought he had the makings of a Rune-master. Now, I can see that he has the makings of a master of Men. Rest assured, he has the full support of the Runery behind him."

She kept her face stony. "Can you please put that in writing? Don't want anyone denying that you agreed." (Least of all you, if you decide to change your mind.)

He chuckled, a sound that almost drove her to draw her sword. "Oh, I can do better than that, my good captain," he chortled, before reaching into his robes, taking out what looked like a stamp, and pressing it firmly on the paper. He handed it back to her, though she took it warily; she wouldn't be surprised if he did something magic to it, something she would rather not be on the receiving end of. Cautiously, she looked at the stamped glyph, and frowned; it looked...

... normal.

"You had me worried there for a second," she chuckled, shaking her head. "I thought you were gonna try some 'magic' on it."

He smiled back like a cat with a catch. "Oh, I didn't try, my good captain," he smoothly replied. "I did. The seal appears normal, yes, but it's virtually indestructible, and impossible to copy to boot. The device I used to create it makes each seal personal to the wielder, making forgery impossible. If you'd like a demonstration-"

"Nothankyou," she blurted out, hastily storing the paper away before it could explode on her. "I'll... take your word for it. We'll get it to Sir Cloudfloor as soon as we can, so that the appointment can happen as soon as possible. Griffonstone's had hundreds of years to fall apart, it doesn't need any more."

"Indeed," the Arch Rune-master nodded back gravely. "Guthwin must take his post quickly, to save as much of the empire as he can. Including, hopefully," he gestured around at the Runery. "this historic building, which has several repairs-"

"Good-bye," she cut him off before he could finish asking them for money, dragging her aide out behind her. She didn't like treating him like a kid, but she wanted to get out of there as fast as she could.

The place might've been historic, and it might've helped Guthwin start putting Groveria back together, but it still gave her the creeps.

The tree marked ten by the time they got back to the palace. The streets were better now, and you could actually trust half the taxis you met, but the Runery was still on the outskirts of the city. The sight-seers who occasionally cruised by might've called it one of the city's outer branches, taking Griffonstone's imaginary tree obsession as far as they could.

She snorted; yeah, the tree was important, big enough to make it onto the city's seal, but they weren't obsessed with it. It was like Manehattan's skyscrapers; important, cool, moving on now. It was useful as a landmark, and a clock if you knew it as well as she did, but it wasn't a hero, and definitely not an idol.

Neither was its creator, whoever that was. The stone was clearly shaped, too finely to be by the wind and water, but there were no defining marks on it, no symbols saying 'Proudly Made by X.' Some people said the legendary King Grover had made it when he'd founded Griffonstone, but those people were probably willing to say he'd made anything you asked them. Others said it was made by the founders of the banking House of Otto, the foundation of their fortune, but if that were true they'd have sued to get it back by now. Most people, herself included, simply shrugged at the question of who made it; it was there, had been for forever, what more did they need to know?

Lately, one of the things they had needed to know was that the palace, carved into it who-knows-and-who-cares-how-many years ago, was occupied again, Sir Cloudfloor and the other rebuilders setting up camp there while they put Griffonstone back together. Soon, Smith willing, Guthwin would join them and they could really get to work.

Speaking of which...

She passed her aide the bag holding the paper. "You take that to Sir Cloudfloor," she ordered. "After that place, I need to go Purge."

At first it looked like he might argue with her, but fortunately Sir Cloudfloor's training kicked in after a moment and he nodded, throwing the bag's strap over his shoulder and marching away.

She nodded as he left; he was a good kid, if a bit mouthy. He never did anything he didn't want to unless you gave him a good reason. But if you did, he did it, and if he wanted to do something, or didn't mind doing it, he was good about doing it. Pretty good in the arena, too, especially in team training; she once saw him win a 2 v. 1, his unconscious teammate draped over his shoulder. Bit more training, rein in that attitude a bit, and he'd go places.

Shaking her head, she began going places, a very specific place to be precise; the Temple of Flame, ten minutes west of the palace, right on the edge of the docks. It had started out small, catering to the Cadmuns that came through to trade or hire soldiers, but over time it grew, eventually becoming the smoke-spewing, flame-colored behemoth she was rapidly approaching. She could even faintly hear some of the prayers, overpowering the squawks and screeches and snarls of the city;

"I am Burned, I fear no trial, for what doesn't break me only builds me higher! I am Burned, I fear no wound, for what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger! I am Burned, I fear no death, for what kills me will only bring me to greater life!"

She chuckled as she heard Gizzard's voice boom out of the temple; all of the Burned tried to strengthen themselves through trials of one sort or another, whether that meant being like Genoa and drinking lemon juice instead of wine, being like Zakkat and going barefoot everywhere, or being like Gizzard and praying as long as you could at one time. His marathon sessions were a local legend, supposedly lasting up to a week before one of the clerics managed to convince him to eat. But there were other voices around the sacred flame as well, ones she began to make out as she passed the pillars of the dead that flanked the entrance.

She knew what they were saying already, though; "Make use of my sore feet, Great Smith," "Use my fear to make me brave, Great Smith," "Make good use of my suffering, Great Smith." Suffering was the fuel that fed the Temple of Flame, the source of its popularity in Griffonstone; being Burned, following the Great Smith, gave meaning to suffering, and in Griffonstone there was little of the first and a lot of the second. If you were Burned, you would still suffer, but the Great Smith would put it to use, forging you and the rest of his creation stronger with it. Some of the more philosophical Burned actually celebrated suffering, saying that the Great Smith was putting them on his anvil to help them, crying out in pained ecstasy as he brought his great hammer, Caster, down on them.

"I am Burned," she murmured as she entered the temple courtyard, the sacred flame burning in the center. "I fear no trial, for what doesn't break me only builds me higher."

She skirted the edge of the crowd around the flame, pausing only to wave at a few friends, making her way purposefully to the clerics' quarters. Like she'd told Gallus, she needed to Purge, and while she could do that alone, she personally found it more effective if she had one of the priests or priestesses help.

One of the clerics was washing the hall floors when she arrived, Kirk judging by the wisps of fiery beard poking out from beneath their hood. She gave him a curt nod, not wanting to distract him from his self-forgings, and made her way over to Guery's room, rapping on the door. "Come in," the priestess replied, an invitation that Gilda quickly obeyed.

The room was small, barely three meters on each side, and less decorated even than the cells Sir Cloudfloor called quarters for newcomers, but still clearly lived in; what little personality Guery allowed herself to keep showed in the small bookcase at the foot of her simple cot, the pot of incense near the smaller sacred flame in the corner, the poster showing an artist's attempt to describe the relationship between the Smith, his creation, and its suffering. The room was too hot to be cozy, but it wasn't the cell some of the Smith's enemies said it was.

Guery bowed to the poster, to the Smith it represented, one last time before turning to Gilda, smoky hair framing her face. Gilda frowned; Guery's eyes looked right, like burning coals, but the last time she'd been here the soot surrounding those coals hadn't been so noticeable.

"Welcome, Gilda," Guery dipped her head to her guest. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to Purge myself again," she replied, still frowning. "Have you been sleeping well?"

Guery shrugged. "The Smith has seen fit to test me with nightmares lately," she answered. "I offer it up as best as I can, but it appears that I have not given up-" She was interrupted by a yawn. "-all of my suffering. But don't worry, I can help you Purge in my sleep. And even if I fail, Kirk is near, he will not allow you to be left unfinished."

Hesitantly, Gilda nodded, then took a deep breath. "Great Smith," she began, closing her eyes. "I offer you all my sufferings, all my pain, all my trials: most of all, I offer you the fear I felt in the Runery earlier today. I accept my suffering, and offer it back to you; may you make good use of it, to strengthen me and the rest of creation."

The sacred flame flickered.

"Let it be," Guery dipped her head, before grabbing a long metal pole and dipping it in the flame. As she waited for it to heat up, Gilda began slipping out of her armor. She set her foam-mail overcoat aside, then began fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. By the time Guery removed the rod from the fire, she was ready, her phoenix open to the Smith's blessing.

Gingerly, Guery held the staff's head, sizzling with heat, against the phoenix, seared into Gilda's flesh when she'd become Burned years ago. She bit back a wince as the brand seared her, but didn't move; the Brand of the Burned was painful to receive, yeah, but pain was suffering, and suffering could be turned into strength.

"You are a Burned woman," Guery chanted. "you fear no wound."

"For what doesn't kill me," Gilda responded as Guery took the brand away. "only makes me stronger."

Steam rose from her skin as she dabbed at her renewed phoenix with the cool, wet cloth Guery tossed her, one of the many safeguards that ensured that Branding made the recipient stronger. The cloth, frequency limits, duration and pressure guidelines that made her head spin... In the past it might've been risky, but now she honestly felt safer being Branded than walking through Griffonstone, though Sir Cloudfloor's work was making that race a lot closer.

"Thanks, Guery," she grunted as she slipped her armor back on. "Hope you sleep better soon. Can't have you falling asleep mid-Branding, can we?"

The priestess didn't laugh. "I hope that your hope is fulfilled," she replied. "but part of me wonders if my nightmares are a gift. Sixtus walking away unharmed from a glass bottle to the head, rumors of things happening at the Runery, whispers about magic from the staff at the Homestrian embassy... given all this, is prophecy really so hard to believe?"

"Don't worry about it," Gilda reassured her. "Like you said, most of that stuff's based on rumors, and you know how accurate those are. Have you heard half the rumors about this place?"

"Maybe I am just being paranoid," Guery shrugged. "The Great Smith might simply be testing me, and eventually grant me succor, hopefully. And yet," she nervously rubbed her hands together. "when I dream, when I see the black star, I can't think of hope. I don't think about hope or succor or light; all I can think of is how afraid I am, and how very, very cold."

"'Black star?'" Gilda frowned in confusion. "What in the world are you dreaming about?"

Guery closed her eyes. "It's the same, every night," she replied. "First, I see a soldier of jade, cloaked in dust, fighting the long defeat. Next, I see two masked Men, one with a mask of their true self, the other with countless masks covering their true self. Finally, I see a graveyard, with tombs for all the kingdoms of the world, and over them all hovers a black star. Then, I wake up in a cold sweat, too afraid to fall back asleep."

"Huh," Gilda whistled, scratching her head. "That is a strange one. I... really don't have any idea what to tell you. I still think it's just a dream, though; if it was a prophecy, what could it possibly mean?"

"A warning," Guery quietly replied, looking at the fire. "A herald of a great trial to come, one which will either lift us to new heights or kill us all. I don't know what that trial might be, or when it might arrive; all I can do is pray that we have the strength to endure it when it comes."

Glenda I

The first thing visitors from Homestria commented on was always the map. The second thing was a contest between the art, the bookshelves, and herself, but there was no contest for first; the map won that handily.

It wasn't anything special, just a map of the area around the Celestial Sea, but shifted a few degrees to the east, putting Griffonstone and Groveria in the center instead of Homestria. Of course, that also meant that there were more of the lands to the east visible, and less of the emptiness west of Homestria, but Homestria had known about those lands for centuries, either through second-hand tales told by Groverians or through first-hand experience trading with them in Griffonstone's great markets of yore. Homestrians would be surprised to see them when most other maps of the region excluded them, but they wouldn't be a shock.

At least, that was her hypothesis; most of the evidence disagreed with it, with the map apparently being different enough from what those viewing it were expecting to invite discomfort, anxiety, or even anger in Homestrian observers. Most of them, consciously or un-, thought of their home as the center of the world, and being pushed from that position left them as unbalanced as shoving them with her shoulder would.

"Not that we're much better," she murmured, remembering her parents' recounting of Guto the Usurper's doomed attempt to reestablish the empire. "Maybe it's something common to all Men, all over the world. All of us wanting to be ruler and not liking it when we're told no."

"Is that it?" a shadow whispered near her ear, sending her jumping out of her seat. "Or is it that all of us think that we're supposed to be ruled and are afraid that we'll be told yes?"

"Don't scare me like that, Crypsis!" she wheezed, heart pounding beneath her hand. "You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days!"

"Apologies," the Oddon bowed his head. "I would have called out earlier, but I didn't want to disturb you."

"So you decided to scare me half to death, instead?" she asked, trying to calm her pulse down.

"I would've done the same if I'd called out earlier," he gave her a thin smile. "You were wrapped up in reports instead of your thoughts, then, but whatever they're wrapped in, people still react the same way when I surprise them. Speaking of those reports, though, anything of interest in them?"

"No," she sighed, shaking her head. "Cloudsdale staying quiet, the Unmarked on the run, Shining Armor mustering to chase them down, all of it's about stuff over in Homestria. Anything on your end?"

"Oh, yes," he nodded. "A convocation in the Temple of Flame, more reports of magic in the Runery, confirmation of Sixtus Stone-Skin's abilities... and, if Giltus is to be believed, Yearling's departure from the city."

"Did he say which direction she went?" Please say back to Homestria, please say back to Homestria.

"Into the foothills," he shattered her hopes.

"Any hint of where specifically in the foothills she was going?" her shoulders slumped.

"None," shattered the fragments of her hopes even further.

"Did anyone go with her?" she pleaded, desperately searching for a silver lining.

"Giltus said she went alone," ground the fragments still left into dust.

She let her face fall into her hands. She didn't have anything against the archaeologist/author herself, she personally quite enjoyed her books, Yearling just... didn't always play nice with others. Both in the personal sense of her preference for working alone (a preference that those who'd tried to work with her before proved very willing to respect, especially if it meant they didn't have to work with her again) and in the abstract sense of not necessarily giving due weight to the considerations of those in whose territory she went exploring. Taking Crypsis' homeland as an example, it wasn't that Oddo was against the idea of exploring the ruins of Ebonwood, and they weren't against the idea of recovering artifacts from there either, they simply wanted her to ask their permission before exploring and try to minimize damage to the site and any artifacts she found, even if it meant taking longer.

To make a long story, one told in whispers by the various members of the Homestrian diplomatic service, short, Daring Do and the Twisted Crown was the only one of her books set in Oddo, and would presumably keep that title until either the day she died or the day Oddo decided to end her banishment.

The Ebonwood Incident, as it was called, cemented Yearling's fame in Homestria, immortalizing her as the daring individual who dared to defy the ancient tyranny of Oddo, and simultaneously made her a figure of concern outside the kingdom. Glenda personally thought that Yearling was right, Ebonwood was simply an unfortunate accident caused by time, but even she was reluctant to risk letting the person who had accidentally (negligently to some, "accidentally" to others) turned an ancient Oddon fortress to rubble near anywhere archaeologically significant in her homeland. A visit from Yearling had to be carefully choreographed if Homestria wanted to avoid an international incident, making her chaotic, rule-chafing personality the source of a great amount of stress, especially when combined with her well-maintained athletic capabilities (making no method of passage safe to leave unwatched), skill at disguises, legerdemain, and just general good luck. The mere rumor of her traveling through somewhere was enough to provoke an international response, officials in whatever kingdom she was exploring trying to find her to avoid being known as The Enabler of Ebonwood the Second, their Homestrian colleagues wanting to avoid the diplomatic rupture a second Ebonwood would cause.

And now she was here, unannounced, in an extremely sensitive environment. Griffonstone was within a hair's breadth of reuniting, anything that threatened that would be responded to as forcefully as possible, and there was virtually no way any self-respecting Griffonstonian could see the potential cultural destruction of the bull-in-a-glass-shop A. K. Yearling's escapades as anything but a threat.

Forget traps or Dr. Caballeron, she groused, dragging her hands down her face. The greatest danger Daring Do faces is politics. "I'll go let Guyard know," she sighed. "With any luck, we'll be able to track her down and send her home quickly and quietly."

They didn't have any luck.

Guyard, Homestria's ambassador to Griffonstone and whatever else remained of Groveria, was an able administrator and had charisma in spades, but that had only been enough to wring a skeleton staff out of his homeland: five civil servants and six Royal Guards, all of whom were needed at the embassy. There were a handful of Groverian hires, like her, people who could conceivably try to pick up Yearling's trail, but they would have no way of confirming their authority with her when they caught her, putting them back at square one.

Now, he'd been forced to call up his counterparts among the unofficial leaders of Griffonstone, the so-called Regent's Council, and warn them that they were looking at a Code Do. A hasty council had been convened, Glenda shrinking under the flickering digital gazes of three of Guyard's contacts, the ambassador himself staring intently at his own camera. The palace was close enough to the embassy for an in-person meeting, but one of the Griffonstonians, Gordial from the House of Otto, had advised against it; a virtual meeting would attract less attention, and while Groveria as a whole might have been tele-communicatively behind Homestria, Griffonstone, thanks to the efforts of the Council, was almost comparable to it, more than equipped to handle a simple video call. Guyard had agreed, and now they could all join together in panic from the comfort of their offices.

"You're sure that it was Yearling?" another of the Griffonstonians, Giliz, pressed.

"Positive," Glenda nodded. Crypsis wouldn't have told her about it if he hadn't verified it, and while he wasn't infallible, she trusted his judgement.

"What is she doing here?" Gordial scowled. "Why here? And why now, of all times?"

"We're busy," the third contact, Gatha, grumbled. "With reunification and the disappearances on our hands, we don't have enough eyes to look out for her, or enough hands to do anything if we do see her."

"Is there anybody who can be spared?" Guyard pleaded. "Even one or two would free us up to track her down."

Giliz shook her head. "Sir Cloudfloor needs every sword he can get, either for peacekeeping or... protection. Speaking of which," she looked hopefully at Glenda. "Anything?"

"No," she sadly shook her head. "After the Gull Raids, the Shore Watch mapped as much of the coast as they could. Between them, the maps Galleon lent us, and the historical data, I've only been able to find a handful of viable bases of operations for a kidnapping ring this large anywhere within two hundred kilos of Griffonstone, and all of those have been searched, scoured. All of them turned up nothing."

"This is impossible," Gordial said as Giliz fumed. "There have been over four hundred reported disappearances over the past month, leaving aside the reports we've received from Mount Aris and the Draconic Isles. All of them have occurred either on the sea or within half-a-dozen strides of it, indicating a definitive area of operations. We have Cadmun warships, Groverian loremasters, and Homestrian satellites scouring that area. And yet, despite all this, we don't even know for certain what the kidnappers look like or why they're doing this. How is this possible?"

"It doesn't matter," Guyard said, leaning forward in his seat. "They can't evade us forever, and, once Manehattan and the rest of the Eastern Seaboard start helping us, they won't be able to keep even that up for long."

"You've been talking about bringing them in for weeks," Gatha snorted. "What makes this week any different?"

"Starlight's overplayed her hand," Guyard replied. "Guards from Manehattan occupied her base yesterday, and those of her followers who're still with her are all penned up in Hollow Shades. All that's left is for Shining Armor to strike the last blow, and that's less than two days away."

"Hm," Giliz hummed thoughtfully. "While I am glad to hear that, I still say that it should never have been allowed to get this far. If a kingdom wants to stand, it needs to be able to stop those who try to topple it over, ideally without risking being toppled at all. One preemptive strike a month, even a week ago, would have prevented this."

