Chapter One

In which we are introduced to the five who would change the world...

The Book of Legion

Foundations 1:1

Before there was Averis, there was only Legion. In His power, He reached out his mighty finger through the veil of stars and touched the Dusts of Chaos, bringing the oceans and rivers, and capping the mountaintops with ice. He willed the lands to turn green, and the skies to turn blue. He brought forth every flower of the meadow, every tree of the forest, every fish of the sea, every beast of the land, and every bird of the sky.

Legion then brought forth man. With his outstretched finger, he willed the clans of men into the world. They spread across the lands, and for a time, the clans of man were happy in their service to Legion. But soon, men grew unhappy. Legion so cared for His creation that He gave life to the Aspects. Three daughters to care for the clans. Raven, the warrior. Sylva, the builder. And Lumen, the speaker.

Lumen, Legion’s most trusted Aspect, soon grew jealous of her father. The Aspects were greater than the clans of men, and so her jealousy grew into the hearts of men. And when she grew angry, she taught man anger. And when she grew envious of her father’s power, she taught men that envy.

It was the lust of Lumen that led her to lay with the clans of man. She gorged herself with her fill of men, and took them into her, consuming them whole. From their seed, she bore seven children. They were not as men, nor were they as Aspects. Their bodies were twisted from the greed and lust of Lumen, and they were as devils.

And when she killed her sisters, she taught man how to kill. For all the evils in this world come from Lumen.

Lumen had so fooled the clans of man that she bade them, ‘Travel, men, climb Legion’s mighty finger, that we may make him fall!’

But Legion is eternal. Legion cannot fall. She lied to the clans.

And so the clans tried to climb the mighty finger of Legion, in hopes to grasp some of His power for themselves.

And Legion saw the evils of man, and grew unhappy.

This was no creation of His.

And so Legion brought forth His mighty fist upon the land, and the mountains belched fire. The seas boiled and the forests turned to ash. To the clans of man, Legion brought His judgement, and spared none but the most righteous, whom he protected within a cradle of clay.

Lumen, seeing her father’s righteous anger, fled into the Depths, hidden where His eyes may not see. And there she remain. For she knows that she risks the Wrath of Legion to ever walk upon the surface again.

Ren Rellian

In that moment, the chase was all there was. His sight and hearing was sharpened, his sense of smell heightened, his mind quiet. It was one of the few times that Ren was perfectly aware. Every leaf that blew in the wind, he noticed. Every insect crawling through the cracks in the skin of the trees around him, he saw. As he sailed through the air, leaping from branch to branch, navigating his way through the forest canopy at a breakneck speed, he was perfectly able to feel the path.

    It was the trait of his people, the chase. A gift from the beasts that fostered the Leonai people in times long since forgotten. The instinctual memory of the primal hunt was something any Leonai could call upon. Ren rarely got a chance to do so. He was too immersed in his studies, in his work at his uncle’s loom.

    There. A flicker of movement. Ren stood still, his eyes trained on the spot on the forest floor that moved. Was it her?

    No. It was a honey badger, scouring the foliage for a meal. Ren would leave it be. It did not pay to annoy a honey badger. Especially a hungry one.

    He remained still, closing his eyes and listening closely to the wind as it swept through the canopy. He brought his ears forward, shifting the direction from which he could focus on sounds. She was near. He knew she was. Her scent lingered all throughout the area.

    The telltale sounds of movement through the trees told him all he needed to know. His eyes snapped open and without any hesitation, he leapt from his treetop perch. He deftly swung on a branch and repelled off of a thick oak’s trunk, gracefully landing on a thick branch and running along it.

    Yes! He had her now. She was in his sights. The predator had located the prey, and soon he would have her.

    She looked back over her shoulder as he rapidly closed in on her and without a moment to spare herself, she too took to the trees.

    He chased her throughout the canopy, their graceful aerial dance drawing the attention of a hare colony on the ground. They scattered into the underbrush as they passed overhead. A murder of corvids cawed in loud protest as the two of them disturbed their congregation, but they had passed through much too quickly for any retaliation.

    Ren was drawing closer now. In a moment, he would have her.

    With a great push from his legs from a point high above, Ren sailed directly for Kaela’s torso, his claws extended. He wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from slipping free of his grasp. They landed on the forest floor with a grunt and rolled through an ivy patch, sending a colony of mice scurrying in every direction. They rolled to a halt, and settled onto their backs, breathing heavily.

    “You’re getting better at that, Ren Rellian,” Kaela informed him between breaths.

    “No,” Ren disagreed. “You’re just getting worse. You’ll be an old matron soon enough.” He smirked and glanced at her sideways.

    Kaela smacked him in the chest half-heartedly. “Don’t get cheeky,” she warned him. “You’re the oldest Leonai I know.”

    Ren only laughed at her joke. She wasn’t serious, of course. Ren was only two years older than Kaela, but he was definitely unlike most of the Leonai his age. As was Kaela, although her situation was quite different. One could not simply be the daughter of the Pridefather and still attempt to live the life of a common Leonai woman.

    Kaela Sammon stood up and offered a hand to Ren. “You only caught me because I was distracted,” she stated.

    That might have been true, if not for the fact that Ren usually caught her. He’d been subject to his off days like anyone else, but it was true that it hadn’t been as difficult to catch her that particular day. She had good reason to be distracted.

    That night, her father was going to announce that he would announce that she was now accepting suitors. As the eldest child, it was to be Kaela’s bloodline that continued the line of Sammon. It was a great responsibility, and one that Kaela was proud to step into.

    But not one she looked forward to.

    While it remained mostly unspoken, Ren could see how it affected her. He supposed he understood. Ren was born with no Pride to his name, after all.

He didn’t know his father’s name. Whatever it had been in the past was no longer spoken amongst the Sammonam. All he knew of his father is that he was one of the hated. He had committed a treason amongst the Sammon long ago. His mother had died not long after he was born. To hear his uncle tell it, it was though she had lost all life, and given it to Ren. He was never nice about it.

    And so, he was technically of the Sammon Pride by proxy. An almost-person in the eyes of the pride. One that was largely ignored by the rest of them.

    That was Ren’s existence. A burden. And for a time, Ren truly believed that to be true.

    Until the day he nearly died, and a grizzled old Human entered his life.

    Ren took Kaela’s hand and stood, brushing the loose foliage from his tunic and trousers, taking a moment to brush the longer fur around his shoulders and neck. Burrs and dry leaf particularly liked those areas, and it went unnoticed much of the time.

    “Are you okay?” Ren asked, raising an eyebrow.

    “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, a little too quickly. He knew Kaela well enough to know that she was telling herself that more than she was telling Ren. Ren had a knack for knowing how Kaela thought. Fortunately for Kaela, though, she was fully aware of it. That’s why they were friends.

It wasn’t always that way. As a child, Kaela was as indifferent to Ren as anyone else was. It wasn’t until the day that Ren had returned to the village after having been missing for nearly a week that it had changed.

The one thing the two of them had in common in those days was a mutual dislike of Graede Tembe. As a child he was an opportunistic bully and a liar. He wasn’t much better now, as an adult, but in those days he had been especially rotten. The spoiled child of a wealthy family who fancied himself a warrior. Earlier that fateful week, Graede had convinced Ren to play in the forest. At the time, Ren should have known better, but the prospect of an actual friendship was too good to pass up. There, Graede and some older boys beat Ren till he was laying in a heap on the ground, and then dropped what was left of him into a hole.

