King Mansard Gregory was moving slower than the rest of the tribe. Unyvon'ar, who had merged with him, held back in argument to the King's demand of using the family sword. A ponderous thing that took two hands, something beyond Unyvon'ar's experience.

Gregory was stubborn, seeing himself as above the needs of the many. He saw more glory in the history of his name than he did in the tribe. Unyvon'ar thought it a weakness and was puzzled when Gregory agreed, though he did not change his ways. The only saving grace was that the enemy wisely shied away once the sword was in motion. The weapon possessed great weight and reach. Unfortunately, the others in the tribe were forced to stay clear as well.

Once the shield wall had collapsed into desperate individual battles, Gregory had cleared a path through it on the left flank with mighty swipes. Many of the Brethren had let go of their shields, forcing the heavy iron to fall toward an attacker in an attempt to gain mobility and space. Only one Brother stood his ground against Gregory's greatsword, and that man now lay bleeding in the dirt. Gregory had a single target in mind and was sure Magna'est was not on the front line. Long ago, Gregory had sensed the cowardice in Magna'est's professed superiority.

'He will be skilled,' Unyvon'ar pressed upon Gregory. It was mixed with deep-seated vengeful anger as if stubbornness was not the sole possession of Gregory. Hatred could grow in the minds of the tribe and make them irrational as well.

"Then I will wear him down," Gregory said aloud. Death was not a barrier, not if it meant the fall of Magna'est. Generations of Gregory's family were convinced that eternity was a gift, so they became a tool for Magna'est. Gregory was not the first to see the cost as too high, though he was the first who was given a path out. It was beautiful karma that his son had laid a solution before him.

'So be it,' Unyvon'ar agreed. More strength surged into Gregory, whose old bones ignored many previous winters of stress. The two became something more, gaining muscles filled with vigor and wisdom. They ignored the violation of nature and swam in the joy of it.

The clouds opened and began to deliver what they had hinted all morning. Rain was falling when Gregory spotted Magna'est. The leader of the Brethren was pointing toward the center of the front line and directing the reserve force of white robes to engage. It would be a long run across wet ground to meet Magna'est. Things would get sloppy if the rain increased.

'The All-Father speaks,' Unyvon'ar said with a glee that seemed out of place with Gregory's concern. Images of Unyvon'ar's life in the wet seasons of the Waitland filled Gregory's mind. Little slowed in the tribe. In fact, many things increased as nature's abundance grew. The soaked ground was home, and they never hid from it. Gregory smiled as his feet adjusted to a new way of running. His body became more centered above his steps, with each placement of a foot becoming more like a stake driven into the ground instead of acting like a stone skipping upon a lake. A new dance that held advantage against those who always sought shelter when the clouds opened.

"The Goddess is here," Gregory corrected. An inward argument emerged, one filled with silent chuckles, for it mattered not. Gregory saw Magna'est, and Unyvon'ar saw Dar'quid. Names and rationalizations were trivial things. It was the shared outcome that mattered.

Together, they ran with a mighty sword that embodied retribution for both tribe and family.

Kelton had pushed hard when the Goddess began to leak back into the land. The strain of keeping her in the Mother's arms was taking its toll. It would not last much longer. The advantage the tribe held would soon be significantly lessened. Spider's-bite moved with new urgency, spinning through new targets as quickly as Kelton could engage. He fought the desire to pull the tribe into him - better to leave them in the others for many was better than one.

The tribe had shattered the Brethren's front line, turning it into a series of small battles. The Unknowing Brethren could not hold their own against dual-wielding Nagada. Where the Brothers succeeded in rallying numbers, some Aragonians fell. They were short-term victories, for the tribe would gather and strike, once again shattering any semblance of numerical superiority. The Brethren were learning too late to count blades, not men. Mayhem ruled the field, and the Nagada relished it.

As Kelton moved forward, light rain began to fall. He engaged a heavyset Brother whose robes were spotted with blood not his own. The man was skilled with his blade, the sword never still as he countered Kelton's attacks. The Brother made no attempt to strike, preferring only to snap his blade this way and that, to parry spider's-bite like a shield. An irritating defense for it left only the tiniest of openings that closed the moment Kelton attempted to capitalize upon them. Whatever prior life the Brother had, it involved swordplay.

Kelton forced the Brother back. The man's footwork was equally adept as his sword skill. He never fell back on his heels and seemed to be comfortably content with keeping spider's-bite at arm's length as if he could continue for days. Out of the corner of his eye, Kelton saw that the Brother's actions were not without purpose. Another came at Kelton, a Brother with less skill yet possessed enough boldness to attack an engaged enemy. Kelton knew the skilled Brother would leave his defensive posture the moment spider's-bite committed to the new threat.