"A preemptive strike by Solartria would've prevented Unification," Guyard replied. "We could debate this all day, Giliz, and I'd be glad to, but we'd never reach an answer; striking early works sometimes, holding back works other times, and we don't know what those times are. All we can do is choose one and hope we chose right."

"I think we can all agree," Gatha grumbled. "That Homestria chose wrong this time. Just like it seems to have chosen wrong, consistently, with regards to Miss Yearling. I can respect allowing the average citizen certain freedoms, but her line of work, and the way she goes about it, makes considering her 'an average citizen' either a joke or an insult."

"While Mrs. Gatha and I have some disagreements regarding freedom," Gordial cleared his throat. "I do agree that Miss Yearling seems to be bound by a dangerously long leash. At the very least, she could at least give you some way to contact her in case she, ah, finds herself in a sensitive situation like this."

"Homestria doesn't own her citizens," Guyard sighed, shaking his head. "Cold as it may sound, Starlight and Yearling are the price of that; something's gotta fall into the pit before we realize we need to put up guardrails around it, and there are too many pits for all those things to be just thoughts. But you're right, we do need to get to putting up some boundaries; we don't own Yearling, but that doesn't mean we don't have any right to make rules for her. First, though, we have to find her. Once again, any of you, is there anyone you can spare?"

All of them shook their heads. "Between keeping order and providing protection from whoever's doing the kidnappings," Giliz sighed. "We need every able hand, eye, and tread here. I'm sorry, Guyard; you're on your own."

"At least," Gatha murmured. "Until the brave Captain Armor finally gets around to crushing that little rebel problem. Then, with the Eastern Seaboard finally actually helping us instead of simply saying that they will, we should be able to free up enough soldiers to catch Homestria's... loose pet."

The call went silent except for static, Gatha's colleagues' eyes bulging. Glenda's jaw dropped; she knew what the old Groverian, along with what felt like a third of the city, thought of Shining Armor, but to hear those thoughts voiced, to a Homestrian diplomat no less, was the epitome of either the bravery Gatha and those like her thought Shining Armor lacked or the recklessness his supporters, like Guyard, thought he avoided.

Speaking of, the ambassador raised an eyebrow at his camera, clearly intending it for the only non-horrified Griffonstonian. "Guto the Rebel was brave," he calmly replied. "Gruff the Host solved his little rebel problem with one dinner. As for loose pets, Grover the Tyrant managed to catch his fairly well, wouldn't you say?"

"We've made peace with our history, sir," Giliz interrupted as Gatha sputtered angrily. "Stop trying to break that peace."

"I'm not," Guyard raised his hands apologetically. "I'm just saying, an active approach poses problems as much as Homestria's more passive approach does. I'm not saying one's better than the other, just that it's not only the passive approach that causes problems."

"One wonders, though," Gordial murmured while Gatha recomposed herself. "Which approach is more problematic."

"That we do," Guyard nodded. "That we do."

Silverstream II

She said hello to the Sea for her mom, currently lying below deck.

As soon as they'd climbed aboard Allegiance, while her dad thanked the transport's crew for ferrying them there, her mom had wobbled over to their cabin and collapsed on her bed. In the days since then, she'd rarely gotten up, only doing so to talk with her and Dad, eat, and pace when her anxiety made sitting still intolerable.

(She paced a lot.)

Even when she left her bed, she didn't leave their cabin, taking all her meals inside of it and tracing the beginnings of a groove in the floor with her pacing. The captain had given them free run of the ship, but Mom acted like that was just a trick, like leaving their cabin or going out on deck would be falling into the captain's trap. The one time the captain had suggested her mom do so, her face had paled to bone-white. She'd stammered out an excuse about seasickness, and Dad and her had agreed to pretend that that was the case; they loved her (though Dad's love was a thousand times stronger, a prince's love for his princess) and they didn't want people to make fun of her. A seasick Arisian was someone to sympathize with, an Arisian who was afraid of the Sea was a laughingstock, like a Homestrian afraid of harmony or an Oddon afraid of the Sun.

(Even if they had good reasons for being afraid.)

Stars twinkled off the water, bobbing up and down and through the foam of Allegiance's wake. She didn't recognize most of them, hadn't since they'd crossed the North-South Axis a few days back, but she still recognized their beauty; cold and warm, bright and dark, personal and aloof, meaningless and holding power over the whole world. She stretched a hand out to touch them, and millions of kilos of nothingness held her back.

Would her mother's prayers reach them? Could words fly over the abyss that stopped her hand? Or were they doomed to tire, fall, crash into the Sea, and sink?

... taking on water...

She let her hand fall. It didn't matter, anyway; they weren't Starwatchers, her mom wouldn't pray to them. Their's was the Pantheon, the spirits of all who had been, were, and would be, born of Ouros Stone-Father and Issus Wind-Mother before time began. It was to them, the All-Parents, and the greatest of their children that her mom prayed, not the skyborne gems which loomed forever beyond her hand.

That was her character, wasn't it? Distracted from what was really important by shiny things. Stars, the Sea, fantasy, romance, anyone who was willing to listen to her ramble on about nothing important for hours on end, she drank all of them up like saltwater in the desert. She knew she did it, she knew it was bad for her, and she still always drank every drop.

"It's not a good idea to be out here alone," the captain's voice pierced the gloom of her thoughts. "Especially not at night."

She wiped her eyes as the captain began sauntering over the deck towards her. "Sorry," she sniffed. "I just needed some air."

The captain raised a brow at her as she approached. "Are those tears," she asked, "part of the reason you needed that?"

Silverstream shook her head. "No, don't worry," she reassured her. "Everything's fine, I was just... thinking."

"Hm," the captain rumbled, clearly unconvinced. "Bit for what you were thinking about."

"How easily distracted I am," she sighed. "I know it's a problem, I know I need to stop doing it, but I keep letting it happen."

"Letting?" the captain asked as she leaned on the railing beside her. "Or having?"

Silverstream looked at her in confusion.

"I grew up in a bad place," the captain explained. "Somewhere that makes the Oddo from just before Thorax's rebellion look like a paradise. There was no way to survive if you followed the rules, so people... didn't. Some of them chose to do the things that they did, things your parents would kill me if they knew I told you about, and others, like me, just did what they did to survive. The lying, the stealing, the smuggling, it happened to us. We didn't let it happen because it didn't care whether we let it or not; it made the decision to happen, not us. So, do you keep letting yourself get distracted or do you keep having yourself get distracted?"

"I," she bit her lip. "I, I..." She sighed in defeat. "I don't know. I just... you see those stars?"

The captain chuckled. "I'd have to be blind not to."

"I'm scared that, one day, I'll be blind," she replied. "I won't see the beauty or wonder or goodness in the world, just the world itself. I'll look up at the stars and not wonder about them, not think of them as anything more than pretty specks of light. I can't let that happen, I can't... I wouldn't be able to live in a world like that, one cold and quiet and-and dead. So I make sure to wonder about the stars, about everything, but there's so much to wonder about that I just lose myself in it. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," the captain nodded. "If I didn't think you'd heard it a thousand times before, I'd tell you to try to hold yourself back, try not to get lost in your wondering, but I'm sure you have." She raised a shrewd eyebrow at her. "Probably tried it a million times, too."

She nodded shame-faced. "I've tried," she murmured. "But whenever I do, something happens, something that I don't feel wonder at, and I just... panic and give up. Even when I know that it's going to happen and that it's not the end of the world if it does, I still run away from it." She scraped a fleck of paint off the railing and into the Sea. "I'm so immature."

"Immature people don't know that they are," the captain reassured her. "And even if they do, they don't care. You know, and you clearly care, so don't worry about it; immaturity's not your problem. As for what is," she shrugged. "I dunno. I'm a sailor, not a doctor. Best thing I can think of telling you is keep your eye on what you need to do. The crew doesn't care if I weep in wonder at a whirlpool so long as I steer us clear of it. Dreaming's a good thing, but you need to get things done in the real world."

Silverstream sniffed, then smiled gratefully at the captain. "Thanks," she replied. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Good," the captain nodded. "You'll need to, in Griffonstone. Sir Cloudfloor and his friends have done a lot to clean the place up, but it's still a really dangerous place to sleepwalk in. Until Guthwin takes, and holds, control and manages to fix relations with Homestria, Griffonstone's in for a tough time, and tough times mean desperate people. At least your parents managed to wait until the Keyron joined back up with the city, before that even bread was hard to come by, and you haven't seen desperation until you've seen a Man who can't get bread."

"You've been to Griffonstone before?" Silverstream asked, ears perking up.

"Kid, Allegiance's been crossing the Celestial Sea for over ten years," the captain snorted, a smirk growing on her face. "There's no way I haven't been to Griffonstone before now. Last time before this was," her face fell a bit, "during Thorax's rebellion, actually. Half the crew wanted to help him, the other half wanted to help stop him, so I decided that we'd simply stay away from him until things calmed down. I didn't want my crew, my family, fighting each other. Some of them didn't like it, of course, one or two even tried sneaking off to join Thorax or Chrysalis, but I managed to keep the peace. Or, at least," her smirk returned, though darker. "I kept the war to between me and the crew."

Silverstream put a hand on her shoulder in attempted comfort. Thorax's revolt against his mother had been an emotionally turbulent time for Mount Aris, too, as well as the Cadmuns. With Chrysalis' too-late hiring of the Golden Steel, almost all the kingdoms around the Celestial Sea had taken an interest in the war, all except the eastward-focused Labradorors and, oddly enough, the almost habitually outward-facing Homestrians. What was an agonizing problem for Mount Aris or Caer Draig seemed to be an insignificant, local issue for Castellot.

"It wasn't all bad, though," the captain spoke up again. "Managed to use the chance to visit some places in the eastern Celestial; Griffonstone, Ash Bay, Labrador Harbor. Me and the crew traded tales with the Sea Dragons, saw the sun set behind the Heart of Fire temple in Caer Draig, even managed to help the Labradorors catch a few pirates in the Mittelmare. Still, it was nice when Novo told us we could come home. Well, to our land-home, anyway; even as divided as it was, Allegiance," she tapped the deck with her prosthetic leg, "was still our home."

"Really?" Silverstream tilted her head. "I thought that Gull Point was your home. At least, that's where Skystar told me she sent her letters..."

The captain laughed. "That's because I use that place as a mailbox. Gull Point's a good place for storage, taking on supplies, and, like the princess told you, getting messages, but it's not my home. Ever since I first stepped on deck, I've never felt at home off the water. Crest-climber, Foam-flier, Allegiance, all of them have been my home at one time or another, but never Gull Point. I'm a daughter of the Sea, not the land."

"Not this Sea, though," Silverstream noted.

The captain shrugged. "Just because some mapmaker gives something a different name doesn't mean it's different. North Lunar, South Lunar, Celestial, Mittelmare, the Sea's the Sea; the accent might be different, but it still tells you the same things. Honestly, when you spend as much time traveling as we do, you learn that that's true for a lot of things; mapmakers carve the world up, but that doesn't cut the land and Sea. Neither do princesses or kings or whatever you call the people who tell other people what to do; Manehattan looks a lot like Griffonstone if you spend enough time with them, just like Ash Harbor looks like Abden, which looks like the first two. People can say all they want about how they're different, how they're better, but everyone needs to eat, everyone needs to drink, and everyone needs to do something else after that." While Silverstream tried to hide her giggle, the captain continued, "All of us need those things; the only difference is how we get them. Some of us ask for what we need, others just take it." Her face darkened. "Some of us decide to kill innocents, others don't get around to deciding not to."

Waves lapped against Allegiance's hull while Silverstream bit her lip. The memories were clearly painful for the captain, but sometimes shining light on a wound could help it heal. Holding a candle right up to it wouldn't do any good, though; she needed to be careful in how she brought it up, needed to choose her words-

A thick, black, barnacle-encrusted tower loomed out of the night, passing by on Allegiance's right as they went up the coast.

More quickly joined it; a large, stout tower here, the tumbled remains of a taller, slenderer one there. Sunken spires and broken blocks of stone peeked out as the waves crested up and down. Peering over the side, Silverstream could faintly see a drowned courtyard beneath the water, a statue standing in its center, beaten down to a vague lump of stone by the passage of time.

"Gemerelli," she whispered in recognition. "The Unbreakable Land."

"It was called that, once," the captain sighed. "The Groverians say that it was once the greatest city in the world. The Gemerellites knew how to shape stone, how to carve it and build with it, and how to turn it into stuff better than stone; Gemerellite bronze was a work of art, and they figured out how to make iron ages before the first Vingol looked down into a lightning-crater. They trained soldiers that could trounce anyone from here to the Gap and scholars who made the Oratory look bad. And leading them all, a council of elected leaders who ruled fairly and wisely. Gemerelli was great."

A piece of stone cracked off of one of the towers and crashed into the sea.

"Once," Silverstream sadly murmured.

The captain nodded. "Now, everyone calls it the Drowned Ruins, and the only people who talk about it are the Groverians, and even then only to say how much better things were 'back in the day.'"

"What happened to it?" Silverstream asked. "My history teacher said that it was just the Gemerellites dispersing over time, just natural development, but this," she gestured at the shattered ruins of the Unbreakable Land, "there's no way this was natural."

"Sorry to disappoint you," the captain chuckled, "but all the people I've spoken to say that what happened here was completely natural; the Gemerellites built their stonework, metalwork, soldiers, scholars, and leaders, and then just - stopped. Why did they need to develop them further? They were the best in the world. They got comfortable, so they stopped growing, then they stopped changing, then they tried to stop the rest of the world from changing. They failed; other people came up with ways to fight off their soldiers, their secrets for stone- and metal-working spread, and the 'elected' leaders ended up spending more time fighting their own citizens than the city's enemies. Then, when the Cold Age struck, Nature or the gods or random chance or something decided to punish them for misusing their gifts and gave them a new one, a tidal wave that could be seen from Griffonstone." She snorted. "I guess they got what they wanted, huh? They wanted not to change, and look at them now; thousands of years, and barely any changes to talk about. Not even the water level's changed, even after the Cold Age's ice melted. No, the Gemerellites' leaders got their wish; nobody will ever come close to them again. Not even criminals, and here would be almost perfect for them; well-constructed, out of the way, easy to hide and move around in, this place would make a perfect hideout or safehouse, but people remember what else was perfect here and how that turned out."

A solemn silence fell on them as Allegiance passed through the drowned city, dark and brooding ruins reaching out to them before falling away as the ship sailed by. The last memories of a once-great kingdom, fighting to stay above the abyss that had claimed that kingdom's people...

"Whose side were you on, captain?"

Blinking, the captain turned to her and raised a brow.

Silverstream swallowed. "Thorax or Chrysalis?"

The captain's face changed, melting into an impenetrable mask. "You know about Ornithia, kid?"

Frowning in thought, Silverstream eventually shook her head.

"It was my home," the captain replied, lip curling. "Ornithia, land of a thousand islands. A thousand islands, and ten thousand rulers. Every island was like Griffonstone, pretenders and mercenaries fighting each other while the rich profited off of them and those caught in the crossfire. There was no law except the whims of the rich and the strong, and they weren't particularly interested in things like peace or security or anything other than their own wants. Some of the islands had courts, yeah, with judges and juries, all of whom were either in the rich's pocket or the line of fire of the strong. The only ways out were wooden boxes; either you got on a ship and went as far away as fast as you could, or you stayed, tried to scratch out a living, and ended up in a coffin anyway. Chaos, suffering, a law that was worse than lawlessness... why would I want to wish that on somewhere I didn't know, let alone somewhere like Oddo where I had friends? I didn't want either Chrysalis or Thorax to win if winning meant subjecting Oddo to that. I wasn't for Chrysalis or Thorax; I was for Oddo, for the people those two claimed to care for." She spat into the sea. "They claimed a lot of things. Like, Thorax, he claimed that, with how Chrysalis had deteriorated, rebellion was the least worst option. What could be worse than something that caused Chrysalis' purges, Pike's execution, and Bluefield?"

Silverstream shivered at the suffering-haunted last name, and weakly replied, "Bluefield wasn't him, it was-"

"One of his captains, I know," the captain cut her off. "I know that not saying 'no' isn't the same as saying 'yes', too. For things like this, though, for soldiers and judges and kings, it sounds close enough."

"He was trying not to be his mother," she said, "give his subordinates the chance to talk about their orders instead of blindly obeying them."

"He tried too hard," the captain retorted. "There's a reason orders are given, and that's because the higher-ups know more about what's going on than the boots on the ground do. If that turns out to be wrong and the boots know more than the captains, the boots are welcome to talk about it and help the captains get a bigger picture. They're not welcome to completely disregard orders, no matter how weakly worded they are. Of course, from the sounds of it, it also would've helped if Thorax had actually made it a clear order, not just an 'oh, by the way, when you get this city to surrender, please don't wipe its inhabitants off the face of the planet.'"

Silverstream paused, then asked, "You don't like Thorax, do you?"

"I didn't like him at first, no," the captain shook her head. "Too weak, too indecisive. I get that he wanted to be more open than his mother, wanted to involve more people, but a leader needs to be willing to make a decision on their own. He needed to take charge, not because it was his right but because it was his duty; his advisors' job was to advise him, but his job was to take that advice and make a decision with it, then get others either to agree with it or convince him to change it. You can only plot one course at a time, and it was his job to plot it. But, thankfully, he grew; the Thorax crowned at Queensgrave was a better leader than the Thorax who defeated Pike, just like the Thorax who took the Hive was a better leader than the one crowned by Dagger. He grew, he learned, and he was willing to change, which is why I don't hate him now; he's not the indecisive boy who wasn't able to protect Bluefield from being butchered anymore. Now, he can prove that he cares about his people instead of simply saying that and hiding in the corner. But I can't just forget the days when he was like that; I can't forget what it took for him to get where he is now. I like the current Thorax, but whenever I see him I think about the old Thorax and all the people who died in his splendid little war, and I wonder if it was worth it."

A hand lashed around Silverstream's ankle.

Without thinking, she began to scream, as high and loud as she could, while her free foot began feeling around for the arm of whoever was grabbing her. She found it, then stomped with all the strength in her leg, grinding her heel into the thick arm.

With a hiss, it retreated, and seven others surged over the railing, pulling dripping, muscular bodies up the side of the ship.

With a desperate screech, she struck at every hand she could find, trying to keep the railing a wall to keep whoever was coming out. But there were too many of them, her strongest blows only caused them to retract and grab somewhere else, now one of them was over the railing, reaching for her, and her head hurt where she'd hit it, sending it spiraling down into the sea.

A howl of pain shrieked to her right, salty iron drops spattering her cheek; the captain's knife was drawn, and one of the climbing hands was missing two fingers. It quickly joined its companion over the side.

