Kindly edited by @CollinHarrison4

Magna'est steeled himself before entering the cave, stretching his neck with eyes closed to stall the displeasure that had been growing. Begging was not in his nature, though the situation had grown to demand prideless actions. It was worse that none of the Victalica family attended him this day. Had he one or two, perhaps the request would hold more power. Alas, they defer to Rolic and grant him his own mind. A weakness in the family blood, Magna'est reasoned.

"You travel in a herd," Rolic said with an irritating smile. It surprised Magna'est that Rolic emerged from his cave and did not wait inside like a king upon a throne. Rolic's eyes traveled across the other Brethren, fifty in count. Many nodded to him with respect; others were fanning out to guard against any who thought the advantage was no longer with the white robes, particularly an Unseen Nagada.

"A necessity of the times," Magna'est said. He ignored the irritation caused by the respectless greeting and his entourage's deferential nodding to Rolic's status. "A word in private," he added, indicating the cave. Rolic looked older than the last time they met, back when the demon boy last roamed the land. Rolic's hair had gone gray, with wisps of the old brown orphaned in parts. His mustache had lost its color as well, the beads woven into its ends looking as worn as the man. Time was not being kind to him, a plus in such negotiations.

"It seems I have an abundance of time these days," Rolic replied, his palm inviting Magna'est forward. "A distraction would be welcome, and you are that."

Magna'est didn't look back, having no desire to see the smirks on the faces of the other Brethren. He moved past the cloth-covered entrance and into the cave, then slowed for Rolic. He needed a guide while his eyes adjusted from the day's intense sun to the dim candlelight. It smelled of wet moldy things.

"Come, Brother," Rolic said, more kindly than Magna'est expected. They moved around a table and past a chest, settling into the seats Rolic indicated. At least they were cushioned. "I have heard the troubles have returned, and have grown."

"Aye," Magna'est said, surprised at how unargumentative Rolic was. It was as if they weren't at odds, and the slights of the past had been forgotten. Perhaps Rolic's family chimed in and softened his demeanor. "The demon boy still breathes. He has returned a man well trained. His new skill, merged with the Knowing, has made him a difficult challenge." He leaned forward and lowered his voice so it would not leak out of the cave. "I fear there are few who can match him one-on-one."

"Ahh," Rolic said, leaning back. "Thus, you travel with an army. I would have thought you would wish to test your swords against the demon. It would leave none in doubt of your place in this land."

"Bah," Magna'est replied, struggling to hold in his ire. He heard insults hidden in the words. "I have not come to have you toy with my ego. Mayhap you wish to test my skills with your blade? Has it come to that?"

"Nay." Rolic chuckled. "Foolish, I am not. I would test my bow at two hundred paces, but not my blade." His face straightened, and seriousness returned. "Still, why not test the demon? Would not success grant you all you desire, and prove to the land that the Goddess lies only within the Brethren?"

"He is well trained," Magna'est replied. He felt weak in saying it, and weaker still when Rolic's eyebrows rose. It had to be admitted, or his next request of Rolic would be laughable. Begging was such a degrading thing.

"Nagada?" Rolic asked.

"Aye." Magna'est had forgotten how quick Rolic's mind was. It saved him from admitting it.

"They do not train others."

"So I thought as well," Magna'est said. "You can see the difficulty that arises. Not just his skill, but how he acquired it. He has crossed the sea twice, and that required assistance that must be rooted out, all while ending the demon who benefited from it."

"The Brethren are losing," Rolic said. Magna'est wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. He wondered how much Rolic already knew.

"A setback at worst," Magna'est corrected. "Our past is riddled with such things, and we have always risen to meet them. This tale of Kushiel's Answer is the real curse. It must be erased from all minds, and the demon that drives it eliminated."

"News is a rare thing to me," Rolic said, "but even I have heard of Goddess' Grove. Four more Brothers have fallen, and the loyalties of the King's Own are suspect. I am sure Gregory now fears for the promise."

"As he should," Magna'est said. "He does not possess your skill at battle, nor do his underlings. These Hold Lords are soft. They think battles are clean and the outcome preordained. They know little of planning, or think past simple tactics, much less adding fire to the hearts of their men."