They had not intended to kill him, but they had not anticipated that Ren would get lodged in the hole. For two days Ren screamed, hoping someone would hear. Nobody did. Nobody came looking for him. When questioned about it, Graede had lied and claimed ignorance. The matter wasn’t pressed. After all, Ren was Prideless. The only person who cared was his uncle, who was more angry that he’s been made to shear the sheep.

By the end of the second day, dried out of tears and unable to make a sound, Ren had made peace with his eight years of life, and then closed his eyes to die.

He woke two days later laying in a bed wrapped in clean bandages. The old Human all the Sammonam children had been warned about was sleeping peacefully in a chair beside him.

The tales went that the old Human that lived in the forest this past fiveyear would steal away Leonai cubs that came too close to his cabin and bake them in a pie. Most people disliked his being in the woods so close to the village. Humans and Leonai weren’t known for their ability to get along with each other, but the Pridefather, for one reason or another, allowed his presence there.

Ren tried to escape, but found he was still in much pain. His movement stirred the old Human awake.

Ophaestrus wasted no time in calming Ren. He showed a care for him that Ren had never experienced. At first, Ren was keeping a regular eye on the man, but every action he took seemed to be to make Ren feel better.

What won Ren over, however, was that he talked to him. To Ophaestrus, Ren wasn’t just a thing in the room to be the butt of jokes, to have frustrations taken out upon, or to order around.

He asked Ren all sorts of questions, and made inquiries into his life. His parents. His uncle. His friends. Not one adult in Ren’s life had ever done this.

The old man nursed Ren back to strength, all the while listening intently to his story.

The one thing Ren had never had, he soon came to realize he couldn’t live without. By the time he had fully healed, a week had passed, and the time came for him to return to the village, Ren found he didn’t want to.

He never voiced it, but Ren always felt that Ophaestrus had knew it. The moment he had entered Ren’s life, everything changed. The old man knew much of the Leonai, including its social workings. He knew how Prideless were treated, but he also knew how a Prideless might lift himself from it.

Before taking Ren to his Uncle’s, he walked straight to the Pridefather’s den, presenting Ren before him and claiming a lifedebt.

Ren would always remember the look on Rexall Sammon’s face. The anger from having been barged in by a Human, and then the sheer and utter befuddlement of being presented with an eight year old.

The laws were murky. By Pride law, the Pridefather could not enforce the lifedebt of a Prideless Leonai. However, since Ren was yet young, it fell to his guardian, Ren’s Uncle, to repay the debt.

Rexall named Ren to the Pride there on the spot. Ren liked to believe that he the Pridefather felt sorry for Ren, but the idea of Ren’s Uncle complaining to the Pridefather incessantly about owing a Human a lifedebt was possibly the bigger motivator. Aden Rellian wasn’t the most pleasant of people, even among his own people.

But still, it was done. Ren had been named to the Pride. Ren was one of the Sammon. And ironically, it took a human to do it.

It had hit Ren so hard, in those moments that he cried. Ren couldn’t remember if it was out of shame or happiness. The moment was the most emotionally intense of his life, the moment a stranger showed a kindness to him, but stood up to his entire people to ensure that others would.
    Once the Pridefather had learned of Graede’s deed, and it that it might have left Ren dead, he was enraged. His first instinct was to summon the boy’s father and command him to discipline him before the pride, but Ophaestrus offered a better option.
    Ren remembered his words very clearly. “Go up to the boy and make sure he doesn’t do that sort of thing to you again.” He then handed over his walking staff.
    One of the odd things that struck out in Ren’s memory of that time was how surprising light Ophaestrus’ staff was. At the time, it was almost as high as Ren himself, but the smooth gray wood was light, and incredibly strong.

And so that’s how Ren’s first act as a true member of the Sammonam was to walk up to Graede Tembe with a Human and the Pridefather and strike him so hard with the old Human’s staff that one of Graede’s teeth snapped.

Kaela bore witness to the event, and so began their friendship.

And so began a different life for Ren. Being a Leonai who owed a lifedebt was a far greater thing than being Prideless, but still came with its own differences. While it was true that Ren made friends over the years, and even fell in love once or twice, he was still often looked upon in suspicion. After all, he owed a Human a lifedebt, and the last time Humans held Leonai lifedebts things didn’t end very well for either Human or Leonai.
    But still, Graede Tembe never raised a fist to Ren since, his Uncle reluctantly began to pay him for his work at the Loom, and Ren was given something he would never have been offered otherwise from Ophaestrus.

A true education. All Ren had to do was to learn. Ophaestrus taught him everything. Letters, words, numbers. The histories. The cultures of Averis. He taught him about everything. About the Human empire of Tannis Nor to the west. Of the warring tribes in the Hundred Nations across the yellow sands of the Great Span to the north. Of the rumbling mountains and old ruins of the forbidden Odds, in the southern islands, and the great rainforests of the distant Lupar Dominion. He told him about the races. The Leonai, the Human. The Lupar and the Dai’ani. He taught him of peoples and cultures the world over. He told him of the Oculus, the Zealots of Legion, who held strong sway all across Tannis Nor. He spoke of the factions within and told of the Order of the Rod and Shield, ancient warrior monks sworn to protect the divine. And the Sisters of the Song, those who preach the story of Sara, the Accused.

Ophaestrus taught him of history and math. As a child, Ren was certain the old man knew magic. After every inquiry, however, the response was the same.

Are your eyes magic?

Ren never really understood what he meant, but as he grew older, he came to realize that all that was left of magic was in the stories. The realm of magic was in myth, legend and hoax. Sometimes someone would make a claim to magic, but would soon later be dismissed. The legends were filled of tales of men who could fly, who could heal others with a touch. With men who could control the forces of fire and lightning. Who could mould the water itself and cause objects to fall up. Even to change stone into water if need be. These men who controlled the forces of nature… simply no longer existed, if they ever had.

All that was left of them were their relics. It was often assumed that all their relics held power, and so they were seized up. Over time, many were lost, and others passed from owner to owner over millennia, and many others still were destroyed. But as far as Ren had heard, any magical effect these relics once had was long since diminished.

Ren wasn’t taken to superstition like many of his people, and others the world over. He also wasn’t one to be fooled easily.

And so, the idea of magic fell into Ren’s childhood, a rarely-thought-of memento from a different time.

As he grew, Ren found himself drawn toward being a storyteller. Coupled with the teaching that Ophaestrus offered him, he found himself naturally strengthening the talent. While Ren rarely liked to be the center of attention, he had been known to gather a group while telling a story.

Kaela liked to say that Ren’s gift was rare among the Sammonam. Imagination. And it was something that Ren could be respected for, regardless of his Prideless past.

So much so that Kaela’s father had asked him to tell the story of Sammon the Great for the crowd at her Birthday celebration. It would be Ren’s first time speaking before the majority of the Pride, so he too had something to be nervous about.

Apparently Kaela could see it on his face, too.

“Big night for both of us,” Kaela said with a smile. She playfully slapped his shoulder. “Come on. We should go. My father might forgive me, but you he’ll string up if we’re late.”