Kelton stepped back to create distance from the skilled Brother. He set his foot, centered his weight upon it, and spun low. The now wet grass made the maneuver effortless, the swift turn taking the new attacker by surprise. One blade dug deep into the Brother's thighs, and the other quickly blocked a swipe meant to take Kelton's head. The Brother screamed, then retreated on his now untrustworthy legs. Kelton knew better than to finish the man, for that would have taken time.

The heavy Brother committed, thrusting low at a now crouching target. Kelton's blade caught the sword midway, causing it to veer away from his chest and scrape weakly along his shoulder - a minor wound that could be ignored. The Brother made his first mistake, stepping too far forward and letting his lead foot slide in the wet grass. The quick recovery of his blade required perfect balance, something he no longer possessed. Spider's-bite moved quickly into the space offered, driving upward through the belly. The Brother's sword fell to the ground, his lifeless body following an instant later. Kelton turned back to the other brother only to see Filgot appear from behind to end the man's suffering.

"You are slowing, Treewalker," Filgot said. There was humor in his eyes that seemed were at home amidst the Nagada swirls. "Best if I stay at your side." He lifted one of his blades and pointed outward.

Kelton's eyes followed the gesture, and then he steeled himself. A large unit of Brethren was moving toward him at a steady pace. Each one seemed set on a single target - him. Far too many for four blades.

"It is the end game," Kelton said. Filgot nodded and set himself.

Like a door slamming open, the Goddess burst free into the land. As if by design, the clouds let loose a deluge to announce her arrival. Kelton could see the elation in the coming Brethren and could now feel the Aragonian tribe - most scattered and too far away.

Decisions had been made and could not be unmade. Kelton found himself at a main joint of many future branches, where life or death on the field were decisions in and of themselves. The next days lost their import as his mind returned to Juno. He would have preferred to feel her in his arms one last time.

"My sorrows, Filgot," Kelton said as he squared off against the coming wave. "This is not your war."

"It is, if you are in it," Filgot said as his tribe-infused blades began to dance.

Gregory-Unyvon'ar ran toward Magna'est. The reserve force flowed around Magna'est, leaving him shifting backward as they moved toward the collapsing front line.

'Coward,' Unyvon'ar thought, and Gregory could only agree. Magna'est had always been constant in his ways, treating all in the world as tools meant for his use. The man might strike the last blow when the outcome is inevitable, but he would never risk himself to the chaos he demanded others assume.

'The Knowing has returned,' Unyvon'ar said as he became aware through the tribe. He did not attempt to slow Gregory's movements, for the hatred of Magna'est burned brighter than caution. It was stated as a simple fact - merely something to consider as they approached.

Gregory's eyes shifted from Magna'est to the Brethren reserve and their direction. Unyvon'ar and he winced when they saw Kelton, almost alone, steeling himself for the coming wave. It took only an instant for the two to shift from hatred to concern - one for a son, the other for the treewalker. Their agreement was unanimous and complete.

They turned from their hatred and moved with greater haste toward the charging Brethren. A yell that seemed to defy the downpour emerged from Gregory to echo across the grasses. If a king was to die, here was the cause that would be worthy of it - whether the world knew why or not. Some of the Brethren turned to face the announced threat, and Gregory-Unyvon'ar raised their giant blade and did not slow. It mattered not that they would face many of the Knowing, only that Kelton would face less.

Another yell reverberated behind Gregory. "To the King." It was echoed by many others, for the monstrous blade shone like a banner when held high - an easy target for all to follow. For the first time, Gregory felt like a true king.

'Our tribe comes,' Unyvon'ar said, and they both smiled.

Serenity pulled her sword from the Brother's chest as he slumped to the ground, the last of the immediate threats. It was as if she was somewhere else, letting the warrior who shared her mind deal with the death. It started to rain in earnest, washing the blood from her arms and allowing the totality of the horror to begin to sink in. Audria's soul seemed unmarked by the mayhem, but she had suffered under the Brethren's hands. Audria was only returning what the Brethren had earned.

'It is for the tribe,' Lan'du thought in response as Serenity's blades lowered. It was true, be it Nagada or Aragonian. The termination of the Brethren ended the suffering of the many. Still, it felt disturbing for swords to be in her hands. Lan'du saw no alternatives to justice - only more anger as she fished in Serenity's mind for the Brethren's sins, all caused by Dar'quid. Lan'du felt the tribe was correcting an error done long ago - a warrior who knew her purpose.

