Bastian leant, arms folded, against the doorway of the tavern and watched through the open gate with his brows furrowed. Gail and a small party of men were exchanging goodbyes with someone on the other side, just out of his view. He caught a flash of dark armor, the side of a shoulder with a sigil that gleamed yellow, and a gloved hand balanced on the pommel of a sword. He sniffed and withdrew into the shadows so he would not be seen.

  As the gate was safely shutting he casually stepped into the street, bouncing his purse to catch the attention of the men coming through and the teenage boy that broke off to greet him. Gail rolled his eyes and stalked after his son.

  “You got my mail?” asked Bastian, counting coins one-handed in anticipation.

  The boy rummaged into his jacket and withdrew several envelopes, sealed with plain wax.

  “You can’t be paying my son to ferry your messages every day?” sighed Gail as he drew close.

  “Why not? You want in?” asked Bastian, his attention focused on the letters as he inspected each one. Satisfied, he deposited his coins into the boy's waiting hand.

  “It doesn’t seem very… neutral?” muttered Gail, “Plus you’ll give him ideas, with too much spending money.”

  “Not much he can spend it on,” dismissed Bastian, “Anything verbal?”

  “They said the green still remains, whatever that means,” relayed the boy obediently, eyes gleaming as he counted his pay.

  “Hmmph, well don’t spend it all at one time, and don’t spend it on cards, you hear me, gambling’s for those who’ve money to lose,” responded Bastian as he dismissed the boy. He tapped the letters on his shoulders and raised his attention to Gail, “Any news on my bow?”

  “Clara knows the folks who robbed your wagon, they already sold anything of value in Kal’fall. Probably with the trader they pawned it off to,”

  “Can you let someone from the Phoenix know, to pass the message to Hart? He’ll have some boys buy it back. I guarantee whichever poor pilgrim stole it, they got less than a tenth of its value pawning it.”

  “Do I get paid for this, like my boy?”

  Bastian raised an eyebrow, “Not a chance, this is still what you owe us for getting the pilgrims off your doorstep.”

  “I’m not even sure how you got back in here. What are you, a rat?” grumbled Gail and dug his hands into his pockets.

  Bastian chuckled, “I get around, it’s that or not get your gate open again? I’ve got some mail to read, I’ll see you later.”

  He meandered through the streets to the clearing he had come to shoot, and settled with his back against the lone tree to read what the Company had sent through. The letters were likely intended for Dorius, although they had no recipient's name written on them, and that would not have stopped him breaking the seals and giving each a read even if it had.

  The first was from Hart providing a detailed report on how the move to Barth was going and leaving some details on the pilgrim management. It was written in the guise of instructions to the remaining Company that might be stationed at the Pilgrim camp, in case it was intercepted. There was a very non-subtle final page though, that included an accounting of the costs for feeding the pilgrims at Kal’fall in Anette’s elegant script. Bastian snorted when he spotted its inclusion. He stuffed the contents back into the envelope and moved onto the next one.

  The second was fat and padded with something, he tipped the contents into his hand and out spilled the beaded charm Til’wane had worn on his horn when they first met. The pitted beads were polished to a black shine. He stared at it for a moment, and turned one of the beads between two fingers. A small note was included, once again in Anette’s hand, providing an description of his death, and was stamped with Dorius’ name and the Phoenix badge. Bastian carefully wrapped the beads in the note, and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket.

  The final was a single scrawled note, folded and sealed without an envelope. It had one word - Pilgrims. Bastian scrunched it into a ball and shoved it in a second pocket.

  With the first envelope in his hands, he leant back on the tree and sighed, eyes wandering the undersides of the branches above him.

  True to their word, two days prior, Val and Dorius had left.

  Normally he’d feel frustrated, angry, and he’d burn through the fury like hot flame on tinder till he got his release. This time, he just felt exhausted. What was he going to do, take it out on Elias? The old man almost had a fit when he’d deduced where they went. Bastian turned the envelope in his hands and considered what he wanted to do.

