Kosian opened his eyes to a sight he never thought he would see. Standing on some invisible platform, he was alone in a wide, strangely coloured room. The walls seemed as if they were hundreds of helosai away. But as the walls came closer, so did the things that adorned them. Eyes. Thousands of them, each a little bit different, a differing colour. Kosian couldn’t pick out any single one, but he could see swarms of them. It almost seemed as if they writhed and moved as if on waves, coming from somewhere below him. Some eyes slowly merged into larger ones, with small rivers of seemingly shining crystals running between them. Kosian could see a slowly forming blue eye, the size of a wagon, an eye with a mild green pupil, seemingly the size of an entire house, an eye with a blazing red pupil, almost the size of his hand. He didn’t know why, but Kosian felt the urge to reach out, to touch the eyes. It seemed as if he could’ve lost himself, staring into any one of those huge pupils, which stared back at him. Looking into that sky blue eye, he reached out his hand. It seemed as if he… had seen something. A man, walking away, getting farther and farther. Kosian wanted to say something. ‘Wait!’ he wanted to shout. But couldn’t. He didn’t know why, but it almost felt like he didn’t even have a mouth.

Suddenly, a beam of light shot upward from where he stood, lighting the various pupils, making them shine like sparkling stars in the Band. Looking down, Kosian felt like gaping. He had just realized he was standing on an eye, its lens like thick glass. But that didn’t make him gape. That didn’t make him want to shiver as hard as he could, scream and run as hard as he could. No. What did all of that, what forced him to feel ice on his skin, was the eyes amber colour. Not the pupils. The entire eye seemed like it was made out of a single, well-polished amber crystal. Suddenly, long squiggly black lines started swimming along that smooth amber surface, like eels or snakes, quickly flowing along the stream. Reaching the point where the pupil should’ve been, each line slowly stopped, moulding itself into a shape. With goosebumps on his back, Kosian watched, as the black lines slowly formed strange runes, which seemed like a jumble of triangles, squares and dots. He knew what the symbol meant. Every man and woman, every child could’ve told you the meaning of those strange runes, which made you shiver by just thinking about them. Nobody knew what they meant, but everyone knew what they represented – The Saar-ha, The Lator Lucis, the Saints and Heretics, The Chain breakers, The Heroes, The Powerful. The Divided. Kosian felt his knees buckle, as the black text moved to stare directly at him. It was said that you could never say where a Divided looked, but Kosian knew, that that huge amber crystal was staring straight at him. Slowly, the warm glow coming from the eye started enveloping him. At first, Kosian started feeling a strange sense of ease. Like… Like everything was going to be okay. Then, he started feeling a strange tingling. The tingling spread through his body. It started becoming more noticeable, more… uncomfortable. It started burning. Searing pain started piercing Kosian on every inch of his body. It felt so hot that he started feeling cold. He wanted to scream, to weep. It was the most painful thing he had ever felt.

Suddenly, images started flashing in his head. Great, windswept mountains. A large city made of black stone. A red sky, stretching over the entire horizon. A wide river, its water the colour of blood. A veil, hiding the soft smile of a woman. Chains! Strands of light! A doll! Dranefire!

“CHAOS!!!”

The voice shook Kosian to his very bones. Unable to take it anymore, he felt himself collapsing, his face lying flat on that strange floor. And still, he felt the searing pain. And still, he saw the large crystal of amber, etched with those black markings, staring right through him.

Kosian jumped awake, panting heavily as he sat in his bedsheets, trying to calm down. He faintly remembered the nightmare. Images of eyes still flashed in his head, and he felt a strange burning all over his body. It felt… surreal. He quickly looked around. The sun slowly rose, its rays shining through the slightly opened tent flaps and holes in the cloth of his and Pietre’s tent. The company only had five tents in total, and five of the men had given up theirs for him and his brother. Kosian needed to ask Wymond who those five men were. He didn’t like feeling indebted to someone. Looking around through the mostly empty tent, his eyes finally landed on Pietre. The boy was soundly asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling as he let out quiet snores. Kosian smiled wryly, moving his hand to ruffle his long hair. As he did, images of mother and father, of Jon flashed through his mind. His hand froze just a nail above Pietre. ‘Lordamnit,’ he thought angrily. Sitting down with his legs crossed, he closed his eyes. Images of father rotting in a prison, of mother, being burnt at the stake, of Jon, thrown into a bottomless abyss. He thought he might throw up. ‘Need air,’ he thought, quickly standing up, only throwing on his shirt and breeches as he stormed out of the tent.

