Mannily stood from the fire, as he had three times before, with his mind fully committed yet his body still revolting at the choice. The army was forming, and he fought against the fear of joining them. It likely meant death, that much he knew, though the memory of his sister deserved the attempt. There was a part of his thinking that tried to lie to his body, a fable that luck would see him through. His left hand ignored the fibs and trembled as he took a step toward the coming battle, the right becoming sore from gripping his sword too tight.

"There are too many Brethren," one of the others called to him. It was Alfor, a man who had seen as many winters as Mannily and shared as much sword training. Alfor was bigger and more sure of his footing. Still, Alfor had lost the battle with fear and cowered near the fire with the others. They gathered to reassure themselves of their wisdom. Only fools sought purposeless death.

"I must," Mannily said. The next step was heavier and filled with more forced bravado than honesty. Perhaps it would be a quick death, a sword taking his head so there would be no pain. In his mind, he saw his executioner falling as the Brother wasted his attention on Mannily. A victory and a quick death were all he hoped for.

"You will die," Alfor said, his tone indicating that his words were wasted on the foolish.

Mannily closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Aye," he replied. Every step forward took him closer to death. He had seen his last morning, a cloudy one that started so beautifully. Now, anger prevailed and pushed him forward, forcing his body to do what it should avoid. He took another step. If death was inevitable, then should not fear be undone by the inevitably. It was not.

"Two hands require two swords," a voice said.

Mannily thought that such a strange statement deserved a response, one that allowed him to stall a moment longer. He had little confidence with one sword; two would make him useless. He turned to find his fearful companions frozen and staring at a new arrival, the one who had spoken.

"Answer," Mannily acknowledged with surprise. The Prince was glowing, a powerful image with the hilts of his blades rising above his shoulders. The swirls that marked parts of his torso were pulsing and seemed to flow like water down a storm-filled river. It was the eyes that were most concerning, both burning like tiny blue torches. "I...I...," Mannily stuttered as he lifted his sword, wondering why he was trying to explain to one who the Goddess graced.

"Do you desire to bleed white robes?" the Answer asked. There was so much determination in the question as if the query itself held power.

"Aye," Mannily replied without hesitation as the memory of his sister returned. The word barely left his lips when the world he knew shifted.

"She was so beautiful." The voice echoed in Mannily's head. His memories mixed with another's, two pasts becoming one.

"Yes," Mannily agreed, knowing the voice, or was it a thought, meant his sister. The knowledge of his response was pure, though it sounded nothing like the 'aye' he had known his whole life. The new presence was consuming his fear, and skills beyond anything Mannily had ever known rippled through his muscles. His hand loosened its grip on the sword, and his wrist turned in a more beneficial way, granting enhanced leverage over the blade.

"So much fear, and yet you advance anyway," Lin'cy said, for Mannily now knew the name of the man who invaded his thoughts. "That is the courage we need, and I will grant us the skill."

Lin'cy's mind was full of memories, some making Mannily blush, yet most adding to Mannily's conviction. Movements and the confidence to execute them became second nature, something Mannily could now do blind if need be. A moment ago, Mannily was terrified, and now he smiled, for he had become the terror.

Mannily looked at Kelton. "It is true, Treewalker, I need another blade." He walked over to the pile that had been newly oiled. Dropping his blade, he tested two of similar weight by turning them in his hands. Heavier than necessary, but at least he would not be out of balance. Mannily removed his tunic since it restricted his movements and then proceeded through the first steps of the shared wind. There was such lethal beauty to motions, and they heated his confidence further. His sister would be avenged, and he - no, we - would be the one to exact it.

"For the tribe," Mannily said to Kelton. Mannily's fearful companions gawked at him, their mouths hanging open. They had no understanding of the tribe, nor could they imagine the power that now ran through his veins. "For my sister," he said, this time in words his companions could understand.

"I wish to bleed white robes," Alfor said as he stood. Mannily grinned as Nagada warrior swirls began appearing on Alfor's body. Apprehension fled from Alfor's face as he too joined the tribe, and the many seasons of training became apparent in his bold stature. "For the tribe," Alfor said with understanding and moved to find a twin to his blade.

