"Heta, Keeru, return."

  Both tigeresses shrank, in both size and body language, turning their backs even as they did so. Jasika jerked but didn't do anything else.

  "Respect the peace, little lightbreaker."

  She glared angrily at the being, but didn't move. The tigresses were fully humanoid by the time they had walked up the stairs, but Harding realized they were not human. Too small and lithe to be human, their tucked back long manes revealed raised ear tips disclosing yet more.

  Both were clothed in clinging snow white robes, which matched both their skin. They turned around on either side of the throne and settled into the massive crimson pillows. White haired Keeru facing the group sitting, while black haired Heta curled up with her back turned. They both perched in distinctly feline fashion.

  Harding stared into Keeru's eyes for a moment, eyes much too large to be human for the size of her face and such light blue she almost appeared to be blind. Her nose and mouth appeared quite small, dainty yet angular. She noticed his attention and smiled, mouth extending nearly completely across her face to reveal a large mouth full of teeth more like a cat than a human.

  The man lowered a hand, covered in an articulated metal glove of dull grey reminiscent of Yhavat. He patted Keeru on the head before standing. He was average size for a man, if he was a human beneath the mask, though slight in build. He flowed down the stairs to stand before them.

  "Time to sort," he announced.

  He looked over at Runild or maybe next to her. "Yes, I accept the claim. Take what is yours, the pathfinder and her initiate."

  Runild and Buckley simply disappeared.

  He walked through the rest of them as if he had no care. He bent down to Hamon, who watched emotionlessly. He pressed an extended finger tip lightly to Hamon's forehead. Hamon's mouth opened slightly and then his body fell lifelessly to the floor. Harding tried to yell but his body wouldn’t respond. Instead, it just turned to track the being in white, always facing him on its own. The being knelt beside Howie, who watched the approach passively. None of them seemed to be able to move or even express themselves.

  "Don't worry so much, I sent him into gentle care. Two watch over him. As for you," he told Howie, "blessed be the baker who feeds the living. You are a noble soul, but not mine. Sleep."

  He pressed the same fingertip to Howie's forehead and the giant went limp.

  The being then stood and surveyed the scene. "Keeru, you really are messy. Clean up your mess." As he dismissed his concern over the carnage, all the bodies and blood were gone. Everything was gone but the two survivors.

  The man reached out, tenderly cradling Jasika's cheek gently with his metallic skeletal hand. "I would induct you, but you are not available. I honor your commitment and power. I cannot advance you, but I can gift you."

  He lightly tapped the tip of her nose with his thumb. His featureless mask split organically into a smile wider than the mask itself, curving up on either side. Only darkness was behind the gap, as if the art was unfinished. Jasika made a soft groan of pain and fell to the floor and laid there unmoving. He turned to Harding, face still in the grotesque grin and casually commented, “She sleeps.”

  Harding felt himself slump as tension released in his body. He hadn’t even realized how unnaturally he had been standing. Now though, he had control. And with that he realized that control was an illusion, as he could do nothing here. His head sagged in defeat.

  “They’ll all be fine,” said the being, “I like seeing them grow, but when you’re a mortal that process can be painful.”

  He laughed suddenly, “You realize he sat there for over thirty years trying to figure that out?”

  The mask solidified, the rictus releasing, “So before we start, do you have any questions?”

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s a good start. I’m death.”

  “The god of Death?”

  “The god? No, no, nothing like that.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “Most things are, usually if you think it's simple you’re missing something.”

  “So you are death, but you’re not the god of death?”

  “Now you’re getting it. I’m death. I live alone with two cats.”

  Harding stared in disbelief, then frowned, “I hate to ask this, but- why am I still alive?”

  “We’ve business.”

  “With me.”

  “Yeah, it’s like a welcome to the company orientation.”

  “You’re my employer…”

  “Nah, death is more like… middle management.”

  “I thought Okkor was my claimant.”

  “Was.”

  “Okkor just traded me and now I’m an agent of death?”

  “Not an agent, just an investment.”

  “You invested in me…"

  "Nothing's free."

  "Ok. So you bought me, what's that mean?"

  Death shrugged. "You'll continue doing what you will. You'll keep learning and growing in your own way. You just get a hand here and there in exchange for your occasional service."

  "Like what, slaughtering villages?"

  "Oh no, that stuff isn't me. I just need you to check in with my agent and then work on the things you already have been."

  "That seems too easy, after the trouble you sent to bring me here."

  "Why do you think I went to any effort to bring you here?"

  "There is no way this just happened by coincidence."

  "It's not coincidence, it's Fate. Fate does that stuff, I just sit in this hall and manipulate multidimensional forces. Occasionally subvert a culture. Basic stuff."