"You desire me to return?" Rolic asked. There was surprise in the question as if it were a sign of victory for him.

"Aye," Magna'est replied. "I see that the winters have treated you poorly. Is this how you wish to be remembered, decrepit in a cave? Think of the wind in your hair and men moving to your will. Do you not remember victory, and the adulation that follows?"

Rolic laughed. "I only remember the dead and dying."

"Gregory will commit to many sloppy battles, killing more than necessary." Magna'est rose and started to pace. He thought better when moving. "If you wish less death, then you must take the reins. Many of your family wear white. Would you have them form up for another? We will succeed one way or another. It is the damage done I wish to lessen."

"War cannot be lessened," Rolic said. "It moves at its own pace, and those who think they control it are addled. Moves and counter moves, each chosen on their merits, are nothing but disguised chaos. Nay, I am no longer war's master. Choose another. You have plenty to harvest from."

Magna'est stopped pacing. He had one more inducement. "He burned them." It came out with more anger than necessary, but the words should frighten all who wore the white.

"What?"

"This Goddess' Grove you know of," Magna'est said, his fist clenching in the air in front of him. "This failure. The four Brethren who fell were thrown into a pyre."

"The King's Own who fell, they were burned as well?"

"Nay, only the Brethren." It came out with spittle. Magna'est tightened his lips and dropped his fist.

"He knows?" Rolic asked, his attention no longer idle.

"Mayhap," Magna'est replied. "Does he know the way here? Is his mind sharp enough to deduce who you are? Will you scream when your skin burns?" Magna'est could almost see the thoughts passing behind Rolic's eyes. Rolic's haughtiness disappeared, replaced by an odd curiosity. Strange. Magna'est expected fear.

Rolic stood and moved toward the hearth. "Tea?"

"Tea?" Magna'est asked, incredulous. "Have you no loyalty to your family?"

"Do you desire tea or not?" Rolic asked.

"Nay," Magna'est replied, disgust straining his response. It was as if Rolic had forgotten all he had been for so many years. "Do you mean to refuse your duty?"

"It is not my duty," Rolic said as he moved an iron pot near the flame and emptied a skin of water into it. "I told you long ago I am done with it. No more daughters for me."

"And you would deny your family theirs?"

"Aye," Rolic said, then shrugged. "Nay. They may pile on the sins as they see fit. I am full of my own and will not judge theirs."

"Mayhap, the demon will see you as his next conquest." Magna'est struggled to quell his anger. It made the words hiss. "There will be no Brethren here to slow him."

Rolic turned to Magna'est, a strange smile on his face. "A reckoning will come this winter or the next. Age will see to it if Kelton does not."

Like all men, Rolic was dying. Unlike most, he seemed to relish it as some kind of cleansing—a disgusting change driven by a solitary life in a damp cave. Magna'est had to look away, for Rolic's smile held as much accusation as it did stupidity.

"We do not name the demon," Magna'est said.

"You have named him demon," Rolic chuckled, "and so he acts like one. Have you named your own end?"

"Bah," Magna'est said. "You of all know this is but a rut in the road. The Brethren will not fall to those untouched by the Goddess, and one Unseen cannot match many."

"It is worse than you claim," Rolic argued. "You do not fight blades; you fight hope. And if he knows of the promise, then you fight an anger that will tear this land apart." He shrugged. "We deserve no less."

It was too much. Blades flew from under Magna'est's robes and danced into the air, anger driving them forward. The desire to end Rolic, the man who took, then denied, the Goddess' gifts, grew to a boiling. Rolic needed to be removed from this land so he could not infect others.

Rolic failed to move or mount a defense. Magna'est's blades snapped to a stop a mere finger from Rolic's face. There was no fear in the man's eyes as he awaited the strike.

"Leave here with blood on your blades, and fire will be the least of your problems with the others," Rolic said. There was an irritating calmness in his voice. "Word of it travels to my homeland, and ships begin to slow. Death is a release for me and a struggle for you."

Magna'est's blades began to quiver as he tightened his grip upon them. His desire to let them sing was overpowering, yet the cost was too high. Rolic was the only man who could raise pure hatred in Magna'est. The demon was a close second.