One by one, the men around the fire stood and joined the tribe, each choosing a second blade. If Mannily was to die, then so be it. At least now, he and the tribe would take many with them - the land would now know his sister once walked upon it.

"Nay," King Gregory growled. He was not even sure why he allowed Hold Lord Ungeri an audience. Hearing from an emissary of Magna'est was a waste of time better spent preparing for battle. There was no retreat, for surrendering was the same as losing - both ended in death.

"Mayhap it is your son I should speak to," Ungeri argued. "It is he who brings this battle forth, not you."

"You are a fool," Gregory said. "We both know this has gone too far. My son is the Answer, and he will not turn back from his duty."

Ungeri turned about, exaggerating a menial search. "I see no Answer. Mayhap he has seen the futility of it all and now disavows his father." He chuckled. "Has he not seen the forces arrayed against him?"

Gregory grunted his annoyance. It was true he did not know where Kelton was, but he had felt something. There was hatred in the air, and it tasted like his son's. Still, there was no doubt that the army needed the Prince.

"We have the last-of-the-line, the unbreakable, and the Answer's love, I am told." Ungeri smiled smugly. "Their sacrifice will not be allowed. However, their death is certain if this war commences. Are not their lives worthy of barter?"

"Trust Magna'est?" Gregory asked, then laughed at the stupidity of the idea.

"Will your son toss their lives away so frivolously?" Ungeri demanded.

Gregory was about to respond when he spotted Kelton approaching from behind Ungeri. His son was leading many of the unskilled out of the trees. Gregory was about to point him out to Ungeri when his breath caught - the change in Kelton was beyond anything he would have expected. That, and the unskilled no longer moved with apprehension, each with blades in both hands. Kelton, and the group that followed him, had Nagada swirls appearing to turn upon the skin. It was Kelton's eyes that were most unsettling - a hint of bluish flames seemed to emanate from them.

"You must ask him yourself about those lives," Gregory said, stepping back, for his son had a determination upon his face that did not seem concerned with friend or foe. Ungeri turned, and his shoulders deflated as confusion and fear invaded.

"I have been sent by..." Ungeri began without the confidence he possessed a moment ago.

"I know your purpose," Kelton interrupted. "Now, I shall give you a new one." He moved swiftly, his hand shooting out and grabbing Ungeri's tunic below the neck. With unexpected ease, Ungeri was lifted from his feet, and his face became level with that of Kelton.

"Those who follow you are in great peril," Kelton continued. "If they remain between the Brethren and us, they will breathe no more. Slipping on their entrails will be the only thing that slows us down."

Ungeri grasped desperately at the hand that held him aloft. There was some unintelligible gurgling response that Kelton ignored.

"You will lead your force from this field," Kelton ordered. "By our hands, the promise ends this day, so choose wisely." He released the Hold Lord, who dropped to the ground and backed away.

"I am to tell you that the sacrifice will not be allowed," Ungeri said, struggling to straighten his tunic. "Whatever evil fills you will fail."

"The sacrifice has been made," Kelton growled as he again moved toward Ungeri, who staggered another step back. "A young one thought herself abandoned by the three your masters now hold." His finger shot forward and stabbed into Ungeri's chest, forcing the man to grunt. "She did as she was corrupted to do and slit her throat. Know that she will be the last daughter claimed. And know that she has awoken the first king of Masocrate - a master of war who knows well where the true evil lies. Mayhap you will meet him on the field if you choose to add your sacrifice to hers."

Gregory saw a tremor grow in Ungeri's hands, and then a fist formed to hide it. Perhaps it was the torch-blue eyes or the hypnotic Nagada swirls that seemed to pulse and flow. Whatever was in Kelton held power beyond the Brethren - the Goddess had indeed come, and Ungeri knew it.

"Mayhap you should strive for a single long life, Ungeri, and not seek to shorten in a misguided hope to steal another's," Gregory said.

