Wolf leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing his right side. It had been barely a half twelve days since the battle, and Matic predicted it would be another half week until he was fully healed. More than twelve days for an injury was a long time for a Gifted as strong as Wolf, but he felt fortunate to walk away at all. Sadly, far too many of his people hadn’t been so lucky.

He couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped at the mess in front of him, a reminder of the recent unpleasant activities. The usual neat and organized stacks had long since been buried by far too many demands on his time, starting with the daily reports from agents searching for Duarte. Where his brother and his family had gone still wasn’t known, but some of Wolf’s best agents were working through the clues in Bishal. He’d hoped they’d find something in his brother’s home, but so far, there’d been a lack of any solid trail.

Beyond the notes and reports marked with yellow ribbons were the stacks of lists and notes on the materials and resources available for the manor’s repairs. In the hectic days following Boruta’s attack, there was much to do and insufficient time or people to complete the work. The manor’s defenses were a priority as there were always threats in Northmarch, yet too many had fallen or been gravely injured. Even the minor emergencies, a normal part of running an outpost on the edge of civilization, were desperate for a bit of attention.

If it hadn’t been for the Fist’s 1st squad, things would have been much worse. The elite team had arrived two days after Boruta’s fall, and they’d moved quickly to support Wolf and his people. With such powerful warriors to bolster his depleted forces and Matic pitching in with healing, the manor had made solid progress towards rebuilding.

Wolf felt another twinge in his side, and he took a sip of his drink, his lips curling. “Why must it taste like mortar mixed with old boots and bitterflower tea?” he muttered in distaste. “Did he add some herb to give it that particular flavor?” Gifted Matic clearly subscribed to the old healer’s tradition that medicine shouldn’t taste good. The manor’s fallen healer, Gifted Slana, had done much the same over the years, dosing Wolf and his people with all manner of nasty concoctions, potions, and salves. Still, he couldn’t argue against their efficacy, even if they tasted like something he’d use to polish his shoes.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and he looked almost gratefully away from the mess of papers and scrolls before him. “Come,” he said, raising his voice slightly to carry through his door’s reinforced wood.

One of his guards, Dero, came in and saluted with a fist to his chest. “My lord, Gifted Ardamas has just arrived and requests a word with you.”

Wolf perked up a bit in his chair before nodding at Dero with thanks. The guard left, likely returning to his post at the manor’s temporary gatehouse. With all of the destruction from the attack, the manor’s defenses were severely strained. There was always the risk of a monster surge or an attack by another powerful being. In that case, they’d be hard-pressed to hold what walls they still had, even with the 1st squad assisting.

He grimaced, thinking of how close they’d come to defeat days ago. With a monster as strong as Boruta, they’d only hoped to delay him from running rampant into the tunnels where the survivors had fled to safety. Many had already died or been injured before Tanca sacrificed his life to poison the monster with Last Stand, but it wouldn’t have been enough with Boruta’s prodigious healing. Wolf hadn’t seen what occurred next as he’d been knocked nearly senseless from Boruta flinging him across the grounds. Talking to the scattered witnesses later, Eli had punched Boruta in the chest just before a massive explosion tore through the area with enough force to leave a charred hole in the courtyard. What happened to their savior after was still a mystery, as Eli had suddenly vanished even as Wolf and Dara approached his bloody and broken body. Wolf could only hope that the brave man’s spirit had found some peace in the afterlife.

Another knock pulled his wandering thoughts back, and he stood as Ardamas was shown into the office. The man was just as Wolf remembered, from his well-worn leather armor to the famous stony expression that had faced down veritable monsters. Even with his relatively young age, Ardamas had already made a name for himself, both in his martial prowess and in leading others to victory. He’d been there on the field of Bailemore, commanding the left-wing of Clachta’s forces that had turned the cultist’s line. Tales had spread of his power and ability after he personally battled through the filthy zealots leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His passion for hunting them down was well known, and cultists were known to flee from the mere rumor that Ardamas and his squads were on the move.

