Brokel had discarded his flaming brand as he and Strider had made their way to the center of the camp.  In his hand now was the sword shard that Quartes had entrusted him with.  According to the Landian, it was the shard that had made up the end point of the sword.  Brokel could see it, but more so he could feel the charge running through him, the way that is exhilarated him to see its effect but also the fire he felt coursing through his body.  The Landian had taught him how to use it during their trek north, and Brokel had then felt the strange power but now, with the stakes here and now the charge felt like an itch that he needed to resolve, the blade shard calling out to be used.

It was with that burning running through his been that he and Strider reached the center of the camp.  With the power, he took it all in.  The bodies around the fighting Landian, the ready and waiting clans as some of their eyes turned towards him, Sorna pointing down her spearhead.  Except the tribe-chief wasn’t pointing at the Landian but instead at the minstrel.  Keto pulling a blackened and smoking shield up to defend herself.

The tension amongst all those in the central clearing, it felt palatable to Brokel.  When training with the Landian he had only felt the tension between him and the target he reached out too, but the whole area was tension, a crisscrossing of lines tugging here and there which Brokel felt just beyond his ability to see.  It wouldn’t do and it was the first thing he would need to address.

~ 𓏢 ~

There was the amber flash and crack, followed by the rolling thunder.  Keto held up Keid for a moment more, confused why she hadn’t felt the blow.  Finally, she peaked out and saw the after effects of the golden bolt.  For a moment she thought the strike had rendered her dead so silent was the camp.  At first only Quartes moved, backing away from his stunned and stilled adversaries.  The Landian twisted, now glowing eyes coming about and Keto realized that the Landian was joining where everyone in the clearing was looking.  She turned to do the same and smiled, and as much as she enjoyed the sight of Brokel astride his taikeet, shimmering shard in his hand, the bard better enjoyed turning to see the look of Sorna.

The tribe-chief’s mask continued to ruin a bit of the moment but there was enough there that Keto would remember for future songs.  The sag in the chieftan’s shoulders, the white knuckled grip on her spear, the way that masked gaze darted around the camp.  Here was a challenger she could not dismiss.

~ 𓏢 ~

The strike had scattered the not-quite-seen lines.  Part of Brokel was aware of all the masked gazes looking back at him, but in truth the only one he was concerned with, the only line left to his senses, was between him Sorna.  The sword shard burned in his palm.

“Sorna,” his voice broke into the silence, “I challenge for the right to rule.”  Part of him wondered if more should be said, something akin to what he had stated before his clan, but here, with the Landian and the death the hunt had created present, there seemed little point.  Brokel knew that others could step forward to challenge him before he could fight her, he felt the gazes of a few who seemed to consider it but they saw the shard in his hand and fell quiet.  That silence built as the tribe-chief did nothing to break it, but Brokel could see the lines building and all of them looking to Sorna, looking to her for an answer.

“Very well Brokel,” Sorna’s voice dripped with rage and disdain.  Her mask looked about to the gathered tribe.  “Clear an arena, remember well the carnage of the Dragonbringer.  Do not let him leave while I deal with this would be usurper.”  Quartes for his part backed away from his attackers, turning only to reach down and help Keto back to her feet.  The bard still clung to the stilled shield.  Brokel looked to them as his tribe moved the dead and did their best to tend to the wound.

“Was killing so many necessary?” the weary clan-chief asked.

“We tried to only wound as many as we could but it was still many against few,” the Landian answered as he reached and grabbed Ras from the air.  “She’s done two strikes, you’ll be about even.”

“If I fail, your fight continues…”

“And either we three die or your tribe will,” Quartes finished.

“Eternally cheery,” Keto interjected, Brokel looking to her as she somehow managed a smile.  “You’re entrance was well timed, only one way I see that story ending.”  The pair left him then, going to stand by Strider.  Brokel turned, watching as the last of his tribeskin were carried away and then there was Sorna before him.

“This was not the path I intended when I helped you find that shard,” he called out across to her.  The shard was pulsating in his hand, beyond warm as it burned it its desire to be released.  There were the lines, all of them outside fixated on him her but Brokel remained focused the one that ran between them.  The one that would link his attack to her.  He wondered if it had been this strong when she had been his clan-chief.

She said nothing for a moment, “That’s because you lacked imagination.”

“I see now you lacked wisdom.”  Then Brokel let that shard have its way.

