The Blood of Martyrs [Closed | Attn. Shalum]

[Nalaya]

With faith, discipline, and selfless devotion to duty, there is nothing worthwhile that you cannot achieve.
-Muhammad Ali Jinnah

The Heart of the Fane
Dyvynasshar, Nalaya

Thick, bitter-sweet smoke filled the air with the scent of herbs that had been burned in sacred spaces for more than two thousand years. Sabal could no longer hear the drums or the chants. She could only feel them thrumming through her body with a rhythm as old as humanity. Her body was kneeling, swaying, as her pointed fingernails scraped over her own tattooed skin so hard they drew blood and her sharp canines bit down hard into the flesh of her lip until crimson rolled down her chin. That was not enough to keep her anchored in her own body. She was drifting for a moment, not able to see herself but feeling the disconnect that meant she had entered her athiyk, the primal half of her soul. She was no longer tethered to the circles of the world.

The shadows were alive all around her, figures of humans writhing in chains. She could see them stretch their spindly limbs towards her, their ribcages bare and hips jutting beneath waists that were as wide as her hand, if that. The pain that she felt was something beyond the body, no longer scratches on her skin. It burned like an all-consuming flame, charring the inside of her spirit’s phantom bones and licking up her body until her skin crackled and sloughed off. Distantly, she knew she was screaming, but that was to be expected with the visit of a dark spirit. These were things that had existed since the beginning of the world, essences that were only barely younger than Void and Creation themselves. They knew no words, no expressions or emotions besides the facets that represented themselves.

Her visitor moved in the darkness, a suggestion of contorted features and screaming maw. It reached out, embracing her with red-hot claws that sank deeper and deeper into her soul. Do you feel me? It whispered without a sound, the words burning into her mind. She had never heard such a spirit actually able to speak before. This message, then, was more important than any other she had ever received. Do you feel them? Their chains bind me to them, as they have bound your own.

She couldn’t form words in her primal shape, but her questions seemed clear to the spirit of agony. Eyes like flaring coals gazed into her, pricks of fire in the endless shadow that devoured all light from the braziers. The pain was only getting worse, consuming her completely. It was something in the soul, something beyond what a body could endure.

Look to Trezen Elenmiire.

The waking dream evaporated and Sabal found herself a shivering, sweating wreck on the floor. Everything hurt and she could feel her empty stomach heaving. Bloody foam was dripping from her lips and her breath came in sobs when she could breathe. The scratches were everywhere: across her bare midriff and shoulders, down her thighs, up her arms, crossing her face.

The drumming slowed to a stop as the dream evaporated and the hot coals of the braziers were extinguished with final hisses, plunging the world into full, abyssal darkness. Flares of matches broke the darkness as the other Yath lit candles carefully, offering warmth and comfort in the black. Arms carefully slipped under her and lifted her up once the dry heaves settled. She was not a light burden, between her dense, wiry muscle and the fact that she was dead weight. “It was one of the Dark Ones,” Nadal’s voice said quietly, as if miles away from her. “That is the first since the war ended.”

She heard another familiar yochlol speak: Alysstra. “It is an omen.”

Sabal’s head lolled as she was carried out of the ancient, shattered temple. She succumbed to sleep on the way, unable to fight off the forces of exhaustion even with her training and honed resilience. The rituals of vision had a way of overpowering one completely, drawing in the spirit world and bringing one closer to Creation. It was incredibly draining to be subjected to so much in such a short amount of time. The cocktail of ritual hallucinogens and other drugs in her system did nothing for her stamina either. The world was grey and muted every time she briefly awoke, alive only in the sense of flickering lights and colors that signified the presence of other spirits. Creatures of hearth and home, of bright and dark emotions, passing through the human world while never being wholly a part of it.

She awoke fully laying on what passed for a bed in L’Delmah d’Yochlol, a thick rug on the floor with a blanket draped over her no longer shivering and sweating body. She could barely move, her muscles were so relaxed after being drawn so tightly during the ritual. It was the figure at her side that immediately drew her attention. Those gold and black tattoos of a stylized wolf over a powerful female body could mean only one person, even through her blurry but slowly clearing vision: the Dread Wolf herself.

Lledrith was not a kind-looking creature. Her lips were thin and cruel, her heavily hooded eyes perpetually dark with a protective, constantly simmering rage that few could ever dream of matching. Her features were beautiful, but in the way fire was beautiful, as a force of nature that could kill as easily as comfort. Her sun-bleached hair hung long and loose, almost white in color. Currently, her brow was furrowed and her lips were pressed into a frown. “You were visited by a spirit of darkness in the Fane.” It was not a question.

“Zakath, Most Holy,” Sabal said, using one of the Dread Wolf’s gentler names. She wore many, words for the different aspects she expressed. It was Sabal’s way of trying to evoke something other than pure wrath. There was no mistaking the aspect of suffering Sabal had met. What could it be but Agony itself? “It showed me people suffering in chains, chains that once bound our own.”

“Where?” The question was forceful, but not angry with her. Lledrith’s attention was focused on finding the root of this evil.

“It said to look to Trezen Elenmiire, Most Holy,” Sabal said. It was their name for Polaris, the northern star.

A silence fell, stretching on for at least a full moment as the Quarval-sharess thought or perhaps prayed. “This is a sign. The heretics in the north, the slavers we encountered among the Shalumi, must taste of flame. Their victims must be guided to the light of faith. It will be their answer, their salvation in the dark.” The Dread Wolf was a creature of certainty and this was no exception. “Do you still traffic with the Christi warriors sent to the Holy City?”

Sabal hesitated, but she would never lie to the Quarval-sharess. “I speak with them still, now and again.” It was dangerous to consort with heretics, but some bonds were...difficult...to sever.

“This is for the best. They may now serve a proper purpose. When you are able to move again, go to Armavir and meet them. Some of the others, those who can speak in words that will be heard, will accompany you. Jaelryn in particular is learning the language of the pestilent. She will be useful to you.” The Dread Wolf rose to her feet. “So it will be.”

“So it will be,” Sabal echoed. It was an order that she would gladly obey wholeheartedly...once she could move without aches exploding through her whole body. She had suffered through severe illnesses that were kinder than this visit. She took a deep breath. This would mean leaving her country. Divine, but she had barely left the Homeland for any amount of time, let alone the whole of Nalaya. Shalum would be a strange land with stranger customs. At least least she spoke English, albeit with a serious accent.

This task set before her would be a Herculean one, but with faith, anything was possible.

---

Two Days Later
Lerrayin International Airport
Armavir, Nalaya

“You’ve looked better,” Jaelryn said with amusement. She had been further south than Dyvynasshar, in the Highlands, so she hadn’t been present for the vision in the temple. They shared the red and black tattoos, but their patterns were very different. Sabal’s were leonine in nature, Jaelryn’s modeled after a spider—including six eyes inked beneath the skin of her face.

Sabal touched her scabbed, still slightly swollen lower lip. She had bitten through it in her pain, but the wound was closing well with the help of an antibiotic balm. The pain was merely part of life, something endured easily enough. Her body was still covered in scratches, barely visible beneath the wrap of translucent, almost transparent fabric that formed the outer layer of her sari that she wore over an opaque blood-red wrap around her breasts and another stretching from low on her hips to her knees. “We can’t all be as pretty as you, Jael.”

Nadal chuckled beside them. He was tall, well over six feet, and powerfully built, his hair silvering from age. His tattoos had no animal pattern, but were instead swirling patterns of script in silver and green across his entire body. He and Alysstra were in charge as the two yochlol, clearly designated by those matching tattoos of script. Ryld was their yath’abban, his tattoos emerald script alone. It was an event to see anything above a yathrin so far away from the Homeland, and almost unthinkable to see even one yochlol, let alone two. They had about twelve feet of space on every side as they conferred. Together, they were more dangerous than any squadron of soldiers patrolling the streets. The war might have been over, but the supernatural danger that the Yath represented to the locals of Armavir was immense. Of course, there were faithful in the area who bowed deeply and made similar gestures of respect, but they were very much in the minority here in Armavir after the purging carried out by Nava’ai forces during the civil war. They were to be joined by two of the slaves Jaelryn had rescued during the war, native Maldorians, though the Yath were not certain if they would be meeting them here in Armavir or in Shalum itself.

They were the beginning of something new. Never before had a Quarval-sharuk or Quarval-sharess ordered the spreading of the faith beyond Nalaya’s borders. It crossed over borders at times, generally when foreigners found their answer in L’i’dol, but never before had it been a concerted effort. Then again, never had the reality of slavery abroad been exposed before them. The Dread Wolf was also one of the more active proponents of change in the mundane world, despite her intimate connection to the divine. There was also a slight chance that they would be striking back in retribution towards Shalum, but Sabal was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

Not that she had much faith in the governments beyond Nalaya at the moment. The evidence did not support the theory of a compassionate or understanding nature in them.

The members of their small group were all taller than the average Nalayan and hard from the truths followed by ascetics. Their skin was tan from the sun and their hair light in shades, making them unmistakable in combination with their hooded eyes. They couldn’t pass for anything but Mak’ur even if they tried.

“Are you certain your justicars can be trusted, Sabal?” Ryld asked. He watched Nadal’s lip curled. Their leader was a hardliner if ever there were one. He was tolerating the concept of being in arm’s reach of Christi only by virtue of the knowledge that it was for the sake of the enslaved.

“Yes,” Sabal said. In this, she had certainty worthy of the Dread Wolf.

“It might be better not to tell them of the Dread Wolf’s greatest will,” Jaelryn said. She was a patient creature, possessed of a deceptive calm. “Let them think only of our secondary mission: finding those who were taken.”

The idea didn’t sit well with Sabal. A lie of omission was still a lie. Her discomfort was visible for a moment in her expression, at least until Nadal gripped her shoulder in one powerful hand. “Peace,” the yochlol said smoothly. “The Christi have failed in their duty. Perhaps the corruption touches them, perhaps they are merely weak. Whatever the case, they will not accept our attempt. If your justicars seek to stay us in our course, we will be forced to act. That is nothing you would prefer, Sabal. This prevents such a confrontation, at least until they cannot refuse.”

“A lesser evil,” Alysstra agreed softly, speaking for the first time since they’d left Maerimydra, a city on the edge of the Homeland, the bridge between the Har’oloth and the world of the Nava’ai. “For their protection as much as our own.”

Sabal did not have any desire to argue with two yochlol, particularly not one as reasonable as Alysstra. “Understood, Most Honored,” she said softly before turning to look for a familiar group. She would know the right redhead when she saw her, firstly because that hair color was not at all native to Nalaya and secondly because Joan always made her heart misbehave for a moment.

It had been three weeks since they last spoke, mostly because Sabal had been out of contact with the whole world,/ A serious penance was required for having the audacity to bring three heretics into the Holy City. She still bore the bruises, cuts, and weakness from her time outside of the city. It was an absence that she deeply regretted, something she hoped Joan would forgive her for. The yathallar wasn’t even certain that things would be the same between them in the peace. What they had was something fragile still, even if Sabal felt it wholeheartedly. She had never been adept at concealing or restraining her passions, and her training as a yathallar had only encouraged her to let them have free reign. It meant feeling things deeply, for good and ill. It was no wonder that something as old and dark as Zakath had so easily spoken to her.

Sabal combed her fingers through her sun-bleached hair. She was actually nervous, and anxiety was not something she was accustomed to. Beside her, Ryld actually smiled at her little display. He was a man with a soft spot for love, even if he was still grieving the loss of his own. The Yath attitude towards death was different than most, though. It was just a distance, and not a permanent one. It was agonizing to lose someone so dear, but it was not forever and Ryld took comfort in that, as well as the memories he had shared with Ildan.

She was grateful she had Ryld and the others. There was so little Sabal knew of the world they were about to follow the justicars into, but the commands of the divine could not be ignored.

Ji tlu ol. So be it. Those were the words of holy war. The battle that they would wage now, however, would be of a very different nature than those that had come before.

[Shalum]

In war and abandonment, be thou my shield and my steed
Be thou retribution, and I shall be Your hand in the darkness
Light from the shadows, death from the dying, vengeance from the lost
And from the void shall rise only the pure

-The Justicar Litany of Vengance

---

The Sanctified City of Kester
The Duchy of Grudeheim
The Empire of Shalum

The sun cast its last golden rays over the distant Kylin mountains, bathing the city of Keser in a fiery orange hue. On the outskirts of the town sat an impressive looking citadel, far older than any of the surrounding buildings. Its courtyards were filled with many, even at this hour, all of who seemed to be practicing something; whether it be martial arts with sparring partners in an empty section of a grassy field, or mathematics under the close supervision of several clergymen and women.

Along the ancient once impervious walls of the compound, solar generators hummed away pleasant. They would all be silent in two hours time, unable to glean any more energy from the sun. But for now, it was a soothing sound that helped an old man rest easy on one of the chairs of his private porch. He could not remember the first time he had sat down here. It seemed like ages ago.

Petrus Sperling was not an impressive sight to anyone; he was an old man. His bones were frail, and his body scarred from years of service to the institutions of the Council of Christ. Nothing organic remained of his knee; thirty years before it had been blown away by an Acrean Templar, and had been replaced by a simple prosthetic. There was talk of bionic limbs becoming available sometime in the near future, but he cared little about that, he had no need for one anymore. Furthermore, three of the fingers on his left hand were simply missing, replaced by inarticulate fakes that he only wore in public. Neither of his hips were real at this point, he only had a single kidney, and so forth; the list was longer than he cared to remember. Service to the Council, though fulfilling, was not kind.

His weary eyes gazed past the bustling city of seventy-thousand below, past the walls of the citadel, and past the fields that had once known the horrors of war. The Kylin mountains drew his eyes as surely as heresy drew the attention of the church. His time on those pillars of earth in the distance had been short, mere days that seemed inconsequential to the long life he had lived, but so very powerful. It was on those mountains that he had learned so much about himself, the power of the order he served, how great a threat the Templars were, and about the corruption of the Shalumite Empire.

Every night he came to his chair, stared at the mountains, and remembered. It was a quiet place, high above the distractions of the world, where he could be free of his protection detail and the stares of the city’s nobility. He knew how they whisped about him, how they looked down at a Maldorian born scoundrel that stood equal with them. More than equal, truly, because his rank superseded any human boundaries, and elevated him to a position above simple men. They feared him. They loathed him. They revered him.

He was an Oberst of the Justicar order, and held a seat on the Council itself.

Petrus was a guardian of Christianity.

How odd it must have seemed then, he mused, to have a man of his history seeking to come back to the very place that had almost been his undoing so many years ago, when hell was upon the earth and the fires of war scorched the land. To dwell on the mistakes that he had made to his brothers and sisters in Christ so long ago, and the crimes he had committed in the name of God and country. He knew that most strove to hide their sins, to bury them and cast them as far away as possible. That was not Petrus’ way, however. He knew the value of the past, what it taught and how it shaped the future.

A soft knocked on the patio door alerted him to the presence of one of his many bodyguards. Jaysen Pierce eased the creaky wooden door inwards and stuck his head out. He was a serious young man, and would have been handsome if not for the constant grimace that had been permanently etched into his features. His brooding hazel eyes and educated manners set many a young lass’s hearts fluttering in their chests on those occasions that Councillor Sperling journeyed to headquarters of their religious order. He managed to effect an air of aloofness in the presence of both royalty and paupers, always appearing to have a plan, and seeming always know more than he let on. He was a devious man, wiser and more ferocious than Petrus had ever been.

“Your visitor has arrived.” His voice was flat and uninterested. When Jaysen did have to communicate, he used as few words as possible.

Petrus eased his ancient body around until he could see Jaysen standing at the doorway. The young man had a bored look upon his face, yet there was a tingle of energy to him. As a general rule, the councillor did not get many visitors. In fact, in the ten years that he had lived in Kester, he could count them on two hands - when all of his fingers were attached. He interacted with the highest ranking justicars, and the members of the council, but otherwise acted as a silent observer. He left the teaching and fighting to the younger, healthier souls.

He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, before suddenly devolving into a coughing fit that made his back tense, and spikes of pain shoot through his body. Jaysen raised an eyebrow in silent question, but Petrus just waved him away. “No, no, I am fine. Please, let her in. And bring another chair.”

The Council Guardsmen nodded and disappeared into the apartment like structure, the patio door closing behind him. Content to wait, Petrus returned his attention to the mountains. His mind was not as fast as it had once been, but he still retained the acute ability to process information at blazing speeds. It was one of the only talents he retained at this age, which was a great help given his task of commanding quite a few teams of justicars and council guard troops.

The door opened and Jaysen returned, carrying a chair in one hand and gesturing with the other. He set it down beside Councillor Sperling and stood back, one hand resting on the butt the H&K USP that he always wore on his hip. There was no sign of danger or tension in his posture, or any more suspicion than that which he would have held against those who were not the councillor himself. A more loyal man could not have been asked for, and he owned Jaysen a great deal. It pained himself sometimes, knowing that Jaysen’s potential was being wasted guarding a decrepit old man with but a few years left. Already, Petrus had plans in motion to see Jaysen initiated into the council’s knightly order.

Behind Jaysen, a justicar stepped out onto the patio without hesitation. It was a woman, though it would have taken a moment for most to tell, given her the heavy robes that she wore. She wore a hood low and had a thick cloth wrap over her face. It hid everything but her eyes, a predatory green that would have scarred lesser men. Thick looking gloves covered her hands. What seemed like every part of her was concealed. It was as if she feared him to be carrying the plague.

“You’re late, Miss Holtzmann.” Petrus said with a small smile. He made a motion for her to sit with one hand, while he dismissed his bodyguard with the other. Jaysen seemed to grimace at the notion of leaving his charge alone with the Butcher, but he bowed his head and headed back inside. The councillor had no doubt that the man would pull up a chair on the other side of the patio door, sidearm in his lap, waiting in case something went wrong.

“My apologies.” Lusin Holtzmann, otherwise known as the Butcher, replied as she slid down into the chair that Jaysen had provided. Reaching up, she pushed away the hood to reveal raven colored hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Next, she pulled down the cloth over her mouth, revealing soft lips and rows of shiny white teeth. “I thought I would inspect the new recruits before I attended to you.” A small smile creased her lips as she looked towards the courtyards, where it seemed as if training would carry on into the night. “There are many more than the last time I visited.”

“Ah, yes. You can blame that on the Nalayans. The men and women you see out there are mostly former marines, army grunts, and a handful of those who used to serve under Rikker.” The Empire’s eviction had not gone over well with the Shalumite people, especially those who had served in Nalaya. The Council was doing all it could to play to those dissatisfied at the moment, and was reaping the rewards rather handily. “What is with all of…this?” Petrus added, motioning to her attire.

“Not everyone is as cold tolerant as you, old man.” Lusin smirked, leaning back in her seat. She would have killed for a glass of wine, or better yet a cold beer, but now was not the time. This was the kind of conversation best done sober, for better or worse. “And besides, I was trying out some of the new wardrobe for this little Maldoria trip you’re sending me on.” She added a bit more seriously.

Petrus nodded slowly. “I take it that you’ve been briefed on the mission, and more importantly, our impending guests?”

Lusin grimaced but dipped her head in confirmation. “He told me the meat of it. Can’t say I’m quite happy about it, as much as I love anything that involves killing Maldorians.” There was a long history there, one that she would have preferred to not rehash. “I’m as tolerant as the next justicar, but these yathallar? They’re nuts, from what I can tell.” She’d looked them up online, read of some of their exploits; not to mention the various pieces of intelligence that the Council had gathered.

They were like justicars in many ways, something she approved of, but were rather unstable seeming on the other hand. Their leader, simply known as the Dread Wolf, didn’t seem any better.

It didn’t help that they were pagans, either.

“They come in search of their enslaved brothers and sisters. If they succeed, than more power to them. And if they fail...than none harm is done, and two birds are killed with one stone.” Petrus said pragmatically. He had seen too many of his people killed over the years to worry over the deaths of those who were not even under his command. “Either way, the powers of Maldoria will be weakened, which is a service to the public as far as I am concerned.”

“Two birds with one stone? I don’t believe I follow.” Lusin replied after a good thirty seconds, her brows furrowed.

Petrus sighed deeply. “As I am sure you know, we sent a team of justicars into Nalaya to look into the case of several missing missionaries.” The woman next to him nodded, and Petrus continued. “When the civil war kicked off, the team went silent. We tried to get in touch with them, but they were in a part of the country we simply couldn’t reach.” He paused for a moment, gathering his breath. “Several weeks ago, we regained contact with them. They were all worse for wear, but alive. They were not the same, however. It appears that they had...embraced local culture more than the Council feels comfortable with.”

There was a lot left unsaid, but Lusin simply nodded, thinking back to the files she had read up on. Kaplan Faisal Aras, Joan Couturier, and Michael Medley were the trio that had been sent to Nalaya over a year ago. Though not household names by any means, they were quite popular among their fellow justicars.

Lusin had trained and worked with all three of them over the last decade. Faisal was an nearly unmatchable warrior when compared to even herself, and competent leader - once he had embraced his position as a Kaplan, anyways. Michael was one of the better hand-to-hand fighters she had encountered, and his heart always seemed to be in the right place, but he had never struck her as the most intelligent. She was least familiar with Joan, but was certain that the redhead’s sniping abilities were hard to contend with.

Together, they represented the ideal force for protecting Shalum and Christianity. The Council’s missionaries could handle the huge weight of evangelism.

Shifting in her seat, Lusin’s lips pulled into a larger frown. “That is...unfortunate.” Tolerating foreign beliefs were fine, but the trio had actively participated in local religious rights. Ones that would have inducted them into...whatever L’i’dol was. “I have a feeling that I play into this, somehow.” She paused again. “And that I’m probably not going to like it.”

“If you think the Council wants them killed, then you are mistaken, at least for the time being.” Petrus smiled grimly. “They simply want them put under...close observation for the time being. And who better to do that than the incorruptible right hand of the Council?” He asked, meeting Lusin’s eyes. The Nalayan justicar faked a gag, and he just let out a raspy chuckle. “Yes, yes, dreadful, I know.”

Slowly, Petrus reached over and picked up a manilla file on the table next to him. The files within contained recent and updated information that Lusin most likely had not laid eyes on eyes during her journey to Kester. “Officially speaking, your team is to rendezvous with Faisal’s and the yath. You will support them in their endeavors: recovering Nalayan slaves, eliminating slavery groups, or whatever else our guests are inclined towards doing. As far as they’re aware at the moment, the Council is supporting their operations in Maldoria.” The Shalumites had a firm grip on Concordia, and the surrounding farmlands, but not much beyond that. The Council, on the other hand, had managed to slip agents into the various tribes of the region.

“Unofficially, I’ll be observing their actions and determining how much of a threat the Yath may be, not to mention whether Faisal’s team is compromised or not?” Lusin questioned as she flipped through the various pages in the file.

“Correct.” Petrus confirmed with a small nod. He motioned to the courtyards in the distance. “Whatever assets you may need are at your disposal. I’d prefer if you didn’t take all of my good justicars, however. I need some to train the troops, after all,” he teased.

“Oh, I know. I might even take some of the fresh Council Guardsmen. They need breaking in, and I’m sure they get bored with patrol duties.” She grinned slightly. “How long is my planning window?”

“Thirty-six hours. They touch down at Concordia in forty-eight, and you’re expected to meet them there.”

Lusin grimaced as she stood up. “They really didn’t give us much warning, did they?” She asked as she pulled her hood and face coverings back on. Thankfully, she already had a good idea of who she would be bringing with her. “I guess it would be best for me to get to work then, Councillor. Go with the Father.” She bowed as he returned the sentiment. Turning away, she quickly exited his residence and descended into the halls of the Council citadel.

---

Lerrayin International Airport
Armavir, Nalaya

It was amazing what a of proper nutrition and exercise was capable of producing.

As he stood in an airport bathroom, Kaleb couldn’t help look himself over in the mirror, pale blue eyes growing a trifle wider in surprise. The last couple of months had been some of the most chaotic, yet fulfilling, for the former slave. The first two or three weeks that he spent in the custody of Jaelryn, he had lived in perpetual terror of just about everything. Little could have prepared him for the yathallar, who styled herself after a spider, nor the band of warriors under her command. They were imposing figures who he could communicate just barely with, given his limited grasp of the Nalayan tongue and Dzia’s damaged state.

The process of learning the local tongue had proved easier than expected, given that Maldorian and Nalayan apparently shared similarities, such as an Arabic base. As Kaleb had learned from Jaelryn and her cadre, then Sabal later down the road, he had been more than willing to share what he could of his own language. It didn’t take long to get both of the yathallar somewhat fluent, and alas, there was only so much more that he could do for them beyond that. Simple slaves such as himself were not considered valuable enough to be taught how to read and write it. Of course, Sabal and Jaelyn still had much to learn, including the nuances and slang, but he was confident that they would be able to stay afloat if they suddenly found themselves lost in Maldoria.

As he reached up to touch his face, Kaleb couldn’t help but smile as he touched that lines of black script that ran horizontally along his cheekbones. His conversion to the faith hadn’t been something that he thought twice of, it simply felt right and that was more than enough in his book. Learning from Jaelyn and Sabal had been like an enlightenment - his eyes had been opened, and he always felt a certain yearning to learn more. It was the yathallar who opened his eyes to the truth, who showed him that the Maldorian faith he had been born into was a sham, twisted to sate the desires of those that wanted to cling to a system of slavery and oppression for their own benefit.

Words could not describe the pride they had first applied the Llye d'Athiyk, and the tattoo of ownership on the back of his neck had been replaced with a complicated version of what was apparently known as a ra'jhun - the symbol of faith.

”Guess I shouldn’t keep them waiting, huh?” Kaleb thought as he dropped his hand, using it to pick the travel bag at his feet. Slinging it over a shoulder, he quickly stepped out into the airport, which didn’t seem all that busy. Not surprising, considering the fact that the city was still recovering from the war, and international interests were just now returning to Nalaya. From what he could tell, his group would be riding on one of the first flights back to Shalum. The Empire had pulled from the south a great deal since their ejection, and it looked like it would be awhile before any sort of interest returned.

The initiate was so caught up in the passing crowds, and thoughts of Nalayan recovery, that he didn’t spy another approaching man until he was but a few feet away. “Kaleb? Kaleb, is that you?” An old, deep voice asked, sounding both surprised and perhaps a bit awed.

Even as he jumped in surprise, the former slave grinned as he turned, his eyes lighting up as he peered at Brakis - the slave that he had escaped with many months ago. Since their separation at Alaverdi, they had not seen each other. Kaleb had been too busy working with Jaelryn, and Brakis had joked about finally settling down on that farm he had always talked about. Seeing him here now, of all places, was quite the shock in itself. To Kaleb, he looked better than ever, dressed in Nalayan made clothes with a travel bag in hand.

“Holy shit.” Kaleb replied with a laugh, throwing his arms around the older man without a second thought. “Brakis...it's so good to see you again! What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, kid.” The older Maldorian man smirked, patting Kaleb on the back. “Nice to see that Jael took care of you while I was away. She’s actually the reason I’m here, asked me to tag along on some trip to Concordia.” Brakis added as he fished around in his pocket, holding up a ticket a few moments later. “If those tattoos of yours mean anything, I can only guess you’re here for the same reason?”

“You were always the perspective one.” Kaleb grinned widely as he nodded, flashing rows of yellowish-white teeth. It was a sight that made him look strangely savage, at least when complimented by the black lines across his face. “Yeah...I’m tagging along with her and Sabal. They’re looking for some of the girls that Pomerok managed to send back home.” He added more soberly as he pulled away. “Never...never thought I would go back to that place.”

“Neither did I.” Brakis replied gruffly. “But...I can only assume why they need us for this one. They may speak a bit, but they’ve never been to Maldoria. We have, however, and we know what to expect.”

“Yeah…” Kaleb trailed off, and then glanced towards the terminals of the airport further down the walkway. “Need any help finding them, mate? I was just heading to meet up with them.”

“That would be appreciated. I’ve been trying to find them for a while. My escort was too busy with their next task to show me around the place.” Brakis frowned slightly, but shrugged anyways. “Come on, lead the way, and tell me about them fancy tattoos of yours. There’s gotta be a story behind them.” The former slave chuckled as he patted his young friend on the back.

---TBOM---

“Joan, if you do that one more time, you’re going to rip your hair right out.” Faisal said with a small smile and bemused tone, one hand clutching his travel bag, while the other rested on his hip. “And besides, it's Sabal you’re worrying over. You could show up in a burlap sack and she’d still love the hell out of you.”

Huffing quietly, the redhead justicar swung around to glare weakly at her comrade-in-arms, only managing to earn an amused chuckle from him as he patted the shorter Shalumite woman on the back as they walked. Deep down in her quick-beating heat, Joan knew that his words were true, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying over every little piece of her admittedly plain attire. Though it wasn’t nearly revealing as some of the stuff she had seen her lover wear, the sari wrapped around her showed off far more of her body than she was normally comfortable with, given her conservative upbringing.

But, if this kind of garb meant that Sabal was also a part of her life, then it was something that Joan could overlook.

To say that the last three weeks had been nerve-wracking for Joan would have been putting things lightly, and just the mention of Sabal pulled at the Shalumite justicar’s heart strings. The last time she had seen her lover, the yathallar was being led away to face penance for her actions. Despite her pleas to stay, Joan and her cadre had been turned away however, sent back to Armavir, where their entire journey in Nalaya had started. In an ironic sense, they had come full circle.

Returning to the house that they had stayed at before the civil war had broken out, the justicars had been saddened to learn that the faithful owner had not been exempt from the Nava’ai purge. He had been eliminated by a roving death squad and his house had been ransacked, stripped of anything that was valuable. The same could have been said for their neighbors, making the street feel more like a ghost town rather than a thriving community.

With nothing but time on their hands, the justicars did what they could to help the city. They cleaned up the house, for the sanity of the next owner as much as their own. Apparently their former host had some relatives in Maerimydra who might claim the property, and the Shalumites figured that they wouldn’t want to stumble upon the sight of their relative’s bloodstains. When they weren’t doing that, Faisal and Joan often found themselves at other areas of the neighborhood and city, assisting in rebuilding efforts (when people wouldn’t turn them away for being Shalumite) and spreading what money they had.

After a couple of days, they managed to get in touch with the Council again through a laptop with a shaky internet connection. Once they had reported in, and had explained their long radio silence, they had received orders to continue helping the locals in whatever way they could. Thousands upon thousands of dollars were wired to them hours later, apparently raised by the Shalumite Catholic church to help Nalayan refugees and war survivors. It was more money than Joan had ever seen in her life, but Faisal hadn’t so much as blinked before he began allocating it all.

Michael had been there too, helping as much as he could have, but his injuries were still fresh, and his dexterity greatly limited when it came to his left hand. He hadn’t lost it thanks to the work of healers, but never again would his hand be like it was before. The justicar had unhappily conceded that his fighting days were over, and that he probably faced a much more (no pun intended) hands-off role in the order if they ever returned to Shalum.

As her heart pinned for the return of Sabal, the redheaded justicar couldn’t help but notice that Faisal and Michael both had managed to find ways to distract themselves in their off time. She had spied the former, on several occasions, consorting with a tattooed faithful that reminded her far too much of Sabal. Though he didn’t talk about it often, Faisal had said that it was just a fling, despite Joan’s teasing.

Michael’s actions were much of the same, though he had taken a decidedly easier route. On several occasions that he had ventured off alone, the injured justicar had apparently taken to keeping food on the table for several local prostitutes in exchange for their services. Joan wasn’t especially approving of that, but on the other hand, it was better than him worrying after young Pella, who they had not seen since their departure from the Holy City.

“Hey, I think our terminal is over there.” Michael’s deep baritone voice shook Joan from her thoughts as she glanced up sharply, green eyes darting to where her comrade-in-arms was motioning as they walked. “Oh...yeah, that’s them.” He paused for a moment, smirking as he nudged Joan with his good arm. “Hey look, there’s Sabal.”

For a moment, the justicar’s heart stopped and her breath caught. It was true, she was right there, conversing with some of her fellow yathallar. She looked as beautiful as Joan remembered. For a moment, the justicar wanted to do nothing more than run up and wrap her arms around her Mak’ur lover, but the sensible part of her brain won over. They were in the middle of of an airport, and Sabal was surrounded by other members of her own religious order. Broad daylight probably wasn’t the smartest place for such a reunion, despite the passions of Joan’s heart.

“Come on, let’s go say hello. I think I see the former slaves we’re supposed to meet with as well.” Faisal said, pushing ahead through the crowd. True enough, the other two Shalumites spied more men joining Sabal and her company. One was young and fit looking, imposing in his own way, while the other was older and innocuous. If one didn’t know better, the two men would have fit in on just about any Nalayan street.

With Joan and Michael in his wake, Faisal approached the group ahead without so much as a hint of fear in his eyes. The last few months had hardened him to many things, including the gaze of yochlol, which he spied as he grew closer. Thankfully, he had been informed of who would be accompanying him and his on the trip back to Maldoria. It wasn’t a place he was all that keen on going to, but when he was called by the council, Faisal answered.

“Most Honored Nadal, Most Honored Alysstra.” The Shalumite bowed deeply as he came to a halt before them, his eyes flicking around the group. “I am Justicar Faisal Aras, the leader of Council forces in Nalaya.” Considering there were only three, counting himself, it was an almost laughable title. “And these are the members of my cadre, Joan Couturier and Michael Medley. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

His eyes flickered over to the yathallar and yath’abban, the smallest of smiles stretched across his lips. “Sabal, Ryld, it is a pleasure to see you two again.” He intoned with another, slighter bow. Truthfully, he was thrilled to be in their presence once more, but he didn’t want to expose them to any more danger than he already had. The two of them had probably faced punishment on his, and the rest of the justicar’s, behalf. “Yathallar Jaelryn, we have not met before, but I have heard good things.” He added after a moment.

Behind him, Joan and Michael remained silent for the time being, gauging their Nalayan counterparts. It wouldn’t have taken a skilled person, however, to notice how the redheaded Shalumite spied Sabal every few seconds, her body language clearly nervous. She might have been a hardened warrior, but there was something about the sun-bleached yathallar that could bring down her emotional walls with a single look and soft words.

[Nalaya]

Lerrnayin International Airport
Armavir, Nalaya

“Greetings to you and yours, Justicar,” Alysstra said, dipping her head to Faisal. She had seen the man in Dyvynasshar, but she had not been introduced. There were too many other things going on at that time. Her heart was not as hard as Nadal’s towards Christi, so while she was reluctant to place her trust in them, she didn’t tense or scowl. She knew without needing to look that Nadal’s features had gone from composed to frowning. “It seems that we walk the same path. Ryld and Sabal told us much of you.”

Ryld almost winced a little at the thought. Nadal’s questions had been more akin to an interrogation than a polite inquiry. It was understandable, of course, but still a harrowing experience in many ways. Alysstra was kinder, as they had kept her younger sister safe on the road from Armavir, but only just. Neither of the yochlol were keen on trusting Shalumites after the slavers, even though they understood vaguely that Maldorians were a separate breed. A permissive attitude towards slavery was one complicit in the evil as far as they were concerned. As Nadal had said, either Shalum was weak or corrupted. Perhaps both.

Nadal had not been in Dyvynasshar when the justicars arrived, or things might have gone very differently. His attention had been fixed on carrying out the Dread Wolf’s commands in the Tatev area, opposite Ter Colonel Rikker. Still, while he may have frowned, he was not impolite...just perhaps a bit brusque. He nodded to the three and then twisted his neck, vertebrae realigning themselves with a series of loud cracks. He’d been injured when he was a young man in an explosion and he still felt it at times, as discomfort rather than true pain. “Do you know Maldoria well, Paron Aras?” he asked in a rumble, making polite conversation rather than glowering in silence. He was not a sulking child.

That did not, however, mean he approved of the way Joan was looking at Sabal or vice versa. Attraction between opposites was dangerous, for everyone involved. Nadal was under no illusions that the Christi would be understanding, not that he felt particularly understanding either. Passions were meant to be chased, yes, but to blindly follow towards the enemy—and whether Sabal was willing to admit it or not, Christi were still that—was beyond foolish and well into the realms of madness. Sabal was opening her heart to weakness, one way or another. Joan was something the Christi could use against her, even if the red-headed justicar was honest in her intentions and affections.

The Tenet of Reserve existed for a reason. Forgetting such things was a recipe for disaster. Particularly since their eyes would need to be fixed on heaven for this task.

Jaelryn smiled faintly at Faisal and the other justicars, more curious than hostile. She was the most patient of the group, and seldom quick to make a judgment of someone’s character. It was not beyond her to watch and listen. “As I have heard good of you, Paron,” she said when Faisal addressed her. Her attention quickly moved to Brakis and Kaleb, however, and her smile widened. She greeted the two men each with a hug, a display of affection not always common from one of her status. “It is wonderful to see you both. Dzia and the others send their love.” She’d been parted from Kaleb only for two days, but she hadn’t seen Brakis in quite a while longer.

Despite everything, the storm clouds and the pending conflict, Sabal felt her heart leap the moment she saw Joan. She was smiling without knowing even as she tried to stay completely serious. She ignored the look Nadal shot her direction when she reached out, finding Joan’s hand with her own. This was one of the things she had missed the most: the way Joan could make her feel at something as simple as a touch or a look. She interlaced their fingers for a moment, giving Joan’s hand a small squeeze. She couldn’t do completely as she pleased, otherwise the justicar wouldn’t have been able to breathe through the kisses, but she could have this little touch to ease the distance until they were able to have a proper reunion.

Yes, it was what Ryld referred to as a Very Bad Idea, something dangerous and forbidden, but Nadal and the others were going to have to live with her broken rule. She wasn’t going to give Joan up at their demand. They didn’t know the justicar. Joan didn’t subscribe to their beliefs, but she had respected them for as long as Sabal had known her. If anyone could understand what it meant to be a warrior of faith, it was another warrior of faith. Sabal had no expectation that Joan would ever abandon her cause and trusted that the justicar gave her own faith the same respect.

“We have clothing that is more appropriate than how we are dressed now,” Ryld said, gesturing at their bags. No one was bringing much, but they had each packed something. He and Nadal were already in pants and long-sleeved shirts, though they were still barefoot and Nadal’s shirt was unbuttoned. It was a bit jarring to see either of them in slacks, at least for the other Yath. “I assume the others will either change before we board or after we disembark. I was told that airplane bathrooms are perhaps too...confining.”