The-last-of-the-line had no purpose. Serenity's mother, her mother, and all who came before them were wrong. It was true, Serenity had found love, but that was not her doing, nor did it have any effect on the day or the land's morrows to come. Her presence had only served to slow and confuse the Answer. She was not the solution as she had been told; she was a hindrance. Juno was always the key and held the bravery for such things. Then something worse invaded her thoughts - she had abandoned Daphne. The land was worse when Serenity breathed.

"Kelton!" Juno started running before she had finished his name. Serenity looked over her shoulder to see the Answer readying himself to face more Brethren than she could easily count. Rolic and Audria ran in pursuit as Serenity pondered the great lie her mother had fed her.

'The Knowing has returned,' Lan'du passed on, trying to force Serenity to follow. 'Audria,' Lan'du reminded her with imagined images of Serenity's love abandoned and bleeding the grass due to inaction. Anger rose to replace the pity.

"For the tribe," Serenity shouted and fully released her body to Lan'du. They moved with deftness through the wet grasses - warriors with purpose. Lan'du counted many in her tribe; Serenity's count held only two. Lan'du did not bother arguing semantics, for the outcome was the same.

Magna'est drifted backward as the remaining force of Brethren ran forward. The rain's intensity increased, reminding him of the home he left so long ago. Relief followed when he felt the Goddess' power return to the land, her greed once again filling his mind. There was a beauty in the power, proof that superiority was where it was meant to be.

The Knowing announced two coming at Magna'est from behind. Their intent was so wonderfully clear. He let them approach with their misguided confidence, fools who would soon learn why the Brethren ruled the land.

Magna'est turned at the last moment, his twin-tails flying like birds of prey. The first attacker fell on his own, slipping across the grasses in an attempt to halt. The second lost his sword hand to one blade, and then a second blade drove through his neck. Magna'est realized they were not skilled - not of the tribe. They were mere men holding a single sword and unworthy of even that much metal.

The one on the ground, a man barely out of boyhood, attempted to scamper away. He had lost his blade in the fall - a fool at best. Magna'est stepped close, for he preferred to watch the eyes close and know that he was their last image. A thought came to him when he saw the man's cloak, a tattered thing of wool that the rain was beading upon. Whatever treatment it bore was better than the robes Magna'est wore - and far less identifying.

Magna'est drove his left sword through the man's thigh and into the ground, eliciting a scream muffled by rain and war. "Your cloak," Magna'est demanded, his other blade laying across the man's neck. "I will release you in exchange." Best if the garment was not marred with a bloody hole.

It took a moment for the man's mind to work through the pain and understand. He unclasped the cloak at the neck and half-rolled to release what portion he could. Magna'est grasped the top and pulled it out from underneath as the man struggled loudly to pull the blade from his leg. Magna'est's second blade unceremoniously cut a deep gash across the man's neck, releasing a fountain of blood that defied the downward direction of the rain.

Magna'est yanked his sword from the leg and turned away as the last of life fled from the fool. Then he stalled, thinking better of the man. After all, the cloak was a welcome gift and should be recognized. He removed his white robes, laid them over the man like a shroud, and then donned the cloak. It was now well wet inside and out but safer than wearing white.

"The horror of your short life is over. May you find peace in eternal sleep," Magna'est said. He smiled at his mercy, for so few had earned it.

Kelton felt, then saw Mannily move up to take a position on the left. The shape of the battlefield grew in Kelton's mind as the Goddess reclaimed her throne. The Aragonian left flank was moving to his position, and from behind, the Sorinnians were approaching with fresh warriors.

"It is like home, fire-head," Mannily said, briefly looking up into the rain. The words were Nagada, as was the confident smile.

"Yes," Kelton said. "Aye," he repeated as the ramifications began to seep in. A short delay is what they needed. He also looked up at the sky and internally thanked whatever power sat above all. Be it a tweak or luck; the rain was most welcome. Ordinary men always sought refuge from such weather, but not the tribe. To them, it was only the wet season, and they were masters of it.

"Stall," Kelton ordered. "Do not commit a strike into the Knowing until others arrive - they are coming." Filgot grunted his agreement, Mannily nodded his.

Kelton stepped forward, for he was Unseen. A smile grew on his face as spider's-bite began to dance, carving death in the wet air. "Welcome to the jungle," he shouted to the coming onslaught.