"They will kill me as surely as he will," Ungeri said. "Do you not see the forces arrayed against you?" He pointed toward the Brethren's shield wall.

Kelton smiled, and it was a warped thing as if the land itself owed him homage. "It is a gamble for a greedy man to choose a victor before the fight begins. Your decision, one way or the other, leads to different morrows. How many morrows have you seen?"

"What?" Ungeri said. The trembling began again, and this time his fist did little to stop it. Kelton sounded like he was on the verge of insanity and held power to turn it to horror.

"I have seen many upon many," Kelton continued, stepping forward. "You are but a speck in all of them. It is the fools who follow you I worry on - strong families and great doings that will never be if you choose to grasp at greed."

"They have your love," Ungeri said, pointing toward the Brethren. "You will not barter, even for her?"

"Go," Kelton said, the anger in him flaring through his eyes. "Or stay, and I will end you now." There would be no negotiations. The mention of Juno seemed only to inflame Kelton.

"Go," Gregory added when Ungeri looked at him in an attempt for help. "Before I save him the trouble."

Ungeri turned, then staggered a bit, possibly considering another tack. He must have decided it was futile because his steps increased in speed as he headed back toward the Brethren.

"What is in you?" Gregory asked his son.

"Everything, father," Kelton replied.

"It frightens me as much as it does him," Gregory said, indicating the retreating Ungeri.

Kelton sighed - a glimmer of humanity from one with the Goddess' eyes. "His days are numbered no matter his decision. Stay, and he dies this day. Run, and he breathes a few more. Win or lose, his death was decided the day he chose the Brethren over his people."

"You know what is to come?" Gregory asked. The idea sent a shiver down his spine.

"Nay," Kelton replied. "I know what can happen." He smiled. "And I know which way I desire to steer it. I have seen my son, or a shadow of one born of the choices of many."

The answer surprised Gregory, though the thought of his line continuing beyond Kelton was more pleasing than he could have imagined. He looked at the men behind Kelton, the ones who now bore more Nagada swirls than Kelton himself. Perhaps it was time for a decision himself.

"I wish to stand with you in battle, my son," the King said. It was a jolt as his mind melded with another, a wise man of many winters who possessed skills Gregory now shared. Unyvon'ar was his name, and his purpose was the tribe. Gregory smiled, for it seemed such a logical purpose.

Rolic rode upon a lumbering beast, a horse once tasked with pulling a wagon laden with barrels of ale. The stallion's back seemed to straighten when mounted as if the winters of its duties vanished and were replaced with new pride. The gray mare rode by Striker was equally spirited, moving with her head held high with attentive eyes.

"He has done something to these beasts," Rolic said to Striker as they led a force of nearly one hundred horses.

"Aye, he is the Answer," Striker said. He patted the neck of his mount, and she responded with a confident snort. "Though yours still does not sense the demon who rides upon it."

Rolic smiled, for Striker's words were true. He felt it inside, and even with his returned youth, the guilt was more robust than ever. "I wish an oath from you," he said. It pleased him to see the surprise in Striker's expression.

"I grant you nothing but a swift death," Striker responded.

"And that is what I wish," Rolic said. It was hard not to grin at the shock in Striker's eyes. "If I still breathe when this is ended, I will welcome your blade. Kelton does not possess the...quality...to see it done, and I have not the strength to fight my nature head-on. Daphne's days are not mine, and I will spend no more of them than what it takes to see her will done." He straightened his expression to convey the seriousness of his request. "I will kneel before you and close my eyes. I want your oath to see me ended in a swift fashion."

Striker stared for a moment, possibly ascertaining if the request was real, then he nodded. "You have my oath," he said.

Rolic sighed in relief; the weight of his guilt once again lightened. He knew he did not deserve to feel so much vigor, yet it was hard to ignore how strong youth made him feel. It had been a very long time since he had ridden to war, and this time he was certain he was in the right. There was nothing ambiguous about this battle, for it was not about riches or power - it was for a daughter.