“Your advice, Paron Aras?” Alysstra said mildly, looking to the justicar leader.

Jaelryn sighed. “I would that the clothes of the Shalumi were less confining.”

Nadal turned his eyes over to Sabal while the others were distracted speaking to Faisal. <<What are your thoughts on what is to come? You are more educated on the Shalumi than any other of our number.>>

<<It will be a battle fought on every front at once, against incredible powers that aim to crush us into the dust. Every inch of Maldoria is poisonous ground to any ideal or higher purpose, from what I have read and heard. There will be no safe refuge, no rest or relief, and we will pay for every fraction of an inch in blood, sweat, and tears. The divine could not have handed us a better purpose if we had prayed for a thousand years,>> Sabal answered. The thought of it made something stir in her heart, something she hadn’t felt since the last call of the Dread Wolf to the faithful, when she’d wept in Armavir. She loved Joan with all the softer parts of herself, but the honed and hard parts only burned in the worst of adversity.

Nadal smiled faintly. <<This is good.>>

---

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Lesaonar Rhomduil was a tall, powerfully built man in his fifties, his greying blond hair cut short and grey tattoos curling across the skin of his neck and the forearms exposed by his rolled up sleeves. His clothes were more akin to a professional man than the warrior he had once been, but that was a symbol of his own transformation from a vicious cutthroat during the Unification War to a respectable leader of Mak’ur society in the present, slightly more peaceful age. The insides of his forearms were covered in little scars, some faded and some fresh. Each one was the last vestige of a small sacrifice made on the eve of a personal victory. He believed in giving the spirits the blood they deserved, one way or another.

His companion was a gracefully aging Mak’ur woman only a year younger than him, with a tastefully modern sense of style and sapphire blue eyes adept at spotting both weakness and opportunity...often both at the same time. Sabrae T’sarran was a force to be reckoned with and those who knew her understood that underneath an almost demure appearance was a needle-like mind capable of inflicting incredible damage.

Together, they represented the balance that ruled the secular part of Mak’ur society: power and cunning, each balancing the other. Lesaonar was the old way of thinking, Sabrae the newer school of an approach to rule. The glue that held them together, aside from attraction, was their faith. No disagreement was so dire, no methods so mismatched, that the divide couldn’t be bridged by a unified view of their place in the world, even if they had different concepts of what that world looked like now. They shared an image of what it should be. At the end of the day, that was what mattered to the Mak’ur.

In these days of peace, they were just as busy as they had been during the war. Perhaps moreso. Wars had ways of simplifying things, of focusing the mind wholly in the present. At least for Lesaonar, anyway, but he had always been a warrior, focused ever on the front. He doubted Sabrae could have stopped planning the future and dredging up the useful parts of the past even if she wanted to. His force of personality pushed their people forward, and her subtle influence guided them. These days, cooperation between the various qu’ilinasaren was surprisingly prevalent, though not seamless. The fires of faith were still burning brightly enough that the Mak’ur were tightly banded together to repair the damage of the war and re-establish their place under the Nalayan sun. Sabrae's appointment to a national position left her even more preoccupied than him, now that she was representing the sum total of their people.

“The Dread Wolf has been very quiet.” Lesaonar folded his newspaper and looked up at the newly appointed Sulh for the Mak’ur. Sabrae had been absent for the better part of the last month, barely in the city long enough to change clothes. As infuriating as it was to admit to himself, he missed having her around. She knew how to press his every button in just the right way. Absent that release, he had been feeling stressed and irritable.

They were having coffee together in her sitting room, as she dabbed concealer over the bite marks on her shoulder. They’d had quite a bit of making up to do, particularly since the war hadn’t ended with the satisfying bang they had been working towards. The new Protector being reasonable had taken some of the fury out of the forces arrayed against him in the north. Still, the Dread Wolf agreeing to a negotiated settlement had taken everyone by surprise...almost everyone, anyway. The pair of them were not surprised, not after the interference of the Shalumi and the Azurlavai. Nalaya had been given ample reason to unite and form a solid front. They needed to, to keep the world at bay. Nothing brought Nalayans together faster than a common enemy. Sabrae knew better than most that things were still cold between Hravad and the Shalumites, though it would likely ease once the investigation and trial of the Maldorian slavers was over. It was something of a sore spot in Hravad’s psyche, but fortunately his respect for the law established by the first Protector of Nalaya prevented him from going down and beating the man most responsible for the evils visited on the Heartlands to death. Sabrae was only slightly disappointed by that fact.

Sabrae sighed and readjusted her blouse so that the concealed marks were covered completely. It was virtually required that she dress conservatively after their little meetings, lest someone get the wrong impression. “The fact that you can hear a pin drop in Dyvynasshar is hardly my fault. Have you heard anything?”

“Little. She’s been seen in the company of the yochlol, particularly Nadal. You know how he is. She’s up to something.”

“I’d be surprised if she wasn’t. She accepted Hravad’s offer far too gracefully to really be content. Still, she won’t stir the hearth fire, not this time. The people won’t support a violent insurrection.”

Lesaonar cleared his throat. “Here.”

Sabrae raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for him to conclude his thought.

“The people won’t support a violent insurrection here. I have my concerns that she might be considering retaliating against the forces that wronged Nalaya,” the Ilharn Nasadra said as he picked up his small coffee cup. The liquid inside, thick with honey and as dark as his soul, was strong enough to float a pistol. “Whenever she’s quiet, it means she’s thinking. And when she’s done thinking, the earth shakes. A Quarval-sharess is not the kind of woman to sit in contentment, resting on the laurels that earned her such a powerful position. I do not see the Dread Wolf as any exception. She has every reason to lash out at Shalum.”

“She wouldn’t risk unsettling Ardzuni’s position, our position,” Sabrae said as she added more honey to her own cup. “There will be no call to war rattling the rafters any time soon. We had our crusade and saw our enemy unseated. Now the battle is over. Nalaya is at peace and the people have hope again.”

“Have you ever known her to shy away from risk?" He chuckled humorlessly. "Nadal is no longer in Dyvynasshar.”

Sabrae looked up sharply. She didn’t seem exactly surprised, at least not for more than a moment, but she was clearly displeased. “As if Nalaya’s peace wasn’t fragile enough, now it has that beast loosed on it? Is reason such a high price to ask?”

He knew he no longer needed to phrase things carefully: he had her attention. It was enjoyable to keep his hand hidden from Sabrae, she needed to remain informed or something worse than nothing might happen. “As I said, I think her interests lie more northwards. The slavers in Nalaya were fruit of a poisoned tree. Have you ever known Lledrith to be satisfied with the knowledge that such things are in the world, to be satisfied with the belief that such things cannot be rooted out?”

There was a muted clink as Sabrae set the spoon carefully back in the honey. “So you think she aims to pursue them back to their holes? She has to know that this will bring a conflict with Shalum in one way or another. Besides, she’d be throwing the Yath into the inferno. People will call for their heads, for her head. Any purifying flame will be from their funeral pyres”

Lesaonar smiled thinly as he quoted, “The prophet and the martyr do not see the hooting throng. Their eyes are fixed on the eternities.”

Sabrae sighed heavily. “I do hate it when you have a point."

[Shalum]

Lerrnayin International Airport
Armavir, Nalaya

A thin smile creased Faisal’s lips as he looked away from the yochlol momentarily so that he could study Ryld. Though it had only been a couple of months since he had encountered the yath’abban last, but it felt as if it had been much longer. It was amazing how the Fane had aged the olive skinned justicar, if only mentally. Returning his attention to the female yochlol, the justicar leader sought her gaze, his own dark orbs searching for her’s. Eye contact was not necessarily a fundamental of conversation among Shalumites, but he considered it to be respectful if nothing else.

“Good things about us, I can only hope.” He joked lightly, pausing to set down his travel bag for a moment. “How is your sister? I hope that she is doing well after her pilgrimage.” He said honestly, remembering back to the day he had bid farewell to Pella. Faisal would have been lying if he said that the memory didn’t evoke quite a few emotions in him. Saying goodbye was never easy, especially to someone that he had developed such a strong attachment to.

At the mention of the younger faithful girl, Michael couldn’t help but feel a tug at his own heartstrings - for reasons other than those of their cadre’s leader. Sure, Pella might have been a fair bit younger than he was, but Justicar Medley wouldn’t have denied the fact that he found her cute. Desirable. She was gentle and caring, able to soften the foundations of the walls he had built up so many years ago.

And even beyond a level of romantic interest, he cared for her in the same way he did the rest of their little group. Like Sabal, she had become a part of their team and he longed to see her again after so long. Perhaps later, once this was all over with. Maldoria was about the last place that Pella belonged. Even if his intentions might have been less than pure at times, there was at least light in his heart - something that practically nonexistent where they were going.

Swinging his head around to look at the other yochlol, Faisal’s lips pulled into a grimace now as he spoke. “As an acolyte, I spent nearly two years in Concordia. It is the closest thing that they have to a capital in Maldoria. Those were some of the most trying years of my life, aside from the civil war I just survived.” He admitted as he looked back at Nadal. It was so strange to think of this man as their leader when Sabal was but a few feet away. “There is more greed and corruption there than I care to think about, much less experience ever again. Slave markets, murder, theft, and so on. It is about as close to anarchy as you can get, yet there is still some sort of order to the place at the same time. I can only advise caution, and trust no one other than who you see before you now.”

If he was a lesser man, then perhaps Faisal would have smirked ever so slightly at the end of the statement. Though he would not claim to have any kind of in-depth knowledge of Nalayan history and how it had interacted with his own religion, the kaplan was keen enough to understand that ku’nal and Christi didn’t not get along all that well. It probably hadn’t helped when Catholic crusaders and mercenaries had come down from Shalum to Nalaya back in the 1500 and 1600s.

Off to the side, Kaleb barely seemed to notice the justicars beyond a cursory glance, his feet carrying him straight to Jaelryn as he smiled widely. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her as she did the same, pulling her close to him for a moment in obvious affection. “It's good to see you again, Jael.” He smiled as he held her for a moment, her almost earthy scent washing over him. “It’s been too long. But I did bring a friend, if that helps.” He chuckled as he pulled away.

“Sorry for not keeping in touch. My humble abode doesn’t have a phone system. At least, not yet.” Brakis chuckled as he hugged Jaelryn in greeting next, careful not to crush the woman in his strong arms. He might have been older than anyone else here, with the exception of Nadal, but he was not weak. One very small benefit of the life he had been born into. “I hope they know how much we love them too? How are they doing?” He asked, not bothering to hide his flicker of nervousness from Jaelryn of all people. Dzia may not have been his daughter, much less a charge, but he cared for her like one, even if he wasn’t all that able to support her in his current state.

Despite the stares from the other yath, and the words of warning that Faisal had whispered into her ear before they had arrived at the airport, Joan felt as if she and Sabal were the only two women in the world for a moment. They were one again, connected as their hands met and fingers interlaced, that familiar spark at their touch followed by a warm feeling in Joan’s chest as she pulled her lover close. Rising to her tiptoes, the Shalumite justicar smiled warmly and pressed a chaste kiss to Sabal’s lips, leaving behind a silent promise that there would be time for more later. The love in her eyes was clear; she had missed her yathallar, and wanted to spend quite a bit of time catching up with her.

“It is good to see you again, sissurn.” Was all she said, running the pad of her thumb along Sabal’s knuckles as she looked up at her. A small part of her did want to frown, Sabal looked rough, as if she had gone through much in the last few days. Just thinking of it reminded Joan of when they had been separated so that the love of her life could face her penance. Thankfully, that was over, though it seemed as if it would be replaced by something far more dangerous than even the Dread Wolf - the wildlands of Maldoria.

Neither Faisal or Micahel could hide their smiles at the display, even as the former turned his attention back to the other yath and yochlol. “If you intend to change clothing, I would certainly recommended that you do it now rather than later. It has been sometime since I have ridden on an airplane, but I can only assume that they’ve yet to design more spacious bathrooms for them.” He rested his hands on his hips as he spoke, eyes darting back and forth. “The actual climate of Maldoria is arid, much like Nalaya’s, but the local culture will not be quite as welcoming to your views regarding...fashion.”

“You could wear your current attire, should you wish to make a statement.” Michael gave a small shrug, trying to ignore the nature of Sabal and Jaelryn’s clothing - which he failed to some degree. It was not hard to see why his sister in Christ had developed a taste in Mak’ur women. “Most Maldorian men would probably expect you to be well taken care of pleasure slaves, prostitutes, though.”

Faisal shot a pointed look towards his friend, but ultimately nodded. “Despite how callous that statement is...Justicar Medley is correct, at least to some degree. The divides in Maldoria are great, even between the rights of men and women. The attire of the yathallar would most likely be considered offensive.” It went unsaid that slaves weren’t really people to Maldorians. They were more akin to property or livestock.

“Ultimately, however, it is your choice. It is unlikely that anyone would mess with such a well armed group of individuals. Also...shoes are recommended. Lord knows what we’ll encounter once we arrive.” That statement was directed at Ryld, Nadal, and anyone else who was still barefoot. Checking a distant clock, Faisal nodded slightly. “It looks as if we still have some time before boarding, so if you wish to change, now would probably be a good time,” Faisal recommended. His own people had come prepared, wearing slacks and a long sleeve shirts, something that would carry over until they picked up better uniforms and equipment in Concordia.

Time passed more quickly than expected as the group waited for their flight. Faisal was nothing if patient, content to set himself down in a chair and talk with the faithful about Maldoria while they waited. Of the justicars, he was the only one to have ever spent time in the southern province, and thus explained the situation as best he could. It was a terrible place, however, and his words would do it little justice. Time and time again, he warned them to expect the worst, and to not lose their tempers if they wanted to get their people back. He was familiar with Sabal, and knew she would probably turn Maldoria to cinders if she could have. The passions of the yath were both a good tool and a dangerous, uncontrollable weapon that could endanger their mission if they let their control slip.

Boarding and getting seats on the plane was, for once in Faisal’s life, as easy said as done. Apparently it wasn’t a full flight, they rarely were from Nalaya, so the attendants were quick to show them where they would spend the next seven or so hours. Considering the Church had booked them business class accommodations, they were at least comfortable, put into rows of two rather than three. The flight would prove quiet for the most part, considering that the justicars and faithful did not know everyone else all that well.

The seating itself proved somewhat amusing to Faisal. He had chosen the aisle, while Michael was wedged between the kaplan and the window. Alysstra had been sat with Nadal - both of whom had the flight attendant looking bewildered as she quickly scuttled away. Kaleb and Jaelyrn had been put together, while Ryld and Brakis sat behind them. Rounding off the group were Joan and Sabal. Though Faisal couldn’t see them, he could only imagine those two sharing whispery conversations, or simply snuggling against each other for the duration of the flight.

As the engines roared, and the plane lifted off from Armavir’s airport, Faisal could only peer out the window towards the city below. He had spent the last few years in Nalaya, slugging it out with the toughest the world had to offer, fighting the good fight all the way. And just like that, he was leaving once more, heading to a place that was too engulfed in darkness to ever see the light.

Some part of him wondered, feared even, if these would be the last moments that he would ever see Nalaya again. There was no guarantee that he, or anyone else, would survive this great adventure.

No. His mind rejected the notion, and he couldn't help but glance around the airplane, watching the others for a moment. With a subtle shake of the head, and a deep sigh, Faisal leaned back in his and tried to get a bit of rest before they touched down.

---

Shaaryak International Airport
Concordia, Maldoria

There had been a time when the capital of the duchy had been a thriving center of commerce, rather than a cesspit of crime and oppression hidden behind the thin veneer of loose Imperial control. Alas, few remember those golden days, considering that they had been well over eighty years ago, before war had broken out between the Empire and Azurlavai. The Shaaryak rulers of the time had been far more fair-handed than anyone who had ever come before them, or most likely would ever follow. They outlawed slavery and promoted modernization, equality, and things that most over modern societies took for granted.

The Shaaryak had fearlessly stood in the way of the warlords to the south, old guards who promoted values and beliefs from a thousand years before. They had been successful for quite some time, almost bringing Maldoria into a new age of prosperity, only to see their family's work torn to pieces when the warlords rose up. Said tribal warlords had driven the ruling family from the city and had immediately set to work riding as much Imperial and Shaaryak influences as they could. Perhaps their reign of terror would have spread into southern Shalum, if not for the infighting that broke out among their ranks but a few years later, dissolving the tribal alliance that had never been all that strong in the first place.

As the international flight swung over the city, headed towards the airport to the north, the justicars and yathallar got to experience their first impression of the city - at least from a distance. Despite being vastly different from Armavir in just about every respect, Concordia at least shared the similar war-torn appearance.

The streets were a mess of twists and turns, lacking any real sort of planning to them. Many of them were not all that wide, meant for foot traffic or animal herding rather than motor vehicles. Many of the residential buildings were apartments from the 40s and 50s, built in the fashion of the Industrial Revolution, cheap and able to quickly house a large number of people while lacking any real sense of construction or safety code. Some of the newer residential blocks had completely given up on the idea of anything permanent, and were instead made up of prefabricated mobile homes and modular trailers.

Things grew a bit better as the plane banked north, slowly getting in position to land. The structures in the middle of the city looked more likely to stay, whether they be companies, or those who were lucky enough to accumulate any sort of wealth by Maldorian standards. As this was the capital of the duchy, there were a handful of governmental buildings, the largest of them all belonging to the Shalumite military units stationed here.

Closer to the airport, there were a few hotel-casino-brothel hybrids meant to service foreigners and those wealthy enough to afford plane tickets, but Joan wouldn’t have trusted any of them in a heartbeat, considering that they looked to have been thrown up in a hurry and fully capable of being abandoned without the owners’ standing to lose too much in the process.

There were handfuls of large estates and headquarters in the distance to the north, kept apart from the roiling filth of Concordia proper. It was here that many of Maldoria’s worst could be found. The architects of terror and the shit in suits who made their profits off the backs of literal slave labor. Even the Duchess and Duke would not live in the city they ruled. Instead they watched from a distance, kept safe by a veritable army of private security and loyalists who happily sold their souls for fair pay and safety from the broken masses.

“Alright everyone.” Faisal grunted as he pulled his bag from the overhead, glancing around for a moment. Most of the flight’s passengers had opted for economy class seating, so they were mostly alone, save for flight attendants and a few stray souls that eyed their group warily. “Stick close together. From this point on, do not separate under any circumstances - we’re in the lion’s den here. Trust no one, and take nothing for granted.”

They were shown off the plane by an attendant that clearly wanted nothing to do with them; the woman quickly padded away as soon as she had the opportunity. The airport the group found themselves in was certainly old, a product of the seventies. The few electronic boards and computer upgrades that they had stood out sharply in contrast to the overall dingy atmosphere of the place. The crowds themselves were not much, and in fact, many of the patrons seemed to stick to themselves, trying to stay out of trouble. Maldoria was a seldom used layover point, and from the looks of well dressed passengers, it appeared as if they were present for that very reason.

“The Council said that we would be greeted at the gate by our guide.” Michael said quietly, his eyes sweeping over the airport terminals as if he were on a battlefield again. Though there were no weapon laws in Maldoria to speak of, the airport was one of the few places in the city where they were strictly prohibited from being openly carried. Of course, Imperial soldiers and local militiamen (who were the equivalent of police) were the exception to the rule, a few of them posted up here and there as they watched the scene unfold.

There was a moment of silence, before Joan finally motioned towards the distance, using the hand that was not interlaced with her lover’s. “Is that...no, that’s definitely them.”

Sure enough, there was a group of four moving through the crowd, all of whom were dressed in white and red uniforms that bore the marks of crusaders very clearly. As they moved through the crowd, it was clear that they were heading right for the justicars and yath. They all carried weapons, high powered assault rifles and submachineguns that would have torn a man to pieces in moments. The leader of the pack was a nondescript figure, their clothing too unisex to really reveal if there was a man or woman underneath. The most poignant thing about them was the red cross woven onto the fabric of their chests.

It was only once the figure drew close that they reached up to pull back the hood that concealed their face, revealing a head of thick black hair that was cut short, barely reaching her chin. Her skin was tan, and teeth a sharp white. <<Greetings my brothers and sisters of the faith. Yochlol, Yathallar, Yath’abban…initiate; it is a pleasure to have you join us today as well.>> The words were Nalayan, flowing as easily as a stream as Lusin looked over the group before her, mildly surprised to see someone such as Kaleb among their ranks. When she was very young, Lusin remembered her mother speaking about the yathallar and what they did.

To think that she had been sold into slavery but a few months later…

All three of the justicars who had gone to Nalaya had gone very stiff at the sight of Lusin, as if they had seen some kind of ghost. At another time, she would have probably worried about crushing Sabal’s hand. “They sent the Butcher?” She whispered to herself, most likely loud enough for her lover or anyone else close enough to hear.

Faisal was the first justicar who seemed to recover, his face an ashy shade as he bowed in greeting. “Most Honored Nadal, Alysstra, this is Oberst Lusin Holtzmann, one...one of the highest ranking justicars.” While his own rank was akin to captain, her’s was that of a colonel, not that the justicars went much by rank. In the order, it was more a sign of significance, or how long one had been serving in the ranks.

“Welcome to Concordia, it is a pleasure to host those of my country here for the first time. I would have thrown a bigger welcoming party for such an occasion, but most of my cadre are waiting outside.” Stepping forward, she offered her hand to shake with everyone, while the rest of the justicars stood behind her imposingly. “It is a pleasure to meet you all, though I wish it was under better circumstances.” Her smile was not all that heartfelt, but then again, no one could have ever claimed the Butcher to be welcoming in the first place.

[Nalaya]

Transit and then Arrival
Shaaryak International Airport
Concordia, Maldoria

The travel had been tolerable for the Nalayans. Alysstra and Nadal had spent most of the flight deep in calm debate, their native language gliding off their tongues in hushed tones with speed and subtlety that would make it indecipherable to anyone not a native speaker...after Alysstra reassured the justicars that her sister was well. Jaelryn turned in her seat and spent the flight filling Brakis and Kaleb in on how Dzia and the others had been doing before inquiring into Brakis’s new home in Nalaya, among other things. Ryld slept about half the time, after switching seats with Jaelryn, and spent the rest trying to carefully make conversation with the two male justicars. He was full of questions about Shalum, its history and people, and the people that ruled it. The yath’abban was particularly curious about the justicar order itself, but he kept his questions about it circumspect and cautious.

At the back of the group, Sabal slipped her arm around Joan and pulled the justicar in close, ignoring the little twinge in her ribs from the injuries she’d sustained. Having her lover here eased a far worse ache. “I missed you much, ussta ssin,” she murmured in Joan’s ear before leaning her head against the justicar’s. Nadal hadn’t been pleased at the display of affection in the airport and Sabal knew it. She’d recognized the gimlet stare that pierced her as a mark of disapproval, mostly at the blatant violation of the Tenet of Reserve in public. In private, he would likely be somewhat more tolerant, if barely. Fortunately, he had better things to do than glower, not that it would have necessarily stopped Sabal anyway. The yathallar had a million things she wanted to say, but the plane didn’t feel like the right place. Not when their privacy was essentially artificial. Instead, she said softly, “When we have time, when we have space, I will make things up to you properly.” That didn’t stop her from kissing the justicar often on the flight, though, and murmuring soft things in Nalayan and English both.

Well before they landed in Concordia, before they’d even gotten on the plane, all of the yath had changed into much more conservative northern attire. Jaelryn and Sabal had opted for more casual clothes, but to them the fabric was strange and rough against their skin. Pants were also very different, though they’d both worn them before in the past. It just felt...restricting. The fabric didn’t flow with their movements. It also served to hide most of their tattoos, something that was necessary even if it was uncomfortable. All of the yath here had worn shoes before, so that was less strange than it might have been for others from their order.

When the time came to disembark, Nadal nodded in answer to Faisal’s comment. “Jaelryn, with Kaleb. Sabal, stay with Ryld. Alysstra and I will go together. Kaplan, I leave you to assign your people as pleases you.” His people dipped their heads in understanding. There was a distinct logic to his pairings that all of them could see immediately: no woman without a man. He had done some reading about Maldoria before they arrived.

They retrieved their gear. Weapons had been stowed in two duffel bags in checked baggage, easily claimed once they were off the plane. There was also a bag of medical supplies that Ryld picked up. He had the most medical training out of everyone present, somewhere between a paramedic and a nurse. Nadal’s head swiveled the moment Joan pointed, while the others quietly equipped themselves. His expression was not easy to read, but it was probably safe to assume that it was not a thrilled look. He knew that because of the justicars, there would be Christi support for what they were doing. Here it was. Just the sight of them with their weapons brought back memories of repelling such warriors in his homeland.

Sabal, however, visibly frowned. She didn’t know who the Butcher was, but that was not a name given lightly...at least among Nalayans. She looked to Nadal for a second, gauging his opinion through the hints visible in his golden eyes. He was feeling the same, knee-jerk hostility that she could feel boiling in her own veins. As much as she loved Joan, those red crosses only made her think of blood and fire. She did not like this.

“Your greetings are welcome, Siruhi Oberst,” Alysstra said, stepping forward. Nadal could speak English, but she knew it might be better if his voice wasn’t the first thing they heard. She maintained her own doubts about these people and certainly didn’t believe that it was a pleasure for the justicars to have yath in their country. She didn’t bow, nor did the other yath, but they did all incline their heads in a polite gesture. “It is unfortunate that we are not in the Empire of Shalum for pleasure, else we might be in a better spirit for your welcoming party.”

When Lusin went to shake hands, most of the yath obliged, all of them with the careful touch of people who did not shake hands normally, if ever. Sabal felt a fleeting urge to grip crushingly tight, but the reasonable part of her brain told her that it would be rude. For most of her life, she had very much been in the same school of thought as Nadal. Before the three justicars that she knew, she had been one of the hardliners. She’d fought the Christi bitterly when the Fane was destroyed, hounding them back to the coast along with the rest of the Yath. This situation, out of her own country and with the reaction of her friends and lover, made her feel that old anger simmering under the surface. Ryld was probably the least cautious, but he was also the least guarded, hints of skepticism visible in his expression. Alysstra and Jaelryn were wary, but not tensed yet the way Sabal was.

Nadal was still unreadable to any except those who knew him best. He did not shake Lusin’s hand, his golden eyes instead staring almost unblinkingly at the Butcher, measuring her. She could smile all she wanted, but Nadal knew the nature of beasts. If the justicars had sent someone like this one to them, it could not have been with good intentions.

Alysstra looked back at him and tilted her head slightly to one side, silently asking for his opinion. They had known each other for well over a decade and interacted on a daily basis. Sometimes, words were unnecessary. Sabal and Jaelryn looked towards him as well, though Ryld kept his eyes fixed firmly on the justicars. He did not like the fact that they were handily outnumbered.

The powerfully built yochlol shook his head and then looked back at Lusin. “It is interesting that your people have sent someone so important to serve as our guide, Siruhi Oberst,” Nadal said finally. His smile was dry, not quite humorless but not far from it either. “I am honored that we are seen as such dangerous guests.”

Alysstra almost winced, but managed to contain herself. Nalayan was not going to be safe to converse in without eavesdropping, so she switched to Mak’ur. “Nadal, xun naut kor mina. Udos ssrig’luin nind dortho.” Her point was plain to those who could understand her speech: they needed the justicars and thus they couldn’t afford antagonizing their hosts.

He grunted his acknowledgement. Alysstra was right. Whether he liked it or not, they would be relying on the justicars. “Ves al.” Nadal was a creature of pride, but he was not above allowing Alysstra and the others to smooth things over. He was not going to harm anyone now, despite his disdain for false sweetness from an ancient enemy.

“I apologize,” Alysstra said to Lusin. “We are all on edge, and that does not always make for good greetings. There is also...much in the way of bad blood between us. I hope that you will understand, even if you do not approve, Siruhi Oberst. The wound still bleeds.”

Sabal relaxed slightly. Some part of her had been worried that Nadal might refuse and escalate things, even though she understood what he was feeling. She gave Joan’s hand a small squeeze before letting go to pick up her bag. The sooner they were out of the airport and with a bit of breathing room between Lusin and Nadal, the better. Once her rifle was slung over one shoulder and her bag over the other, she felt more at ease. She wasn’t particularly thrilled, but it was survivable.

Jaelryn seemed supremely untroubled, her spider-like patience on full display. She studied the justicars for a moment, aware that their imposing arrival was meant to strike awe and caution. To her, it made little difference who their escort was. Armed and armored was problem enough, and the uniforms lacked the subtlety that she had been hoping to move with. She pulled up the scarf that had been around her neck, covering her hair and then the lower half of her face. In her clothes, thick jeans reinforced with canvas and a hooded sweatshirt under her motorcycle jacket, she looked like a student rioter. The only thing missing was something in her hand: a brick, Molotov cocktail, or perhaps a billowing tear gas grenade.

Sabal and Alysstra were both dressed similarly and covered their faces and head as well. They were willing to make concessions in order to pass with less scrutiny, and their clothes were chosen with purpose: kevlar jackets reduced the efficacy of knives or broken glass, as did sturdy fabric on their legs. Though firearms were no doubt as common in Maldoria as they were in Nalaya, the threat of melee weapons was likely just as significant, if not moreso. Guns cost money. A wrapped piece of shattered glass or broken steel far less so.

The Yath had never believed really in uniforms, not when they had the tattoos that marked their different aspects to designate a place in the world and the faith. They wore what the people wore, though armor was often favored when going into combat. Anything that promised them a chance at more enemies was worth the while.

“Let us meet this cadre,” Alysstra said with a nod to Lusin. “From there, guide us to where you will. We will see the nature of Concordia as we go.”

None of the yath expected it to be easy, but they understood much of what they could expect to face. They had seen Casimir and Karagozian’s work. They watched people burn at Tadevos’s hands. They were not strangers to human evil and Kaleb’s tales had provided them much of a window into the world they were now walking out into. And for all their pursuit of passion and the power that gave them, they knew when to chain themselves in service of a higher purpose. It was only a matter of biding their time until the opportunity to strike presented itself.

In the end, a hawk knew the wrist of its falconer. Evil intent gave birth to evil deeds...which could only reap a bitter harvest when the end came. The purpose of the Yath was, in part, to simply acquaint the wicked with that fact.

[Shalum]

Shaaryak International Airport
Concordia, Maldoria

The Butcher was not your average Nalayan women. At nearly six-foot tall with emerald eyes. raven hair (which had quite a few red highlights), and a litany of tattoos that marred her olive skin; Lusin resembled a Mak’ur warrior, rather than the Arusai that her mother had been. She was a powerful woman, with strong but sinewy muscles covered a durable bone structure that doctors had rebuilt more than once. Those who had taken the time to really know her understood that there was a lion that dwelled in her heart, guarding it from everything that had tried to tear her down over the years. Her mentor had done his best to help Lusin leash it, but there were moments when the beast wanted to roar instead of beaten back into it's cage.

This was one of those instances. For a brief moment, there was a flicker in Lusin’s predatory eyes. Something less welcoming, and far more dangerous. The justicars weren’t ones to really given nicknames or titles, but it was safe to assume that she had been dubbed ‘the Butcher’ for a reason. Looking just barely up at Nadal, there was a moment of pause as the holy warrior flexed her fingers anxiously, before she finally had the sense to back down. A few justicars behind her had looked ready to step forward and calm her, but it looked as if they had been saved from such a dangerous task, at least this time.

“It is alright, Most Honored.” Lusin replied slowly as she looked over at the female yochlol after taking a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves as she did so. “Between my birth mother, and my raising in the Church, I am aware of the injustices that our people have felt at the hands of crusaders. Especially those with dark hearts and ill intentions, unlike the order that I serve.” To say that Nalayans were her people was a stretch, considering that she had never stepped foot there, but Lusin was grasping for some common ground. It would be unfortunate if she had to kill these yathallar now, rather than later when they inevitably fucked up; for once, the diplomatic backlash would probably be worse than the paperwork she would have to file with the Council.

Justicar Holtzmann couldn’t help but turn her attention to Nadal for a moment. No matter how powerful he may have been in his own country, this was her turf, and she felt no fear in the face of him. Aside from the veritable army at her back, she was confident that she could hold her own in a fight against him. “My deployment to Nalaya was not done lightly, Most Honored Nadal. The Council sent those who know Maldoria best, or at least have the best skillsets to support your goals. We want to see that your people are returned home just as much as you do.” Mostly for the sake of public relations, but that was left unsaid.

“Aside from the years as I spent as a slave here, I’ve got many tours of duty in Maldoria under my belt - I can help you more than even your free slaves can.” She glanced over at Kaleb and Brakis for a moment. “If it matters, our hackers made sure that their names were struck from the Duchess’ records. You won't have to worry about someone trying to reclaim any of her ‘lost’ property.” Looking back to the rest of the yath, she rolled her shoulders as, trying to stay loose.

“Anyways, enough of that.” She turned and motioned to the row of justicars standing behind her, urging them closer. “You can go ahead and lose the masks, guys, you can trust everyone here.” She said as she looked back at the yath, and then nodded again.

The first justicar proved to be a man. With a shortly trimmed brown beard and hazel colored eyes, he looked as if he could have easily passed for one of Kella’s warriors. “It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am Thul Bas’rolor, but you may just refer to me as Thul; most non-Maldorians find it easier to pronounce.” His tone and smile were both pleasant, flashing rows of whitish-yellow teeth as he rested his hands on the butt of his rifle which was currently slung around his neck by a durable strap. “It is a pleasure to assist holy warriors, even if you are not of my own faith.”

Lusin smiled slightly. Thul was the strange one of her party, somewhere between the mix of an old time preacher and spiritual guide. The man was far more tolerant than she could ever dream of being, seemingly unfazed by everything around him. He was perhaps a bit crazy as well, considering she couldn’t forget the first time she had witness him take a head off a man’s shoulders as if it hadn’t been attached well in the first place. “He is one of our resident Maldorians. Was raised as a priest, actually.”

“It is unfortunate that I came into the order so late, or perhaps I could have helped many more than I have already.” His inflection was one of genuine regret as he bowed his head for a moment, eyes slipping closed. “It wasn’t until later in life that I realized the errors of my youth, and joined the Justicar Order. Fixing the past mistakes of my life has proved...fulfilling, though difficult.” He decided that it was, for the time being, best to leave out the fact that he had preached in favor of slavery for years before he had finally seen the light. It could only be assumed, considering his past position, but it was better to leave some things unsaid.

The next justicar was a woman in her mid-thirties, or perhaps her early forties, attractive in an Amazonian kind of way. She and Lusin looked to be birds of feather, at least in terms of characteristics; they shared similar skin tones and hair colors. Her uniform was slightly different, lines of silver outlining the blood red of the justicar emblem, rather than pure white. “This is Ayle Khan. She is my executive officer of sorts, at least for this operation. She will be in charge of resource and manpower management, among other things.”

“An honor to serve alongside you.” Justicar Khan replied with a small bow, her voice noticeably higher pitched than Lusin’s was. “I have heard many things about the prowess of your kind in combat, and I am eager to see it in action. We’re going to need every factor on our side that we can get if we are to return your people to Nalaya safely.” Silently, she wished that it was a duty that the Order could have handled alone, rather than bring in foreign elements that they knew little of. Maldoria was already in perpetual chaos, and more warriors such as the yath would risk destabilizing the already shaky status-quo that was currently in place.

“It is good to see you again, Ayle. And as a justicar now, no less.” Joan smiled softly as she looked at the woman standing across from her.

There was a flicker of amusement in the warrior’s eyes. “And it will be a pleasure to serve alongside you again, Mistress Couturier. From what I understand, your skills with a sniper rifle have no waned any.”

“Just Joan is fine. Neither of us our Silver Blades anymore.” The redhead replied with a small chuckle, remembering the old days when she had been a rank and file soldier for the Church, rather than someone who took justice into their own hands.

Looking over at her lover, Joan gave Sabal’s hand a small squeeze. “She and I used to serve alongside one another.” She explained in a quiet voice, figuring that no one would be able to hear them over the hustle and bustle of the airport. Though she trusted the yathallar implicitly, Joan knew that her lover’s blood ran hot. Better to stave off any silly jealousy now rather than later.

The next two Justicars were very much Germanic compared to their counterparts, one tall and strongly built, while the latter was short and sinewy. Both had sandy blonde hair and light colored eyes. While Ayle and Thul at least seemed pleasant; these two seemed far more reserved, perhaps even suspicious, of the yath that stood before them. They stood ramrod straight at military attention, weapons across their chests as if expecting some kind of inspection from superior officers.

“This here is Oliver Phillips.” She motioned to the tall one, and then looked to the shorter one for a moment. “And Drake Branson. Both are former marines - heavy hitter types that we’ll need if we run into trouble. Don’t expect ‘em to be much use in conversation though, I’ve known ‘em for years and they still don’t say shit most of the time.”

“We much prefer keeping our eyes on the prize, ma’am, and completing the objective.” Oliver replied, his voice rather rumbly.

“We’re at your disposal, Most Honored Nadal.” Justicar Branson replied with a shallow nod and gruff voice. It wouldn’t have taken a fool to realize his displeasure at even saying the words. But, as a soldier of faith, there was no doubt that he and his compatriot would obey the will of the Council...whatever that might have been.

“Come on, a couple more of my guys are outside.” Lusin said, giving everyone a ‘follow me’ kind of motion. Leading them out of the airport, she was quiet, not seeming to pay the other justicars and yath much mind as they talked among themselves. Once they passed through the airport doors, the new arrivals were greeted by the Maldorian climate for the first time. It was certainly sunny, causing Lusin to pull her hood on immediately so that her eyes were at least somewhat shaded. The temperature was in the nineties as well, but it wasn’t oppressively hot either, most likely due to the lack of humidity that came with more arid climates such as Maldoria.

“We’re moving out.” Lusin called to two soldiers, one man and one woman, who had been lingering nearing the entrance. Both looked far more equipped for the front line than she and her fellow justicars did. They were bedecked in body armor systems and ballistic helmets that were covered by urban camouflage. One carried a general-purpose machine gun, while the other packed a lighter UMP submachinegun and had an RPG casually slung over their shoulder.

