The funny thing about the cart of weaponry being left right at the halfway point between the Donai’s spire and the nearest Ooura-controlled land was that Banon and his men actually had to drag it back towards the spire city to reach their forward operating base. Granted, they took a roundabout route as to avoid the prying eyes of any potential scouts, but all in all, such a thing was of little worry. It would take a Pyathen scout far more effort than it was worth to track them unseen, and more than likely, they would be seen. Superior technology might have put their foot above the necks of all Ooura when it came to war, but they had still yet to close the gap in many other areas, stealth and observation chief among them.

  Banon and the two others pulling the cart came to a halt in front of what appeared to be merely a sheer wall of mat. Taking after the Orux, Banon’s group of non-traditional ambush warriors had many mat piles such as this one with cavernous hideaways carved within. The main entrance was hidden, of course, as well as several others and dozens of windows and murder holes–also hidden and only accessible from the inside.

  Soon after the three of them brought the cart to a halt, they tore the covering all the way off and began a more thorough appraisal of their haul. It didn’t take long before the other ten Ooura young men who’d been running overwatch descended from the trees around them. Tyube arrived first, letting loose a high-pitched whistle the moment he laid eyes on the cart's contents.

  Omah grabbed a crossbow that appeared to have already been loaded. About half of them were that way, the other half being at rest without a bolt set in them. Omah immediately started waving it around. “Aren’t these just little bundles of joy.” Eventually, his aim settled on Cloxam, one of the few among their group old enough to have undergone the ritual of Kothai like Banon. Omah pulled the trigger before Banon could even open his mouth to scold him.

  A tiny fragment of bone spun away as the bolt glanced off of Cloxam’s orux skull headdress. Cloxam didn’t even miss a beat, picking up the nearest loaded crossbow and aiming it right back. Though, since Omah was only seventeen, there was no headdress to aim at.

  Just bare skin.

  Despite the threat of a crossbow bolt and nothing to prevent it damaging him, Omah bared his teeth at the older–and much larger–Ooura, his bone-carved lip piercings tilting upwards as he scrunched up his nose. Cloxam’s face was a mask of utter impassiveness, though Banon had known the bulky man long enough to know that meant about as much as a promise from Lonka to stop fishing so much. Banon didn’t bother with words. Instead, he slipped a loaded crossbow out of the cart, weighed it in his one hand until he found the right grip, then he took aim and fired. Cloxam’s crossbow snapped out of his hand, falling to the ground with Banon’s bolt stuck out of the wooden body.

  All fell silent and all eyes went to Banon.

  He hefted the now-empty crossbow. “Huh,” Banon remarked. “I think these are a different model than what we are used to retrieving from the hunters. The sights are still perfect, though the trigger is a bit tricky with the size. Still, I think we might not even need to alter them much. Our bows will never be replaced entirely, but a quickly drawable and ready-to-shoot weapon has its uses.”

  “Did you just shoot me?” Cloxam asked, his emotionless, bordering on dopey features hardly showing any surprise whatsoever.

  “Are you bleeding?” Banon asked.

  “No, but my crossbow–”

  “Yes, your crossbow, not your hand.” Banon smiled, but there was a hint of challenge in it.

  Just as Cloxam was opening his mouth to retort, Omah tore everyone's attentions away by exclaiming with such guttural glee he sounded more than a little juvenile. He had a crossbow in each hand, swinging his aim back and forth across the rest of them. “I could carry at least four of these.”

  “Two is probably more practical. More of a backup weapon than something to replace what we already have,” Banon countered. “But very true. Like I said, plenty of curious options to go along with a weapon that can–”

  Banon was cut off by two shots loosing. His eyes darted only to find Tyube with two emptied crossbows pointing at a spot away from the rest of the group. Following the line, Banon spied a small yellow bird that had been unfortunate enough to be speared through not only once, but twice.

  “Banon is right,” Tyube said. “Very, very accurate things, these are.”

  “No more accurate than a greatbow,” Banon countered. “Just perhaps easier to use, smaller, and without need to draw before firing–for the first shot, anyway. Though at exceedingly long range, I would be very curious to compare the greatbow and the crossbow. That may be where the differences become apparent. I guess we should have tested that at some point with crossbows we have retrieved before, but it never seemed that high of a priority. Though I will admit, if there was ever a time to consider implementing these weapons as a real part of our arsenal, it is now. We could literally equip everyone with two and have dozens to spare still. Not to mention the surplus of bolts.”

  Banon switched the crossbow between several different grips, trying to find out whether it was more comfortable to shoot with one or two hands. For his plan to scale the Pyathen tower, Banon only really needed one or two of these weapons, but the real goal behind asking for one hundred crossbows was twofold. Firstly, to take attention away from his other request and all in the same, to make the single ballista seem less significant in comparison. The real truth was that the ballista was the only thing inherently necessary for his plan to be allowed to go forward, though the crossbows would perhaps fare better than a greatbow underwater, hence them not being entirely just a misdirection.