Windy Knight

    It was a curious feeling, not at all unpleasant, when the desert’s cool night air swept through the flaps of the darkened tent and touched Windy’s moist skin. It brought a welcome relief from the exertion she’d put herself through. Not that her recent exertion was altogether unpleasant, but the cool air was a rare pleasure in the usual heat of the Great Span.

    She turned her head slightly toward the still forms next to her. They were sleeping, of course. She expected no less. Windy knew how to wear someone out between the sheets. Granted, she hadn’t expected the man’s wife to participate, but Windy was nothing, if not flexible.

    She sat up in the bed and looked down to the sleeping form of Perrin, Chieftain of the Sons of David. A dangerous man, if one were to face him in a battle. But battles were things for men. They could throw themselves at each other and die all they wanted. Windy’s battlefield lay between the sheets, and her best weapon was her mind.

    She stood up from the bed and reached down, searching for her clothing. Not that she’d arrived in much, but a partially clad woman leaving Perrin’s tent in the dead of night tended to draw less eyes than a naked woman. The last thing Windy needed was more eyes.

    She dressed herself quickly in the dark and picked up a purple shawl from the ground. Even in the darkness of the tent she could make out the bright hue. A rarity, it was. An item of luxury. No doubt Perrin had gifted it to his wife at the expense of some Tannis Norian merchant passing through the Span, thinking to do trade with Panacea. That was a reality when crossing through the Hundred Nations. War tribes like the Sons of David were just one of many threats the inexperienced traveler had to face up against.

    But not Windy. Windy had grown up in the Span. She’d traveled with Sprees for most of her youth. She took on the shawl of the Glamor Girl the moment she was deemed old enough. In the Span, there were limited choices for women to make names for themselves. You could become a wife of a War Chief… or you could become a Glamor Girl.

    Windy was gifted with golden hair, a discerning novelty from most of the Human women in the Span, with dark hair and olive skin. As a girl, it was a curse. If not for Grawe, she might not have survived to grow old enough to become a Glamor Girl by choice.

    She walked over to the table near the edge of the tent. She wasn’t worried about waking Perrin or his wife. To be honest, with the amount of soma she’d slipped into their drink, she was surprised they lasted as long as they did. She still had to hand it to both of them. Rarely had she entertained a couple with such strong vigor. She could see where he got his reputation on the battlefield from.

    On the table was the box. Still left out from when Perrin had showed it to her. He thought he’d been showing off, showing an innocent (yet eager) young girl such a mysterious artifact. Truth is, she played the part like a veteran actor. Naive, wide-eyed and yet eager to please. She watched with enthusiasm while Perrin and his wife explained the artifact.

    It was magic, they said. It was said that the ancients endowed it with great power, and that he who owns it is granted the light of Legion himself.

    Magic. Windy honestly scoffed at the idea. Magic indeed. Magic to do what? Sit on a shelf and gather dust? To impress naive Span girls?

    Windy might have been young yet, but she was far from naive. If magic had ever existed, it had left the world long ago.

    Still, the box itself was an interesting relic. It was quite unlike anything Windy had seen. She slid her hand across the top of it. There didn’t appear to be a latch, or any way to open it. Near the top, a small circular depression was the only irregularity with its shape. It was smooth to the touch, like plated metal, and yet lacked the chill that metal often took.

    It was deceptively light, Windy found as she lifted the box up. All the better. After all the trouble she had gone through to have Perrin notice her, sneaking Grawe into the encampment, and then dealing with Perrin’s wife, the last thing she wanted was to be dragging it through the sand behind her.

    Regardless of her own opinion of the relic, however, there was decent money being offered for it in Panacea.

    Well, not it, exactly. Money was being offered for any relic, and the money was good. Some collector on the Panacea Elder Council wanted any and all for one reason or another, but the rumor among the Sprees was that his money was good.

    Windy wrapped the box up in the purple shawl and hefted it over her shoulder. She took a step toward the edge of the tent.

    The moons were high in the sky, chasing each other across the horizon. She scanned the skies to the north, searching for the Wanderer. The one and only star that traveled across the sky on a regular nightly schedule.

    The Wanderer never lies, Grawe was fond of saying. It was he who taught her to read the time by its position in the sky. Among other things. Including how to be stealthy. The immediate coast was clear. Thankfully nobody was stupid-- or brave enough to think to infiltrate a Sons of David camp. They were easily one of the reigning powers of the Hundred Nations. Some argued they could even overrun the most well-guarded of the Span Sprees.

    Thankfully, they would never have to find out. Perrin’s father, Sigurd, had been a staunch supporter of the Burning Sands Pact, which allowed all Sprees to be considered sovereign. Rival tribes were forbidden to raise swords against each other when within a Spree. In return, each Spree offered a tribute to tribes when they operated within their respected areas.

    Windy had been running the shadows in Sprees her whole life. She knew the ins and outs.

    Still, this marked her first time outside of its protective confines. Her only protection now was Grawe, and the Betrayer knew where in the Depths he was.

    She walked out of the tent and knelt down by its corner. She could see the flicker of campfire and hear the raucous laughter of the Sons of David. By the sounds of things, they were several barrels deep into the wine shipment that Ezra had arranged for the Sons as their tribute. It couldn’t have worked out better. She stood up and walked past the group, swiftly and silently.

    The center of the camp was one thing, but the edges were something else entirely. During a celebration, the guards set to watch their borders were often those that needed to be punished or made an example of. With the Sons of David, it was a matter of honor, because if you failed to prove yourself as a simple guard, you were useless to the Sons, and you were left alone in the desert with nothing but the clothes on your back.

    To make matters worse, you were also marked as one of the Sons, and if you were come across by a rival tribe, you would pray for a quick death.

    She skirted from tent to tent quickly, working her way toward the edge of the camp. Where was Grawe? He was supposed to have met up with her by then.

    That was when she made the mistake that would have had Grawe chastising her for hours. She was so focused on where Grawe was, she didn’t pay proper attention.

    “Hey!” a voice called from nearby. It wasn’t loud, but it managed to draw the attention of some of the men at the fire. “Step out from there!”

    Windy was greeted with a pike pointed at her. She quickly dropped the shawl-covered relic in the shadows before stepping out.

    She stepped into the light and looked up to the guard. He glared at her.

    “What are you doing, girl?” he snapped.

    “I was looking for a place to relieve myself, sir,” Windy replied as meekly as possible.

    The guard raised an eyebrow. “You’re Perrin’s new toy, yeah?” He spat in the sand near her feet. “There’s pots in the tents, girl. I’d like to believe you’re stupider’n the usual fare, but you don’t sit right.” He nodded over into the corner where she’d dropped the relic. “What you have there?”

    Well. The evening wasn’t quite turning out how Windy had expected. Against wits and walls Windy was a powerful opponent. Against pikes and fists, not so much.

    “Talk to me now girl, I’d venture Perrin won’t miss ya much,” he said, and jabbed the pike in her direction.

    “They’re… they’re just my things,” Windy said. She reached over and picked up the shawl.

    “Off so soon, are ye? And where might you be going?”

    She looked over toward the campfire. The men had lost interest in what was going on.

    “Home,” she said, then gave a nod to the form that had crept up behind the guard.

