Kelton moved toward his father with a casual air. He forced himself not to look at the Unseen, who lingered behind the waiting group of makeshift undertakers. The Brother shifted at the edge of Kelton's vision as he approached, attempting to keep as many Seen between them. The man who helped the Brother carry the body became confused, causing a few words of annoyance that Kelton ignored.

"We are near the end," Kelton called to his father. "Would it not be best to begin a gathering? We owe so much to so many."

"Aye," the King replied, looking away from his task. "Lord Brandish could arrange such a thing." Concern warped his face. "Did he survive? I have been so busy. I have not..."

"Aye," Kelton interrupted. "I saw him organizing the care of the wounded." He pointed into the trees, away from the hiding brother, another sign of attention being elsewhere. "A good man for such a task - always concerned with the numbers."

"I should be more aware," Gregory said.

"It is this duty - a gruesome thing," Kelton said, shaking his head. He looked at the others briefly. "Rest a moment," he said, signaling for them to lower their burdens before shifting his attention back to his father.

The hiding Brother dropped the body and mixed into a group of three, keeping them between him and Kelton. They all sat, welcoming the reprieve, the brother farthest away. The confrontation was not going to be without risk, and it was not going to get less so.

"We have been asked to do too much," Kelton said to his father, then turned to the others. "All of us have."

There were agreements, both verbal and nodding. The Brother's response was delayed, a silent acknowledgment meant to mirror the others. Kelton stepped forward and shifted so there was nothing between his eyes and the Brother.

"Do you not agree, Brother?" Kelton asked.

The Brother jumped to his feet as if he had been ready for a battle. Swords appeared from beneath his cloak, held in the style of the Nagada. Then he did something Kelton did not expect; the Brother backed away from the others. Kelton had expected an attempt at hostages, or perhaps an attempt to take as many with him. Maybe the man had become addled or suddenly decided to value others' lives.

"The two of us then," Kelton said, nodding with respect as he put himself between the unarmed and the Brother. Spider's-bite found air.

"It is a waste to end one such as me," the Brother said. "You will need me when they come to claim the Promise. There will be many." He was still backing away. Perhaps he was preparing to run.

"Let them come," Kelton said. The Brother's eyes followed Spider's-bite as it spun through the air. It was as if the movements of the blades held him in a trance - or perhaps he recognized them.

"You must relish war, for you have destroyed the peace," The Brother said, still stepping backward. "The worlds of men will come for this land. Without me, you will face one army after another." There was unhidden fear in his words, his eyes still entirely upon Spider's-bite.

"We need you not, Dar'quid," Kelton said. The use of the Brother's Nagada name forced his eyes to meet Kelton's, verifying what Kelton had surmised. "You will not leave this field. By my hand or a hundred arrows, your days end now."

"There is wealth," Magna'est said. "Kingdoms need coin, and the Brethren have gathered much. My end will only weaken your purse."

"You misjudge me; I have no greed for coin or kingdoms," Kelton said. They would find whatever coin existed soon enough anyway. "I came back to this land to seek my love and nothing else." He stepped closer to Magna'est. "You and your kind forced me into this hellish war. Now I shall end it."

"He will be worse than the Brethren, Gregory," Magna'est yelled, pointing his sword at the unarmed group that had backed away. "You thought me cruel - look at the death he has created this day. You follow a demon who spews great evil with each day he breathes." His words were erratic, and his blades flailed about as if they would shield him from what was to come. Fear had made him so desperate he did not notice Rolic approaching from behind. Kelton could not remember the last time he saw a smile on Rolic's face, yet it was now wide and possessed an insane quality.

"It is time I altered our twin-tails story," Kelton said, brandishing spider's-bite and stepping forward quickly. Magna'est screamed, his eyes going wide as he swung his swords widely, more to keep distance than to threaten. He had forgotten much of the skill, or perhaps fear had swallowed his courage.

"I can teach you," Magna'est pleaded. "Winters upon winters I can give you. Do you not..." The breath was forced from Magna'est when Rolic wrapped his arms around, immobilizing his arms and lifting him off the ground like an insolent child. There was glee in Rolic's eyes.