  “So,” Omah began, “When are we going to get some of that armor we saw you wearing?” It was painfully obvious he was trying very hard to sound casual, which only served to make it far more obvious how badly he wanted to try one for himself.

  Banon smiled. “Sooner than you think. If all goes as planned, we will be standing across from the Pyathen’s leadership–their real leadership–with their daughter's life in our hands. Things will be unpredictable. And so, during those negotiations, I will need the best of you accompanying me. And…” Banon paused for effect, “... I will need you invulnerable to the acid that they believe to be unmatched. Just in case things go wrong.”

  That was met with expected eagerness. Banon sighed internally. The eagerness would give way to petty bickering as soon as he began explaining that Tozi only had two other complete sets of armor besides the one he now claimed–both prior versions made from thousands of sap-hardened tips of moka leaves rather than the scale armor he wore now. Both were sized to Banon, so the squabbling to come would be meaningless. The two armor sets would go to who was best sized for them.

  Something told Banon there would be squabbling regardless.

  “But first,” Banon said as he ran his hands along the ballista, “we’re going to need to pluck the egg from the nest. You all know this, but none of you know the details. That changes today.” Banon shot Omah a look that said it was time to pay attention. “You are our best weaver. I will need rope. A lot of rope. More than I have ever had you make for me, and you only have a few days. You may need to skip a few nights of sleep, but it is necessary. You can sleep through the entire execution stage of the mission if necessary, but I need that rope, and I need it within three days.”

  Omah scowled. “Rope, I can do. Missing something like this? I cannot.”

  Banon was already moving on to the next. “Tyube, remember those breathing tubes you made that we experimented with for a while?”

  Tyube raised an eyebrow. “The ones we tried using to breathe through the mat from underwater? I thought you said those were fragile and only a potentially useful tool for some extremely niche circumstances. Not to mention how dangerous it is if they clog up or break while you’re forcing them through the mat, or if the mat is just too thick.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Banon smiled. “This is one of those niche circumstances. I want three made, just so I have a couple backups if I break the first.”

  “If you… break the first. Are you planning on breaking the first?”

  Banon smiled even wider. “You never know what problems you might run into under the mat after dark.”

  “After dark?” Cloxam, the biggest in their group–weight-wise, anyway– interjected.

  “Oh shit…” Tyube said. “I knew it!”

  “You didn’t know anything,” Omah said, rolling his eyes as he fiddled with the crossbow he had shot Cloxam with. He was not having an easy time figuring out the latching mechanism. “You just found out now, like the rest of us, and now you want to look smart.”

  “What is it that I am sure of then? What is it Banon is planning to do?” Tyube shot back.

  Omah scrunched up his face and paused his tinkering, clearly thinking hard, suddenly aware of how embarrassing it would be if he was wrong. “Let’s see. Tons of rope, breathing reeds, talk of a mat crawl after dark. And… everything else that is in this cart.” Omah’s face went pale as his mouth fell open. He turned to Banon. “Oh shit.”

  Banon chuckled, slapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Yes. Though, just to be sure no one is jumping to crazy conclusions, let me run down the plan in detail with you all right now.”

  Tyube’s eyes were darting all over the cart, his brain still working it over. “To be honest, I don’t know what Omah is thinking, but I’m beginning to hope my guess is wrong. If not, then you’re the one with the crazy conclusions, older brother.”

  Banon glanced between the both of them, waiting just in case there were more outbursts coming. There were none, so he took a deep breath and, sparing a few details only he would need to know, ran them down the plan as it stood. By the time he finished, there wasn’t a single Ooura standing around him who didn’t look like they’d just been told their grandmother turned into a moth and flew away in the night.

  “That is so much worse than I thought.” Omah shook his head. “This is a baaaaaad idea.”

  “Oh no,” Tyube said, wide eyes locked on the ballista where it prominently sat at the front of the cart. “I was right.”

  ***

  Banon had searched for the better part of an hour, but there was no sign of his father. Not down among the mat, not in his home. He looked up, eyes scanning to the heights of the sacred mew tree that towered over everything. Banon sighed.

  Poh only went up there for two reasons: meetings with the elders, which would not be happening again for days, and times of great strife when he needed to think alone. It seemed Banon’s imminent departure to complete the next stage of his quest weighed heavier on his father than he had realized. A part of his mind considered just leaving without saying goodbye. But he had the time. They would not execute their first approach on the Pyathen spire until midnight.

  As Banon ascended, his thoughts wandered back to the negotiation with Princess Lithilyn. Her words lingered with him, and so did the look on her face when the acid-burned girl was brought out. He could not shake the thought that they were not so different. They each shared the hope of peace, she so much so that Banon feared he may be on the wrong path. Lithilyn would be queen eventually. It was not an if, as was the case for himself. Yet he did not have the luxury to wait and hope that the current queen’s heart would be changed or that she would pass on early.