Another one rose up to take the place of the one Silverstream had knocked away, and she prepared to send it after the first, but then she looked at it and all she could see was it, and it was wrong, it looked like a Man but without a nose, its eyes were too wide, its teeth were fangs, and its skin was drowned, it was a drowned Man walking, drowned Men didn't walk, didn't breathe, didn't bring souvenirs home, and it grabbed her and its touch was so cold-

Desperation gave her strength, strength in her arms which shrugged its arms off and strength in her legs which crashed into its body and sent it reeling over the edge, down into the depths where drowned Men belonged.

Another splash, and there were no more hands, all of them were back in the sea, just like the captain's knife went back into her pocket as she pulled out her phone and shouted into it, "Ocypete, I don't care where we are, full speed ahead."

A brief indiscernible buzz from her phone, and then the churning of the water down below as Allegiance's engines roared to full life.

"We should never have come here," the captain growled. "Sunken rocks and speed don't go together, and going slow and arriving at Griffonstone safely don't mix either nowadays."

Silverstream said nothing in reply, instead bending down to pick something up off the deck: the two fingers the captain had slashed off, thankfully apparently done bleeding out. While the captain's words echoed meaninglessly in her ears, she looked the fingers over curiously, some unknown question driving her.

Why was she interested in them? They looked normal, if a bit thicker and stronger than she was used to. The nails were short and the skin looked almost like it was sparkling, but nothing really out of the ordinary.

Except, when she accidentally dropped them, they didn't drop, the fingers trying to grab her even after being detached, though now only the fingertips had the strength to try.

Her hand frantically flapped as she screamed, eventually throwing the fingers back down onto the deck with a sickening crack. She fearfully shuffled away from them, staring at them with eyes almost as wide as the fingers' wielder's had been.

Then someone else was grabbing her, but she didn't fight back; this grab was different, one she'd felt countless times before.

"Silverstream, are you okay?" Sky Beak asked while Mom simply hugged her and blubbered. "We heard you screaming, we came as fast as we could."

"There was an attack," the captain interrupted before she could reply. "For all we know, another might be on the way. All of you, back to your cabin, I'll send a few of the crew to help keep you safe as soon as I can."

"Attack?" Sky Beak frowned. "An attack by who?"

"Don't know, doesn't matter," the captain curtly replied. "All that matters is that you're not safe out here. Get to your cabin, hunker down, and don't leave until I give you the all-clear; I promised Novo I'd get you safely to Griffonstone, and however much I crossed that promise by going through this wreck of a place, I don't intend to break it. I will keep you safe, whether that means from yourselves, the weather, the Sea, or whoever attacked us. You're under my roof, and that means I have a duty to you, and I will not fail that duty."

A crashing wave slammed into a nearby tower, scattering foam and starlight through the air as Ocean Flow and Sky Beak carried Silverstream back to their cabin.

The captain prepared to follow them, but paused on the threshold of the ship's castle. Turning back to the stern with a thoughtful look on her face, she bent down and picked up the discarded fingers, rolling them around in her hands.

Standing back up, she stuffed them in a pocket, murmuring, "Whoever, or whatever attacked us," before heading inside.

Gilda II

Her foe danced around her, keeping just out of range of her staff while trying to dart in with blows of their own. She paid those blows no mind; her armor took them for her, she felt nothing through the plates. Those few times her foe aimed for somewhere other than plate, she moved so that plate or her shield took the blow, and then she struck with one of her own. Her foe'd dodged all of them so far, but he was dancing to dodge them, and you couldn't dance forever.

A footstep too slow.

There.

Her staff took him in the slow foot, sending it flying out from under him. Desperately, he batted her staff away as he tried to regain his balance. Good; he was keeping an eye on her weapon, controlling it.

Too bad she had more than one.

He fell to the ground, her shield standing where his chest had been a moment before. He turned his fall into a roll, rose to his feet, and found her staff pointing at his nose. Behind his helmet's screen, she knew he was glaring at her.

A poke to the screen, and the fight was over.

"You still dance, boy," she said as she took off her helmet. "You don't dance to dodge; get out of the danger zone, stop-"

"-stop the threat," the boy interrupted her, his eye-roll audible, "get back in the fight, I know. You, Sir Cloudfloor, and the rest of the company have told me that a million times already."

"Then listen to it," she shot back effortlessly before grabbing her water bottle and taking a strong sip.

"My brain's trying to," he replied as he took his own helmet off. "But my body's not getting the message. I try to control myself, keep my movements contained, do what you and everyone else has told me way too many times, but once my battle-senses kick in my legs go back to dancing."

She understood; if your body was used to something, then battle, where you traded your regular brain for the battle-senses that would keep you alive, meant that your brain wasn't around to tell it not to do that. Everyone in the company had had to deal with that at one time or another, even Gram the Forever-Fighter. Of course, everyone, or at least everyone who'd made it for long, knew the solution, too, though she doubted the boy would like it.

"So practice," she said, wiping her mouth as she swallowed one last gulp of water. "Practice until your legs dodge properly, even in battle."

The boy nodded, though wearily. He trained well when he put his mind to it, but he knew that he'd need to do that for a long time before his body would learn how to not dance. He still had the spark in his eyes, the one that meant he wasn't gonna give up, but he also had the far-away look of the trainee who knew just what not giving up would require.

The door to the chamber where they were training creaked open, a heart-shaped face peering in. "There y'are," its bearer sighed in relief, her Dockside accent melting her words together as she pushed the door open. "For a bit, I was afraid I was gonna haveta check every room in this place."

"Why were you looking for us?" Gilda asked.

"Sir Cloudfloor wants to see you," came the reply. "And he said he wants you parade-ready, so," here the messenger blushed as she briefly looked at Gallus, "you might wanna hit the showers first."

Gilda smirked as Gallus rolled his eyes. The messenger's crush on him was sweet, and watching him try to play the 'I'm-too-cool-for-love' card was always good for a laugh. He didn't return her crush, no, but he was too scared of hurting her to flat-out say no, so he tried to tell her indirectly by playing the stone-cold soldier whenever they had to talk. Hiding behind masks, like he always did when things turned tough.

He always called himself a man, had since one of the recruiters had found him scavenging from a dumpster; "I can live on my own," he said, "That makes me a man." Maybe, but playing pretend to try to solve a problem wasn't the action of a man. Boys dreamed; men lived in the real world. Pretending to be heartless so that you didn't have to deal with heart problems like love was a boy's move; recognizing that, doing something more than that, was what a real man would do.

You want me to call you a man, Gallus? Give me a reason to. "We'll be there enkissur," she said, stretching. "But first, a lesson for Gallus."

The boy blinked, turning to look at Gilda. "Ma'am?"

"As an Iron Fang, you can expect to see diplomatic work," she replied. "Guarding embassies, diplomats, messages, ve surekli, ve surekli. I want you to practice," she gestured at the messenger, "by keeping Sir Cloudfloor's ambassador to us company while I get ready. Clear?"

While the messenger quietly gasped in joy, her aide gave her a look of purest anger. He obeyed, though, as he knew he had to, his tongue lashing out a "Crystal" before throwing a knife-like salute and turning to glare at the messenger.

Lesson failed, Gilda shook her head as she left to clean up.

As soon as she finished making ready, Gallus stormed off to do likewise, giving Gilda and the messenger a few moments to talk. Nothing much had changed since they'd last run into each other a few days ago, but the messenger had a way with words, a way that made even small changes interesting to hear about. Sadly, her tongue tripped over itself just as she was about to tell Gilda how that banana had gotten in the bottle, as Gallus returned in full parade kit.

Gilda gave a quiet whistle as she looked him over; the boy could certainly clean himself up. His gloves and greaves almost glowed, even in the room's low light, and his breastplate shone, the Iron Fang emblem in its center burnished like silver. He'd even gotten his mail to look good, a deep black as opposed to the usual dull grey. Once he put his helmet, currently underarm, on, he would be the very picture of an Iron Fang.

"Well done, boy," she murmured, giving a nod after she finished her inspection. Though he bristled at her name for him, he gave a murmur of thanks at the praise; praise and commendations like that were what he needed to buy a better position than being her aide, technically speaking her apprentice, in the company.

Turning back to the messenger (blushing once again as she gave Gallus a once-over-and-over), Gilda gestured to the door. "Lead the way," she said.

Blinking free of the boy's spell, the messenger briefly blushed deeper and stammered, "R-right, f-follow me!" Then, almost tripping over her own feet, she scurried out of the room, the two Iron Fangs following close behind.

The electric lights Guthwin had had installed flickered overhead as they marched through the palace, the smooth stone floor covered here and there by carpets of varying quality (and taste, judging by that orange-and-green one). Sir Cloudfloor didn't care about things like that, always said something about "focus on the house, not the trimmings" when asked, but the House of Otto did, said that they added to the "regal atmosphere" of the place, and gave their dainty little feet something other than bare stone to walk on as a bonus. Since they basically controlled the regency's purse strings (as well as the rest of Griffonstone's), the palace was beginning to bounce back from centuries of being alternatively abandoned and looted, long-missing carpets and other "trimmings" coming back better (arguably) than ever.

Of course, that wouldn't've mattered if the house itself had fallen apart, but, by some miracle, just like the Runery it had refused to die, though unlike the Runery it had also managed to refuse to decay; despite the chaos, neglect, and salty sea wind of several hundred years, the palace was still as good as new, at least according to the architects the House of Otto had brought in. Not even the Great Earthquake that killed Guto Boreas and at least a tenth of the city had broken or even seemed to hurt the stony tree. In all Gilda's patrolling of the place, inside and out, over the past three years she couldn't recall ever seeing a single crack or seam in the stonework. It honestly gave her the creeps, especially on the heels of her visit to the Runery; the place was unnatural, somewhere outside of the realm of normal Men like her. She was an intruder here, not a guard.

She shook her head; the Runery had shaken her up more than she thought, apparently. She was starting to sound like the Arch Rune-master, a dreamer with their head never going below the clouds. The palace was well-built, just like any number of other places; it was well-built and lucky, not magic. All the stories, all the creeps she was feeling, all of it was just in her head.

"... and Gleedle just upped the reward for finding Guilden to fifty-k," broke into that head, the messenger's prattling voice echoing off the walls and Gallus' uncaring ears.

Gilda bowed her head; Guilden had been the herald of the disappearances, vanishing almost two months before they really started becoming a problem. Those few who knew him said that he was a quiet, bookish sort, more interested in books and practice than people, a taste the Runery had given him a lot of opportunities to indulge in. The last time anyone had seen him, he'd been heading out for lunch, a scroll and a small book accompanying him. In the three months since then, neither boy nor scroll nor book had reappeared, despite the Runery's gradually rising reward for news of him and the regency's efforts to track him down. By this point, with all the other disappearances afflicting the city, Gilda doubted he would ever be found.

"I can't just abandon my duty to go bounty-hunting," Gallus replied, voice stern and stony. "I haven't sworn myself into the Iron Fangs yet, but I'm still loyal to them, and they need me here. My mission needs me here, and the mission comes first."

"I know," the messenger said, frantically making pacifying gestures with their hands. "I know, I wasn't tryna tell yata do anything like that, I was just lettin' you know in case you're ever open."

Gallus snorted at that. "Between Guthwin's appointment and the kidnappings," he replied, "I'll be lucky if I'm open before the Blue Moon Festival."

"You might get lucky soon," the messenger smiled. "Gravine told me that Glenda got a message sayin' that Manehattan's got a pretty good fleet goin', an' they're chompin' at the bit to head east once the Unmarked get cleared out. That'll help with the kidnappin's, adleast."

"Which means they'll find Guilden, which means someone else will get that fifty thousand before I can even start looking," Gallus pointed out, puncturing that smile. "I'll be glad that they caught whoever's behind it and that Guilden's safe, but I won't be looking forward to bounty-hunting someone who's already been found."

The messenger meekly nodded as Gilda shook her head. She'd already sent the boy through the psych-war course twice, and it was still too easy to get under his skin. "Words are wind, words are water; they don't do anything, let them wash over you," the words On Yua always drilled into his students, and they were right, at least judging by how quickly the boy seemed to shrug them off. Maybe he'll get it the third time, she sighed. And if he doesn't maybe he'll need to get the boot.

She didn't want him to get kicked out, of course, she saw more good than bad in him, but that bad left her wondering if he was made to be a soldier. Not everyone was born to wield staff and shield, after all. Some didn't have the strength to swing a staff, some lacked the toughness to use a shield, and some lacked the wisdom to make the best of them. Gallus was strong, and surprisingly tough for someone so thin, but his wisdom seemed like thin soil; they scattered seed in it and watered it well, but nothing grew.

Maybe he'd do better in logistics, she mused. The boy was smart and shrewd, and if he wasn't good at budgeting he wouldn't have lasted so long on his own. He was a quick learner, too, even for more complicated stuff, and there wasn't anything in the QM's office that didn't make Gilda's head spin.

But she knew that wouldn't happen; Gallus wanted to be an Iron Fang, an Iron Fang knight, and he wouldn't accept anything less. Either he would graduate and join her as a brother-in-arms or he would leave and become one of her charges; there would be no middle ground for him.

As she looked at his stony, gloomy face and the nervous glances the messenger shot his way, she wondered where the coin would fall.

Gianna and Rory were a bad sign.

Usually, Sir Cloudfloor rotated who served as his door guards, trying to spread the responsibility - and benefits, as well as training opportunity - through as much of the company as he could. The only exceptions were when something was wrong; then, he called in his elite.

Elite like Gianna and Rory.

Gianna nodded as they drew closer. "Sir Cloudfloor's waiting for you," she said. "Weapons at the door, then you can go in."

Gilda nodded, then passed her sword, knife, and collapsed staff over, gesturing for Gallus and the messenger to do the same.

Before the messenger could obey, Rory spoke up. "Not this one," his earthquake of a voice rumbled. "This one is not part of the meeting. Sir Cloudfloor said so, said this one was to go back to her duties."

"Oh," the messenger squeaked. "O-okay. S-see you later, Gilda. B-bye, Gallus. See you-see you later."

The boy merely grunted in reply, passing his sword to Gianna. Gilda gave the messenger a sympathetic look, one which the recipient blinked her thanks for before scampering away, her light feet quickly disappearing down the halls.

As Gallus passed Gianna his knife and gave himself the ritual pat-down, Rory eased the door open, gesturing for them to enter. Gilda nodded, then mumbled an order to her aide and passed through the doorway.

Sir Cloudfloor's office was surprisingly large, considering his disdain for "trimmings," but its size was being put to the test; twelve bodies were pressed inside, ten nervously waiting in front of Sir Cloudfloor's desk, an aide standing behind it, and in a simple wooden chair to the aide's left sat the grand knight himself. Hair grey as steel, face sharp and hard as flint, posture so straight you could use it as a ruler...

... and eyes that weren't completely able to hide their worry.

Gianna and Rory were bad signs. Sir Cloudfloor being visibly worried was a worse one.

The door gently closed behind them, a sound that was quickly overshadowed by Sir Cloudfloor clearing his throat. "The twelve of yours' mission," he said, "has been moved up. You're to go to the Harbor enkissur; Allegiance is supposed to dock within the hour."

One of the others, Gasiy if she remembered correctly, chuckled. "When they said they would be here by the 20th, I didn't think they meant right at the start."

Sir Cloudfloor didn't laugh. "They didn't. They're here early because they were attacked."

The room fell silent. All the air in it had been stolen at his words.

Attacked? Gilda's jaw dropped. Who would be dumb enough to attack Allegiance? Even if they managed to claw through Celaeno - and if half the things people say about her are true, that's a big if - they'd still end up with Mount Aris and Oddo hunting for their heads. How desperate, or mad, is whoever did this?

"Attacked?" Gallus asked. "By who?"

"They don't know," Sir Cloudfloor replied. "However, Captain Celaeno believes that they might've been our mysterious kidnappers, judging by their behavior. If so, we might have our first lead regarding them, though it's not much. Allegiance was attacked around Gemerelli, just a few hours ago, so the trail there should still be hot, or at least warm by the time we get there. Unfortunately, there's a lot of ground to cover, and it's too dangerous to send isolated scouts. I've discussed it with the rest of the council and we've decided that, short-staffed as we already are, we can't let this chance pass; the Russet-Reds will head south to search Gemerelli at first light, everyone else will have to pull double-duty until they get back. For some, that means guarding the city, for some guarding the council. For you?" He leaned forward. "Celaeno's passengers are high-risk targets. You walk with them, you eat with them, you sleep with them, you don't let them out of your sight. Until proven otherwise, assume every room is a trap, every outing an ambush, every person an attacker. If you're proven right, keep them safe at all costs. Steal any auto you need, use the maximum force required, use yourself as a body shield for them, whatever it takes. If they die but you don't, you'll soon wish you did. Understood?"

They all nodded, Gallus kneeling after he did so. "While my heart still beats," he promised. "I will not let any harm come to them."

Some of the others chuckled at the boy's theatrics, others shook their heads, and a few smiled at him.

Sir Cloudfloor simply looked back at him, face blank, and said, "See that you do."

Silverstream III

Mom's quiet, frantic prayers filled their cabin, the only noise their guard would allow. Not that any of them were testing that; Silverstream had barely spoken, barely dared to breathe, since the captain had sent them below deck, while all Dad's words were silent, sent through heartbeats and gentle embraces to his beloved. Over in the corner, Terramar slumped, looking at his family with the saddest look of sympathy Silverstream had ever seen. He clearly wanted to try to comfort them, but the past had shown that, for all his talents, he wasn't a consoler; any comfort he tried to provide proved thin, weak, and cold. It was as if there was an ocean between him and his family, an ocean that even a brave heart like his couldn't cross.

She shivered, the phantom feeling of the drowned Man's hand still haunting her leg. The Sea might have been Aris' ally, but that didn't mean all of its children were. Stories were told of the Beckoners, Men who drowned but didn't die, instead being filled with the overwhelming spirit of water and trying to fill their brethren with it in turn.

But it had been no Beckoner that attacked her; all the stories said that they were dangerous, but in a different way, a subtler way. They were fair, enchanting, beckoning others to their doom instead of forcing them.

And no Man, no matter how long drowned, could have been so cold and still alive.

...despite the ... water...

No, the thing that had attacked her wasn't a child of the Sea; it was a child of Death, of the Keeper of the Irresistible Gate. One's body was only a stage of one's life, like a butterfly's chrysalis, and Death brought that stage to a close at the last breath, but sometimes, if one's duty, injustice, or suffering were heavy enough, the full closure of that stage could be delayed. It would make sense; she could almost feel the weight of the suffering Gemerelli had endured, groaning down onto her shoulders...

Wait, that was just her dad's hand, and the smile he sent her way.

She gave him one back, though it was weak. Whatever talents in consolation Terramar lacked, her dad more than made up for; he was their rock, the person the waves of their emotions could beat themselves into silence against, unmoving, unyielding, never letting go of them or ceasing to try to draw their suffering out like the poison it was. Any time she or Mom needed to cry

(Mom needed to a lot)

he was there for them, sheltering them in his arms, rocking their tears out, and whispering that it would all be okay.