“Ardy!” Wolf shouted, stepping around his desk. “It’s been years!”

Ardamas smiled as well, dropping his professional mien when the two men hugged. “Far too long,” he replied, slapping Wolf on the back. His shrewd eyes glanced around to take in everything around him, and his smile dropped, along with his voice, “You look tired, my friend. I know how hard you like to work and your sense of duty, so I won’t remind you that you’re no good to us if you keel over from exhaustion.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t reminding me,” Wolf said with a snort, leaning on the edge of his desk.

“With such wit, I suppose it’s a good thing I can’t get you to move back to the capital,” Ardamas replied. “I only wish it could be a better time for a real reunion. I saw Tryn and Huny just a couple of weeks ago, but they’re unlikely to make it out this way any time soon. So many fires to put out lately,” he finished with a headshake.

Wolf nodded, his lips curled down for a moment before he remembered himself. “Grab a seat,” he said, gesturing at the chairs in front of his desk as he walked over to his sideboard. “How are Tryn and Huny doing these days?” he continued, opening up a small drawer along one side and pulling out a bottle half full of clear liquid. “The last time I saw them, they’d just cut down that smugglers ring along the Firmore coast. What was the name of that sad little town? Maybe Tecky or Teeky?” He held up the bottle. With the nod from Ardamas, he poured them a drink before sitting across from his old friend.

“I think you mean Teski, but they’re both doing well. I might finally convince them to settle in Galdish, but we’ll see what the next few years bring us first.” Ardamas took a sip, his eyebrows arching up. “Dew of the Oasis? How’d you come by this?” He took another sip, his eyes closing as if to better appreciate the drink’s complicated notes.

Wolf snorted, “I always keep a little around, just in case one of the old crew shows up. Not easy to get these days.” He took his own sip, savoring the strange combination of sweet and sour with the unmistakable spike of spicy hot citrus at the end. The unique taste and explosion of pleasurable heat in his stomach were hallmarks of a drink brewed only in Droch, but with the resurgence of the blood cultists in that distant barren land, the region’s trade had dried up.

Almost forty years ago, Wolf had started his career serving the family’s interests in the east near Droch. Fresh from the prestigious and exclusive Galdish Academy, he’d felt confident in his training and ability as he settled within the barren wastes. It had taken less than a single season to wisen him up while wearing away some of his polish, yet he’d developed a particular fondness for their drinks as well as some of their people. The region was a study in contrasts, with largely parched lands somehow producing rare and precious resources. In an area where water was rare, and a person could go weeks of travel between the nearest fresh sources, the constant fighting and stress of survival could wear down even the most hardened warrior. Yet balanced against this strife, the people could be amazingly warm and caring to those that earned it.

He felt an ache in his chest, remembering his Nazani. Her beautiful pale eyes, bright smile, and dark complexion could convey so much with a single glance. Yet the same woman could disarm him with a tiny tilt of her head, her eyes flashing with a promise of dire consequences if he dared ignore her words. It was funny what the mind remembered years later, but he’d give anything to see her throw him one of her dark looks just one more time.

“Hmmm, I appreciate it,” Ardamas said, not privy to Wolf’s thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve had any outside the capital in ages. It reminds me of the old days before the recent troubles.” He paused and cleared his throat loudly before looking down at his drink.

“Any further word on Duarte?” Wolf asked quietly, picking up on the uncomfortable moment.

Ardamas glanced up, briefly making eye contact before his eyes moved around the office and sighed loudly. “Some mixed news. His wife and two youngest were found in Lusan, safe and well. The word is, Duarte sent them off a couple of weeks ago, well before Dara’s visit. They’re now staying as Clachta’s special guests in his Lusan home until we’ve resolved the situation. Sadly, Duarte and his eldest are both still missing.”