~ 𓏢 ~

Even with the embellishments she had invented for various battles over the years, Keto wasn’t quite sure she could believe how the battle between Sorna and Brokel ended.  What really concerned her was she wasn’t exactly sure how she would tell it.  The two nomads had exchanged their words.  Sorna had leveled her spear, the shard within its blade catching the lights of the torches.  Brokel had held tight to his shard, Keto had seen his own blood pooling about its edges.  There had been a flash, a moment where all present had been bathed in amber hue, and then as the thunder came Sorna was all the ground.  Parts of her cloak burned, sending up smoldering black smoke, a black feather caught up on the currents of the smoke and dancing away.  Her mask had been blasted apart, and her face left unrecognizable.

Brokel was looking down at her and all eyes were on him, when Quartes tapped Keto’s shoulder and the pair of them made their way out the camp.  Circling around the group such that Quartes could pick up Cheriss, holding the stilled blade  in both his hands, they made their back to the open fields.  Keto let a few tents put distance between them and the sceneof the sudden fight before she spoke.

“Will her and Keid be ok?”  The shield was heavier than ever, clutched in her arm.

“They’re intact, so they should recover,” Quartes paused, lifting the shield up into his own arm as they continued.

“You made it sound like it would be such a battle.”

“The Sword of Lehn isn’t a matter of strength or imagination, it’s an instrument of the will of the Landian who made it and by those who use it.”

“Then why make Brokel believe that he would need to be ready for a fight?”

“Because the risk strengthened his will,” Quartes shifted to look at Keto, “and I wanted him to live.”

Keto mulled over Quartes’ words while they reached the edge of the camp.  “You lied to him about the sword being a danger to you.”

“The sword has killed Landians and it has harmed me before,” Quartes waved his scarred right hand, “but wielded by Sorna?  No, there was nothing she could do with it to hurt me directly.”  Quartes stopped as he turned and looked to Keto, “That doesn’t mean there weren’t ways she or her riders could hurt me, or that I wanted to hurt any of them more than I could avoid.”

It took a moment but Keto found her voice, lopsided smile blooming across her face.  “You’re sentimental.”

Quartes shook his head but she caught his smile before the Landian turned and headed back towards where they had left the mules.

~ 𓏢 ~

Keto had waited at the edge of the camp when she had returned.  It gave her a good view as taikeets were saddled and tents were broken down and packed up.  She and Quartes had watched as messengers had gone out and over the last few days the outlying clans had all returned.  With that, the nomads were prepared to head back into the Finnupave.  Which meant it was time for some final matters to be attended to.

Brokel emerged from the camp, Strider following in his wake.  The new tribe-chief, masked and cloaked form inscrutable, stood before the bard and waited.

“So, is there a crown or some such that comes with being tribe-chief?” Keto asked.

Brokel gestured towards the spear in his other hand, Sorna’s spear with its Shard of Lehn embedded.  More than a dozen baubles and objects dangled from below the spearhead, some Keto recognized from Brokel’s previous weapon.  “There’s a few relics that pass from one leader to the next.”

“Makes sense,” Keto responded, casting her glance to the bustling camp behind Brokel.  “So, you all settled in?”

“It will take some time for things to settle, but much as with Sorna no one is daring to enough to oppose the might of the spear.  I expect I will to implement new customs for determining a leader.  For now, I was not the only one unhappy with Sorna’s rule, Kartof and other clan-chiefs support me.  They are happy to be returning to our ways.”  Brokel shifted, his mask looking to the baubles that danced in the wind.  “I have ended the hunt, the Landian need no longer worry.  He should be aware that if we are indeed allies, then I will expect his communication, though it will be some time before I have true strength to help him.”

Keto had her doubts on how forthright Quartes would be forthcoming.  She didn’t doubt that Brokel would likely be happy to end any further meetings with Quartes after all of this.  “Well, there’s just one last thing then.  Quartes wants his shard back,” Keto was quick to add, “he notes though that you’ve earned the right to the shard in your spear, and considers it a sign of the allegiance.”  Wordlessly, Brokel produced the large shard from beneath his cloak.  Keto held out her pack, letting the chieftain drop it in.

The bard turned to go but looked back.  “I’m glad you came in found me, marked you as the most sensible one in this whole chaotic tale.”

Brokel stood still, but soon commented, “If we are all to meet again I look forward to having the opportunity to hear you perform once more.”  That brought a smile to the bard’s face and as Keto turned and left she looked back one last time to see Brokel mount up on Strider.  The rider gave the taikeet a pat along its long neck, the bird chirped and the pair rode off back into the camp.