Kindly edited by @CollinHarrison4

Magna'est forced his shoulders to relax, then let it run down his arms to loosen the iron grip his hands had formed behind his back. His mouth contorted to the left and right as he paced, trying to relieve the tightness that had created a tick below his left eye. Anger, though warranted, could grow to hinder what was to come. It was controlled confidence that governed men. Unbridled rage only screamed defeat, and that could never be.

"A third, you say?" Magna'est asked the messenger, a low Brother who seemed reluctant to speak. It was a rhetorical question used to create more time to settle his mind.

"Aye, your Eminence," the Brother responded.

Magna'est nodded as he paced the tent. He had long learned to hate being in the field. It destroyed the lovely routine of temple life where others handled the personal worries of each day. Now, he lived without his bath, among many other inconveniences. All of that paled in significance to leaving his daughter behind. The reunion would be taxing, requiring an abundance of care to reinforce the connection.

"And coin was paid?"

"Aye, half in front as always, your Eminence," the Brother replied.

"And what does the wagon master think of this?" Magna'est had already calculated that the count was too high for error or enemy seizure. It was not the supplies he worried about; it was the profound ramifications of such delinquency. There were merchants who saw more future in the demon than the Brethren. So much so that they absconded with the upfront coin as if they feared no reprisal.

"He believes escorts are necessary, your Eminence."

Magna'est rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the idea. The demon has had no difficulty picking apart small groups of Brethren. If he were to allow it, there would soon be new pyres, and Magna'est's hold on the others would weaken. Immortality had a vulnerability, and it was called death.

"Double the coin per load," Magna'est ordered. "But no coin in front. It is a small irritant easily solved by greed, and in time we will find those who think the Brethren fools." He forced a smile for the messenger's sake. "Mayhap a few hangings will alter minds." To Magna'est's surprise, the Brother only gave a feeble nod in response. There was still fear in his eyes.

"There is more?" Magna'est asked.

"Word was brought by loyal merchants, your Eminence. From the south," the Brother replied, his voice faltering as he pointed hesitantly to the south as if it were necessary. Magna'est said nothing as he braced himself for news that was sure to be displeasing. It took a moment before the Brother realized that silence meant he should continue.

"A force has landed to the south. It is well equipped in both arms and skill." The Brother took a step back.

"Nonsense," Magna'est said. "There are none who would risk the Promise to lay a boot upon this land. A fable at best, likely created by this demon to stir the pot."

"It is the armor, your Eminence," the Brother said. "I have seen what is described long ago. My family claims many ships and have traveled..."

"What armor?" Magna'est interrupted the history he had no interest in. Fables do not come with such details.

"Sorinnian armor," the Brother replied. "Black with..."

"A tiny nation, and, if memory serves, an arid homeland of no value," Magna'est said. "They risk annihilation to step upon my land?"

"A small nation, your Eminence, not tiny," the Brother corrected. "I have attempted trade with them in the past. Matriarchal and secretive; few know what lies beyond their dry shores. I did not set foot on their land for fear of being bound there - forever, the stories say. It is odd that they have chosen to show themselves here."

"Mayhap they have caught wind of the Promise," Magna'est thought out loud. It would never again be given to a woman, yet it could be offered to gather time. He paced as he thought of what would be necessary. It had been a long time since the Promise demanded its price from the kings to whom it had so generously been given. Unfortunately, with the impending winter, no kingdom would move against another. Come spring, though, the Sorinnian nation would cease to exist, and that would be a good lesson to others of the penalty of crossing the Brethren. Perhaps a land ruled by women did have a use.

"They gather others," the Brother continued. "They have brought arms and fitted them to commoners who follow behind them. It is said they hunt for the demon."

"Hunt or search?"

"It is not known, though I believe it is a search, your Eminence," the Brother said, bowing his head. "It is for their bows I once attempted a trade. They are the finest made - constructed from a dark wood that grows only in their land. They possess a range few other bows can match and are said to shoot true even in the rain."

Magna'est gritted his teeth. "They have brought these bows?"