The ship groaned. Mom echoed that groan for a moment, before returning to her prayers, even more fervently than before.

Poor Mom. She was so caring, so full of love, and the world seemed to be trying its hardest to squeeze as much of it out of her as it could. She tried to make the world happy, always acting with kindness, grace, and care, and the world sucked it up like a whirlpool and pressed her for more. The soft songs that were Silverstream's first memories, the hands that so tenderly held her own as they walked the beach, the quiet poetry of love that her mother was so well-versed in, all were callously swallowed up by a void of pitch.

It wasn't the place of mere mortals like Silverstream to ask the Pantheon why they did the things they did, but the suffering Mom endured, seemingly without celestial relief, made it hard for her to remember that sometimes.

A knock came at the door. Their guard's sword flashed in his hand, and he murmured a question to the knocker in a rolling, trilling tongue Silverstream didn't know. A reply in the same language came, and was answered with another question. When this found an answer, their guard nodded, moved the stacked furniture from behind the door, then opened it.

The captain, flanked by two others of her crew, nodded at him, then walked in. Her eyes softened as she saw the state of her guests, huddled together in fear and grief. Gently striding over, whispering a brief word of comfort to Silverstream, she then knelt down next to Mom and murmured, "Mrs. Flow, we've arrived. You're safe, now."

"Oh, thank Iphen," Mom sighed in relief. "And thank you, captain, and not just for the ride; if it hadn't been for you, Silverstream..."

"Don't dwell on the path untaken," the captain reassured her. "The kid's safe, that's what matters. Don't worry about what might have happened; it didn't."

"Yes," Mom pressed as she began getting up, "thanks to you. You will be rewarded for this, captain, I promise you."

The captain chuckled, shaking her head, then gestured for them to follow her. They eagerly did so, Mom taking Silverstream's hand in a grip of iron while Terramar glumly trotted at her heels, Dad bringing up the rear.

Silverstream winced, both at the tightness of her mom's grip and at the reminder of how distraught she'd been when she'd heard what had happened. She'd almost engulfed her daughter in a weepy embrace, only being stayed by the soothing words of her husband, and even that had only weakened the strength of her tears and arms. It took Silverstream herself reassuring her that she was fine for her to stop crying, her sorrow turning into energy that fed her prayers.

Judging by the white-knuckled hand around her own, there was still some left to burn, something Silverstream understood; Dad, their rock, was clearly upset at what had happened, even if he didn't show it as openly as his mate or his daughter did, how could the palace that was Mom not be? If a foundation shook, the tower on top of it would quake.

"I should've been the one to help you," Terramar's grumble dragged her out of her thoughts. "I'm your brother, I should be the one who keeps you safe. But Mom... She was feeling so bad..."

"It's okay," she whispered back. "I understand." Terramar knew how much leaving to join the Anchor Watch had upset Mom, so whenever he was around he tried to make up for it. If Mom was in trouble, like when she was on a ship, Silverstream couldn't imagine him leaving her side.

"You shouldn't have to," he pouted. "I should've been there for you."

"Remember what the captain said," she replied, softly smiling. "Don't dwell on the past; the important thing is that we're all okay."

Casualties.:..

"I won't dwell on it," Terramar said, staring at her with eyes almost made of earnestness, "but I won't forget it, either."

The Sun had yet to rise when they stepped out on deck, leaving the city before them cloaked in twilight.

But that cloak suited the city well, at least to Silverstream's eyes; the muted, dusky palette made the place look, feel, older, more mature, a feeling very well-suited for one of the oldest cities in the world. In the twilight, she could imagine countless other eyes looking at the city with her; the Gledes who'd first settled it, the Briezin who'd first introduced it to Homestria, the Homestrians who came to buy and sell and learn the wisdom of ages and the moment, all of them had seen the twilight stones she saw now, all of them had seen the Queen of Cities holding court, however bare or lavish that court might have been when they saw it. In the twilight, she saw the roots which the daylight obscured, digging down, down, down into the past, anchoring Griffonstone until it stood like a mountain, immovable and unyielding.

Griffonstone's trunk - the Tree, the House of Otto, the houses and shops and streets - was impressive, but in the twilight, it was the roots that held her attention.

Until Dad cleared his throat and nodded at the soldiers standing by the gangplank, that is. Then, the faceless helms, glistering plates, bright mail, and shining swords of their escort took it, especially the last point. Mount Aris wasn't, strictly speaking, a Homestrian kingdom, but she'd been a practitioner of their nonlethal methods of warfare for thousands of years, ever since the Cold Age; their escorts' swords, shining even in the dim light with their razor edges, were a reminder that not all did so, that there were some who fought to destroy their enemies, not just their power. She knew that they had their reasons, that sometimes the only way to destroy an enemy's power was to destroy them, but knowledge wasn't understanding, and a culture where valor was found as much in foes slain as allies protected or saved was so strange to her that she doubted she'd ever obtain understanding. She would have to trust her parents, trusting their trust in the faceless swords before her, and be content with that.

"Honored guests," one of their escort bowed, "you have come well."

"You have received us well," Dad replied, almost a sigh of relief.

A few voices muttered from the docks, scattered early risers gathering to gawk at the ship and those aboard. Even in the dim light, Allegiance's emerald-traced hull would be recognizable to anyone who knew the stories of the Sea.

"Does Queen Novo send her regards?" another one of the escort asked, glancing mindfully at the shore.

"No," Dad smiled back. "She sends her sister and her sister's stuffy husband."

The soldier nodded, then looked at Silverstream. "And their little girl, too," they murmured, almost too softly to hear. Then, turning to her parents, they said, "Please, come with us. Don't worry, we'll make sure to bring you your bags later."

Dad nodded, then turned back to the captain. "Thank you for your services, captain," he said. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for-" He choked up as he glanced at Silverstream out of the corner of his eye, then whispered, "We are in your debt."

"Don't worry," she softly replied, putting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "I was just doing my duty. All I ask is that you do your's."

Dad nodded again, then took a deep breath, recomposing himself. Once he did, he wrapped his hand around his wife's, and began leading his family to shore, the escort forming a protective ring around them as they approached. Surrounded by a ring of steel, they stepped into Griffonstone.

Glenda II

The twincloaks, so named for their habits of deception, shapechanging, and treachery, were one of Groveria's deadliest enemies of old. Crawling up out of the water by night, they would steal away small children and replace them with their own, weaving enchantments about them so that they could not be distinguished. While the deceived parents raised the twincloak child as their own, the twincloak thieves would raise the Homan child to be a slave, laboring in their undersea fields and workshops until they died. This the twincloaks sought to postpone, not out of any kindness, which their cruel hearts appeared to lack, but because it was one of two ways the enchantment woven on their own child could break, the other requiring them to be submerged in water for one hour or longer.

While the enchantment held, the twincloaks used their children as spies and saboteurs, sowing mistrust and discord among the community so as to weaken the response to twincloak incursions. The children would learn of these incursions through one of two ways; in the first, they would return to the Sea from whence they came every moon to exchange news and orders with their kin. In the second, when they came of age, their parent would give them a talisman set with various magical gemstones. One of these, lapis lazuli, allowed the bearer to control their dreams, and communicate with others who likewise slept with the stone on their person. This allowed the twincloaks to communicate more covertly, though at the risk of another bearer trained in the art overhearing them...

Flip.

...The last reported sighting of the twincloaks was about eighty years ago, in the Year of Grover 1653, during the illustrious reign of...

"Another dead end," Glenda sighed as she shut the tome, rubbing the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

She'd run into several of those over the past weeks, trying to figure out who was behind the kidnappings. She lacked the authority (and the embassy lacked the numbers) to help with the search for the victims, but she could help inform those coordinating the search, either with Homestrian-gathered information or by scouring Groverian sources herself.

Sadly, none of those sources had led anywhere. Newspapers, books, visual media, not even the archives of messages Sir Cloudfloor had provided had held even a hint to the kidnappers' identity or inspiration. In desperation, she'd even turned to the Runery and other repositories of the occult, thinking that maybe the "return of magic" Castellot had messaged her about would give her a link.

It had not. The kidnappers didn't replace their victims like twincloaks, they didn't wreck ships like sirens, they didn't only target coastlines like Beckoners; they behaved almost like lots of things, but there was always one small detail that refused to fit. All she'd gotten out of her search of esoterica was a headache, some quite-possibly fables, and a few worried glances.

She rubbed her weary eyes, then took out a piece of paper and set it on the table. The facts of the case that were known stared back at her:

Kidnappings started on 7/15/532 (Guilden of the Runery: Possible outlier? Unrelated?)
All kidnappings have occurred within 20 strides of the sea
No common thread among victims, though kidnappings primarily geographically clustered around Groveria and Mount Aris (No reports from Labrador or east-of: why?)
No follow-up on kidnappings (i.e., ransom, discovery of body, etc.)
No visual confirmation of kidnappers

That was it. Everything that they knew about the kidnappings, everything they'd learned in the past month, compressed into five bullet points. It was almost enough to make her cry.

But she wouldn't. She had a duty to her homeland, to her employer across the sea, to her kinsfolk on both shores, she couldn't give in to despair. She had to go on, with or without hope.

If only she knew where to go...

Many kinds of animated dead are there, chief among them geists, wights, and revenants. Geists are the uncloaked spirits of those who have died, bodiless though still able to manipulate the world around them, chained to this world through sheer strength of will. The most infamous example, the spirit of Lee Jun, was reputedly strong enough in will to overpower the wills of the living, using their bodies as his puppets, before eventually being forcibly sent to the next world by a strike from a deepstone blade, the stone supposedly possessing qualities that render it more effective against the dead as well as sorcery. While some seek out geists to obtain counsel from them, countless priests and scholars caution heavily against doing so; the frequent malevolence of geists that are encountered, as well as the imperfections of the humans they were before, make them no more effective at counseling than any other advisor, and much more perilous to speak with.

While geists are spirit uncloaked, wights are uninhabited flesh, animated by a spark of foul sorcery. Thoughtless slaves, they behave only according to their master's orders, attempting to do exactly what is told to them even if circumstances render the order unwise or impossible. As the body they possess is already dead, a blow that would kill a Man will only slow a wight, while the sorcery which gives them their foul mockery of life also grants that body enhanced strength. Two ways there are to defeat them; either to destroy the body which the foul animating spell inhabits, or to find and disrupt that spell, possibly through the use of fire, deepstone, or counter-sorcery. In addition, salt and iron have been observed to be unusually effective against wights, salt slicing through them like a sword through a scroll, iron seeming to form an impassable wall.

Revenants...

Someone knocked on her office door.

"Come in," she called, turning away from the occult text.

To her surprise, Crypsis walked in, grey cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes glinted as he saw the book on her desk. "Pardon me," he whispered, bowing his head. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, don't worry," Glenda smiled at him. "It can wait. What brings you here? And what made you knock? Usually, I only know you want to talk when you start whispering in my ear."

A small grin appeared on his face. "I'm very good at not being noticed," he demurely replied, "and I prefer not to disturb others unnecessarily. As for what brings me here," the smile disappeared, "I'm afraid that something's come up in my research. I need to leave, as soon as I can."

"Oh?" she frowned. "Where to?"

"I'd rather not say," he replied, looking cautiously over his shoulder. "I can't risk anyone overhearing. Just know that I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay," she hesitantly nodded. "Are you sure you'll be okay? We can't spare anyone to keep you safe, and with the kidnappings..."

He smiled, thinly and dangerously. He flared his cloak, revealing mail armor underneath, and twin daggers at his side. "I can see to my own safety," he whispered, confidence thick in his voice.

She nodded, then paused; she'd seen the clasp of his cloak countless times before, but something about it struck her now. A silver, star-shaped brooch, set with small gemstones; little enough, an ancient gift or trophy turned into an heirloom perhaps... But the small, smoky flecks of blue studding it gave her a different idea.

"Where did you get that pin, by the way?" she asked, gesturing to his cloak.

His face shrouded. "It belonged to my granduncle," he cautiously replied. "He planned to use it himself, but the others changed his mind and it ended up buried in a drawer somewhere, until it came to me."

"Really?" she tilted her head. "I never knew you had a granduncle. What was he like?"

"A distant relative," Crypsis sighed. "I never really knew him personally; the most I learned was a few stories from my mother, his niece. And, of course, the story of his brooch. It was actually what got me interested in my research."

"Really?" she blinked, genuinely confused. "What does a pin have to do with spycraft?"

Crypsis chuckled. "No, my personal research. Spycraft - listening to the unheard, seeing the unseen - that's my work. My research, though, my research is more in line," he nodded at the book on her desk, "with your current choice in reading material. Auroleus may spin a tale or two, but there are still some truths in those tales, as there are truths in many things most consider tales. Auroleus' Homuli, Voy Nich's manuscripts, Coleoptera's Almawtaatum..."

"I know," Glenda nodded. "Castellot told us that, a few days ago. Magic's coming back, so some of the old stories might turn out not to be stories after all. Is that how it inspired your research? Your granduncle told you the story of that pin, who it belonged to before, and now you know it's not just a story?"

A shadow crossed Crypsis' face. "I don't know that now," he replied, every syllable seemingly causing the lights to flicker. "I knew it from the first moment I held it in my hands. Magic wasn't completely gone before, and however diminished it might have been back then, I could feel it in my granduncle's talisman. You recognize the stones he used, yes?" Glenda startled, and Crypsis humorlessly chuckled. "You weren't as subtle with your gaze as you thought," he said, "Don't worry, I'm not offended, but I would appreciate an answer."

"It's lapis," Glenda replied, looking down in embarrassment. "Auroleus mentioned it in his writings about the twincloaks. I was wondering if..."

"If I was actually a twincloak?" Crypsis laughed, lightly for the first time in Glenda's memory. "I'm flattered that you think so highly of my acting abilities, but no, I'm not one. I'm a Man, nothing more. And," he sighed, his face growing somber once more, "made by the hand of Man was my granduncle's talisman. Yes, the stones are lapis, what my old home called lazuli, dreamstone. Even before magic's return, it worked like the legends said, though only somewhat; any communication between dreamers was hazy, distorted, easily able to dismiss as 'just a dream.'" He shivered, then muttered under his breath, "If only I could still dismiss them so."

Her ears perked up. "You've been able to communicate with people using it?" she asked, voice thick with awe.

Crypsis' fist went white. "Those words weren't for you," he hissed, "and the things I've seen aren't for anyone." Whirling around on his heel, he curtly said, "I have to go; I've wasted too much time already."

"Wait," Glenda pleaded, getting up to go after him. "Crypsis, please, wait. Why are you so upset? What has you so-"

Her tongue clove to the floor of her mouth as Crypsis turned to glare at her, lip curled in a snarl. His daggers jostled beneath his cloak, while the flickering light glinted harshly off his cloak's pin. He seemed to grow in the dimming light, looming over her; beneath his hood, his eyes burned, hot enough to consume her. Suddenly, she was looking Death in the face, not her friend.

But then that face softened back into her friend's, and the light returned. "I can't tell you anymore, Glenda," he sadly shook his head. "This burden is mine and mine alone. I'll be back as soon as I can, but until then, my business is my own."

Mutely, still shaking off the moment of terror, she nodded.

He nodded back, then closed his eyes. "I have to leave you," he muttered, "but that doesn't mean I have to leave you defenseless." Clasping one hand around his cloak's pin, he raised the other, and began tracing a symbol in the air while murmuring something under his breath, something that sounded almost like a prayer. After he finished, he nodded at her one last time, and murmured, "Farewell, Glenda. Stay safe, stay out of the shadow."

"Y," she stuttered, "you, too."

Turning back around, he left, twilight cloak trailing behind him as he vanished through her doorway.

After he left, she slumped, almost fell, back into her chair. "What," she whispered to herself, "was that?"

Only silence answered her.

Guyard didn't like losing Crypsis, especially at such a critical point, but with their short staff preventing them from sending anyone after him, their lack of knowledge of where exactly he was going, the informality of his role with the embassy, (and what Glenda had experienced when he'd lost his temper in her office,) there was nothing they could do to stop him from leaving: he was a helpful guest at the embassy, not an employee under Guyard's orders. Guyard had ranted about how irresponsible him leaving was, and about how irresponsible they'd been in trusting him with so much work and information, but in the end he'd been forced to accept that Crypsis was gone and they didn't know when he'd be back. "Until then," he'd sighed, "everyone back to work."

Glenda had quickly obeyed, scurrying back to her office to escape the glares of the rest of the staff. She'd been a close friend of Crypsis for the past few months, one of the people responsible for bringing the exile on as their unofficial intelligence officer, and now she'd let him leave, right when they needed him most. Her already-shaky reputation, tainted by her association with the "creepy" exile, was about to fall even further. If she wasn't so sure of her relationship with Guyard, she'd be afraid that her job might follow her reputation into the dust.

She flinched as she imagined the judging stares that might have been: the poor judging her for being affluent enough to survive without a job, the rich judging her for not working harder, Groverians judging her for failing her people, Homestrians judging her for meeting their prejudices about her people. Even her parents would judge her, however much their love would soften that judgement. Even though those stares would never be, their weight was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

The stares she had received over the years, that had haunted the back of her mind like geists, spilled over to the front. The envious stares of the poor and the dismissive gazes of the rich were the most numerous, but the most striking were the ones from Homestrian travelers, diplomats, traders, or tourists; the suspicious glance that accompanied a hand double-checking the safety of a wallet or phone, the double-take when someone encountered a Groverian representative of the embassy, the shocked stare when a broken greeting in Griffish was met with a polite offer to speak in Common instead. All of them expected her to be something, and they didn't like their expectations being surpassed.

She bit back a spike of rage; who were they to know who she was? Who were they to judge the value of kingdoms, civilizations, of peoples? What gave them the right to declare Griffonstone, the Queen of Cities, lesser than Castellot, karye of a city less than a tenth Griffonstone's size? Yes, the Queen of Cities had seen better days, but did that give anyone the right to act like those better days would never come again, had never existed in the first place? Were Grover, Guto the Great, and Garis the Giver all just supposed to be ignored? Were coffee and algebra supposed to have magically crossed the Celestial Sea? What about when Castellot was in trouble? Would they turn on it like they'd turned on Griffonstone?

She inhaled deeply, held it deeply, then released the breath. "Don't let them be right," her father warned her across the years, "If they expect you to be something, prove them wrong; be better. It's not what they think that matters, it's what you do." Her rage roared back that what she wanted to do was make them see that they were wrong, make them see what she was trying to show them, but her mind soothed it, reminding it that you couldn't make people see what they didn't want to; you had to convince them to see it, and it was a lot easier to do that through good examples rather than force.

And a lot slower.

"A lot slower to live," she sighed deeply, "a lot slower to die." Grover and Guto, leading by example, built a city that lasted over a thousand years; Guto the Usurper, leading by force, built an empire that lasted months. If she wanted to truly change things, change people's minds for good, she needed to lay down good example's roots.