  They paused, then satisfied death told Harding, "You will tell no one of this, do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "You will go where I show you and ask for Chord. He will help you figure things out. I'm sorry it's like this, but I don't make the rules."

  "What is like what?"

  Death reached out and drew a circle on his forehead. Pain opened up, not just physical but emotional pain. Tears ran down his eyes, but he couldn't move. It felt like his brain was folding into itself. His stomach hurt and it felt like he had voided his bowels. In his mind he saw before him Bresham’s main gates. He flew through them, through the city, over the bridge, over the heads of the unaware citizens. The movement was in lurches, blurring forward to pause at key points. It led him into a part of the city he had never been to, through a gate, past a park, down the road and turned to look at a nondescript and unmarked building. After a moment, he lurched through the closed front door and the subsequent hallways, down the stairs and into a large underground chamber that seemed like a warehouse. At the end of the rows of boxes sat, squat and heavy, a thick wooden desk and a worn leather chair. In the chair was a bulky man, his bulk being more muscle than anything else. He looked up and said, “Sir?”

  Darkness took Harding. A deep, deep darkness. There was no direction, no sense of up. He floated weightless, directionless in a sea of nothing. Harding couldn’t see himself in the dark, there was nothing to indicate he even existed. No body, no touch, no breeze, no sound. And then even awareness of himself faded away.

  It was reminiscent of what Runild had done to him, but even that thought didn’t occur until after he woke. When Harding woke, he found himself lying on the counter of the butcher’s shop above the domain. He sat up in the daylight and looked around. On a meathook behind him hung a human skin, his, as if he’d been completely skinned. Yet he was currently whole.

  “That’s messed up…” he mumbled.

  There was a soft little groan beneath him. He looked over the edge and beneath him was Jasika, curled up in a fetal position on the floor surrounded by a ring of ash. Harding slid off the table, careful to not step on her fitfully sleeping form. While crouching at her side, he looked over at the hanging skin again. Blood pooled beneath it.

  “You’re seriously messed up, Death.”

  Jasika stirred and then coughed, choking. Propping herself up on her elbow, she spit out a rosebud. She spit a few more times to void herself of a few stray pedal pieces. She looked at Harding, “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing.”

  “Where is Jarred?”

  “I don’t know, it's just us here as far as I know.”

  “He better not be dead.”

  “I don’t know Jasika, it doesn’t look good. I mean that is my skin hanging there…"

  Jasika made a face and turned around to look. He heard a little gag when she saw his saggy shell hanging and dripping.

  "We need to find him," she said with urgency.

  "Let's collect ourselves and look efficiently."

  She nodded and got to her feet. Standing he joined her in a systematic search of the small shop. They found nothing.

  Stepping outside, Harding turned to her and asked, "Are you feeling ok?"

  "Yes, just worried, why?"

  "Maybe you could go back to your family and get searchers?”

  Jasika grabbed at the back of her head and looked around the street of the ghost town. "You will keep looking?"

  "Every inch."

  "Very well, I'll be back."

  She took off at a run towards the hillside camps. Harding watched her go, struggling with the weight of guilt for his responsibility in the whole thing. He had helped find the place, he had recruited the Garnets for Runild, and he had found the secret passage. It looked like some force was guiding him there intentionally, with the rest being just unwitting tools.

  Maybe it was just a redirection of one of the portals.

  He hardly could give himself hope that he should be so lucky. He turned down the street and started going building by building, ruin by ruin, looking for survivors in an expanding square. After a bit a contingent of House Garnet guards showed up and helped the search, but Jasika didn’t return. It was really evening by the time they'd searched the town. No others were found. Realizing what he had to do, heart full of dread and fear, he went with the guards back to House Garnet’s camp. There he was escorted in with Jasika to face the duke and duchess.

  He quickly told the story of Jarred's stand to defend his sister and of Jasika's extreme effort to save him. He did skip what happened after that though, since it wasn't relevant to their son’s well-being. The duchess looked at him like she was devising his torture, but the duke sat back and sighed.

  "That's a rough death," he said, "but an excellent display of character. Dear, I am proud of our children."

  The duchess nodded softly then asked Harding, "How strong were these beasts?"

  "I'm an inadequate judge, but based on Ghasatavaro, each was at least a godling and the third? Definitely something more."

  She stared at him impassively, "Six of you, two injured, against that and you and my daughter somehow live. Explain."

  "I can't? He just stopped the fight. No one could move. Then he started wandering around ‘sorting’ people. I think Runild and Buckley live, but I know not where they were teleported. He said Jasika was already committed and he ‘honored’ that? I was the last and we talked. I asked who he was, he said death. I asked if he was a god, he said no. Then I woke up on a butcher's table with my literal skin hanging on a hook. Jasika was on the floor next to the table, curled up and asleep in a circle of ash with a thorny rose in her mouth. Not in her teeth, actually stuffed in her mouth."