As the soldiers nodded tightly and fell in seamlessly behind them, acting as a rearguard force, Lusin motioned to them for a moment as they crossed the street, heading away from the airport and towards the city. “These boys and girls here are Silver Blades. If justicars are special operations oriented, than they’re more geared towards frontline combat, hence their loadouts. The council authorized twenty of them for us to use here in Maldoria as needed. On top of that, we have a few support staff members at our forward operating base. They’ll make sure we have a steady supply of equipment and supplies. You can’t trust the locals to give us anything that isn’t poor grade, or downright sabotaged, so most of our stuff is going to be coming from outside sources.”

Though it may have sounded like a lot, the trust was that thirty-some odd warriors (counting themselves and the Yath) barely held a candle to what they were up against. The Duchess had thousands at her command across the Duchy, as did many of the independent tribes. No matter how poorly trained or equipped that they may have been, this was still their land; Lusin simply didn’t have the resources to fight them.

“Uh, ma’am, where exactly are we headed?” The first Silver Blade asked as he lugged his GPM a little higher, scanning the area around them. Short of the Ducal estate itself, they were probably in one of the safest areas of Maldoria, but he wasn’t about to slack off now.

“Our operations center. I figure our guests could use some rest and time to settle in before we get to finding their people.” Lusin replied as she glanced over her shoulder, leading the group along a more narrow path, one that obviously wasn’t meant for vehicular traffic. It was an older, decently maintained path that had been beautiful red brick one time. Now, however, weeds tried to grow through the cracks, some of which were large enough that they had just been filled in with quick-mix cement or gravel. The people around them were dressed, mostly merchant-types or the occasional visitor, all of whom seemed to give the group an ample amount of space on all sides.

“But, ma’am, isn’t the safest way to the FOB-”

“We’re cutting through the markets. I figure our guess would enjoy the scenic route, no? After all, what good hunter doesn’t know the terrain on which they tread?” Lusin asked with a dry smile. In reply, the soldier only grimaced and nodded, gripping his weapon a little more tightly as she turned her attention back to the yath. “I hope you do not mind the long way. When we get to proper field operations, I plan to use vehicles whenever possible,” Lusin explained. “Come on, we aren’t too far. There market doesn’t have a real formal beginning or end, aside from the fact that it's ‘heart’ is towards the center of the middle class areas.”

As they pressed further into the city, the foot traffic seemed to steadily increase, giving way to the to the true nature of Maldoria. For a start, everyone was armed. Everyone. Even the most innocuous mother with a young child could be seen openly packing a sidearm at her side. Just beyond her were a pair of malnourished looking teenagers who clutched assault rifles in their dirty hands. Admittedly, they were old and shitty models that looked half rusted, but they were rifles nonetheless. Most of the other weapons in sight weren’t in much better shape, and considering that most in the city simply couldn’t afford body armor, the poor quality weapons would more than sufficient against threats that most would encounter on the streets.

Most reacted to the justicar and yath’s passing in a way that could only be expected. Though there were more well dressed looking men and women who browsed the stalls and small storefronts, there were many more lower class Maldorians who skittered about around the fringes. They were almost universally long haired and in bad need of a shower, among other things. They sneered, and a few even spit in the direction of the Christian crusaders, but seemed nervous about the quality of the group’s weapons and largely gave the warriors a wide berth. By comparison, the middle class merchant types and shoppers gave the crusaders and yath deferential tilts of the head and a few tried to respectfully approach before Lusin wordlessly shooed them away with hand gestures.

A little down the way, a few scantily-clad women who looked like they were high as kites tried to stagger in the group’s direction before a heavily armed drug dealer distracted them with more packets and needles, calling out his offers of heroin and cocaine even louder. Out of the corner of his eye, however, it was clear that he was warily tracking the group’s movement through the market. At a stall attached to a larger storefront behind it, one Maldorian business man barked loudly as he tried to hawk crappy guns. A burly man was vocal about his increasing irritation with his neighbors while talking with a couple of friends at an open-air bar across the street; thugs and low-level dealers of all types seemed to be everywhere, trying to provide services to their clientele while rival competitors’ gunmen sought to slim down the competition at the same time.

During their walk, the yath and justicars witness five brawls, saw three dead bodies being dragged into shadowy side-streets, and even glimpsed a heavily tattooed Maldorian soldier enjoying the ‘services’ of a kneeling Shalumite (or perhaps Alemarran or Acrean) woman as he leaned against a wall. As they paused to turn the corner, Lusin brought the entire group to a sharp stop as a veritable pack of mangy-looking dogs went sprinting across the street, an irate group of Maldorians in ragged clothing shouting obscenities as they chased after the animals. Faisal had just enough time to blink in surprise as another man rounded the corner, waving his shotgun in the air as he pounded after them. He seemed equally furious that his ‘pets’ were apparently in danger and was describing, in rather disturbing detail, just how he was going to cook up anyone that harmed them.

Jack Sparrow would have felt right at fucking home.

“Interesting place you picked for us, Oberst Holtzmann.” Joan muttered as she eased her finger off the grip of her battle rifle.

“Indeed.” Ayle murmured dryly in agreement as she lowered her rifle, seeming otherwise unfazed as gunfire began to echo in the distance.

Though the market had no formal boundaries, birds of a feather were known to flock together. The stalls and shops up to this point had been relatively middle-class places, at least by Maldorian standards, and provided what most citizens of the area would have needed. Food, medicine, supplies, and so on. This became apparent as the group reached a crossroads of the market’s many footpaths, where the traffic was heavier as people went from one ‘zone’ of the area to another. Signs pointed them in various directions, towards better (or so they said) quality arms and drug traffickers. There were other advertisements that directed them towards bars, restaurants, hotels, and even a movie theater. The group did not follow them, however, instead keeping in the same direction that they had been for some time.

“I’m starting to regret coming here.” Justicar Ayle murmured as she looked around, eyeing the shadier looking types that surrounded them now.

They stood out in ways that not even your average Maldorian thug did. Instead of rabble who resorted to senseless violence just so that they could make it day to day, the warriors and merchants around them had a different air about them. They were better dressed, armed, and armored than your average criminal. Men and women in expensive business attire had no place in this city, and yet they were here, surrounded by veritable legions of private security and mercenary forces.

“Already?” Thul mumbled, glancing at Ayle for a moment. She was thick skinned, and had been in the fight for much longer than he. She had even volunteered for this mission.

“Perhaps this place will grow on you like Lusin did.” The former Maldorian priest mused.

Beside Jaelryn, Kaleb glanced to the right, careful to keep her expression neutral as he regarded a stoned looking local in the process of having everything on his person liberated by a scantily clad woman who couldn’t have been any older than Dzia. Despite how large the girl was compared to the man she was robbing, it only took one hand for her to keep him in place, which seemed to make him giggle like an idiot. “Somehow, I can only imagine this place growing on a man like a fungus.” He muttered.

“You’re not wrong, kid. You’re not wrong.” Justicar Bransen muttered as his finger brushed against the trigger guard of his rifle when someone tried to approach them, only to be waved away by Lusin.

The group descended a small stairway that felt more like a defensive choke point to Faisal’s trained eye. As he looked away from the narrow passageway to what laid ahead, he blinked in surprise. Before them was a large, military-styled fence with rings of concertina wire all along the top of it. In the center of it was a checkpoint manned by what looked to be a company’s worth of the Duchess’ troops. They were safe and secure behind impervious looking concrete barriers, as well as a pair of machine gun positions. Though manned, the heavy weapons posed little threat at the moment, their barrels pointed towards the sky. The most notable thing, however, was that the majority of the soldiers and their equipment faced inward, as if they were meant to keep something in…

And then Faisal saw the sign that hung above the gate - Tuhi Slave District.

Just before the gate were a good dozen or so people shouting, electronic boards of flickering advertisements all around them. It didn’t take a genius to decipher their shouting - they were promoting certain slave vendors. On the screens, many of which featured flashy neon lighting, there were even more displays, all proclaiming the advantages of buying ‘products’ from specific sellers. These were usually accompanied by pictures of young women, able bodied men, and even whole families. Despite the generally accepted idea that slavery was about pleasure for the most part, the truth was that it was a means of cheap labor as well. Female slaves mostly tended to the household, while males work the fields, mines, and so on.

Glancing back at the group, Lusin couldn’t help but observe Kaleb for a moment. He appeared tense, his light skin a new shade of pale, even as his eyes flashed wildly around the place. The justicar leader spied him reaching for Jaelryn’s hand, while Brakis put a hand on the young initiate’s shoulder at the same time. It had completely slipped her mind until now, but she remembered - this was where Kaleb had been split from his mother and sold many years ago.

Looking around the rest of the group for a moment, she paused. At one time, this place had gripped her living soul with fear - she tried not to remember every time she had been brought to market here, or had simply been pimped out by her owner for a few hours at a time. “I’m sure you understand by now, but this is a place of evil. The den of wolves, if you will.” Her voice was deadly calmed, controlled in the same way that a weapon was handled. “It deserves to be razed to the ground, and it's owners burned at the stake - but we cannot do that, at least not today.” She didn’t exactly sound pleased with that. “Today...you get to see what we have been combating for years.”

Passing through the checkpoint proved to be a harrowing experience in itself. Much like the steps that led to this market entrance, it was far more narrow than the streets, built to funnel traffic coming in and out of the area. Being so close to other slavers as they passed wasn’t exactly pleasant, and Joan could only grasp her pistol a little tighter, her hip brushing against Sabal’s as they walked side-by-side. The group received any number of glares and sneers, most of which were directed towards the justicars - yet no one was daring enough to mess with them here. After all, they were still under the watch of the Duchess’ troops who had little patience for violence.

What the justicars saw within the walls would certainly haunt their dreams for years, assuming they lived that long.

Everything that they had encountered thus far were things that they could put up with, and deal with at a later date. Sure, the vendors in the stalls had sold any number of things that were illegal in the Empire, but not necessarily in other nations. The violence had been unsettlingly, but even it could have been solved over time through the use of police force. Not to mention the fact that every little thing simply couldn’t be stopped. But this, what they saw before them? It worse than that on levels that none would have cared to describe. Michael and Kaleb both felt a similar urge to walk over and murder every slaver who tried to wave them over, motioning their hands and arms towards slaves forced to stand naked on display for gawking auctioneers to bid on. No...not murder, actually, for it implied that the slavers would have been allowed to die quickly.

Seizing every control stick, and collar frequency, just so that they could be turned off sounded far more appealing to Michael. Of course, in practice, every free slave here would be dead or re-enslaved in a matter of minutes, considering the army outside the walls, poised to put down any revolution so swiftly that no one would have ever realized that it had begun in the first place. It was the only thing that dissuaded the justicar from blowing a slaver’s head off when he waved a control stick, sending a nude woman screaming to the ground as she clutched the control collar around her neck.

Her owner, and many prospective buyers, simply cackled at her pain as one bidder reached down to ‘inspect’ her.

In the span of thirty-seconds, they witnessed any number of vile events such as that. Slaves were on display seemingly everywhere, some packed into cages so tight that they had to stand up straight while they were inspected. A young child screamed for her mother and father as she was separated, paid for, and drug off by her new owner. In a matter of moments, the rest of the family was divided, each member delivered into the hands of a new owner.

Joan felt her skin crawl when she heard one man talk about how his newest ‘acquisition’ would make an excellent broodmare for the next generation of his factory’s workforce, and Faisal could only grimace as well-dressed men discussed how long slaves normally lasted down in the mines that they ran. More than a few slaves tried to approach and call for them, practically begging for the justicars or yath to buy them. They knew the symbols of Christianity were the only real hope here in this cesspool of darkness.

Much like the like the shops they had seen before, the layout of the slave market was dependent upon the vendors there. There were many small shops and open-air business, along with more humble stalls and traders. The centerpiece of the market was an almost auditorium like depression, where great electronic screens had been set up to display prices and information to the crowds. Lusin quietly explained how the slaves sold there were ones owned by the government of the Duchy.

The slaves here were all bare to the world, men and women alike, but at least looked healthier than some of the others that they had seen thus far. Some were shown to be mine workers, others household staff and cooks. ‘New arrivals’ often proved to be Hostillian, apparently purchased from the Consortium, only to be resold at a higher price later. The market was so big for slaves that the Duchy even had it's own news network regarding the trade, apparently, as news flickered across the bottom of the screen via a ticker. Among the many bulletins was a ‘continued shortage’ of Nalayan imports.

“We have a contact in the market here.” Lusin explained once they broke away from the crowds for a short moment. She motioned towards the distance, towards the seemingly endless rows of slave dispensers. “He is one of the better slavers around, if there is such a thing. He has promised that he can get his hands on several Nalayan slaves. I’d stop by and visit him today, but I figure you guys would like some rest first. I don’t really want to fight that crowd right now.” Lusin grimaced as she motioned towards the legions of prospective buyers, and then kept on leading them.

Thankfully, the tour of the slave market did not last much longer. As Lusin led the group through the winding streets and marketplaces, they eventually found themselves spilling out another entrance to the slave district, and into more civilized streets. The justicars, even her own, had grown silent and brooding, the muscles in their jaws tight, and eyes dark with anger. “I feel like I need a shower now.” Joan muttered darkly, refusing to look back at the district gates as they put more distance between themselves and that evil place.

“You get used to the smell of desperation and paranoia after a while.” Lusin replied with a humorless smile, looking back at the redhead for a moment. Looking away, she motioned to the streets ahead of them. “Come on, we’re set up not too far from here.”

‘Not too far’ proved to be the better part of two miles, a reason that they would normally end up taking vehicles when they could. The justicars were silent unless spoken to, otherwise left to brood on what they had just witnessed. It was hard to imagine that such practices were allowed, much less happened every day without so much as the batting of an eyelash. Kaleb and Brakis both kept close to Jaelryn, the young man visibly angry as he gripped his rifle and tried to contain himself.

“Here were are, home sweet home.” Lusin finally said with a wide, sweeping motion of the hands. Now standing at the edge of the old ‘industrial zone’ of the city, they were greeted by a rather large plot of land with several buildings nestled atop it. In the center was a factory, one that had obviously seen better days, if the broken glass and aging walls meant anything. Attached to it were several outbuildings, including a three-story one that resembled an apartment building. The chainlink fence with concertina wire around the property’s perimeter looked to be much newer, as if the place had been given at least some attention in the last few years.

The area outside the factory’s front gates was buzzing with activity. Quite a few vehicles were lined up, ranging from rugged land rovers and military trucks, to several imposing BAE Caiman armored fighting vehicles. Essentially tanks on wheels, they were outfitted for war, each touting a heavy machine gun that would have cut through nearby buildings like a hot knife would have butter. Attention was not being paid to them, however. Instead, a good ten or fifteen Silver Blades and more casually dressed workers affiliated with the Council of Christ were hard at work, ferrying box after box of supplies into the building.

“This old place was a clothing factory back in the early fifties, back before everything to hell under the new regime in Maldoria. The owners gutted the insides of anything worth value and just left it when they went under. Aside from a few transients that we had to shoo off, the place was pretty easy to acquire. A few grand in back taxes, and the local government was quite happy to let us take over.” Lusin explained as they stepped through the checkpoint at the main entrance to the factory grounds, which was staffed by a meager squad of Council warriors.

“We’re still setting up here, so the place is a mess inside. We’ve at least got electricity and water in the living quarters over yonder, which is something. Hopefully things will come along more in the coming weeks, the Council wants to set this up as a base of operations in Maldoria.”

Thul added in a rumbly tone. “The living quarters were an old slave apartment building. The owners had about two hundred slaves, plus their families, living inside. They ran the factory every day of the year, in a couple of shifts, so that they never had to shut down. Slaves that were born here did the same thing their entire lives until the day they died, for the most part.” Thul explained for the benefit of their new guests. “They rooms are small, but should be enough for two people to bunk with. The family units are on the third floor, big enough for five or six, if anyone would rather stay there. We’ve been saving them for any slaves were rescue.”

“Occupied rooms are already marked, so don’t worry about claiming someone else’s.” Lusin turned to look at Nadal. “Feel free to get settled inside as you wish. I imagine that you guys have some kind of rooming arrangement already set up?” That particular question was followed up by a pointed looks towards Sabal and Joan, her lips curling downwards for a moment. She hadn’t missed how the justicar interacted with the yath, keeping close to her at every turn.

Returning her attention to Nadal and Alysstra, she continued. “If there is anything you two would like to discuss, I am all ears. If not, I will depart and give you some time.” Lusin explained with a small nod. “I’ll have some people get a meeting room together so we can discuss the next step in finding your missing girls.”

[Nalaya]

Through the Market
Concordia, Maldoria

Our people.

It was strange how angry two words could make Sabal. Perhaps it was her own intolerance and history speaking, but the idea that any Shalumite would claim any understanding of what it meant to be Mak’ur was galling at best. Sabal had fought for her identity viciously. She had helped forge her nation out of chaos and darkness. She sweated and bled and wept for her people and her country. This woman had done nothing of the sort, whatever demons lurked in her past. She had given up the people she loved the most for her faith and then they had died for their country, as she had almost died for it many times. If there was one thing Sabal was absolutely certain of, it was that Lusin was not Nalayan. Descent was not and would never be enough.

She felt it more intensely than Nadal, more intensely than Jaelryn, more than Alysstra and Ryld. To them, it was ignorance. To her, it was insult. For how deep her passions ran, however, Sabal stayed silent, if only because of Joan’s hand brushing against hers and the warning look that Nadal shot her. Everyone who knew her had seen the subtle tension in her shoulders form. Still, it was not an impression Sabal was liable to forget.

Nadal was not oblivious to the fact that Lusin had subtly underlined that the retrieval of these women was the goal of his group and not hers. It was not a surprise, but it did mark to him that these people were here for motives that did not align with his own. Their offer of help is false honey, Lledrith had said to him, her voice quiet in the darkness of the Fane. It is the fruit of a poison tree. You will know when the time comes. The Quarval-sharess’s words were never to be ignored.

Jaelryn frowned faintly when Lusin spoke of Kaleb and Brakis. “Kaleb and Brakis are not free slaves,” she said, though her tone and voice were gentle. “They are free people. And the work of your people is appreciated. I will speak their praises.”

Thul’s name had a similar sound to some Mak’ur names, so it was not difficult for them to remember it. Jaelryn offered him a smile, sensing a more open heart than Lusin’s. That was something of a relief. She could still feel Sabal’s anger like a storm building, but the other yathallar seemed to be containing herself. Jaelryn could understand it perfectly, though her own patience was sufficient for her not to be caught up in it. She was surprised at how well Nadal had taken the comment, but then again, he could be farsighted. “Your assistance is welcome, Paron Bas’rolor,” the spider yathallar said smoothly. She had always been polite, even to her enemies. “As is yours, Siruhi Khan.”

Sabal didn’t feel particularly jealous despite Joan’s concern, both because she felt secure in Joan’s affections at the moment and because she was busy fighting down white-hot rage. Her jaw worked for a moment when Lusin’s eyes turned away from her, but she still didn’t say anything. She did manage to join in the group nod to Phillips and Branson, clinging to the notion of good manners. Besides, if she flew off the handle now, their ability to do what they had come to do would be severely limited. Alysstra was right. They needed the justicars, at least until they had a proper foothold.

At least the weather outside was perfect, a reminder of their homeland. Ryld smiled and turned his face up to the sky for a moment. The Homeland was a land of extremes, but particularly dry heat. At least the climate would be pleasant. He was in fairly good spirits despite the presence of the justicars, though he was keeping a careful eye on Sabal.

Part of Alysstra wanted to wince when she saw their escort. Apparently subtle was not a word in the justicars’ dictionary. She hoped that they would still be able to pass without great scrutiny, but there was no way they looked anything but professional soldiers. She kept a straight face and didn’t comment, however. If this was what they’d been handed, she would do the best she could with it. Thirty of them running around was going to be a headache at best, though. The mention of vehicles made her want to groan too. No doubt they would be big lumbering military things. That seemed to be all Shalumites could drive. They’d certainly bulled their way through Nalayan wine country in them. Why stop there? Alysstra thought with a sigh.

The foot traffic and the press of the crowd was comfortable to them, just as the omnipresence of weapons was. The yath here assembled walked carefully, paying close attention to their surroundings even when ignorance might have been preferred. For being half a world away, Maldoria was very much like being home. Nadal, Sabal, and Jaelryn could see themselves in the empty eyes of the teenagers and the street children running around. The only real difference between here and the Nalaya of their youth was that there was no sound of thunderous bombardments and heavy weapons. It was like slipping into an old set of clothes, so worn that they fit the body perfectly. Already, they were back to noting cover and checking constantly, if discreetly, for violence directed at them. They had honed over their lifetime the almost supernatural sense for when a firefight was about to happen, though it seemed unlikely to them. Areas like this were both policed, even if only by thugs, and certainly likely considered neutral territory. People would be murdered, but not en masse.

The hostility of the lower classes towards the crusaders spoke volumes to the yath. Nadal said nothing, but he did give Lusin and the other justicars a look that was nearly impossible to decipher. His facial expression wasn’t particularly mutable, remaining the same whether he was looking at his surroundings, his group, or the Christi. He moved with the confidence of a born fighter, honed by his age rather than made infirm by it, and kept his eyes on the people. Nadal was a people-person in his own way, able to exert a considerable force of personality when he was in his element. He didn’t have Alysstra’s charm or Sabal’s striking features or Jaelryn’s clever speech, but he had authority and an impassioned nature that defied the rest of the world.

And then they reached the slave market. It was the extension of depravity that was known to them, but far more blatant. Here, no one hid in the shadows. It was every bit as open as it had been under Casimir, though here they were looking at a far grander scale. The Nalayan version had been more personal, in a way, but that was the truth with most things Nalayan. It had been far less mercantile than this, to be certain.

When Kaleb tensed, Jaelryn’s hand immediately closed around his. She had noticed the pain the way a spider noticed a stirring in its web. He was her charge, her initiate to mind, and she took that responsibility seriously. She gave his hand a small squeeze and met his eyes. “I am here.” It would have been a lie to tell him that things were okay. Obviously they were not, as she knew when phantoms were playing behind someone’s eyes better than most. What she could do was offer comfort.

<<Wolves have honor,>> Nadal grunted in Mak’ur without stopping in response to Lusin’s controlled comment. The smell had ceased being offensive long ago as his nose adjusted to Concordia. <<A wolf is worthy of great respect.>> He had an affinity for the creatures. It was a wonder he wasn’t yathallar, but then again, he had been called to another purpose. He glanced back at Jaelryn, Kaleb, and Brakis before giving them a sharp nod. It was his way of saying, I know.

Anger was a hot, explosive force for Sabal. It burned like an inferno, consuming everything that was stupid enough to stay close. Lashing out was how she had learned to deal with anger, pain, fear, and all those other emotions that stalked in the dark corners of her mind. One, though, was calm and collected, sharp and cold like ice: hatred. She could feel it now, a midwinter bleakness slowly growing in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps unlike the justicars, she actively looked around, burning everything into her memory, collecting salt for the wounds in her heart. If she could do nothing else for these people, she could remember them as more than just pieces of meat.

Someday, there would never be another soul sold in this square—a prophecy as much as a promise, as far as the yath were concerned. They were here to make it so, whether or not that meant dying.

Alysstra and Ryld had the hardest time just walking by the woman who had dropped. Both wanted to stop and do something. Neither of them were certain what, but a quick look from Nadal stopped them from even hesitating. If they died here, they would save no one. Not even her. All of them were feeling the same pain Sabal did when they watched the separation of families.

Ryld looked over at Sabal and Jaelryn. Both had been very quiet for a very long time, save for Jaelryn’s murmur to Kaleb. He couldn’t ask if they were alright. No one among their number was unaffected, partly because of their familiarity with suffering. Every glimpse of evil threatened memories of their own experiences. Instead, he said, <<This will not be easy.>>

<<It never is,>> Jaelryn said. The crawling memories made the scar on her inner thigh itch. Every yath became who they were for a reason. She had her reason just as much as Sabal, Nadal, Alysstra, and Ryld. She would have wished for a bath, but this kind of thing was far beyond a bath’s ability to wash. It was a stain on the soul.

Sabal hadn’t been able to hold Joan’s hand. She was worried she might crush fingers if she lost her control for a second and her hand clenched. Right now, she was gripping her sling tightly with one hand and the other was loose at her side. Her eyes flickered, ignoring the screens and signs to still linger on the people. She ignored the slavers, because if she looked at them too long, she knew she would slip up. The knowledge that the Duchy itself held slaves made the cold bite a little deeper. It seemed that the corruption in Maldoria really did rule.

Meanwhile, the male yochlol didn’t even comment on the fact that the justicars had a contact in the markets. Instead, his lip curled ever so slightly at the mention of a “better” slaver, a contradiction in terms to a man like him. It was the first sign of an actual emotion from him since they’d entered the markets. When they left the area, it was with a silent promise. Ryld had begun to murmur the Tenet of Law under his breath. They all knew exactly what half of a verse he was stuck on.

<<...Let them feel the licking of flame which purifies evil...>> Another grim promise on the part of the yath’abban. Ryld was not a warrior the way Sabal, Nadal, and Jaelryn were warriors, but he meant his promise. He had killed, he could kill, and he would kill to protect the people he had seen suffering. All they needed was a chance to maximize the damage.

The distance to their operating base was no obstacle to any of the yath, who spent most of their lives on foot. Two miles was a breeze, barely enough to be considered a warm-up for Sabal and Jaelryn.

The sheer amount of buzz outside the gates made Alysstra actually groan. <<Shall we put up a large siren too?>> she said bitterly in Mak’ur. <<Perhaps there is a blind idiot who does not yet know there are Christi swarming the place.>>

Nadal’s face cracked into a small smile. <<It seems that we will not be passing unremarked upon.>>

<<Is it too late to find a different base and leave the justicars to distract the wicked with their offensive uniforms?>> Alyssa retorted, earning small smiles from everyone but Sabal. Part of it was meant to soften the oppressive silence, but the majority of it was a sincere complaint. The idea had been to be quiet, which was why there were only a few yath. This was not that.

<<Peace, Most Honored,>> Jaelryn said smoothly in their native tongue. <<We are adaptable creatures.>>

<<I know,>> Alysstra said. <<But it robs us of precious obscurity. We will have to manufacture a distraction.>>

<<If it kills slavers, I doubt there will be an objection from any of us,>> Ryld pointed out. He looked over at their leonine yathallar. <<Sabal, thoughts?>>

Sabal shook her head as they entered the factory grounds. The pain in her chest was sharp and real, as if cut by jagged crystalline spikes of growing ice. She had no desire to speak at the moment. She barely even seemed to register that Lusin had spoken, let alone what was said.

Nadal smiled faintly at the knowledge that the justicars intended this big place to be a Council base. “You see, Alys? We will barely have use of the place.”

His fellow yochlol frowned at him, but focused on Thul’s comments. They did nothing to ease her mind. “The small rooms are fine. Nadal and I can stay together. I presume Jael and Ryld will be fine, unless they want to work out some other arrangement of who is rooming where with Kaleb and Brakis. Sabal usually requires more space.” It was a way of leaving Sabal room to share with Joan if she so desired it. It went without saying too that the yochlol had noticed Lusin’s disapproval. Privately, Alysstra could understand Sabal’s reasoning just as much as Nadal’s, but she had come down mostly on her fellow yochlol’s side. What Sabal was doing was a recipe for heartache...not that there was any good way out of it at this point.

“We require only time to speak amongst ourselves,” Nadal said calmly. “Allow us some time to unpack and confer. Please, send for us when you have a meeting room prepared.”

“Nadal and I will attend for certain,” Alysstra agreed. She glanced at Jaelryn and switched to Mak’ur. <<You and Kaleb are in charge of purifying our areas. I would do the whole grounds, but the Christi would have a bitch fit. It is a chance to teach the rites either way.>>

<<It is ever a joy to share such knowledge,>> the spider yathallar said smoothly, offering a small smile. When she spoke to her initiate, it was in his own language. She knew her own was very different. Unlike Nalayan, Mak’ur was not even in the same ballpark as Maldorian. It was easier for her to learn his than vice versa and so she had adapted readily. Besides, having to search for words at times improved her understanding of the message she was trying to deliver. “Please, Kaleb, would you help me unpack? After that, we will see how well you learn. Brakis, you are welcome to come, but do not feel bound to.” She gave the others a respectful nod before moving towards where it had been indicated the living quarters could be found. Jaelryn did catch Sabal’s eyes for a brief moment, her understanding communicated in a glance and a faint, sorrowful smile.

<<I’ll help clean, if that is alright with you both,>> Ryld said. He wanted some labor to do, particularly if it was grueling. That would ease the weight of the darkness on his consciousness.

<<Sabal.>>

Nadal’s voice cut through whatever thoughts were churning behind Sabal’s eyes. She looked over. <<I listen.>>

<<Go attend to your injuries and put your living space in order—that lip has looked better. Take the opportunity to clear your mind. We will send for you when it comes time,>> Nadal said. His words were clipped, but not unkind. He knew what dark places her mind had gone to. He knew her history, after all, better than even most in the yath. The yochlol knew that she’d probably spend the time with her pet justicar, but that was preferable to stewing until she snapped. He could drag her over the coals for the infatuation again when she’d settled down a little bit more.

Sabal nodded. She’d forgotten that she was still not quite at her full strength. Her ribs still ached and her lip stung, not to mention the itch of healing wounds across her back. It was nothing serious anymore, most of it healed beyond the need for antibiotic ointment or any such preparations, except for the freshest scratches and her punctured lower lip. <<Understood.>> She looked at Joan for a moment. “I should go find a room like Jael and the others. You are welcome to come, ussta ssin.” It was difficult, but she still softened on the last two words despite the tension in her jaw, shoulders, and back.

“Paron Aras,” Alysstra said in her soft way when she turned to Faisal. “I thank you and Paron Medley for coming with us. To my knowledge, you have no particular...investment...in us. That you would help us is welcome. I apologize, but Nadal and I need to speak privately again. We have seen much. Now we must decide how it is that we are to move forward. Perhaps we will speak again soon. I think I would like that.”

Nadal nodded to the two men, then to Lusin and her people, before leading the way towards a more private corner of the factory’s yard. They didn’t start speaking until they were out of earshot, and even then they spoke in lowered tones of Mak’ur. He was the first one to speak. <<It is everything I had read and heard it to be, only in the flesh,>> Nadal said. <<We are going to have to move very carefully.>>

<<Our hosts do not promise to make such a task easier,>> Alysstra murmured. <<We are not in a good position to start a war. The Duchess’s monopoly on force appears complete, at least within Concordia.>>

<<She will roast on her own flames in time. You were right, though, when you said we will need a way to divert attention. The slavers appeared fragmented. In disunity, there is opportunity.>>

Alysstra’s eyes were thoughtful. <<Play them off against each other? Do you really think that will work?>>

<<Their competition is fierce, fueled by greed. It would take little to inflame their suspicions of one another. While they rip at each other’s throats, we would be free to do as we must,>> Nadal said with a small shrug as they walked, his arm linked through Alysstra’s. They looked more like father and daughter than a couple, even if they were very much equals. She was younger, but just as powerful and wise in her own way. <<It would be simpler if we needed watch only the front, yes, but it is workable. I doubt that Siruhi Holtzmann will object to lending some of her people to that endeavor.>>

<<If we had a score more yath, life would be much simpler,>> Alysstra said. Her brow furrowed. <<The attitudes of the many do not inspire confidence in the justicars. The slaves look to them, yes, but they look to death in much the same way. Any chance of relief, no matter how slim, is welcome. It was those with money and power who spoke well with Siruhi Holtzmann and her people. Not those without.>>

<<In time, things will become simple, one way or another. For now, we are careful. I am concerned about Sabal,>> Nadal said. He didn’t feel that more than that needed to be said to pry Alysstra’s thoughts from her.

<<Well, she certainly needs to stay away from Siruhi Holtzmann awhile. Sabal flirts already with disaster. Actually kissing it on the mouth would be unwise.>> Alysstra sighed. <<Leave her and the justicar be, Nadal. When it comes time for accounts, Sabal will make the right decision. She always does. Besides, I saw the way she looked in the markets. She will be back to her old self in a few days.>>

<<And you think the justicar will break away.>>

Alysstra shrugged. <<The fact that Sabal will have other Christi driving in needles while she’s moving among the flames will likely do nothing to make her endearing. Sabal is flame and thorn and intensity. Even if Joan is sincere in her affections, loving our yathallar is like looking into the sun.>> She paused for a long moment before continuing in a different vein. <<I was impressed with Kaleb. The markets were harrowing for him, but he kept his composure. Jaelryn was right—he has much potential.>>

<<He and Brakis are both good men,>> Nadal agreed. <<We are fortunate. Once Kaleb has a solid grasp on the rites and a more thorough understanding of the Linath, I would like to see him seek a spirit. He would be an excellent yathrin. He has the temperament of a warrior and the heart of a guardian.>>

<<Perhaps he can someday continue what we begin,>> Alysstra said softly. It didn’t need to be said that the yath all knew they were not likely to survive this endeavor. She hesitated for a moment. <<It reminded me much of Casimir, though more money is involved here. I am surprised Jaelryn handled it so gracefully. I felt as though I was going to be sick. I still do.>>

<<Few are as patient as a spider.>> Nadal turned his head, looking back towards the main building. <<Keep that sick feeling close. As long as it is there, your compassion lasts. When it fades, then is the time to become truly wary of being callous. The justicars can become used to the smell of desperation and paranoia if it pleases them, but we cannot allow ourselves to grow numb to it.>>

Alysstra nodded. It was sound advice. <<I would like to continue working on the translations once our time with Siruhi Holtzmann is done for the day.>> She had been translating the Linath into English and Maldorian, using the script she had learned for both languages. The Erhzen could wait for a while, as those were more easily translated. They relied less on imagery and metaphors. Unfortunately, Kaleb and Brakis had been unable to teach her the alphabet or writing, so she was having to settle for spelling it phonetically with each character carefully copied from various sources.

It was an art more than a science, particularly since she was forced to depart in some places from a literal translation to preserve meaning. It was a rare task that had been entrusted to her, though the others were providing valuable feedback. Kaleb’s help in particular was invaluable, because he was able to add perspective. She’d also started listening into Jaelryn’s discussions with the young man. The spider yathallar had an excellent knack for metaphors, even in a foreign language.

Nadal chuckled. <<Would that I had your poet’s heart. I might be doubly useful then.>>

<<And here I expected a critique of my sentimental nature,>> Alysstra said with amusement.

<<It has its charms. Now we had best go unpack and settle in. Today looks as though it will be long.>>

With Jaelryn and Ryld

The walk to the slave quarters with Jaelryn and Ryld was not openly cheerful, but it was much lighter than the walk through the markets had been. The yath’abban was recovering himself and Jaelryn gave little sign of upset. She just moved with that same slow grace and let her eyes wander over their new, if perhaps temporary, home. It wasn’t until they had reached their room and were unpacking that she said anything of substance. “I am sorry, Kaleb,” she said, looking at the initiate. “I know that to be in Maldoria is difficult, and the slave markets doubly so.”

Brakis seemed to be taking it better, perhaps because he had the temperance of age. Kaleb was young still and he also wanted to protect people, but perhaps with less thought to what the consequences would be. Whether or not the slaves were faithful, and they certainly weren’t for the time being, they were still worthy of that protection. Slavery was an anathema to the Yath, and that included Kaleb.

Ryld set to work unpacking their bags, which didn’t take long. There was a large bundle of incense and a holy symbol, a carved thornwood bowl and some clothes. Each of them had a sleeping mat as well. Then a knife emerged, along with ink for tattoos and needles for the same. A few well worn copies of the Linath emerged. There weren’t really personal effects in these packs other than a framed picture of Dyvynasshar taken in the morning, when the sun transfigured the city in gold. All of them had a keepsake to keep them tied to the land of L’i’dol, chokers or bracelets with a single stone bead that had been taken from one of the fragmented pieces of the Fane. It was a rare gift, reserved for those who went abroad to do the work of the faith. Kaleb had been trusted with one as well.

Ryld’s bag was mostly medical supplies, particularly drugs: antibiotics, painkillers, and vitamins for the most part. There would be more coming in time. Nalaya, particularly the Mak’ur, did trade in drugs, particularly opiates and hashish. That meant there were avenues open even in Maldoria for resupply to be passed along. Nadal knew a man, a transplant from Nalaya during the war who worked in as a supplier to merchants up here. Never humans, but certainly heroin. Gor was not ku’nal, but he was sympathetic.

The yath’abban hummed tunelessly as he worked. “This place will need cleaning badly,” Ryld said after a few moments. We have much work in repairs to do.”

“A shame I did not take up my family’s trade,” Jaelryn said. “A carpenter might have been useful.” It was rare for Jaelryn to ever speak of her life before she was reborn from the ashes of her own funeral pyre, as the Mak’ur would say. Sabal was the same way, keeping those feelings locked inside where they could be used as tools, channeled into something powerful. Ryld could guess a little from their scars, aware of the common meanings.

Both had the brand of thorns, for one. The scar across the back of Jaelryn’s shoulders that read whore in Nalayan, applied by a knife, had not faded with time, though it had gone from dark and fresh to light-colored and old. Fortunately, that word wasn’t in Kaleb’s vocabulary yet, so that conversation hadn’t started. Sabal’s knuckles were striped and her knees bore simple crosses, not marks of devotion to Christianity by any stretch of the imagination. Both had bones that had required breaking and resetting to fix how they had healed wrong. Neither did anything to conceal their scars, wearing them as badges of honor, proof that they had endured everything the world had thrown at them.

A yathallar was not born. They were made. After feeling nothing inside for so long, the fire promised by faith was welcome. Jaelryn had come to the fold when she was older than Sabal had, though both had still been young...as much as they could have been called young. Both sometimes felt that they had lived centuries in a few decades. It showed in their eyes sometimes: the wrath of ancient spirits, the sorrow of old women.

Jaelryn bore it patiently and Sabal screamed defiance into the night. That was the difference between them.

“If either of you wish to speak or need to speak, I am here,” Jaelryn said for Kaleb and Brakis’s benefit. “Ryld, would you kindly see if you can render assistance to the workers cleaning the place?”

“Gladly,” Ryld said with a nod. Like Sabal, he preferred his meditations to be moving ones.