"It is our end," Rolic said. Magna'est attempted to twist his hand to cut at Rolic's leg. He succeeded weakly and cut his leg as well. Rolic did not seem to notice as the blade fell to the ground under the strain. The other sword was still held tightly for no apparent purpose, his lower arms imprisoned.

"Traitor!" Magna'est cried as he struggled like a fish out of water.

Rolic laughed, a joyous sound that rose queerly over the harsh wind of the fire. "To whom?" Rolic demanded. "Are we not traitors to all who breathe." He must have squeezed harder, for Magna'est seemed to lack the air to continue speaking.

"I release you from your vow, Striker," Rolic said, his eyes off the right of Kelton. Striker had arrived on the run. "Though I thank you for it."

"Goddess," the King exclaimed as Rolic dragged Magna'est toward the fire. "He is not going to..."

Kelton lowered spider's-bite, his mind a web of crossing emotions. None of which congealed into a solution worthy of consideration. He wanted to stop what was about to happen, yet there was so much triumph in Rolic's face. Rolic had found a purpose to the end he demanded, a sacrifice fitting the first king. A horrible fate that should be stopped, yet there was a strange mercy in letting Rolic choose. He had earned at least that much.

"I will tell them," Kelton shouted to Rolic. "They will know whose blood flows in them."

Rolic smiled, followed by a nod of prideful affirmation made difficult by Magna'est's struggles which now looked on the verge of insanity - for insanity held him. Rolic walked into the fire, his charge constrained by arms of unrelenting iron. Magna'est screamed as his clothes caught fire. Rolic ignored the flames and dragged the two of them deeper.

Kelton wanted to look away but knew his eyes were the only honor he could give to the Rolic, the man who killed so Kelton did not have to. A tremor traveled up from his gut as his mind failed to ignore the pain Rolic must be experiencing. Flames enveloped Rolic's legs, and instinct forced him to finally release Magna'est, who fell into the coals then rose lit like a screaming torch. For an instant, it looked as if Rolic regretted his decision, and his mouth opened, presumably to add his screams to Magna'est's.

The blade traveled so fast Kelton did not see it until it arrived at its target. Striker's aim was mercifully true, embedding the waist blade deep into the skull. Rolic fell mercifully lifeless into the fire.

"It was my vow, and only I can undo it," Striker said. His eyes were moist, most likely the heat of the fire.

"Aye," Kelton said. "I thank you for your honor."

"Hard man to hate," Striker said, his meaning clear. They and the others turned away from the horror of the fire. No one made any attempt to hasten Magna'est's passing - it seemed a waste of a good weapon. They let him flounder, his weakening yells signifying the end to the Brethren.

Kelton replaced spider's-bite into its sheathes. Perhaps it was better the blades did not kill their previous owner. It was not a habit he desired them to learn.

A moment later, giant embers beyond count burst from the fire, most traveling upward toward the stars though some hugged the land like running rabbits.

Mannily sat at the cooking fire, wondering why his leg had decided to throb. The stitches on his wound seemed to be holding, and the bandages showed no new bleeding. It hurt more now than when it was first cut open. Not as much as when Sarafina sewed it, but still, the pain pulsed with every beat of his heart.

There were others around the fire, two of which he recognized but none by name. It did not seem to matter because everyone was in a daze. Most still wore bloody clothes, and some were wounded like him. A thin man with unkempt facial hair sat across from Mannily. He was worse off with half his head covered in bandages that included his left eye. The sight made the throbbing in Mannily's leg less sharp. It would be far worse to lose an eye, be it temporary or not.

The one eye on the man widened in shock, and then the others showed similar surprise as they focused on something behind Mannily. They began to scatter as Mannily turned, his leg not allowing quick action.

A monstrous fire filled the sky with those strange large sparks, many more than it had produced earlier. One such glowing ball did not rise with the rest. Mannily closed his eyes and tried to duck but felt the fiery orb hit him head-on.

Warmth, not the searing heat Mannily expected, wrapped around him. Remembered laughter echoed as his closed eyes saw as in a dream. A girl, a perfect unaged memory of his sister, sat in a field on a sunny day.