"It is hard to tell, your Eminence. The eyes that saw know nothing of bows." The Brother pursed his lips and lowered his voice. "It is what I would desire if I were to build an army to fight the Knowing."

"You think the demon called them," Magna'est said louder than he intended.

"I know not," the Brother said quickly, raising his palms in deference.

Magna'est forced his anger back into his core. The Brother was only applying logic to limited facts. If there was to be a war, Magna'est needed warriors who thought on their feet, brothers who thought as this one did. It was true; bows are what the demon needed.

"If what you say is true, how do we counter bows?" Magna'est asked. Another rhetorical question, though this time done to build confidence.

"Shields, your Eminence."

"Then that is my reply to the wagon master," Magna'est said. "Double the coin with nothing in front and gather all the great shields from the temples," He smiled to make it seem a trivial precaution. "In case your wisdom proves true."

"Aye, your Eminence," the Brother replied and left to deliver the orders.

Nothing was developing as Magna'est had planned. His hands closed into fists, and the blood fled from his knuckles. The tension climbed back up his arms and clamped hard onto his shoulders. The desire to destroy all the demon cared about was beginning to seem a fool's errand. If he had gathered bow-equipped allies, then the bloodbath could quickly move in two directions, Knowing and not. Magna'est certainly did not desire to burn.

A proposal from the King began to feel prudent once again. Offer the demon and his ally the Promise. Even if it were denied by one, the alliance would break with a single acceptance. The offer could always be retracted once power settled back where it belonged. Magna'est smiled and his muscles unwound. It would be retracted.

~~~~~

Kelton released Jutney from his embrace. The same tactic was used each round. Four times Jutney's name was yelled, and four times Kelton was touched even though he knew it was coming. There was only enough time for him to touch one or two before the opposing blades secured a victory. If he had wielded only one sword, the outcome would have been worse for the tactic allowed so little time between Knowing and acting.

"How did you devise such a thing?" Kelton asked.

Jutney smiled. "When I hid from the King's men, I would find a dark lonely crevice. But when I hid from Brethren, it was crowds that worked best. Show the Knowing too much, and it becomes blind." He shrugged. "I thought it would be best to show you too much as well."

"A good mind to go with his stories," Yanda said. Like all of the Sorinnians, she was overly pleased with the victories. The Aragonians showed their pride as if they had always known Jutney's brilliance.

"Is there one who weaves his hair?" Urlia asked Yanda in Sorinnian.

Yanda grinned. "Urlia asks if there is a woman in your heart," she translated to Jutney. Urlia stood confident with the question in her eyes, then smiled when Jutney shook his head as redness filled his cheeks. Kelton had never seen confidence flee so quickly from a man.

"A warrior such as him should not be unraveled," Urlia said, holding out her hand as an invitation to Jutney.

"Urlia desires to weave your hair in the style of our warriors," Yanda translated. Jutney looked at Kelton, studying his weave before deciding to agree. He took Urlia's hand and she led him away.

"He does not understand a claiming," Kelton said, moving to intercept. Yanda laughed and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"It will not be a claiming," Yanda said. "She admires his thinking and finds his visage to her liking. It is only a start that may go nowhere or somewhere." She winked at Kelton. "A claiming is not a one-sided thing."

"But your mother, did she not think I would claim you?" Kelton asked.

"It was the life-debt she feared," Yanda explained. "It grants all when given. Mayhap I was hasty in its gift - had you greed in your heart, you would sit at my side when I inherit the throne."

"I make no claims upon you," Kelton said.

"Do so quietly," Yanda said. "It is why our warriors are here, and not just crates of weapons." She reached up and stroked one of Kelton's weaves. "Juno has unknowingly eased many minds." She chuckled with some pride. "I think Parinada meant to see you dead before he would allow you to claim me."

"I felt it," Kelton said. "You are deep in his heart."

"It was my doing," Yanda continued. "Though slavery should feel foul, I have many fond memories of house Tarvakian and my time with you. I spoke of you often, mayhap too often. Parinada saw what is not and meant to protect what is."

"He understands now," Kelton said. "And I welcome his skilled sword more than you know."

"Aye, he is no longer blind to the truth." Yanda reached up again, testing another woven strand. "It is Juno I worry on."

"Juno? She knows she holds my heart."

Yanda smiled in the superior way she used to when she thought Kelton was being a fool. Her eyes narrowed. "Did you not speak of me?"

"Aye," Kelton replied. "There are no secrets..."

"And the weaving, did you not tell her of it? How did you tell her? Were they good memories, or did you tell her of your fidgeting? Mayhap you spoke of your hate for it." There was a surety in Yanda's eyes as to the answers before Kelton spoke.

"I spoke fondly," Kelton admitted.

"It is truly the weave of claiming, you fool," Yanda said, her eyes alight with humor. "Mayhap she feared I would do the weaving if she did not."

"Oh," Kelton said, his mind traveling back to the conversation during the weaving.

"And what of Juno this day?" Yanda continued. "Is she not surrounded by warriors? Mayhap another will seek her favor while you are absent. Is she so ugly that none will seek her?"

"Nay!" Kelton replied with more anger than he intended. He began to envision the breadth of his unintended betrayal. Perhaps Juno thought him a scoundrel who sought a princess in her stead. He was an idiot to leave her when she asked to accompany him. It seemed logical at the time, yet now he felt like a halfwit. "You do not think she would leave..."

For a woman with a belly full of child, Yanda's arm moved with incredible speed. The Knowing screamed, but Kelton stood firm as she slapped his shoulder. "Nay, she will not leave you. It is only mindless words I feed you - the same notions that burrowed into Parinada and likely burrow into Juno still."

"She wanted to come," Kelton admitted. He was an idiot not to see it. Juno's love was a gift, not a guarantee.

"Sometimes we are arrogant, you and I," Yanda said.

"Aye," Kelton sighed.