"Have no fear," Rolic said. "A winter or two, and I will be no longer. Best if you let the Goddess do it in her time."

"If the demon comes?" Magna'est growled.

"I'll not shy from his blades any more than yours," Rolic said. He turned away to gather a small bag of tea and a mug. "He could do you a favor and release the full wrath of my family to your will."

Magna'est lowered his blades. "One can hope." He hated to not finish what he started. There was a time, long ago, when ramifications were never considered. Magna'est would act, then worry on it. Stopping was as disgusting as the man who stood before him. It was as if he took a knee to Rolic.

"Your visits strain us both," Rolic said, as he calmly filled an infuser with leaf. "Mayhap, less frequent ones are in order."

"I abhor coming to this grave of yours," Magna'est said, indicating the cave. "Die as slow as you like." He turned and walked to the exit, erasing the failure from his face. It would do no good for the others to see. There was a war brewing. At least in battle, he would not have to hinder his blades. The blood would cleanse the stink of Rolic from his mind.

Kelton lay along the branch, high in the tree where the foliage thinned, yet still granted cover from distant eyes. He was absently chewing on his lip as he considered the two odd sights before him. Kelton was grateful he had chosen to come alone, against the wishes of many - Gossamer the most adamant. Had they come, the Knowing would have sparked more than he desired.

An assembly of white robes was leaving from the entrance to Rolic's cave, a count far beyond what Kelton felt he could manage. The horde left him to wonder which way Rolic's loyalties leaned. Kelton had never seen more than four at a time, and that only in battles. The number of them also indicated Rolic's importance.

Odder still, to the right of the hill that housed Rolic, just above the treeline, something unknown hung in the sky. It glowed like a morning moon, yet smaller, with part of it streaking out as if it were in motion, but it was not. Strangeness was becoming the way of things. A contingent of Brethren larger than he had ever seen, something new hanging in the sky, and not many days ago, the oddest of fires. The world was embracing changes, redefining normal.

Kelton thought back to the pyre and the way it burned. Perhaps the wood was hollow and wet, or the flames did not want to soil themselves on dead Brothers. Sparks, balls larger than fists, launched high with loud snaps that echoed into the night. It sent the tenders running, each spark's size surely too large to hold the sky. Yet, they rose high and faded as their mundane brethren do. It defied all the fires he had seen before.

When the Brethren descended the hill, Kelton lowered himself out of the tree. He followed them until he was sure they would not return and were headed far from where his army rested. Rolic was even more of an enigma than he first thought.

The walk to the cave was a slow one, as Kelton considered skipping the visit. He wasn't sure if Rolic was a friend, a foe, or something between. The first would be welcome, the next a disaster, and the third an unknown. His biggest concern was that he wouldn't know the difference, not with Rolic's skills in verbal subterfuge. So, he sat outside, near where he once lost a stomach of half-digested mead, and watched the wind blow at the cloth that covered the entrance. In or out; it was a gamble either way.

A lack of knowledge drove Kelton's choice. Rolic had information, and acquiring it could ease decisions and save lives. The latter would lighten the growing toll in Kelton's heart. He entered the cave with the wind, moving as the cloth shifted. He chose stealth so as to not allow Rolic time to prepare with an announcement - a bit of caution in case he had chosen wrong.

Kelton pressed himself against the wall of the entrance and waited until his eyes adjusted. He heard mumbling, then a pause, and then it continued again. As the shadows gained substance, Kelton moved forward in the way of the thief he once was - slow and silent. Low embers in the stone hearth greeted his eyes as he neared the cavern's living space. Two oil lamps were lit, their light fighting with the fire for dominance over the dark. The battle was a draw, bathing the area in flickering shadows. Rolic sat in a chair facing the dying fire with a mug in one hand. More unintelligible words emerged, then he sipped from the cup as if he were contemplating the discussion he was having with himself. Rolic looked older. Gray hair had overtaken the color, and his posture had shrunken from what Kelton had remembered. The threat he expected was not present, so he cleared his throat to announce his arrival.

"Our words are finished," Rolic said without turning toward the entrance. "If you desire the tea I offered, well - it is rescinded." Rolic's back straightened, and the words held the strength Kelton remembered.