  The short term was rather straightforward, he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. Between the Citrine Snake remaining camped at the gate and the possibility of Sylus’ spies getting wind of anything that hinted they weren’t at Barth - High Haven was the safest place for him to stay - regardless of whether he was doing it for Dorius’ sake or not. It was what came after that he wasn’t certain about.

  He sniffed as he angrily remembered the fight, Dorius so casually admitting he planned to go without him, and drag Val after. He expected no different from the Prince, unreasonable demands, one after another. It was Val’s compliance that left him truly livid, her duty was first to keep Dorius alive despite his worst impulses. He logically knew why she found it so hard to say no, but it did not stop him growing angry that she had still failed to grow the backbone to do it. That was not to say anything of how Til’wane’s death had complicated things.

  It did not matter that he knew why they did what they did. They should have known why too! And have done something to fight their own instincts. He scrambled to his feet and kicked the poor tree that had become his punching bag in frustration.

  The kick did nothing except stub his toe. With a groan he leant against the tree, padding his head with his forearm. He’d made a stupid fucking mess of it, just as much as they had.

  Even the most level headed soldier could be shaky after their first brush with death, prone to badly-thought-out choices and poor assessments. It numbed the soul, and left the better thinking parts of the brain quiet. He should have been calm and patient with Dorius, provided clear headed explanation till he could come to his own wits and assess the situation with Sylus with fresh eyes. Not flown off the handle and blown the whole thing up. Yet, keeping his emotions in check was impossible with that stupid Prince.

  And then there was Val…

  The conversation back in Kal'fall had been the closest he’d gotten to her in years, her walls were impenetrable and her moods difficult to read. He still remembered her as a girl - crying, smiling, even laughing - she’d always come to him when she needed help. A part of him still felt deeply protective of her, ever since that day Hart had introduced them and asked him to take care of her. Not that she needed it much anymore, she had an extremely tough exterior and the quiet competence of a reliable bull, but he knew just how soft the person underneath was.

  With a groan he bumped his head against the tree and remembered how he’d yelled at her, letting his jealous little feelings slip into how he’d treated her even before that. And she only gave him back patience and constancy, whether he deserved it or not.

  He didn’t regret being clear with her in the dark, before every other thing had happened to fuck things up… but he regretted that kiss. In the moment, his feelings had been a mess while he grappled with what he was even worth to Dorius, and when she had looked at him so sadly trying to promise that they would work it out, his heart felt like it was going to break if she left and died on a mountain without him, especially if these were their last words. It hadn’t been a proper goodbye either, just some stupid compromise between fear, anger and longing crashing against her clear request for time, which he had so quickly violated. It felt like the actions of a younger man, he knew better.

  Fuck Dorius.

  —

  “I’ve got news from the Company,” announced Bastian, barely pausing to knock on Elias’ door.

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  The old man was making use of Dorius quarters, books from the Vigilant’s libraries stacked neatly in ordered piles as he worked through things. Bastian deposited the letter and scrunched up note for him within reach on his desk. Elias carefully put down his volume, pushing his notes to the side and opened the envelope.

  Bastian collapsed onto the bed behind him while he waited.

  “Sylus’ spies are hiding within the pilgrims?” he asked as he flattened the scrunched note.

  “I’d have guessed the same,” said Bastian simply, staring at the ceiling, “There’s still a group that refused to move when the Company relocated them, insistent they would be the first through when the gate was opened. There could be multiple.”

  “Assassins Guild likely has plenty of practice blending with beggars and the downtrodden,” mused Elias.

  “A timely alliance indeed…” sniped Bastian in reply. Sick of the thought, he changed the topic, “Any luck with the Vigilant’s histories?”