  The duke and duchess looked at each other, visibly concerned. "He does not need to know," the duke told his wife. "It is far behind them," she agreed.

  The duchess settled back in her chair. "And Rent?"

  "Dead, in one of the challenges."

  “And Tommy?”

  “The same challenge.”

  The duke learned forward, expression curious, “And his seeds?”

  “Uh, harvested and given to Jarred, after that I don't know.”

  “And was anything actually gained from all of this?”

  “A violet seed which Runild had and, ah, experience with domains?”

  The duke managed to look both amused and disappointed, “Jasika said you were diverted from the domain.”

  “Yes sir, that was Runild’s assertion at least.”

  “So there is still an active domain functioning in the camp that could overflow during the faire.”

  “That is actually true.”

  The duke glanced at his wife, then smiled apologetically at Harding, "Will you continue to stay with the House, and be Jasika's guardian, until Jarred returns again."

  The duchess exhaled derisively, "Guardian? She's ten times more lethal."

  Harding couldn't argue, both by station and in truth.

  "Yes dear," admitted the duke, "but not all things can be slain."

  The words pierced her objection and she sank back in her chair, slouching in some slight defeat. The duke gently touched her hand, "Including our son."

  "I was hoping," she sighed, "that he'd make it at least a year this time."

  Harding blinked, mouth agape, "What?"

  The duke gave a tired sigh, "My boy hasn't gone from birthday to birthday without dying since he was given a sword for his eighth birthday."

  "There is always that risk, it had nothing to do with the sword," the duchess countered, finger raised in point.

  The duke, however, finished her thought, "He knows that realm well enough to not be concerned."

  Harding gave a nervous laugh. "So, we just wait?"

  "Indeed, he could be back at the Manor house already," the duke admitted.

  "Get cleaned up and then be ready to escort our daughter."

  "Yes si- er, Lord, Lady- ah…"

  The Duke laughed and waved him off.

  Harding left quick and went back to his tent. He felt so bad about the outcome and yet, he was reminded again by the Garnets, things should be ok. Minus some lost gear, time and opportunities which he hoped he want held accountable for.

  As with all things in Life, what was said was not necessarily what was meant. Staying with the Garnets was the preferred thing, keeping the same bed and base. Guarding Jasika didn't mean to physically stand guard, instead Harding expected interactions with her like what he had with Jarred. Life carefully managed expectations, it just didn't make them known.

  Harding cleaned up, changed completely and stayed in his tent. He had no book to read and now could much more understand Rent's policy of only carrying copies of works. He had no one to talk to either so his mind wearily wandered.

  His goal was still to learn to fight and be useful in combat. He was nowhere near satisfactory in that aspect. Rent was still his best option for training without joining the Eights, and even then Rent might still be the better option overall for both learning and experience. His good spirit growth was offset by no real changes in seeds since the leech, but he understood that took time and domain runs. He still didn't have an end goal in pushing the advancement of his spirit body, right now it hung as an open ended quest.

  Which led him to wondering about the other things hanging over him. The biggest being who this guy in Bresham was that he was supposed to go visit. Rent wasn't a concern, he would find Harding when he was back. Jarred might be more of a problem considering his propensity to cause them, but it was of little concern too. Which left a great deal of minor mysteries.

  There was still more functionality in leech to discover, as were there questions about the voidseeds. He still had all sorts of questions about how spirit works, how casting through other gates worked exactly and how seeds were interfacing with the physical realm. The likelihood of straightforward answers on any of that was depressingly slim though. It was as if everything, by the very nature of its creation, was both simpler than explained and intentionally evasive of discovery.

  Add to that whatever the ox-headed alph had done to him. Then there was death? Besides being purchased, what was the meaning or purpose of being skinned and did the skin matter? Who or what was the strange figure Sam and the same questions pressed for Bluejay, Ricasso and their lackeys as well. To a lower degree still was what vast knowledge Runild, and the other Eights, were hiding.

  For now though there was CombO and his duty to play at the brotherly function of escort. What the duchess said was right though, he was worthless in protecting anyone from physical harm.

  Harding relaxed himself and began to change his state of mind for meditation. He nearly jumped off the cot when he switched to spirit vision. He could see the flow of spirit, not just feel its density and passage but actually see it. He could now see the density, coloration and flow at a granular level. As if that sudden change in vision wasn't shocking enough, with the vision he could see the energy moved independently. Not just with the overall current, which moved like gentle waves across his vision, but a secondary movement that seemed to seek about with its own seeking.

