We spent the next morning preparing, and as afternoon began to cede ground to evening, we approached Castle Ryonic.

  It felt strange to move once more as a 1st tier. Losing nearly a hundred points in strength and agility made me feel like a clumsy child as I trudged after my companions, who seemed fleet of foot in comparison, even as we walked along a raised gravel and stone path.

  The sentries had seen us coming, though there seemed to be a frantic nature to the way they were gesturing and shouting to one another that surprised me. Were these not trained guardsmen? Perhaps this would be easier than I had expected. I leaned over to Nathlan, who walked calmly by my side, and asked him what was happening.

  He could no doubt hear exactly what was being said by the guards, but my perception, much like my other attributes, was lowered by the amulet I wore around my neck. He confirmed my suspicions though – they were worried. ‘More outsiders, warn the duke!’ one guard had apparently called to others out of view behind the crenelated walls.

  I also had a storage ring that Jorge had been saving for me, looted from a commander after the ambush in the Riverlands. He’d needed to rework some of the binding magic within it to make it wearable, and apparently had finished it off yesterday in time for this little encounter, which was lucky for me, since I couldn’t very well walk up to the duke with Resolution in hand and expect him to think I was a measly 1st tier support in need of help.

  By the time we reached the gates, there was a cluster of men ready and waiting, looking down on us from their position on the high walls at least 10 meters above us. Crossbows were trained on all of us, and soldiers armed with short blades and shields manned the walls beside them. A tall man removed his helm to shout down to us, and I saw the sunlight glinting off his red mane of hair as he did so.

  “State your business.”

  We traded glances, before Sadrianna stepped forwards. “We are looking for Duke Ryonic of the Western Marchlands. We are here to claim a bounty.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then the man was gesturing to one of the soldiers who disappeared a moment later. He turned back to us. “Tensions are high. Please stay back from the gates until we have word.”

  We once more traded glances, and then settled in to wait outside of the gates. Sadrianna summoned her ‘old man chair’ and took a seat, and the rest of us sprawled about on the empty plain outside the gate a few hundred meters away.

  The man striding through the courtyard reminded me of the ancient glaciers in the Dragon-Spine Mountains. It seemed trite to say that he looked cold, but it was true. There was an air of detachment, as if as he walked through the world there was a distance between him and all others.

  A younger man trailed behind him, perhaps a son based on the resemblance in their hair and eye colour, though I couldn't be sure since their stature was so different. The duke, for this was obviously the duke, was tall and broad-shouldered with a trim waist, and while there were flecks of grey in the hair above his ears and lines on his face that spoke of an experience and weariness that only came with age, physically he looked like a young man.

  His son was different; a paunch around the stomach and a sagginess to his jowls that spoke to a lifestyle very different, one filled with food and wine in excess. Whether it was past training or just the inheritance of his father, he was still broad in the shoulders though, and long of limb.

  The duke seemed to move through the world as if expecting it to give way to him, and indeed it did. The soldiers that had ushered us inside the gate and now surrounded us moved aside, the young man behind him hurried at his heel like a trained pup, and even I found myself stepping back when he walked straight up and into our space. I was glad of the reaction as well, knowing that I was playing the role of a meek and scared god-touched in the presence of far more powerful people. It wasn't a hard act to slip into, honestly, since I did find this man intimidating despite my best efforts.

  Grey eyes lingered on Nathlan for a moment before finally moving on to the barbarians, and then they settled on me. I felt for a moment as if the air was sucked from my lungs. My jaw twitched, but other than that, I made no move, and a moment later it was as if nothing had happened. It had been difficult to wrestle down the instinctive need to activate my aura skill to combat his, but I managed to overcome that instinct. I once more thanked the greater control I now had over my pathbound skill in the 2nd tier.

  “So, you wish to claim a bounty?” he asked, directing his question to Sadrianna who had stepped forward slightly in front of the rest of us.

  “We do. This man,” she said gesturing to me, “is God-Touched. He was being transported by some men under your employ. A man named Francis of the Crimson Lions.”

  The duke regarded her cooly. “And how is it you came by this man? I do not see Francis with you,” he said.

  Sadrianna sighed. “It is somewhat of a long story, but the short version is that the mountain clans do not take kindly to trespassers. There is unrest within the clans at the moment, and your men were a casualty in a retaliatory raid by a rival clan.”

  She then held up her hand to belay any questions. “Rest assured, the people responsible have been punished.”

  He tilted his head. “Punished?”

  Jacyntha smirked and ran a nail down the edge of her great axe, leaving a faint shing! in the air that made some of the soldiers nearby flinch. The duke was unmoved, of course, and looked back at Sadrianna, who simply inclined her head.