One last deep breath, a brushing off of the stares, and then she took up her book again, getting back to work planting good example's roots.

Sadly, it turned out to be shallow soil; in the hour before a knock came at her door, the book had only yielded more almost-fits, no good matches.

Privately welcoming the interruption, she turned to the door, not even bothering to mark her page, and asked, "Yes, who is it?"

To her surprise, Captain Celaeno came through the door.

To her greater surprise, she slammed a severed finger on Glenda's desk and asked, "Do you know where I can get someone to analyze this?"

Author's Note

Not necessarily "happy" with this, but definitely "not happy" with how long it's been sitting in my "being worked on" pile.

Gilda III

The girl's head hadn't stayed in one place since she'd stepped off the ship. The closest to still it had been was when they were walking over to the harbor's walls, and even then it had still moved, craning up and up in awe as they'd approached.

She could understand her awe, of course; not even Mount Aris had anything like Griffonstone's harbor walls, still standing strong despite centuries of salt, wind, and sea. Easily five meters tall, they towered over the docks, protecting the city inside from pirates and other raiders. Any decorative value they might've had at first had been worn away by time and the sea, leaving them as smooth as silk on the outside. For those in the city who were lucky enough to have a childhood, trying to climb the walls was a rite of passage, as was the inevitable dunk in the sea afterwards.

She chuckled as the girl's head whipped around again, eyes eagerly drinking in the city around her. Gilda could see the reason for her awe at the harbor walls, but she could only see childish wonder as the explanation for her excitement at everything else. She'd stared at the gatehouse, she'd stared at the gatekeeper who'd let them in, she'd stared at the gate as it came ratcheting down, and she'd stared at every single thing hidden behind that gate; the cobblestones, the buildings, the windows, the doors, the tree and palace they began making their way towards. She acted like everything was new to her, appearing as suddenly as a lightning strike and as strange as the sea.

"Finding Griffonstone interesting?" Gasiy asked, smirk almost audible in his voice.

"Oh, yes!" the girl beamed back. "Don't get me wrong, Mount Aris is interesting, but Griffonstone's interesting on a different level. It-it feels like it goes deeper than Mount Aris, like there's something even stronger than a mountain anchoring it, like-like-Ooh!" With the hand her mother wasn't trying to crush, she pointed down an ally at what looked to Gilda like a fairly run-of-the-mill home. "That house over there? My history teacher said that that's Classical Groverian architecture, but the two houses around it look like they're High Imperial style, something that was developed centuries later. But even though they're centuries apart in design, they all look like they belong, like there's something that almost smooths out the differences between them. It's..." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "... It's like Griffonstone's a tree, and, however different the branches might look, you can tell they all came from the same tree."

Gilda rolled her eyes, muttering, "We're not that obsessed with trees."

The girl blushed at that. "Sorry," she replied. "I-I guess I got a little carried away."

"Oh, don't be like that," Gilda sighed. "I wasn't trying to shut you up, kid, I was just saying that just because we put the tree on the seal doesn't mean we're tree fanatics. Feel free to keep talking," here she smirked. "It's nice to hear people actually say nice things about us."

"Ah ha ha," the girl's father nervously laughed. "Make sure to say nice things about them, not just their architecture, Silverstream." Turning his anxious, almost panicked, gaze on Gilda, he explained, "Silverstream's got a bit of an interest in architecture, and with how much Groveria's done for the field over the years, she could probably talk for a month straight."

"Dad," the girl whined, blushing even brighter.

"Architecture?" another of Gilda's comrades, Galniz, chuckled. "Good thing Sir Cloudfloor didn't trust this to Drynyr, he'd probably try to recruit her."

The girl squeaked as her mother's grip tightened, while her father's face darkened. "I don't pretend to know your jobs better than you," he said hesitantly, "but why you decided to ever trust that snake again is beyond me."

"You think we trust Drynyr?" Gilda snorted. "After that debacle with Vola, we wouldn't trust him farther than we could throw him. We put him back to work, yeah, but if he ever slips his handlers, the whole company's efe. Do you know what that means?"

The Arisians shook their heads.

Gilda patted the hilt of her sword. "It means if we see them, we send them to their Storm King's kingdom a lot sooner than they anticipated."

The girl blanched. "Oh," she squeaked.

"Why's that a surprise?" Galniz asked. "You're Arisians, you're smarter than Homestria, you know that sometimes you can't defeat someone just by knocking them out. Your Seastar and Oddo's old Queen Chrysalis smashed Vola and his company less than a decade ago, have you already forgotten that not everyone survived that?"

"No," the girl's father replied, voice firm. "We simply prefer to focus on living our lives, not how Seastar and Chrysalis ended the Storm King and his army's."

"Most of them," Gallus whispered.

"Really?" another escort groaned. "Gilda, I thought you'd smacked the 'they-never-found-her-body' conspiracy out of the boy."

"She did," he retorted before she could cut him off. "But it's not Tempest I'm talking about. Vola's dead, Tempest's dead, but what about Black Star?"

An uncomfortable silence descended, eventually being broken by the girl nervously asking, "Um, who's Black Star?"

"One of Vola's old lieutenants," Gilda sighed, dragging the festering matter into the daylight her aide had unlocked, "from back when we thought he was just an eccentric genius, not a mad scientist. He didn't call himself the Storm King then, he gave no clue that he ever would; he was just another mercenary commander, Drynyr as an egghead with anger issues. We didn't know what those "orbs" of his did to people yet, and Tempest, by all accounts, managed to keep his soldiers under control. She was brutal, yeah, and she didn't shy away from her sword, but she tried not to break it out against civs if she could avoid it, and the company learned to follow her in that, quick. The Storm Army was soldiers back then, rough ones, even by our standards, but still people we could stomach working with." She spat on the cobblestones. "Black Star tore that facade down."

"It wasn't all a facade," Galniz argued. "There was some good in them before Black Star arrived, good that Tempest was improving. If she'd had even a few more months before Vola broke, she could've turned the Storm Army into a company I'd be proud to fight beside. Urgh, why couldn't Labrador look past their beloved papers for one day?"

"Do you really think one day could've saved Vola?" Gilda snorted. "You heard the old Arch Rune-master, he'd been going there every day for the past month. Would one day really be enough to convince him to give up on that?"

"If it came from Tempest-"

"Uh," the girl hesitantly spoke up. "What are you talking about?"

"Vola wasn't the most stable person," Galniz replied, "but he didn't just fall into becoming the Storm King. Black Star showed him to the edge, and then washed her hands of him when he jumped. All the evidence agrees; torturing prisoners and company members who protested, Vola's obsession with making his 'orbs' even deadlier, the magic research that drove him to massacre Kam Bak, all of that only started after Black Star joined. It kept on going after she left, yes, but she was the one that started it in the first place, mark my words. Tempest tried to stop it, but leading the company kept her away from Vola too long. Demons lose against angels, but the angels need to be there to fight, and thanks to Labrador not letting Tempest through because her papers weren't in order, she wasn't there to fight when Black Star tempted Vola to Kam Bak."

"You said that Black Star washed her hands of the Storm King," the girl's father asked. "What did she do?"

"Left the company," Gilda answered. "Turned her kit in to Tempest, signed the necessary papers, grabbed her stuff, then found some rock to hide under. Lots of people say they've seen her since then, either as a warlord in Midland, a bandit in the foothills, or even hiding in the Runery she was so obsessed with, but none of those stories has ever been confirmed. For all we know, she might've ended up heading back home and starting a regular life."

"If she did," the girl's father quietly growled. "I hope she keeps it that way, for her sake. If my sister-in-law were to learn about her, if the public did..." He swallowed his anger. "We can't risk any distractions, not now. Seastar has enough to deal with, he doesn't need to worry about a second Hammer and Anvil."

"You wouldn't need a Hammer and Anvil to deal with her," Galniz waved dismissively. "A good-sized watch patrol would be enough. She was cunning, yeah, but she had to be against Tempest; if she'd made Tempest her enemy, she wouldn't have lasted three seconds. She's cunning and good with tools, but if she doesn't have tools, she's pathetic. In a way, she's Tempest's mirror; Tempest taught herself how to fight but refused to fight those Homestria didn't like fighting, Black Star taught herself to fight civs, the unarmed, and anyone who couldn't fight back, but never got around to teaching herself how. Like most demons, a lot of her strength comes from the shadows."

"Then why did you let her flee into them?" the girl's mother fretted.

"We didn't 'let' her do anything," Gilda retorted. "She disappeared before the first reports of Kam Bak even reached us. We didn't let her escape, she did that herself. Sir Cloudfloor tried to find her, but by the time we even knew we should be searching for her, she'd managed to cover her tracks and go to ground. The only clue they ever managed to find was a bottle of her hair dye on the path from the Storm Army compound to the inner city."

"She dyed her hair?" the girl's father clicked his tongue. "Well, there goes any usefulness of a description."

"Oh, no," Galniz shook his head. "No, she might've hidden her hair around us, and she might be able to hide her skin, too, but she'll never be able to hide her eyes. They'll burn through any disguise, burn like a glacier's frozen heart."

A stray chill wind passed over them, and the girl shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around herself. "Starting to see," she chattered, "why so much of Groverian architecture is focused on keeping places warm."

"You think this is cold?" Gilda chuckled. "To Ironpeakers like me, this is a nice, sunny summer day."

"Really?" the girl blinked back. "I'd hate to see your winter, then."

"We hate to see it, too," Gallus replied. "Snow too deep to walk through, your breath freezing as soon as it leaves your mouth..." Beneath his helm, she could almost hear his eyes glaze over. "... the Cold-Madness taking your friends over, making them lie down, go to sleep, and never wake up again..." His helm rattled as he shook his head. "Any-anyway, the point is, we hate to see winter as much as you do."

The girl's eyes softened as Gallus rambled, though, mercifully, she didn't say anything, instead simply nodding. At least one personal problem isn't being dragged out into the open, Gilda thought with a curl of her lip.

The tree marked seven-and-a-half when they arrived at the palace, another Iron Fang patrol waiting for them at the gate. "Any disturbances?" their commander asked.

"None," came Gasiy's confident reply. "City was all quiet, no problems at the contact point with Celaeno."

The gate commander nodded, then ushered them inside, the girl's head spinning like a top in wonder all the while. It only stopped as they reached the door to Sir Cloudfloor's office, Gianna and Rory still on guard, the girl staring at them and the door with unchecked awe.

"Honored guests," Gianna greeted them with a bow. "You have come well."

"You have received us well," the girl's father replied. "Is Sir Cloudfloor waiting for us?"

"Sir Cloudfloor is waiting for Sky Beak, Ocean Flow, Gilda, and Gasiy," Rory's rumble answered. "All others are to wait outside or in the guests' rooms. Sir Cloudfloor said so, said any other guests and Iron Fangs were to go to the guests' rooms."

The mother's grip tightened. "I'm staying with Silverstream," she said, her voice as tight as her hand.

"I'll be fine, Mom," the girl tried to reassure her. "I'm safe here, don't worry."

Her mother's raised eyebrow was a work of art. "You expect me not to worry after I almost lost you?" she whispered back in disbelief.

"You won't lose her, miss," Galniz smiled. "She's got the best of the best protecting her here-"

Gilda was thrown back a step by the glare the girl's mother threw at Galniz, killing his voice with a squeak. "I don't care if you have Seastar, Pharynx, Ventra, and every knight of Aris who's ever lived waiting for her," she snapped. "I'm not letting her out of my sight again."

Her mate bit his lip, then turned to Rory. "Is it all right if we bring Silverstream in with us? Don't worry, she'll be quiet, right sweetie?"

While the girl eagerly nodded, Rory shook his head, barking, "Sir Cloudfloor is waiting for Sky Beak, Ocean Flow, Gilda, and Gasiy, no others."

The corridor grew tense, like the hour before a storm. The girl's mother grit her teeth, clearly prepared to fight for her kid, while Rory and his beloved orders seemed to loom ever-larger. Quietly, Gilda did a headcount, trying to figure out who would stand with Rory, who would fight for the girl's mother, and who would just stare in shock as their world turned upside-down.

"Permission to speak, miss?" the boy asked Gilda for the first time ever.

Carefully, she nodded, preparing herself in case whatever he said showed who was in that third category.

The boy nodded back, then turned to the girl's mother. "Miss Ocean Flow," he said. "I understand that you're afraid of losing your daughter, justifiably if what we heard happened is the truth. I know that you want to keep her safe, and I know that you have something else you need to do, something that you can't do with her. You came here with a duty, just like we did, and our duty is to protect you, your husband, and your daughter. I promise you, we will not fail in that duty; nothing will touch, move, or harm a hair on her head while any of us still live. While there is still breath in our bodies, everything else in them will be at work to serve and protect her." He hesitated, swallowed, then knelt before the Arisians. "I'm only an apprentice," he admitted. "I won't be a full member of the company, not for a while. I haven't said the words yet, and won't officially for a while, but for your sake, I'll say them now."

Briefly closing his eyes, he opened them, then, staring at Miss Ocean Flow, chanted, "Steel rings and storms rage, but still I shall speak these words. I shall not forsake them, not for gold, glory, affection, or power; neither shall I abandon them, though mountains fall and sky turn black. I shall keep them, from this breath until my last. I pick up spear and shield that others might not, sacrifice so that others might have, die that they might live. My life is my liege's, their need my need, their enemies my enemies, and naught shall wound them that has not first slain me. No innocent shall taste my sword, no plunder shall fill my purse, no order shall go unheeded, nor law be disobeyed, no lie shall pass my lips, and no duty will I fail. All this I solemnly swear, before every throne of Man, before every bird and beast, before every grass and tree, before every sea, sky, and land, before the stars, Sun, and Moon, before every god, and before myself, my honor, my heart, and my life."

Then, smooth as his dancing, he clipped off his sword in its case and offered the hilt to Miss Ocean Flow.

The corridor fell silent. Miss Ocean Flow stared back at the boy impassively, keeping whatever her true feelings were behind a mask. Then, grabbing the offered items, she held the scabbard under her elbow and drew the sword out with her free hand. Thoughtfully, she twisted it back and forth, then said, "I've seen this material before, while working with my sister. Calosoman steel, isn't it?"

"The best Sir Cloudfloor could find," the boy answered.

"Are the hands that offer to wield it of the same quality?" Ocean Flow pointedly asked.

The boy hesitated, then, swallowing his pride, said, "No, they're not. But they're willing to try."

"I'm not willing to trust Silverstream with someone who's only willing to try," Ocean Flow replied, before sheathing the sword and offering it back to the boy. "If I entrust Silverstream with you and your companions, you are to do your duty; no tries, no qualifiers, no 'ifs,' you do your duty."

The boy accepted his sword back and gravely nodded. "We will."

Ocean Flow curtly nodded, then looked at her daughter. All the iron that had filled her fell out, leaving her biting her lip as she looked at the girl, at the hand that connected them and barred her from her duty.

Two more hands appeared, one on her shoulder, the other on the hand that held her daughter's. Her family smiled at her, softly, encouragingly. Her mate held her and offered her his strength, while the girl held her hand and offered her her love, offerings which she accepted tearfully.

With an iron will and renewed resolve, she let go of her girl's hand.

Then promptly grabbed her in a tight, encircling embrace and whispered, "Stay safe. I'll join you as soon as I can."

"I will, Mom," the girl whispered back, before leaving her mother's embrace and walking over to the boy, who nodded to her, then turned back to Ocean Flow. "Nothing will happen to your daughter," he promised. "I stand by my words."

"Show them not to be empty," Ocean Flow said, one last gesture of defiance before she fell into her husband as those Sir Cloudfloor wasn't meeting marched off to the guest rooms.

Gilda saw the boy as they left, standing hard by the girl's side, tense and vigilant. She was a bit surprised that he'd offered to work with her; from what she'd seen, it looked like the girl would be almost as bubbly as Gabriella, and the boy had made his feelings on the messenger clear. But, like he'd said, he had a duty, and that duty meant he needed to work with her, however little he liked it. Of course, those dramatics of his showed that he might force a mask to work with her instead of himself, but still...

Well done, Gallus, she thought to herself as she, Gasiy, and the two older Arisians entered Sir Cloudfloor's office. Well done.

The knight nodded in greeting to his guests, then, as the door behind them closed, asked, "Does Queen Novo send her regards?"

"Her regards," Ocean Flow replied, taking her ribbon of office out of her pocket, "her voice, and," reaching back into her pocket, she pulled out a small piece of paper, which she offered to the knight with the words, "news of the enemy."

Nodding in thanks, Sir Cloudfloor took the note, and read...

Author's Note

Edited ending a bit to lead into next chapter better.

Glenda III

It had taken a fair bit of begging, but she'd been able to win access to the embassy's lab to analyze the... evidence Celaeno had given her.

"Human skin doesn't look like that."

Apparently, that analysis was providing some strange answers.

"I'm sorry?" she blinked.

"Human skin doesn't look like this," the scientist helping her (and making sure she didn't break anything) repeated. "I'm not seeing any pores, and the cells line up too neatly. Honestly, it looks more piscine to me."

Glenda blinked again. "Piscine," she echoed. "Fish-like?"

"Yeah," the scientist nodded. "Contiguous, patterned coverage of relatively thick cells, fairly similar to a fish's scales. It also explains why it was so hard to remove, all those small, curved cells, brush them back and they could hook like a burr."

"I'm sorry," Glenda raised her hands in confusion, "but, are you saying that whoever this finger came from was a fish-person?"

The scientist snorted at that. "I'm saying that this is a very interesting fake, and that whoever made it put a lot of work into it. I could see them just wrapping fish scales around a human finger to save time, but this goes a lot deeper than that, even deeper than the skin. If I didn't know that there was no such thing as fish-people, I might say that this came from one, but, since I know that there aren't, no matter what the juniors in Castellot might say, this thing must just be a real impressive fake, something to scare you with. Ask whoever gave it to you who they got it from, I need people with an eye for detail like that."

Wincing, Glenda nodded, and gingerly took the finger back when the scientist returned it. Head and heart pounding, she made her way back to her office, finding Celaeno standing, hands on her hips, examining her map. Some small part of her wondered whether the captain was upset by it or thought it interesting, but most of her could only focus on just how much of it was sea.

Celaeno's ears perked as Glenda returned, and, after Glenda closed the door, she asked, "Well? What did he say?"

Glenda bit her lip. "He said," she hesitantly answered, "that, if he didn't know fish-people weren't real, he would've said that this," she nervously held up the finger, "came from one. But, since he knows fish-people aren't real..."

"Okay, so no help there," the captain sighed. "Where do we try now?"

Glenda flicked a glance at the book on her desk. "The only place that would be crazy enough to believe us."

Five words could strike primal fear into the heart of any Groverian:

"There's something in the water."

Where Mount Aris saw the Sea as an ally, to Griffonstone, to all Groveria, it was an object of distrust and fear. They sailed the Sea, they fished in it, but they never trusted it, because whenever they did they drowned in it. As Gemerelli and countless ships could attest, the Sea wasn't as friendly with Groveria as it was with the southern sailors. And neither, judging by the stories of the Beckoners, the twincloaks, all the other water spirits that called Men into the deep and then left them to drown, were the Sea's children.