  He looked inward, carefully, and found the change to apply to the mind's eye too. The resolution and even awareness of energy in his body had changed when deliberately watched. In a state of wonder, he leeched himself. The parasites in him were visible clumps of energy moving just beneath the skin. They moved slightly, wiggling in a flat but near dimension space as they waited to feed. He could see them well enough to count them, instead of just being aware of presence.

  Possessed by a desire for knowledge, Harding drew his knife and slashed himself lightly away from one of the parasites. The ones nearby all shifted towards it, but they began to feed before getting to the actual wound. In fact, none of them actually connected directly to the cut when they stopped moving.

  They drew sustenance from the wound. At first, Harding thought it might be that they prevented blood flow to the area, but they didn't have the density to do that nor were there the other effects of restricted blood flow. Instead it seemed to Harding that they were growing off the disruption to the continuity of the body itself and in doing so diminishing the damage by consumption of the damaged material. The cut didn't shrink, no response occurred like a repair effect. Instead, it just stopped the bleeding and other changes that should be happening to the physical body. Except, of course, pain and actual opening.

  Realizing that the sudden relaxed state of the parasites meant that the wound was probably as stabilized as they could manage, he slashed his arm again and watched them once more surge to feed. They definitely weren't healing, they were consuming. And yet that subsequently accelerated the body's own responses as if it was healing. Harding watched, fascinated.

  When they'd finished again, he cut deeper, hissing in the pain. He was pretty sure he had nicked the muscle as the dermis flowered open. The burning sensation was quickly consumed, then the weird dual state of numbness and heightened awareness of a sharp pain. In under twenty seconds, the bleeding has stopped entirely. The bled blood remained, they didn't actually eat the blood. He wiped it clean with a dressing.

  He cut again, but the bleeding didn't stop. After a few moments, Harding realized that the parasites must stop feeding after they completely filled with spirit. He inhaled them and felt the surge in available spirit.

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  All he had to do, Harding figured, was track the point of interface between the parasites and the body and he could use the mechanics to affect the body. In fact, if he-

  "What are you doing?"

  Harding looked up to see Runild.

  "Uhm, experimenting?"

  Harding realized he had his sleeve up and a neat row of bloody lines sliced up his arm. Runild looked at him suspiciously.

  "This leech power is weird, it's using spirit to create an interface with the body where it consumes the damage and converts it back to spirit."

  "Oh, yeah, orange magic is weird. It's never as simple as it seems."

  "People keep telling me that," he sighed. "I'm glad you're ok, what happened?"

  "The faction I belong to was pissed off about rules being bent and were there to complain. They saw Buckley and I while there and took us when they left."

  “The faction you belong to…”

  "They sent five alph to lodge a complaint with him. His pets being notoriously violent and without regard for protocol, seems like they went together for protection."

  Harding smirked. That sounded accurate to him.

  "I heard everyone died but Lady Garnet and you."

  "Unfortunately. I feel responsible, but I can't replace people's lost stuff."

  "Don't worry about it, it happens. That's why people don't wear good gear into a dungeon. And I'm the one that opened the way. You don't get to have all the blame."

  "What the hell is that about anyways. Just random hallways of guaranteed death."

  Runild approached as if to sit, eyed the mess and chose to remain standing. "If you think about it, it's not that uncommon in other worlds. Random events, death traps, stuff like that. At least this one had a story, some greater purpose. Why we got sent to Death, I don't know. But someone clearly wanted us there or his Taaka would have ripped us apart."

  "Those things were Taaka?"

  Runild smiled and ruffled his hair like he was a kid. "Yes, long ago they were little cannibal witches. Eventually they became Death's pet immortal shifting monsters."

  "How do you know this?"

  "Ah, uhm. I have had a lot of experience in this world and worked for various organizations. You pick up stuff."

  "You're an alpha aren't you."

  Runild winked, but remained silent.

  "Organizations?"

  "There's an official religion-story and then there are the monks for each individual high god, yes?"

  "Yeah…"

  "And then there are, ah, groups who aren't exactly liked by the governing groups who get together in secret and do their own thing. I've been in several of those."

  "You're in a cult."

  Runild shrugged. "That's your word."

  "You're in a cult and in the Eights. Wait, are the Eights the cult?"

  Runild put her finger to her lips, “It's not a cult.”

  “But it is secret.”

  “A bit, yeah, but remember I am the officer for all the mages. There's a reason for that and it's not because of my organization skills.”

  Harding ventured, “Isn't it your dps.”

  Runild laughed, "There's at least seven mages that clearly pull more damage than me and at least an equal number with more utility in a fight.”

  “I get it,” Harding allowed, he had seen Runild being treated as a special case. “But this group is secret?”

  Runild tilted her head, “People in the Eights generally know, but don't go saying it too loud ok? We don’t want others prying."

  Harding frowned, “Sure, but why tell me?"