"I was not offered tea," Kelton said.

Rolic stood as Kelton moved into full view. "You risk much coming here," Rolic said. This time the words had a weakness in them.

"Aye," Kelton agreed. "I waited until your visitors left. I have never seen such a great number of white robes. Do they call on you often?" Rolic smiled in answer. It shifted Kelton from wary to welcome in an instant; the memories of their verbal battles were more pleasing now that they had begun again.

"I am remiss, as you have said," Rolic said. "May I offer you tea?" He indicated the empty seat next to the one he had vacated.

"Aye," Kelton replied as he approached. He lowered his pack to the floor, then unstrapped his sheaths in a gesture of peace, placing Spider's-bite atop his gear. Rolic ignored the movement and began to prepare a mug for Kelton.

"I struggled with coming," Kelton admitted. Better to set a layer of truth upon which to base further discussion. He didn't want to spend too much time lost in the minutia of fettering out who knew what. "Gossamer thought it best he attend with me. My insistence at coming alone now seems wise."

"He has found you then?" Rolic said, his movements continuing after a brief pause at the mention of Gossamer's name.

"We have shared words," Kelton said, nodding to Rolic's back. "I know what you were," he shrugged, thinking about the departing Brethren, "or still are. I know you trade missives across the sea. I have guessed it is with King Victalica, which explains much while increasing the count of questions."

Rolic turned, his expression calm and full of curiosity. "Is this my last day?"

The question caught Kelton by surprise. "My blades will remain as idle as yours. Is there some harm I should fear from you?"

"You are burning Brethren," Rolic said as if it explained his question.

"Aye," Kelton said. "But they were long dead. It was a compromise since none wanted them buried next to ours. Would you prefer to have them eaten by birds?" Rolic had said much, unlike their past conversations. His knowledge of the battle at Goddess' Grove was not expected. Truth was a good start.

"A compromise," Rolic said with a chuckle. He turned back to finish preparing the tea. "Have you found Juno as well?"

"Aye."

"Is she as you remembered?"

"More so," Kelton replied. "I meant to take her from here and leave this land to its troubles. She is why I am what I have become. Everyone is fooled and thinks I am the Answer, when in truth it is her."

"Hope is the Answer," Rolic said. He placed the infuser into the mug and added hot water.

"She is my hope."

"You risk too much." Rolic pulled on the chain, bouncing the infuser in the steaming water. "You can find happiness elsewhere. Mayhap young ones and the smiles they bring."

"Aye," Kelton agreed. He nodded as he thought of all that has been given up. "It is a choice, and we have made it. If there are to be young ones, it will be after."

"And if she perishes?" Rolic asked.

"Then, the Goddess herself could not stand between me and the Brethren, nor their King." The thought angered Kelton, and it came out in his words. He settled himself. "She is my hope."

"And if you perish?"

The idea had crossed Kelton's mind more than once. They were distant thoughts, as most contemplations of personal end were. He chuckled when an alternative presented itself. "Then the Goddess herself could not stand between Juno and the Brethren, nor their King. She and her friends are cunning. Unlike me, they won't see her coming."

Rolic laughed. He pulled the infuser from the mug and presented the tea. "You two will see this to the end, then?"

"Aye," Kelton said, taking the mug.

"You are not the indecisive boy I first met," Rolic said. He sat in the chair and retrieved his own mug. "The land has awoken and sees hope embodied in you. What if they perish following you?"

"It is my greatest fear, but one that must be suffered. Men have already fallen in my name, each one a cut that will never heal." Kelton sipped the tea. "Now, I cannot allow their sacrifices to be for naught - it would hurt even more."

"I know these wounds," Rolic said. He settled back into the chair as if he meant to stay the night in its embrace. "Mine have bled more as of late."

Kelton sat back as well, letting comfort and shared pain open the conversation further. "You have led men in battle."

"Aye. More times than I desire to remember." Rolic took a sip, his eyes fixed on Kelton. He was examining Kelton's reaction to the news. Kelton gave him only a slight nod. The information was unexpected, yet not surprising. He had always known there was more to Rolic.