No legends explained this antipathy, no tales of a wrong done to the Sea or a blood-feud continued long after the original cause was forgotten. That antipathy, that hatred, simply was, lurking beneath the waves and beating fear into the heart of every Groverian that beheld them. If Grover hadn't beaten defiance into his people, hadn't forged them into a challenge to the world, Griffonstone would have long ago been emptied, its inhabitants fleeing to the hill country to escape the Sea that wanted to swallow their city. But forged them he had, and they would not surrender, not to the Sea, not to its children, not to the northern winter, not to anything that tried to drive them from their home. Even in the worst years of the Cokus, when no government or institution with any pretension of being one existed, there were still Griffonstonites, heirs of Grover who faced a world that wanted to steal their land and said, "Come and take it."

As she rapped on the Runery's door, she hoped that defiance wouldn't prove their downfall.

The door opened, revealing an acolyte's curious face. That curiosity doubled when he saw Celaeno, and he asked, "Miss Glenda? What brings you here?"

"I have a lead," she replied, anxiously rolling the finger around in her hand, "but I need the Runery's help to make sense of it. Can I come in?"

The acolyte nodded, ushering them in, Celaeno giving him a polite nod as she strode inside. After he closed the door, the acolyte clasped his hands together and asked, "How can I make your work easier?"

Glenda swallowed. "As crazy as it sounds," she replied, "I need every book on fish-people you have."

He managed to fetch her five in fifteen minutes, and mentioned there were more on the way.

None of the individual studying cells were open, though the acolyte had been kind enough to find them a desk in the maze of shelves that was the Common Library, one located in an out of the way corner where they hopefully wouldn't be bothered. That alone had taken him five minutes, making him even faster at finding what Glenda'd asked for than at first glance.

Taking one of his discoveries from the stack he'd provided, she turned to Celaeno and asked, "Can you remember anything about the attackers' behavior? The more details the better."

The captain curtly nodded, then whispered, "In order to get into position, they climbed up Allegiance's side, they didn't fly or teleport or... whatever. When they did attack, they tried to pick Silverstream off, but when that didn't work they swarmed us, and when that failed they jumped back into the sea. It looked like they wanted to capture us, not kill us; neither of us really took any injuries in the fight."

Glenda nodded, then asked, "What did they look like?"

The captain pointed at the finger, resting on the desk they'd been given. "Skin looked like that. They looked kind of like Men, but with no noses, flaps for ears, fangs, and their eyes..." She shivered. "Looking into those things was like looking into the ocean on a night with no stars, swallowing up all the light you fed it."

Glenda nodded again, then passed the captain the next book in the stack. "You search that one, I'll search mine. Let me know if you find anything that matches."

Celaeno nodded, opened her book, and together they dived into Griffonstone's past, searching for answers.

Humanoid, fangs, blue skin-

Flip.

Humanoid, right skin color and texture, normal but oddly-detailed teeth-

Flip.

Not even vaguely humanoid-

Flip.

Twincloaks again-

Flip.

A hand on her shoulder. "Glenda?"

She turned to see the Arch Rune-master staring down at her, concern written all over his face. The acolyte who'd ushered her and Celaeno in stood at his elbow, rubbing his hands together nervously.

She craned her neck; another member of the Runery had drawn Celaeno over to another table and was giving her whispered counsel, while two others, their robes marking them as Rune-masters, stood by a bookcase, quietly talking. All inconspicuous, save for the occasional wary glances they threw her way.

"Yes, sir?" she turned back to the Arch Rune-master. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?" Any particular reason you separated me from my backup and gathered some of your own?

"Actually, yes," he replied. Gesturing to the acolyte, he continued, "My apprentice Grad told me that you came in here rather anxious, and asked to see our collection on crypto-piscine-humanoids. Now, you have been a good friend of the Runery, but I must remind you that magical or paranormal phenomena are under the purview of the Runery, not the Homestrian Embassy. Therefore, I believe it within my right to ask you, what is your business here? Is it business for the Homestrian Embassy, or the Runery?"

"For all Griffonstone," she replied, grabbing the finger and holding it in front of the Arch Rune-master's widening eyes. "I apologize for working in your domain, but Captain Celaeno was able to give me evidence linking the kidnappings to a magical phenomena, specifically a non-human creature that had this finger. I didn't come here to usurp your authority, but to try to use the Runery's knowledge to help us all."

The Arch Rune-master stared at the finger in mixed shock and fascination, hesitantly stretching out a hand to touch it. He did so, and the shock in him turned into curiosity, murmurs of that and wonder escaping him as he felt it. Eventually, he retracted his hand, then said, "Your apology is accepted. However, magic is still the Runery's domain, which is why I offer you our assistance in your research, and all the support that our arts can provide. Do you accept?"

She smiled back, then dipped her head. "I accept your most generous offer, and thank you greatly for it."

The Arch Rune-master dipped his in return, then rubbed his hands together. "Now, what specifically are we looking for?"

"Humanoids with fish-like skin, no noses, ear flaps, fangs, and big, dark eyes," she replied, repeating the information Celaeno had provided. "They might be prone to ambush tactics, or that could just be what they're doing to us. Is that enough for you?"

The Arch Rune-master smirked at her. "We've solved greater mysteries with less, miss," he boasted. "Together, we shall find your finger-giver in no time. Grad," he turned to the acolyte who'd let Glenda in. "Please help our good friend Miss Glenda in her research. I shall inform the rest of our order."

The acolyte nodded, then sat down on the chair Celaeno had been using, quietly sighing in relief. Taking one of the books off the stack, he began flipping through it, something which, after a nod of thanks, Glenda returned to doing with her own book.

Humanoid, intangible-

Flip.

Humanoid, right color, fins instead of hands-

Flip.

"I'm glad I was wrong."

Glenda blinked, then turned to Grad. "Wrong?" she asked. "Wrong about what?"

He smiled sheepishly at her. "When you came in, I was afraid that the same spirit that possessed Black Star and Vola had moved to you. You looked so driven, so desperate..." He shook his head, muttering, "Pardon me, I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," Glenda reassured him. "You were just being careful. But don't worry; I might be crazy, but I'm not Vola-crazy. Besides," she joked, "I'm a Groverian, I know better than to delve too deep into magic like this."

He didn't laugh. "Not all Groverians know that," he replied. "One of my old masters here, Guillus, he was taken by Black Star's ideas, even after she fled Griffonstone. He told his students of the wonders her ideas would fashion, the great discoveries she'd made in her research. Even after the Storm Army was outlawed, he kept a page of her notes with him, waving them around whenever he could. 'This,' he would always shout, 'this is the future!' By then, though, we knew better; her research's influence on Vola's inventions, on what the Storm Army did in Kam Bak, showed exactly what kind of future her ideas would lead to. But even then, he still managed to convince some, especially poor Guilden, may he be found safe and soon. Near Guillus' death, Guilden seemed to be the only friend he had, the only voice standing between him and losing his position. After Guilden disappeared, so did his rank, though the Arch Rune-master was merciful enough to let him keep his room."

His eyes misted over. "Not that he kept it for long. Three days later, they found him dead, strips of his beloved Black Star's notes lying around him. For some reason, maybe long-delayed reason, maybe an attempt to regain his position, he'd torn them to shreds, though the tear stains showed how hard it was for him."

Glenda laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head. "Don't be. Guillus passed in peace, atoning for his errors; he could ask for nothing more. As for Guilden," he chuckled sadly, "I just hope he gets back here soon. He took On Deepstone with him when he disappeared, and I need it to pass one of my master's trials."

She gingerly squeezed his shoulder. "I hope so, too," she murmured, before letting go and returning to her-

Humanoid, right color, fangs, no nose, large dark eyes, hands with claws.

"I've got a match," she called out, eyes racing over the entry.

Celaeno bolted over, followed by their aides from the Runery, all looking at her in anticipation. Waiting no longer, she began to read...

ATHANG (pl.: ATHANGAN)

Among the many storied children of the Sea, the Athangan are told of perhaps the least, certainly less than the twincloaks, the sirens, and the kelpies. This obscurity might give one the impression that the Athangan are less threatening or weaker than their more noteworthy cousins.

This could not be further from the truth.

The author has seen the Rune-Wall of Glasbryn, heard the lorekeepers recite the history the wall recounts, and witnessed the Dragon Lord themselves swear by gem and fire that the accounts are true. The author has seen the Shore of Sunken Spears and the rusted tridents, not made by the hand of Men, taken from there. The Athangan were at the Battle of Glasbryn, the sole soldiers of the Sea present, and they gave a strong account of themselves there. Six times the Cadmuns say they attacked, and six times repelled only with the greatest difficulty. Even prone to pride as they are, the Cadmuns say that a seventh attack would have overwhelmed them. 'They were as many as the drops in the Sea,' one lorekeeper said, 'and as strong as a crashing wave.'

We do not know why the Athangan, so fiercely described by the Cadmuns, have never been seen in the Sea's van in its attacks on the Land of Grover; we can only speculate, and use the scraps of tales brought by those few captives who have escaped the Sea. It appears that, being the most numerous of the Sea's children, the Athangan function primarily as servants, as many of the captives report working under or beside them. However, their skill with arms makes this somewhat confusing, as the wisdom of forcing martially skilled beings into servitude frequently proves ill.

While we know little about their status off the battlefield, on it the Cadmuns have been able to give us great knowledge. They are surprisingly strong despite their bony frame, possessing a grip likened to a hunting trap. They wield the trident and spear with good skill, though they do not appear to make use of armor, instead relying on their vast numbers to survive. They prefer to attack at night, as, as the accompanying illustration indicates [Editor's note: Not for digital readers, apologies], their eyes are already well-suited to the darkness of the deep Sea. This is not an absolute, however, for the Cadmuns tell tales of other battles with the Athangan, and in those they demonstrate an ability to change tactics, from sneaking like shadows to crushing like a wave. There is one absolute we know about them, though, and that is that they require water to fight effectively; without it, their fish-like tail limits their movement, to a crippling degree. Because of this, they appear to use magic, raising the tides in order to more easily traverse. Note that this magic does appear to be limited; they seem to have difficulty performing their rituals in contested regions, and in areas where they completely lack military control they appear unable to use it at all.

The Athangan are like the waves of their father; numerous and crushing, but capable of being resisted and defied when properly prepared. However, as the Shore of Sunken Spears and the battle that birthed it demonstrate, that resistance will be difficult, and as the drowning of Gemerelli starkly illustrates, the consequences of not resisting are high.

Gilda IV

The old knight looked down at his map, Griffonstone and the surrounding area drawn with care, down to the dead-end allies and the nearby hills' hidden caves. He'd retired his miniatures years ago, switching to digital battle planning, but he refused to retire the map, saying that he appreciated being reminded of where he was fighting, and fighting for.

At the moment, all Gilda was being reminded of was just how much of it was blue, enemy territory if their friends from Aris were right.

"You're certain these Athangan are what's been attacking us?" the knight broke his silence. "Do you have any proof, evidence?"

"The attack at Gemerelli," Sky Beak replied. "Pirates don't use there as a base because it's too dangerous for ships, the rocks and narrow passageways-"

"I understand, sir," the knight curtly cut him off. "Anything else?"

Sky Beak hesitated, then weakly shrugged, "It fits. All the kidnappings happened at sea or along the coastline, most of them happened at night, nobody human's claimed they did it."

"It does fit," the knight nodded, "and, however much I hate it, it's the best we have to go on. But now that we have any idea of who we're fighting, a new question; how do we fight them? We can't march into the Sea."

"I'm not a military expert," Sky Beak admitted, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "My plan would honestly be just keep doing what you're doing; try to stop the disappearances, catch any of them you can, wait for their next move."

The knight's mustache swished from side to side. Looking back at the map, he began tracing a path with his finger, from the docks to the Grand Exchange. Tapping the market, he murmured, "We can't risk it," before turning to Gasiy and saying, "Gather the Council. We need to discuss this."

Gasiy nodded, then quickly left to obey.

As he did so, the knight turned back to his Arisian guests and said, "I would have you present as well. I'm not the only one who's been expecting you, and your presence might help the idea that we're being attacked by fish-people go down."

They nodded in acceptance, and the knight turned to Gilda. "Keep our guests safe," he ordered. "It sounds like our enemies might have a hard time with dry land, but until we receive confirmation I won't risk anything. Your prior orders remain in force."

"Yes, sir," she bowed.

He curtly nodded back, then grunted, "Dismissed," and turned back to his map.

Gilda, meanwhile, turned to her charges, and gave them her best disarming smile. "Come on," she nodded at the door. "Let's let Sir Cloudfloor get back to work, and you back to your kid."

Lady Ocean Flow swallowed, the worry she'd put aside returning in full force. "Yes," she whispered. "Let's."

She knocked on the door.

The intercom beside it buzzed. "Are the clients safe?"

Gilda pressed the button beneath it, allowing her to reply. "No, I failed them."

The clients took a cautious step back as the door opened. "How have you failed us, exactly?" Sky Beak asked warily.

"I didn't," she replied. "That's just the password Sir Cloudfloor gave us. All quiet here?"

Her comrade on the other side nodded. "All quiet on our end. Meeting go well?"

"I'll tell you inside," she said, ushering the wary Arisians in. That wariness vanished, at least on Ocean Flow's part, when she saw her daughter, chattering Gallus' ear off worse than the messenger did. He was managing to control himself, though, looking like he was at least half-listening to the girl, and the look of relief Gilda saw cross his face when the girl's mother scooped her up in a ferocious hug couldn't be seen from across the sea.

The Sea...

As the door closed and locked behind them, Gilda cleared her throat. "Honored guests," she said, "if I could have your attention."

They all turned to look at her, the mother's arms still wrapped tightly around her daughter.

"While you're here," Gilda explained, "our job is to protect you. That means that, you needing to wake one of us up in the middle of the night because you need to go somewhere? Not a problem. Asking us to go on errands for you so you can stay in here? Not a problem. Going anywhere without us because 'you didn't want to bother us?' Big problem. Sir Cloudfloor is paying us to keep you safe. If we're not keeping you safe, he's not paying us. Keeping you safe is not a problem for us, and even if it was, what he pays us makes it go away. What will be a problem is you trying to ditch us. Even as a relatively fresh face, I can tell you, trying to ditch us won't end well for you; either whoever's after you will find you, or we will and you'll end up with double the guards. You won't be able to escape us; we know Griffonstone like the back of our hands, and the pay losing you will cost us won't let us stop until we find you. Try to sneak out the window, we'll jump through after you; try to lose us in the bathroom, you'll find us swimming up through the plumbing; try to slip away in a crowd, we'll check every face in it until we find you again. Us finding you is as sure as death and taxes. Am I clear?"

All wide-eyed, the Arisians nodded.

She nodded back, then continued, "From here on out, none of you are leaving this room alone; wherever you're going - Council chamber, store, bathroom - at least one of us is going with you. You aren't entering any rooms we haven't swept three times, meeting with anyone we haven't checked three times, or opening any new packages until we've gone through them with a fine comb three times. Again; none of this will be a problem for us, it is literally what we signed up for and what Sir Cloudfloor pays us to do.

"Now, I don't think whoever's after you will be dumb enough to try and attack you here, but if they do, or if they try somewhere else, we're most likely going to tell you to do stuff. Let me be perfectly clear; what we tell you will not be a 'suggestion' or 'advice,' it will be an order, one meant to keep you safe. If you don't obey, you will get hurt or killed. You can question us here or offer ideas you've thought of, but when it's life or death, there is no rule by committee; if we have good reason to think there's a threat and we tell you, then we tell you to jump, you ask 'How high?' Do you want me to repeat anything I just said, or do you have any questions?"

The Arisian girl raised her hand. "What do we do if one of us sees something but you don't, and then you tell us to run towards it? Do we just try to avoid it but still go that direction?"

Gilda slowly nodded. "That's actually a really good question," she replied. "Ideally, that should never happen, and if it ever does and you survive, you tell me or Sir Cloudfloor. But that second part, about running in whatever-it-is' direction without running right into it, that actually reminds me of something one of my teachers used to tell her clients; 'Just because I'm here doesn't mean you can leave your brain at the door.' Think about why we want you to do what we tell you to; don't just blindly obey - or disobey," she added with a meaningful glare at the girl, "orders. Try to do what we want you to, even if you don't do it exactly the way we ask. Make sense?"

The girl nodded, then lowered her hand.

Gilda nodded, then turned to the girl's parents. "Either of you have any questions?"

"I'm guessing Sir Cloudfloor will send someone to grab us when we need to meet with the Council?" Sky Beak said.

"He'll let you know, yeah," Gilda nodded.

Sky Beak nodded back, then sighed, leaning into the rest of his family. "In that case, no further questions on my end," he murmured, almost sleepily.

"Nor on mine," Ocean Flow shook her head.

"Great," Gilda replied, clapping her hands together. "In that case, Iron Fangs, do any of you have any questions?"

Several of her comrades stood up and prepared to speak, but found themselves preempted by the door guard asking, "Did the meeting go well?"

"Mixed," Gilda replied. "We have a good guess about who we're fighting now, but we still need to figure out how to fight back."

"And who are we fighting?" another voice spoke up.

"Strange as it sounds, there's a good chance it's fish-people," Gilda answered. "Trust me, it seems as dumb to me as it does to you, but Sir Cloudfloor bought it, and we all know how good he is at buying threats."

Faint disbelief and greater discontent spread through the ranks at that. "Fish-people?" one of them scoffed. "We're supposed to fight story monsters, now? Is he sure it's the suruhu we're after and not the Winged-Men of the mountains?"

"If you have any proof it's the Winged-Men, he'd be glad to hear it," she shot back. "Our guests were able to give us a few scraps pointing at the fish-people, so unless you have any better ideas-"

"That's why it felt so clammy!" the Arisian girl blurted out. As the room turned to stare at her, she continued, "When-When Allegiance was attacked, one of-one of the attackers tried to grab me, and they felt clammy, and-and they looked like they were drowned, but they weren't, they just live underwater."

Gilda's eyes widened. "What?"

"I mean, it makes sense," the girl stammered. "If you live underwater all the time, you'd be clammy and cold, and they-"

"Not that," Gilda cut her off. "You actually saw whatever it was that attacked?"

"You managed to fight them off?" Gallus whispered in awe.

The girl blushed at Gallus' awe. "Only thanks to Celaeno," she murmured. "If it hadn't been for her..." Her mother squeezed her tighter, trying to crush the thought.

"It's in the past," Gilda waved dismissively. "You can help us in the present by telling me whether or not you saw what attacked you."

The girl bit her lip, looking around the room in thought, her eyes eventually coming to a stop in the corner. Then, to Gilda's shock, iron flooded them, and quickly turned on her as the girl said, "It was dark and I was scared, but I did see them."