    Grawe’s blade slid so cleanly through the guard’s throat that he didn’t make a sound. He merely slumped silently to the ground as Grawe pulled him behind a tent.

    “Where were you?” Grawe asked.

    “Where was I? I should be asking you that. Did you know what I--”

    “Quiet,” he snapped. “We’re not in a position for you to rant at me. We need to get out of here.” He nodded at the purple shawl she was holding. “Do you have it?”

    Windy nodded.

    “Then follow me. Be silent, and stay low to the ground until I say otherwise. There’s a small oasis about a mile from us. If we get to the horses there, we can still make it back to the Spree by sunrise,” he said. He nodded to the dead guard. “They’ll be looking for who did this, and they’ll be looking for you. It won’t be safe there for long.”

    “I didn’t ask you to kill him,” Windy said.

    “I didn’t ask you to get caught,” Grawe replied in such a way as to reveal that further discussion was not an option. He was right. That man would have skewered her on the spot, and then only afterward take the opportunity to rape her dead body. The Sons were ruthless. To them, the more depraved the act, the more strength it brought to the tribe. Forms of torture that turned even Windy’s stomach were the norm among them. Few people crossed the Sons of David.

    And now, Windy counted herself among them. If all went as planned, then the relic was her ticket out of the Span. Out of the Sprees and into a big house in Panacea, living a comfortable life.

    Either way, Grawe was right. They didn’t have time to argue. They needed to get back to the Piltdown Spree by dawn, before it left for Span Watch. From there, they could seek passage to Panacea.
    Grawe dragged the body of the dead guardsman into a dark corner and instructed Windy to stay close. Together, the two of them darted from tent to tent, staying in the shadows, where the flicker of firelight wouldn’t betray them. Eventually, they reached the edge of the camp, and looked out to the desert. The sun wouldn’t rise for a few hours yet, but the starlight lit up the yellow sands of the Great Span. It made for a difficult escape, but Grawe was nothing, if not prepared for a quick escape.

    He hunkered down and cocked his head to one side, closing his eyes and listening for footfalls on the desert sands and sniffed the air.

    “At least two guards,” he said quietly and gestured to the west.

    “Won’t they see us?”

    Grawe didn’t reply right away. He stayed silent for a moment, scanning the desert. He pointed to a nearby sand dune. “It was easier getting into the camp,” he said eventually. “Easier when I could see the guards, what they were doing.” He looked back to her. “There will need to be a distraction if we’re to make it out unseen.” He took off his pack and rummaged within, pulling out a small clay jar. He popped the cork off and blanched at the odor that came from it.

    It took a moment for the sharp scent to reach Windy’s nose, but it was unmistakable. It was a jar of Rayne’s fire hooch. Excellent for making a man go blind with drink, or fueling lanternlight well into the night.

    Or, in this case, an excellent diversion. He looked to Windy. “Stay here, keep to the shadows. If you’re seen, they’ll as soon skewer you than listen to any reasons you have for being this close to the camp’s edge.”

    Windy didn’t need to be told twice. She nodded in understanding and kept her eyes trained on the desert’s edge, ready to hide if she needed to. Grawe swiftly and silently worked his way back into the camp.
    She knew the drill. When Grawe returned, it was time to go, as fast as she could, without drawing attention. Easier said than done the way she was dressed. And even once they escaped into the dunes of the Great Span, they still needed to make it back to Piltdown Spree without having been followed.

    Once back at the Spree, they could disappear into the crowds easily. Even should Perrin and his wife track them back there, which they likely would, they’d never find them. They were forbidden from open hostilities, no matter the reason within the Spree itself. The worst they could do is petition the Spreemaster for her extradition. But first, he’d have to lay eyes upon her.

    Windy didn’t intend to let that happen.

    Suddenly, the sounds of shouting came from behind her. Windy ventured a peek down the aisle of tents and saw the telltale glow of a large fire. Grawe had created their diversion. Now she had only to wait for him.

    But he was with her before she even turned back around, silently grabbing her by the arm and pulling her. “Come!” he grunted at her. “We’ve only a minute before they realize what’s going on. Don’t stop moving until we reach the horses!”

    Windy nodded in reply, and ran through the sand behind Grawe, leaving the Sons of David behind.

Logan Germain

    Logan hated leeches. He hated plants that made him itch, he hated bugs that bit, and he absolutely despised the lack of reliable warmth and comfort offered to him by the Odds. It was a stark contrast between the life he was used to in Tannis Nor and what he now faced.

And it was all because his mother thought he needed to spend time with his Uncle. The problem being, when your uncle is Hull Germain, spending time with him is less large estates and balls, like he was used to, and more about digging through the dirt and visiting far-off lands. Both things that Logan had little interest in. Rather, Logan was more interested in pursuing the Governor’s daughter for a romp in the hedges out the back of the Estate.

Unfortunately, because he had done just that, his mother deemed it best that he get away from Aiur’s Landing for a time. And soon later he found himself with his uncle on a ship bound for the Odds so that he might go on another relic-hunting expedition.

Logan was quite familiar with his uncle’s reputation. He’d heard the laughs, the jeers spoken about him among the societies. He was seen as a dire eccentric. The man who chased myths. Unsuccessfully, one might add.

He was a man obsessed with magic. Obsessed with proof. Obsessed with being the man who could show proof to the world that magic was real… and to be the man who brings it back to the world. Proof of the impossible.

It was a lofty dream, but honestly, Logan didn’t fault him for it. Rather, he liked his uncle, despite the eccentricities. He was funny, and allowed Logan to get away with things that his mother normally didn’t, like swearing or lusting after girls. That alone was worth its weight in gold when you were a Germain.

It had been the longest Logan had ever been on a ship. He’d been to Ander’s Wall once by ship. The trip took little more than two days. It had taken nearly a week to reach the Strange Coast, at the northeastern tip of the Odds. First, the skies had changed color from bright blue to a murky purple. The wind turned stale, dry, despite their being over water. The ocean became rough, with strange shoals marking the waters stretching leagues in either direction. Most of the trip had been about navigating safely through them.

After nearly a day of navigating through strange rock formations jutting from the waters, the sight of the high cliffs topped by rough jungle canopy was welcoming. Especially for his Uncle, who made no effort to hide his elation at seeing the distant shores.

The men, on the other hand, were less than pleased. Logan understood why. There was a reason the Odds weren’t visited often by Humans.

Eventually, they made landfall. Logan had stayed on the ship while his uncle took Jonas, a man he had hired out for protection during the journey, out to scout the land. Logan passed the time in his cabin, reading and becoming generally bored. So when they finally returned, with the announcement that they’d found some ruins that looked rather promising, Logan jumped at the opportunity to come out with them.

After all, anything was better than being cooped up in a smelly ship’s cabin with a bunch of smelly men running around. Especially when you were only fifteen.

After three nights, he regretted his decision. He was tired, wet, sore, itchy and desperately wanted to spend a week in the baths at Aiur’s Landing.

But Hull wasn’t about to go anywhere.