Kosian excited out onto a flat and clear part of a wooded hill, which was surrounded by forest. As they had ridden east, Kosian pondered they must’ve been somewhere next to the main road between Baye and Tulez, maybe on the fringes of the Kings forest. He wasn’t entirely sure, as the last few hours in the saddle seemed like a blur in his head than anything else. A crimson dawn shone on their small camp, a collection of five small tents, huddled around a flagpole. The golden sword, plummeting down into a red and sprawling pine tree in its grey field barely waved in the windless morning. Kosian took a moment to look at the banner. He had his suspicions the moment he saw it, but now he was certain.

“No simple band would carry around such an intricate banner,” he thought out loud. That captain was something more than a simple foreigner. He had an air of gravitas around him. But Kosian hadn’t gone out to stare at the company’s banner. Thinking about the implications of each symbol on that grey field wouldn’t help him clear his mind.

Passing large collections and boulders, which were scattered all through the hill, Kosian breathed the cold country air. It was cold. Chilly. He felt stupid for not putting on anything else. Unlike the men in that camp, he was city-born. He wasn’t used to the harsh elements of the wilderness, though going hunting during university did help him to build up some resistance. Trying to warm his hands, Kosian tried thinking about something other than what bothered him this morning. Turning, he examined the large boulders, which dotted the landscape, interspersed between large trees and bushes. Some were covered in hanging moss or vinesputters, while others were entombed under the roots of large pines or greatroots. Most seemed ancient. Kosian thought he even saw some carvings resembling faces on a few of them.

Going some ways from the camp, he found a small circlet of boulders, which surrounded a sprawling and huge pine. The boulders almost seemed to have been moved on purpose, though what it was must’ve been lost for ages now. But that didn’t matter to him. Walking up to the pine, Kosian took a few deep breaths, feeling his head empty of everything besides the thoughts that plagued him. Concentrating, he threw up his fists. He felt his legs become springier, nimbler. Slowly, he started to jump, each jump only lifting him a few cens from the ground. He started moving his head erratically as if he was dodging blows. Suddenly, he threw a jab from the right. He felt the numbing pain, as his knuckles connected with the tree's bark. The pain made an image flair in his mind – a stand, with father placing his head on the executioners chopping block. A left hook – mother, looking with that soulless stare, tied to a wooden pole, mumbling as some man in a wide-brimmed hat threw a torch under her. A left uppercut – Jon, with her silent regality, as she was hurried onto a barrel for the noose. A right hook – father, looking at him with silent disappointment. A left jab – mother, with her face turning more parched, as her hair slowly caught fire. A right punch – Jon, smiling at him with a blue neck. A punch. Punch. Punch. Punch…

Kosian suddenly grabbed onto the tree. Swinging his head back, he was ready to implant it into the bark. He truly wanted to. No, he HAD to! Letting out a roar, he swung. But stopped himself. He felt his forehead brushing against the rough surface of the tree, as he remembered that boy, still soundly asleep in their tent. Kosian felt tears welling up. He almost allowed them to fall. He wanted to break, to cry his eyes out until blood ran instead of tears. But he couldn’t do that. He had a brother to take care of now. And from everything Guilliaurme had told him, he knew, that it wasn’t going to be an easy task. Snorting, he wiped the tears from his face and looked at what he had done. A pretty small patch of the bark was peeled off, revealing wood, which seemed to have been pounded down a little bit. Blotches of blood adorned the wood. Looking at his hands, Kosian saw his knuckles bruised and bloodied, some even half dislocated. ‘Need to fix this,’ Kosian thought, grabbing onto one of the fingers with the dislocated knuckle. With a grunt each time, he set each one straight. Moving his fingers, making sure none were broken, he turned, heading back to the camp. As he walked out of that circlet of stones, he once again reminded himself of the strangeness of this ritual of his. He strangely found peace in it, punching a tree or a wall over and over, until his hands were numb from the pain. He never understood why, but it felt… comforting. Calming.

“If the wall you’re trying to pass cannot be broken, find alternatives,” Kosian quoted to himself, remembering the philosophy lectures. He always enjoyed those.