"I will ride to the left," Rolic instructed as he began to drift in that direction. "Keep the force a good fifty paces away. Those who chose to join the Brethren will be my guide." He smiled as his body adjusted, heightening its senses for the coming battle. He welcomed the almost forgotten tingling of fear-born awareness. "The Knowing will know nothing of our passage."

Striker nodded then did something Rolic did not expect. The man smiled back, and it was filled with undeserved trust. Rolic admired Striker all the more - together, they could have done great things had they met in Rolic's true youth.

Kelton saw Queen Serinda approaching with Verdi in the lead. She and her entourage looked frustrated now that the language barrier was in full force. Verdi was equally hamstrung, attempting to lead her forward with gestures while struggling not to seem disrespectful. The loss of Yanda as an interpreter was costly, though something Kelton could solve.

"Goddess," the Queen exclaimed as Kelton neared her. She stalled and examined Kelton's transformation. "She is in you," she said loudly.

"Yes, your Majesty," Kelton replied in Sorinnian, not wanting to take the time to argue semantics. The cadence of what was to come was pressing. Time was becoming as much the enemy as the Brethren. "Much will change this day."

"And in them," the Queen said, indicating the men who had merged with the Nagada.

"Yes, your Majesty," Kelton lied with the intent of undoing it later. "Her will be done this day. We must move quickly. Are you and yours prepared?"

The Queen studied Kelton for a moment, her eyes probing analytically. She seemed to come to a decision and nodded. "Deception does not sit well on your face, yet your heart is as true as my daughter claims. I shall trust that. What will you have of us?"

Kelton smirked. "My sorrows, your Majesty." He pointed at the line of Brethren still forming in the field. "I desire them to be slowed, better yet still, and to remain hidden behind those shields of theirs."

"Our bows can see to that for a time," the Queen said. "Though, our arrows will not pierce through such shields." Her eyes shifted from Kelton as King Gregory approached.

"Do you wish to see as I do?" the King asked. Kelton translated his question, presented it to a monarch from a monarch.

The Queen studied the King for a moment, the Nagada swirls proud upon his face. She looked back to Kelton. "Yes."

The surprise on the Queen's face dissipated as quickly as it arrived. The emerging Nagada swirls looked at home, mixing with the wisdom in her eyes. She smiled with new confidence, turned to her captains, and began giving orders to form the bow lines necessary. She could now see the plan and knew its possibilities.

Verdi dropped to his knee in front of Kelton. "What of me, my Prince?" Kelton found it odd that the invasion of Verdi's mind did not seem to come as a surprise as it had in all others. "I must find another blade," Verdi said as he rose anew, his smile spanning the field.

"We must move quickly," Kelton said to his father, who nodded as they both began to move toward the line of soldiers.

Gregory's pride in his son grew into a mountain. Unyvon'ar smiled, for he saw it as pride in the tribe.

"Send another," Farni thought. She did not know how she thwarted Kelton's push, but stalled it she did. Perhaps it was a transfer that required consent, and she wanted no part of it.

"She is bound to a pole," Kelton argued, though his guilt at the necessity of the request loomed large. "Who better than you, one who no bindings can hold?" It was a strange battle in her mind, one even the tribe weighed in on. They thought her petty, their minds set to the end of Dar'quid - the evil born of the tribe.

"Free her to run, nothing more," Kelton pleaded, his mind also busy with battle plans. It was not his desire to send her to Juno, though he saw no other option. Farni desired to fight at Kelton's side, not save some weak woman who had trampled on her heart.

Farni could feel Kelton's dismay, and it was a heavy thing. In a burst of honesty, she admitted to herself that the death of the one he chose over her would be a welcome thing. Then she saw something deeper in Kelton's mind, a binding that was far stronger than hers. Juno's hooks were steadfast and wrapped about him in an unremovable way. To unwind them would end all that Farni loved about Kelton. He would become a shell filled with anger, a horror born of a bottomless hole that not even Farni could fill. Either way, she would lose him - maybe she had never had him in the first place.

"For the tribe," she acquiesced. It was the most painful thing she had ever done. Surrender was not in her nature, and it felt as if she cut off a hand.