Finally, the saint sighed, squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her face to the heavens.

Kyembe made a wry expression. “Wurhi…” he said slowly. "I already guessed that. Not all of it, but I knew you took the Eye.”

The Zabyallan blinked. “What? When? How?”

He gestured toward Jeva by the fires. “While we searched for you, we were told that House Ameldan had been robbed the day you were taken.” He gave her a reproachful look. “I may sometimes act a fool, but I am not a fool. At least not enough to miss what was plain to see.”

“Oh…” she grumbled. “So…so what are you going to do?”

He drew a deep breath. “I am going to tell you the same as you said to me in the Forest of Giants.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Don’t ever do this again. Understand?”

She winced at her own words thrown back at her. “Never. I won’t do it.”

Kyembe peered at her carefully, searching her expression. Crimson eyes seemed to burn through her. “You know what? I do not believe you will.” His body relaxed as though a burden had slid from him. “Good. Then it is done.”

She blinked. “What? Really? But what about all that happened? I nearly died! You nearly died! A bunch of people died!” She looked to the saint. “And what about you?”

St. Cristabel at last opened her eyes. “I have no right to anger, for you made no oath with me. I knew well that you were a rogue when we joined company. Am I to be shocked when you do roguishness? And as for the result of your actions…did you hear how that young woman addressed you by the fire? Truly listen to it? It was as though she spoke to a hero.”

The Zabyallan scoffed. “What? I’m no hero.”

“You are not,” the knight agreed. “But you did things that were valorous. If you did not steal this bauble, then true, Paradise would not have suffered attack, but it is also true that all these folk would still be in this foul cult’s grip. Others would have been abducted and slain in the future: I believe that Laexondael has become a safer place thanks to your one lapse in judgement. You did spurn your oath…but sometimes greater good comes from smaller ill, if one makes better choices afterward. And you did. Whether it be for justice, vengeance or merely survival, you saved many lives and helped destroy a blight. And look to your hand and arm.”

Wurhi did. The appendage was whole again, thanks to the Tears of Amitiyah. They had turned sweet and mended her flesh earlier. “My god is pleased with your acts of valour, it seems, and so am I. I do not condone your actions, friend, but I see your remorse and I believe in it.”

“I do not hold much worth in the judgement of demons and gods, but I place a lot on the judgement of friends.” Kyembe placed his hands on the Zabyallan and Traemean’s shoulders. “I will say this, Wurhi: if you had not told me, I would have left you by spring’s coming. Nothing you could have said would have stopped that. But you told the truth and, to me, that is enough.”

“But-”

“No need for more explaining, you said you will not do it again, so it is done,” he slyly repeated more of her words from the Forest of Giants.

“But our oath!” Wurhi cried. “I broke it!”

He rolled his eyes. “What is all this complaining? Do you want me to part ways with you?” Deep laughter poured from him, but an edge lay to his mirth, which slowly died into a sigh. “Truly, my friend, I cannot say that I am not angry with you, but what is done is done and you told the truth about it. None of us are dead or maimed, and as for our oath, we are now even: I strained its spirit in the Forest of Giants as you did here. So, it is bruised, but not broken. And-”

He raised his hand. “-it can be renewed, stronger than before. When first we made our oath, we were two desperate fools looking for enough coin to keep ourselves alive. When next we renewed it, we were partners after a theft, looking to travel together for protection. Now, though?”

His hand clenched into a fist. “We are companions, friends and compeers. We have saved each other’s lives. We have confided in each other, we have won, and we have lost. We have pushed the bounds of our oaths and come to new understanding: only now do we make this oath with knowledge of each other. This will be our third, and will be the strongest between us.”

He looked at her as though the weight of their lives would hang on his following request. “It will not be broken lightly. Will you make it with me, Wurhi of Zabyalla?”

Wurhi’s hand shot up before he had finished. “With everything I’ve got, Kyembe of Sengezi.”

Kyembe kissed his knuckles. “I, Kyembe of Sengezi, will travel with you, Wurhi of Zabyalla, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.”

Wurhi kissed her knuckles. “I, Wurhi of Zabyalla, will travel with you, Kyembe of Sengezi, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.”

Clnk.

“…praytell, does there lie space for another in this oath?”