Walking away, Kosian looked around for aidleaf. He had taken a small practical on medicinal plants while in university, but every child knew what the small flower looked like, with its distinct wide leaves and white flower. Hell, housewives intentionally planted them in their gardens or on the sides of streets for any passerby. As he walked, keeping an eye out for the plant, Kosian pondered. He had a great task ahead of him, that of teaching Pietre. If Guilliaurme was to be believed, slaves were always taught absolute obedience above all, something which was very hard to dislodge, especially in older people. ‘You’re lucky he’s young. They wouldn’t have had the time to beat it into his blood,’ he remembered him saying. If that was true, and if Pietre was taught to be… an entertainer, then Kosian was going to have his hands full. It made him furious just thinking about the fact that his brother was treated that way. And by some stuck up Sister no less! He was able to tolerate most women, but Sisters were another question entirely. If they told you to grovel, you had to grovel. And you were expected to be happy about it. It made his blood boil just imagining how some stuck up wench taught Pietre how to… please. A shiver went down his spine at the thought. Picking up a leaf, he kept thinking. Speaking to him and showing him things would probably be the most important part. He hated to admit it but having the fact that he was taught to listen and do as he was told helped in this case. ‘If I ever find the woman that trained him, I’ll gut her like an elk!’ Kosian thought, putting pressure on the leaves, making them suck up as much blood as possible.

Returning to the camp, he noticed a few men already up. A group of three, with an older, more grizzled man in front of them, were doing morning exercises, each wearing only light pants and nothing else. The three men seemed no older than Kosian, with short black or brown hair, but he noticed deep scars on their bodies, while the older one wasn’t even worth mentioning, as he was probably the most muscled man Kosian had ever seen, each cen of his body covered by a scar or nick or some other sign of battle. Another, a lanky middle-aged man dressed in a colourful green and grey cloak, was standing next to the dogs, giving them water and feed. A third, dressed in a padded coat and ankle long britches, was carefully and dutifully wiping a bascinet helmet. The last person Kosian saw was Wymond himself, a name the man had given while they rode. Kosian wasn’t even sure he had heard it correctly, remembering the wind whistling through his ears.

Taller than Kosian by only a nail and with wide, hulking shoulders, he stood in his small clothes in front of a tall, declinable table, with a water basin and a special mirror stood propped on it. Well-toned muscles peeked through his short-sleeved tunic and short undergarments. It made Kosian even feel a bit jealous. He didn’t know how to feel about him. He was grateful for his help, but the suddenness of his acceptance, the complete lack of questions, documentation made Kosian suspicious. He knew that by now he probably had a bounty on his head. ‘I’ll need to be more careful,’ Kosian thought.

Looking on as the man slowly clipped away parts of his long beard, Kosian scratched his beard buds. ‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ he thought, walking into his tent ‘Might even learn something.’ Quickly grabbing his razor and bar of soap, he walked out, heading towards the tall desk. Braiding his beard, Wymond noticed him approach. He nodded to him in greeting. Kosian answered with the same.

“May I?” he asked, pointing to the basin and mirror.

Wymond stepped to the side, nodding to the mirror. Dipping his hands in the water, Kosian started rubbing the wetted soap onto his face. As he did, he took a look at himself – at his tired brown eyes, at his messy black hair, at his dishevelled round face, covered with the last dots of growth. Taking out the razor, he carefully trimmed down the small hairs, which were already showing on his upper lip and chin. He cut carefully, precisely. He didn’t want to repeat the accident that had left a sizable scar on his lower lip. Cutting off his burns, which were the only place of noticeable growth, he noticed Wymond in the mirror, frozen with a grim and angry expression as he tied a chord to hold his braid together. His gaze fell on Kosian’s still bloody knuckles.

“You needn’t concern yourself with that, captain,” Kosian said hurriedly, letting out a nervous laugh. “I… I needed some practice. This was done by a tree.”

Wymond nodded slowly, tying his chord in one quick movement. Kosian folded his razor. Looking at him through the mirror.

“May I ask who were the men that so kindly gave their tent to me and my brother? I would like to pay them back,” he said, taking a second look, as he noticed some hairs just under his chin. Wymond smiled through his beard.