With Sabal

Sabal stalked to the living quarters, following on Jaelryn’s tail even though she made no move to catch up to them. Her wounds had never healed as well as the spider yathallar’s. She preferred it that way, as she knew what to do with anger and pain. It was the soft feelings that she wasn’t used to. She was still afraid to touch Joan, not certain how gentle she would be or how much Joan would understand. Sorn had seen her like this a time or two when she’d visited him, but those encounters were more exorcisms than anything affectionate and gentle, something to burn away the tension.

Sorn knew to be careful with her, like a man stirring a furnace. There was always a good chance that Sabal’s anger might burn him too, but he’d survived with only a singeing.

“I’m sorry,” Sabal said finally. Her words were abrupt, almost brusque. She was trying to find her center again. “This is...difficult.” They’d known it would be, but no amount of preparation could fully beat back the memories, the echoes, the emotions. Sabal had always felt perhaps too deeply, her emotions barely restrained when she wasn’t setting them loose. Lusin and the other justicars were doing nothing to calm the fire and ice currently warring for control of her heart. Some of them didn’t even have to do anything. It was what they represented.

They had allowed this, to the yathallar. She was not certain she would ever forgive the Christi church for that. At a certain point, to be passive was to be complicit.

She adjusted how her rifle was hanging from her shoulder and gripped her bag more firmly as she walked to the living area. It held ammunition, her spare knives, her bowl, her holy symbol, her copy of the Linath and more incense. There were clothes too, along with soap and a towel, and her sleeping mat. Unpacking would keep her hands busy. She wanted to talk, but she also really didn’t. She felt more like punching a wall, but she knew better. It would just give her sore knuckles and not really feel better about anything. She’d be better off punching someone, at least as far as catharsis was concern.

After a few moments, when she’d calmed down just a touch more, Sabal went and put her arms around Joan, resting her head against the top of Joan’s shoulder so she didn’t have to make eye contact. It was a bit uncomfortable, as Joan was shorter, but the barest hint of peace it brought her was well worth the twinge in her neck. Her stomach was still a knot, her shoulders and jaw stiff to the point of pain. They had known it would be difficult, but knowing was not the same as feeling.

But she would not forget them, even as her thoughts moved other places. There were such wrongs in this new land that needed to be righted. What the Christi could not or would not do, they would, or they would die trying.

It made Sabal’s blood burn for eternity.

[Shalum]

The Forward Operating Base
Concordia, Maldoria

If these walls could talk, they’d either ask for us to purify them, or just downright tear them apart. So much evil has been done here. The tone of Kaleb’s mental musings were grim and humorless as he looked around the ‘lobby’ of the apartment building that had served as slave quarters for many years. Even during it's heyday, the complex had never been much - designed with utilitarian uses in mind, rather than anything akin to comfort.

By and large, the nicest room in the whole place had belonged to the former slave master before garment production at the factory had ground to halt. After sixty-some years of abandonment, however, even it was certainly worse for wear. A couple of Silver Blades could be heard rattling around in there, probably trying to clean it up and make it livable, but the ragtag bunch of free slaves and Yathallar did not pause to observe their toilings.

Instead, they pressed deeper into structure until they found several rooms on the ground floor that had apparently been ‘made ready’ for them in advance by several lesser members of the order. As the quartet stepped in, they were greeted by the smell of disinfectant and the sight of dust particles wafting through the air as the sunlight hit them in just the right way.

The rooms themselves weren’t much, perhaps the size of a house’s food pantry - just enough space for two people to live, and nothing more. The walls around them were still in their original state, in seriousness of repainting and featuring but a single window and as well as a light fixture overhead to light the room. Metal bars had obviously covered the window at one time, designed to prevent slaves from escaping, but one of the Silver Blades had apparently taken the time to saw them away.

“Very...homey.” Brakis said slowly as he took in the scene, lingering in the doorway. Though he was not a huge man, by any means, the former slave was not keen on crowing his friends either. “Reminds me of our old rooms, Kaleb.” He added as he reached over, flicking the only switch in the room. Overhead, a brand new light bulb came to life, illuminating the areas of the room that were not covered by the shadows of it's newest occupants.

“Nah, these ones are bigger than our old ones. Nicer too.” The young initiate replied, letting his fingers trail along the wall for a moment. Looking over, he spied a storage trunk at the foot of each bed. Not a large one, but the yath weren’t known for packing heavily. “These guys didn’t have to sleep on the floor.” He observed quietly, before thinking back to the days when his only comfort as a hard-labor slave had been the warm embrace of a sleeping bag at night.

Looking over to Jaelryn, the initiate's expression was strained as he nodded tightly. He was trying to stay in control of himself, and was doing a commendable job thus far, but that didn’t mean that being back in his ‘homeland’ had grown any easier since they had arrived. Reaching over, he gave her shoulder a small squeeze and nodded. “It’s alright, Jael, I’ll be fine. I just...need some time to get used to this all. I never thought I would ever go back there, at least as a free man.” He replied as his green eyes searched for her’s. “It is difficult, yes, but what we saw is what we’re here to fix, no?” Unlike the justicars that had accompanied them, he was a bit more aware of the yath’s true purpose in Maldoria.

Hanging back, Brakis was quiet for a while longer, content to watch and listen as his friends went about unpacking. When Ryld began to produce religious pieces from his bag, the older Maldorian man couldn’t help but watch with a certain curiosity in his eyes. After everything he had been through, he wasn’t really certain where he stood on the whole issue of religion - aside from the fact that the Maldorians worshipped false gods and prophets. After so many hardships and pain that he had faced at the hands of his former owners, it was hard to believe that any heavenly being would allow such travesties on the people it had created - but that didn’t mean he had shied from Jaelryn and Sabal’s lessons of faith either.

Clearing his throat, the older Maldorian man finally spoke up, taking a couple steps into the room. “Badly doesn’t even cover it all. This place could use a complete renovation,” he rumbled.

“I vote to just tear it all down and start over.” Kaleb added as he leaned against the wall, lightly, careful not to test just how durable the walls were.

“That’d be preferable. If only we had the time.” In another instance, Brakis probably would have grinned, but his tone fell a little flat as he agreed with the initiate. Glancing at Jael for a moment, his eyes lingered longer on her face than they probably should have. <<You may not be a carpenter, Siruhi, but I am quite skilled with my hands, if nothing else. Though I may not be a warrior needed to help complete your mission, I can certainly provide my services here.>> He offered in her native tongue, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile.

Brakis still couldn’t write all that well, but he was at least making progress in other areas of his Nalayan.

As Ryld went to depart, Kaleb seemed to perk up a bit, easing his travel pack to the ground by where he stood. “I will seek out a room upon my return, if that is alright, Jael.” The initiate requested with a small, respectful, inclination of the head. “I’m sure our resident yath’abban would be more productive with an assistant at his side.”

As the two men departed, Brakis suddenly found himself alone with Jaelryn, something that hadn’t happened in quite some time. The logical part of his brain seemed to recommend that he go with the others, yet his feet refused to follow after them. Unsure of himself, the Maldorian man shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he regarded the spider yath.

“I, um, would be happy to help spruce this place up a bit, if you’d like the help…” He offered, before suddenly turning sheepish as he realized he was repeating himself. “I mean, I’m not all that familiar with the intricacies of your people’s interior designs, but I’m sure Nadal will keep you busy, and Ryld will probably bigger things to worry about. I’m sure I can borrow some tools from Lusin’s people too…” He trailed off, nervously scratching at the small beard he had grown in the last couple of weeks.

Out in the hallway, Kaleb was careful to let Michael and Faisal pass before he spoke, a genuine smile creasing his lips for perhaps the first time since he had arrived in Maldoria. “I know you were starting to get set up in there, Paron, but if you wish, I would happily share a room with you. If Brakis and Jaelryn didn’t mind, anyways.” He said, trying to keep the conspiratorial nature out of his tone, and failing for the most part.

The look in his eyes, and the message itself, probably said enough - he was trying to nurture the relationship between his friend and Jaelryn. Though the young initiate knew little of love, few slaves like them had, the looks that Brakis reserved for the spider yath had not gone unnoticed, at least to him. There was something gentle and pure about them. Brakis wanted to be closer to the spider yath, but often seemed to lack the words he wanted to say to Jaelryn. Because of this, he was known to often settle for what he could, admiring her from across the room when she wasn’t paying attention.

Kaleb could only assume that some time together, living in close proximity, would help his friend grow a bit more confident around her. If nothing else, it would at least create more opportunities for them to interact, and he could only hope that Ryld agreed with his assessment. Then again, it wasn’t as if he knew much about chasing those particular passions, so perhaps his good intentions were misplaced.

---

Sabal and Joan

Boot heels clacking against poorly made tiles underfoot, Joan could only worry on her bottom lip as she followed after her lover like a faithful hound, idly wondering if the Mak’ur warrior was even aware of her presence. Though she couldn’t claim to know Sabal to her fullest extent (though she probably understood the woman far more than anyone else), Joan could easily tell when her spitfire of a sun-bleached paramour was angry. Really, that didn’t even begin to describe how Sabal looked right now. She more resembled the sun, in it's fiery and destructive state, casting out solar flares that would destroy anything in their path; rather than a symbol of radiance and beauty that would stop someone dead in their tracks.

Not that Joan would contend that an angry Sabal was a terrible thing. In some cases, her temper could produce very positive results, but now was not one of those times.

This was not the first time that the redheaded Justicar had seen the yathallar in a state such as this, but it was the first instance in which they were romantically involved. The last time around had been much further south, when they had first come to Nalaya in search of lost (and presumably dead now) Christian missionaries. Back then, the sheer force of her destructive powers had been a sight to behold - sending waves of both fear and awe through the justicars who witnessed it.

But now, Joan only felt worry for her lover, and couldn’t help but pick up the pace as they drew close to their room. As soon as she stepped through the threshold, the justicar was quick to close the door behind them, uncaring if Sabal heard as she locked it. They needed privacy, and time to cool down, both of which could be found in the refuge of this new -if not small- room of theirs.

“There is nothing to apologize for, sissurn, you have done no wrong. I understand.” Joan said softly, her eyes soft with concern. The justicar moved languidly, depositing her things on the bed, but not yet moving to truly unpack.

Like everyone else, she travelled lightly. Basic hygiene supplies and extra clothing were a must in this country, mostly due to the lack of reliable suppliers. There were several other things, including plenty of ammunition for her rifle. It was the same weapon she had carried around Nalaya for the last year or so, plus a few replacement parts, of course. A dog-eared bible was in there somewhere, along with a copy of the Linath that she had been reading through when no one else was around. The most recent addition to her repertoire, however, was a blade made of Mak’ur steel. It actually had a mate, but she had given that to Michael as a gift. His old one had been lost during the fight with the lion, and she figured that he’d feel a bit safer at night with a new melee weapon.

Joan’s reaction was instant in response to her lover’s touch. Wrapping her arms around Sabal’s waist, the smaller justicar nuzzled against the Mak’ur warrior’s chest, her own breaths soft and anxious. She could feel how tense her lover was, and wished nothing more than to make her feel better. Somehow or someway, but nothing came to mind. Remaining idle and silent, however, would be no better. The justicar had to do something for the woman she loved.

“Sabal. Sissurn.. My moon and stars.” She said softly, still holding onto the bleach-haired woman for dear life. Joan would have looked up, if not for the fact that it would have forced Sabal to move. “I know today was rough for you...given everything. I just -I just- I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Always have been and always will be. Please just don’t keep me in the dark,” she asked softly. “I want to help you, anyway I can.” She murmured lovingly as she rubbed small circles into the small of her lover’s back.

Truth be told, Joan silently hoped and prayed that Sabal would open up to her. Though they had been through many hardships together, they had never really sat down and talked like a proper couple, at least in some time. Without danger, or the threat of death, around the next corner. Their time together had always been actioned packed, and fueled on adrenaline. And while not lacking in passion, something they both enjoyed immensely, Joan understood the risks that came with a relationship like theirs, the issue of religion aside. They needed more than just sex and mutual affection to make a world for one another.

That was the idea, anyways.

---

Across The FOB

The base’s motor pool, if only could truly call it that, was little more than a collection of vehicles towards the center of what had once been the factory’s main production area. Rough concrete floors that had once supported long lines of sewing machines were now covered by hydraulic lifts and a veritable array of tools that were still being organized by Vizekorporal Erwin Kloos, a former military mechanic. His entire workspace had everything that a grease monkey such as himself could have dreamed of, not a single expense seeming to be spared.

Nearby were a pair of large steel tanks, both of which were filled with hundreds of gallons worth of fuel, enough to keep the vehicle's operational for several weeks. They also had quite a few stacks of tires, as well as other spare parts for just about everything. Though unlikely that the group would need all of this anytime soon, the Council did intend on staying in Maldoria long term, if at all possible.

The good Vizekorporal was not the one running the show, however. That job instead fell onto the shoulders of Audrey “Mac” MacCallum. She was a stern looking woman in her late thirties or early forties, with dark hair and critical eyes that inspected seemingly every nook and cranny of each vehicle before she designated it as field worthy. So far, she hadn’t gotten through many of the vehicles that the Council had procured, though it appeared as if there were several jeeps and non-descript army transport trucks that the justicars and yath could utilize should they have a need for them.

In another section of the factory floor, far away from the stench of oil and the ruckus that came with power tools, a long section with the stamp of the caduceus on movable walls could be seen. Inside, Doctor Evelynn “Boats” Auguste paused to wipe the sweat from her brunette eyebrows. Compared to the grunts around her, the former navy doctor seemed out of place, not to mention worn out after dealing with Maldoria’s climate for several days. Though the doctor had long since grown accustomed to life on a ship, the pay for a combat tour with the Council’s had been too much to pass up. They had even hired one of her medical assistants as well, citing that there was a lack of reliable health care providers in the Duchy, at least outside of Imperial military protected zones.

Said assistant, Gardist (a rank equivalent to ‘Guardsmen’) Lee Boggs grunted as he ferried yet another box of antibiotics into the room. Built like a boxer of the olden times, he was shorter than most, yet powerfully built, sporting a barrel chest and muscular arms. Despite his quiet demeanor and standoffish expression, he was actually quite a caring person at heart, providing a cool and calm rock that patients could focus on in their pain. No one was certain what kind of shape that free Nalayan slaves would be in once they were rescued, so he would serve as a calming figure to them with any luck. Not to mention the trouble that the yath and justicars would inevitably get into in a place like Maldoria.

Up in the second story office that the factory’s old managers had used to oversee production from above, Laura “Boss” Gibson grinned in triumph as she connected the last sets of copper wires. Overhead, the newly installed fluorescent lights flickered to light, filling the room with more artificial light than just what several portable lamps had provided. Tucking tools back into their box, she looked over at the man standing several feet away from her. “I think that’s got it, techie.”

Standing by a newly installed smart board, usually meant for classroom type setups, Victor “Gator” Diallo grunted under his breath as he slipped the plug into a socket. It took a few moments for the whiteboard sized computer to kick on, revealing the homepage of his laptop. His lips pulled into a smirk as he looked over at his compatriot. “It’s alive,” the Acrean born Silver Blade chuckled.

“Think you’ll be able to get it all set up in time for the meeting?” Gibson asked with a grunt as she stood up, packing away the rest of her tools. More of an engineer and electrician, rather than a programmer, she was better at fixing these hardware problems, rather than software and computer related ones.

“Should be, assuming nothing went wrong when I installed this baby.” The Acrean grunted as he shifted over to his laptop, grabbing the necessary cables to hook up his computer to the smartboard. Like several others on premises, it had veritable reams of information stored on it, including the names of slavers, files on the geopolitical state of the Duchy, and leads on slaves that had been kidnapped from Nalayans.

“Go tell the Oberst that everything should be up and running in an hour - maybe two if this takes longer than expected.” Gator added with a wave of the hand before he turned his attention to the screen. Though he could project things onto the board, he still had to tinker with it's settings, and get it calibrated for touchscreen use.

---

The Ducal Palace
Concordia, Maldoria

Since the dawn of recorded history, there had been a certain set of social rules that all Maldorian people were expected to abide by - a caste system, as the term was better known. The rules it stated had been rather simple at the time: those born as slaves remained as them, those born into the lowest bracket would toil in the fields and act as mere cannon fodder, those in the middle classes would serve as warriors and merchants, and the upper class (which include the men of cloth) would ensure that the people were people had proper leadership. Of course, the actual texts were not that cut and dry, but the point remained - the people were supposed to stick to their assigned cast, rather than climb the social ladder.

Most of the time, anyways.

Perhaps the best example of success was the story of Estar Donsowar née Pomerok. Born into a middle class family, she had been but a young girl during her family's rise to power. Raised by a loving mother, a slave who had fallen pregnant at the hands of her gentle master, Estar had all but completely missed the street war that her father had waged in the lower and middle parts of the city. Sheltered by Maldorian standards was not the same when compared to the rest of the world, however, so gunfire and the screams of men as they died were not an uncommon thing for her to experience. By the time she was of age, her father had managed to achieve something for their family that few in Maldoria would even dare contemplate - the chance to rise.

Though she did not realize it for some time, her father had taken advantage of the power vacuum left behind in the wake of the Shaaryak’s expulsion from the Duchy. The small force of ‘street thugs’ that had been loyal to him in the early days were no more, replaced by a more professional and well armed group of militiamen and independent mercenaries. With many of Concordia’s residential and commercial wards under their control, the Pomerok family had established themselves as rivals to the Donsowar family. And rather than go to war, the ruling house had determined that a unification of families would pave the way for peace.

It had not surprised Estar when she had been chosen as the next Duchess of Maldoria. Around the time that she hit puberty, she had realized the fact that her father had been carefully grooming her for the day that he found a suitable husband. It wasn’t a fact that she was particularly happy about, but it wasn’t as if she had much say in the matter either. So, when the time came for Donsowar and Pomerok to join as one, she resolved to make the most of it. If not for herself, then for her family - as twisted as they were in their own way.

Marriage life proved more interesting as expected. Aside from the uncomfortable duties as a wife, Estar soon found that she had a knack for politics. Never one to falter in the face of a challenge, she had quietly built up her own base of power. As her husband, a much older man than she, got up into his older years, the noblewoman had silently began to seize control of his assets. By the time he was spending more days in bed than on his feet, she had essentially assumed control, even commanding the very (male) warlords that made up the Dansowar-Pomerok alliance of warlords.

Now, as she sat in the intricate throne room of her personal palace, Duchess Estar Donsowar née Pomerok smiled to herself, her mind flickering over everything that she had managed to do in mere decades. Though she was nowhere close to wielding absolute control over her people’s lands, she was well on her way. She already controlled thousands of warriors, military vehicles, slaves, and the raw resources needed to generate funds for the foreseeable future. She worked through a couple of domestic energy companies, while relying on foreigners to exploit the large ore deposits that remained - which she in turn profited off of through the means of high taxes. Though most corporations would have fled at the sight, the general lack of environmental oversight usually meant that they had an incentive to stick around.

As she looked down at the next messages that flickered, her expression turned to one of distaste for the briefest of moments. Over the last couple of days, Christian warriors had been polluting her country with their sheer presence, and apparently more had arrived in the last couple of hours. For the time being, she was unaware of their purpose, not that she cared much about them at the moment. They paid good money to be left alone, and there weren’t more than thirty or forty of them in her city - they were practically mere grains of sand in the ocean that was Concordia. She momentarily considered assigning someone to keeping an eye on them, but with what she balanced on a daily basis, begrudgingly admitted to herself that she had fish to fry. The Christian plague could be dealt with another time.

As small squeal of excitement rang through the halls in the distance, and she couldn’t help but smirk as she spied her son and daughter trampling through the halls, one of their pet dogs hot on their heels. Though she took pride in her work, everything that she did paled in comparison to the family she had built. Little did anyone realize that neither of these children were the Duke’s. She and the aging Donsowar shared an common interest in Nalayans - so while he dallied with his Arusai and Imanalov’ whores, she had taken to a powerfully built Mak’ur man who was nearly forty by now. She had purchased him as a bit of fun long ago and had never gotten rid of him.

Even as she put on an air of professionalism - a stern expression that gave away little emotion, she felt a certain resolve grow in her chest. There were many forces at work (tribes against slavery in northern Maldoria, roving tribes that attacked her refineries in the south, and the ever present Imperial Shalumite government) who wished to undermine her reign. It was not something that she would allow, however. She had a family to protect now, as well as an Empire.

[Nalaya]

With Jaelryn
Corcordia, Nalaya

Jaelryn spotted a spider spinning its web at the window and smiled slightly. The justicars hadn’t swept all nature from the areas that it had conquered, apparently. She took it as a good omen, a sign that she might get at least one good night of rest at some point in the future. When Kaleb spoke to her, she nodded her agreement. “We will help fix it,” she said softly. Jael wasn’t a creature of doubt and when she said she would do something, she meant it. “Thank you both for coming. Without help, we would be throwing stones into the surf.”

She was quiet for a moment as she contemplated the room, attentive to the thoughts of suffering that ranged throughout the expanses of her thoughts. This was not a good place. It would need purification, but if her arlathil could find a web in it, so could she. At least, for a while. Eventually, things with the Christi would come to a head and when that happened, she would not be sleeping here. At least, not if she was wary.

Brakis clearing his throat stirred her from her contemplation. She had a large soft spot for the older man. Brakis was such a gentle creature despite all the suffering he had known. She could admire that, even if she could not always share the quality. After all, in the end, Jaelryn was a creature of extremes. For all her patience, she was still a defender of the faithful, a weapon in service of those less fortunate than herself. When they cried out for vengeance, she meted it out, whatever she thought of the matter. “Your assistance would be very welcome, Brakis. I will aid if I can, but I fear I am much more capable when it comes to breaking things than I am when it comes to building them.”

Jaelryn smiled at Brakis when he turned sheepish. She found it immensely endearing. There weren’t many men in her life who could claim any sort of softness, except for maybe Ryld. She was used to being around Nadal and other powerful Yath. She was almost off-balance with Brakis, but it was a welcome change. There was something special to him. “Anything you could do would be a breath of fresh air to the crowded spirits of this place, Brakis. You will have my undying gratitude. We may need you elsewhere, though. I expect that Alysstra and Nadal will be...dissatisfied with this arrangement. They will want another place, away from Lusin and her people, where we may be as we are. Still, I think I would enjoy assisting you where possible here. Is there anything that we should address first?”

Out in the hallway, Ryld grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind sharing. I think those two could use some time to get to know each other better. Perhaps if things go well, we can be helpful little imps to Brakis. If he is going to smile at Jaelryn like that, he might as well have weight added to the scale in his favor. I’m sure Sabal wouldn’t mind providing advice once she cools down, should he want it.”

Ryld knew that this was serious, that there was little room for distraction, but he also knew that people could survive far harsher conditions and shocks when they had support. He was far more tolerant towards Joan than Nadal for that reason, as well as some others. Whether she meant to or not, the justicar would do more good for the cause than she’d likely ever want to do just by keeping Sabal from trying to cut Lusin a new smile below her current one.

Ryld wished, not for the first time by a long shot, that Ildan was here. The serpent yathallar would have been a fine mentor for Kaleb and a good friend for Brakis and the three justicars they could trust...or at least trust to a degree. He was under no illusion that things with Lusin would ever be truly peaceful. Détente was about the best they could hope for.

He spotted Alysstra and Nadal walking in and straightened up a bit. He was Yath, but he was still very respectful. After all, yochlol were elevated from the ranks of the yath’abban. If he was fortunate, someday perhaps he would be one of the eight. Alysstra stopped to talk to Ryld and Kaleb while Nadal carried his bag and her bag into the room they would be sharing. “I see the two troublemakers are together,” she said with a soft, fond smile. She was glad to be working with the two men. It was rare to be able to mentor an initiate in her position, but still very much a task to treasure, and everyone liked Ryld. “It seems we have some time before our meeting. Nadal and I were going to take the opportunity to rest. I assume Jaelryn is with Brakis and Sabal is with her justicar?”

“Yes, Most Honored,” Ryld said.

Alysstra sighed. “Then no one should be starting any fights for at least the next hour. I am not going to purify our rooms, at least not yet. And do not become too comfortable in them. We may need place of our own to pray before the day is out. I sincerely doubt that accommodating is in the Siruhi Oberst’s vocabulary any more than subtle is.”

Ryld chuckled. "As you say, Most Honored."

---

With Sabal
Concordia, Nalaya

There was a sigh from Sabal, something raw that came from deep inside. She could think of all the reasons why her heart was aching and burning, but that didn’t mean she could put words to them. Sabal had never been one to talk about her own emotions. She was more accustomed to cultivating them and then using them, though she did have a certain way around words at times, particularly when it came time to motivate or organize the faithful. That was a different animal entirely than what lived in her own heart. “I know,” she said softly. “I know that you are here to help. It is knowing that that keeps me still.” That keeps me from fighting the Christi, she added in her own thoughts.

The yathallar took a deep breath and then let out another sigh, this one more controlled. Sabal wasn’t really better, but she was more composed and that seemed to be what counted. She could tell from that look on Joan’s face that she was supposed to talk. She didn’t particularly feel like it, but she knew that saying nothing would do nothing good. Sabal wasn’t an idiot. She knew that people didn’t like being shut out. Heaven knew that she’d done it enough to learn that.

“Sit down with me,” she said after a few moments of quiet study of Joan’s expression. She seemed a little more calm once they were sitting on the bed, even if the tension was still very much alive in her muscles. “Do you know much about the days before Nalaya was unified? Most do not. Our history is our own and few ever care to learn beyond us. Oh, perhaps the broad strokes exist in textbooks, but even that is only the barest glimpse of who we are. That is all your Butcher can lay claim to—the generalities, the abstractions, that everyone knows.”

Even the thought of those two words made her blood start to boil again. Our people. If Lusin had any inkling of what those words meant to people like Sabal, she would have been far less quick to use them. “The evils here in Concordia have walked in Nalaya, in Nalayan flesh and bone, speaking with Nalayan tongues. We ripped their power from them. We cast them from their high places and made them see what life and death were like beneath. We did this with fire, but also with blood. Yath blood, ku’nal blood, Nalayan blood—our blood. I fed everything I was, everything I had ever loved, to fuel that inferno. I wept until my eyes were as dry as the shifting sands of the Dominion. I screamed until I had no voice. I fought until there was only scorched earth. I broke myself on the unfeeling cruelties of the powerful, used the shards of my soul as weapons, and when weighed against many who I idolize, you must understand, I sacrificed nothing.”

She turned Joan’s hands over in her own, tracing her fingertips over the lines in Joan’s palms like some fortune teller, though her thoughts were focused on the past rather than the present. She still couldn’t bring herself to look right into Joan’s eyes, not wanting to glare. “Imagine that you have lost so much that you do not remember how to feel anything, and then you still lose more. Imagine that you reach a point where death would be such a merciful relief that you find yourself wishing for it in every moment. It is what you think of in every waking moment, in every dreaming moment. I am so weary, you might say, that I no longer care what is right and what is wrong. There is no honor in that place, no righteousness, no glory, no peace, nothing except Void. Even death is no escape, because it swallows you and makes meaningless everything that you have ever done or might have done. You are already dead. Breathing, walking, bleeding, dying dead.”

Sabal rolled her shoulders a little bit, glancing up from beneath her lashes for just a moment before returning to her story. “The only way out is faith. The day the Dread Wolf ascended in Dyvynasshar, I found myself again. The automaton, banished. The evil, vanquished. The answer, apparent. There is no elixir to suffering quite like purpose, and we found the fire of the divine capable of what no mortal fire could do. We fed it our hopes, our dreams, our lives, our deaths...and it burned. It burned the darkness away, ours and our enemies’. That is how Nalaya came to be.”

Now she focused on Lusin’s comment, anchored in the memory of who the war had made her. When she remembered the fire, how it had swept through her and made her weep when all the tears in the world were gone, how it had made her feel something again after so long with nothing, then she felt like herself again. “Now imagine someone insinuating that by virtue of sharing a common ancestor and nothing else, they understand every fraction of your pain: a daughter’s pain, a sister’s pain, a lover’s pain, a mother’s pain. Then imagine you walk through a new world with every living wrong of the old world, every reminder, writhing beneath your skin like biting maggots made of molten metal, and you may understand. Nadal, Jaelryn, Alysstra, Ryld, and I...we are here because we know suffering well. Better even than most Yath. We know what it is like to be ripped from our world. No one should have to feel what we felt, what sometimes we still feel. We chose to be here, but that does not mean it is not difficult.”

She lifted one of Joan’s hands, leaving a featherlight kiss on the justicar’s palm. Better would have been the wrong word for what she felt. Instead, she felt more focused. She was still immeasurably angry, but that was a useful emotion and one that she could seal away until later. “I expect you will have questions,” she said. “I will answer them if I can, but not all questions have answers and not all answers have words.”

Sabal smiled softly then and looked up fully, resting her hand against Joan’s cheek. “You make me lighter, ussta ssin. You remind me that I am other than just my athiyk, that there is still something in me besides the beast. You do not belong in this dark place and I am sorry that I have brought you here. I trust you. I love you. It will not always show, but it will always be true. A mortal heart may be inconstant, but the soul of the oura is not.”

[Shalum]

Brakis and Jaelryn
Concordia, Nalaya

“That is quite alright, my dear.” The Maldorian replied with a soft smile as he padded forward into the room. Aged wooden boards creaked and groaned underfoot, but he paid them little mind as he took in the space and his female companion within. “If nothing else, I can think of quite a few uses for a pair of dutiful hands that are willing to follow my instruction. If nothing else, there are worse habits to get into than correcting your mistakes.” He teased as he came to a stop alongside her.

“Admittedly, many of the changes that this room needs are on the fundamental level. New paint for the walls, new floorboards, windows, perhaps even some properly crafted bedframes.” He observed a bit more confidently as his head swiveled around for a moment. They were all things that he could do himself if given the proper equipment. Pomerok had kept him around for more than keeping girls clean, after all; he had made sure that portable water heaters stayed working, and the soldier’s equipment was kept maintained. “I am hesitant to do such things, however, if we are not going to be staying here long term. I know it would please the spirits, but it would not be an overnight project either.”

Brakis then looked over to the window. Her observation of the spider there had not gone unnoticed, and he couldn’t help but motion to it. “I would probably start with something simple as fixing that there.” One could see where age and environment had put cracks into the wood frame itself, some large enough for insects -or arachnids- to let themselves in. “It wouldn’t take long, but something tells me that your arla...arla…” He trailed off for a moment as he tried to pronounce the word, but ultimately could not despite how many times he had heard Kaleb say it. “-spirit animal would not appreciate my endeavors once no food found their web,” he chuckled.

Looking back to the spider yath, he gave her a small shrug. “Honestly, I’m having a hard time thinking of too much right now. My skills with electric are not as I’d like them to be.” He admitted as he glanced at the light above them. “Tell me...is there anything that you would like me to do here? I know that you’re less knowledgeable than I about such things, but two minds are better than one; I am open to suggestions. If not you, then I would happily do something to help the spirits of this place as well. If we do find a new place for ourselves, however, I’m certain there will be more than enough work to go around.”

As they made their way through the hallways at a leisurely place, seeming to be in no hurry to meet with Lusin’s people again, the young initiatie couldn’t help but grin back at the yath’abban. “I was hoping you would say as much, my friend. He could use all the help he can get. I don’t imagine Brakis as one to turn down help from any of us, but Sabal’s brashness may leave him a bit too red for Jaelryn to not become suspicious.” He mused as he ran a hand along his shortly cut sandy-blonde hair.

There was no doubt in his mind that everyone understood how much help Brakis would most likely need. Though he had nothing but the best intentions, the old man wasn’t exactly familiar with romance - then again, few slaves actually were. Much like with arranged marriages, it wasn’t uncommon for slaves to be told who they were to breed with. Masters were often more concerned about keeping healthy slave populations that they could sell off if need be, rather than how their property actually felt about such arrangements. If there ever was romance or feelings between two slaves, it was often kept quiet. Being able to court someone in public, without fear or reprisal, was something that neither Brakis or Kaleb were familiar with.

The appearance of their resident yochlol made Kaleb stand a little straighter, his reaction being a very much honed one after years in slavery. Any good slave knew how to carry themselves when the master or his lieutenants were around, body rigid and respectful, but head tilted downwards in respect at the same time. While the former slave didn’t consider Alys or Nadal to be anything akin to slave masters, not by any stretch of the imagination, he understood that there was a hierarchy to everything. As far as his faith went, Kaleb understood that these two were among the most powerful.

While he did not have a complete understanding of everything, he knew that they had not been sent to Maldoria with light intentions on their conscience. It only made his respect for them, and the faith itself, grow. Granted, he already looked upon them very highly. Alysstra was a good mentor, and someone he liked to consider a friend, regardless of any yochlol views regarding attachment of any kind. He even liked Nadal in the same way that someone loved their cantankerous yet endearing grandfather or uncle.

“It is as you say, Most Honored.” The young initiate replied to her troublemaker comment as he bowed his head to her, the corners of his lips pulling into a humorous smile. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied the room that Joan and Sabal and decided to lodge themselves in. Considering what he had heard about those two, he didn’t expect to see them anytime soon. Truth be told, he failed to see what the issue with their relationship was, and he was too afraid to ask at this point. It didn’t seem like a subject that Nadal was approving of.

“We will make sure to stay out of trouble, Most Honored. Rest well.” The young initiate said with another bow of the head and a soft smile as she departed from them. A moment later, he returned his attention to Ryld as they made their way through the compound - no particular destination in mind. “I am not certain about you, but our own place seems...like an attractive idea. From what I could tell of the aura surrounding Siruhi Holtzman, we are more tolerated than actually welcome. I know for a fact that this isn’t the only abandoned building on this block, much less the city. Setting up our own lodge would not be difficult,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“I suppose that is an issue beyond our control, however. Do you have anything in mind that we should attend to?” He asked as he glanced over at the yath’abban. The man outranked him -everyone technically did- but Kaleb felt comfortable enough to speak in such an easy manner.

---

Sabal and Joan
Concordia, Nalaya

With a wordless nod of acceptance, the redheaded justicar shifted on the balls of her feet and padded after her yathallar lover. With the grace of an apex predator, she perched herself on the single bed, her light eyes full of concern as she gently took Sabal’s hands with her own and began to trace them with the pads of her fingers in an attempt to reassure her. “I don’t know much more than what most outsiders do, but I would like to learn.” She said softly, before taking a deep breath as she traced the perpetually wounded knuckles of her lover’s hands.

As the smaller Shalumite warrior listened intently, as if her very life depended on it, she couldn’t help but worry on her bottom lip with the tips of her incisors. What she heard didn’t surprise her, not by a long shot; after spending well over a year in the country, Joan had encountered more than enough evils to numb what senstilibites that may have remained deep within her. Nevertheless, just hearing what her lover had been through, even without the gratuitous details, caused the justicar’s stomach to tighten painfully.

There were other moments, however, where Joan could only tilt her head slightly as she tried to make sense of something that she simply didn’t understand. Even by the standards of the justicar order, Sabal had given everything that she possibly could to further the faithful’s cause. Short of fading into destitution, or sacrificing her very life for the beliefs that she held in her heart, her lover had given her very being to defend those who could not do it themselves. And yet she acted as if she hadn’t fallen short of her own abilities, as if she had been unwilling to go to such lengths.

Though she didn’t know the entirety of her lover’s past, Joan understood one thing quite clearly - there were no lengths that Sabal wasn’t willing to go to.

As her the Maku’r woman’s head dipped, and her voice grew more grim, the justicar could only shiver as calloused hands danced over the flats of her palms and the lines of her hands. There was so much tension and emotion pent up in this tiny room, her lover was most likely experiencing some kind of pain, and yet Joan felt somewhat useless. She wanted to do so much, to help the love of her life heal and move on (if that was at all possible), and yet she was completely uncertain of what she could actually do to help Sabal. As much as she liked to think of herself as a force for good, Joan had little experience when it came to healing one’s very soul.

Perhaps, in some ways, she was much more like the yathallar than she realized - better at destroying, rather than building anything up.

“I can’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain, sissurn.” The justicar murmured as she looked down at their joined hands. Without a doubt, Joan understood the abstract feelings of what she spoke of. What it was light to be stabbed, shot, and generally torn to pieces by those who wanted to destroy the very institutions that she stood for. But to have wounds upon her very soul? That was an entirely different ballgame. It was amazing that Sabal and her cohorts had survived their ordeals, much less overcome everything as well as they had.

“But I...I think I understand, at least part of why you were angry. What Lusin said back there, the ancestry that she claimed to share with you and the others, it isn’t even close to what the reality is.” The redhead finally continued slowly, seeming to make sense of things as she spoke. “Not that it's the same thing, but I wouldn’t be happy in the least if someone claimed to be a justicar, but actually wasn’t.”

Looking up to meet the surefire gaze of her lover, Joan smiled softly as she felt Sabal’s fingers brush along her cheek. For a moment, her eyes slipped closed as she nuzzled her cheek against the Mak’ur woman’s palm as if she was some kind of fox kit. Nothing in this plane of existence could make Joan feel like her yathallar did, and she couldn’t help but relish in the comfort for a moment, despite the severity of the situation.

“You do not have to apologize, beloved; you forget that I agreed to come here.” She replied with a soft, teasing smile. “There is a line in my holy book, from the story of Ruth. "Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.” Joan recited the lines from memory, scooting forward as she did so. Despite the awkwardness of the small bed, and the bumping of knees, she was undeterred as she practically crawled into Sabal’s lap.

“I may not belong here, but neither do you, my dearest warrior. And until it is time for us to depart, or our mission is complete, I will accept nothing less than the position that is by your side. We’ve been fighting shoulder-to-shoulder for a while now, don’t think you can get rid of me so easily now.” She tried to joke as she reached up, pressing her palm against Sabal’s chest where she knew the heart was.

Her expression grew serious again, however, as she worried on her bottom lip. “If anyone needs to be apologizing, it is probably me. There are other methods of taking out anger, I am just the one that is antagonizing your emotions now by bringing this all up.” She sighed softly, glancing down for a moment. “My love, my sissurn, please understand that I do it because I care about you. I’ve never been in a real relationship, not one like this, and while that is well and good, I want you to know that I’m in for the long haul. Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” She tried to reassure with a smile. “It’s just...I want you to be able to talk to me. About anything, including your history. As much as I love what we do at night,” she flushed a bit. “Talking is healthy for couples too, I hear.”