"A rabbit!" his sister said, pointing at a stiff-startled bunny with ears pointing to the heavens. "Catch her for me."

Mannily moved or dreamed his way slowly toward the hare who seemed to think it was not seen. As he neared, and just before he lept to capture it, the rabbit smiled. Dimples he had seen before formed on furry cheeks that should never produce such things. Even the curl of the impossible lips had taken on the shape of Sarafina's. The rabbit jumped and bounded into the trees like every rabbit he had ever tried to chase.

"Catch her for you," his sister said, then laughed - the sound far more perfect than his memory. A sense of peace warmed his soul, and then the coldness of the day burst back.

Mannily was on his back when he opened his eyes. The large ember was floating upward and away. His hair was not ablaze or even singed.

"Are you alright?" the one-eyed man asked. There were murmurs of the same from the others, one of which helped Mannily to sit up.

"Odd," Mannily said in response, though everything since he woke up in the morning, had been strange. "For a moment, I was elsewhere." He watched as the giant spark flickered, then died high up in the air.

"No stranger than warriors inside of us," the one-eyed man said. The others chuckled their agreement. "Now there is flying fire that does not burn." he turned to the massive fire across the field. "The Brethren dying hard, most like."

Mannily rose slightly and returned to the log he had started on and stretched his leg back out. His memory of his sister had long lost many of the details over the winters, yet it had reformed perfectly in the dream. Time had rolled back, and there she was in his mind. He smiled, remembering the laughter.

"A waist blade," Mannily said when an idea formed, then looked at the others. "Does anyone have one?"

"Aye," the man to his left said, producing it from his side.

Mannily unwrapped his bandage and took the blade. Carefully, he grit his teeth and cut at three of the stitches. The wound opened on one end and oozed slowly.

"Are you addled?" the man said, snatching his knife back.

"Aye," Mannily said, then chuckled. "I have fought sword-to-sword in a war, yet I am no braver." He began rewrapping the gash. "I must see a woman, and I require a reason." He looked up at the man. "In some ways, the war seemed less daunting."

"You would cripple yourself?"

Mannily shrugged. "She is a healer." He stood and tested his leg. The bandages began to soak up the blood. Visually, it was effective.

"I hope she is close," the man said, looking at the reddening bandages.

Mannily's eyes widened. "I may not have thought this through." The group found that humorous. "She is...was cursed. Not much older than I." A poor description but clever with cute dimples seemed worse.

"That way," the one-eyed man said, pointing along the treeline. "Most of them have gathered in the clearing by the stream. It is where they take the worst-off to be cared for."

"I thank you," Mannily said as he limped his way to the clearing. There were murmurs behind him, comments about a fool who thought a Cursed was worthy of blooding himself.

Mannily was becoming light-headed by the time he located Sarafina. She sat with two older women, tearing cloth meant for wounds he suspected. Impressive was his first thought, for Sarafina's back was straight as if a day of war and healing had not dulled her. Her words were too far away to hear, yet they commanded the attention of the older women, who seemed to respond as if she were their equal. He almost faltered, thinking himself less than she would desire.

Sarafina's eyes found Mannily, forcing him to limp forward for running seemed even more foolish. Besides, he was bleeding, and who better than her to fix it. A reason, he told himself. There was no need to push things, for being there held no risk. Being close would be its own reward.

"They tore open," Mannily said to Sarafina, then clarified. "Your stitches." He uselessly indicated his leg, the bandage now well coated in fresh blood.

"Sarafina," one of the women admonished as she stood. "I have taught you to set them deep. Now we will have to set them deeper." Cutting the stitches now seemed painfully foolish. Mannily did not think it through at all.

"They were set well, mother. I am sure of it," Sarafina countered. It was not Mannily's intent to see her wounded by his act. She stood and moved toward a pile of bags as the mother stepped forward and guided him to a place to sit. His plan was falling apart. The mother would fix it herself - the pain would hold no purpose. He could think of no words that could be said, not with an attentive mother blocking the way. It would have been hard enough if it were just Sarafina.