“Ha! Manguid will have a laugh out of this! A'right, I’ll point you to them, though…” he scratched the underside of his beard. Kosian still couldn’t place the man’s accent! It sounded so strange. “Boss, we must discuss our next course of action,” Wymond suddenly said, as Kosian turned to him. “There is no doubt that a detachment of inquisitors or Lord knows what has already been dispatched to chase us down. We need to…”

As he said that, a loud ruckus came from one of the tents, which was followed by the sounds of quick footsteps. A woman suddenly burst out of one of the tents, carrying a large cast-iron pot and metal rods. Throwing all of them on the ground next to the pole, she looked around intently. Her gaze landed on Wymond, who groaned softly enough for only Kosian to hear.

Kosian took the woman in. Wearing a long, brown woollen dress, she was almost as tall and broad-shouldered as her husband. A splotchy apron was tied on her dress and a heavy woollen shawl loosely drooped from her shoulders, while her wavy black hair was tied together by a simple cloth. Sharp sand-coloured eyes fixated themselves on him for a moment, before turning to Wymond. ‘So this was the camps Dox,’ Kosian thought.

“Aer! I need fire for cooking! Boys, enough dawdling with those muscles and come help your captain. Has anyone seen Manguid? No? Then will somebody come to tell me when he does return, please? He said he felt a nest of rabbits nearby. I think some rabbit stew for breakfast will get us right back on our feet after the last one and a half days of riding,” she said, in a friendly but commanding tone that honestly surprised Kosian. The words were commands, but she made them sound more akin to suggestions. It honestly reminded him of how Jon commanded the maids back home. Kosian quickly suppressed that thought. ‘Don’t,’ he thought to himself.

All of the men immediately stopped doing whatever they were doing, almost jumping to do as ordered. Wymond walked over as well, though not so frantically and quickly. As he walked, the woman stopped him.

“Did you see Cleo this morning?” the woman asked, a hint of worry in her voice. Wymond shook his head. The woman cursed softly enough for Kosian not to hear. “By the Band, I can never…”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she noticed Kosian. A look of horror quickly passed through her face, though it quickly changed to a fake smile. Merely nodding to him, she bustled away, lifting her skirts to go faster. Kosian watched as she walked away. ‘What was that?’ he thought. Turning he looked at the mirror again, thinking that maybe one of his zits had popped. As he did, he noticed her bustling over to him, bandages in hand.

“Sit down,” she said in a demanding tone.

“No, Dox, you needn’t…” Kosian started, but the woman didn’t want to hear any of it.

“Sit. Down,” she said again, more forcefully.

Kosian did. Sitting down, he gave her his hands. Carefully removing the aidleaves, the woman used a knife to cut away at a part of the bandage, quickly wrapping it around his arm. She finished the wrapping with a tug, that made Kosian lightly gasp in pain, a.

“Y-You don’t need to be so forceful…” he started, holding out the bandaged hand.

“Don’t touch me,” she answered. Her tone was… angry. Furious even. Kosian felt even more confused. Tying the other hand tight, she looked at him, her eyes blazing in anger.

“This isn’t even the tenth of what you should suffer, you apostate,” standing, she turned. “My husband is a fool to help you. You will damn us all into the Red!”

With those words, she bustled away, leaving Kosian completely awestruck. Standing, he felt half-dazed as he went to help set up the pot as well as he could, helping one of the men lift it onto the spit. The rest of the men gave him fake smiles, but he saw the contempt, anger and even pity in their eyes.

Walking into his tent, Kosian crouched put away his things. He had not accounted for this. ‘Fuck…’ he thought wryly. He knew that the road to Bez would be difficult, but not like this. Still. What could one do? ‘Nothing,’ he thought. He had a brother to take care of. A brother he would never give up again.

“Mister Kosian?” he asked, obviously still half asleep. Spooked, Kosian quickly turned to him but smiled as soon as he noticed him. He looked at the boy thoughtfully – Pietres hair was a mess, his body covered in bandages, his clothes – a tattered tunic and not much else. Kosian sighed. He couldn’t even comprehend how he would do this. He had hoped the Dox would’ve taken care of it. But after that uncomfortable moment outside, he understood that he was left to deal with Pietre alone. Thinking for a moment, he grabbed one of his saddlebags, which contained all the clothes he had brought with him. Quickly, he pulled out some undergarments, a small long-sleeved linen tunic and breeches.

“I wore these when I was about your age,” he said, smiling a bit awkwardly to Pietre. The boy’s hollow eyes slightly glinted thanks to the sunlight. Without prompting, he immediately started undressing. Kosian jumped up, looking away. Looking around, he headed for the exit.