Wurhi and Kyembe’s eyes drew to Cristabel.

The knight gave a rueful smile. Her hand had also risen into a fist. “Would you not have me in your company?”

Wurhi and Kyembe’s gazes drew to each other. “…I am surprised you would make an oath with us,” he said. “You seek glory and battle and so forth, while we are scoundrels.”

“And rogues.” Wurhi added.

“Thieves.” Kyembe added.

“Killers.” Wurhi added.

“I am a killer just as you, and plundering one’s slain enemies is an honoured tradition in Traemean warcraft. Further, in the space of a few months you both found Gergorix’s Egg, saw the tyrant Avernix destroyed and led me to one of the greatest battles of my time. I follow the swift wind to glory, friends, and it seems that the wind blows where you walk. Also…”

Her cheeks grew slightly red beneath her freckles. “I have quickly grown…fond of both of you, and would not wish to part so quickly.”

Kyembe’s grin grew broad. “Well, by the stars! I am fond of you as well! If I am to count the Solidblade Knight as one of my compeers, I would say that fortune has smiled down upon me. What say you, Wurhi?”

The Zabyallan peered at the knight appraisingly. “I don’t know, I just got rid of a bunch of cultists and now I’m going to take on one more?”

Cristabel sputtered. “I am not a cultist!”

“I dunno, you and Milos both go on and on and on about your gods…and you both worship by way of horrible, horrible violence…”

“I-” the saint stammered. “That is different! Amitiyah’s noble grief must be balmed, while the foul wolf gluts himself-”

The knight paused as she saw Wurhi failing to hold back bubbling laughter. “I’m joking! Joking! Don’t smash me or anything! I’m going to tell you true, Cristabel, I think you’re as crazy as an angry camel that got into his master’s wine and poppy milk, but you’re my kind of crazy!”

Wurhi’s relief and excitement erupted at once, bringing her into giggling, light-headed giddiness. “Besides, with you around we’d look all official in the north! Think about all the parties and other shit we could get into! We’d rob everyone blind! Blind!”

“…I cannot help but fear that I might have erred. Friends, perhaps I was too hasty.”

“You are also too late!” Kyembe’s crimson eyes twinkled as he wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “You are one of us now! Tried and true! Come, I think I have grown tired of snow and wolves. I say we go back south, and you come with us.”

Wurhi nodded vigorously.

The Sengezian’s face drifted closer to the Traemean’s ear, and his voice quieted as though inviting a lover to bed. “You shall see what real weather is like, and find an entire new land to sing of to your god. Come now, does that not sound appealing?”

Cristabel folded her armoured arms and sighed. “I cannot help but feel that I am being had…” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “But I care not! If you betray me or insult me, I shall consider the oath broken, cleave you both in twain and then weep for our lost fellowship!”

Wurhi and Kyembe’s smiles faded. The Sengezian began to lean back. “I cannot help but feel that we might have erred-”

“Too late shall be the cry!” The saint smiled broadly, and her dimples appeared in her cheeks. She grasped Kyembe by the waist to prevent his escape, slipped her gauntlet from her hand, kissed her knuckles and extended her fist. “I, Saint Cristabel Esclanore of Traemea will travel with you, Wurhi of Zabyalla and Kyembe of Sengezi, until we agree to part or circumstance separates us. I will watch your back as you watch mine, and I will tell you of anything that could endanger you. I will not betray you, dishonour you, or steal from you.”

Kyembe laughed helplessly, then kissed his knuckles.

His fist extended, touching hers. “I extend my oath to you, Saint Cristabel Esclanore of Traemea.”

Simultaneously, The Rat kissed her knuckles and touched them to those of the Solidblade Knight and the Spirit Killer. “I extend my oath to you, Saint Cristabel Esclanore of Traemea.”

Their knuckles pressed together in a triad, linking them by way of word and bond. With this oath, they would-

“Watch out!” Kyembe suddenly cried.

A massive form blurred out of the dark, crashing into their joined fists. For an instant, a huge, brown furred head pressed into their circle and - in a sense - the oath of three became four.

Then the trio of humans were bowled over by the sabre-toothed tiger’s immense bulk.