  “And how do you know about the boy?” he asked.

  I was a bit fed up of being completely ignored in this conversation, but I was playing a role and it didn't seem like it would be in character for me to speak up, so I just fumed silently.

  Sadrianna shrugged. “He volunteered himself. He was a prisoner at the time - in chains, anyway - and Clan Grey-Rock thought he might be valuable. When we retaliated and found them, he was happy enough to come with us. Told us a story about a bounty, about his capture by a man named Francis, and the riches he had bragged about acquiring in return for this man's deliverance.”

  Jacyntha jumped in, and I could practically hear her smirk as she said; “he wouldn't shut up about it, honestly.”

  The duke once more cocked his head to one side and I was reminded, strangely, of a raven. I had observed one once in the Riverlands near a week ago while we ate. It was after Darrow’s Edge, and we had all been in a black mood. But this little raven had been hopping about near my shield while I ate, hoping to snag a bite no doubt.

  I had watched it for almost an entire bell, and I’d observed a strange intentionality in their movements. As if they acted not just for their own benefit, but also to see how you would react to their movement. Sometimes, when they cocked their heads this way and that, I wondered if they were trying to draw more from whomever they were looking at. I got the sense, in that moment, that Duke Ryonic had spent a long time watching ravens too, and had incorporated some of their mannerisms, whether intentionally or not.

  Sadrianna and the duke talked for a few more moments before he seemed to come to a decision.

  “It is late,” the duke said, “and I would not turn you away to out into the cold, but I will need to confirm things before proceeding. But, if all you have said is true, then there will be a reward for you. Did Francis say what that offer was exactly? Because I made no formal bounty.”

  “I'm not sure myself. Let's see what the runt says,” Sadrianna suggested, and the duke raised his eyebrow.

  “Runt? He's not a small man from what I can see,” he said, giving me a measuring look.

  Sadrianna just grinned. “You should see the men in the Mountain Clans. Nathlan here is a bit of an odd one out back home,” she said as she hooked a thumb behind her to where Nathlan stood quietly.

  The duke actually smiled at that, before turning to me. “So, boy, what was promised for your capture?”

  I winced and shuffled on the spot for a little bit before shrugging. “Francis wasn't exactly clear, but he did make it known that there was great value to be had in my capture and deliverance to you. That you were somewhat desperate,” I said, and saw the duke raise an eyebrow again.

  “No offence, sir, your dukeness! He just seemed very excited to get me back to the Sunsets.”

  “And you volunteered this information?” he asked.

  “Safety is hard to come by.”

  I didn't elaborate further. Instead, letting him draw whatever conclusions he wanted. It didn't take long before he turned back to Sadrianna. “You have my thanks. There's plenty of space in the castle, though, I will warn you; there is war brewing here, and things are tense. Do not leave the caste, and do not go wondering around. Your story makes sense, so I am inclined to trust you, but I will not risk my security for your curiosity. Do you understand?”

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  I cursed inwardly, but Sadrianna was a quick thinker, after all. “My Lord,” she said, just as he turned to go. “You say there are enemies attempting to beset you on all sides? It just so happens you have a trio of capable mercenaries, desperate for some coin. By all means, take the lad and try and ascertain his value. But how about we hang around here, reinforce your walls a touch? If there's fighting to be had, we'll do it.”

  He looked suddenly interested once more, and Sadrianna continued on. “Though, I will warn you, we won't die for you. Still, we're good with our weapons, and I dare say see seeing a few powerful 2nd tier barbarians on the wall will do wonders for your men’s morale, eh?”

  “What are your terms?” he asked after barely a moment.

  Sadrianna shrugged again. “As I said, things get too dicey, we'll cut and run, so we won't charge you at a normal rate. But we're good for a bit of bloodshed, so how about this? You pay us a soldier's wage for three nights, and if there is bloodshed, we renegotiate after you see what we can do.”

  Jacyntha raised her battle axe to rest over both shoulders, her arms draped over the handle and the haft near the gleaming head. The confidence of that pose combined with the muscle on her frame certainly seemed to back up the point.

  The duke smiled. “I'll never turn away competent help. My man over there, goes by the name of Decker – speak to him. He'll give you instructions.”

  Then he turned away for the final time, calling over his shoulder, “Thank you. We shall speak tomorrow, I expect.”

  I floundered for a few moments before he looked back. “Come on, boy!” he called to me.