“Call… Call me when you get dressed,” he said on his way out. Stepping through the flaps, Kosian sighed wearily. This was going to be difficult. But he had to endure. No matter what! It was his brother after all. Though, he didn’t even think of what he should teach him first.

After a few minutes, he felt something tug at his tunic. Turning, he saw Pietre. The tunic was fit him quite well, but the breaches were too long, making him look more like some serf’s son than a merchants. ‘We’re not merchants anymore,’ Kosian thought. And chuckled. What were they now? Exiles? Heretics? Travellers? He nodded to Pietre.

“it looks good on you. Did you put on the small clothes as well?”

The boy looked at him, then took a look at his clothing, then back at him. His gaze made Kosian think as if he said: ‘What do you think?’

“Was I supposed to, mister Kosian?” he asked in a confused tone. Kosian looked at him, completely appalled for a few moments. Sighing, he kneeled to look eye level with him.

“Listen to me well, Pietre, because the words that I say to you now must stay with you for the rest of your life,” he said. “One – I am your brother. Your real brother. I love you and will protect you no matter what. Second – you are free. You are a slave no longer and you will never be. Third – you will never again be used. Neither I nor will you ever allow anyone to lay or do anything to you unless you want to do it yourself. Do you understand me?”

The boy looked at him. It seemed as if he was looking at nothing. But Kosian noticed. No, he saw. He saw his little brother focus on him, look at him. Slowly and hesitantly, Pietre nodded. Kosian patted him on the shoulder and hustled him back into the tent.

“Go put on those garments. There’s also a vest about your size and a set of riding shoes. Tell me if they’re too big for you, we’ll stuff them full of cloth then,” Kosian said, smiling to Pietre, who looked as if he was just struck by a star.

The two of them sat quietly, watching as the rest of the men ran around the camp with their chores. A few, already dressed in their padded gambeson coats prepared the stew, some continued to practice, now sparring with each other using wooden swords, some cleaned their equipment. Kosian noticed the small stand, with swords, axes and polearms placed onto it, carefully arranged in order. He had tried to offer his services to every man in the camp. Each of them turned him down, scowling at him and fearfully looking at Pietre. He wished they didn’t do that at least. Looking at his brother, Kosian saw Pietre looking down at the ground. The padded vest fit perfectly over the boy’s tunic, but the shoes were so much bigger than his feet, that Kosian decided to better just have him put on a few layers of tights instead. He looked at himself as well – dressed in a simple doublet with pointy shoulders and tight britches, which stopped at his knees, where the stockings started, ending with high riding boots. He may have looked out of place, dressed so fashionably next to these gruff military men. But it was the best he had.

Suddenly, Kosian noticed Wymond walking to him. Meeting his gaze, the man waved for him to follow.

“Let’s go, Pietre,” Kosian said. He thought that this may help him, show him a normal conversation with a man, that didn’t think he was some spawn of the Red.

Walking into Wymonds tent, Kosian immediately felt the smell of alcohol in the air. It made him want to gag a bit. Unbuttoning the top button of his collar, he gave the captain a disapproving look, which he didn’t even notice. He couldn’t imagine how the man was able to drink so much and was still able to walk like it was nothing! ‘Country folk are said to be hardier,’ he reminded himself ‘And rougher,’. He noticed Pietre not even bat an eye to the smell, instead of looking around slowly, as if he knew there was nothing of interest here. Taking a look around himself, Kosian immediately noticed that strange armour, which Wymond wore that night. More pieces adorned it now though, making it look like a proper suit of armour, though a strange one. The fish scale coat was accompanied by a large, half-moon shaped plate, adorned by a large gilt of a serpentine creature, which hung on the chest. Two large bolts made it seem like it was riveted onto the scales. A large collar, also gilded by serpent motifs, which probably rose to the man’s ears, ran around the entire neck, with only an opening in the front. Rerebraces, vambraces and gauntlets, along with greaves were placed on stands, meant to be put on only with preparation. Besides the stunning armour, the room was filled with a few chests, probably containing clothes, and bedding for three people. ‘Three?’ Kosian thought.

