“I think you should’ve stayed back,” he commented, hood drawn up as they crouched in the tall grass, the two of them a pair of shadows.

“That would mean missing the story,” she countered easily, unworried.

“That is a lot of tents,” he continued.  There were indeed a lot of tents ahead of them, practically a town built up along the banks of the Ainrun.  The light of torches and campfires flickered throughout.  “My confidence in a fight is not assured.”

“They’ll be too shocked to fight you.”

“To start,” he conceded, hooded gaze turning her way as he continued, “anger will be the quick emotion to take over their surprise.”

Keto looked back at Quartes, a confident smile on her face.  “That’s why we keep the surprises coming.”  The Landian shook his head but she saw it, just a hint of her smile reflected in his stern expression.  “Besides, can’t trust you to have the right flair for this kind of moment.”  He didn’t respond as his gaze returned to the camp, and to the patrolling guards.

“Stay close,” with that he was up and moving and Keto rushed to keep up.  A pair of shadows amongst the stars of the fire lights.  Above the stars twinkled their own light and a storm rolled in from the sea.

~ 𓏢 ~ 

Brokel sat in the storage tent and took a breath.  His hands, balled into fist, rested against his thighs.  He had been forced to leave them such when they had started shaking.  He took a breath, and reiterated again that it would just be another fight.  A fight for the fate of his people, against his tribe-chief who wielded a power that had long scared him.  So, his hands shook and he hated it.

It had been simple enough to enter the camp.  There was nothing that said he didn’t belong, had been nothing to make others suspicious of him.  True that he and his clan should be south outside the tower city but that was not a fact the guards would know, nor there place to challenge a clan-chief.  This part was simple for him.  He was to wait and arrive at the moment as the bard had described it.  Except it left him sitting here with his worries to consume his thoughts.

He agreed with what they were doing, he had sought for it.  It just wasn’t how he expected it to all go.  He told himself that it was only right that he should have to play some critical role to make a change.  That if he wanted to fix things he needed to make a sacrifice.  It didn’t stop it from seeming like too much, or from his hands from shaking.

Strider chirped at him.  The taikeet lowering its head and resting it in his lap.  The bird’s big blue eyes looked up at him.  Behind his mask Brokel smiled, hands opening to stroke his friend’s feathers.

“A song day will be made of this one way or another.”

~ 𓏢 ~

Keto was unstrapping her harp from her pack.  Quartes was looking at her from behind his metal mask.  The Landian was in his armor from the Hendarks, his cloak discarded now and the armor’s hardness and glint a perfect contrast to the feathered cloaks of the nomads.  Even with the fixed visage she knew what he was thinking.  “An intro is everything,” she admonished.  He didn’t say anything but turned, giving her clear view of Cheriss and Ras strapped across his back.  At his hip was his old sword and broad knife, the empty loop for the Hilt-Shard was evident.  He had insisted that carrying it and the bulk of the other shards would give them away to Sorna.

“Things turn against us, you stay with Keid, not with me,” he called back over his shoulder.  Keto felt that old chill, but she gave him a nod and forced a smile before she began to play.  They stepped out into the central square of the camp, it took a while for the nomads to recognize what they were, that their guards had failed at their duties.  Then the shouts started to go up around the camp, calls of taikeets going up to join them as the feather cloaked and masked forms of the nomads of the Finnupave began to gather around the square.  There were spears and swords and brands amongst them, but for now the shock of his arrival, and the lack of a leader held them at bay.

Keto continued to play, low and steady, a melancholic if almost haunting tune.  It should’ve shocked it here that it carried over the din of the gathering riders, but it always seemed to carry, whether over the raucous of a tavern or the disharmony about them.  Quartes looked at her over his shoulder once, squared his shoulders and with sword in armored hand he took a step forward.

“I have come to end this hunt,” he called out, voice clear despite the helm.  “To remind you that we have worked together to be defenders of this land.”  Quartes stood in silence at that claim and while her fingers continued to dance across the strings, Keto held her breath.  They’d discussed this together, had debated it with Brokel, and worked the wording into something the Landian himself could believe.  It needed to be a line that gave them enough pause to find the right question and she waited for someone to get there before more violent actions could take over.

“Dragon and their kin you have set upon us!” shouted back one of them and Keto took a breath.  It was close enough to what they had planned for.