  I followed the duke and his son through a few winding, open passageways devoid of decor other than the regular braziers burning in their sconces, and the occasional tapestry or carpet on the stone floor. They did little to bring cheer to this old, dark castle but from what I’d seen of the duke so far, I could well imagine that that was just the way he liked it.

  And then before I knew it, we were heading underground. I kept up the act of a meek man as we moved, and the deeper underground we got, the further from the open sky I travelled, the easier I found it to perform.

  After what felt like an eternity of silence, I asked; “Do we not need guards?”

  The duke just laughed. “Boy, there is no one more powerful in this entire country than myself. I am enough to guarantee your safety. And even Estan here could kill most beasts in this area. Fear not.”

  I gave Estan a look up and down, but with the amulet restricting my attributes, I was wary of trying to use my mana senses to get a gauge of him. I didn't know what capacity the duke had to detect things like that, and I wouldn't risk anything just for simple curiosity.

  I guessed he was probably somewhere within the 2nd tier, based on the fact that Vera had been clear that the duke was the only 3rd tier warrior in the Western Marchlands and Fandar had not said otherwise either. I didn't want to underestimate the man though. He did have a thin fencing steel strapped to his waist, and an ornate dagger on the other hip, and there was always the chance he actually knew how to use them. I doubted it though.

  We journeyed on for near a bell, and I tried to memorise the route, though there weren't many branching passageways. A couple of smaller passages off to the left and one crossroads, but otherwise it was a single tunnel straight in one direction. We trudged mostly in silence, and I wondered how the others were getting on.

  *Nathlan*

  He followed Sadrianna and Jacyntha as they made a show of patrolling the walls. Sadrianna for her part was deliberate in nodding to guards as they passed and generally making their presence felt, and Nathlan was glad he could leave the acting to her. He had a different task.

  This would be no feat of his class. He had given up his ward-craft long ago when he renounced his class, and in many ways this felt like a betrayal of the vow he had made to himself. He had worked so hard to find a new calling, to create a new class from the ground up, and reinvent his path away from the warding his homeland so praised.

  But he had learned recently that his past was not something that could be so easily forgotten. He had fled from the coast and joined Vera and Jorge as they crossed the Unclaimed Peaks all those years ago. He had spent time on the other side of the continent, across the ‘Spine of the World’ as many called the two mountain ranges that separated the west and the east of Tsanderos, and tried to put his homeland far from his mind.

  Vera had been a role model. She’d given up vengeance and her home to travel in the far east, and he could do the same, or so he had thought. But now, close to home and with the legacy of his own house baring down on him even now, he found once more a use for those old skills.

  His awareness seeped into the rock below him, and he cast about with his spiritual senses. This was no feat of free magic, but instead a use of one of his class skills; The Eyes Deceive. That was another lesson, buried within experience – that his class could still benefit from, and synergise with, his old magic – and he snatched the wisdom gratefully from the scene, ferreting it away to be consumed later.

  For now, he kept his focus on the stone below, and let his skill guide his attention towards any magic woven throughout the castle structure. It was slow going, and he relied on Sadrianna and Jacyntha to cover for any strange looks they would get as he ignored the outside world. They played their part admirably and looked unhurried as they walked the walls with deliberate slowness.

  He explored with an almost childlike excitement building within as he uncovered more of the runic circles carved directly into the stone castle. These wards were weak. Amateurish. Pathetic, really. Nathlan could have designed a better construction with a few bells to plan, and this had presumably taken weeks to lay down during the castle construction.

  A few times he had needed to pause and spend longer unravelling a particularly complex string or node of runes deep below, and Sadrianna had understood his needs perfectly, choosing to engage guards in conversation and at one point launch into a completely improvised conversation with Jacyntha about the advantage of the terrain along a portion of the wall.

  It had brought him enough time, and he then retreated to a shaded spot and took out an empty scroll and a jar of ink and quill. He had the overall design mapped out in his head, and now needed to note it down before he lost it.

  The air was filled with the frantic scratching of quill on papyrus, and then he was done sketching the patter from memory.

  “I will need time to play around with this,” he said to Sadrianna, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I didn’t realise we were all here for your amusement, Nathlan,” she rebuked him.

  He simply waved her off though. “Give me a bell and I will have a solution. The good news is that the ward is systematised. The underlying magical substrate is relatively weak, because each separate node is synched in sequence to the next. In fact-”

  “Nathlan.”

  He looked up to see Sadrianna’s raised eyebrow and Jacyntha looking off into the distance with a look of complete and utter boredom on her face.

  “We don’t need the explanation,” the barbarian woman said kindly, “just tell us the good news.”