Walking up to a large table, which sat in the middle of the tent, Wymond took out a large map, sprawling it over the pages of parchment, a bag of gold and quill, each of which made small inclines on the map. Kosian glanced at it. It showed all of southern Galfria, including the kingdoms of Bollardia, Septimara, duchy of Lyn and the Holy Empyrean of Astrum. It wasn’t the best map he had ever seen – splotches marked the edges of the map, and the topography was poorly drawn, with some parts seemingly added by Wymond himself. It did have the main roads and major rivers, but things like mountains and forests were barely marked. Scanning the map, the captain put a finger on the forest, which ran near the road to Tulez, just as Kosian had thought.

“We are roughly here,” he said in a flat tone, then placing a finger on the coast of Septimara, on the very edge of the map. “We need to get here,”

Kosian nodded in agreement. It seemed the man was just making sure. It was understandable, considering the chaos of yesterday. Looking at the map, the man stayed silent for a bit, analyzing it.

“By my reckoning, if we take the main road, passing Tulez, then passing the marchborder and finally arriving at Bez, we would be there in about two weeks. We would also be dead by then,” he said, grimly.

“How come?” Kosian asked. The man looked at him with an expression that Kosian had seen on his professors faces many times.

“Tell me, Boss, did you know that the Faith has exactly 28 militant orders under its command?” Wymond suddenly asked. Kosian finally understood where this talk was going. “Not to mention, a force of inquisitors that are somehow able to appear out of nowhere in mere moments?” he added. Kosian felt stupid for not thinking about this before. Looking at him, the captain sighed, silently, so as to not offend. “I imagine that the Faith has already dispatched a force of the Order Putrelis to come after us, not to mention the inquisitors that will accompany them. Not to mention the inquisitors, who can go toe to toe against any trained knight, the Putrelians are beasts, taught to wrestle bears. In truth, that mad gallop for half a day saved us. It put distance and time between us and them. Now, we need to think up a way to keep that distance and time for as long as possible.”

Kosian looked at him, hoping he was jesting about the knights of Putrelis. Wymonds face seemed stern and almost a bit frustrated. It was obvious the man had been worrying about this for a while. He nodded uncomfortably, feeling angry he didn’t think of this before. ‘I’m too selfish to think of what my actions do to others,’ he thought wryly. No! Now wasn’t the time for that. Analyzing the map, Kosian hounded himself. ‘Think!’ he thought ‘Think!’

Finally, he felt something tingle in the back of his mind. A map, which he once had to learn by heart, as father, half-drunk on wine, taught him of…

Quickly grabbing the map and a piece of charcoal, Kosian placed a dotted line, which went straight through the Marel Hills. He felt Wymonds disapproving stare.

“There is an old phoenixian path, around two days ride from here. Merchants from our guild use it to pass through the border checks of the Gascon family. It leads through the Marel Hills and meets the main road half a day’s ride from Tulez,” he said, for once happy he had tried to learn those maps.

“Is it longer than the main road?” Wymond asked with the same sternness in his voice, almost making Kosian feel like his discovery was worth nothing. Trying to not let this get to his head, Kosian thought for a moment.

“It is longer, but it covers more ground. If need be, we could cross the main road, passing the fields to skip Tulez entirely,” he said, thinking it will probably be better that way. Cities were filled with Faithmen, both common people and their agents. It would’ve probably been in their best interests to pass the city. ‘This could work!’ Kosian thought, feeling a smile appear on his face. Wymond chuckled, as he noticed the grin on his face.

“Don’t get…”

“Alti Wymond, I have news to report…”

Kosian felt his heart sink, as he heard Pietre’s scream. Turning around, ready to use his fists if he must, he felt his body freeze up in shock and amazement. In front of them, standing in between the flaps of the tent, was a qasqariam. It was large, as tall as two men and as broad as one and a half. A large muscular body was covered in light grey fur and a loose-fitting vest, which hung loosely off its shoulders. The vest almost seemed unnecessary, considering it barely hid the beast's fur-covered chest and belly. Great arms, as thick as small logs, hung down, with each finger ending in strange, brass rings, which fitted over the nail. A large wolf-like head sat on the beast’s shoulders, with a long muzzle, ending with a pink nose, while long fangs were hidden behind the muzzles flappy cheeks. Small braids under its muzzle and a topknot between its pointy ears swayed, as the qasqariam tilted his head, his dark yellow eyes watching Kosian intently. Long, puffy britches covered its strange-looking hind legs, whose dog-like feet were covered by what looked like strips of leather. Kosian had never seen the strange race of wolfmen before, only hearing of them in legends and tales. He never thought he would ever meet one, let alone under such strange circumstances. He also thought they were… more beast-like, wilder. But to think that such thi… people, existed in the world.