  Elias rummaged with his notes, “Not yet. They were not joking when they said it was an errand, especially once you reach time periods where name changes were more common. I’ve traced the Fourth back to the Monarchy, but what is odd to me is I can find no documentation of Abrigardius, or what could have been her name before its change, being born to the family.”

  Bastian tucked his hands under his head, “Did she marry in? Did the nobles always do the ‘matrilineal thing’?”

  Elias tapped his chin, “Yes, at least in what we have documented. And I found her marriage - it was also outside the royal line. It’s almost as if she just came from outside the family, but it would be a needle in a haystack to search every volume for births in the right period. She was clearly the last documented Monarch, but her history prior to that point is a mystery, and why pass the throne to someone outside the family? The natural crown's mechanisms have always been an enigma…”

  Bastian barely remembered the history he had learnt, let alone something that felt so ancient as pre-Unrest. He shrugged, and then added, “If she’s not bloodline Fourth, how is Dorius related to her?”

  Elias started, and his eyes grew wide as he processed the thought. Breathlessly he wondered, “The father’s side? It cannot be?” He scrambled with his books, sorting through the volumes he’d already stacked. “I need to start again…”

  “Before you get lost in it,” asked Bastian, sitting up, “Do you know where that Laon girl is?”

  Elias lifted his head, thoughtfully pausing, “She bought tea only a little while ago? The Vigilants might know?”

  Bastian nodded, and set out to search for her.

  —

  Bastian waved a thanks to the acolyte who had taken the time to lead him to the Laon quarters. They’d obviously been in service to the Chapel long enough a secondary building had been added in the back for them, the cut stone of its construction evidence that it was a more recent addition. It was set back, hidden behind a fence for privacy, and tucked away between the wings of the Chapel, Bastian had dismissed it as a storage shed. But there was smoke from a chimney, space for training, and some tables out the back with two soldiers playing a game of something with carved bones tossed in a cup. Bastian approached confidently, and cleared his throat to get their attention.

  “I’m looking for a worker Laon, Lee’to?” He mimicked the way he’d seen her sign her name, lacking a chin horn to draw his smallest finger down, he did the motion in the air like Til did when saying it hoping it was an approximate. He’d not participated actively in the language lessons, but he by instinct watched most things around him.

  The soldiers stared in shock back, like rabbits paralyzed, hands slowly dropping away from their game.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I can’t order you. I’d appreciate it if you told me anything you know, I have something for her.”

  One, with a fully shaved head, set his mouth, and hesitantly pushed his chair back from the table to rise to his feet. Bastian was not bothered to be looking up at a horned face and casually leant on the table one-handed next to their game, “You’ll get her? I’ll wait here then?”

  The Laon gave him a blank stare as they stepped within the building to hopefully do as requested. The remaining one stared at Bastian, seemingly entirely uncertain on how to speak with a human.

  “I know you speak,” said Bastian conversationally, “What’s this game? Do you bet while playing it?”

  The blank stare he got in response was about what he expected.

  “Hume!” hissed an arrogant voice, Bastian raised his head to see a shorter male, two horns arched over the back of his head, dressed in wolf skins and wrapped pants, black ash smeared across his bare chest and shoulders, “What manner of intrusions is this!?”

  He was flanked by two soldiers, who had halberds now. Bastian held two palms in surrender, backing off slightly from the gaming table.

  “I’m not here for trouble,” he reassured, “You’re Ja’kel?” he guessed. As the Laon drone began to mouth a question he responded quickly, “I’ve met your brother, I think, Za’kel? I’m with Val, the Alate…”

  The words brought the drone to a confused stop.

  Not wanting to linger where he was unwelcome, Bastian withdrew the package with the beads from his pocket and handed it to the drone. Quietly he added, “I do not know what your customs are. But my Company, we’d bring back a token from the dead. Til’wane wore this… when he joined us. I don’t know if it’s meaningful, but it’s what I could bring back.”