  “Ah. Yes. So the good news is that overloading a single node will cause a magical backlash across the whole substrate and the ward will unravel because of the Falconey Principle that underpins the design-”

  Sadrianna coughed once more, and he did have the grace to look chagrined in response. “The whole defensive ward will unravel if we can break it at the right spot. Give me a bell, and I will find a few possible places, and then we can plan how to break it before leaving.”

  “Thank you, Nathlan.” She said and he smiled.

  “It was quick thinking by you back there,” he replied. “With the duke. Well done.”

  Jacyntha spoke up then as well. “Yeah, good instincts. We can now explore as we want, and we get paid for it too.”

  Sadrianna shook her head though. “I doubt we’ll be sticking around long enough to get paid, to be perfectly honest. Hopefully Jorge and Vera will see us on the wall, and we can signal to them somehow to let them know that the attack can commence. I am concerned that I’ve changed the plan too much already.”

  “I think we have other problems…” Jacyntha said, eyes still far off on the forest in front of the gates.

  Sadrianna turned to look, and then she gasped. “Shit. This changes things.”

  Men and women along the wall began to stir and a few shouted down into the keep. Orders soon started flying around, and the keep itself descended into a controlled chaos, with buckets of arrows being hauled up ropes onto the crenelated walls, and soldiers rushing about in the courtyard below.

  The disturbance was enough for Nathlan to leave his work, and he looked up in confusion. He followed the gazes of his two companions and stood from his shaded seat to look over the wall.

  On the plain below massed an army. Not a large one, no more than a few hundred men, but he still felt himself grow cold. They trickled out of the trees and assembled themselves on the muddy fields before Castle Ryonic with a calm smoothness that spoke to strong discipline. He saw siege ladders in clusters a dozen apiece, and a group of perhaps two dozen men that drew his eye. He let his spiritual sense roam free, unguided by any specific skill, but simply seeking to find sources of power.

  The results were not promising at all. Each man and woman in that group lit up like a beacon to his senses. Powerful 2nd tiers all. Perhaps not a match for him or his companions one on one, though some might well be, but a score of them would swiftly overwhelm them.

  They wore colourful silks wrapped tightly to their bodies, curved swords strapped to their hips or backs, and a few had strange-looking small bucklers in their off-hand. Most wore turbans of various colour, and a few even had veils of thin silk streaming out below their headwraps.

  At their front stood two men and a woman, and they seemed to be just as powerful, though the older man stood out even amongst them.

  The young man in the front, tall and broad with skin the colour of rich caramel, stepped forwards. His voice was as rich as his complexion, and it boomed over the wall with a confident rumble that set Nathlan’s teeth on edge.

  “Stand down, men and women of the Marchlands. We are here on behalf of the Sunset Court. Open the gates and surrender, and there will be no bloodshed.”

  Decker stepped forwards to shout over the barbican wall at the army assembled below. “We have our orders from the duke, and only he can order the surrender of this castle. If you attack now, you will die.”

  Brave words, but Nathlan didn’t like their odds. The wards, while poorly constructed, were still very much in effect, and the army would have a hard time storming the gate. But with ladders and ropes, the group of 2nd tiers would have no trouble scaling the walls and wreaking havoc among the mostly 1st tier defenders of Castle Ryonic.

  It would be a costly victory though, and he suspected that was what was holding back the army below.

  “My father is not an unreasonable man, and we are not here for battle. Bring out the duke, and we will parlay.”

  Decker seemed to hesitate a moment before shouting back. “It will take time to fetch him. Do I have your word that you will wait if I leave myself to bring him your offer?”

  Nathlan had to hold in a chuckle at that. It was such a bizarre thing, this conversation. Two men shouting at one another from a hundred meters distant, and it seemed like empty promises may be enough for them. How different it was to the military history he had studied of the larger empires and kingdoms, where armies of a dozens of 3rd tier warriors would run long campaigns of sabotage and assassination ahead of grand diplomatic summits where speeches and great words were exchanged by the powerful.

  Here in the Sunsets, the relative backcountry of Tsanderos, diplomacy seemingly consisted of a few men shouting at one another across an empty field. The siege engines and gleaming weapons and armour of the hundred or so men on either side did add some grandeur back into the scene, but not much.

  “You have until the sun sets tonight” came the even reply. A bell or two then, not particularly generous. Decker seemed to acknowledge it, before ducking under the barbican again. Frantic whispered conversation occurred, and Nathlan watched a young man sprint off towards the main keep with admirable speed. Some sort of messenger class, perhaps.

  Nathlan looked up at the heavens and sighed as he saw a shy sky, a hint of a deep purple blush working its way upwards from the horizon. Not long now.