As she stroked the spot where Sabal’s heart lied, the justicar couldn’t help but muse about the stories of her childhood. There had been more than a few of knights in shining armor, along with great heros that vanquished great beasts and evil men. They always got the girl in the end, and a certain word came to mind as she looked up at Sabal again.

Soulbound.

Though her Nalayan counterparts may not have understood it well, it was something that most Shalumites had at least heard of. It was not a term used lightly. Though there was a great deal of mysticism behind it, the bare bones explanation was easy enough. Essentially two people, or perhaps more in special circumstances, were so deep in love that their very souls were connected to one another. They fit each other perfectly, as if pieces to a puzzle. Over the years, it had been the subject of many great dramas, usually some story of revenge and redemption where one lover avenged the death of another before dying in some sort of glorious fashion.

All of that aside, Joan felt connected to Sabal on a greater level. Without the yathallar by her side...anything else would just be a hollow imitation, she surmised. Though it was all just fantasy, she couldn’t help but wonder if she truly was bound to her yathallar.

Taking a small breath, Joan let out a slow sigh. “I’m not sure how many questions I can truly formulate, my love. You’ve said so much, but I’m not sure how much I managed to understand; Nalaya is such a different animal when compared to the one I am used to.” She replied with a nervous expression. Joan hoped that her lover didn’t take that the wrong way. The Shalumite really did want to learn, but she didn’t know how to. “For instance, you say that you sacrificed nothing...yet you’ve given up more than most justicars I know.” She pointed out softly, knowing that it was a statement of fact, rather than a question.

“If you don’t want to answer this, then please don’t, my love. I want you to be comfortable.” Joan finally worked up the courage. “But...did you have an encounter with Nalayan slavery, one way or another? Is it...is it why you hate it so much?” She asked softly, a nervous flicker in her eyes.

[Nalaya]

Co-written with Shalum

Concordia, Maldoria

Sabal smiled briefly for a moment when Joan said that she couldn’t grasp that kind of pain. “A good thing, ussta ssin.” She would have never wished even a fraction of her wounds on Joan. Lusin, perhaps, but then again, Sabal could be a spiteful creature. She sighed in something that might have been relief when the redhead understood her objection to Lusin. “I...yes. It was not a welcome comment, nor a welcome sentiment.”

The yathallar slipped an arm around Joan when the justicar scooted in. “The dark wilderness is my home,” she said, touching her forehead to Joan’s. “We do not walk in the light as you might, nor are we creatures of the sun. We are not justicars. We are, in some ways, more akin to penitents. We are beings of shadow that can track evil into its lairs, ensuring that wicked deeds bring wicked ends. I can love, yes, but a beast cannot change its nature.” Sabal wanted Joan to understand what she was getting into, and perhaps a bit of what she was going to see. None of the Yath walked into the territory of slavers with gentleness in their hearts.

The hand over her heart felt warm and comforting, though Sabal wasn’t certain how comforted she wanted to be. She was used to simmering or lashing out, not sitting and talking quietly about it. And yet here she was, doing her best to try. “When you have watched, as I have, so many give their all and then their lives, your own sacrifices seem trivial in comparison. When people say that someone ‘gave their life’, it is an understatement. In a moment, in an act of love beyond compare, they sacrificed their body, their future, their hopes, their dreams, the family and friends that might have been. And for many that I witnessed, it was not a clean death. They endured such suffering, agonies that I cannot claim to know. That is why I say that I have given nothing when weighed against that.”

At the mention of slavery, Sabal’s expression shifted. Her lips tightened into a line and she turned her head slightly so she wasn’t looking directly into Joan’s eyes. “I did. I helped bring it to its wretched end in my homeland,” she said quietly. She sighed, the sound of bone-deep pain. “Though I did not know it as Jaelryn knows it. She was a captive for a time, though it did not weaken her. The best steel must endure the heat of the crucible. But it is not my place to tell her story, nor would I do it justice even if I did give it breath.” She took a deep breath. “I...there are no words for some wounds. But I do not bury this one, because there is a hint of sweet to the bitter taste of poison. It is fuel to the fires of my hate, but when I close my eyes to sleep, sometimes it is a reminder of different days. My beautiful mayfly boys...” There was something wistful to those last few words.

The justicar in her lap swallowed thickly, feeling her mouth go dry at the words - as if it hadn’t been for the last couple of minutes. Though she had no real experience with the dealings of slavery itself, she was more than aware of the kind of evils that went on when it happened. She felt a sudden yearning to know Jaelryn a little better, if at all possible. The spider yath was friends with Sabal, and Joan had yet to see anything but good in the woman...even if her tattoos did give her the heebie jeebies now and then.

That was not all, however. Some words stuck in the redhead’s mind like glue, and she couldn’t help but look over her lover cautiously. “Your...mayfly boys?” She asked in a tone that reflected her expression. Among many things, this was not something she had ever heard her lover speak of before. Had there been...children in her life at one time, or were these boys more like Sorn or Ryld to her? Joan knew that it was likely better not to ask, but she wanted to know Sabal as best as she possibly could.

For a moment, a smile tried to tug at the corners of Sabal’s mouth, but it gained no purchase. “Sometimes I feel as though I have been alive for centuries, and they were only here for a few moments. That is why I call them mayflies.” She looked down at her hands. “They were glimpses into a world where I did not belong.” The yathallar wasn’t certain how much to say, or how much she wanted to say. It ate at her sometimes, keeping every memory carefully guarded from the world, even if it was better that way. Still, she supposed Joan deserved to know. “My sons. One who never knew what it was to draw breath and one who lost his too soon. I had Solas for eight months, and Kiir for nine months and six years.”

Still. Joan had grown very still on her perch that was Sabal’s lap, one hand unconsciously freezing as it rested on her lover’s abdomen. She hadn’t...she hadn’t know that the yathallar had ever brought a family into this world before any of the hell that they found themselves in now. It was, without any bit of doubt, the most shocking thing she had heard in a long time. Just the thought of Sabal as a motherly figure was hard to picture, though it did explain why she took so well to the initiate among their ranks.

“Sabal…” Joan whispered, sounding as if she had been whispered speechless; her voice was soft and sad. “I’m so...I’m so sorry,” she finally whispered. “I didn’t...I didn’t know you had children...at one time.” The redhead whispered as she glanced down, unsure of what else she could really say. She highly doubted that her lover, of all people, wanted words hollow words of pity.

“You had no way to know. Most do not know. Just Jael, Nadal, and now you,” Sabal said. She rested her head against Joan’s shoulder. “They know only because they were there when...when I lost Kiir.” There was a hint of unsteadiness to her tone, the only indication of how deep the wound really ran. “They agreed not to speak of it unless I gave them leave, but I had no one I wanted to tell and nothing to say.” She shrugged a little bit, recovering herself. “The dreams of that old future are ashen now. The wounds, the sorrows, are all I have left of them. A Christi in the war once told me that we cannot find peace without forgiveness. I told him that if forgiveness was the condition for peace, I would war until the end of the world—whether I was living or dead. I have been given many reasons to hate slavers, to hunt them even after the war was ended and their power broken.”

Joan’s breaths were soft and quick, and her arms tightened around Sabal as she drew closer. Kicking her legs out on either side of her lover, the position became a bit more comfortable as she nuzzled and hugged the woman, seemingly for dear life. Lifting her head up, she pressed feather-light kisses to her collarbone and neck, small signs of reassurance - the only things she could really offer. “You have me too.” The justicar tried to joke, despite the fact that her own smile was rather humorless at the moment. “I’m just...so sorry that you lost them. Solas...Kiir.” She spoke the names as if she was committing them to memory, etching them upon the very beats of her heart.

“I...I have faith in you, Sabal, no matter what happens. If we spend the rest of our days hunting slavers, that’s fine, or if we slow down a bit...that’s fine too. I just...whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about looking over your shoulder. I’m here for you.” The justicar whispered as she held the yathallar closely. “The future doesn’t have to be entirely ash, though, I’d like to think. We have a lot of things, a lot of friends, worth fighting for. Faisal, Michael, Jael, Kaleb...even little Pella. We’re fighting for them too and…” She paused and lifted her head from Sabal’s shoulder. “-I’m rambling.” She muttered before dropping her head back down again. “But you get my point, I hope.”

Sabal nodded a little. She could feel the knot in her heart, tight and painful. There was so much pain and hate bound up in those memories. You did what was best, Nadal told her when it was all over and even the embers had burned themselves out. She remembered his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back away from the scene. He still said it sometimes, when he thought her thoughts had strayed back. Maybe it would have been easier to let go if she had been granted something in the way of closure, but the war had devoured her hopes of that. She hadn’t even been able to get near Kiir’s body, let alone give him a funeral. “I know,” she said softly. “For a long time, I did not care to see a future. I knew that I had played my part in what happened, I knew that there was no place for me in that world. I am still not certain if there is one for me beyond the twin purposes of the yathallar: defending the faithful and punishing the wicked. As long as there is evil in this world, I do not believe that I can be contented. But...you give me a chance to hope.”

The Mak’ur woman took a deep breath and let it out again in a sigh. Silently, she prayed that Joan would never have to know what it felt like, the horrible moment when she realized what had happened, what was going to happen, and the loss that followed after. She was aware that she hadn’t told the justicar everything that had happened or even what had happened, but perhaps that was for the best. She didn’t think she had it in herself to let Joan see the depths of the wound. “I am sorry,” she said finally. “It was not my intention to burden you with old ghosts.”

Very slowly, Joan’s small hands looped around Sabal’s body until they found the hard lines of her back. Flexing her fingers for a moment, the justicar began to stroke her lover’s back after a pausing; small circles of affection and reassurance pressed in an attempt to lessen the tension, or at least give the redhead something to do to ease her own nerves. “It is alright, my love.” She said softly, nuzzling against the crook of Sabal’s neck. “You’ve never burdened me with anything except the gravity of having a place in your heart.” She smiled and pressed another kiss to Sabal’s neck. “And that is an honor in itself.” She said as she exhaled deeply, warm breath dancing across exposed skin.

“I cannot promise much. I am a woman bound by my own decisions...at least for now.” Joan said as she pulled away to look down at her lover, for once, from her perch in the older woman’s lap. “We all have a place, though, Sabal. Perhaps more than one. We can always rebuild...if you’re willing.” She continued, her fingers never ceasing in their task. “Please, never be afraid to...talk to me about things such as this. I may not be a good healer of the soul, but I can at least listen. You just have to let me in sometimes.”

Sabal felt tense muscles gradually relax under Joan’s touch. It felt better to have said something. She would never tell the wide world, but maybe she could handle this. “I hope so,” she said of having a chance to rebuild. Granted, Joan didn’t know why they’d actually come to Maldoria, but their goal wasn’t exactly incompatible with rebuilding. If anything, building would be half the battle or more. It was just that they had to make it through tearing certain things down first. “Hopefully I don’t get you into too much trouble along the way.” She kissed Joan’s lips gently before adding, “You will always have a place in my heart, ussta ssin. I don’t know what is going to happen now, not with your Oberst here. I find it very difficult to believe that she intends to be as helpful as she claims she wishes to be. Her lips say welcome, but her eyes wish us gone. I do not believe she is here to aid us.”

Eventually, things would come to a head with Lusin. It was really more a matter of how long it could be put off than a question of if. Sabal was not optimistic about her people’s chances, but she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it all the same. Walking through that market had been a bitter reminder of what was at stake. If she had to die to change the fates of Maldoria’s slaves, she would do it gladly. Killing Christi would come to her even easier, no matter how much she loved Joan. Old habits died hard. For all of Nadal’s concern that her loyalties would end up conflicted—and it was a reasonable concern—Sabal was fairly certain that as long as she didn’t have to turn on Joan, she would be able to kill without any qualms. The problem was that caveat, of course.

She felt that twinge of guilt for not telling Joan the whole truth about why they were in Concordia, but she brushed it aside as she followed the justicar’s jawline with her lips. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Joan, because she most certainly did. It was that she didn’t trust the other justicars, who might try to hurt Joan if they thought she had information. Granted, that was going to be a danger whether Joan knew or not, but Alysstra had argued firmly for the lie and Sabal was not going to gainsay a yochlol.

“Sabal…” Joan moaned softly, her air of seriousness seeming to falter as she felt her lover’s lips brush along her jawline. Giving the Mak’ur woman a little tug, she chuckled as they tumbled back into the bed. The mattress wasn’t that comfy, by any means. It was stiff and poked into her back, but she couldn’t have cared less in this moment. “You do realize that our names are synonymous with trouble, don’t you?” She teased softly, pulling one hand away from Sabal’s back so that she could gently stroke her lover’s cheek.

Sighing softly, she seemed to sober for a moment, even as she found herself underneath her lover. Wrapping her legs around Sabal’s waist, she continued to gently rub her back, trying to make her feel as comfortable as she could. Maldoria wasn’t an accommodating place by any means, so she would have to compensate. “I’ve never known Lusin well,” she admitted softly. “Just because we are both justicars does not mean that we know each other well. That being said...from what I do know, she is never sent by the Council lightly. She didn't earn the nickname 'Butcher' lightly." Joan worried on her bottom lip for a moment. "I hate to say this, since she is supposed to be my sister-in-arms, but Lusin is a bad omen if I've ever seen one, Sabal." She admitted quietly, as if afraid the Oberst would hear her through the thin walls.

Sabal nodded slightly. That was about what she’d expected to hear, given the impression she’d formed of the woman. They would have to be very careful in how they navigated around Lusin, at least until it became a confrontation. No doubt Alysstra and Jaelryn had already reached a similar conclusion, and if they had, they would drag Nadal to it as well. At least they would be prepared. The benefit of Lusin’s lack of subtlety meant that they were aware of where the knife would come from. “I will do my best to keep a distance from her,” Sabal said finally. She knew that antagonizing the justicar would not do her any favors, but it was hard to bite her tongue sometimes. Realistically, the only way she’d be minimizing the conflict with Lusin would be by minimizing the time she spent in the same room as the Butcher. “I do not want to put you in a...conflicted position.”

There was a slight worry in Sabal’s eyes, but it was only there for a moment. She wasn’t a woman accustomed to fretting. If Joan did end up in that position, Sabal told herself that she would accept the decision that the redhead came to, whatever that meant. “Any others I need to worry about?” Sabal asked softly. She hadn’t paid too much attention to the other justicars. She’d been so angry with Lusin that she’d barely been able to see straight.

“That would probably be for the best. I’d say that it would be a good idea for Nadal to do the same. Ryld or Alysstra are probably best for trying to communicate with her.” Joan replied after a moment, running her tongue along the edges of her chapped lips. Admittedly, she knew very little of the yochlol among them, but from what she could gathered, the female of the two was at least more of the diplomatic sort. “I’m not thrilled about being her subordinate,” Joan added under her breath dryly. “But...don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, love, so long as she doesn’t decide to raise a hand to me or try and send me back to Shalum proper.” Joan’s chuckle was a bit strained, as if she was a bit nervous of the prospects.

Reaching up, Joan ran a hand through Sabal’s hair. Something was off about it - perhaps it was shorter than she remembered? Or perhaps she was just trying to distract herself for a moment, if nothing else. “Ah, well...I’ve worked with Ayle before. She is a good soul, though she never quite fit in with the people I knew. Aside from Thul, we’ve never really had Maldorian justicars.” Joan explained softly. “She is good people. So is Thul too...but I gotta warn you, he was a slaver. One that saw the error of his ways, but a slaver nonetheless.” She paused momentarily. “I...I don’t know about the other two, but Lusin seemed to get along pretty well with them when we were walking earlier. That probably says something in itself,” she muttered a trifle darkly.

Sabal’s whole body tensed at the idea of Lusin doing anything that might hurt Joan. She didn’t want to alarm her lover, but that had not inspired good thoughts in the yathallar. She tried to relax when Joan ran fingers through her hair. She was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line, as she internalized both that and Joan’s description of the other justicars. “I trust your judgment,” she said softly after a moment. The idea of working alongside a slaver, even a former one, was a bitter pill, but she’d been in hated company before in the name of a greater end. “I will do my best not to burn bridges unless it is necessary.”

It was a sentence with a good sound to it, almost as if she wasn’t looking for an excuse to get into an altercation. Focus on the goal, Nadal would have said to her. One can bear any number of indignities and inequities on behalf of the divine. Her feelings and pride couldn’t matter if they were to genuinely try and change Maldoria. That meant swallowing the worst of her temper too. She’d done it when she first met Faisal, Michael, and Joan, so she knew she was capable of it. “I suppose it will be a good exercise,” Sabal said with a wry smile. “Learning to give up the self.” She sighed. She didn’t want to get up and see what was going on, but she knew she was going to have to at some point. Instead of moving to get up, she kissed Joan and lingered against the justicar’s lips. The world always seemed simpler—better—in moments like this one.

"That is all I can ask, my love. I really don't feel like pulling some kind Thelma and Louise until we have to. Maldoria isn't all that high on my list of places that I'd like to be on the run in." Joan chuckled as she regarded her lover approvingly. She felt a certain surge of pride in the pit of her chest as she laid there. Despite everything that she had gone through, it was nice to see that there was a part of Sabal that was still patient. Willing to weather the coming storm for the betterment of everyone. "When it comes to burning bridges...I hope you do it with Ayle last, if it happens at all. I'm sure you'll like her..." A teasing glint appeared in Joan's eyes for a moment. "I mean, she certainly approves of your kind, if the way she was looking at you and Jael means anything," she giggled teasingly.

Nibbling on her bottom lip for a few moments longer, Joan continued to run her fingers through Sabal's bleached-hair. It was beautiful, and so much unlike her warm auburn. "You can do it, my love, you're the strongest woman I know. Strongest person, actually." The justicar smiled encouragingly. When the Mak'ur woman leaned down to kiss her, Joan yielded instantly, her lips meeting those of her lover's slowly and gently. As they lingered in the aftermath, she smiled and licked her lips, teasingly poking at Sabal with it a moment later. "You're also the only person I know that can make my heart beat faster and slower at the same time, sissurn." She chuckled as she met the yath's eyes. Looking over their current situation, she hummed dramatically. "And, such a shame, it looks like I'm at your mercy at the moment..."

Sabal grinned. “So you are,” she said lightly, immediately deciding to take advantage of the situation with a deeper kiss. The others could wait a while. Knowing that she could make Joan feel anything good was something that pleased Sabal inordinately. Ayle could look all she wanted—the yathallar had the only woman she was interested in right here. “I missed you. Let me make it up to you.” As she spoke, her kisses were wandering from Joan’s lips, following her throat towards her collarbones.

Joan’s laugh quickly devolved into a soft moan of contentment. Affection flickered in her eyes as she involuntarily dipped her head back, exposing more of her bare neck and upper body to the devices of Sabal. “I am yours, sissurn, now and always.” She murmured, smirking as she looked up to meet the yathallar in the eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, my love. But you have nothing to make up, we’ve got all the time in the world...plus a room to ourselves for once,” she giggled. “Unless you plan on inviting Ayle to come by, that is?” She asked teasingly, cocking one eyebrow.

Sabal made a growling noise. She wasn’t feeling particularly like sharing at the moment, not when she finally had Joan to herself. “She wishes,” the yathallar said. She wasn’t certain if that was true, but it was an amusing thought for a moment.

There was a knock on the door and Sabal grumbled a few curses. It was Ryld’s knock, which meant Nadal probably wanted a word in her ear...or the group as a whole were going to meet and talk. Either way, it was not something she would be able to easily wriggle out of. She sighed, feeling an undeniable flash of frustration. “I have to get that.” She kissed Joan on the lips regretfully before levering herself up and padding over to the door. She opened it up to reveal the yath’abban, who chuckled when he was hit with the basilisk glare.

Despite all his worries about her entanglement with the justicar, Ryld would never stop finding Sabal’s ire over being interrupted to be amusing. “I take it that the corrupting is going well, then?”

“Let’s hope Siruhi Oberst doesn’t hear you say that,” Sabal muttered. “Nadal?”

“Everyone. We have something to discuss before we walk into a meeting with the Christi. Joan is welcome to attend, but her presence isn’t expected. You, however, are required,” Ryld said.

Joan groaned indignantly as she sat up, pausing for only a moment to adjust the collar of her uniform and smooth a handful of the numerous wrinkles that Sabal had evoked upon her uniform. “This better be important.” She grumbled as she reached up to adjust her hair. Looking over at Ryld, she gave him a teasing look. “Not that you or anyone else heard that.” She chuckled. Pausing, she reached up to tilt Sabal’s head towards her. On her tiptoes, she gave the Mak’ur woman one final peck on the lips before she sank back down onto her heels. “What, um, what is the topic of discussion, if I may ask?” She asked Ryld as she tugged Sabal along with one hand, closing the door behind them with the other.

“We are attempting to find a way to...coexist, while following the Tenet of Reserve,” Ryld explained as they walked down the hall to the room that Nadal and Alysstra were sharing. Jaelryn was already there, sitting close to Brakis, and the two yochlol looked up from their conversation when Sabal and Joan arrived with Ryld. Nadal frowned slightly, but Sabal wasn’t certain it was at the justicar’s presence.

“We need a place,” Nadal said by way of explanation in his blunt way. “We cannot expect to be left to tend to the spirits or pray without problems arising if we are in close quarters with Siruhi Holtzmann and her people.”

Upon entering the room, despite the sheer tension that she felt within, Joan couldn’t help but give Sabal a little nudge with her hip as she glanced over at a particular pair of individuals. The bulky form of Brakis was tucked in one corner, wearing a sheepish, yet rather happy expression as he perched himself near the spider yath, their legs practically touching. They make such a cute pair. Joan mused as she drifted into a seat beside her lover.

Turning her attention to Nadal, her lips curled slightly as she leaned back against the wall. The bed underneath her creaked, and she swore the drywall had some give to it, causing her to go still immediately. This was the kind of talk that Faisal and Michael both belonged at, in her opinion. “This is about the Siruhi Oberst.” The justicar blurted out without thinking. There was no questioning to her tone, just a search for confirmation.

“About the situation in general,” Alysstra said calmly. She smiled faintly. “Although, if I had to pick the person most likely to put our heads on pikes, Siruhi Holtzmann would probably be my first choice. “It would probably be best if we had Faisal and Michael here as well, Nadal. They may be more familiar with Concordia than we are. As of now, we only have one contact.”

“I’ll fetch them,” Ryld said from his position by the door. “It should only take a minute or two.”

Nadal inclined his head in thanks and the yath’abban set off to find them. “It needn’t be anywhere near this large,” the male yochlol said calmly. “We are not an army, and I would rather not be mistaken for one.”

Jaelryn nodded. She was staying quiet mostly because she didn’t want to tip their hand too much to Joan. The justicar seemed like a good woman, but Jael seldom took people at face value. She knew that often they had hidden dimensions, and she was clearer-headed than Sabal.

“There should be some abandoned buildings,” Alysstra said. “Concordia has no urban growth boundary that I’ve seen, so there is less incentive to tear down anything not being used. Besides, the area is very much impoverished. One of those structures could serve our purpose easily, so long as it is away from the Christi.” She looked over at Joan. “We mean no offense to you, Siruhi, but we are aware that our rites and rituals can be...distasteful...to your people. Thus we would rather avoid conflict by removing ourselves for at least a considerable chunk of each day, lest things devolve into violence.”

Joan just nodded in understanding. “It is...quite alright, honestly. I’m sure that I am more biased, if not tolerant, than others when it comes to your beliefs.” She couldn’t help but pause as she glanced at her lover for a quick moment. “Rest assured though, after everything I encountered in Nalaya during my time there, you do nothing that really unsettles me. I’m not exactly ones for all of the, ahem, narcotics though.” She smiled weakly as she regarded Alysstra; it was likely best if she mentioned as little of her time on the Fane as possible. Sabal had already been punished enough as it was. “Still, I understand the necessity for distance. We all need it, especially in the face of those in my order who do not understand your ways.”

“Thank you, Ryld.” A door voice murmured as the door to the room opened again. Stepping through, Faisal and Michael appeared a moment later. They seemed a bit surprised by the large congregation before them, but didn’t comment on it as they squeezed themselves into a corner. Both had stripped out of their uniforms, and instead wore thinner, body hugging undershirts that clung to their athletic forms. “What is going on?” Faisal questioned as he looked around.

“Oberst Holtzmann’s reception wasn’t the warmest we could have gotten. We’re discussing the possibility of a secondary location.” Joan explained in the least words possible.

Faisal didn’t even seemed phased by the news, while Michael just sighed and rubbed his bad hand. “I’m not exactly surprised by that development.” The latter finally said. “What, ah, do you need us to do?” He asked without any kind of hesitation.

Ryld took up his position in the doorway, to keep an eye out for eavesdroppers while still being able to listen. The group wasn’t talking loudly, so their voices wouldn’t carry too far.

“We were wondering if you had any advice for seeking a location or ideas of where to begin,” Jaelryn said from her corner, patient eyes studying the two newest arrivals. “It would need to be a location we keep...out of the eyes of the Siruhi Oberst, at least until things are more cordial between us. The less she sees us, the less offensive we will be. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.”


“I will remain here at the compound when I am not out in Concordia with Siruhi Holtzmann,” Alysstra said. It went without saying that her purpose would be to run interference and keep an eye on the justicars. A dangerous assignment, but so was everything they were doing here. “It will give me time to work on the translations and keep a line of communication to the Oberst open if we are to need her help. But I would prefer that we move in Maldoria with far more subtlety than it seems the Oberst is prepared to, lest we find ourselves coming to blows when we are unprepared.”

There was a general nod of consensus from the other Mak’ur assembled. They knew that they would not be able to work in the open for some time, if only because it was clearly dangerous to draw such attention. They were very much outnumbered and outgunned, after all. While martyrdom was one of the most desirable ends to the Yath, a pointless death was not a valued one. They needed to move with purpose. Nadal was next to speak. “I will broach the subject of a diversion to the Oberst,” he said. “Something that will keep the slavers’ attention away from us as we work. If there is an opportunity to slay the wicked, we will see to it. However, we must not allow ourselves to be distracted from our purpose here. Let everything you do have a purpose in service to the greater good.”

“Understood,” Jaelryn and Sabal said together, both dipping their heads in a little bow that indicated their acknowledgement and acceptance of his words.

“Good,” Nadal said firmly.

Michael glanced over Nadal and shifted slightly. Though justicars such as himself were supposed to be fearless, even he was willing to admit that the older man could be unsettling with so little as a sharp look. “I’m not nearly as familiar with Maldoria as the Oberst is, but there are plenty of good targets here, from what I understand. I would say that striking the market, the very heart of evil in this city, would be for the best; however, there are more security forces there than we are probably equipped to deal with at the moment.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Not to say that we couldn’t strike at smaller dealers, or see if we could turn some slavers against each other.”

“Turning them against each other will serve our purposes for now,” Nadal said thoughtfully. “Paranoia is not difficult to induce, not if they are already in competition. However, that we may require the Oberst’s assistance with.”

“As for the secondary location.” Faisal cleared his throat. “There are plenty of places that we could establish ourselves in. Many of the local factories are abandoned, when industry left Maldoria many years ago, so did the companies that owned them.” Such was the case with their current lodgings. “There are many old apartment buildings and homes that we could utilize as well. I cannot promise that they are in the best shape, Concordia hasn’t seen any real construction on this side of town in years. The lower wards of the city would be best for hiding, but would present their own challenges as well. They are the poorest parts of the city,” he explained.

Alysstra nodded slightly, contemplating a possible answer to the kind of building they wanted. “The lower wards it is, then,” she said. Working with the poorest elements of the city had been something of the plan to begin with, so they would have plenty to do. “We will have to play the type of building by ear. I will defer to Jaelryn and Brakis in that. Jael will know what we need, Brakis will be able to ascertain whether or not the building is structurally sound, or at least that’s the hope. We can live with repairs, particularly since we have a good bit of cash and some other useful things put by. All of that should be waiting for us with our contact. Meeting up with him should be our first priority now that we’ve met our Christi associates.”

“Sabal, Jaelryn, meeting with him is now your task. After you have recovered at least a starting sum and equipment, return here and drop it off. Then start looking for a building,” Nadal said. His tone left no room for argument, not that either of them were about to. “I will attend to the slave market with Siruhi Holtzmann to see what we can do to recover those who were taken from Nalaya. I expect her advice will be to purchase their freedom.” It was a highly distasteful notion to him, and that disdain was evident in his tone even though his facial expression remained unchanged.

“Paron Aras, Paron Medley, you are welcome to join us in our task,” Jaelryn said. “I will not turn down assistance. No doubt your compatriot has no intention of letting Sabal venture forth alone as it is.”

The former slave had been rather quiet throughout the meeting thus far. Perched close to Jaelryn, he hadn’t been sure that he could really contribute to the cause in any way. He was past his prime, and even then, he’d been one to work with his hands rather than with a weapon or religious text. The mention of buildings caused him to perk up a bit, however. “I would be happy to help, Most Honorable.” Despite the fact that he wasn’t a faithful himself, he understood the fact that she deserved respect. “I’ve built more than a few buildings in my day, getting one back to working order shouldn’t be an issue - especially if I have some help. I’m afraid I need may some tools though, I didn’t think to bring any of mine back from Nalaya.” He said a bit meekly. Slaves had never been ones to ask for hand and power tools - they were either issued them or told to get creative.

Faisal glanced up for a moment before adding. "I gotta warn y'all now...any building we find probably isn't going to have power, or heat, for that matter. The upper and middle wards of the city have it, since they pay the Duchess for it, but no one in the lower wards can afford such things. Water should probably still work, assuming the pipes haven't burst. We'll probably have to run it for a while before it's anything close to safe, however," he explained.

Joan grimaced and looked over at Nadal. "I could only assume so, Most Honorable. Though purchasing their freedom is detestable -it only benefits the slavers more- it is considered legitimate here, and would prevent us from any bloodshed. She probably wants to get us all out of Maldoria as quickly as possible, even if she has to pay to get rid of us."

Joan flushed slightly and looked over at Sabal. Jaelryn was right on the money, though the redhead wouldn't have admitted it. Faisal just chuckled and nodded. "I would be happy to assist, there is strength in numbers and it would be more useful than lying about here."

Michael nodded and added. "Same for me. With my hand, I'm afraid I'm not quite the close quarter fighter that I used to be, but I can still use a rifle. Besides, I can help with any heavy lifting." He said as he gave Jaelryn a small grin.

“Don’t worry, Brakis. I’m certain we can buy tools for you,” Jaelryn said with warmth. “We shouldn’t require heat and power for our purposes. They might be nice to have, but we can make do. Running water would be wonderful, however, even if we have to flush the pipes.” Water had its place in prayer just like fire, so it would be helpful to have. Hopefully without the industrial poisons that some parts of the world had, but beggars couldn’t really be choosers. Anything viral or bacterial they could handle by boiling it. She noticed Michael’s grin, but her attention was more focused on Brakis. It was good to see him happy, and she knew he would appreciate feeling useful.

“Then we have a plan. See to your tasks. Ryld will be here for the moment, at least until we have our own place for him to help with,” Nadal said as he stood up. If he was stiff from his age, he didn’t show it. “Alysstra, shall we seek out Siruhi Holtzmann and hear what she has to say?”

“That would be best, I think,” the female yochlol said with a nod. She smiled at the justicars and her fellow yath. “Be safe.”

On that note, the two yochlol departed to find Lusin. Jaelryn and Sabal stood up to go retrieve their things so they would be ready to head out into Concordia. They knew roughly where they were going and who to meet, but it would mean going back into the main markets and walking carefully. If everything went well, they would finally be starting the long, hard fight.

[Shalum]

The Three Justicars

Once the meeting had drawn to an unceremonious closing, the members of their little assembly had gone their separate ways; Brakis had left with Jaelryn, the pair of them talking quietly as they went; Faisal and Michael had returned to their room, citing that they would only need a few minutes to change into something more ‘appropriate’ as well as gather their weapons.

This left the pair of troublemaking lovers to their own devices, though they had no time for the fun that they had sought earlier. With objectives set before them now, they had to prepare like the rest of their compatriots. Though their journey beared no inherent danger to it, they were in Maldoria and couldn’t let themselves grow too comfortable.

Closing the door behind them, Joan could only smirk ever so slightly as she locked it. Turning on her heels, she pressed a quick kiss to Sabal’s cheek. “This should only be a second. I don’t really want to do this, but I figure that all of these,” she paused to motion to the several crosses that decorated her uniform, “would garner undesired attention wherever we go.”

Padding over the the bed that technically belonged to her (though she doubted she would be sleeping in it much for one reason or another), Joan hefted her travel bag up from the floor and deposited it on the mattress. Several clicks followed as she unlocked it and opened it up, revealing several neat stacks of various garments that she had procured while in Nalaya. Fishing around for a moment, she withdrew several and then stilled for a moment as she looked over her shoulder, flashing Sabal a smirk that could probably be assigned the connotation of ‘evil.’

Kicking off her boots, Joan turned back to the bed as she slipped them off. Both hands went to her waistline as she found the smooth leather of her belt, which she quickly undid and tossed onto the bed. With a small bend of the knees, she chuckled quietly as she let her trousers fall and pool around her feet. Though there was nothing particularly sexy about her uniform, she could only smirk as she gave her lover a sight of pale thighs for a moment as she slinked off her top next. When Joan finally gathered her clothes up, she folded them efficiently, hips swaying ever so slightly as she tucked them in into her travel bag along with the rest of her things. With one final look at Sabal, she rolled her bare shoulders and got back to work.

The clothing she had pulled out, by comparison, were nothing short of innocuous in the conservative state that was Maldoria. The trousers that she pulled on were much baggier than those of her uniform, and the first layer that covered her upper body was a kevlar vest with a brown shift draped atop it. Over that was a much longer, but thinner, brown shawl that flowed around her body. Picking up a scrap of fabric, Joan tied it around her red bun and let the rest drape down her neck. “What do you think? Look like I can go for a walk in Sissak?” She asked with a dry smile when she turned to face Sabal.

All things considered, she would have blended in with the women of Concordia, if not for her inherently paler skin and her finishing touches. Setting aside her long rifle, there were several quick snaps as she pieced together a submachine gun. It was a model favored by the Imperial Shalumite Army - the UMP45. It lacked the range that her Nashorn CAR rifle boasted, but provided much better maneuverability in close quarters situations. Another forty-five caliber pistol went onto her belt, concealed by the long shawl, along with a handful of flashbangs and grenades that’d make anyone think twice.

“Alright, I think I’m ready, if you have everything.” Joan said as she tossed the submachinegun over her shoulder. Maldorian women didn’t normally carry weapons, but most would probably recognize her as a foreigner anyways; at least she wasn’t parading around in Council attire.

Outside in the hallway, Faisal and Michael were already present, having spent less time conduct...evil affairs that would have otherwise slowed them down. Both men were dressed more simply before, in green and tan tunics and trousers that covered their bodies and lacked anything that hinted at their true Christian affiliations. They both carried their rifles from before, and gave the two women a nod as they stepped out of the room. Brakis and Jaelryn emerged moments later as if they’d been summoned. The former slave was the only one among them who likely wasn’t armed; he was as unskilled with a weapon as Kaleb had been when he’d first become an initiate.

“Well.” Faisal grunted quietly as he looked around at their little group. “This is everyone, it looks like. Mike and I are all stocked up on extra supplies if we end up being out in the city for a while; we scrounged up some cash too, but I’m not certain that it’ll be enough to purchase anything.” Technically speaking, Lusin was supposed to deliver funds to the trio that had served in Nalaya, but she and her people had yet to have done so. “I am somewhat familiar with the city, but I don’t know where this contact of yours is; you two will have to lead us.”

“I can help with navigation too, if need be. Though it's been years since I last was in Concordia, I can at least read directions and translate for us.” Brakis added from where he stood by Jaelryn, his hands resting behind his back.

---

Kaleb and the Yochlol

“This is the rule of survival, this is the rule of reserve:
A distance must be maintained if there is to be respect,
If there is to be honor, if there is to be faith.
It is known that those who surround us are part of us,
And though close the apostate or the heretic may come,
Those who scorn and deride the faith spread hate as a contagion
And so it is that I remind myself when evil reaches out to me:
One cannot clasp hands with a devil and then profess the welcome to be lie…”

When he had been fetched by Ryld, the young initiate had been in the middle of going through his personal copy of the Linath. Like a fascinated child, he had been studying it a lot in the last few days. In his downtime, or in his moments of rest, it wasn’t uncommon to see Kaleb reading through it or even hear him murmuring the words to himself as he tried to commit them to heart and memory.

He’d been positively giddy when the yath had taught him to read, and putting down books and scripts had been hard to do ever since. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t love the other parts of his training either, because he truly did; being able to defend himself had boosted Kaleb’s confidence greatly, though he still needed much practice with firearms and hand-to-hand combat if he was ever going to be dangerous as his mentors were.

A minute or two later, Kaleb found himself walking alongside said mentors, keeping a few steps behind them at all times. The yath’abban of their party had filled him in on the basics - they were going to meet with Lusin and her people regarding their next moves in Maldoria while everyone else went out to gather supplies and other necessary items. It wasn’t surprising to him, though he had expected Sabal or Jaerlyn to be among them. Still, despite their lack of companionship this time around, he couldn’t help but smile slightly as he trailed after Nadal and Alys. The former was endearing in the same way that a crotchety but lovable uncle was, and the latter was self-explanatory - he’d yet to meet someone who didn’t like Alysstra.

As they entered the main section of the old factory, they stuck to the edge, keeping away from the hustle and bustle of Silver Blades as they went about setting up shop. The Council, despite their many faults, hadn’t spared any expenses. Aside from the pool of vehicles, weapons, and supplies; it seemed as if they were now setting up a gym and sparring area. Weight benches were being set up, along with pads meant to be fell on. There was a distinct lack of the machines that many used for cardio -treadmills if he remembered their name correctly- but that was to be expected; with all the walking they did, staying in shape was never an issue.

It wasn’t long before they were approached by a Silver Blade. She was a woman in her late thirties or early forties with brown hair and the occasional silver streak. Her uniform was more utilitarian than military in nature, streaked with hints of motor oil and covered in splotches of dirt and dust. “Most Honorable Nadal, Most Honorable Alysstra?” She questioned with a peculiar accent as she snapped a quick salute. “I’m Laura Gibson, but most people ‘round her just call me Boss. It's fortunate that I ran into ya’ll, the Obsert sent me to fetch you folk if y’all was ready to meet her. She’s up yonder if you’ll just follow me.”