  "Because you're obviously going to join the Eights,” she concluded with certainty. “Which means you're going to be under me, which means you'll find out then anyways, or, at least, hear rumors. And, because you've been around long enough to notice things and start asking questions that you really shouldn't ask others. And also because I'm interested in your research, especially with spirit manipulation and what that could mean for magic."

  "Spirit is magic."

  "That's cute, the monks teach you that?"

  "Hold on now, I've spent all this time on it and it's…"

  "Highly related but not exactly one for one, you're still missing a few things."

  "You're kidding."

  "Welcome to Life."

  Harding sighed and unloaded his growing impression, "I feel like we need to have a big conversation on things like what it takes to advance, the lies I've been taught and… and how you are manipulating your seeds differently. About a lot of things, really."

  Runild stretched while yawning. She watched him start patching up his arm for a moment and smiled to herself. "You want to know a girl's secrets, you don't just get to tell her to give it all up."

  Harding was about to object to everything in that statement when she held up a hand to stay him.

  "After CombO, come see me. We will see then what you can get, and what you can give. Oh, and no more cutting. You want to experiment, get in the ring and get the crap beat out of you so you learn to fight too. Knowledge without experience is like a sword without a handle."

  Harding scoffed, but bandaging the damage led him to agree, "Fine. Ok. I'll come find you, but Why did you come looking for me?"

  "To check on you and make sure you were not doing something stupid. Well, even more stupid at least."

  "Funny."

  "Yes, I am," she said with a mischievous smile, turned and waved backwards while walking out.

  Harding just sat there shaking his head. He got out the green ointment and smeared a thin coat over his lighter cuts, bandaged and then pulled his sleeve down. He repacked his stuff and gave up on Jasika for the night, going into the Garnet camp center and getting a meal ration. As much as he didn't think she was coming, it wouldn't do for him to be at the faire if she did. And honestly, he had nothing to buy. Gregor was there, somewhere, working it and making money. Harding had no money and nothing to do but eat and watch.

  Nothing more of note happened that night. It passed as a quiet night of meditation on spirit and a little subtle bit of seed practice until Harding checked Rent's bag under his cot. In it he found several of Rent’s unlabelled books and one he must have picked up recently as it was labelled. It was dedicated to Throat activation, a topic of interest for Harding. After reading through it, Harding switched the dirty crypt with the leech, so that leech was in the Throat. It did physically feel different, but not nearly as much as he had been led to expect. Everywhere had warned about the physical effects of changing a Heart seed.

  Usage, though, was a different story.

  Throat activation was so much different than heart. It still triggered with the combination of mental intent and inhale/exhale, similar to the Heart in those respects. However, it felt higher and inexplicably tighter as if it was more present and responsive and less theoretical and distant. According to ‘Evokativa’, which was a questionably translated foreign text, using vocalization increased the effect. At first Harding imagined shouting “leech” when using it, which humored him. Through reading though it was explained that the belief was grounded in phonetic resonation with the seed. The idea being that each seed has certain frequencies they respond to on activation. And, because that wasn't complicated enough, there was noted variability in effect based on person and vocalization. That made some sense though, if the effect changed it might affect the frequency.

  In the end, after all the theory, there was a basic table of seed, suggested harmonizing frequencies, then it was left to the reader to shift their voice until it seemed to intensify the most. From there there were various hums and sounds offered, again to see what worked best for the individual, but the whole book lacked any real experimental process backing up its assertions. Most of the suggested sounds were generally some form of a short bark. Harding decided barking ‘leech’ while practicing was soundly out of question.

  While the seed would activate at his command, his lacking an appropriate target meant limited ability to experience it in truth. He hardly imagined finding volunteers for him to test on given his experience on the receiving side of leech. The Garnets' expensive magic training dummies were much more likely to be what he needed, his appreciation for such luxury growing.

  Bryan, a House blade who was sharing the tent, came in from duty while Harding was experimenting. Harding stopped testing and returned to reading out of politeness until he himself slept.

  The next day was quiet. The idea that his skin was still hanging in the butcher's had started to itch in the back of his mind. But since he was required to be available, he wouldn't go check. He thought about getting a message to Runild, but he wasn't sure he wanted her to have possession of his skin either. Who knew what she could do with that.

  It was midmorning, hours into his skin-roasted anxiety, when Jasika showed up suddenly.

  "I wish to see Alexci fight," she announced.

  "I would enjoy that as well."

  "Very well then."

  "When does she fight?"

  "Why does that matter, I'm asking you to escort me."

  "Your dad told you to, didn't he."

  "Mom, actually. Though I'm perfectly capable on my own."

  Harding agreed.

  "Could we go back to the ruined village quick?"

  She glared.