Snapping out of his momentary fright, Kosian turned to try and calm Pietre, who was still mumbling as he cowered behind the table, making the sign of the Faith at the qasqariam. Bending down, Kosian grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Pietre, calm down. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s a qasqariam,”

“Deamon!” Pietre kept muttering “Deamon! Came to take me into the Red! Cursed! Curse! Curse! I’m cursed!”

Sighing, Kosian forcibly parted Pietre’s hands and hugged him. Soothingly patting the young boys head, he shushed him, until his mumblings were nothing more than whimpers. Backing away for a moment, Kosian smiled as he wiped a tear from Pietre’s red cheeks.

“Calm down. Everything’s fine. Everything is going to be just fine. The Stars aren’t falling and the Urians aren’t crawling. Everything’s fine.”

Standing, he felt the boy cling to his doublet. Looking down, he noticed him fearfully peeking at the qasqariam, who was still just standing there. His ears had slightly drooped and those cold and stark eyes seemed warmer now, more open. Looking to Wymond, Kosian smiled uncomfortably.

“Would it be okay for me to take him to our tents for the moment?”

The man nodded in agreement. Passing the large qasqariam, who quickly gave them way, Kosian stopped and lightly bowed his head.

“Forgive us for my brother’s behaviour… sir,”

With those words, he quickly walked out. Kosian forced himself not to glare back at the men, most of whom watched as he led Pietre into their tent. The boy was just scared! Not many see a qasqariam this far west! He certainly hadn’t before, so why must they all judge them like they were breaking some holy custom?! Entering their tent, Kosian felt Pietre still clinging to him. Sighing he looked down at the boy, still seemingly cowering in fear.

“Come now, Pietre, nobody’s going to hurt you here,” he said, trying to calm him.

Pietre only clung to him closer.

“B-Bu… But… What about you? You’re going to go t-there again, right?”

Kosian thought for a bit before nodding. He felt Pietre cling to him even harder.

“W-What if he eats you?”

Kosian gave Pietre a confused look, which quickly turned to surprise. ‘He’s worried for me,’ he thought, as a smile came to his face. Bending down, Kosian looked at Pietre with a warm smile.

“Are you afraid, Pietre?”

The boy nodded vigorously.

“I am as well, to tell you the truth. I have never met, let alone spoken to a qasqariam. But I know that I’ll have more courage if you go with me. So what do you say? How about we go back there, and you will protect my back, just in case. But remember – the qasqariam won’t attack or eat us. Think of him as you would of a really strange and big dog, okay? Just think of him that way,”

Pietre stayed silent for a bit, only worry and fear showing on his face. His fist clenched. “No. That is a monster. A deamon. It can’t be anything else,”

Kosian sighed and forced his doublet out of Pietres hands. Turning to the flaps, he looked at his brother with what he hoped was a stern expression.

“You said something very hurtful, Pietre. I hope you will think about your actions and I expect you to go apologize to the qasqariam after you’ve done so. For now, go play,”

Pietre stayed still for mere moments. Sitting down next to their bedding, he took out his little carved horse. Leaving him, Kosian marched back to Wymonds tent, this time glaring back to the men intently. Some shied away, some stared back. The glares were accusing, angry. It made Kosian even more frustrated. He had hoped Pietre would come with him. Sighing, he entered the tent, seeing the man and the qasqariam looking over the map. As they turned to him, Kosian stopped and dipped his head again towards the qasqariam.

“Forgive my brother, noble qasqariam. He is… quite unused to the outside world.”

Wymond chuckled at that. The qasqariam merely looked at Kosian, his ears cautiously moving around, as if they were trying to pick up a specific sound. Smiling. Or, at least Kosian thought he smiled, the qasqariam, also bowed his head.

“My name is Manguid, boss. No need for the khundte,” his voice was guttural, it was obvious that speaking galfrian was a difficult task for the wolfman.