The site was larger than Hull had originally thought. After clearing away much of the dense jungle brush, they realized the ruins were much more dense and spread out. Logan himself had found several outcroppings that appeared to be manmade.
    Most of the ruins were slabs of cracked stone that littered the ground. Some had markings, which his Uncle had meticulously copied into a notebook before moving on, but they made little sense to Logan. Either they were random scribblings of the Ancients, or words of power. But somehow, Logan doubted they’d ever understand what they truly meant.
    Hull, on the other hand, was convinced that there was something to the ruins. Something to these ruins, in particular had kept him driven and focused.
    To Logan, they meant little. He tended to tune his uncle out on his rants, or as he barked out orders to the men.

Earlier that morning, he’d been especially excited about a particular pond near the edge of the camp that he suspected had formed in the millennia since the Strange Coast had been abandoned. While Logan was amused by many of Hull Germain’s ramblings, again, the novelty was beginning to wear off.

So instead, Logan took his time exploring the area at the edge the camp, tossing pebbles into the foliage and amusing himself.

“This place isn't the place ter 'ave a laugh,” Jonas suddenly said, coming up from behind him. “There be radge evils in these lands, bae.” Logan turned to see the gruff man standing with his uncle. “Dun’ wander far. If ye're caugh' by a Dai'ani, they'll 'ave a time skinnin' ye alive, like. Then they'll pick yer apart, piece by piece, an' make yer watch as they cook an' ea' yer parts.”

“Nonsense,” Hull commented with a wave of his hand. “Pay no mind to Jonas. Have I ever told you about the time I came face-to-face with a Dai’ani, lad? It was on the western rim of the Odds, past the Crystal Spires. I made landfall with a group to get our bearings and forage for food. While in the jungle, I came across some fascinating markings on broken stone, only to look up to see one staring at me. There I was, faced with a Dai’ani, who stared back at me. To be quite honest, I was fearful. But for minutes we stood there, staring at each other. Finally, it left.”

“What did it look like?” Logan asked.

“Much like the tales tell us. Skinny, with unnaturally long limbs, yellow eyes and their skin, oily and black as pitch. But I never sensed it wanted to harm me. I believe it was more curious.”

“Pah,” Jonas spat. “They be beasts, like. Savages. Curiosity is fer 'umans, no' monsters. They go' no soul. No guil' or mercy. Animals, like. ”

“Then it’s good we have you and your men, Jonas,” Hull said. “I’m certain that you’re more than capable of dealing with any threat doled out by these savages.”

    Jonas gripped his sword. “I paggered donnats more’n twice m’ken, but Dai’ani be a diff’rent beast, like. I seen ‘em once tear a charver's limbs righ' fre 'is body, like i' were tearin' the wings fre a fly. Strong b******s, they is. An' vicious. Let's jus' pray ter Legion we nivver 'ave ter find ou'.”

    “I’m certain we won’t have to. We won’t be here more than a few more days. Just enough time to collect some samples and be on back to Aiur’s Landing.” He looked down to Logan. “But Jonas is right. There aren’t merely Dai’ani out here, lad. The Strange Coast has many breeds of beast. Some of which could snatch you up in its jaws with such swiftness that we’d never know you were gone until there was naught left but pieces of you. You should stay close to the men.”

    Logan sighed. A few more days of leeches and itchy plants. Not something to look forward to. Logan almost wanted to go back to the ship, if not for the fact that he was certain he’d be even more bored there. He looked back to his Uncle. “What more is there to collect here? These ruins have been picked clean.”

    Hull wore a strange smile. Logan was immediately reminded that despite the leeches, itching plants and cold ground, that Hull Germain was in his element. “Not entirely, lad. It’ll be some time yet before it’s finished, but we’re pumping that pond clean. If I’m correct, we may discover something worthwhile within it. It’s unnaturally deep for a pond. If I’m correct, it formed some time after the cataclysm, and might just house some secrets that have yet to be looted.”

    Logan somehow doubted it, but he didn’t voice it. It wouldn’t do any good either way. Once Hull Germain had it in his head to do something, he did it.

    “Come then, boy. The pump should have done its work by now.”

Romero Kaisar

    Romero Kaisar stared absently out the small window provided in his carriage. Outside, the city of Skychapel flowed by. He caught glimpses of what one would expect from the so-called Holy City. He caught the telltale blue-and-white habits of the Sisters of the Wave. The sounds of the chants from the Brothers of the Rod and Shield wafted through his carriage as it made its way toward the city’s centerpoint. The Cradle of Legion itself, the Oculus Praesidium.

    Romero took note of the pilgrims flowing through the streets, causing his carriage to stop and go abruptly, and swore under his breath. He had little respect for men who valued faith over reason, and even less respect for ignorance.

    They would come from all across Tannis Nor, from as far away as the Hundred Nations to worship Legion. To beg him for tolerance of their sins. To pray for absolution in sight of their deaths.

    And they would lay their foreheads upon Legion’s Tear, the ring of metal that lined the ground in the Praesidium Plaza, thinking they might somehow be touched by His grace.

    But Romero was much more cynical than that. His studies in history had taught him that Legion’s Tear was not put there by Legion. It had been cast from the metal of the weapons left on the battlefield during the first year of Emperor Houten II’s rulership, nearly twenty centuries prior. The same battlefield, high in the northern forests of Tannis Nor, that later became Skychapel.

It was no City of Legion. It was a city of bones. Built upon flesh and death, a gift granted to the ancient Oculus Sect for their work in undermining the enemies of a fledgling Empire. The Legionis Oculum was a plague masquerading as elation.

He had been there before, of course, for different reasons in the past. For a time, he had come to know a young Sister of the Wave. She was all he thought of at the time, when he was still young and wild and the two were filled with passion and energy. But as with all Sisters, she could not love him the way she loved Legion. Heartbroken, he had to move on.

This time, he was here for a completely different reason.

He had been summoned. By the Dominis himself. The so-called Hand of Legion on Averis. Despite his personal beliefs, one simply did not spurn the Dominis. Especially not the Dominis Abel II, a man he had known his whole life by another name, before his ascension to Dominis.

    Unfortunately, Romero had no idea why he’d been summoned. All he knew was that he had no choice but to attend to the Dominis. Especially after his grace had gone through all the trouble to leave him no other option. He’d been in the middle of preparing a tutoring outline for the young boy of a wealthy cotton merchant in Aiur’s Landing when the knock came to his door. On the other side, two of the Dominis’ elite guards stood, and gave him five minutes to collect his belongings.

    Nearly two days later, they had arrived. At least they had done him the honor of stopping at an inn with a bathhouse the night before. One simply did not show up to a meeting with the Dominis smelling of himself.

    The carriage stopped at the apex of Legion’s Tear, before the large marble columns that led up to the entrance to the massive complex that was the Oculus Praesidium.

    Moments later, he watched as one of the elite guards that escorted him ran down and spoke with the guards at the base of the stairs. With a nod, the guard went running.

    “Come,” his escort said, opening the door to the carriage. “He is expecting you. He will see you now.”

    “What, no time for a meal?”

    The grim-faced guard merely looked back at him. “You may eat when His Grace is done with you.”

    Of course. After all, His will was paramount to all of the baser needs. The Hand of Legion, indeed.