~~~~~

Kelton laughed as more wood was fed into the fire. Filgot's tales of Yelvin Tarvakian's antics were getting the best of Kelton, and Yanda was faring no better. It was apparent that Yelvin had become Heralic's favorite. Whenever Yelvin had awoken Alliette's wrath, he sought sanctuary in his grandfather's arms. Zello struggled to play mediator, supporting his wife yet unable to fully commit to confronting his father.

"A great mind is brewing," Kelton chuckled.

"Aye," Filgot said. "He possesses Heralic's wit, his father's sense of purpose, and his mother's stubbornness. A forceful mixture in one so young - not to mention the doting attention of both King and Queen raising the boy's stature in the house. I have seen him strutting like a monarch when Alliette and Zello are not about." Yanda had to cover her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"It seems that happiness still rules the house," Kelton said.

"Aye," Filgot agreed.

While Yanda was attempting to translate the reason she was laughing to Parinada, her mother stepped forward and the conversations around the many fires faded.

"We have shared food with our new friends, and now they await our decision," the Queen announced loudly to all the leaders gathered. Her words were meant for all ears. Yanda rose with Parinada's help, moved next to her mother, and translated the words for the Aragonians.

"Our priestesses were wary of our travel here, thinking it a great risk." The Queen smiled at her daughter. "But there is stubbornness in my line, and a friend has earned our hearts and bows." She nodded to Kelton. She paused as her daughter translated, Yanda changing 'friend' to 'brother,' which made Kelton smile.

"Years have come and gone, and most foul memories are eaten away as life feeds on new purpose. It is our priestesses who are entrusted with our past, and it is they who guide me and the queens who came before and those yet to come." Serinda again indicated Yanda, this time gesturing at her belly. Yanda grinned, her hands cradling her unborn child as she translated.

"Once, long ago, our merchants and priestesses roamed the world. Our goods and the words of the Goddess were traded in equal measure." She paused for a moment and kneeled to grasp some dirt. "Our ancestors once trod upon this very ground," she said, holding forth the soil as she rose. The surprise in Yanda was evident as she translated. To Kelton, it made sense. The song the cursed sang could not have been an accident. There was a flow to what was happening, things shifting into place like a master mason fitting rocks into a wall. Again, he began to feel more like mortar than mason.