"What did they look like?" the door guard asked, Gilda momentarily too stunned to. "Is Gilda right? Were they fish-people?"

"I don't know about that," the girl faltered, before finding her iron again and saying, "but I know they weren't just regular people. Regular people don't look like they drowned."

"What do you mean by that?" the Winged-Men theorist asked as the girl's mother tightened her grip again. "You say they looked drowned, but what does drowned look like?"

"Cold," the girl quickly answered. "Washed out, like their skin color's paint that mixed with water."

"Dull colors're usual over here," another one of the Iron Fangs muttered. "Not everyone's colorful as a Homestrian."

The glare the girl shot at them was sharp enough to cut their armor. "I know the difference between 'dull' and 'washed-out,'" she retorted. "What I saw wasn't dull."

Regathering herself, Gilda managed to cut in, "Skin color's one thing, not being human another. What else did you see?"

"They didn't have noses," the girl replied. "Either that, or they were the smallest noses I've ever seen, and my cousin has a really small one. And-and their eyes, they were way too big, and they had fangs for teeth-"

"Did you get a look at their legs?" Gilda pressed. "Did they have legs or fins?"

"I," the girl hesitated. "I wasn't able to see their legs, no. But... but I don't think I heard any footsteps, if you think that helps."

"Even if it doesn't, the rest of what you said does," Gilda reassured her. "We've got more than scraps to go off of, now." Turning to Ocean Flow, she smiled and said, "Looks like you'll get to stay with your daughter for longer than we guessed; you should bring her with you when you meet with the Council, they need to hear what she saw."

It looked like Ocean Flow would protest for a moment, but then she looked down at her daughter, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead. Sighing, she kissed it, then turned back to Gilda and solemnly nodded.

Her heart squirmed as she nodded back; it felt like she was watching something big, something important, but she couldn't see what it was. A kiss on the forehead? What was so significant about that? Probably still shaken at almost losing her, she thought. That made sense; kissing someone you thought you'd never get to kiss again was big, even to a rock-hard heart like her.

But even as she pulled a chair up to the door and sat down, beginning the wait for the Council's summons, her heart still squirmed, shaking at the sight of something it said was stronger than a mere unexpected kiss.

The father was sleeping, the daughter talking with (not at? She was impressed) Gallus, and the mother still holding her when a knock came at the door.

Gilda rang the intercom. "Who's there?"

"A messenger," crackled back.

Gilda smirked. Time to see if Gallus really has grown up. "What message do you bear?"

"One of bad news," came the password.

Nodding, Gilda unlocked and opened the door, finding the messenger who'd interrupted her sparring session with Gallus waiting on the threshold. Gilda ushered her in, smirking at the faint squeak she loosed at the sight of Gallus while she closed and locked the door. Turning back to the chamber and the blushing messenger, she asked, "What brings you here?"

The messenger shook her head, then shakily said, "T-The Regent's Council r-requests the p-presence of Miss-Miss Ocean Flow an-an' Sir Sky Beak."

"They'll be there enkissur," Gilda reassured her as Ocean Flow began shaking her mate awake. "And their daughter'll be there, too."

The messenger blinked, then said, "Er, Sir Cloudfloor only asked for the two'f'm."

"I know," Gilda replied. "But Silverstream has something he wants, something big; info about who we're fighting."

The messenger gaped, first at Gilda, then at the girl, before turning back to Gilda with a big grin on her face and saying, "I'll let'm know, miss."

Before she could bolt away, though, Gilda's arm fell down in front of her, and its bearer said, "Hold on, there. We can tell him ourselves, and make sure that he knows it's us inviting her, not herself. Besides," she tried to hide her smirk, "there's someone else, someone here, who needs your help. Look at Silverstream, Gabby; looks like she could use a friend, huh?"

Gallus tensed; he knew where she was going, and the frantic gaze he threw Gilda's way let her know that he would do anything not to go there.

The stare she threw back at him was simple in meaning, something taught to every Iron Fang at the very beginning;

"Why don't you help Gallus keep her company until we reach the Council chambers?"

The only way you're getting out of here is through.

His knuckles were definitely turning white with wrath under his gloves as the messenger murmured her acceptance and scurried over to the girl, but then regained their color as he turned to look at her, at the promise he'd made to her mother. He turned back to Gilda, and she inwardly smiled at the stony glare in his eyes, and the message the embers of his anger spelled out:

Bring it.

Silverstream IV

"So there I was," Gabby said, "starin' as this girl kicks a grown man to the ground'n says, "Di'n't yer mommy ever tell ya not to hit a lady? Well, now ya know why; 'cause we ladies hit back. Hard." By the time backup 'rived, it was just cleanup; she'd taken care of all three of'm, their fourth got out when he saw how things were goin'. I'm glad she was only here 'cause her folks were workin' on a deal, if she'd stayed Guthwin might've found himself outuva job."

"Uh-huh," Gallus cut her off as Silverstream giggled. "Anyway, Silverstream, you said you fought with one of those... whatever it is that attacked you, what was the fight like? Did it have any weapons, armor?"

Silverstream swallowed the last of her giggle at Gabby's story, then said, "Sorry, Gallus, I don't remember that much. I could punch and kick them, and they didn't use any weapons, if that helps."

"What about tactics?" he pressed. "Did they seem to have a plan?"

...initiated and coordinated...

"They tried to sneak up on us," she replied, "and they tried to swarm us when I let out a cry for help, but other than that, I really don't remember."

He prepared to answer with another, "What about- ?", but she cut him off, saying, "Gallus, I understand what you're doing, and I appreciate you wanting to help, but I really don't remember that much, and I didn't see that much to remember in the first place. We're going to talk about this with Sir Cloudfloor and the rest of the Council anyway, could we please talk about something else?" Something other than cold, drowned Men trying to drag her away-

"It's important," Gallus protested.

"So's talking about other things," she blurted out. "I get it, Gallus, you want to work on the big thing, the important thing, opening the oyster as quickly as you can to get at the pearl. You're right, we do need to try to get the pearl, but... there's still the oyster, and it's still beautiful, in its own way. If we only focus on the pearl, we'll miss out on so much of life, so many beautiful oysters, and if we wait until we get enough pearls to look at the oysters..."

...19:22...

"...they might not be there anymore when we go looking. Little things like this, just people talking, are less important than what you're worried about, Gallus, and they won't last as long, which is why I want to enjoy it now while I can; if I don't, I might never get the chance to again. Like I said, we'll talk about the attack with the Council, and it'll keep until then; please, let it keep, and let us talk about other things, things that won't."

Gallus opened and closed his mouth several times, soundless arguments taking shape with every opening and being discarded at the close. Eventually, he sighed, composed himself, then nodded.

Silverstream softly smiled back, then turned to Gabby and asked, "Did you ever learn that girl's name?"

"Heard'r mom call'r 'Babs' once," Gabby frowned. "Dunno if that was a nickname, though. Pardon me for askin', but, how old're you, Silverstream?"

"Seventeen," came the confused reply. "Why do you ask?"

"Wond'rin' where all that came from," Gabby answered. "I 'spect deep-soundin' stuff like't from the Runery or the temples out in Githlaegir, not tall-girls like you. Not sayin' itsa bad thing, just that I was'n' 'spectin' it. Where'd'ya come up with it?"

Silverstream blushed. "My brother helped me come up with it." She flashed a loving look back the way she'd come, back towards the room where Terramar was waiting for her. "He's with the Anchor Watch, so sometimes he can't come home for a while. Whenever he knows that's going to happen, he makes sure to spend as much time with us as he can, taking pictures of his favorite oysters to make the long pearl-dives easier. He knows that he needs to prepare for the pearl-dives, and he does, but he knows it's important to pay attention to the oysters, too."

"Huh," Gabby nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that does make sense whenya put it like that. Your brother soun's like a smart guy."

...the actions of Sailor Terramar...

"He is," she smiled softly back. "He really is. But what was that you said about temples in Githlaegir? I thought I saw some on the way here, though I'm not sure, it's kind of hard to tell with all the different architectural styles."

"The 'temples' of Githlaegir aren't actually temples. Most of them are either fortresses or monasteries, the former called temples because of the treasures legends say they guard, the other because people hear 'monastery' and instantly think 'temple with people living in it.' Most of the fortresses were built in the years before Griffonstone was founded, back when we called ourselves the Gledes instead of the Groverians. After Grover came and built us and Griffonstone, most of the fortresses were abandoned, the people who used them heading south where the Sun was a bit stronger, the land a bit less hilly, and life at least a bit easier. We ended up having to keep a few, though, bandits made the hills a base if we didn't. The monasteries were built after the Empire fell, either as fortresses by people waiting for the Empire to get back up or as homes by people who knew it wasn't going to. Yeah, most of the people who built them were religious, but they had bigger goals than praying; they wanted to keep what the Empire knew from getting lost, stop it from having to relearn stuff. Metalworking, farming, writing itself; we still know about that because the monasteries remembered it and taught us. Now that things seem to be getting back to normal, most of them will probably end up being abandoned like the fortresses, though there's talk about turning some of them into schools."

Gabby blinked, then closed her mouth, staring at Gallus in astonishment. He bristled at her attention. "What?" he protested. "I'm allowed to know things, and the temples are interesting."

"She was probably just surprised to hear you talk again," Silverstream reassured him. "They do sound interesting, though. Which one's your favorite?"

"Ergenekon," Gallus replied, puffing up in pride almost exactly like Terramar. "It's held the pass into the Iron Gorge for thousands of years, throwing back bandits, rebels, and would-be emperors and empresses every time they've tried to break in. Even at its worst, when the Empire was crumbling and Gasena only had eighty swords to hold it, Ergenekon didn't fall, didn't surrender, even in the face of Gozlu the Traitor's army. She..." he trailed off as he noticed Silverstream's blank expression. Sighing, he asked, "You don't know who any of those people are, do you?"

"No," she shook her head, "but I'd like to."

Gallus took a deep breath, then said, "So, you probably know that the Empire didn't fall in a day. What you might not have known is that some people disagree on when exactly it fell, because some people tried to keep it alive even after Guto the Luckless died. One of their strongholds was Ergenekon, sworn directly to the service of the imperial throne ever since Grover relieved it during the Cold Age. Ergenekon was solidly Imperial, enough for Guto's wife Gulesin to justify heading up there with her kids and their guards after her husband's death, setting up a court in exile until 'the enemies of the Imperial Throne of Grover the Great desecrated the great monument of his city by their presence no more,' her words not mine. And it wasn't just a show court, she actually tried to make it work, rule and do justice to wherever still accepted Imperial rule. The problem was, that wasn't that many places; Guto's ancestors had let the realm rot, trying to squeeze as much out of it as they could while giving nothing back. Civil wars burned up whatever they squeezed out, forcing them to squeeze out more and more in order to pay their mercenaries, who they had to rely on after they squeezed the Imperial Army into a hollow shell. Griffonstone fell into so much chaos that the rest of the realm basically had to rule themselves, or let thugs with pointy sticks rule them.

"As for Griffonstone, Guto's death turned a word war into a sword one, every faction trying to seize a throne they didn't see was rotting. Guto's siblings, rival families, some of the mercenaries, the Electors who didn't seem to get that maybe trying to set up an elective government in a war-zone wasn't the best idea, even a religious army or two, all of them rose up and tried to take control. They tore each other apart, like dogs fighting over scraps, alliances forming only long enough to tear whoever was winning at the moment down. Mobs, soldiers, assassins, the city was more used to them than people trying to stop them." He shook his head, murmuring, "There were almost two million people in Griffonstone before the Empire fell. The next time they were able to count that, over a hundred years later, there were only three-quarters of one million. There's only one way to put it; after Guto's death, while the Empire was trying to keep itself alive and the capitol tore itself to shreds, Griffonstone bled. But," he sighed, "dwelling on that won't do any good, won't change anything. All we can do is try to keep it from happening again. Just like," a hint of a smile crossed his face, "Gasena did."

Silverstream's ears, falling somewhat in gloom, perked up again.

"Gasena was the commander of the Ergenekon garrison when Gulesin arrived," Gallus continued. "There weren't really that many of them, Iron Gorge was barely settled then, but she still trained them, forging them like Grover had forged Griffonstone. They were strong, skilled, disciplined, and Imperial down to their bones, serving the Empire even as the rest of their kin abandoned it. Gasena welcomed Gulesin and her children and swore allegiance to them, even though there were plenty of people just a few kilos away in Griffonstone who would be willing to pay good money for their deaths, and she served them as faithfully as her soldiers served her. The world would soon see just how faithfully that was.

"It'd been seven years since Guto's death, and things weren't getting any better. Only the Githlaegir still pledged allegiance to the Imperial throne, the rest drifting away while they tried to stay alive. Keyron was a war-zone, every would-be ruler trying to buy or force it to give up its grain, grain that the war's interruption of the harvest was making rarer and rarer. If it hadn't been for the fish they were able to squeeze out of Grover Bay and the coastline, Griffonstone would've starved. Of course, that didn't stop the infighting; what did was the Electors, for some stupid reason, deciding that they could trust Gozlu, captain of one of the largest mercenary companies in the city.

"They knew that if they managed to seize the palace, they would be in a much stronger political position, especially since they used those few soldiers they had to try to establish something similar to law and order, which the people in those few areas of the city where they had enough of a presence to do that and keep the other factions from breaking in loved; if they seized the palace, identifying themselves with Imperial rule, and then even just tried to reestablish order, the common people would swarm to their side. But the Electors were politicians, not soldiers, they didn't have the numbers to pry the palace from whoever held it at the moment; instead, they went shopping for mercenaries, and eventually found Gozlu, leader of an over-glorified bandit gang. He was a decent fighter, as were those under him, but where he was a master was crime and treachery. Griffonstone knew him for raiding Keyron for grain and selling it in the capitol for crazy-high prices, supposedly refusing to lower the price even when someone literally starving to death was one copper piece short. Somehow, this didn't raise any red flags for the Electors, and they offered him a post of some sort if he helped them take the palace. He agreed, used his grain profits to buy the services of any mercenaries who would stand in his way, and then cut his way into the palace, where, surprise surprise, he stabbed the Electors in the back and simply took control himself. Then, using the plan they were stupid enough to tell him, he declared himself Gozlu the First, Emperor of Griffonstone, and sent his goons out to 'restore order' by breaking the legs of anyone they said was disturbing it.

"It didn't work like the Electors thought, though; Gozlu's profiteering made most of the common people wary of him. He knew he was sitting on a tinderbox, and so he tried to fan the flames away from him, blaming the chaos in the city on 'outside enemies,' namely Gulesin and her court at Ergenekon. He regathered his gang, hired a few other mercenary companies, then marched out to crush her. Soon, he was outside Ergenekon, over 4,000 in his host facing less than eighty inside. He sent a messenger to Gasena, ordering her to 'surrender the rebels' and 'return to Imperial authority' or 'face utter destruction.' Minutes later, she sent back a reply; 'It is not I who commands the rebels here, nor I who defies Imperial authority, and if I be utterly destroyed here, I will face Death gladly knowing that I died true.' She did die true, but not then; somehow, by some miracle, she held out through the six-month siege, breaking it when she killed Gozlu during a sortie. Without him, his host fell apart, and soon so did the fragile peace he'd forged in Griffonstone.

"But Ergenekon held on. Gulesin knighted every surviving member of the garrison and gave Gasena every honor she could think of. She still dreamt of 'cleansing the citadel of Grover the Great of the usurpers' taint,' but Gozlu's attack and news from her spies in the city showed her she wouldn't be able to any time soon, so she went to work making Ergenekon a suitable capitol. To be blunt, she failed; Ergenekon's more imposing than fancy, and after the refugees started to settle Githlaegir only the Iron Gorge obeyed the court there. But it's not that that matters, it's the fact that she was able to try at all, that her descendants were able to try to retake Griffonstone at all; Gasena and everyone who followed her stayed true, and Ergenekon didn't fall, not even when the Imperial line fell with Guto the Last. They couldn't keep faith with the Imperial family anymore, they were all dead, but they could stay true to the realm, to the people, to their vows. And they did; giving refugees land in the Gorge, fighting off invaders, training the first Iron Fangs to go out and bring peace back to the Empire. For over two hundred years, Ergenekon has stayed true, even when faced with utter destruction. Even if the whole world stands against them, they'll stand firm, saying, "I will face Death gladly knowing that I died true.'"

Silverstream stared, eyes wide with wonder, as he finished speaking. Fire danced in his eyes, more fire than was in the story he told, however impressive. He stood taller, walked with a more confident stride, even his armor seemed to gleam brighter. His voice may have fallen silent, but his soul was still singing, words louder than thunder that she couldn't hear.

"That was beautiful," she whispered, dipping her head. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah," Gabby whistled. "You've gotta knack for storytellin', Gallus."

Instantly, his soul fell silent, and the fire in his eyes turned to ice. "It wasn't a story," he grumbled. "All that stuff really happened."

"She wasn't saying that it didn't," Silverstream reassured him. "She was just saying that she thought you told us its history really well, right, Gabby?"

Gabby frantically nodded.

The ice in Gallus' eyes refused to thaw. He mumbled an apology to Gabby, then fell silent again, his soul whispering back behind the armor it had tried to shine so brilliantly out of before. Silverstream wanted to try to lure it back out again, ask it what song it had been singing, but she knew that that would only make it clam up tighter; people like Gallus came out of their shells when they wanted to, not when she tried to open them. All she could do was try to help make him comfortable with coming back out of his shell, murmuring another thanks for telling her about Ergenekon's history.

He silently nodded in acceptance, and as he did she realized that his frustrated face also reminded her of Terramar, tight jaw and lips carved like the stone he was trying and failing to turn his heart into.

All beneath eyes faintly frosted with ice, covering a gathering storm.

This time, when they arrived she didn't split up with her parents.

The guards at the Council chamber had wanted her to, but Gilda mentioning that she knew some stuff about the kidnappers changed their minds.

Now, she sat at a great, round table, her mother on her right, her protector on her left, and several of the greatest Men in Griffonstone staring across at her. After some brief introductions and explanations, her parents had told them about what Auntie Novo suspected was behind the kidnappings, and then they turned to her and pressed her for details about the attack at Gemerelli. She'd answered all their (many) questions, now she simply slumped back in her chair like a sponge squeezed dry, waiting for their response.

The first response came from Sir Cloudfloor, hands steepled together in thought. "If I had any doubts before now, honored guests," he said, "your daughter's testimony broke them. Queen Novo's right; we're fighting fish-people."

"Just so you all know," Gorsair, head of the Sea Dragons, said while he traced a route across the blank marble of the table with his finger, "I might be the Council's go-to naval guy, but if our honored guests are right, I'm not dealing with this alone."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, captain," Maren of the Darkbolts snapped, nervously drumming her fingers on the table. "If you have anything useful to say, we would appreciate that more than your jokes."