“Damn,” Wolf said, barely above a whisper, while looking down at the drink in his hand, remembering the last time he’d seen his brother. The two had grown up separated by only a few years, close in many ways as children. After Wolf joined the previous Fist’s squads, the two men had grown apart, culminating in a horrible fight over a decade ago. Looking back with hindsight, it was sad how long he’d let things stew without resolution, and the two hadn’t spoken since. They’d only exchanged overly polite correspondence when family or duty demanded it with little of the love or friendship the two had once shared.

Wolf had felt some hope of reconciliation when, out of seemingly nowhere, Duarte invited Dara to visit and meet her aunt and cousins. How could he have guessed that Duarte would drug his niece and hand her over to those filthy cultists to sacrifice for her power? She’d survived the encounter with the help of Eli, who’d also managed to kill the lot of them. But on the very day of her return, and before she could report on the betrayal, the manor was suddenly attacked by assassins posing as Bishal merchants. Even though they’d found nothing on the two dead assassins’ bodies, no tattoos, brands, or runes to hint at their paymasters, Wolf had to suspect his brother. He couldn’t understand what had happened to the man he’d known for nearly sixty years, nor what could have turned Duarte against his family.

Ardamas tipped back his cup and finished the last of his drink, sighing once done. “Blessed Jaxon has assigned a few of his agents to look into things further. They joined us on the journey to Bishal, and I had a chance to talk with their leader, Gifted Lionata. I imagine they'll figure out if there’s anything to find. They’ve already put out multiple bounties and quests for the locals to track down even the smallest leads, and something will undoubtedly turn up. Say what you want about Jaxon, but his people are good.”

Wolf nodded, frowning at the reminder of another pending situation. “Jaxon hasn’t sent any messages along for me? Perhaps another strongly worded letter reminding me of my familial duty?”

Ardamas set his cup on the nearby desk and leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes locked on Wolf. “I know you two don’t see things the same way, but he does have a point. Especially now, with one of the big threats in Northmarch handled, the pressure for your return and future commitment will only increase.”

“Yeah, I know, Ardy. I do know.” Nazani’s face flashed across his mind’s eye again, but he focused instead on his friend. “I actually think it’s about time I returned to Galdish.”

“Really?” Ardamas leaned forward again, one lip creeping up into a grin. “You’re not just messing with me? If you are, let me remind you that I can still punish you within the circle!” The glint in his eyes carried a promise.

“I might surprise you, Ardy,” he responded with a brushing away gesture as if beating Aaric’s Fist was barely a challenge. “I’ve learned a few tricks since the last time we sparred, but I’m not joking. I know Aaric has been incredibly patient, and I appreciate it.” Wolf tipped back his cup, finishing the last of the liquid fire.

“Bah, you haven’t beaten me in a legit match since we met! But if you’re really serious, I won’t wait for Jaxon’s move. Better I talk with Aaric, and we find a suitable spot to best utilize your skills.”

Wolf nodded as he stood, walking back to his sideboard to pick up a different bottle. He returned to grab Ardamas’ cup off the desk, pouring a bit of the amber liquid before handing it back to his friend. He sat down and filled his cup, setting the bottle down within easy reach.

“At least that’s some good news,” Ardamas replied, nodding in thanks as he took a drink. “We can catch up over dinner if you’re free. For now, I wanted to get a description of the recent battle. I read the reports from our agents and my squad, but you were there! By the abyss, I can’t believe you killed that monster!” he said, slapping one knee as he leaned forward with excitement, almost spilling his drink.

Wolf didn’t return the smile with as much enthusiasm, but he understood the sentiment. Even balanced against defeating Boruta, he’d lost too many people to feel much joy at the moment. Instead of pushing it away, Wolf embraced the feeling and made a circular gesture with his drink. Ardamas grew somewhat solemn as he returned the gesture before both took a sip, remembering the fallen.

“It’s been a tough week, but I’ll always make time for a friend. I’m sure Dara will join us as well,” Wolf said, his smile returning for a moment. “As to the story, I should start with the assassin attack twelve days ago. There was little to make the day different from any other, and I was having a working lunch with Gifted Slana when we had visitors from Bishal.”