“You!” Wurhi cried, looking up into the cat’s golden eyes. She bounded to her feet and rubbed his snowy flank. “I’d wondered where you’d gone to! I thought you’d left for the wild, why did you come back? Wait…”

She thought on his sapience. “…were you listening to us?” she asked in Laexondaelic.

Kyembe groaned, rising up from the cold embrace of the snow and Cristabel’s armour. “Wurhi, why are you talking to the cat? He…cannot…” His jaw fell open as the sabre-toothed tiger nodded along with her words. “…understand you?”

“He can, but I’ll that explain later!” She nearly bounced with excitement.

Cristabel rose up, gaping alongside the Sengezian. “Later? That is a matter of note enough for urgency-”

“Later! Later!” She waved them off, focusing on the cat. “So, is that it? Do you want to come with us?”

The tiger stared at her for a moment, not realizing that he had unconsciously begun to lean into her stroking.

Then he nodded.

“YYyyyyyeeees!” Wurhi jumped up and down, rubbing his coat with both hands. Mentally, she conjured up the image of herself lying in a palanquin with a great predatory cat at her feet. She had always wanted a sleek leopard or cheetah, or perhaps a regal lion or tigress.

She tossed that image into a ditch, replacing it with a beautiful, titanic stabbing cat of the north. Oh yeeeeees, this was much better! She would need a bigger palanquin and perhaps a pair of elephants to carry it but what was life without goals?

“Welcome to the group! Uh…er…” She looked at him seriously. “What’s your name? I never heard Milos call you by a name…or any of his beasts…”

The cat growled, slowly shaking his head.

Wurhi snorted incredulously. “Didn’t name you, huh? Somehow, that was like him. Well we’ll treat you better. Won’t we?” She shot a look at her two companions.

The Saint and the Spirit Killer looked at each other. “Are we truly doing this?” Kyembe asked. “He saved your life, so I say the more the merrier, but you will pay to feed him.”

“Agreed,” the knight looked to the tiger appraisingly. “But it is no good for such a valiant and majestic creature to go unnamed. I say we dub him…” she paused. “What of…battle cat?”

Three pairs of eyes drifted to her. “What? He is a cat who battles! Is that not appropriate!?”

Kyembe patted her shoulder with a pitying look. “You have a terrible sense of naming.”

“I do not!” she protested, but the other three had moved on.

“Now, now, he needs a kingly name. I say…Simba!” He pronounced proudly. “It is the word for ‘lion’ from the Tribes of Ruwami!”

Three sets of eyes drifted to him. “What? The name is regal!”

“But he’s not a lion, is he?” Wurhi pointed out.

Cristabel patted his shoulder with a pitying look. “You have a terrible sense of naming.”

“I do not want to hear that from you!”

“Quiet, I’m thinking.” Wurhi’s eyes narrowed on the great cat, tracing the powerful lines of his form and his mighty skull - like a weapon forged by nature itself - which contained those terrible teeth. The fangs in particular, jutting far below his jaw, drew her attention. They gleamed white in the moonlight, like deadly, ivory…

“…Sword.” She looked into the cat’s golden eyes. “I think I should name you Sword.” She tapped the blade at her hip. “Because you are born with what we’ve got to make. Do you like it?”

The cat looked at the beautiful jewelled hilt of the blade that had - to his knowledge - slain his loathsome master and freed him. Something shone in his golden eyes.

He growled and nodded vigorously.

“Well.” Kyembe shrugged. “You have terrible naming sense too, Wurhi, but - fortunately for you - it seems that our new friend has terrible taste.”

Sword looked at Kyembe evenly.

Wurhi thought she must have imagined his shoulders were shrugging in return.

She burst into laughter, and the others joined her soon enough.

At last, the Rat was no longer in the pit.

Oaths had been renewed.

Though she did not gain the Eye of Radiin, their company had grown instead. There would have been a time when Wurhi the Rat would not have seen that as holding much value. Now, she would not trade them for all the rubies in the world.

As their laughter drifted into the night, their minds settled on mirth and celebration. An idle feeling tugged at the very back of their thoughts, as though they had all forgotten some final thing. Yet, they cared not, and the feeling was dismissed.

They were alive.

They were together.

Any final detail must have been a tiny, insignificant after-thought.