"It was here," the Queen continued, turning her hand to release the dirt, "that our meandering ways met their end. A power arose that tolerated no other voice but its own, twisting the word of the Goddess, shaping it falsely." Her eyes looked down at the dirt she had just released. "The bones of those who did not run are still here in this dirt. The tales from those who escaped had us fold in upon ourselves, shunning a world whose corruption we could not define." Her voice dropped at the end as if sadness had overtaken her - a storytelling trick Gossamer used often. Yanda allowed her mother a pause by translating with equal emotion.

Serinda raised her head when she sensed her daughter was done. "It is this foul promise that has altered the world." Her voice rose. "They corrupt the cradle of life, stealing time that is not theirs." She moved with a flourish, stepping away from her daughter then turning back and pointing at Yanda's swollen belly. "There is my eternity. I need no others' years, for I live strong in my daughter, as she will live strong in hers." Her hands formed fists, and she slowly raised them. "They trampled our ancestors, a crime nearly forgotten for vengeance's purpose faded with each passing season. Now, we know the cursed truth. Those who fouled our ancestors still live by perverting the cradle of life."

A cacophony of yells and vows grew from the Sorinnians as the Queen's anger infected the valley. Even Yanda was immersed in it and neglected any translation.

The Queen pointed high in the sky at the thing that seemed to fly yet was still. "The priestesses claim it is the Goddess coming, and now I believe." Her arm slowly dropped to point at Kelton. Her voice rose louder than before. "For there is her bow." She formed a fist and raised it high. "And we are her arrow!"

"What is happening?" Cavid shouted at Kelton. The Sorinnians had broken into song, and it had spread amongst the other fires. It was about them, or their land, or the Goddess, perhaps all three. It was sung too fast for Kelton to grasp all the words.

"They have decided," Kelton replied.

"What?" Cavid asked, unable to hear over the din.

All the voices ceased in unison, ending the song. The Queen was smiling with pride, as was her daughter. That same honor was apparent in all the Sorinnian faces.

"What has happened?" Cavid asked again, this time in a more civil tone.

"They have decided," Kelton repeated. Cavid looked confused.

Yanda stepped forward with arms raised, and the clamor among the Aragonians receded. "It is decided," she announced. "Your daughters are as our daughters. This Promise ends, or we do." This time, it was the Aragonians whose uproar filled the valley.

~~~~~

Corleon grimaced. As silently as he could, he crept back up the hill from where he had been watching. The patrols were relentless and rarely duplicated their patterns, forcing him to alter his position often. If it were not for the Knowing, he would have long been discovered. Thankfully, the night had fallen and given him additional cover.

Corleon decided it was time to leave. He had seen much, and most of it did not bode well. The demon had gathered allies, and unlike the commoners they were disciplined and possessed mindful tactics he had never seen in this land. Corleon felt something akin to pain when they sparred with the demon to ferret out the Knowing's limits. They had discovered the overload far too quickly.

The fervor that had broken out amongst the fires further rattled Corleon's confidence. He had confronted religious zealotry in his life before the Brethren, and this looked no different. Such passion had a way of instilling unreasonable vehemence in a cause. There was no talking to such people, and with their bows chances were good that no one would get close enough to attempt negotiation.

What bothered Corleon the most was the demon's skill with swords. Magna'est insisted he was only a nuisance, a mere boy who played at being a hero. It was foolhardy to categorize him as anything but a master warrior. None should be led to underestimate the man as Corleon had done in Shunneer. The demon was gathering too many at his side with seeming ease. The swords on the belts of the commoners said more than anything else. The demon was building and supplying an army. He had the adeptness to become king and many would die to make it so. In the land's eyes, the Answer had come.

Corleon crawled over the top of the hill to limit his exposure and then moved down the other side. Avoiding the patrol that was searching to the south, he traveled quickly away from the valley. He found it odd how his respect had grown for the red-haired menace. Such skill was a difficult thing to acquire, and it deserved to be admired. It was almost a shame the man had to die.

~~~~~