“Now then, since we all know each other, let’s get down to business,” Wymond said in a no-nonsense voice. looking down at the map, he grunted. “Manguid here is our main scout. He says he has noticed the scent of a party around a hundred helosai from here, roughly a three-hour trot by dog,”

“By the scent, I guess around forty to seventy men,” Manguid added. He placed a sharp, black nail on the road, marking the location. Kosian felt a pit starting to form in his stomach. ‘They managed to catch up so fast in merely a day!’ he thought. He truly was a fool to not think of this beforehand.

Wymond grunted, lightly hitting the table with his fist.

“We’ve got no choice. Manguid, tell Parisa to serve breakfast now. Also, inform the men to start packing up. Boss, I suggest you get ready. We will most likely be eating in the saddle,”

Kosian nodded, as he rushed out along with Manguid. As they did, Manguid stopped him with one hand. Sniffing the air, the qasqariam had made his entire body tense up.

“By Genqiskhi,” he merely said, looking to the side, abashed. Following his gaze, Kosian saw something he hadn’t expected. A girl, dressed in armour, trotted through the middle of the camp. Around his age and maybe slightly taller, her wavy, light copper hair fell onto a large padded gambeson and cloak. A machett sword, around the length of his arm, hung from a simple belt, tied loosely over long britches, which looked more like pants. Enamoured by the strange warrior woman, Kosian only now noticed what she carried thrown over her plate covered shoulder – a large, wide-brimmed hat and flowing, gold-embroidered white cloak. As she approached, Kosian noticed a prideful smile etched onto her round face.

“What are you two doing, standing here like…” started Wymond, when he also noticed the girl. And anger boiled on his face. Pushing Manguids huge frame aside like it was nothing, he angrily walked up to the girl, whose smile turned into a pout. It seemed she knew that something bad was coming. Walking up to her, Wymond, without a pause, slapped her through the face.

“What by the Stars are you thinking, you idiot girl?!” he yelled loud enough for everyone to hear. Grabbing the cloak and hat, he shook them in front of her face. “You killed their scout, didn’t you?!”

The girl seemed to have not even been fazed by the blow. Rubbing her cheek, she looked at him with defying eyes.

“So what?! I wasn’t seen, and he wasn’t even able to croak before choking on his blood!” the girl answered back. Kosian thought he saw steam escaping through Wymonds ears.

“So what? So what?! You absolute mubed! Once they notice their scout hasn’t returned, they’ll know for sure that there near us!”

A tense silence filled the camp. Kosian slightly tugged on Manguids britches. The qasqariam looked at him and crouched down to hear better.

“Does this happen often?” Kosian asked. He honestly wasn’t expecting this. Manguid nodded, his ears drooping a bit.

“Sadly, yes, it does,” the qasqariam answered, looking at the captain and the girl, who were still yelling at each other. “Lady Cleo is Captain Wymonds adoptive daughter. He calls her: ‘A hotheaded child’ usually berating her for doing rash actions such as this,”

“You seem to not particularly enjoy it,” Kosian noted. Manguid answered with a nod but didn’t continue. It seemed he felt especially anxious.

“You fucking imbecile of a child!” Wymond finally yelled. Looking around, he started issuing commands. “Everyone, get ready to ride! I want the tents folded and in the carts in five minutes! Someone tell Parisa she’ll feed us while on the road! Now move people, move!”

In mere moments, everyone, including Kosian, scrambled to get ready. As he ran to his tent, Kosian still felt something at the back of his neck. Someone was staring at him, and not just out of curiosity.

In ten minutes, the entire band was already riding along the road. Kosian thanked Wymond for setting a slow pace, as he uncomfortably dipped his spoon into a wooden bowl, filled with stew. One to him, one to Pietre, who sat in front of him, gently brushing Jerod’s hair. As he ate, making sure not to accidentally spill anything on him, Pietre or Jerod, Kosian still felt someone staring. Carefully looking around, he noticed the girl. She was the bannerman, as the long pole, holding up the band's insignia, was tightly held by one of her gauntleted hands. She stared challengingly at him. Trying to not think about it, Kosian turned to Wymond. Dressed in that strange armour of his, he looked around intently, seemingly noticing every blade of grass, which grew on both sides of the road. Manguid, running on all fours, sprinted up to him from the back.

“Are they following?” the stern captain asked, nodding to the back. Manguid shook his head.

“There were men that watched us ride out, but none followed,” he answered with a low growl.

“Good. Let them watch,” Wymond said in a flat tone and turned to Kosian. “It’s your turn now, boss. For all our sakes, I hope you remember how to find that path.”