  "I don't want to either, but I think they left my skin hanging and I'm not sure having that around would be great for me?"

  Jasika smirked, "Who would want your skin?"

  "I don't know, but if they want it then I don't want them to have it."

  She sighed, "You'll be insufferable if we don't, won't you?"

  "Is that a yes?"

  "Let's go."

  Harding found himself leaving with her and trying to figure out how to follow her direction while being slightly ahead of her as appropriate as protector.

  It's not an escort quest.

  He was relieved, at least, that the day was sunny and warm. Jasika turned towards the ruined village on her own and he sighed in relief. Harding didn’t want to have that disagreement. As they approached the butcher's he realized he had nothing to put the skin in, he hadn't thought ahead and brought some kind of bag. Though a mental image of himself leading Jasika around while carrying a bag full of his own skin made him a little sick.

  When they got to the shop, Harding was in equal parts relieved and disturbed. The skin still hung, but it was crawling with maggots.

  "Eew," Jasika groaned. "It's still here, now what?"

  "Uhm, burn it?"

  "Do you know how?"

  "A fire?"

  "And you brought the supplies, have the fuel and oven to get the right temperature, and have a plan for the ashes?"

  Harding sighed. He targeted the hanging skin and blasted it with the leech attack. It withered a little, and energy came back. Not as much as it cost, but some.

  "You switched your seeds," Jasika asked, showing a little interest in a favorite topic of destructive magic.

  "Yeah. Let me try boosting…"

  Harding took a big spirit breath and rammed it through the throat seed, barking as he did in no small part because of the feeling of that power going through him that way. It was like his teeth rattling and blood in the mouth, tingling to his toes.

  "Woah, that felt weird," he told her and examined the skin.

  "Eh. I'd say you were at maybe fifty percent what you could do."

  The skin had shriveled, but she had his attention. "How can you tell that?"

  "A lady has her secrets."

  "Really?"

  "Are you questioning that I'm a Lady?"

  "Ah, no no no, I just wonder why you're keeping it from your student."

  Jasika laughed. It was a genuine laugh and was gladly received by Harding, even if it was at his expense. "You think Rent tells you everything?"

  "Definitely not."

  "Why should I be different?"

  "Because you wouldn’t eat a garden to spite the cook?"

  "What?"

  "I'll tell you later, this seems to be working."

  It was a little over a dozen hard casts to destroy the skin, but it was consumed magically and reintroduced as spirit. Harding missed twice due to lack of attention. Both times, he obliterated and ingested the energy of a maggot. It was odd to him, he was using leech as a damaging attack and not as the curse that had been used on him.

  "Ok," said Harding, very ready to go.

  "What about the maggots?"

  He stared.

  "They ate bits of the skin. You could, theoretically, grind them up and get a magical mark for you."

  "Really? Fine."

  Harding started casting quick little strikes, consuming them one by one. It was monotonous and he started to wonder if you could flex the spell for the group of like items. He fumbled a few attempts before Jasika giggled.

  "What," he asked in exasperation.

  Even though her face was neutral, he could hear the smile in her voice, "I was just kidding."

  Harding just stood there silently, managing his emotions. "Wonderful joke. Let's move on then?"

  "Okay," she said. "There's a Helatite food stand, I want to try it before the matches."

  "Sure," he agreed, having no idea what that was.

  They walked out of the building and as he turned to close the door, he froze. There was Sam Knot in a white dress, scooping the maggots into a jar. "Hey, stop that," he yelled.

  It smiled at him, finishing the last handful. "You discarded them, they were fair game."

  Furious, Harding swung the door open so hard it gave up its tortured hang and caved into the butchers, falling from the frame. Sam Knot was not there.

  "Why'd you do that," Jasika demanded behind him.

  "They took my maggots."

  After a pause, Jasika responded skeptically, "I see, nothing to do but go to town then." .

  Harding glared, she didn't even look.

  "No. Come here and look."

  "Are you ordering me," she demanded with a cold edge.

  Harding had enough, he was aware he wasn't being reasonable or appropriate, but he was tired of people doubting him. "Yes, Lady Jasika. I am ordering you to come back up there steps and look at where the pile of maggots were."

  She was silent and still, watching him. Harding figured he had screwed up badly, but decided just to own it. There was nothing more he could do and he felt like he was going mad.

  To his surprise, Jasika suddenly hurried up the steps, her dress hiked up in her hands and entered the room.

  "Shit," she exclaimed from inside. Jasika came back to the front walk outside the building. "What happened?"

  Harding shrugged. "A thing appeared and scooped the remaining maggots into a jar, then vanished."

  "What thing," she asked, "and why?"

  "I don't know what it is, but I see it occasionally. It's like a person, but not. And I have no idea why, but it doesn't really matter at this point because it's done and it can't be changed."