The mother unfurled the soaked bandage and painfully examined the wound, causing Mannily to stifle a moan. She stopped in curiosity, then sternly looked up. "These were cut." Her voice was near a whisper, spoken as if on the verge of anger.

Mannily eyes watered; the pain and shame were too much. "Sarafina was to fix it," he stuttered as quietly as he could. Perhaps the mother would fix it without comment. Some people were kind that way. There was no need to double the foolishness for no purpose. He looked at Sarafina in desperation, hoping she did not overhear the exchange. Luckily, her back was turned as she searched in a bag. When he looked back, there was a grin on the mother's face.

"You are a fool," the mother whispered. She stood and announced. "He will live. It is your mess, Sarafina. I leave it to you to clean up."

"They were done well," Sarafina insisted. Mannily cringed, for she sounded angry. As the mother and Sarafina passed each other, Sarafina's expression changed from stern to confusion. Perhaps the mother was still grinning - another horrible turn of events. That, and the needle in Sarafina's hand looked larger than the first one.

Sarafina began to examine the wound, her fingers testing the skin. The pain was oddly negligible, camouflaged by the mere idea of her touch. Mannily wondered why he did not see it before - her look of intensity as she worked was so captivating, like those tiny colorful birds whose wings moved so blindingly fast, they floated still in the air as they fed on a bloom.

"These were cut," Sarafina said. Then repeated it louder as she looked up. Mannily felt heat grow in his face. His foolishness had come home to roost, and he had no route of escape. There was no Nadaga to take the reins this time. A desperate look at the mother only proved there would be no help from her. She found humor in the predicament he had dug for himself. No path out - so forward it would be.

"I wanted words with you again," Mannily said. It came out solid as if there were no fear in it. Surprising since Lin'cy was not there to steer him. Perhaps some of the Nagada's strength was left inside.

"So, you ruin my good work?" Sarafina's hands found her hips. He had not planned for anger. It turns out that it was not much of a plan at all. He would never have guessed they could tell that the stitches were cut.

"I did not think it through," Mannily admitted. The women behind Sarafina did a lousy job of stifling their laughter. They were not making it any easier.

"You are a fool," Sarafina accused.

"Aye," Mannily agreed. There was no point in lying or hiding the act's whole stupidity. "And I did it far too soon. I think I walked on it too long looking for you." He shrugged. "It seemed wise then, not so much now."

Sarafina tilted her head and looked at him for a moment before returning to the wound. "Why do you desire more words?" she asked. It sounded like an afterthought as if his answer would hold no value. Mannily decided to take the hard path, charge forward as Lin'cy had shown him. Life was like a battle, and surely her anger, or rejection, would be less painful than a sword in the leg.

"Your image will not leave my mind," Mannily said. No need to mention the dream or his sister's encouragement. It happened in his mind, so perhaps it was only him. Sarafina did not look up, but he spotted a dimple grow in her left cheek. His heart soared. It was as if he had delivered a wagon load and was paid treble for it.

"You are a fool," Sarafina repeated, though this time it was said without vehemence. It had the cadence of softness, wrapped in humor.

"I am a wagoneer and will never see great wealth." Mannily decided honesty was better than lies. He felt a scraping pain as Sarafina drew out the cut portions of the stitches. He ignored it, at least outwardly. "Though I will also never starve for loads always need to move. There are times I must travel far, but I always return home."

"Oh, you own a home," Sarafina said, her eyes still down at her task. He disregarded the prick of the needle as it traveled through the skin, probably the same hole as before.

"Not as yet, though I shall build one. I lay in my father's house now," Mannily said, then quickly added when he thought the reply weak. "I have coin enough saved. I was waiting for one to share it with."

"I believe he wants a bride," the mother said and shared a laugh with the woman sitting next to her. It hurt more than the prick, and his anger rose.

"Aye," Mannily said with more ire than intended.

Sarafina's head snapped up. "You think to order me about?" There was anger in her face and tone. Everything was falling apart.

"Nay," Mannily replied quickly. "Nay," he repeated more softly after hearing how unintentionally loud the first response was.

Sarafina leaned forward. "Mayhap, I will drive a wagon."