    Romero was led up the stairs into the grand foyer, a great room with stairs and walkways leading every-which-way. The high ceilings were adorned with paintings made by artists from eras long since passed, but reinvigorated with the passing of every decade. People walked about everywhere. Pilgrims. Sisters. Monks. Priests. He was led up a flight of stairs and into a long marble-floored hallway and passed by several groups of guards. The further along he got, the sparser the population. Past the first checkpoint, the plain-dressed citizens and pilgrims were absent. Only the habits and robes of the various orders within the Oculum were present. Further along, he saw only the Priests, the Purveyors of the Word.

    And then, he saw long hallways where nobody was present. Only he and his escorts.

    For a moment, Romero entertained the thought that he might be killed down that hallway, but quickly put it out of his mind. If they were going to kill him, he’d have been dead.

    Finally, Romero spotted the first guard, the one who had run inside after his arrival. He merely gave them a nod, and then stepped to one side, allowing entry through a doorway.

    Romero walked in alone. There, standing at a window looking out upon the bustle of the city below, was the Dominis Abel II. He wore the traditional white-and-gold-adorned robes, with a crown of alabaster and a scepter of dark oak. He turned and regarded Romero, then smiled.

    “Romero,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you too, Venerable Father.” Romero said, his eyes lowered in deference. “But I find I must inquire as to why I’ve been summoned so suddenly from my duties in Aiur’s Landing.”

    The Dominis looked back at him blankly. “I apologise, my son. I had not realized that you had duties that outweighed the greatness of Legion,” the Dominis said. He looked away.

    Romero was taken aback. “No,” he said. “You misunderstand, Venerable Father. Legion is my soul. The Oculum, my master. I am merely--”

    “Do not worry, Romero. I do not question your love for Legion. Legion has rewarded you, and you have done His will on Averis.” The Dominis stood up from his seat and walked over to Romero, placed his hand before him.

    Romero took the opportunity to kiss the Sigiled Ring, never looking up into the eyes of the Dominis.

    “And it is that loyalty, my son, that has spurred this meeting,” he continued, walking past. “The Oculum has need of the Emperor’s ear, and none have it so well as you.”

    “I don’t understand,” Romero said. The Emperor’s ear? He had only met the man once, in a most brief meeting.

    The Dominis raised an eyebrow. “Oh, my. You haven’t heard. Of course, word might not have reached you yet.”

    Romero paused. “Forgive me, Venerable Father. I’m not sure I--”

    “The Emperor and his wife have taken ill, I’m afraid,” he explained. “A true sadness, but such is Legion’s Will.”

    Romero only blinked. What did he mean?

    “I’m afraid they weren’t as favored by Legion as they may have thought. They have been afflicted by the curse of the nonbelievers,” he said. “I’m afraid the entire Tentos line has turned their backs to him for some time. Their lack of faith harms the Empire, and it was something Legion could not bear.”

    “The curse of the nonbelievers?” Romero asked. He had read about it, of course. But… it was impossible. The curse was one of the so-called miracles of legion. In his rage after the Betrayal of the Aspect, he inflicted the worst plague upon the clans of man. He destroyed them from the inside out, plucking the hairs from their heads, the nails from their fingers. He made their teeth rot in their very mouths. A horrible way to die, were it not complete myth. “Is it true?”

    “We have seen proof of Legion this day, as He has spoken to me and told me of this truth. The Voice of Legion is everywhere, my son. A bounty of fortune comes to those who choose to hear it.”

    “I… I don’t understand,” Romero said. “Were they poisoned?”

    “That bears a resemblance to an accusation, lad,” the Dominis replied with a grimness in his voice.

    “No, I would never suggest--” he started. “I mean to say, I do not understand. I do not have the ear of the Emperor.”

    “Yet, my son, yet. I have heard the voice of Legion, and He sees a greatness in you, Romero Kaisar. It was Him that had you called to me. You see, my son, he also spread the curse to the steward of the young Zachariah.”

    “The Emperor’s son?”

    “He has revealed to me His plan, Romero. And it is a plan that will return Him to glory on Averis. A plan that will see the heathens expelled from His land. But in order for that to work, Legion has called upon you.” He clamped his hands on Romero’s shoulders. “For soon it will be the young Zachariah who will be Emperor. And it is important beyond measure that we ensure that the Oculum has his ear, the way Freya gave us his.”

    Freya… the man who had given rise to the Leonai slave wars nearly two hundred years prior. The entire dynasty was rarely spoken of in a positive light outside of the Oculum. They’d been relentless cheats, scoundrels, hedonists and despots.

    But the dynasty was always willing to give the Oculum leighway, much unlike the Tentos dynasty.

    “That still doesn’t explain how I’m to help Legion,” Romero said.

    “Oh, I’m sure Legion has a path laid out for you. In fact, I daresay upon your return to Aiur’s Landing, you might be called upon by a mutual friend of Legion.”

    Romero could only stare back at the old man. He’d laid it out for him, ripped his life out from under him and set him on a path that he had no choice but to adhere to.

    He’d done it before, of course. Before, when he was another man. Romero could scarcely contain his anger. The unfairness, the frustration. Romero’s only wish was to carve a life for himself on his own terms, without the interference of others.

    Even the Dominis. Especially the Dominis.

    “If looks could wound, Romero, I would bleed out where I stand,” the Dominis said. He looked back at him for a moment. “Be angry if you must,” he said. “Even Legion feels anger. But do this. If not for Legion, then for your Dominis.”

    “What if neither of those are good enough reasons?” Romero asked. He was treading dangerous waters. Saying something like that in front of the Dominis to his face was grounds for execution. Any other man would have been crucified upon the cross for the heresy, and then burned alive for the blasphemy.

    But Romero Kaisar was not just any man.

    The Dominis looked back at him. “Then do it because I am your father, Romero.”

Miriam Kenz

    Miriam had never been so far from Skychapel in her life. Even when training at the White Wave Convent at the Northern Reach, it was still a scant three day journey away. She had been traveling with the Vigil Aeternum now for the better part of two weeks. They’d finally crossed over into Leonai Confederacy lands five days prior, and made their way to the eastern rim of their territory.

As a practicing Sister of the White Wave, her presence wasn’t required on the mission charged to the Vigil Aeternum, the elite guard of the Oculum. Rather, her presence was granted to her on the behalf of the Dominus Himself. She had the suspicion that the Commanding Inquisitor would have allowed her on the journey anyway, but less as a courtesy to her and more that she felt his eyes upon her regularly.
    The Commanding Inquisitor, Damon Aegir, was a proud man, loyal to the Oculum, but she’d often had the sense that his sights were set higher even than his current station. He was young yet, barely thirty-five, but he’d accomplished much, becoming the youngest Commanding Inquisitor among the Aeternum in recent memory. It was the highest rank one could earn under the Aeternum. The man was ambitious, but short of becoming a Priest, he could rise no further within the Oculum, and Miriam doubted Aegir had the patience for the demands of the Priesthood. He was, through and through, a man who desired action.

Aegir had originally served the Order of the Rod and Shield, a group of highly trained warrior monks also serving the Oculum, but the Order’s strict rules of when it was acceptable to use force ended up alienating him from the Brotherhood.
    She knew that the Dominus and he shared a history, and assumed it was his intervention as part of the Priesthood that secured him a position in the Aeternum.
    But even having the ear of a Priest could not allow him to rise to the rank of a Commanding Inquisitor. That he’d done on his own through a near-perfect record of service since he’d signed up.
    Despite his accolades, Miriam saw within him a man who knew violence well. And moreover, was good at it. During their two weeks traveling, she’d never once seen him miss a sparring session, and she’d never once seen him fall.