  She glanced back inside again, then at him again. "Is it a tiny little thing, smaller than a finger, that's always hiding?"

  "What? No. It's like a small person with big eyes, sometimes a boy and sometimes a girl. Probably neither, honestly. Why, do you see little things?"

  "No. Nothing like that. I've just heard stories of little beings that you can only see out of the corner of your eye."

  The both paused, not speaking, but Harding was sure they were both checking.

  "Food," he suggested.

  "The stand…"

  "Yeah, let's go. Thank you for taking the time to let me do this."

  "Archon fights don't start for a few hours."

  "She's an Archon now? I thought she was fighting seedless?"

  "Yeah, to boost early attendance at the Grinder. Also, she didn't want her seed combo known outside the Eights before CombO."

  "How does she go from seedless, to partially seeded, back to seedless for ticket sales to a sudden Archon? As far as I know, she doesn't even run dungeons."

  Harding could hear her amusement in her voice, "It's a secret."

  "You and your secrets," Harding complained. "What, no, did Aleister give her… she dropped her seeds to use her popularity for sales… or for the ones from Yhavat?"

  "I don't know, but rumors and such, should be a fight even her non-fans shouldn't miss."

  With that she seemed a little happier, but disinterested in talking further.

  They moved through the event city crowds slowly. Enlisting the aid of CombO workers twice, they finally found 'Helati Gabrati'. The name seemed a joke to Harding, but the food wasn't. Red meat, vegetables and a thick and extremely spicy sauce served in a split tuber. Harding had noticed a variety of interesting foods, but he had let Jasika order for him since she liked Helati food and he knew nothing.

  Overall, it was good but Harding wasn't used to the level of spice and drank liberally to compensate which he was sure would cause him problems during the fights.

  They wandered a bit, Jasika shopping through various craft tents for what seemed like nothing in particular. She picked out a lace parasol and purchased it from an extremely expensive dress maker, but only after inquiring about color options and haggling price. She then guided them to the nobles area at the arena.

  There were two gates of security to get through before a section of seating and a few boxes. Harding saw a few familiar faces and realized not even the dutchy warranted a box at this event. The next section over was the guilds and Harding spotted a cluster of Eights taking notes as they watched.

  "I have a dual pass, we could sit over there if you like," he suggested.

  Jasika properly sat upon the bench and looked up at him, "I am a Lady of House Garnet. I go where my station dictates, even if I'd better enjoy it with Randal and a group of drunk guilders."

  Harding had to agree with her and wondered if Randal was over there. He had to be, if his sisters as fighting. He couldn’t imagine Randal missing this fight. It bothered him a little, Randal being so close and yet not sitting with him. Harding looked down at Jasika and saw again the grit that was often hidden by her youthful features. "Yes my Lady," he smiled at her and sat next to her.

  The fight going just ending as he did, the combatant in yellow having taken a grievous leg wound and collapsed to a knee, dark green moved in for the kill with caution. Harding hadn't seen them use powers, but the place was thick with magic and dark green was obviously concerned with getting too close.

  "Why, hello dear," said a middle-aged woman in a questionably tight dress. It revealed a lot of her without showing much skin. Harding had to admit she was attractive, it just seemed out of place. "It is so nice to see some of the smaller houses being able to participate in an imperial event."

  Jasika looked up at her with a straight face and said, "It's always a pleasure to see you Duchess Debrane. I didn't realize the Chacian nobility would be with their king."

  Whatever that meant, from the duchess' face Jasika had cleanly scored a cut.

  The lapse was almost immediately corrected, followed by the Duchess' attention on Harding. Her eyes gleamed like a predator, of which kind Harding didn't yet know. "My dear,” the woman continued, “I didn't realize your House had become so pious and scholarly as to be escorted by monks."

  "House Garnet has fostered many connections which aren't common knowledge. Some choose to hold depth quietly, while others put all they have on display. It's just a variance in strategy."

  The crowd cheered, dark green had closed and been skewered by three spears Harding was sure yellow hadn't had previously. Green's body rested propped up on his knees, shafts impaling him from an upward angle. It had an odd symmetry with yellow, on his knees and unable to stand, mirroring him.

  Duchess Debrane sniffed delicately and wet her lips. "It was pleasant seeing you, my dear. I must move on to talk to important people now. Enjoy the show."

  She turned her back before Jasika could reply and walked off with deliberate sway. Harding looked at Jasika while they cleaned up the bodies in the arena.

  "Don't ask," she instructed, firmly.

  Harding just looked back to the fight. Whatever that was seemed a mix of personal and political and Harding wanted no part of it.

  Percival, the event master from the Grinder, came out.