"Gorsair is right, though," Grachus, representative of the banking House of Otto, replied. "He cannot respond to this threat alone; no one can. I'm not sure even Griffonstone united would be able to. These Athangan have an entire ocean to draw upon; we need to respond with the same. Griffonstone alone cannot face the Athangan, no, but with the might of the Draconic Islands, Mount Aris, Labrador, and Homestria-"

"-we might be able to impress whoever's still around when the Sun's a piece of coal," Maren cut him off. "One or two of them, perhaps, but all? No. Not in a million years. And how would you propose contacting them? In case you and your friends' palaces have led you to forget, electronic communication isn't exactly standard issue for the real world. Once you're more than a day's ride away from the cities, you're on your own. We have trouble getting autos charged in the Githlaegir, do you think the Cadmuns would just be able to take a phone call? Send envoys? Yes, send envoys through areas contested by enemies we're trying to gather allies against, wonderful idea, what could go wrong? And even if you did reach them, who's to say they're not already having trouble with the fish-people? The fish-people our honored guests warned us about want territory, clearly. When faced with conquerers like that, what do you expect people to do; march out to help protect someone else's home, or hunker down to protect their own?"

"Then what do you propose, Maren?" Geretta, leader of the Russet Reds, raised an eyebrow.

"Fortify," came the reply. "The harbor walls are waterproof, post a few archers there and we'll be able to hold the Bay. South, if we can hold the Guto, we can focus on holding back anything trying to roll up the coastline. North, we send every useless mouth in the city into the Githlaegir, though we'll also need to keep an eye on the sea north of the Gap. If we keep those boundaries, we'll be able to hold off the world."

"What about hunger?" Gorsair pointed out. "You said the Guto, not the Ganesium. Did you forget where Keyron was, or did you forget that we need it to eat?"

"The Ganesium's too far south," Maren snarled back. "We'd be overextended if we set our border there. The useless mouths can farm the Githlaegir; if that's not enough, we fish north of the Gap. If that's not enough... we manage."

"And I assume you're going to be the one to tell Guthwin that he needs to either evacuate or sacrifice a fifth of his people?" Gorsair crossed his arms.

"Better that than all of them," Maren retorted.

"Are you certain we can't hold Keyron?" Grachus asked. "Its defenses pale before Griffonstone's, yes, but they do exist, and if we held it we could strike at any assault on the Guto from two sides. If we fortify it-"

"It would take too long to fortify," Maren shook her head. "We'd need to cover all the coast, at least, and that's not including either of the rivers. We know they're in Gemerelli, they'd be able to strike us months before we're ready if they caught wind of what we're doing. The north bank of the Guto's as far as we can hold, to my eyes."

"What if we boomed it?" Geretta asked, looking at Gorsair. "If we used a boom chain, could we keep them out of the Guto?"

"Not if they can swim deeper than half a dozen strides," Gorsair scoffed.

"And even if that did work," Maren added, "that wouldn't solve the bigger problem of the coastline; there's at least 150 kilometers to cover, and that's assuming it's all a straight line. Without proper fortifications, something we don't have the time to build, we won't be able to hold it unless we keep only a zakat to hold here."

"Could we reinforce that zakat with the citizens?" Grachus asked. "Most of them have probably had at least some experience fighting, after all."

Maren paused, curling and uncurling her fingers. After a moment, she sighed, shaking her head. "They'd still be green. Sure, they might be able to use a sword or a shield, but they wouldn't know discipline, and 'soldiers without discipline' is just a longer way of saying 'corpses.' They could free up a few hundred or thousand from peacekeeping, but other than that, they can best help us by staying away from the front lines."

Geretta leaned forward in her seat. "I sent a company to investigate Gemerelli after the attack on our guests. Do you think that-"

"If they're not back in three days," Maren shook her head, "they're dead. Gemerelli's enemy territory, now."

... (L)...

Geretta looked like she was about to reply, but she fell silent as Sir Cloudfloor rose to his feet, the silence that had rested on him since his first words spreading out to cover the rest of the chamber. Even Silverstream's thoughts hushed in an instinctual awe.

"Councilors," his voice shattered the silence, "whether we hold or abandon Keyron, we'll still need to defeat the fish-people. Where we'll need to will change, that will not. So, I ask you; are we able to?"

Maren nervously rubbed her hands together. "Depends," she eventually replied. "Both the honored guests' intel and their daughter's story make it sound like we'd be able to crush them one on one, or even in a small enough group, but if they have the numbers..." She swallowed. "The girl said she and the captain were able to fight off four even when they were surprised. I'd say if they outnumber us around eight, maybe eight and a half, to one or less we should be good, but more than that..."

Silverstream shivered; she could see the Athangan, an unstoppable tidal wave of drowned faces sweeping over the land. They would outnumber Griffonstone by more then eight and a half to one, she knew, though she didn't know how; something primal, almost instinctive, told her that the children of the Sea far outnumbered the children of the land, as certainly as that what took flight eventually drifted or fell back down, or that what lived would one day die. It was a fact, and against it all their bravery was doomed to fall, to crumble like a sandcastle against a wave, drowning beneath the onslaught of the Sea's children.

She turned to Gallus, staring intently at the council. Then she saw him, eyes closed and head bowed, his hair limply drifting in the currents of the Sea that drowned his home, his sword sheathed in rust and barnacles. And, to her horror, she could see the same fate awaiting the others in the chamber; Sir Cloudfloor, Grachus, Gorsair, Geretta, Maren, Gilda, even her parents: all overwhelmed, all drowned, all dead. The Sea wanted them, and the Sea would have them.

And they would face Death gladly, knowing they died true.

She blinked; where had that come from? Looking around, she found the source in Gallus' shadow, standing bold and grim though its caster hadn't moved, its unmoving lips roaring the thunder of his soul that she'd been unable to hear earlier. With or without hope, we'll fight, it whispered boomingly to her, because what we fight for is worth it. Griffonstone's just a scratch of stone, but it's a scratch we carved, and we won't allow anyone to just take it away; if they want it, they'll have to pry it from our cold, dead hands.

But they will, her heart quivered in reply.

Life still fills my hands, Gallus' soul rumbled back. Until life leaves them, I'll fight on like Gasena did.

A knock came at the far door.

Sir Cloudfloor's hand went to his sword hilt. "Who's there?"

"The Arch Rune-master," a thin voice piped in, "Chief of the Runery, High-mage-"

"Thank you, Gleedle," Maren curtly cut him off. "Is there a particular reason you're here now and not when we asked you to be?"

"It was my fault," another voice, a woman's, replied. "He was helping me with some research."

"What sort of research?" Sir Cloudfloor asked, gesturing for Gilda to let them in.

"Something that may save Griffonstone, good sir," the thin voice answered as the door opened, revealing a man in grey robes accented by copper standing beside a well-dressed woman, the latter holding a book under one arm...

...and in the other hand, the finger of an Athang.

"Our research has borne great fruit, my companions," the Rune-master continued, smiling widely. "We now know what our enemy is."

"We already know that, Gleedle," Maren snorted, "as you would have if you'd made it here on time. Our guests from Aris have informed us of who our enemy is."

"But did they tell you," the Rune-master smirked, "how to fight them?"

Sir Cloudfloor's eyes lit up, though he made sure to hide it; Silverstream could only see the faintest pinpricks of hope behind his walls of suspicion. "And your research has?" he asked, no hope escaping the gate of his voice.

"Indeed, good sir," Gleedle nodded, looking like a cat given a bowl of cream. "Indeed, it may very well have given us a way to preempt war with the Athangan at all."

"Gleedle," Gorsair chuckled, "if you want us to listen to you, maybe you should cut the demon impression and just tell us what you found."

Here, Gleedle's face fell a bit. "It is not merely this information that requires finding," he warned. "It revealed a tool to us, the Basin of Water Control, a magical item of immense power; if we were to wield it, we could deny the Athangan the tides they need to maneuver. Sadly, it appears that the Basin is not in the Runery's treasury, nor any other place in the city; it's creator, out of fear that their creation might be misused, sent it to the Temple of Grail to be sealed away. As far as the records available to us show, that is still where it lies."

"Githlaegir," Geretta murmured. "Four days there and back, three if whoever we send rides hard."

"We need every sword we can get in the city," Maren argued, "not heading north chasing children's stories."

"I don't know," Gorsair rubbed his chin. "We're fighting fish-people, those stories might have something to them."

"Even if they do," Sir Cloudfloor said, "Maren's right, we can't afford to send any of our soldiers away. Which is why it's fortunate," he glanced at Silverstream and her parents, "our guests arrived when they did."

Silverstream squeaked as her mom's arms wrapped around her like iron bands. "What sort of place is this Githlaegir?" her voice muttered. "Is it safe?"

"Safer than Griffonstone would be, if war came," the knight whispered.

Ocean Flow's face paled.

"It's okay, Mom," Silverstream reassured her. "Gallus was actually telling me about it on the way here, it sounds like it's fine. We'll be safe there."

"And you'll still have us," Gilda added. "You're still our walking pay-chests, we're not letting you out of our sight."

A brief chuckle went through the room at that, one that helped loosen her mom's arms a bit.

"In all honesty," the knight continued, "you wouldn't be in any more danger there than you already are here. We've pacified the hills as best as we can, and if any stray thugs do run into you, they know better than to attack a patrol in my armor. As for the temple, this is one place I know the stories are wrong; the worst 'traps' you'll find are barricades, pits, and the results of age. So long as you're careful, you'll be fine. If worst comes to worst, Gasiy can take you to Ironpeak."

"Or Ergenekon," Silverstream smiled.

The knight nodded his head thoughtfully from side to side. "Ergenekon is on the way to Ironpeak, yes, but against our current enemy the higher you can get, the better. You might rest there, but if things get that dire I won't want you to stay there."

"Oh," her cheeks flared. "That, uh, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," the knight shook his head.

Silverstream nodded, then sank into her seat, trying to hide her blush. As she did, though, she felt a gauntleted hand wrap around one of her's, and looked up to see Gallus' glove gently holding her fingers. Blinking in confusion, she looked up at him, and saw him give her a small smile, one that the grateful look in his eyes showed her was much larger on the inside.

Some might look at his actions and think of romance, but Silverstream saw deeper; he was acting out of gratitude, not affection, thanking her in ways too sublime for words. Her mentioning Ergenekon, listening to him talk about it earlier, meant something to him, something more than mere attraction, just like Terramar's Anchor Watch uniform

(...Officers Archfoam and Seamist...)

meant more to him than a simple piece of cloth. Why? Did he like history as much as she liked architecture? Was he that big of a fan of Ergenekon? Was he simply not used to being listened to? What had caused the ice he'd tried to cover himself with to melt? Why was his soul shining so much brighter now?

Whatever the reason, she thought as she returned his smile, I'm glad I could help.

"Then it's decided," Sir Cloudfloor's voice dragged her back out of her thoughts. "In three hours, our guests and their guards will leave for the Temple of Grail, find Gleedle's Basin of Water Control, then bring it back to Griffonstone enkissur, as soon as they can. Any objections?"

A chorus of shaken heads answered him around the table.

He nodded, then looked at Silverstream and her family. "The fate of Griffonstone rests in your hands," he said. "Don't drop it."

Silverstream's shoulders almost buckled beneath the sudden weight she felt burdening them, the weight of the fate of a city with roots deeper than mountains. "We won't," she replied alongside her parents, and hoped it was the truth.

Epilogue: The Caravan

"...and he slipped that case right by'r," Gadi sang. "And the rest of her life, that guard pressed her mind, tryin' to make banana cider!"

Cheers and laughs answered him as he finished, applause that he met with a mock bow that almost flung him from his saddle.

"Be careful!" Greta called back to him. "We're still waiting for your encore tonight!"

"You'll get it, don't worry," Gadi replied as he righted himself, "I might be a fool, but I'm not an idiot."

Greta shook her head. She would've preferred something more careful than that, but Gadi was never serious if he could help it. He'd almost died getting his family to the Iron Gorge, and now he treated every day as lightly as a child, calling even the coldest winter day a gift and acting like everything the Sun shone on was a joke, the funniest he'd ever heard.

And she had to admit, he did have a reason to act like that today. They'd just made a big sale in Griffonstone, five donkey-loads of pistachios, and at almost 20 bits for half a kig, and 60 kigs to a donkey, they were basically rolling in bits. And there were more to come; the Council was buying food to buy themselves friends, they'd take as many kigs of pistachios as they could get, and with access to the House of Otto's pockets they were good for them. Yeah, Greta could probably get more if she sold straight to the people, but then she'd have to find them, bring them the pistachios, make sure they were good for it, and all the other work that the Council would take care of for her. She'd been cool on the Council before, rolling her eyes at all the work the gold-crests put into deciding who got the head seat at the table, but now that they'd helped put bits on her table, she was-

A shaky cry came from Vak up ahead.

She frowned as she and the others formed a circle; Vak was a bit of a beast-crier, had been ever since one of Vola's little "miracles" had blown up right under his feet, but he had some of the best eyes she'd ever seen, even after Vola's mad device gave him the tremors. He could see a hawk a hundred strides up, and think it was swooping down to attack him. Which is it this time? she wondered as she felt for the hilt of her gilij, Is he just crying beast, or did he actually see something?

He came back to them at a gallop, fear written across his face. "A M-Man," he reported, "w-walking alone, l-less than fi-five minutes' r-ride."

"Hostile?" Greta asked.

"D-didn't n-notice m-me," Vak stammered. "D-didn't ap-ppear hos-hostile."

"Might just be a traveler," another one of their group said. "Where were they heading?"

"Nor-northeast," Vak replied, pointing towards the Winter Mountains.

"Why so scared, my good Vak?" Gadi chuckled. "They don't sound hostile, and even if they are, they're going away from us."

"H-H-Horati-ti-tio was sc-sc-scared," Vak retorted, nervously stroking his mount's mane. "O-One look, an-and he prep-prepared to-to b-bolt."

Most of the others groaned, and even Greta shook her head. Vak always looked for signs that something was wrong, even when they were more likely signs that normal things were happening. Of course Horatio would've been spooked by seeing someone walking out here, this far from the Gorge and the major temples, they were more likely to see King Grover walk again. Everyone knows you don't expect to find people in the middle of nowhere, even horses.

Looks like just another beast cry, Greta sighed, before muttering to herself, "Well, even if that's the case, it would probably be a good idea to figure out why Horatio was scared. Come on, everyone, let's check out Vak's mysterious Man."

He saw them once they were about two minutes away and stopped to wait for them, leaning on his tall, black staff to rest. While he waited, Greta looked him over, blinking in confusion as she reached his cloak; she could tell it was grey, but not what shade, or where the light and dark patches were. It seemed to shimmer, shifting from one color and pattern to another with every breath he moved.

"What kind of cloth is that?" she murmured to herself.

Before she or anyone else could reply, her mount snorted, then firmly planted its hooves, almost throwing her from the saddle as it stopped.

Greta gasped as she regained her balance and tried to still her heart, then glared down at her mount. "What was that for?" she snapped. "I could have fallen!"

"Pardon me," the stranger called as he began walking over. "It's my fault, I believe. Something about me unnerves animals, large and small." He raised his hand in a gesture of calming as Greta's donkey lashed its tail and began nervously backing away. "It's alright, though; I wouldn't hurt a fly if I could avoid it."

Another snort and tail lash came from Greta's mount, but it returned to its previous spot, keeping a wary eye on the stranger.

Greta smiled down at it, running a hand through its mane in comfort, then turned to the Man and asked, "Who are you, stranger? Not every day we see travelers out here in Githlaegir."

Their face, still half-hidden by their hood, stared back at her a moment before replying, "Call me Guise, if you wish. And who are you, if I may ask?"

"Simple farmers," Greta carefully replied, noting the evasive answer "Guise" gave them, "trying to get home before it gets dark. What about you? Most people who come out here have a reason to, what's your's?"

"I seek the Temple of Grail," he answered, crossing his arms. "I have business there, urgent business."

"Not looting," Gadi chuckled. "You look just well off enough to tell that; any poorer and you might be desperate enough, any richer and you might be cold enough."

Some of the others lightly chuckled, but not Vak, Greta, or the stranger. "No, not looting," he quietly replied. "No, I go to save what others would loot. I only hope I'm not already too late."

"Well, what're you waiting for?" Gyla squawked at him. "You said it was urgent, so get a move on!"

"I should," the stranger sighed as he picked his staff up again. "I've already wasted too much time. Thank you for the company, and fare well."

"'Company?'" Greta snorted. "We barely said five words to each other."

The stranger sent her a winsome smile in response. "To a lonely Man, five words may be enough. Farewell, Greta. Stay safe, stay out of the shadow."

With that, he left, quickly cresting a hill and vanishing behind it. Vak craned his neck to watch him leave, the familiar mask of anxiety coming over his face as he did so. Shakily clambering down from Horatio, Vak shuffled over to the foot of the hill he'd crossed and knelt down, examining the ground.

"Vak," Greta sighed, "what are you doing?"

Not responding, Vak continued up the hill, pausing every so often to peer at the grassy slope. After he'd climbed about halfway up, right as Greta was about to call him, he bolted back, his anxiety transformed to true fear. "F-footpr-prints," he stammered.

"Yes, Vak," one of the others rolled their eyes. "People leave footprints when they walk. See?" They pointed down at the trail Vak himself had left in the crushed grass.

"N-n-n-not G-G-G-Guise," he protested.

Gadi furrowed his brow. "What?"

Frantically, Vak waved them over, showing them the ground he'd been investigating. "L-l-l-look," he said. "N-n-n-no pr-pr-prints."

Greta stared, bewildered; Vak was telling the truth. He wasn't seeing things. None of them were; there were no marks to be seen, nothing anywhere along the path the stranger had walked. It was like he'd never been there at all.

"Move out," she ordered. "Maybe the guy just walks really soft, but I'm not risking anything. Only person who doesn't leave tracks like that is someone who doesn't want to be found, and people like that usually have good reason to want that."

"Like a thief," Gadi shook his head. "I really thought he was just well-off enough to not be a looter."

"Or a-a g-g-ghost," Vak whispered, nervously petting Horatio's mane.

"Even if he is a ghost," Greta took command, "he was going away from us, and if anywhere's prepared for a ghost, it's one of the temples. Come on, home's not getting any closer, and the Sun's still falling."

The others obeyed, quickly mounting up before riding out. Gadi joined Vak in the rear, hopefully helping calm him down; he was jumpy enough already, he didn't need anything else to be afraid of. Fortunately, however irritating his lack of seriousness might have been sometimes, Gadi's attitude made him one of the best calmers she'd ever seen. Whatever mood someone fell into, five minutes with Gadi and they'd be back to normal. Greta curled her lip as she looked over the frightened faces of the others; he'd have plenty of chances to show that tonight. Even she was feeling a bit spooked, and all the stranger had done was wish her-

"Farewell, Greta. Stay safe, stay out of the shadow."

She'd never told him her name. He'd barely even heard her talk. How did he know her name?

Shivering, she crossed herself with claws, murmuring a prayer to Grendel for protection; looked like Vak might not have been crying beast after all.