Miriam’s role, on the other hand, was slightly different. The Sisterhood of the White Wave were known to be healers, guides that helped the dead find their way to the White Wave, and to help their souls escape the cold clutches of the Silence. While that was the main function of the White Wave, the Sisterhood was also known to train in the arts of stealth, infiltration and in a few cases, even assassination.
    The Sisterhood was one of the oldest orders of the Oculum, seconded only by the Order of the Rod and Shield. It had formed in short order immediately following the Miracle of Sarah, some two thousand years prior, when even the Oculum held but a fraction of its current power in Tannis Nor, let alone the rest of Averis.
    As her studies had told her, Sarah was a devout follower of the Oculum in a time when the Oculum were looked upon in suspicion by the ignorant aristocracy of Tannis Nor. She had been but a simple Handmaiden, an Attendant of the Empress. Sarah was virtuous to a fault, one of the few Humans born since the Innocence ended that had lived a truly innocent life.

But the wicked Empress held nothing but contempt for Sarah, whom she believed looked upon her throne in envy. Whom she believed lusted after one of her favored lovers.
    But Sarah was innocent. She had no lust within her. But that didn’t matter to the Empress. In a fit of rage, she ordered that Sarah be captured, tortured, raped and then hung from her neck at the gates of Aiur’s Landing. And so all those things came to pass.

But Legion so loved Sarah, and loved her innocence, that he shed a tear for her upon her death. And so to Sarah he granted an eternal life, in the White Wave. And he performed a great miracle when they raised her lifeless body to the top of the gates.
    A song erupted from the Heavens, in Sarah’s own voice. A song which formed the basis of the early Sisterhood. A song that was remembered, and passed down through generations. A song that told the world of the sacrifice Sarah had made, and that her sacrifice had brought hope to the world in knowing that those who lead a virtuous life might join her in the White Wave after death, locked within her embrace and filled with love.
    And to those who led wicked lives, they could look forward to the Silence. Where none could hear your torment.
    And since then, it was the duty of the Sisterhood to care for the needy, the sick, and to bring peace and justice to those that would use them to suit their own purposes.
    Hence why she was with the Aeternum. As a favor from the Dominus, he appointed her to join them on the mission, for it was the first taste of justice she’d had since her father’s murder, nearly twelve years prior.
    News had reached the Oculum of the location of the traitor, the murderer Marus Dee, and they’d been sent far into the Leonai Confederacy to take him back to Skychapel to face justice for what he’d done so many years ago.

When Miriam had donned the White Halo, the mark of a Sister of the White Wave, she’d been assigned to care for the sick in the plague-ravaged western mountains. But that had never been her calling. She’d joined the Sisterhood for one reason. A goal she had set for herself that was now within sight.
    And to prepare herself for that goal, she had taken her studies in the art of infiltration, stealth and swift killing more seriously than others.
    She remembered the Dominus from when he was a man, and went by the name of Jarrod Kaisar. He’d been the one who took her in after her father was murdered at the hands of a traitorous coward. He’d been the one who encouraged her to foster her skills, to cease crying and take action to affect the change she wished.
    She knew the best way for her to do so was to don the White Halo.

Like Aegir sparred each night, so too would Miriam train in the arts of the Sisterhood. They weren’t far now. After traveling so far into Confederacy territory, the end was in sight.

The Aeternum had set camp early in the day. They were to meet with a Leonai merchant who had information on Dee’s whereabouts. The camp, such as it was, wasn’t much to speak of. Most of the Aeternum slept under the stars. There were but two tents, one belonging to the Commanding Inquisitor, and one given to her. After all, being the only woman among twenty men could have been seen as improper for a Sister, but Aegir insisted she be given a tent and pledged his personal protection of her virtue.
    Miriam was capable of taking care of herself, even amongst the often brutish men of the Aeternum. It was true that the Aeternum were skilled and gifted fighters, and she would no doubt lose to them in open battle, but Miriam was smarter than that. She was also more than capable of defending her own virtue, and she doubted any of the men among the Aeternum would take such a risk.
    Sisters were expected to remain pure until marriage. A Sister could love, but she could never give her body to a lover until marriage. And then, she would be expected to pass on the White Halo to a younger Sister.
    It had almost happened once. Miriam had almost given up the Halo for a man she’d grown to love. A man who had asked for her hand. A man she would have given it to willingly, if not for what drove her to join the Sisterhood to begin with.
    “Sister Kenz?” a voice called from outside of her tent.

She perked an ear up. That she was being disturbed only meant one thing. Their informant had arrived at the camp, and it was time. She’d requested to Aegir that she be present when he arrives, that she might be able to verify whether the man they suspected to be Marus Dee actually was.
    After all, Miriam knew him well. He’d been close to her. As close as any Uncle might have been, if she’d had any surviving family. She didn’t. Her mother died during childbirth, and her father was all she had until he was taken from her by Marus Dee’s blade.
    She immediately ceased her studies and opened the tent flap. Sure enough, of the of Low Inquisitors stood at the entrance, studying her silently.

“The Leonai Akin has arrived. He is with the Commanding Inquisitor. He is requesting your presence.”

Miriam merely nodded to the man, and gestured him away. She started to head to Aegir’s tent. Their camp was quite small, consisting of only twenty men for the expedition, but was a force to be reckoned with. The Forces of Tannis Nor were forbidden by the Folly Pact from setting foot upon Leonai land, but the Oculum was not bound by any such thing. But neither were they guaranteed safety. Many Leonai still held Humans in contempt for the centuries of forced servitude they’d been subjected to at the hands of the Grange Dynasty of Tannis Nor.
    Still, twenty of the most elite of the Aeternum posed enough of a threat to the Leonai to make them think better of complaining about it.
    Finally, Miriam made it to Aegir’s tent and she stepped inside.
    Inside stood Aegir, two of his Lieutenants and a middle-aged Leonai.

“Ah, Sister Kenz,” Damon Aegir greeted her. He gestured toward the Leonai standing before him, who looked back to Miriam. “Allow me to introduce my new friend, Akin Namir of the Leonai.”

The Leonai gave her a curt nod. “It is an honor to meet with a Sister of the White Wave,” he greeted.

“We were just about to commence with the discussion of Marus Dee,” Aegir explained. “Now that you’re here, we can move forward.”

The Leonai nodded. “Yes. I believe I know the man you are looking for. He meets your descriptions. A man of at least sixty years, keeps to himself. A reader of many books.”

“And this man,” Miriam began. “You have laid eyes upon him?”

“I have, Sister,” he explained. “Long white hair, a scar upon his brow, and a long beard. He is residing in the woods outside of the Sammon Pride. I have had dealings with him in the past to find books for him.”

“Including, as I understand, some of the heretic texts?” Aegir asked.

The Leonai nodded.