After traversing a set of creaky metal stairs, Kaleb and his yochlol companions found themselves in what resembled a makeshift conference room. Despite the multiple fans that hummed in the background, the place still had a musty smell to it. There was not one large, main table like in the books that he had read. Instead, there were several smaller desks and chairs that were set up around the room in lieu of one. Justicars Ayle and Thul were perched at one, while Justicars Oliver Phillips and Drake Branson were at another. Lusin, meanwhile, was standing when the Nalayans entered the room.

Turning away from the smartboard on the far wall, the Oberst smiled (like most sharks did, Kaleb mused) as she looked them over. “Welcome, most honored guests, I hope you had time to rest up a bit.” If she was confused by the lack of the other yath, she didn’t show it. “I’ll admit to not being sure how long this will take, I’ve gotten some things together and I guess I’ll show them to you before we move onto how we should proceed from here, if that sounds alright.”

Picking up a clicker, she motioned to the board as she hit a button. Onscreen was the image of a man, old by Maldorian standards, in his fifties. The name ‘Neladim Sidros’ was scrawled in black lettering below his headshot, indicating that this picture had been scanned onto the board. “This is our contact in the markets. He’s some kind of distant relative to the Duchess from what we can tell, a carry over from when her father took power in the region. They don’t seem to talk much, if any, but he his storefront is blessed with the ‘Kiss of the Duchess.’ That means that he is considered reliable, and no gangs would dare to mess with him.” Lusin explained with a small tilt of the head.

“As far as finding your people, it was my thinking -and the Council agrees- that we should simply use legal means to buy them back. For finding fees plus the costs of your people, we could convince Mister Sidros here to locate everyone who was taken. He has a well established network and protections from the reprisals that would come with working for the Council.” Looking over at Alysstra and Nadal, she finished up her introduction. “That is about the sum of things, you yath have it lucky - around these parts, no one really knows y’all. If you spoke Maldorian, flying under the radar would be easy, you wouldn’t even need my people.” She chuckled. “I know it's not much, but having a contact is a start. Do you have any thoughts on the matter of how we should conduct ourselves?”

[Nalaya]

With Kaleb and the Yochlol

Alysstra glanced over at Kaleb as they walked, flashing him a quick smile before looking to Nadal. She knew her fellow yochlol well enough to know when there were stormclouds brewing in his mind. As they passed through the workout areas, his expression seemed to darken slightly, but he said nothing. She understood that it was difficult for him to even respect the Christi as warriors, not because they were incompetent, but because they lacked z’ress. At least the three justicars he’d met in Nalaya had walked the Zeklet’taune Aluin. That demonstrated character that their order appeared to lack, considering Maldoria’s current condition. Alysstra had more of a wary respect for their hosts, though she found their—in her mind—permissive attitude towards slavery as objectionable as Nadal did.

The arrival of the Silver Blade distracted her from those thoughts. She gave the woman a polite bow of her head. “That is not quite our honorific, Siruhi Gibson, but perhaps it is lost in translation?” she said pleasantly. “Regardless, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nadal made a noise that could have been taken for agreement, his eyes focused on the distance for a moment as if he was lost in thought. A less charitable soul might have suggested that he was doing his best to avoid acknowledging Gibson’s presence. He had already set about securing a way to bathe, to cleanse the pollution of the justicars from his body. He was not known for being an understanding or cooperative man.

They arrived in the room with Lusin in silence that wasn’t quite companionable. It was tense with unspoken words, as neither wanted to touch on certain things even in their own tongue unless they were without observers. Some things needed to remain between yochlol. Alysstra managed a brief, polite smile at the Oberst, whereas Nadal’s expression remained inscrutable. Both listened attentively to Lusin’s explanation of who the justicars’ contact was.

It was the method of recovering the lost women that nauseated Alysstra. When she looked over at Nadal, she could see the storm brewing. His face was still calm and composed, but his eyes were hateful. Alysstra knew him to know when something was eating away at his insides like a great black beast. She could feel it too, a virulent rage that should have been alien to her gentler nature. Still, every beast had its bite. But she was a calm person generally speaking, and so she was able to control her tongue. “You wish to...give money to the slavers?” Alysstra said carefully. “Am I hearing correctly? My English is...imperfect.”

<<You hear perfectly,>> Nadal said. His tone would have chilled a midwinter gale.

Alysstra cleared her throat and adjusted her posture in her chair. Nadal had remained standing, as he was wont to do. When he was tense, he preferred the freedom to move around. “If that is your recommendation, Siruhi…” The female yochlol took a deep breath. The next words were practically pulled out of her. “...we will take it under advisement.”

“Nadorhuanen,” Nadal said in his bleak, cold way. The word was reserved for the lowest of the low: the oathbreaker, those who allowed their fears or worse impulses to rule them. To him, this was pure cowardice on the part of the Christi, and he was not afraid to make that thought known to Alysstra, even in the presence of company. If nothing else, Kaleb needed to understand by example that this was not something to be tolerated in silence.

His fellow yochlol looked over at him and made a gesture intended to soothe the worst of his temper. <<True. But we need their assistance.>>

<<Do we?>> Nadal said sharply. <<How well has their assistance served Maldoria and its people?>>

<<Nadal, what do you want me to do?>> Alysstra said quietly. <<There are people who need our help. I know that it is immoral—>>

<<Then why defend it?>> Nadal snarled, slamming his fist into the table so hard that it shuddered under the force. It was the first time he had raised his voice since he had departed Dyvynasshar. An angry Nadal was like a crack of thunder, sudden and violent. It always made him seem about two feet taller, even though he was already well above six feet tall in his bare feet. He gestured in Lusin’s direction. <<That is their sin! That they embrace this abomination, that is their portion of living evil! I will burn myself with the heat of ten thousand suns before I allow such an evil to root itself in the heart of the faithful! I am a warrior of the divine! It is not just wrong—it is inexcusable, intolerable! Necessity is an excuse traded by the wicked and the spineless! It is clung to by the worst of the worms that writhe and crawl in the dark recesses of the world!>>

Alysstra took a deep breath. If she hadn’t known Nadal as well as she did, she might have flinched as if scalded. <<I understand.>> She did, too. No matter how few their options were, there would be another way. It would be more difficult, but when had difficulty ever stopped true warriors of faith. <<If we can locate the missing women, perhaps we can find some other way to free them. Legal or not.>>

Nadal’s lip curled. <<Legality is a wretched mockery of morality, clinging to true justice only when it suits those who ape dominion. I care nothing for the laws of this place if this is what was allowed.>>

<<One battle at a time,>> Alysstra cautioned as she felt the storm's fury ease slightly, a lull in the hurricane force that was Nadal. She knew that Lusin could speak at least enough Nalayan to follow it, though she wouldn't have recognized the word from Mak'ur that Nadal used. It wasn't common parlance beyond the Homeland. <<We have much to prepare yet.>>

Nadal's sneering hostility faded back into a dour, bleak look. <<Soon.>>

[Shalum]

Lusin and the Yochlol

As she glanced over at her faithful companions, the Silver Blade gave them a friendly grin, the metal stairs underneath groaning with each step that they took. Reaching down, she idly adjusted her tool belt as she spoke. “The same, ma’am; it's nice to have friendly faces ‘round, especially in a place like this.” She explained as she motioned to the factory, and in a way, to the city of Concordia that encompassed them.

“I honestly dunno if my nickname has a proper honorific in your language, I’m afraid I don’t speak none of it.” Laura added a moment later. “If y’all ever need any help with something, especially if Lusin ain’t around, then I’m the lass you outta speak with. It's my job to keep the Blades in line and things running around here while y’all rescue those girls of yours.” If she noticed the gruff attitude of the other yochlol, Nadal if she remembered correctly, Gibson didn’t even pay any mind as she gave the trio a smile and led them into the conference room.

After she had outlined the way she wanted to go about things, Lusin just nodded in confirmation as she glanced at Alys. “You would be correct, Siruhi, though the course of action is ultimately in your people’s hands.” She was not about to stop the yath and yochlol from doing as they pleased, so long as it didn’t bring down the dragon’s breath of the local gangs and government upon them.

“It would be the cheapest and least dangerous way, at least in my opinion. Though slavers aren’t friendly towards my people, they still like paydays, and selling Nalayans is a reliable way of lining their pockets.” Lusin was no more keen on shelling out cash, but for different reasons. There were better things the money could have gone towards -weapons, more troops, better vehicles and equipment- rather than bailing out a religious group that held very little good will towards her own faith.

“It would ensure that we safely acquire most of the men and women that were kidnapped from your country.” Though slavers were surprisingly meticulous in their records (meaning that they could likely locate every missing Nalayan, Lusin wasn’t around to convince herself that all of them could be rescued. She knew a couple brothel owners that were already profiting greatly, and at least one warlord had been publicly flaunting around his newest acquisition in the slave markets.

The reaction to Nadal’s sudden, nigh catisclymistc outburst varied between the justicars in the room. Lusin was, without a doubt, the most controlled among them. Crossing her arms over her chest, the justicar leader cocked an eyebrow slightly as she glanced between the two yochlol in the room. Few things could shaker the Nalayan justicar - not even the thunderous anger of Nadal and the power he wielded. Lusin’s eyes just continued to flicker as the foreigners before he bickered in their snarling language, some native dialect that she couldn’t understand despite the things that her mother had passed onto her so long ago.

The same could not be said for the other, lesser justicars in the room. Ayle Khan visibly recoiled, her old chair squeaking as she actually scooted back a few inches on instinct. Eyes wide, her leg began to bounce nervously under the table. Beside her, Thul Bas’rolor’s jaw was as tense as the air of a battlefield. His adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed, looking to Lusin for some kind of hint as to what was going on. Justicars Philips and Bransen didn’t look much better, though their shoulders and legs tensed up in a way that Thul’s did not. It was as if they expected a fight at any moment, and were practically prepared to jump up from their seats despite the fact that they had no weapons and would have not likely lasted long against Nadal if he became physically disagreeable.

The young initiate, Kaleb, shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he looked over to Alys. He had heard of the temper that Nadal hosted deep in his heart; the kind of violence and anger he could muster were truly terrifying, but he had never seen anything of the like in action before. Scratching nervously at one of the fresher tattoos on his arm, he couldn’t help but glance at the yochlol beside him. Is everything going to be okay? He all but mentally asked her, the look in his eyes conveying the message to some degree. After so many months in their care, he still didn’t fluently speak the Nalayan dialects. Whatever she and Nadal had been saying had been...lost to some degree on him, especially in the heat of the moment.

When it seemed as if things were finally going to calm down, Lusin deliberately cleared her throat, allowing the sound to dominate the otherwise deathly silence that had fallen over the conference room. “Well then…” She began, eyes dark and serious as she leaned against a metal desk beside her. The projector was still running, displaying the face and information of their contact in the markets; she made no move to turn it off.

“I’m afraid that I do not speak whatever language you two prefer, but I can only assume that you two aren’t exactly keen on my proposal.” Lusin began, eyebrow still cocked. Looking at Nadal pointedly, at then Alysstra, she went on. “I wish to assure you that provoking anger is the last thing I want to do here. On the other hand, I am trying to be realistic. There are but, what, maybe forty of us total counting your yath? Against the legions of slavers and scoundrels that pollute this city, we have to be smart, to play their games if we want to have any real chance at success.” Lusin pointed out, earning grimaces from her own people. “If either of you have alternative ideas, I am all ears.”

Instead of a yochlol, it was a justicar that coughed off to the side. Looking over sharply, Lusin raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something to say, Feldwebel Bas’rolor?”

Thul nodded slowly, before giving the two yochlol in the room a friendlier look than his stormy commanding officer. “I’m afraid that is has been some time since I...worked the job that I did in my past life, I don’t have any connections that can help us. However, that does not mean that we are helpless by any means either.” He began nervously; Thul hadn’t quite thought through his entire plan yet, but if it meant buying some time so that Lusin and Nadal could both calm themselves, then he would rather make a fool of himself and stay alive.

“The city of Concordia is a very violent place as you know. The markets, I’m afraid, are among some of the best protected. Along with most of the things in the upper and middle wards where the closest thing to rich live in. As for the lower wards, there is no real centralized control...we could use that advantage some way, I imagine. Furthermore, if any Nalayan slaves were to shipped out from Concordia to just about anywhere else in Maldoria...it wouldn’t be impossible for us to conduct some kind of ambush and intercept them, along with any other slaves there may be. The Duchess can only control so much, after all.” He pointed out, hoping that these yochlol were capable of generating some kind of response or plan of their own.

[Nalaya]

With the Yochlol
Corcordia, Nalaya

Alysstra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She didn’t have to look at Nadal to get a feeling that the storm was anything but past. Now she had to figure out how to smooth things over with Lusin and the justicars, ideally without prompting another outburst from Nadal. “While caution is important in a world filled with enemies, Siruhi, it would be wrong of us to support the very evil that has brought us to this land,” she said calmly. She noted Kaleb’s worried eyes and made a calming gesture, as if to indicate that everything was under control. It was a somewhat hollow promise, as her control over Nadal was tenuous at best, but better not to provoke any more anxiety than had already been stirred up. “I understand that you might not wish to put your people at risk, and I respect that. However, this is a...prohibition that is not negotiable. There are things that our people will never do, just as I am certain you and your people have things that they will never do. Necessity cannot dictate morality, as Nadal said in his...emphatic way. We will bear the consequences of our actions, as you may bear your own. This is the nature of the world.”

Nadal did not sit down, nor did he seem to relax. The stormclouds remained in his expression, roiling beneath the surface. He was a creature of his passions, and when the hurricane of his anger struck, it did not vanish in the blink of an eye. However, that did not mean he was unable to reason in his current state. While he fundamentally disagreed with Alysstra on whether or not the justicars were needed, he did understand why she was attempting to be diplomatic. The Christi were a legitimate threat, and that meant choosing a time and day to strike where things were most advantageous. He raised an eyebrow at Thul. The justicar’s suggestion made him somewhat more palatable than his fellows. “If we are to do as you suggest, we will require more information than we now possess,” Nadal rumbled. “To break chains wherever they are found...this would be a worthy endeavor.”

Alysstra pursed her lips slightly. “While I wholeheartedly agree, Nadal, we should gain more of an understanding of who has those taken and where they have gone before we commit to anything. It will no doubt be our people bearing the brunt of the risk, as the Oberst would no doubt prefer to keep her justicars out of it. I would not have Sabal, Jaelryn, or yourself walking into anything without warning. The foolish and unwary find surprises and among them, waiting death.”

Nadal inclined his head slightly to her. “As you say.”

The female yochlol met his eyes for a moment, reading the expression that was inscrutable to so many. If one knew what to look for, the little hints of emotion in Nadal’s face could speak volumes. Alyssta seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for, because she gave him a small nod in return before looking back at Lusin. “We should speak to your contact, Siruhi. He will know the current state of the markets. That offers us the best chance of understanding our options.” It would be dangerous to have the man and Nadal in the same hemisphere, but she wasn’t certain that Nadal would be willing to let her go without an escort. It was possible that she could persuade him to stay and take Ryld in his place, but that would be a hard sell.

If there was one thing she could say about this venture of theirs, it was that it clearly meant to test every part of her: body, mind, and soul. Which, as Nadal might have said, was as it should be.

---

Doru Market District
Concordia, Maldoria

Cowritten with Shalum

The trek from the warehouses back to where they had begun their tour of the city was anything but arduous, the several miles worth of distance seeming to fly by in a manner of minutes. While Brakis, Joan, and the yathallar among them carried on quiet conversation, Michael and Faisal couldn’t help but look around nervously every few moments as their fingers tapped the metal of their rifles again and again.

Perhaps they were being overly paranoid, but to the two justicars, it almost felt as if they were being watched as they walked. Years on the job honed them onto the little things - the skittering along back alleys and the figures who watched them from the windows as they passed. Many of the city’s denizens were simply poor folks, and probably saw them as powerful, or even as the means of acquiring their next meal. Weapons of their quality that they carried would have brought a pretty penny in the markets. Those types of rabble didn’t unnerve the justicars, however; rather, it was those in power that did, people who had people to do the work for them. The rich of Concordia had it good, and for the status quo to be upset would not favor them in any way. So, figures like the justicar order were not heralds of good news.

“Where did you say this contact of yours was again?” Faisal asked as he looked over at who walked alongside him, Sabal, while Joan shored up her other flank. The group had reached the markets proper now, one of the better (if you could call it that) districts, where somewhat legal affairs took place - clothing shops, family restaurants, and the like. As servant children drew near, the redhead sniper withdrew a couple silver coins from her pocket and tossed one to each of them before returning her attention to her lover.

“Paron Khorenatsi has a little place on one of these corners. He’s a heroin smuggler,” Jaelryn said. She and Sabal were both aware that they were being watched, but with their tattooed faces hidden for the moment, neither were terribly worried about recognition. Besides, it would be more unnerving if they weren’t being watched. Absences of eyes in places like this usually meant something unpleasant was about to happen...like an attempted murder. “He does business with the Qu’ilinasar Nasadra, back in Nalaya. If the slave dealers have the kiss of the Duchess, he has the kiss of the Ilharess. A dependable man, if one with a checkered past. A...chameleon, of sorts. I would not suggest crossing him, but there are few better allies.”

“I see him,” Sabal said, shifting her approach to head towards a cigarette smoking man who leaned against the wall behind a small stall. There was no product on the table beside the various blends of Nalayan tobacco for sale, probably because anyone could have run by and snatched quite a pretty penny in one of those bricks of heroin. There were needles available, of course, as well as other drug paraphernalia. He didn’t want to lose his customers to bloodborne diseases if it could be avoided.

Gor Khorenatsi was a lean, hard man missing most of his nose, giving him a flat and ugly visage. Scar tissue from a burn had left him with a permanently crooked scowl, but his eyes crinkled at the corners almost welcomingly when he saw them on approach. He couldn’t really smile. “What a pleasant surprise, ussta jallilen. I had not thought to see you for some time more,” he said with some warmth, dipping his head politely. It was a more secular greeting, but still a respectful one to the two yathallar. “And with friends. Allo, strangers.” He held out his hand to Faisal first, a more Shalumite greeting than the usual Nalayan would extend. “I do not suppose you indulge?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Jaelryn said with amusement. The justicars in many ways seemed somewhat puritanical in their behavior to the yathallar...particularly in how they dressed. Conforming to Maldorian codes of dress was almost uncomfortable to the yathallar, but it was easy to endure. She imagined that the justicars would be even more out of their depth if they were to be around Mak’ur for any length of time. “How have you been, Paron?”

“I cannot complain. Good business. There is talk of expanding among my partners, even,” Gor said pleasantly. “And if the laws tighten, it is only better. But such business dealings are quite tedious to discuss, for elevated souls such as yourselves. How fares the homeland? I have not set foot on the blessed soil since the war began.”

“Stable,” Sabal said with a little shrug. “That is better than many dare to hope for.”

He chuckled. “Do not sound so disappointed, ussta jallil. It crushes a man’s heart to see loveliness despondent.”

“Flattery, shebali,” Sabal said, waving a hand at him. She sounded pleased all the same, and used the less than desirable term with affection. “I have no doubt your silver tongue keeps you ever with company.” He did have a way with words, even if his face was less than handsome.

“Ah, but they are silver compared to your amber,” he said with a little bow of his head before motioning them to come behind the stall. There was room for them to sit, though it would be a bit close, and there was a pot of coffee that smelled every bit Nalayan waiting behind it. “Would any of you care for coffee? I would offer you khadayif, but my soft-hearted self gave it to the guttersnipes.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Jaelryn said. She and Sabal had both slipped back into their Nalayan selves, where conversation took precedence to business. “I would gladly take some coffee.”

Back in the Shalumite homeland, Gor would have most definitely stood out. He was Mak’ur in the most certain of ways, from the expression (or lack thereof, if one thought about it) he wore to the drugs that he dealt. Compared to the Maldorians that walked the streets around them, however, he fit right in. They were all worn down in their own way, covered in scars and laden with weapons that were highly illegal to own, much less publicly carry; the only thing that was exotic about Gor here was the poison that he dealt. The supply of heroin in Maldoria wasn’t exactly reliable, which made him all the more profitable; it didn’t hurt that the Duchess’s own troops frequented his establishment.

Faisal didn’t even blink as he looked over Gor. His grip was firm when they shook, and he gave the man a respectful nod when he finally dropped his hand. “I’m afraid that the only things I indulge in are sticky and green, Paron. And even then, not often.” The olive skinned justicar replied with a small smirk. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he added. “My friend Michael here has been known to indulge, but don’t give him anything; we’re trying to wean him off the stuff. He took more than I approve of while he was recovering from some injuries.” The kaplan winked as the other justicar in question frowned for a moment.

Behind them, Joan just rolled her eyes before giving Sabal an amused expression as she crossed her arms over her chest. Inadvertently, or perhaps not in retrospect, she emphasized her petite bosom a bit more. Looking back over at Gor, she gave him a warm smile as she eyed the coffee pot. “It has been too long since I indulged in a proper Nalayan brew, I too would be happy to accept a cup or two.” She said as she moved to take a seat beside her lover. The other members of the quickly chorused their agreement, eyes alight and entertained by the prospects of proper coffee and the antics of their yathallar counterparts.

“Ah, coffee, heavy with the taste of civilization,” Gor said with a smile. He was only half-Mak’ur if he was being honest, and he had grown up all over the world, pulled along by his itinerant father. Much of his adult life, however, had been spent as an interface between the Mak’ur and the outside world. He was properly termed a drabani—a twin-soul, a man with two faces. It wasn’t necessarily a negative title, as such individuals played a crucial role in Mak’ur society. They understood things from beyond the Homeland, sometimes particularly if they were not faithful. Gor found the work suited him well. “I find that coffee keeps me connected to the homeland no matter how far I wander.”

“That is one of its finest qualities,” Jaelryn agreed. She took a seat next to Brakis. They were clustered together fairly tightly, putting the outside of her thigh in contact with his. It didn’t bother her in the slightest. For one, she had a soft spot for Brakis, but she also considered him one of her people. It was not uncomfortable and strange near him, where it might have been with the justicars. “Do you hear much of what transpires in the markets, Paron?”

Gor nodded thoughtfully. “Bits and pieces. Another of the services I provide to my friends. I am afraid I am no champion, but I am a scoundrel of excellent repute, when I am not a businessman beyond reproach.”

Sabal smiled slightly as she watched him pour coffee for each of them. ”Your humility is to be lauded, Paron.”

He bowed his head slightly, good humor evident in his expression. “Flattery, ussta jallil.” He straightened up slightly and passed out the small cups of strong, dark coffee sweetened with honey. “As I have promised, I am prepared to provide whatever services I am able to for as long as I am able to. Nothing is a guarantee in this world of ours, of course. I leave once a month to resupply, supplemented by my few helping hands. Beyond that, I will be here most days, providing the most necessary of services to those who require me. It has come to my attention that the city has acquired a slight justicar infestation. Are you aware of their presence?”

Sabal’s jaw tightened. “Very much so. They are here to keep an eye on us...at best. You are familiar with the reputation of the Butcher?”

Gor’s eyes were no longer smiling. There was something cold to them. “I am acquainted with the reputation of the woman. Scorched earth is bad for business. It is a grim omen, but not an insurmountable one. You have yochlol with you, if the Ilharess was correct. An antidote to many ills.” He had a very healthy respect for the power of the Yath. For all her mercurial behavior, the Quarval-sharess could drown armies in rivers of fire as assuredly as a mountain could. He glanced at the three justicars. <<They are heretics as well?>>

<<Yes,>> Sabal said. <<But I would not call them hers. They walked the Zeklet’taune Aluin.>>

Gor gave a low whistle. He hadn’t made the pilgrimage, but he had heard many stories. <<I take it that was where he lost good use of his hand?>> he said with a gesture at Michael.

Jaelryn nodded before lifting the cup to her lips. Once she had taken a sip, she lowered it again. <<You are a most astute observer, Paron.>>

The heroin smuggler looked pleased with the compliment. <<I try.>> In English, he continued the conversation. “I have the money that was promised, and more will assuredly follow. It and the supplies I have secured should be able to help you find your feet. Once things are more settled, I will be able to offer you more. Karsoluthiyl is most assuredly intent upon supporting you as you tread this path. The C’rintrin understand the importance of this...duty.”

“Thank you, Paron. Your assistance, and theirs, will be rewarded in this life and what comes after. The Quarval-sharess does not forget those who aid her any more than she forgets those who have done her injustice,” Sabal said. Alysstra had warned Gor in advance that the justicars didn’t know their purpose and that it was better that such ignorance remain the case. No doubt that was why he was being a bit vague. Well, that and the danger of being overheard. “We will no doubt be indebted to you for your generosity as we pursue the missing captives.”

Gor waved a hand. “Anything for such charming women.” His eyes added, And for the Yath.

It was amazing how the slightest touch could evoke the greatest of reactions. As her thigh pressed against his own, the former slave felt as if a jolt shot through his body. Despite the cool shade of the market stall, the older man suddenly felt warm all over, a fresh wave of color coming to his cheeks as he accepted the cup of coffee from Gor. As if trying to hide behind his drink, Brakis quickly took a sip of the warm beverage, the corners of his lips curled into what could only be described as a giddy smile. It didn’t go unnoticed to Michael, who only smirked to himself and mused about what it would be like to be like to swap places, if only for a moment.

Understandably, being referred to as an infestation didn’t exactly sit well with the justicars. Expressions darkened and Joan couldn’t help but awkwardly shift a bit in her perch next to Sabal. They all knew why the faithful, and especially the Mak’ur, considered them to be such, but it didn’t make things any better, especially when they were supposed to rely on Gor and his people. Mentionings of Lusin didn’t help either, but at least it drew the attention of their allies elsewhere.

“Alas, the Butcher is in the city. She is...in-charge of the justicars and Silver Blades that have been sent here.” Faisal explained to Gor in a tone that was almost of lamentation. Though he was keeping it mostly to himself, the kaplan wasn’t exactly thrilled about the prospects of being under her leadership. He and his people had done just fine blending into Nalaya, and yet the Council had decided that it would be best if Lusin handled things instead. He wasn’t one to question the will of the Council, but it was easier said than done at times.

Listening to the byplay between Gor and Sabal, the redhead justicar couldn’t help but smile slightly. If she didn’t know any better, the silver tongued street merchant was flirting with her lover. Even if he actually was, rather than simply trying to put on the charms, she wasn’t about to let herself become jealous. If anything, she was rather tempted to bare her teeth teasingly towards Sabal when the man wasn’t looking, but she decided against it.

“You’re an invaluable resource, Paron. Your assistance will be greatly rewarded, I am certain, though I do not know if a man such as yourself cares for more riches and fortune when you already have so much.” Joan winked as she reclined a bit, pausing to take a sip of coffee. “I am sure that we will be seeing much of you in these coming days and weeks, especially after we have established ourselves. Perhaps we will have to invite your into our own abode once the time comes,” she added with a smile. Of course, she had no idea if the yochlol would approve of such a thing, but there was nothing wrong with at least humoring him and everyone else.

“One invites a fox to a henhouse with care,” Sabal murmured to Joan when the smuggler grinned...as much as he could grin, anyway. She liked Gor, but he was definitely a scoundrel and that could sometimes mean trouble. Frequently the good kind, but she didn’t imagine that he would get on well with Lusin. Well, he might not object, but Lusin likely wouldn’t approve. If she weren’t involved with Joan, she might have flirted back more. Gor wasn’t a good looking man anymore, but he did have a reputation as a ladies’ man.

“I would certainly not object to being such a guest,” Gor said, studying Joan for a moment with that same good-humored expression. There was something about the way Sabal was around her that made him hesitate to assume anything. Whatever it was, it was subtle. He was an astute enough observer of human nature to figure it out, but that would take time. “You keep fine company, Siruhi. It is difficult to find such allies in this world. May you always find yourselves on the same side of the thin red line.”

Jaelryn nodded. She hoped that would be the case, for Sabal’s sake, but she doubted it would remain so cordial a relationship forever. After all, they had Lusin and her people had Nadal. An immovable object meeting an irresistible force meant nothing good for anyone caught between them. She found herself glancing over at Brakis now and again, checking on him as subtly as she could. The yathallar was endlessly grateful for the fact that he had agreed to assist them, but she did worry about him out in the markets. The last thing they needed was him getting hurt. Kaleb was more of a warrior, so she trusted that he could inflict pain without hesitation. Particularly with his history with slavers.

Sabal was entertaining similar thoughts about their position with the justicars. She couldn’t escape the unpleasant knot that formed in her stomach every time she thought of things coming to blows. She was no friend of Lusin’s, but she didn’t want to see Joan, Faisal, or Michael forced into a position where they had to choose between loyalties. Maybe part of her hesitation was because she didn’t know what would happen if it came to that.

Gor leaned over, sliding a bag out from under his market stall while his guests sipped their coffee. It was a small dufflebag. “Once you are secured, hopefully away from the Butcher’s prying eyes, I will have some of my people bring you supplies. This is the money. It is local currency, so it may be difficult to adjust to at first, but it is not counterfeit. I also put a kilo in there, for whatever uses you find. If your friend partakes, he will likely appreciate having it. Kicking the habit can be...difficult.” He gave Michael a little nod.

The disfigured justicar dipped his head respectfully to Gor as he eyed the duffle bag, even as his expression turned a bit sheepish. “Much appreciated, Paron Khorenatsi. Hopefully I will not...need to dip into that kilo any.” Though heroin use might have been accepted among the Mak’ur people, and even Shalumites (if it was done with as much moderation as possible), justicars such as himself were supposed to strive for independence from as much as possible, including addictive narcotics. He hadn’t meant to develop a taste for the stuff, but during his recovery, it had been the easiest means of keeping the pain at bay. Some of the women back in Armavir had helped with their company, but that had been better for his soul than his wounds or addiction.

As he continued to nurse his beverage, Brakis was mimicking Jaelryn more than he probably even realized. Every now and then, when he thought no one else was paying attention, he would cast his gaze upon her. The former slave seemed to admire everything about her, from her serene expression...to the curves of her body that he knew better than to look at for too long. He thought he was being inconspicuous, but on one occasion when he looked over, Brakis immediately met the spider yath’s eyes. His own chocolate orbs lingered than they probably should have before he finally forced himself to look away as if he was paying more attention than he actually was.

“I’m being polite, sissurn.” Joan murmured in reply, her lips curling as one auburn eyebrow rose slightly as if to somehow emphasize the point. “Besides, with how busy we’ll be, it’s not as if we’ll have much time for guests.” She pointed out pragmatically, though wished it wasn’t quite the case. Gor didn’t scare her in the least, she had dealt with plenty of shady characters over the years; Lusin would probably serve as much more of a problem, though she doubted the two would ever meet anyways.

Looking back to the merchant, her voice rose to a more normal level as she addressed him. “Thank you very much for the funding, Paron, it will undoubtedly come in handy. We’re in need of small things like tools.” She gave Brakis a glance as she said it. “And other wares for our mission, this will help pay for those.” The redhead added as she motioned to the dufflebag. “Is there anything else that you think will help us? Surely a scoundrel of excellent repute such as yourself has ears on these streets,” she chuckled. Everyone else did, from competing merchants to the Duchess herself.

“I do indeed,” Gor said. “As I said, it is a…service I offer to my friends.” He looked to Sabal and Jaelryn. “You will, I hope, find me a dependable and accommodating soul, ussta jallilen.”

Jaelryn was smiling faintly from when she’d met Brakis’s eyes. She knew he’d been looking at her, but she didn’t know what it meant. However, the spider yathallar was a patient woman. Things would become clearer in time. He was a good man, one who could always make her smile. Now was unfortunately not the time to investigate the significance of the looks, however, despite her curiosity. “No doubt we will, Paron,” she said to Gor instead.

“Now, is there anything else I can provide?” Gor said.

The justicars all glanced at each other for a moment, curiosity and unspoken questions flickering in their eyes as they regarded one another. They had arrived in Maldoria well armed and supplied, courtesy of the Council back in Shalum. It went without question that they would need things later on, but for now, the three of them were without any kind of want. “I think we have everything we need, Paron.” Faisal finally said, smiling up at Gor. “We are sated, unless our dear friends require something more.” He finished as he looked at Sabal and Jaelryn before taking a sip of coffee.

“We are also looking for a secondary space, Paron,” Jaelryn said. She chose her words carefully, well aware that she had justicars sitting with her. “As one can imagine, the leader of the Christi is not...charitably disposed towards our presence or our rituals. We would not like to cause such a confrontation and so it would be wiser of us to sanctify a space away from her eyes.”

“I would recommend the lower wards, Siruhi. They are sections of the city left to police themselves, so gang warfare is endemic, but that is not so strange to a Nalayan, no?” The smuggler sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “If you were careful, I think that perhaps it would be possible to operate there without news of it immediately reaching the ears of the Butcher, so long as your associates here are amenable. Power is intermittent at best, of course, as is the water. I would not recommend drinking it either. Anyway, you will not have to trouble yourself with police there, nor with the Duchess. The powerful in Concordia are quite happy to let the lower echelons rot away in the filth and refuse. It is most unfortunate.” His lips twisted again into that crooked approximation of a smile. “They could use the Tenet of Rule, I think. But that is Maldoria for you.”

“Your help is most appreciated, Paron,” Sabal said with a bow of her head. “We will allow you to return to your business and speak your name to the spirits with warmth.”

Gor set down his coffee cup. “The pleasure has been mine, ussta jallil. Please do not be strangers. Maldoria is an ugly place, but friendly faces make it more lovely. If ever there is anything that I may do for you, simply name it and I will do my utmost. I owe the Yath a debt I can never repay, but that does not mean I should not strive to.”

[Shalum]

Kirana District, The Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

“You know, I’m actually starting to miss the prying eyes of the Duchess’ people for one.” Michael muttered, only half-jokingly, as he gripped his FN P90 tightly in his good hand.

When the group had first arrived at the de facto border between the middle and the lower divisions of the city, things had come across as relatively indistinguishable at a glance. The buildings had been older and worn down, and the streets underfoot were a mix of hard packed dirt and gravel, none of which was unlike the rest of the city they had seen so far. They had to pass through a checkpoint manned by two dozen heavily armed militiamen, one of who gave them little more than a cursory glance before lazily waving them through, his eyes more focused on the curves of Jaelryn’s ass than the fact that they were actually justicars and yathallar who were flying under the radar.

The space beyond the checkpoint opened up into a large, open-air market of some kind that stretched for what had to have been several standard city blocks. As they slowly made their way through it, they knew better than to gawk at what they saw, or flinch as the steady staccato of gunfire erupted in the distance, occasionally joined by piercing screams and the wailing of pain. Brakis couldn’t help but press a little closer towards Jaelryn now and then, especially when he was certain that a bomb went off somewhere nearby, kicking dust up over the horizon as a dull roar made itself known over the chatter of the bazar’s patrons.

For a moment, some of them glanced up, before continuing on their business seemingly undisturbed. It wasn’t surprising, really, for they were much like the types of people that they had seen back in the middle wards. Everyone who wasn’t in a slave collar, and there were more than a few of those, was armed. In some cases, very heavily, bedecked in armor and carry weapons that would have undoubtedly failed any legal inspection back in Shalum proper. Perhaps the best example of this was a towering Maldorian warrior who brushed past them, a RPG slung over one shoulder and an old assault rifle cradled in his hands.

It only got worse after that.

They passed stalls and shops that bought and sold everything from clothes to weapons, from drugs of all kinds to antique pieces, not to mention food of just about every variety. There was no telling how much of what they saw had been stolen or looted from one group or another. On more than a few occasions, the group could overhear stories of raiders and thieves that had liberated the goods they were trying to sell. Their haggling was loud and violent, and Faisal couldn’t help but steer the group away from the merchants - not that they were lingering too close to begin with. Whores, both with and without collars, lurked in what seemed to be every alley, overseen by hard-faced men and women who collected their money even as customers took their pleasure in broad daylight.

As a battered Shalumite woman with bound hands and a muzzle over her mouth was dragged into an alley by a thick-set Maldorian while another counted money, Brakis fought the urge to vomit as a wave of old memories washed over him. Other pimps had their employees painted up with lewd words across their bodies, the brutal presentations and dead eyes a chilling thing to witness.

In the span of five city blocks, they had witnessed: forty slaves in various conditions, nine corpses, thirteen drug dealers, five that were likely dying from overdoses, two women and one man being raped, and an organ harvest cutting up a body for parts that could be sold on the black market. Brakis wished that he could just turn it all off, if only so that he could sleep sometime in the near future. Perhaps it was the freedom that Nalaya had given him shining through, but he no longer had the stomach for this kind of thing like he had used to.

“That was…” Brakis swallowed and stopped as he glanced over, his chocolate eyes landing on a pair of rail-thin teenagers who were in the process of stripping a female corpse of what few possessions that she had. A single gunshot from Joan’s submachinegun sent the pair running, and the former slave shuddered slightly as he returned his attention to the road ahead of them. “Been a long time since I’ve seen anything like that. But...at least I kinda know where we are now.”

“You do?” Faisal asked as he looked over at Brakis, one eyebrow raised slightly as they padded down the dusty road. Citizens parted like the red sea before them, hugging the walls of buildings and generally keeping out of their way. Though the group was not nearly as imposing in their plain clothes, weapon quality was a clear sign of power and wealth in these parts of the city. The sheer sight of the yath and justicar’s guns was more than enough to turn everyone, particularly those with ill intent and half a brain, back to whatever other business they may have needed to attend to..

“Y-yes. Assuming I still know my way about Concordia, the market we saw back there was controlled by the Brotherhood. They’re usually easy to spot. Aside from the poorly trained rabble that they have manning the frontlines...they are rather dangerous. They don’t have formal uniforms, unlike some, but you can usually expect them to wear black or dark blue.” Brakis explained as he looked around, ensuring that no one fitting such description was near their group.

