He had followed her from the common room, back down a hallway and without thinking through the door she had unlocked and opened.  It wasn’t a thing he had thought he had to hesitate over but he quickly found himself corrected.

“Cheriss!” the bard exclaimed, backing up and bumping into Brokel as the sword tried to get at the rider.  It angled back and forth, Keto putting herself before it as she continued to back up, pushing Brokel back into the hallway.  For Brokel’s part it would’ve been a bit comical, the minstrel’s smaller form trying to keep herself between the sword and him as he continued to have a clear view over he head.  Except, that clear view was of a sword floating in the air and trying to press an attack of its own volition.

“I asked him to come here,” Keto tried to explain, baring the doorway now as her hands pushed out to both sides of the frame, the bottle of wine still held in one hand.  “He may be able to help us assist Quartes.”  That seemed to get through to the sword.  It paused it movements and Brokel watched as the blade shifted, tilting away from them.  Keto waited a moment, her arms lowering and looking over her shoulder at Brokel.  “I think that’s a sign that you’re welcome.”  She paused as she turned back, before adding, “I don’t really speak sword.”

“New to me this is as well, a weapon of a Landian?”  Keto had moved back into the room and Brokel tentatively followed.

“More like a friend,” she answered, though even with the blade tilted away from him it was hard to see the way that the sword shifted to the side to take Keto out of its path towards Brokel as friendly.  “He seems to largely like quiet company.”  The sword shifted towards Keto, who raised her hands in supplication.  With a last tilt towards Brokel the sword floated down and rested back on the room’s sole table.  Keto moved to the table, putting the bottle down and running her hand over the hilt of the sword.  A moment more and she pulled the already loosened cork fromt he wine bottle, splashing its contents into two cups.  She took one and moved to sit on the room’s small bed, gesturing to one of the chairs.

With a look to the sword, Brokel pulled the seat away from the table before sitting.  He looked to the minstrel, she took a drink, looked back at him, and then straightened.  “So, ahh, I guess my question is why are you all after Quartes in the first place?”

“The emissaries did not explain?”  Brokel’s gaze drifted back to the sword but it seemed content now.  With a breath he tried to draw back up some calm and forced his attention onto Keto.

“They told us a hunt was coming, and well,” she gave a frown and shifted side to side.  “Knowing there was a hunt was about the extent to which Quartes cared, he warned them that he would end any who came for him until he fought his way to your tribe-chief.”

Brokel thought on this, “He has held up in the mountains, many have come to him.  That is not hunting the tribe-chief.”

“No,” Keto agreed as she shook her head before taking another sip of wine, “but you have him outnumbered and the rules of your hunt are against him.”  She looked back to Brokel, “No offense, but your rules are all about you, not at all about helping him have a fair fight.  He’s shifting the fight back in his favor.  Will your leaders eventually come to him?”

Brokel shook his head now, “The hunt is for honor, the tribe-chief has already the honor of the tribe.  His involvement would rob the clans of the chance for that honor.”

Keto looked at him in stun silence for a moment, started to take a drink before cursing and putting the cup down.  “Quartes’ll kill all your clans then on his way to ending this.”

“Hence you’re help in finding him.”  Keto’s stare continued to bore into Brokel.  “Does he not care that he will kill so many?”

“I think it may be a few drops in an ocean for him,” she responded after a moment, a heavy breath following as she retrieved her wine and stared into its contents.  “There’s a scale to him that is hard to understand, I don’t think even he does.”  She had begun to whisper as she finished, she shook her head now and looked back up to the rider, “But, give him a different option and he will take it if it means less death.”

“Which, does bring us back to you Brokel,” Keto continued.  “You say your leader wants this.  Are there ways you can stop him, are there others who feel as you do?”

“I do not know,” Brokel answer came flatly, “even if they do they will follow whoever is tribe-chief.”  Keto gave a slight smile at that, looking down as she spun the wine within her cup.  “I know where the tribe-chief is, I know how the other clans will move about, to that fight I can get the Landian.”

“And if Quartes kills the tribe-chief, what happens to the hunt then?”

“The clan-chiefs will fight to decide who will rule the tribe, and may then decide if the hunt is to continue.”

“Which means the only way we can be,” she paused for a moment but continued, “sure that the hunt will end, is if you become the tribe-chief.”  She tilted her head as she looked at him, “Can you win this fight for the tribe?”

Brokel thought, dwelt on his own precarious position within his clan.  He debated comments made to him at the last foregathering, wandered again at which had been voices of opposition, if others indeed worried over the path of the tribe, and if those few who made them had any chance of winning the mantle to rule.  There was uncertainty there, but he was certain this was the only chance of avoiding most of his kin dying.

What else could he say?

“Yes.”