  The drone carefully unfolded the envelope, his face stern. A soldier at his side suddenly grew weak at the knees, and cupped the charm with a small wail. With slow reverence, the drone released the beads into his care, and two others gathered around the soldier as he began to cry. Ja’kel stepped away from them, not participating in the mourning.

  His voice was stiff as he replied, “A thoughtful gesture. The soldier’s mate will take it back to our colony and throw it into the mountain’s heart in his body's place.”

  “Ah…” Bastian wasn’t really sure what to say at that admission, so he hurried to explain the note with it, “I don’t know if you can read our language. But the note is an explanation of his service and death. He uh… served the Alate to the fullest of his duties?”

  The drone glanced back at the note and replied shortly, “We read your language.” He remained fixed on Bastian, separating him and the mourning soldiers as if he was protecting the warriors who were far taller and stronger. His face was stern and expression unyielding.

  Undeterred, Bastian pressed on to his final goal, “It is my understanding Val released Lee’to before leaving. She is free to leave us…”

  “I have not unbound her, regardless of the Alate’s command. She will continue to serve her.”

  “Okay. I don’t know when Val will come back then?”

  “What business is the Alate’s of yours?”

  Bastian gave up, “None, sorry. I’ll leave.”

  The drone exchanged no words with him as he retreated. He’d been glad at least the beads could be passed back to someone who would miss Til.

  On his return, he hovered at the entrance of the Chapel, peeking inside to the Vigil Chamber. The door was open, but he saw no hooded figures within, and the two chairs at the back were empty. He hesitated, then could not resist his urge to snoop. With a furtive glance around he entered the Chamber.

  In the daylight, the glass cast red and yellow and orange across the floor in great splashes of color. Behind the dais, heavy purple curtains were drawn back to reveal the mosaics decorating the back wall. In the center, a metal eye, made of huge cast pieces that were mounted on the stone. To the left there were two figures - the first was a dragon made of crystalline tiles, each shimmering and refracting a rainbow of colors that bounced around the room as pinpoints of white. The dragon was dead, contorted on the ground in a twisted posture of agony, crystalline blood spilling from its throat. The second, Bastian recognized. A stone throne, and a thousand snake-like tails from the back arched around it.

  A third and fourth were positioned to the eye’s right. The third was a rampant dragon in black, back lined with spines and talons that were burnished gold, and its head crowned with four yellow-gold horns. Unlike the first dragon that was six limbed - four legs and two wings - this one was four limbed, its wings integrated into its forearms. It kicked its feet forward like a hawk preparing to land on a kill, talons wide and poised for slaughter. In the gleam of sunlight, the black tile of its scales shone purple.

  The final design was humanoid, and they held their hands above their head with a twisted horn in their fingers - reaching for the heavens. On either side of their torso, dragon wings were spread wide. Behind them, the motif of a sunrise... or maybe a sunset.

  Bastian wandered up to the dais to examine the images closer, curious fingers tracing the edge of the circular pool that stood at the center of the room as he rounded it. On instinct, he was careful not to touch the water within. A ripple caught his eye as he moved, and he turned to examine the pool. The water within was still - except for the singular ripple that still shuddered the surface - and almost mirror-like in its perfection, casting a reflection of the glass above and the figures on the back wall.

  As clouds passed overhead, the bright colors of the chamber shifted and gave way to dull, spartan stone where shadows fell in indistinct edges. In comparison, the lines cut by the edges of the stone archways that supported the glass were sharp, like the edges of blades.

  A bell suddenly tolled. Bastian jumped and his fingers brushed the water. Outwards ripples multiplied, dissipating like the resonant peal of the bell in the clear mountain air. The reflection of the room distorted and warped, and Bastian felt his head spin as the shifting colors trapped his eye.

  He grasped at the edges of the stone pool to keep his balance, and his fingertips sent more ripples across the surface, splintering the image further.

  His vision flashed black and bright white. A metal eye spun in its socket, pupil dilating as it centered on him.

  And then a rush of red and yellow and grey.