  "And with Sir Langefor's victory we find a close in the closed bracket, round one event. A wonderful showing by all contestants. Remarkable skill, prowess, and bravery." Percival paused, voice lowering, "And its brutal carnage."

  The crowd cheered.

  "And now, Ladies, Gentleman, and all other connoisseurs of combat, I am most pleased to announce the beginning of our next event and the last bracket for the daytime. We have for your pleasure and their honor, the open unlimited bracket, round one. Once again, the rules are the same. First fighter to score a kill advances. If they are unable to exit the arena, they lose a star. Losing three stars is elimination, even if they eliminate their opponent."

  "There are ninety six fighters, including the ten from the qualifiers. Held in reserve are four champions by invitation. That is fourty eight matches for the entire bracket. There will be a one hour break every twelve matches. Just a reminder, after the fights there will be a very short ceremony and then a very large party. Plan accordingly."

  "And without further delay, or first combatants: Sister Marie al Kasagos of Freineer against Sir Walther of Benembur."

  The crowd cheered and clapped as they entered the arena. Harding heard a few boos, but it wasn't clear who was the disliked party as they entered simultaneously from the same area.

  Sir Walther was dressed in a rather standard coat and breastplate with an arming sword and metal round shield. His helmet partially obscured his face, but couldn't hide his overly large mustache which was trying to escape.

  Sister Marie was dressed in a short, sleeveless dress of black cloth. She was wrapped in a variegated orange corset reinforced with black steel rings. Around her right wrist was a long wrap of rope, which seemed odd as it was poor as armor, comfort or style. Her left wrist was covered in a black metal bracer. In her right hand she carried a wickedly recurved thin-bladed long knife. Harding wondered, if in fact, it was closer to a short sword.

  They each took their respective places in the arena. Harding recognized the referee as the same guy who had started refereeing at the Grinder, though Harding had never been introduced. He spoke to the fighters, but you couldn't hear it. Then he backed up out of the arena and signaled to start.

  Sir Walther rushed, leading with his shield and bringing a stab in its shadow. Sister Marie flashed off a self-enchantment Harding actually recognized, leech. She dodged the attack, by rolling to the inside of the shield and intercepting the sword. She wasn't strong enough to stop the attack and the sword opening up a gash in her arm. But as they collided, her blood splashing on the sand, she hit Sir Walther with the heel of her free hand.

  He stepped back and went for her and she erupted into flame. He stepped back, shield up to intercept an attack. He just stood there, locked with the sister. He came at her again and again and cut her, only to have her move past him in a roll that left him grabbing his knee.

  He turned to her and looked down in horror. Thorny vines growing from her blood wrapped around his ankles. He looked down to struggle and the fight was over. Sister Marie's knife, attached to her rope, diced through the air. He dodged only to have the rope wrap off his shoulder and slide up to his neck. The rope turned to thorn vine and she ripped it back to her, the nasty thorns opening his throat.

  He fell dead, bleeding out in the sand. Sister Marie was cut up, but not bleeding and fully functional. Nearly invisible fire leaked out of her wounds.

  "Velocity champion is strong versus another champion, but she was very deceptive," Jasika commented.

  "Velocity?"

  "He was a yellow champion, like Jarred is a red champion."

  "Jarred doesn't fight anything like that though."

  "That's tactics and training. Jarred uses light as a cudgel, to keep harrying and harming the opponent, to never give them time to regain footing. Others, like Sir Walther see speed as an opening maneuver, a trump to score a quick and easy hit."

  "So the seed just makes you faster?"

  Jasika rolled her eyes and looked to the arena as the crew cleaned up. "It controls velocity. Speed up, slow down."

  "Ok. But why didn't he just shoot her with his attack."

  "He did. Before the second charge. Hit her in the chest."

  "I didn't see it."

  "Velocity attacks are fast. Very penetrating too. But she was running a Mass of Leeches and Burning Blessing together. You'd need an instant kill to drop her and almost any kind of curse would just burn up and just make her stronger."

  "How do you know this?"

  "You do know my training. I've spent my entire life fighting and studying. And, ah, magic is my hobby?"

  "Yeah, ok, but what was she doing with the vines and such?"

  "She wasn’t an archon, but instead running three orange seeds. Leech, Burn, and Blight, all set up to take damage and bind him. She planned that for him, I would imagine that the next fight she has she's completely different in strategy."

  Harding shook his head in disbelief, “So she what- has multiple seed combos and practice with all of them enough to fight at that level?”

  “Probably, she’s a titled Kasagosian war monk.”

  "I need to meet her."

  "Sure," Jasika miffed.

  "No, about my leech seed, I have this theory and some Kasagosian texts are the basis for it, she could maybe help since she's so clever."

  "And she's really curvy and wearing a short dress," muttered Jasika.