Faisal nodded slightly. Thinking back on it, he vaguely remembered several groups of slightly more organized men, dressed in all black, moving through the markets like they owned the place. He realized that they had likely been patrols; thankfully they had paid no mind to him or his people. “Is there anything you can tell us about them?” Though it wasn’t relevant to house hunting, it paid to know one’s potential neighbors.

“As far as gangs go, they’re some of the worse ones around. They do it all - kill, steal, and even slave now and then. The Brotherhood is one of the only groups who tolerates, much less can afford, to conduct those kinds of activities. I don’t need to tell you what kind of slaves they prefer,” Brakis replied with a grimace. “The only saving grace, if you will, is that they don’t have a central leadership. The cell that controls this district may have nothing to do with the ones that control a neighboring one. They’re all allied, of course, but they’re more like one of those fed...fedi..feder…”

“Federations?” Joan supplied helpfully as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Yes! Kind of like one of those, at least in some ways.” Brakis confirmed, a small smile gracing his lips for a moment. Though he hadn’t been able to pronounce it correctly, he was glad to see that he was at least on the right track. “Anyways, the Brotherhood is good at getting into fights. There are a lot of gangs out there that they don’t get along with, especially in the ward we’re in now. When I lived in Concordia, they started a lot more street wars then they won, however.”

“Can you tell us more about these gangs they fought?” Michael asked, his expression quizzical and interested for a moment before he returned his attention to the streets and buildings before them. There were more than enough to choose from, but none that caught their eyes. Of course, so many people around didn’t exactly help. There was no telling how many families were squeezed into each household that they passed.

Brakis didn’t even hesitate; if anything, he looked giddy at the chance to be helpful. True to Gor’s words, the lower sections of Maldoria had been left in a state of anarchy following the collapse of the old Shalumite backed government. It had not been long before opportunistic mercenaries and mafiosas had set their sights on the uncontrolled zones, and from that moment forward, the place had been a veritable free for all. Aside from the fact that they controlled a lot of ground, there was nothing all that special about the Brotherhood or their practices. The only thing that stopped them from cracking down harder than they did was that the Duchess relied on the cheap labor force that the lower wards provided. Just because she didn’t want to send troops to corral and police the zones didn’t mean that she couldn’t.

There were some bright spots, however, like with most things. Some gangs were the closest things that Maldoria had to humanitarian and peacekeeping organizations, ironically- the White Tigers were one of them. Controlling areas where quite a few miners lived, they provided security from the oppression of the other gangs and decried slavery as a corruption of the true faith of Maldoria. They still pushed drugs and any number of stolen items at their own street markets, but they had to finance themselves somehow. The downside was that their leader, Tibernius Habion, was an old school type of person. It was his belief that men were the ones who were needed on the frontlines and in the fields fighting the good fight while women focused on supporting their husbands and raising their families up right. All things considered, it was rather harmless when compared to the everyday evils of Concordia, but Brakis acknowledged that it could prove problematic if he and the yath ever met.

The Guardians of Kirana were another sect of gang members, if you could call them that, who represented something akin to good in the lower wards. Perhaps the most novel thing about them was that they were led by a woman, a free slave by the name of Valetoria Brunian. After she and some of her fellows had escaped from the clutches of the Duchess, they had settled down in the bowels of the district where they were safe from her patrols. Their gang had formed out of necessity more than any real gamble for power - Valetoria had been unable to simply sat by as she watched people suffer in the streets.

She had championed so many things that were otherwise unheard of in the lower wards: human rights, safety from the Duchess, an abolition of slavery, and so on. Though admirable, it had made the group seem weak in the face of so many other gangs, and thus subject to any number of attacks. The last Brakis had heard, the Guardians controlled but a dozen city blocks. He wasn’t sure if they even still existed, but he had hope - Valetoria had a reputation as being a tough nut to crack, and her band of freeze slaves and mercenaries was the closest thing that people like Brakis had to a real life Robin Hood.

It took some time, but the group eventually meandered onto a street that seemed less populated. The buildings around them were old and worn down, but then again, such was the state of most housing projects in southern Concordia. A few transient types skittered about, but they scattered just as quickly in the face of the the new arrivals. Brakis sighed at the sight of them, a handful of dirty children among the groups that fled on sight. “Well, this is as good a place as any to start looking. What do you say we get started?” He asked as he looked around at the group.

It took a while to do a house to house inspection. As helpful as they wanted to be, the justicars were better fighters and healers than they were builders or home makers. They made a comment now and then, but things were more or less left to the hands of Brakis and Jaelryn. The former slave, as it turned out, had spent much of his enthralled life in the construction field. Though he wasn’t formally educated, he seemed to know a good deal about electrical work, plumbing, and the other generalities of raising and maintaining a building. On more than one occasion, Brakis quickly hustled the group out of a building because of some issue with the foundation or the support beams. Just because the buildings were still standing despite all of their imperfections did not mean that he felt comfortable lingering in them any longer than was necessary.

Finding a proper location for a secondary base would not be a quick fix, it quickly turned out. After what felt like hours, however, Brakis finally emerged from one building with a grin, his cheeks smudged with dirt and dust. “I think we’ve found the place. The water works - we’ll have to let it run all of the muck out of the system for a while- and the electricity...well it mostly works. There are a lot of frays on the second floor, but I could probably have those fixed in a couple days time. The water heater is broken though, so if y’all want warm water, we’re going to have to buy a new one - I don’t know how to fix something like that.” He explained with a sheepish smile. “What...what do y’all think?” He asked, looking at Jael and Sabal specifically - it was their choice, after all.

The homestead itself two stories, and had to be at least seventy years old. The design predated the collapse of the old government, vaguely resembling the nuclear family style of homes that Acrea had promoted after the Great Northern War. Though the picket fence had long since rotted away, and the yard turned to hard packed dirt without irrigation, it was still a sturdy two-story home that had been built to comfortably accommodate a large family. It didn’t compare to the scale of space offered back at the factory, but then again, they didn’t necessarily need that much anyways. They would have all the amenities they needed, Brakis thought, ranging from a large living room and spare space for storage and weapons, to a handful of bedrooms that they could lodge in.

“If, um, this doesn’t quite work, there are some apartments over yonder that I think could work. Unless you’d prefer to set up in one of the old businesses? I know there are a couple with storefronts on the first floor and small apartments on the second,” he explained as he motioned to buildings further down the street.

---

Meeting the Contact
Concordia, Maldoria

Beyond the filth and depravity that came with the main, high trafficked hubs of the city’s central slave market, there were several areas that were downright civil and pleasant by comparison. The group of yochlol and justicars, led by a stern faced Lusin, found themselves in one of such areas after a good ten minutes of tense navigation. Crowded streets and the wailing of terrified slaves gave way to storefronts that had been erected in the last decade and smoothstone streets that were seemingly without blemish. The people themselves remained heavily armed, but they were at least much better dressed. Many of the prospective buyers were clad in formal business clothing, suits in some cases, and were never far from what felt like a veritable legion of mercenaries and bodyguards. Not in the mood for picking a fight, Lusin just grunted in the universal ‘follow me’ fashion and continued down the street.

As they passed by any number of vendors, the group saw none of the raunchy displays like before, no slaves in cages or chained to posts for inspection. If anything, there was actually a distinct lack of such advertisement, aside from signs -electronic and not- that displayed the names of the stores and what they sold. “This is where the middle and upper class types get their...commodities, if you will.” Ayle explained with a grimace. “Most of these establishments have the kiss of the Duchess, or at least enough money to set them apart from the rest.” She added as she motioned to several swirling Maldorian symbols and lettering in stark red that vaguely resembled lips.

Another minute passed before Lusin slowed, her eyes shifting towards a small store nestled in a corner against the perimeter wall that separated the slave markets from the rest of the city. It was a quaint little location that lacked much of the grandeur that neighboring shops had. The store had only the smallest of signs proclaiming Sidros’ Exotics. A pair of bulky men stood in front of the store, armed with assault rifles and wearing relaxed expressions as the group finally began approach them.

“Can I help you folk?” The apparent leader of the two asked, his hazel eyes flickering over the motley assembly of justicars and yochlol. Despite his surroundings, the man was Shalumite through and through; the pale skin and Germanic accent gave him away.

“You can. We’re...prospective buyers.” Lusin explained, her face practically a mask in itself as she looked over the two sellswords before her. “We have a meeting scheduled with your boss at this time.”

The Shalumite mercenary was silent for a long moment before he nodded. His companion quickly padded over to the door and slid a key into the lock. As he opened the door up for them, the leader made a ‘go ahead’ kind of motion. “You're right on time. The big man himself is just inside, he should be waiting for you. These Blades of yours will have to wait outside, we can’t have the showroom too crowded.”

“Of course.” Joan murmured, giving the Blades a quick glance before she returned her attention to the Nalayans. “Let us go. I assume it's best not to keep someone like him waiting.”

Compared to the main markets, and even the neighboring shops, Sidros’ store was positively tiny inside. Beyond the front door was a circular-style kind of room that was unsettlingly comfortable. With couches, recliners, and a table with coffee and snacks set up, it felt more like a sitting room than a place were slaves were bought and sold on a daily basis. A fireplace was built in the wall to their right, and above that was a large flatscreen that flickered through advertisements for the store and their current inventory.

Across from the group was an aged wooden desk and a simple chair, upon which a plain looking Maldorian man sat. His skin was a muddy brown, and his eyes were a cheerful brown. He didn’t bother to wear armor or brandish weapons, instead choosing to wear comfortable slacks and a green tunic of sorts that fell down to his knees. “Ah, good afternoon Obsert Lusin! I see you’ve brought those Nalayan friends that you were talking about the other day.” He said with a warm smile as his spread his hands, offering the right one to her and then the Mak’ur warriors.

“That I did.” The dark haired justicar replied with a stiff nod, shaking his hand firmly. Reaching up, she pushed back the hood that she wore and shook her head, letting her chin length locks fall free. “These are the Most Honorable Nadal and Alysstra, they are-”

“Yochlol, I know.” The contact grinned smugly as he looked over at the pair of faithful representatives. “I know more than you think, especially when it comes to Nalaya. It pays dividends for a salesmen like myself,” he chuckled as he rested his hands on his hips where the tunic flared. “It is a pleasure to meet you both, truly; I look forward to doing business. Now, how can I assist you all this fine day?” He asked, getting down to business in a way that wasn’t totally unexpected of someone in his trade.

“As you know, we’re in the market for Nalayans.” Lusin said, managing a straight face as she did so. “Though most were recovered while still in country, I understand that some were sent back on supposedly empty supply planes?”

“Ah, yes they were. Such a shame that so few got through, too. Even since Casimir lost controlled, getting a steady supply of them has been such a hassle. I remember the days when I couldn’t keep a full inventory to save my life,” the slaver sighed wistfully. “Regardless, I am sure that I can help. I actually picked up a couple of them yesterday; I knew you were coming, Lusin. They’re in the back.” He winked as he looked over at the group of justicars and yochlol. “I will be happy to show you to them. Is there anything else that I can help you with in the meantime? Anything you all are in the market for?” He asked with an eager grin. Though he knew less about the faithful than he let on, Sidros knew that they had money. Heroin didn’t sell cheaply, after all.

[Nalaya]

Kirana District, The Lower Wards
Concordia, Nalaya

Jaelryn’s expression was calm when they finally made it to the buildings that they were investigating, but her eyes were sorrowful. Sabal had been twitching slightly whenever they saw an assault. She wanted to intervene, but she was aware that now was not the right time. She loathed it. At one point, the spider yathallar put a hand on her fellow yath’s shoulder. The unspoken promise was as loud here as it was in the markets: soon.

Sabal still curled her hand into a fist, her eyes focused directly ahead as they waited for Brakis’s return. She would never forget Concordia as it was. Every day, she would be able to wake with what they were fighting against burned into her mind. After a moment, she looked over at Jaelryn. “When this is ours…”

A somber nod was the answer to her unfinished thought. Jaelryn smiled faintly when Brakis re-emerged and made his announcement. “Working water? Power that you can fix? You did not tell me that you could perform such miracles when we met, Brakis,” she said, a gentle tease. “That is more than we could have asked for. Cold water will not be such a trial. Warmth is a luxury that we do not require to survive.”

“It looks defensible,” Sabal observed, grateful to have something else to focus on. Someday, if she ever got her hands on the Duchess who had allowed this, there would be a reckoning. “More so than an apartment building would be. Good work, Brakis. I think this will do nicely. If you could repair it, that would be wonderful. We are in your debt.”

“We will assist in the work where we can, though we will need direction from you,” Jaelryn said pleasantly. She seemed to be in better spirits now that they had a project. “We will need to purchase tools, of course, but now we have the money to. And, obviously, we will need to police the neighborhood somewhat.”

“Gladly,” Sabal said, that edge back in her tone. She was in no way, shape, or form above the summary execution of someone assaulting someone else. “Jael, if you and Brakis want to get supplies and recover Ryld and Kaleb, the rest of us can stay here.” She paused for a moment. “Perhaps Faisal or Michael would be willing to go with you? I would prefer groups of three rather than twos.”

“A sign of wisdom,” Jaelryn said with a bow of her head. She didn’t seem at all bothered by Sabal taking the lead. Her fellow yathallar had always been a strong spirit. Occasionally bull-headed, but that was Sabal’s nature. “We will bring dinner back with us. Hopefully we can reconvene without drawing too much of Lusin’s attention. Do you intend to start cleaning?”

“We can take out as much trash as we can, provided anything’s left inside, and start the water running. The sooner this place is ours, the sooner things will go more smoothly.” Sabal motioned everyone inside the building before opening up the bag of funds and handing Jaelryn a good chunk of cash. “Try not to get eaten.”

Jaelryn smiled serenely. “They will choke.”

---

Meeting the Contact
Concordia, Maldoria

Neither yochlol shook the Maldorian man’s hand, as Nadal was ill-inclined and Alysstra had her hands full, both literally and figuratively. If ever they had been bound by the Tenet of Reserve, it was now. The next ten minutes, if Alysstra was lucky, would be awkward and difficult. If she was unlucky, they would be very simple and very short.

Bringing Nadal had not been Alysstra’s first choice. If Lusin had given her more time to reason with him, she might have escaped with just Ryld for protection. However, Nadal was a hard beast to shake when he dug in his claws. Looking at their contact made her really wish she’d had even five more minutes to try and shake him. She had her arm through Nadal’s and her hand over his in what looked like a touching sort of attachment but was actually a brutal pain compliance hold. She wasn’t certain a badly broken wrist and a few busted metacarpals were going to be enough to save this man. Even if she caught Nadal’s elbow in it, she could easily see him crushing the man’s throat with one hand. It wouldn’t have been the first time for Nadal to murder while injured...not that it really counted as a crime in situations like this.

Nadal’s restraint was, under more normal circumstances, impeccable. Maldoria itself pushed him to his absolute limit. The storm was still brewing under the surface, and not all that well-hidden either. The man in front of them was beginning to wade into a pool where a great white shark was waiting, and a hungry one at that. Mention of Casimir seemed to harden his already granite features. There were diamonds that had more give than Nadal’s heart right now. The only thing bringing him any peace was the knowledge that one day, there would be a time and place for ripping out the man’s jaw and beating him to death with it. His nostrils flared as he pulled in a deep inhale.

<<Nadal, I know that you’re angry—>>

Nadal’s face didn’t even twitch despite the incredible pressure between his teeth. His voice came out cold, but composed. <<It’s using up my air.>>

Alysstra sighed. <<I know.>>

<<Its mouth is moving and the noise is infuriating.>>

<<I know,>> Alysstra said, half under her breath. “No, Paron, we have no other interests that you can assist with.” She wanted to ask Nadal to stay outside, but leaving him unsupervised in this kind of mood would not end well. The yochlol had his rifle, but she didn’t see him using it when he could break people with far more satisfaction using his hands. A furious Nadal was not the kind of beast satisfied with a mere death. He had to feel the bones crunch, the muscles rip, the tendons tear. “Where are the other Nalayans, besides the ones you have? The more swiftly we can be done with this, the better.” Her eyes added: Before Nadal does something he will not at all regret.

Nadal’s glare was fixed on the wall, his thoughts full of flame.

[Shalum]

Kirana District, The Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

The former slave smiled sheepishly, the dark skin of his cheeks coloring visibly as he reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. His shirt was dirty, and his cheeks were slightly smudged with dirt and dust after rooting around abandoned buildings for the better part of a few hours. “You flatter me, Siruhi.” He replied with a soft chuckle, chocolate eyes lingering on the spider yath. “Perhaps you should save your praise until you get to really look around inside. I’ve seen far worse buildings, especially in the last while, but she is still a fixer upper.” Brakis said with a warm expression as he traipsed down the old, stone steps of the building to join the rest of them at the front of their new home. “Not that I mind - anything worth having always takes some work.” He added as his eyes lingered on Jael for perhaps a moment longer than they should have.

“Not that I’m all that inclined to set one up, but the windows provide a good killzone in the street if we needed one. No idea what it's like around back, but I’m sure we’ll be pretty secure ‘round there too.” Faisal added as his dark eyes flickered over the structure for a moment, appraising it for it's worth. Their older companion had chosen quite well, it seemed. The cinder blocks that formed the four exterior walls, while not the prettiest of sights, would keep them protected from the elements...as well as any gunfire (stray or intentional) that came their way.

“While I’m all for cleaning the place up, policing the neighborhood won’t be easy, I imagine.” Michael added a bit more soberly. Though more relaxed than he was before, one could have easily seen the tension in his eyes that had come with being surrounded by so many scoundrels and thugs. Usually, he was never this powerless; he had always been able to do something to at least try and stop the evil, but not this time. “Unless you want to keep things small and quiet, of course. Otherwise you’d need a few more yath, or a good lineup of initiates.” He paused, before adding more quietly. “Or some of the Silver Blades…”

Joan grimaced at the very mention of her old brothers and sisters in arms. Though they represented good, and were very good at their jobs, this was the last place that they needed to be. “We’ll just have to make do on our own. I’m sure we can manage something for now.” She quickly chirped before giving Sabal a quick glance. After everything they’d witnessed not long before, the last thing she wanted was for her lover to become unsettled at the very notion of Lusin or her people.

Glancing back and forth for a few more moments, Brakis finally coughed into the heel of his hand, more to catch everyone else’s attention rather than because of anything in his throat. “I will need a bit more than tools now that I know what repairs need to be done. Really, I’d love to rewire the house room by room if that sounds acceptable. A good bit of that house is original, and well, built to last or not - it could use some updating. It’ll go a lot quicker than building a house, of course, especially if you can spare Kaleb for a couple of days. He isn’t as experienced as I am when it comes to all of this, but he’s got some practice in the trade. I’ll be happy to train and direct anyone that wants to help out, as well.” Brakis said with a warm smile as he looked around.

“If Sabal over here doesn’t get us into trouble,” Joan said as she bumped her lover with her hip, “I would totally love to learn. Lord knows how long we’ll be in Maldoria, might as well make our base of operations comfortable; plus, you never know when you’ll need those kinds of skills.” She replied cheerfully. When the former slave nodded, the redhead tilted her head and spoke a fair bit more softly into Sabal’s ear. “That or we can leave him and Jael alone to handle it all. I swear, if he keeps looking at her that way, she just needs to take a page from your playbook and take matters into her own hands.” The justicar said conspiratorially. Though she knew they had many evils in the city that needed to be combated in the near future, it was hard to not focus on the nicer things in life - such as the warmth that appeared in the former slave’s eyes every time he looked at the spider yath that had saved him and his friends so many months ago.

Even as the pair of female warriors murmured between one another, Brakis continued on with some of his thoughts. “-cleaning out the building shouldn’t take too long. It’ll need a good sweeping, as well as some mopping. Whoever occupied it last probably took whatever furniture was worth having, so there’s not too much that we’ll actually have to throw out. It’s almost like we’re starting fresh,” he explained with a small shrug. “If you want to make the place, well, comfier, than we’re going to need new furniture. If not, we’ll at least need some beds. The old ones are still here, but they’re so old that I don’t even want to imagine what’s grown on ‘em,” he added with an amusing little grimace. “It shouldn’t be too hard acquiring any of that, especially if y’all feel up to meandering into the middle wards where we could find some proper craftsmen.”

Glancing between each other for a moment, it was Faisal who finally spoke, taking a small step forward as if to indicate himself. “I would be happy to go along. There is strength in numbers, and if Lusin says anything, I’m sure that I could make something up.” The highest ranking justicar among them explained with a small shrug.

Michael nodded and shifted a bit, making sure his weapon was stored securely over one shoulder. “Not to mention that, with my hand, I’d probably be more useful around the house than in the middle of a gunfight.” He added as he looked over at Sabal. It went without saying that he missed being able to run with the wolves. Though he could have still kept up with them physically, his injuries would have gotten him a medical discharge from any military in the region. To be useful, even for a task as simple as fixing up a house, was as good a distraction as any.

“Once we’re done here, I’ll start on the water. It shouldn't take long to get going, and I suppose it’ll take a while to actually clean out.” Joan added, earning a quick nod from Brakis in confirmation as he drifted over to Jael’s side.

“When you’re ready, Siruhi, I am prepared to depart.” Faisal finished with a small, pleasant smile as he unslung his rifle and began to cradle it casually in his hands as he waited.

---

Sidros’ Exotics
Concordia, Maldoria

For what it was worth, the salesman didn’t show so much as a hint of unease at the declination of his handshake, or the way that the two Nalayans before him seemed to latch onto one another. Though some may have claimed bliss ignorance, trained eyes such as the ones that Lusin was armed with saw the faintest hints of understanding in the man’s own muddy orbs as he patiently rested his hands on his hips. Though he may not have truly comprehended the danger he was in, Sidros apparently wasn’t so dumb to think that they weren’t talking in hushed tones about him or his establishment. It wouldn’t be the first time something of the sort happened, but at least most clients were respectful enough to speak ill of him when his back was turned.

In the background, Lusin and Ayle shifted on their heels, waiting with baited breath to see what would come of this exchange. Though neither of them were particularly attached to their Nalayan companions yet, they understood that this could go very badly at any moment, especially if the yochlol were unable to control themselves.

It wasn’t to say that Thul was unperturbed by the events before him, but he at least managed while he idly played with his beard and calculated how many steps it would take to intervene in whatever scuffle occurred between their allies and the shop’s owner. No matter how quickly he moved, however, the chances were good that Sidros was a dead man the minute that things hit the fan. Nadal was a seasoned warrior and their contact was a slaver past his prime who didn’t even have so much as a utility knife on hand.

“It is as you say, ma’am. Just keep in mind that my offer still stands if you ever have interests that I can assist you with. Though slavery is my primary trade, I have contacts across the city and Duchy who could get you anything that you wanted - for a price, of course. Whether it be weapons, narcotics, or even mercenaries, I know just the person to call.” Sidros said with all of the swagger and confidence that one could have expected from any salesmen. As he spoke, he slowly began to meander back to his desk. Leaning on it, he ignored how the stiff wood jutted into his hip as he continued, eyes never leaving the patrons of his shop.

“I presume you mean the people that were taken from Nalaya recently, yes?” Sidros asked rhetorically before pressing on as he crossed his arms over his chest casually. “You can find them here and there. Some of them are probably in the brothels that you passed by earlier - that was where the two I purchased were bound to end up before I rescued them.” He said with a smug little smile that made Ayle’s lips twist in disgust. “Others have been purchased by the Duchess, the warlords under her command, or what rich folk were have around these parts. The reasons vary from pleasure slaves to expensive servants that people can boast about. Owning a Nalayan is a sign of status around these parts, just like owning an Alemarran or Acrea is.” The contact explained with a small shrug. “I sold a couple of Vantai and Arusai to a warlord from down south a couple weeks ago - I’m afraid that I can’t tell you where they’re at now, however.”

“Not like you would anyways.” Lusin grumbled from behind Alys and Nadal. “You never seem inclined to tell us anything about your clients, no matter how much we pay you.”

“I have a reputation around these parts, justicar, and I’m not keen on losing it just because the Church wants a collection of playthings.” Sidros said with a hard look. After a moment, however, he relaxed again and returned his attention to the yochlol. “If you wish to find some of your people, the ones in the brothels shouldn’t be difficult to find at all, nor should any that are owned by street gangs. I’ve got no idea if the any of the latter in Concordia own any, but if they do, I’m sure I could find out through the grapevine. It’s not something a lieutenant or leader would keep quiet about. As for the former, well, you’re better off just trying to buy some local born slaves. The casinos and brothels make good money off your people, they’re not going to want to sell...unless you make the any offer they can’t refuse, anyways.” He chuckled, knowing all too well that they wouldn’t be able to afford such a venture. Even he couldn’t, at least not without getting funding from outside sources. “I’ll eat my hat if you find a warlord willing to give up his purchase. Most slaves are a dime a dozen to them, but Nalayans...not so much.”

There was a soft knock at a door towards the back of the room. Glancing over his shoulder, Sidros grunted loudly. “Yes?”

The door slid open to reveal a thing Maldorian. He couldn’t have been much more than a teenager between his small stature and boyish expression. His dark hair was cut short and his eyes nervous as he peered into the room. “They are ready when you are, father.” He practically murmured, not quite willing to leave what safety he had behind the thick wood of the door.

“Excellent. I will call you shortly.” Sidros smiled before shifting his attention back to his customers. “That is my son. He helps me care for the slaves I sell. If I weren’t going to sell them, I would probably let him keep one of your people, Siruhi. He’s taken to them both,” the slaver chuckled. “But I digress. If you have anymore questions, I would be happy to answer them - otherwise, I can send for the slaves that Justicar Lusin was interested in procuring today.” He offered as he looked around. Though he didn’t quite show it, Sidros was eager to get his current clientele out of his store. Justicars were bad for business, and he didn’t need them to purchase his current stock of Nalayans to have a big payday. With so many buyers, and so little product on the market, he could move them both within hours if he really wanted to see quick returns.

[Nalaya]

Kirana District, Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

Jael nodded to Brakis and Faisal, motioning for them to lead the way. She adjusted the hood she was wearing and the covering over her tattooed face. Out of the two yathallar, she was more comfortable passing like this. It didn’t trouble her to conceal her nature, but then again, her arlathil was less direct than Sabal’s. Jael doubted it would take them too long to find tools, nor did she expect to be harassed much given their open display of firearms. At some point they would have to return to the base to inform the yochlol and fetch whoever wanted to come, but they had probably another hour before it was time to do so.

She made a mental note to find food for Sabal and the others as well. It would probably improve the mood, if nothing else.

Inside the house, Sabal set her rifle down. She felt restless, as though she needed to pace, but she stopped herself. There were still visions of everything they had seen roiling in the depths of her mind. It made her unreasonably angry that this world had been allowed. Nalaya was full of evils, of course, but there was a struggle there against them. The faithful relentlessly assailed the wicked in her homeland. It had brought them into a civil war, granted, but for the most part it was an agent for good in the world. Here, the evil was entrenched and enshrined in law.

Shalum had a great deal to answer for, but it would only have to account for itself if she forced it into the fire.

Sabal knelt down. She had no incense or holy symbol with her here, nor water to wash her hands and her face yet, but she felt the need to pray all the same. The divine understood such things. The yathallar pressed her palms together and then touched her hands to her forehead as she started to sing in a low voice, her tone a soft alto. Her language was musical to begin with and almost sibilant, flowing as it found its cadence. She bowed her head and touched her forehead to the floor for a moment before rising again, following a pattern that looked almost like an Islamic salat. The dirt on the floor didn’t bother her, as she prayed often out in the wilderness with nothing between her and the earth.

Her invocation reached out to the spirits of the place, drawing them in for guidance as she called in Creation. Her words were reminders of the halisstraden, the Mysteries, and followed quickly by the verses of resolve. Her ortelassa was not rushed or impatient, so it stretched a good ten minutes or so. It was like pouring a balm over her ragged wounds, easing some of the anger and pain. Even in this horrible place, she could still find her center. Passion was the core guidance, but it required clarity and purpose. Anything less would burn out, directionless. This endeavor of theirs was not a sprint. It was a marathon. That meant she needed to pace herself and measure her responses.

It was not an easy task, this penance that she had been assigned. If it had been, it would not be worth doing. Or at least, that was what she told herself.

---

Sidros’ Exotics
Concordia, Maldoria

Patience made a good hunter. It was something that every Yath initiate learned, whatever their role within the clergy. All the same, Alysstra felt as though she deserved some kind of divine pat on the head for the extreme to which she was going to maintain her control of Nadal. This was why she was yochlol, and more particularly, why she had been chosen for this particular task. Who else could contain a tempest in a teacup? Nadal’s silence was dangerous, but she could live with it. “We appreciate your assistance, Paron,” she said, keeping her tone civil, if clipped. “We have no further questions. You have given us enough of an answer to inform our decisions.”


Alysstra hoped to the divine that he was smart enough not to prod at Nadal. She wasn’t certain she could contain her partner if someone rubbed salt in the wound. He could be mercurial. Honestly, she would have appreciated having Ryld a good deal more. The female yochlol looked at Lusin. “If you could arrange payment with the man, that would be most appreciated. At present, our local currency is in Sabal’s custody. I am certain that you could make a compelling case for reimbursement to her, unless you would perhaps prefer to consider it the price of ridding yourself of us? Either way, your monetary losses will be remedied.” Provided you don’t claw each other’s eyes out, she added in the privacy of her own mind. She understood Sabal’s objections to the justicar oberst perfectly, but that was a bridge they could burn when they came to it and not before.

She could almost hear Nadal grinding his teeth and took a deep breath. “We need a moment outside,” she said when she felt his grip tighten on her arm to the point of bruising. “Please excuse us.” She let go of the male yochlol cautiously, fully releasing her grip only when he moved to head for the door. As long as he wasn’t on a collision course with Sidros, she was willing to give him a bit of space.

Nadal was a silent, brooding figure in the street. In some ways, it was a deafening quiet, full of the smoke of an ever-burning inferno that was ready to consume anything it touched. It hadn’t reached Sidros, but that was only a matter of time. <<We should be grinding its miserable little face into the embers,>> he said finally. <<It and the worm it calls progeny, lusting after the subjugation of a human soul. It and the justicars that allow it to crawl openly beneath the sun, like so many of the other carrion flies that infest this wretched hole.>>

<<And we will, but not now. He has the kiss of the Duchess and we don’t have the manpower to deal with her yet. Give us time and we will.>>

He growled low in his chest, a noise that made the hair on the back of her neck start to rise ever so slightly. It was a sound more animal than human. The male yochlol rounded on her, but didn’t approach. The tendons in his hands flexed as he spread his fingers and then clenched his fists hard. <<I will not spend another moment under its roof.>>

Alysstra nodded. <<Understood.>>

Nadal’s narrowed eyes stared into hers, no longer impassive. There was rage there. <<I will remain here until you have finished dealing with it. Do not keep me waiting long.>>

The female yochlol bowed her head in acknowledgement before stepping back inside the shop. She was nervous about leaving him there, but knew it couldn’t be avoided. If he had said he would wait, he would wait. Nadal was a creature of his word. However, it was clear that she wouldn’t have a lot of time.

[Shalum]

Kirana District, The Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

The wooden floor creaked under Joan’s feet as she stepped in, the stale air of their new homestead wafting up through her nostrils a few moments later. Setting her rifle on a nearby table, which held firm despite the fact that it had obviously seen better days, the justicar sighed softly and rested her hands on her hips. The living room that she found herself in was large, obviously meant to encompass a lot more than the few pieces of rotting furniture that it currently did. The painted walls were peeling in any number of places, several hardwood floorboards need to be replaced, and there were cracks in several windows.

Brakis was right, the place had plenty of potential, but it was going to need a lot of work first.

Somewhere behind her, Michael stepped into the building curiously, but she paid him little mind as she drifted deeper into the structure. The first room gave way to a kitchen that had seen better days - the countertops and cabinets would need a good scrubbing at the very least. All of the appliances had been taken away, but they still had the sink at least. Beyond that was what seemed to be a dining room originally; Joan assumed it would be retrofitted to accommodate their: weapons, gear, or something else important to the mission. The pantry looked in relatively good shape, though the small room was just as bare as expected. Spying a few spiders and other insects crawling about, the redhead figured that she’d leave that particular clean-up job to Jael whenever she and the rest of the group eventually returned.

The only bedrooms, as it turned out, that could be found downstairs looked to be meat for the servants or slaves of the house. They were small, cozy, and with just enough space to accommodate what few possessions one may have needed. The three bedrooms upstairs, by comparison, were larger and obviously meant for someone born free. They would all have to bunk together, at least if they planned to take on any additional people or free slaves as well, but it would be a comfortable cohabitation once they made things a bit more livable.

Pausing at the doorway of the bonus room upstairs that had to be one of the dirtier places in the whole house, the willowy justicar’s eyes snapped to the center of the room. There was her lover lying prostrate on the ground, much in that Joan had seen the few followers of Islam in Armavir had done. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to understand what she was doing - she was lifting up her voice to whatever spirits there were. Years ago, the sight would have likely unsettled Joan, but she didn’t so much as bat an eye anymore. It came with the territory that was having a yathallar in her life and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Doing a quick sign of the cross, she slowly stepped back, leaving Sabal to her own devices; the last thing she needed right now was to be disturbed.

Shuffling down to the steps and to one of the nearby windows, Joan sighed softly as she leaned against the frame. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through her hair before finally tugging at the elastic band that kept her red locks in a ponytail. Despite everything that had gone down over the last few hours, her mind was focused on but a few things. The mission before them was open-ended, yet set at the same time - they had to bring the enslaved Nalayan girls home. It was easier said than done, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about roaming the countryside, or worse yet - the Zeklet’taune Aluin.

Hopefully they would be able to find a target or leader sooner than later, it was becoming apparent that her lover needed a means of release. Though they hadn’t been in country long, it was clear that the tension was already building inside her. If anything was going to act as a release valve, it was most likely the blood of slavers and the screams of the wicked as they perished in the fire.

---TBOM----

It seemed that the size of the group was proportional to the amount of attention that was garnered by the local populace. As the trio worked their way through tight allies and hard-packed dirt streets, they seemed to blend in more than ever. Oh sure, there were sneers in both men’s direction and even the occasional catcall towards the spider-yath, but even those events were less intense than they had been earlier. Perhaps it was because they were a less valuable target now, or perhaps it was because the worse, more aggressive types had retired to seedier accommodations for the evening.

Making a way to a more reputable part of the markets that they had passed earlier, finding the tools proved easily enough. It seemed that one could find about anything they wanted if they looked in the right places. The vendor, a short man who was built like a fire hydrant, was in no mood to barter over the prices of his stock - not that Brakis tried in the first place, he just got the feeling as he looked nervously at the merchant for a moment.

Selecting the tools that he thought were needed, powered by hand and electric (or gasoline) alike, the former slave gave Jael a nervous smile while she paid the man. “We’re going to need a generator at some point to power some bigger tools, even if we get our place up to a hundred percent again. I don’t think it's wired to handle a lot of juice. I could fix that too, but it’d take a while...and maybe a little bit of refreshing research, I haven’t done anything like that in years.”

Motioning back to the tools in a case that Faisal had kindly volunteered to lug around after a moment, Brakis continued with a small chuckle as they began to walk again. “Burning down our house just as quickly as we’ve found one isn’t exactly on my shortlist.”

Looking around the market, Brakis made a point of not making eye contact with anyone in particular. Despite the fact that foot traffic was lighter now than when they had first come through earlier in the day, but there were still eyes -and a lot more unfriendly guns than he would have liked- all around them. The former slave couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was following them, if only out of curiosity. It was probably paranoia, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

His thoughts were cut short as a slave barged into them. Looking up, the waif of a woman let out a squeal of apologizes and scurried on her way, deeper into the pits of the market to carry out some thankless slave for their master. Brakis’s lips pulled into a frown as his muddy eyes tracked her for a moment, a pang of guilt flooding his veins. It was hard to be free and watch the plight of other slaves at the same time.

Casting his gaze away from the poor woman, he looked back to Jaelryn and took a deep breath. “Did you say something about picking up food earlier? The stalls that sell that kind of thing are just over there.” He explained as he motioned to the a part of the market not too far away from them.

---

Sidros’ Exotics
Concordia, Maldoria

“Well then, I am glad to be of assistance.” The slaver replied with a pleasant smile, shuffling a few feet to the right so that he could pick up a cup of lukewarm tea from the desk he had been sitting at earlier. One could say what they wanted to about him, but stupid he was not. Having been in this business for decades, in which he had lost more than a few colleagues and relatives to various rival groups and violent clients, Sidros knew when it came time to step things down a notch. His own security detail was much larger than this current group probably realized, but that would mean very little if he was nothing more than a smear on the wall; dead men had no use for money, after all.

Hands resting on her hips, several muscles in Lusin’s jaw twitched minutely as a pair of emerald eyes bore into the yochlol. Sweeping her raven hair to the side, the the justicar oberst drew in a deep breath as if she was trying to stop herself from saying something she would regret later.

Looking over at Thul, she jerked her head shakily towards their host. The former slave master was the handler of their money in the same way that Sabal was it seemed. “Take care of things, would you.” Sharply returning her gaze to Alys and Nadal, her lips curled slightly. “Go on, handle your business together - we’ll be here when you return. If I know our friend here, it shouldn't take long to get everything sorted out. Don’t worry about the money, the Council gave us a blank check as a sign of goodwill towards Nalaya.”

Of course, that didn’t mean Lusin was happy with that particular arrangement, but it was an order she had to accept nonetheless. Whether their Mak’ur friends knew it or not, slaves didn’t come cheap; a healthy adult in their prime, male or female, easily went for tens of thousands (if not hundreds) of dollars. Someone old like their former slave, Brakis, was a bit easier to come by. There was no doubt in her mind that the Nalayan girls they were seeking out would not come cheaply.

By the time the yochlol returned, it seemed as if the dealings were all said a done. A false wall of sorts had been pulled aside to reveal the ‘storage’ area of Sidros’ shop. The room, which was larger than the sitting room that they had been hosted in thus far, was packed with cages of various sizes. Some of them were empty, but most were not. Seemingly everything was on display, from weathered looking pale skinned slaves to a young girl so small and underdressed that any reasonable person would have been sick at the signs of abuse that she wore seemingly everywhere.