  They backed Banon into this corner.

  Lithilyn wanted peace, but out of desperation more than compassion. What would she want after being captured and held hostage as a bargaining peace? What little compassion she had for his people would certainly be quashed.

  Banon closed his eyes, and in that blackness he found the face of the sacrifice, her skin marred by the acid, her lips cracked and bleeding. He gritted his teeth and kept on climbing.

  As he had expected, Poh was atop the massive webbing structure at the peak of the mew tree that made up the circle of elders. He stood on the largest central platform, hands behind his back, staring out over the horizon, wind tossing his braids about wildly. Banon climbed over the lip of the platform without a word.

  The two of them watched the sea of green below them as it waved in the wind for some time before Banon found the right words. “Father, have I chosen the right path?”

  “Life is an endless series of open pathways. For most, the paths are filled with traps, snares, and pitfalls. In the first eighteen years of your life so far, you seem to dance through danger like a fairy, and when the serpent of fate has struck you, it is as if its fangs are dulled and its venom has become succor to you. If you think I will have some wisdom you do not already have about your path to success, I am afraid you would be wrong. The simple truth is, in all but name, you outrank me.”

  Poh visibly shrugged off Banon's shocked stare. “And happily so!” he added. “I was never an ambitious man. It was exactly why the past elders chose me initially. Our previous emperor, Tomei, was even more bloodthirsty than he was stupid. Despite his short reign, he was single-handedly responsible for most of our losses during this entire mess with the Pyathen. Those early years, Banon, I am truly glad you were not alive to see. You think you have seen…” Poh trailed off, shaking his head. “My apologies. I did not mean to lecture. You have seen death. And I know you do not take for granted what has come before you either.”

  Seeming somewhat reluctant, Poh turned to face his son. Banon mirrored him. “I am but a recent ornament hung on the face of an already falling empire.” Poh took a deep breath and blew it out. Banon was dumbstruck. For the first time in his life, his father seemed to be unable to work the words out of his mouth. When he finally did, they were spoken deliberately, as if he was having a hard time keeping all of his thoughts in line. “All I really mean to say with all this is, regardless of your goals being what you think is right, remember that Tomei thought he was right, Dorse thought he was right, Tema thinks he is right. I think I am right.” Poh put a hand on Banon’s shoulder. “What the real truth is, is that the winners decide right and wrong. You decide.”

  Banon nodded, and without lingering, he pulled away and jumped off the platform to begin his descent back down.

  And Banon found, as the orange bleeding pink horizon began to touch the rest of the sky, that he could not properly begin to express the gratitude he had for his father even in the sanctity and seclusion of his own thoughts.

  ***

  Poh stood alone, hands behind his back.

  He must have been the highest up of any living being in the world at this moment.

  Inside, he was being crushed beneath the mat. Every word he had spoken to Banon was with confidence. But in the sanctity of his own mind, he really did wonder if this was the last time he would ever see his most prominent son again.

  ***

  Prince Rollo sat alone at a table meant to seat dozens. It suited him. This was the dining hall for the Donai family's royalty, and in the past few days, it had been utterly bustling. Not today. Not with the preparations for tomorrow looming on the horizon. Both Lithilyn and Queen Gwyn were utterly disposed.

  “And for your final course, your majesty, the tremblespring ivy is a delicacy that takes years to cultivate a single plant, and will only produce enough fruit for a single square in a season.” The single square in question was about the size of a thumbnail.

  Prince Rollo smiled at his elven attendant. “Not used to calling me that yet? Well, plenty of time to get over that little hurdle.” He reached up and patted the elf’s immaculate white hair like a dog. “Be a good boy and send for Lithilyn.”

  “The Princess is not to leave her room until the wedding tomorrow night–”

  “Well, then, send for her mother. I have a matter I must discuss only with royalty.”

  The elf gave him a blank stare for several moments. “I’m afraid the queen is not someone who can be summoned. I can inform her of your inquiry if you wish. She may send for you if she deems it necessary. What is it you request to inform her of?”

  Rollo rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair so far he felt his massive hat beginning to slip. He quickly rocked forward. To his credit, the elf pretended not to notice. “Then, who can I summon? At this point, I’ll take the royal dog. Oh wait, I’ve already got him!” Rollo barked laughter at his own joke.

  Rollo popped the strange little nugget of red flaky stuff into his mouth. His entire face immediately scrunched towards a single point. “Sour,” he said, and then coughed. “What was your name again?” he wheezingly asked the elf.

  “Igyg,” the black eyed creature said with a blink.

  The napkin froze halfway to his lips. Rollo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again just in time to see Igyg cleaning up the plate he had only just placed.

  This wedding could not come soon enough.