“No,” Quartes answered, turning to face the voice.  “Dragons and their kin we have fought together.  In my time past, in my last bid to save this land,” Quartes’ voice hitched just for a moment there before he lifted his sword, pointed down its blade across the crowd as he turned and continued, “I had the strongest of allies to help me defeat these hordes.  The strongest allies I can have now are the riders of the Finnupave.”  That brought out a wave of murmurs amongst the crowd and Keto watched some of the masked faces turn inwards.  It wasn’t all of them though, she noted at least one group hefting weapons, quivering like a string overtuned and ready to snap.  Their window to make the point was closing.

~ 𓏢 ~

Brokel had heard the commotion spread through the camp, the shouts of intruder at the camp center going around.  Men and woman left campfires or rose from their tents.  He gave it a moment to play out, looked at Strider as the bird’s head raised at all the noise.

“Old friend, we see now how this night ends.”  He reached for his spear, felt for the pouch beneath his cloak, and rose.  Strider followed him without sound as they both exited the tent and headed for the camp’s center.  What came next redoubled all of his nerves.

“Brokel!”  He recognized the voice and when he turn he knew the masks.  They were the masks of his clan, the reckless firebrands of his kin were at the front, spears already in hand, and one pointed down at him.  There were others there, Kartof was off to the side, young Elric there though the boy seemed stripped of any weapon.  He had thought that they would stay at their post in the south, even after Elric’s return.  He had guessed wrong and his own cautious path here had no doubt given them plenty of time to arrive.

Another misjudgement, and one which would seem likely to be his last.

Strider slid into his view, the taikeet’s long neck shifting to bring its eyes in line with Brokel.  The bird gave a click, and a tilt of his head.  Behind his mask, Brokel took a steady breath and tightened his grip on his spear.  With a pat to his old friend’s face he stepped towards his clan.  “You’d be wondering why I seem to be traitor.  You see my disobedience of our chief as my weakness, but would any of you stand against her wrongs?”  Brokel looked across his warriors, his mask settling on that of Kartof as he finished.  “Would you accept only the scraps of false glory given, or would you seek out that which is greater and right?  Sorna is wrong, has taken her power to lead us down a path that will kill us and I will not see a day more where her falsehoods stand on the lives of our kin.”

~ 𓏢 ~

Quartes squared himself with the crowd again.  She could see parts of the gathered riders preparing to rush forward which was when Cheriss and Ras unsheathed themselves.  The blades hovered at the Ladnian’s shoulders, pointed out at the crowd.  The floating swords gave a pause to the commotion, and Quartes took what would seem to be their last opening.

“You’re leader has declared this hunt, but I declare she had done so out of cowardice, out a fear of fighting to save this land.  If she denies it, if she had the strength to proclaim this hunt, then let her prove herself in the right.”  In the face of the challenge the shouts faded down to murmurs.  Keto could hear them, whispered arguments of the costs of the hunt, of whether a prey had the right to give challenge, and if it was not right for the tribe-chief to face a legend.  Which was the point all along.  Quartes straightened, and ever scratch, repair, and collective history of battle on his armor was apparent.  “I am Dragonslayer and I see her cowardice against the beasts.”  Keto smiled as the whispers exploded into full on arguments.  There would only be one thing that could silence them.

Thunder echoed and in it came silence.  Before Quartes the nomads parted and stepping into the square was a figure hidden in a cloak of black, silver, and purple feathers.  The purple was shared in the painting of the sharp features of her mask.  The figure’s spearhead blossomed with the collections of baubles and relics hanging from it, and Keto wondered if there was only one Shard of Lehn amongst that collection.  Now would be the time for Brokel to arrive.  To proclaim that for the honor of his tribe he’d instill a new leader.  Instead it started to rain and without a word Sorna lifted her spear.

The violet bolt struck down on the Landian.  Keto blinked at the light, fingers stopping as she reached up to her ringing ears.  As the after image faded though Quartes was still there.  Right hand raised above him, a shard of blue-gray metal in his hand.  The bulk of the shards had to be left behind, but they had figured one or two wouldn’t be noticed.

Sonra looked to the warriors around her.  “Kill the Dragon herald before he can spout more lies.”

Drawing his knife, Quartes shifted forward a step.  His old sword clanged against the armor of his thigh and the battle began.