Miriam raised an eyebrow. The heretic texts were a topic of contention even amongst the Oculum, but she knew Aegir to be a vocal opponent of allowing their existence. They were heavily regulated and watched for even in areas of Tannis Nor that had little representation from the Oculum, but the Leonai Confederacy had no such laws. She knew that Aegir resented that the Leonai could trade in them with such impunity, and held those that did in high contempt. One of the Aeternum’s main purposes in Tannis Nor was to hunt down these texts and have them destroyed, often in conjunction with their owners.
    “What color are his eyes, Akin?” Miriam asked.

“Blue, blue like the sea. A very unique shade, even among Humans I’ve met,” he explained.

Miriam nodded. That sounded like him. She felt hopeful. But there was still one more thing.

“His staff, what does it look like?”

Akin cocked his head to one side. “A staff of queer gray wood, with a green crystal affixed to the end. I’ve never seen him without it.”

Miriam nodded. That was it. That was the staff she always remembered him carrying. She gave a nod to Aegir.

Aegir leaned forward. “You have done a great service for us today, Akin. Tell me, what name does this man go by these days?”

“As I understand it, he’s taken the name Ophaestrus. He has dealings with the Pridefather of the Sammon, and so they tolerate his presence in the Boulderwood.”

“And do you know where exactly his home is?”

Akin shook his head. “Beyond that he lives in the Boulderwood, I know not. My few experiences with him had always been within the Sammon Pride, in the presence of the Pridefather. But given time, I could discover more.”

“Given time, you could do a great many things, Akin,” Aegir said. He stood up from his table. “I don’t think there’s a need for that. We can no doubt find some among the Sammon who would know of the place he calls his home.”

Akin nodded. “Yes. But it’s unlikely they will tell you. He has the ear of the Pridefather, and likely the protection. They would not likely share the information freely with a Human. Especially one of the Aeternum.”

Aegir laughed. “You might be correct, Akin,” he said. “But nonetheless, you have done enough to assist us.” He looked back to his men for a moment, and then back to Akin. “You have done us a service today, Akin.”
    “Of course. Anything I can do to serve the Oculum. Legion above all other gods.”

“That’s a rare thing to say, coming from a Leonai. But you are unlike other Leonai, aren’t you?”

“I am a humble merchant, Inquisitor,” Akin replied. “My friends are goods and information, I make no distinction to the hands of those I associate with. Whether Human, Lenoai or Lupar, all are equal when it comes to gold.”

“Ah yes,” he said. “Gold. I might have forgotten. Your reward for bringing us Marus Dee.” He nodded to his Lieutenant, prompting him to toss a dagger to him.

He brandished it in his hands, making sure to make it clearly visible to the Leonai. Even Miriam’s eyebrows raised when she realized what it was.

“Do you know what this is, Akin?” he asked.

The Leonai paused for a moment. “That is… black steel?”

“Yes. You have a discerning eye, Akin. It is black steel. A weapon made of metal forged in the fires of creation, smelted in Legion’s light itself.”

“It is… very valuable,” Akin continued. Miriam sensed he was growing nervous.

“Extremely,” he said. “Why, this weapon, if sold to the right dealer, might be enough to buy you land in most any place in Tannis Nor. What kind of wealth it could bring you here in the Leonai Confederacy is nearly immeasurable.” Aegir leveled his gaze at Akin, watching the Leonai with scrutiny for a moment. “Do you fear me, Akin?”

    “N...no! No, I...” he finally spat out.

    “No? Perhaps it’s Legion you fear, then,” Aegir said. “The righteous have no need to fear Legion, Akin. Legion loves those who love Him. Do you love Legion, Akin?”

    “Of course!” Akin said.

    “That is good. Because Legion rewards those that love Him,” he replied. “Do you know the story of Invid?”

    “Invid. He is one of the Seven Devils,” Akin responded.

    “She is, yes. She has a particular taste for the flesh of pretenders. For those who falsify their claims of adoration of Legion. She’ll chew it up, digest it, and s**t it back out. She’ll start small, probably with the c**k of the pretender. She likes to savor the sin, you see. And all the while, the pretender feels every moment of it. Every time her jaws close he feels it. Every moment the acids in her stomach eat away at his flesh, he’ll feel it. And when he’s s**t back out again, he will be whole, ready and waiting until next Invid grows hungry.” He put a hand on Akin’s shoulder again and looked him in the eyes.

    “So you see, Akin. Because this blade is a gift from Legion himself, it’s very important to me that I know you accept Legion wholly. I could not sleep at night knowing that such is to be your fate.”

    “I understand, Inquisitor. I accept Legion. Legion is my heart. He is higher than all other gods. I see that.”

    Aegir smiled again. “Excellent! Excellent, Akin. In that case, we should discuss your reward! Would you accept this dagger as payment, Akin?”

    Akin nodded. “Yes. Yes, I would be pleased to receive such favor.”

    “You’re certain?” he asked.

    “Yes! It is a good reward.”

    Aegir held the dagger by the blade and walked up to Akin. “Then accept this, with my blessing, Akin.”

    He suddenly flipped the blade over, holding it by the hilt. He slid the dagger into the Leonai’s throat. Miriam winced as she saw it, looked away and said a prayer for theLeonai, even as he gagged and made disturbing gurgling noises. Even a Leonai can find comfort in Legion. She prayed him a safe entry as the White Wave took him as one of its own.

    Despite his courteousness toward her, the problem that Miriam had with Aegir was simple. He had no respect for life. He was quick to use violence. It was against the teachings of the Song. Death was something that should only be doled out when necessary. When it was required to protect those deemed innocent under the Eyes of Legion.

    She put it out of her mind. The Aeternum’s ways were not the ways of the Sisterhood. Even if the Leonai were innocent and being truthful of his faith to Legion, at least he would be able to bath in the White Wave. If he lied, then to the Seven Devils with him. Either way, it was not her decision. Not her place, but she hoped that the Leonai would find peace.

    She looked back and watched as the Leonai’s body slumped to the ground. Aegir wiped the blood from the blade with a white kerchief. He turned his head toward Miriam and met her gaze for a moment. For a moment, Miriam could see in Aegir’s eyes the complete disregard he held for the young Leonai’s life. He started to smile. A genuine smile. As if what he had done meant as little to him as swatting a fly.

    “Forgive me, Sister,” he said with a slight bow. “But one cannot trust that which has no soul. We have come too far, and I feared he might reveal our presence to our quarry.”

    “All of Legion’s creatures have a soul, Inquistor,” Miriam countered. “Even so, he did us a kindness. His death wasn’t necessary.”

    There was a moment of silence, but Aegir’s smile never wavered. “Of course, Sister. I shall pray for his safe passage into the Wave tonight.” He looked to a couple of his men. “You two, see that he gets buried properly.”

    His men nodded and quickly gathered the body up, carrying it out.

    Aegir then looked to Miriam. “First, though, I must wash this blood off of me. And we must prepare. We have a big evening ahead of us.”

    Miriam nodded, trying to put what she’d witnessed out of her mind. It was uncalled for, but it had been done. Even Legion was no master of the past. They had him now. Marus Dee. Ophaestrus. Whatever he called himself. Miriam was certain of it. She felt that Legion had guided her to him. So that she might bring him to justice. And now, they knew. He was in the Boulderwood, just outside of Sammon Pride. It was only a few hours march south. With luck, she would have him in hand by the time the Wandering Star could be seen.

    And then, she could have what she longed for since the death of her father at Dee’s hands. Answers.