The center of everyone’s attention, however, was a pair of young adults who had just been led out of their cages. Both were dressed, but even that was relative. The scraps of fabric wrapped around their waists and chests barely covered everything that was legally required in any city of the Shalumite Empire’s proper or any other first-world nation for that matter. They both restrained by what looked to be cast iron shackles that Sidros was handing to Lusin as Alys stepped into the room. “-that should be all. If you intend on unshackling them, all I ask is that you wait until you leave the premises of my storefront.”

As he noticed the return of the female yochlol, Sidros smiled from ear to ear “Ah, good, you are back! I was just telling your friend here about all of the things she needs to keep in mind about these two. I’m afraid I don’t know either of their names, but I’m sure they’ll be more talkative to you than they were with me.” He chuckled. Reaching over, he rested his hand on a slightly darker skinned woman who instantly recoiled. “If your friend outside decides that he wants a warm bed, just remind him that this one hasn’t been the most receptive to my more...carnal attempts. Sometimes it takes a bit of physicality, but I’m sure he’ll have no issue with that,” he chuckled as he rested against his desk.

Lusin grunted and tugged lightly at the chains that were connected to the two slaves’ shackles. Looking over at the yochlol, she gave the woman a look that was a mix of annoyance and anger - she didn’t want to be here any longer. “That is all for now, Sidros, thank you.” She said through grit teeth. “If you are ready, Most Honored, I believe we are done here. Let us return to the base and...reconvene with our fellow warriors.”

[Nalaya]

Kirana District, Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

Once Sabal finished her prayer, she immediately sought out her lover. The building was in better shape than she had expected. It was clear that Brakis had a good idea, because it was a damn sight better than most of the buildings in the area. The damaged wiring was nothing. Sabal was familiar with shrines out in the wilderness, so she knew how to read by candlelight. It was livable. That was what mattered.

She wasn’t certain what Joan would do when she found out that the Yath meant to bring the light of the Linath to the north. She didn’t imagine it would be good, however. Better to savor what time they had together before that, if at all possible. Sabal slipped her arms around Joan from behind, easily identifiable as her by the black and red tattoos on the backs of a warrior’s hands. Sabal’s fingers were slender and long, like a pianist’s hands, but they were instruments of war. Calluses from fighting and pulling a trigger were easily evident if someone felt her palms and fingers, and her knuckles were scarred from fighting.

She touched her head to Joan’s shoulder for a moment before pressing a kiss to just beneath Joan’s right ear. It was meant more to reassure them both than an act of seduction. Granted, she did want some time alone with Joan as well. Seeing all of this was a reminder of how fortunate she was to have the justicar...and how fragile Joan was in the face of the overwhelming evil that the Yath were squaring up with. She regretted putting Joan in harm’s way deeply.

“I should not have brought you into this hell,” Sabal whispered softly near Joan’s ear before pressing a kiss slightly lower than the first, like she was planning to make her way towards a covered shoulder. “I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me.” The next kiss was slightly lower, but they were light, more like brushes of her lips against Joan’s neck. Usually Sabal was more forceful, more intense. It was a sign that she sincerely meant her apology, and that she was worried.

Sabal knew that she would be doing wicked things in the near future. Their path forward would be paved with the bodies of those who had surrendered themselves to evil and likely the blood of martyrs. She had no expectation that she would survive what was coming. She had known that from the beginning. Still, it was a privilege to have this as her penance.

“Did I ever tell you about the L’ilstar de' Ssinssrigg?” Sabal murmured. “Since I met you, sometimes it feels like that is the only part of the Linath I know. It is...different, from the world that I have known and the one I stand in now. A better place.”

---

“We should probably bring something to eat back with us,” Jaelryn said with a small nod. “I imagine they would appreciate it.”

Jael had spent the trip close to Brakis, in her protective mode. Yath were defenders of the faithful, but for her it generalized to those who could not defend themselves and needed intervention. It was difficult beyond measure to not step in on numerous occasions. For now, she focused on what she could control, and so was never far from her rifle. Beneath the surface of tranquility she projected was a cauldron of simmering rage, tightly controlled.

She understood Sabal’s anger very well. It was a reflection of her own. She did not understand how the justicars had done nothing in this place. Lusin would probably say that they had tried, but the thought that they had not continued their efforts made her contempt grow. She imaged there was mistrust aplenty coming from their direction towards her as well. The Yath were more than heathens—they were dangerous.

But that was as it should be, in Jaelryn’s opinion. Granted, she was not looking forward to a battle with the Christi. It was just inevitable. Truth could not stay hidden forever. The broken people were the ones that seemed to watch the most closely, though they didn’t beg aloud because they had been brutalized into silence. There was just their eyes, agonized and desperate. Jael knew the look well. Hadn’t she worn it herself once?

She lingered near Brakis as he found them food, still and quiet as she contemplated the future. She would take no small amount of satisfaction in what was coming.

Fire purified.

The dark thoughts subsided slightly when Brakis looked at her. She smiled at him, but he wouldn’t see it with the shrouding across her face. That was fine by her, really, as she wasn’t certain quite how to handle him. She’d had a few lovers since her initiation, despite the nerves and trauma at first, but those had all been on even footing. There was a power disparity between herself and the former slave, something she never wanted him to be subject to. She knew what it was like to have someone powerful take advantage of her, and she knew that problem was not unique to powerful men.

Perhaps it was for the best. She was less interested than Sabal in having a distraction in her life. Alysstra and Nadal either lacked such ties or had severed them before they came. Worldly loves could complicate matters, Sabal’s relationship serving as a perfect example. In the end, Jaelryn knew that Sabal would stand by her faith, but it would be agonizing when Joan turned on her. Jaelryn did not envy her sister-in-spirit. It was a path that had no happy ending.

“We should return,” she said in her soft way. “I have no doubt that the others would like to eat before we regroup with our resident yochlol to build a plan. Besides, I am curious to know what came of their visit to the slavers.”

---

Sidros’ Exotics
Concordia, Maldoria

Alysstra felt that rage return when Sidros mentioned his advances. It was for the best that Nadal hadn’t come back with her. He would have brutalized the man with his bare hands regardless of the consequences. She said nothing, jaw locked. It was hard to bite her tongue, particularly when she sensed Lusin’s irritation, but she managed.

“How much for the youngest one?” she asked, gesturing into the back. It wasn’t really a request when she looked at Lusin. She had every intention of paying the justicars back, but there was no way she was leaving what she saw as a little girl in bondage. It was hard enough to leave the others.

She didn’t leave until they had secured the girl as well.

Once they were outside, Alysstra pulled the mask over her face down, displaying tattoos that every desperate Nalayan captive would know meant safety and protection. Nadal knelt down when he saw them approaching to make himself less threatening. He knew he could be imposing. He took off his coat and then his shirt, handing them to Alysstra. He knew not to come too close. After all, this was not the first time that he had worked with victims of abuse. For all his towering, rage-monster personality, Nadal did have a gentle side. It was reserved for situations like these, not for people like justicars and Silver Blades. His eyes were soft when he looked at the young women, his expression sorrowful.

<<We are here,>> Alysstra said gently. <<We can protect you. We can take you to a safe place.>>

Alysttea handed the clothing to the girls before putting her own jacket around the youngest one. It covered her much better than what she was wearing. Once everyone had some covering, she studied the shackles. She wanted to immediately unlock them, but then someone would have an easier time grabbing them. <<I need you to stay very close to me and Nadal. He and I will never hurt you.>> She repeated herself in Maldorian, as she wasn’t certain if the girl was a local or not. Alysstra held out her hands to the youngest and the one that seemed most afraid of Nadal. <<Hold tightly to me and no one will be able to take you. Please trust us. We will take the shackles off when we are out of the markets.>> Again, she repeated herself in Maldorian for the girl.

She gave them a faint, barely there smile. <<We are here to take you home, whether thar is Nalaya or with us.>>

[Shalum]

Co-written with Nalaya

The Forward Operating Base
Concordia, Maldoria

The ancient floorboards of the apartment building creaked with each step, announcing the arrival of the last members of their merry band before they ever came into sight. Glancing over his shoulder, Faisal paused for a moment as his tongue darted out, catching a piece of rice that had slipped from his fork before it could fall down onto the ground. Though it’d probably be the cleanest thing to touch the ground in a long time, he wasn’t about to risk it; especially when it was the yochlol’s room that he was using as his table in the first place.

Sawing into a piece of chicken, Joan smiled softly, her knee resting against Sabal’s taut thigh. Every once and awhile, she would slightly bump the older woman, eyes dancing with amusement all the while. “Love abides, love abides, love abides…” She hummed under her breath before plopping it into her mouth. Their abundance of currency had made the street vendor, who usually didn’t have nearly as much business as they had provided, happily hand over his best stock.

As Alysstra stepped into the room, Michael paused for a moment, his lips parting slightly as his fork stilled in the air. “You’re back,” he observed quietly. Reaching up to scratch his stubble covered chin, one eyebrow rose. “And you brought company.”

Sure enough, the two Nalayan slaves were huddled close to Nadal and Alysstra. They had been given more to wear than a few scraps of sheer cloth that weren’t meant to stay on for long. Though no reader of minds, he had reason to believe that they both perked up was the smell of food. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was the young girl who clutched the yochlol’s hand like she was her mother. She was a terrible sight, seemingly terrified of everything around her as she tried (and failed) to all but hide underneath Aly’s jacket at the sight of so many men.

Immediately, Ryld moved to give their guests more room, even if it meant scooting into the space of the others in the room. Jael picked up food and carried it over to the others, kneeling down to make herself smaller before coming near the girl. She held out a bowl carefully.

“You’re safe. I’ll protect you,” Alysstra murmured to the girl. The yochlol’s jacket was still draped around little, bony shoulders. When the yochlol moved into the room, she put her body between the girl and the men in the room, at least until she could sit down next to Sabal, keeping the girl tucked against her side.

Sabal knew why the rescued women were present at their little meeting, and it went beyond food. Alysstra didn’t trust the justicars, or at least Lusin’s lot, with the safety of their guests. Nadal stayed near the door, ready to interpose his body between the occupants of the room and danger. He seemed unusually calm, probably because he didn’t want to frighten their guests. “Well, everyone is alive. That’s a good start,” Sabal said, keeping her voice soft. She didn’t want to startle anyone. “We can contact Gor about getting anyone who wants to leave out of here. He’s a good man, for all his flaws. He will help.”

“I should hope so,” Nadal rumbled from the door.

Jael was distracted for a moment with the little girl, all smiles. It was strange sometimes how Yath could suddenly break out in warmth, but then again, they were emotional creatures. Jael had more softness in her than most other yathallar did, granted. In Maldorian, she asked gently, “What’s your name, qu’essan? My name is Jaelryn.” She was still at eye-level with the girl, careful not to loom or come too close too quickly.

“We need to pay Lusin back,” Alysstra said quietly. “I do appreciate what she did, even if I would have rather razed the markets and killed every slaver in there.” She didn’t sound angry in tone, because she didn’t want to frighten the little girl, but the words certainly weren’t forgiving. “Did Gor have our money?”

“A fraction, he said,” Sabal said. “And heroin, but that’s for bribes or medicine.” Drugs were frequently as useful as cash, if not moreso. “It should be enough.” Her body had tensed as she even thought about dealing with Lusin again. She had much preferred the distance. “We have a place, too, but there needs to be some...housecleaning.”

The young slave couldn’t have been older than twelve or so. It was hard to tell though, given her diminutive size; many Maldorians ran short because of the lack of nutrition that most of them desperately needed. The two former slaves in the room were a prime example of that. Though they could grow no taller, they had certainly thickened up from the skin and bones when Jael had first taken custody of them.

Peering out from where she had tucked again the yochlol, the little girl creeped forward slightly. The bruises that covered her body were mostly hidden thanks to how large the jacket was on her shoulders. What couldn’t be covered, at least without makeup, were the finger-sized marks that covered her neck and splotches that had obviously been left by teeth and aggressive lips. “Aya,” the girl so so softly that the justicar’s ears strained just to hear it. “Why does you have so many eyes?” She added softly, little fingers continuing to dig into Alysstra’s arm as her eyes roamed over the sight.

Looking at the yochlol, Brakis swallowed thickly. Just seeing the newest of their band of former slaves, he had a feeling of unease deep in the pit of his stomach. Without really thinking, he had scooted back, hugging the back wall of the room. Clutching his bowl of rice and chicken tightly, he tried to focus on the mission at hand. “The safe house will be...good for future operations once we have everything set up. It may take me some time to get it all back to tip-top shape. There should be enough room for all of us if we’re not opposed to bunking, plus space for former slaves while we wait for them to be returned to Nalaya—if that is their desire.” He explained, nibbling on his bottom lip. “The safehouse is in the lower wards, so once we move in...it’d probably be good to keep someone around to protect it. Or make friends with the local gangs.” The last was a dry joke, considering how the yath carried themselves around criminals.

“If there are anti-slavery factions in the city, we might want to make friendly overtures,” Nadal said. “Which may mean working with gangs.” He gave Brakis a nod. “Thank you for being willing to help, Paron. We would be at a disadvantage without your expertise.”

Jaelryn laughed at the eyes question. It was a favorite of many a small child. “So that my spirit can see,” she told the little girl. “Why do you only have two, Aya?” She had no problem with being entertainment for a curious little girl.

All of the yath in the room knew what the slaves’ stories were, or at least had seen their like in the ugly past. While they were angry, they all knew that it was important to make Aya and the others feel safe. “I would feel better away from the Christi warriors, our present company excepted,” Ryld admitted. “There is little love there, and I would not like to see how many heads will roll if they decide to frighten or harm our wards.”

“All of them,” Sabal muttered under her breath.

Joan grimaced as she glanced between Ryld and her lover. “Is it terrible that I would probably look the other way?” She said after a beat, resting her head against the metal that made up one of the yochlol’s cot. “They’ve been in Concordia for so long and have done nothing.” That earned a pointed glance in Aya’s direction for a moment. “It’s hard to justify anything that my brothers and sisters have claimed to do.” She admitted as she nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, seeming to totally miss the way Faisal shifted in uncomfortable acceptance, and Michael’s white knuckles. “Even so, our enemy is mutual—the slavers outside—not one another.”

The young Maldorian scooted a bit closer, seeming alright with the the spider yath so far. It helped that she had other women around her, leaving the men to crowd one side of the room. Rising up onto unsteady feet (she had been kept in a crude cage at Sidros’s), the young girl cautiously ran her fingers along Jael’s tattoos, letting out a soft and pleasant sound as she did so. “They don’t feel like eyes,” she noted with a tiny smile. “Are you a spider-woman?” Aya asked as she tilted her head curiously.

In the background, Brakis actually flushed at the compliment. “It is a pleasure, Most Honored. I’ll admit that I’m a bit surprised that you listen so closely. I’ve been out of the loop for over a year at this point.” He glanced at his knees for a moment. “It feels like an eternity though, at this point, thanks to…” He trailed off, smile warm as he spied Jael. “Anyways, yes, there are factions like that. I’m afraid they’re all gangs though. Surviving isn’t easy in this city, types like them have to band together to even stand a chance. Pushing drugs and controlling territory is a means of survival here, even for the ‘good’ guys.”

“We have to start somewhere,” Alysstra said softly. “I’ll take pushers and fighters. None of us are without our own failings, but look at what we have become. Perhaps someday they can understand that there is more to being human than fear and desperation. Maldoria needs people forcing a change. What exists now is abominable and, worse, the people who have power are satisfied to leave it that way.” It went without saying that Alysstra included the Butcher in that group.

“The Christi might have a chance to redeem themselves,” Ryld said. When Nadal raised an eyebrow, he continued, “If we want to set the slavers at each other’s throats, the justicars might have intelligence and resources to do so while we are moving in other ways. It would at least buy us time to get people free.”

Nadal grunted his reluctant agreement.

Meanwhile, Jael was smiling at the little girl. “I am most certainly a spider-woman, Aya.” She didn’t seem at all bothered by the touch on her tattoos. “And my sister, Sabal, who is sitting over there, is a lion-woman.”

At the sound of her name, Sabal smiled at the little girl and waved. It made the knot of rage at the center of her chest relax slightly to see tentative trust forming between Aya and Jael. Though the little girl probably didn’t know it, there were few protectors better than Jaelryn. But as calm as she seemed, there was no question in Sabal’s mind that if she met Aya’s former owner, she would rip off his jaw and beat him to death with it. Sabal found Joan’s hand with her own. She was angry, but she wasn’t going to lash out yet. Now was the time to calculate exactly where to hit for maximum damage. “In the morning, Jael and Nadal can speak to Gor.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Nadal said. He was quiet for a moment, clearly thoughtful. “After that, Sabal, you and I need to talk about house-cleaning. Brakis, you will unfortunately be rooming with me. Alysstra and Jaelryn will have to share while we have our guests, Aya included. I don’t want them left unprotected, and they would prefer not to be with men until they know we are safe, I imagine. Ryld, you and Kaleb will still be together. I’m certain there will be plenty of work in the morning for anyone willing to do it.”

Sabal knew she wasn’t being asked to help in guard duty because Nadal still was deciding what he thought of Joan. No doubt he hadn’t expected her comment about her fellow justicars. Besides, he probably wanted her rested for a potential battle if they were going to talk about house-cleaning. “Is that everything needed of me, Most Honored?” she asked.

“For the time being,” Nadal said with an inclination of his head. “You are excused.” He looked at the two male justicars, Brakis, and Ryld. “Shall we adjourn to elsewhere? Alysstra and Jael can set them up with places to sleep. I think a bath if possible and rest might be in order for our new friends, better gotten without us looming nearby.”

Sabal stood up and looked to Alysstra. “Most Honored, do you need anything?”

“Just any blankets you have if you can spare them,” Alysstra said.

“I’ll grab them. I think I have some spare soap and clothes as well, if you don’t have enough,” Sabal said. She studied the freed slaves for a moment. “If they ever need it, I will do anything they need.”

Alysstra smiled faintly. “I know, Sabal. But let’s not overcrowd them. I’ll let you know later how we’ll arrange the watches. In the meantime, clean up and get some rest.”

In the background, Aya continued to babble on, slowly working her way out of whatever shell that she had been in upon arrival. How long such warmth would last, no one could be certain. The abuse she had suffered was unthinkable, and had to leave scars on her very mind, especially at such a young age. Though Faisal was not experienced with this sort of thing, unlike the yathallar, he knew that she could very well snap back into her old ways at any moment. He tried not to let his mind linger on such dark thoughts, though, as Aya all but perched herself in Jael’s lap while she continued to babble on.

The former slave looked over at Jael, his smile soft for a moment as his gaze lingered. Perhaps for a few moments longer than it should have before he finally turned his gaze back to Nadal. “There is nothing unfortunate about it. I understand, Most Honored.” He really did, this was a scene he’d seen play out too many times; the difference was that no one back home had ever cared about them or what happened after all was said and done for the evening. “If at all possible, could I—or one of the girls—grab my bag from the room? I wouldn’t mind acess to my spare changes of clothing, if that is possible.” He said softly, resting his hands in his lap.

Looking over at Alys, he paused for a moment. His gaze then shifted back to the other yochlol, before he addressed them both. “Speaking of movers and shakers, there are some warlords who we could probably make allies out of. The ones closer to Shalum usually don’t look as kindly on the Duchess, call it outside influence if you will.” He explained slowly as the gears in his own mind worked through the idea itself. “Ha’diq T’Laria comes to mind. People refer to her as the lady warlord, but it is her daughter that is the real agent of change from what I know. Their forces would be more suited for tearing this city apart,” he said wistfully, “but every bit helps in times such as this, no?”

Joan’s fingers interlaced with her lover’s, keeping a hand close to her lioness. Surely, a time like this had to be trying on her very soul. It was nice to see her smile despite the horrors that had been inflicted on sweet, little Aya. “I will happily provide assistance if it is needed of me, Most Honored Alysstra.” She said softly as she watched the young Maldorian spin several locks of Jael’s thick locks around her index finger.

Kaleb shifted quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he set his bowl aside. His fingers flexed anxiously as he peered at Aya, wishing that the spirits would allow him to do something. Though no warrior, he finally had training under his belt, not to mention weapons. It was fleeting, but the idea of reaping vengeance was a sweet pipe dream. “Perhaps we should move on with that adjournment, there are better places for long discussions other than...this.” He motioned to the small room that they had all tucked themselves in.

---

With Alysstra and Jael

Jael was happy to let Aya play with her light brown hair. It might have been darker if she hadn’t spent so much time in the sun. “Do you want to get cleaned up, Aya, or would you rather sit and talk with us before bed? You can keep playing with my hair if you want.”

“You should teach her how to braid it,” Alysstra said softly as she looked over the injuries on the other girls. She had some medical knowledge, enough to treat bruises, scrapes, and cuts. She wasn’t as experienced as Ryld, granted. She cleaned the wounds carefully, mostly scratches and contusions from rough handling. There were some bites and scrapes as well.

Alysstra worked with gentle hands, carefully soothing through the flinches and worried eyes. She was quick to offer reassurances as she disinfected and did a general check up. “Nothing that time and care won’t heal,” the yochlol reported once the two girls had collapsed into bed. “It will be a slow recovery, but a recovery nonetheless. Counseling should help the invisible wounds, even if they are returning very different from how they left. Gor will protect them.”

For all of his flaws, the smuggler was honorable. He wouldn’t do anything that would put them in harm’s way, nor would he tolerate subordinates who might. And once they reached Nalayan soil, they would be met by the TRC. Alysstra had never met gentler souls.

The yochlol shifted Aya until the girl was sitting on the bedroll Alysstra had brought with her to sleep on the floor. She gently eased the jacket of so she could see the bruises and bites. “Aya, qu’essan, I am going to clean out your scrapes and give you bandages. It might sting a little bit, okay? I will be careful. Be brave for me. Let me see your neck.”

The little Maldorian girl peered up at the yochlol with tired, chocolate eyes. She didn’t hesitate to sweep her hair back, offering her thin, badly bruised neck to the guardian. “Is braiding better? Mister Sidros always said it felt better when it was down…” Aya murmured, finding it so much easier to talk when it was just other girls surrounding her. “It doesn’t hurt much, honestly. It’s been worse before.” She explained, teeth grit as Alys was forced to dig in a bit harder against one of the worse abrasions. “Thank you.” The former slave hummed out, standing up to wrap her tiny arms around the yochlol’s neck for a moment when she was done.

Jaelryn pulled something out of her own bag, a small wooden board with two rows of round hollows across it, each one about the same size as a silver dollar. At either ends of the board were larger, oval hollows. Then she poured out a bag of polished, round stones that looked like small, flattened marbles. They were pieces of amber, carefully rounded and smoothed. Many had ancient plants inside them, bits of leaves dark at the center.

“Have you ever played mancala, Aya?” Jael said softly, evenly distributing the little amber stones evenly into each hollow in the two rows. “I learned when I was a few years younger than you. Many people play it in Nalaya. It is very simple. Here, I will teach you, like my brother taught me.”

It would hopefully keep the little one distracted while Alysstra looked at her neck and shoulders. The game was simple enough, and for Jael it had always been relaxing. The texture of the stones, the soft clicking sound as pieces were added or taken from each hollow, and the quiet strategy all soothed her. It was a game easy to learn and with very few rules, which made it perfect as far as Jael was concerned. It was nowhere near as complex as shelza ir, other box in her bag, which was somewhere between go and chess.

Aya had never played the game, much less heard of it until Jael produced it. Despite the weariness that weighed down on her shoulders after the life she had lived, however, it was impossible to miss the way her eyes lit up with glee at the simple opportunity. She was clearly a quick learner, though hesitant with her movements as the gears in her mind turned slowly, methodically. “The rhythm feels...nice,” she said softly as her hand darted across the board to move some of the pieces. “Do you and your brothers still play, Miss Jaelryn?” She asked as she looked up, innocent eyes full of curiosity.

“No, sadly. We have not seen each other in a very long time—he was lost in the war,” Jael said as they took turns, each trying to secure the largest number of amber stones in their respective end-hollow. “The Yath are my family: Alysstra, Sabal, Nadal, Ryld, and Kaleb. There are more too, across the sea. We take care of each other, protect each other. Now we will take care of and protect you too.”

Jael brushed her hair back behind her ear, studying Aya through her lashes. Mak’ur tended to reserve direct eye contact for strong emotions, whether anger or love. She was...thoughtful. Seeing Aya took her back to her own youth and those dark struggles that she had endured. She understood them now in a way she had never been able to in the moment, when human cruelty was fresh and terrible. Now she could appreciate—though never enjoy—the fact that they made her into a servant of the faithful, feeding both her powerful anger and her compassion. “You do not have to call me ‘Miss’, Aya. Jaelryn or Jael is just fine,” she said softly. “And now, you may wear your hair however you like it. You have no one here to please. We are here to see you, and every girl like you, safe and happy.”

“Oh.” Aya said softly, pursing her lips for a moment as she clutched an amber stone. Rolling it around in her fingers for a few moments before dropping it into one of the spaces. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time either. My last owner took my father from this world and put my mother and I into chains. I don’t know what happened to her.” She explained, though it didn’t seem to disturb her nearly as much as it should have. “If you’re taking care of me, and protecting us,” she paused to glance at the other two slaves, “does this make us family?”

The former slave blinked in surprise as she looked up at Jael, genuinely confused. “I don’t? They always said that I had to treat my elders with respect.” She explained as she leaned back for a moment, using her arms to keep her aloft as she stretched out her tired body. For a moment, her shirt rode up, revealing scars and bruises that marred her hips and hollow stomach. “If you don’t want me too, though, I can do that. It’s just as easy.” She shrugged as she sat up again, now that it was her turn.

For a beginner, she hadn’t done half bad, but it was clear that Jael would take this match, it was more a matter of time than anything else. “In the morning, will you help me braid my hair? I’d like to see what it looks likes…” Aya said softly, eyes hopeful as she looked up at the spider-yath.

“Respect is ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, but it is earned. You should never be afraid to tell us no. Elders do not always know best, nor do they always mean best. The yath will never ask of you what others have taken, but we do not want you to feel powerless either,” Jael said softly. “And we would gladly be your family should you wish it. I have always wanted a little sister.”

When Aya mentioned braiding her hair, Alysstra smiled. She was back to working on her translation of the Linath, though she was also watching over the two sleeping slaves. It was nice to see Aya able to make a choice, even in such a small thing. No doubt she had been robbed of that power for too long. “I’m sure Jaelryn or I will be happy to help,” the yochlol said softly. “There are many ways to braid hair. We can find out which you prefer.”

“It would be a joy,” Jaelryn said as the game finished. The spider yathallar looked pleased. “You learn very quickly, qu’essan. Soon you will be beating me every time. We can teach you many things, I think. Even to read, should you wish it. In the meantime, to bed with you. If you need anything or wake in the middle of the night, Alysstra and I will be here.”

Alysstra nodded her agreement. “Someday, Jael, you’ll have to tell her stories before bed. Better times and foreign lands. I know things like that helped me keep my bad dreams away when I was a girl.”

Jael laughed. “I think she would grow tired of my voice,” she said.

Grinning up at the spider yath, Aya stood up slowly. The lost game forgotten, she leaned forward to wrap her arms around Jaelryn’s neck. “I’ve never really given much thought to siblings, but I’m pretty sure you’d be a good older one.” She murmured through the spider-yath’s hair as she held her. Pulling away, Aya swept her messy black hair over one shoulder as she looked at Alysstra. “I don’t care about complex or simple, really. If it looks good and is easier to take care of than this than it's fine by me.

Padding over to her bedroll, Aya left out a soft huff as she collapsed, pulling the sheets over her tiny form. It was obviously meant for someone much taller, so she had plenty of bedroom. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of listening to you, Jaelryn.” She murmured softly, chocolate eyes innocent in the dark of the room. “I would like to learn. Mister Sidros never taught me anything fun. All I know how to write and read is my name…” She explained as she rested her head on a bundle that acted as a pillow. “Maybe we could read books, if we ever get them? I’ve heard that there are so many.”

“There are very many, and once you learn, we will get you every book we can get our hands on,” Alysstra promised. She was a firm believer in the maxim that knowledge was power. “I think we have a few that you could learn on, though I might have to translate them first. But we will start small.”

Literacy was one of the traditions that the Yath had kept alive even during the Long Dark. While those here in Maldoria were not scholars, save for Alysstra, all of them made it a point to read when they had the opportunity and all of them had committed both the Linath and the stories of the faith to memory. It made for a more educated populace in the Homeland, which frequently ran counter to the expectations of outsiders. But learning was as good for the soul as it was for the mind.

“Get some rest, qu’essan,” Jaelryn said gently. “We will be here if you need us.”

---

With Sabal and Joan

Sabal was quiet until she and Joan made it back to their room, thoughts heavy. It was hard to see what had been done to Aya, but it added to the already burning motivation to change Maldoria’s future. She never wanted to see any child hurt again, even if that meant burning the region down and rebuilding from the ashes. She was angry, furious, but it was controlled at the moment.

“This place…” Sabal took a deep breath. “I want to grab your order by the throat and shake them until they give me an explanation for why it was abandoned, left to fester, but I know that no answer would satisfy me. I am sorry, ssin’urn. I do not want you to think I am angry at you. I know this is beyond your control.”

The redhead sighed softly, her eyes tired and full of sorrow as she dropped down onto one of the beds. The frame creaked under her weight, and then Sabal’s as she pulled her lover down a moment later, but she paid it little mind as she wrapped her arms around the yathallar’s shoulders and held onto her. “I’m sorry for all of this, my lioness. The evil in this city, the way Lusin and the Blades are acting, everything my order hasn’t done to fix the issues here.” She paused and let out a deep sigh. “There is no excuse. I wish there was something I could do,” the justicar added as she frowned into Sabal’s shoulder.

“One day, it will change, by steel or fire,” Sabal said. She wasn’t going to say we will change it, because she didn’t want to worry Joan, but the promise was in her heart. She rested her head against Joan’s. “You are helping by stopping me from forcing a confrontation with Lusin, at least. And you make my world a brighter place. I do not know what I would do if I was alone here. Do not apologize for wrongs you have not done. Carrying a weight that is not your own only makes for bowed shoulders and a heavy heart. Besides, we bear burdens enough that are of our own words and deeds.”

She wasn’t certain if that was true of Joan, but in her experience, people sought faith for a reason. She might have never come to the cloth without the pains and losses of her own past. It was her way of balancing the cosmic scales. “When the war ended the first time,” Sabal said softly, “I wanted only to be surrounded by life. By faith. I enjoyed my time in the wilderness amongst the green growth, and my time with my brothers- and sisters-in-spirit. But…my people have a story tells of the ancient days, when the Handmaiden still walked the earth. Once, they say, a man went to her and told her of the sufferings of people in his land. When he asked, ‘What should I do? How do I go on?’, she said only, ‘Struggle’.”

Sabal sighed, but smiled faintly, almost wryly. “It is a reminder that there is always another battle worth fighting.”

“That there is, my love. I know that you will always be worth fighting for.” Joan replied softly, smile full of enough love for the both of them as she turned her head to press a kiss to her the yathallar’s shoulder. “Maybe someday, when we’ve found all of your people that Pomerok and his companions stole away, we can come back to Concordia. Just imagine what we could do; it would be the ultimate test of faith.” The justicar mused quietly. “Between you and our yochlol, there wouldn’t be even the smallest nook or cranny for a slaver to hide. This city would change, no matter the cost. You all could do in a day what my order hasn’t done in a generation. Maybe we can do all of that, and more, together. Until then, we have to avoid removing Lusin’s head from her shoulders.” There was a pause before she added a bit more quietly. “Regardless of how much she deserves it…”

Compared to her lover, Joan’s own admittance lacked much of the conflict and pain that had brought others to the order. She had always been a ‘good’ girl with a well respected family to lean on. Her family had served the church for generations and she had wanted to do the same, just not from an aid tent or behind an administration desk. “Someday, you’re going to have to tell more more about the Handmaiden, my love. I’ve heard bits and pieces, but never the full story.” She hummed softly, taking in a deep breath as she let the scent of Sabal wash over her. “Our lives will always be full of struggle; whether it be here or in Armavir, it doesn’t matter so long as we’re doing good. We’re creatures of struggle, but people like Aya...they’re not.” She sighed softly. “You make all the struggle worth it though, ssin’urn. Maybe there will come a day when we can slow down and just...watch as people like Kaleb come along to pick up where we left off.”

Sabal sighed softly. “Yathallar do not retire, Joan. We do not cede the pain and the suffering to the next generation if we can still lift a rifle. We end our lives in the graves of martyrs, because it is as we are meant to be,” she said gently. “I know you want peace and quiet someday, but...it is not to be found in lives like mine. So long as the world has evil, we must fight.”

“I know.” Joan replied with a gentle sigh of her own as she relaxed against her lover’s side, watching the older woman through her lashes. “And that’s part of why I love you so much. Your dedication to everything is so...admirable. I know you’ve got my back, no matter what. Still though, it’s a nice dream, if only a moment, no?” She added with a somber expression. In the technical sense, Justicars never retired either. As they got older, however, they were weaned off field work and shifted to more light but necessary duties - training initiates, in particular. If Joan lived as long as Nadal for example, it was likely that she’d be stationed somewhere deep in Shalum away from any real conflict.

“Necessary,” Sabal said with a faint smile. “I do not know if I would call it admirable. In my place, many would do no differently. But yes, it is a pleasant dream, to think of a world where people like me will no longer be needed.” The yathallar had never been one to rest on her laurels, or even consider them to be laurels. The sacrifices she had made and was prepared to make were little different from those of any other servant of the faith. Or at least, that was how she saw it. She turned a little bit to face Joan more, smiling a little more. “Someday, you will be a brighter light than I in this world of ours. I have confidence in that.”

She was under no illusions that she would survive to see the end of what the Yath intended to build in Maldoria. Perhaps it would take centuries, long beyond the lives of any of them who had first arrived, but she knew that it would come. There was certainty to the thought, like the endless rush of the tide or the pull of gravity. Faith had power, inertia, and it would survive in deserts where nothing else could take root, watered by the blood and tears of those who treasured it. It gave her such hope, like the wind beneath a dove’s wings. There would be a change in Maldoria, and she would be a part of its beginning.

Change did not come easily, and sometimes, it had to be brought by fire. Sabal was not at all surprised or troubled by that fact.

The yathallar kissed her lover softly. She had missed Joan when they were separated after reaching Dyvynasshar. It was admittedly a new feeling. Her past lovers she had certainly missed when she was not in their company, but only for a brief time and only occasionally. Joan had worked a hole in her heart as a home, and when she was gone, Sabal was very much conscious of the loss. Losing her even for a few weeks had been difficult to stomach, doubly so because at that point, she hadn’t known if she would ever see Joan again. Now, they were here, but it would not last forever. Love abided, but in many ways, it was a fragile thing. Ephemeral, even. When things came to a head with Lusin, there was a significant chance that she would lose Joan. One day, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, Joan would be another of the mayfly lives entwined with her own. When that day came, Sabal would miss her just as fiercely.

It was a melancholy thought, reflected for a moment in her hazel eyes when she drew back from Joan’s lips.

The redhead’s kiss was soft and pliable as she reached up to run her fingers through her lover’s hair. When they pulled away, she nibbled on her bottom, swollen lip as her blue-green eyes met Sabal’s. Rising slowly, she slung one leg over her companion’s thigh so that she could straddle her properly a moment later. Another series of kisses follow: to her forehead, cheeks, the strong lines of her chin, and finally upon her lips.

“Don’t sell yourself short, my love. Even if I shine brighter, a world without you by my side would be...I don’t know if it’d be worth it. The old legends of my people would likely call us soulbound, and I’m inclined to believe that we truly are.” She hummed softly as she stroked sun-bleached hair. “There is no Yath Sabal Zaphresz dal Laele without Justicar Joan Couturier.” That was punctuated with another, deeper kiss.

“You speak honey,” Sabal said with a small smile when they had to stop to breathe. There wasn’t self-consciousness there, as Sabal almost lacked the capacity to feel that—arrogance was her shield for the most part, though she’d reined herself in for the past few years—but there was a brief flicker of doubt for a moment. “And can a yath be soul-bound? I would assume that in Shalumi tradition, creatures such as I are witches, not women. Half-beast as I am.”

Joan rolled her eyes good naturedly and pressed another kiss to her lover’s lips in an attempt to silence her lover for a few moments. “Shalumite ‘tradition’ would tell you to cover up or get rid of all those tattoos, grow your hair out, and stay in the house all day raising children and waiting for your husband to come home. Since all of those things are off the table for someone like you, I don’t think it matters much, regardless.” Reaching down, the redhead took one of her lover’s hands and smiled softly, placing it on her chest over her heart. “As far as I’m concerned, yath can be. I know this because I feel it...right here.”

Sabal smiled. If there was anything in the world that Sabal understood, it was emotion. “That is what matters, ussta ssin.” She smoothed out her own hair at the thought of growing it out. It was already getting a little bit longer than she wanted it, too far past the tops of her shoulders. She would have to stop wearing it loose if she couldn’t convince Alysstra to cut some of it. The yathallar sighed after a moment and slipped her arms around Joan. “I love you too much.” It was a murmur against Joan’s temple. “I wish I could promise you a home, a family, a life. These are joys that should be yours to know. It is...difficult to ask, but...will you promise me something?”

“I would love all of that.” Joan sighed softly in replied as she clung to her lover. Despite the fact that she was perched in the Mak’ur’s lap, it went without saying that Sabal had more power on her side. She was larger, stronger, and far more hardened than the justicar was. “I don’t know how all of that would work, the family stuff in particular, but I’m sure we could find some way,” she chuckled wryly. The phrasing of her lover, and the tone of her voice, made Joan pause for a moment. Pulling away to look into Sabal’s eyes (she had begun to learn the importance of proper eye contact among her kind), she took a deep breath. “What...what do you want me to promise you, my love? I will do anything for you.”

“When I am gone, promise me that you will not marry yourself to sorrow,” Sabal said gently. “I need to hear that you will seek happiness. I will wait by the river, but I would not have you cross it in spirit too soon.”

There was no sharp gasp, or outcrying of sorrow like in the movies. Rather, Joan was silent for a few moments, eyes seeking those of her lover’s as he grip tightened. She suddenly wasn’t inclined to let go of Sabal ever again, despite the fact that she had contemplated such a situation before. “You have my word.” She said with slow reluctance. “I won’t put those chains upon myself, but I...I hope you’ll fight like hell to stay here. I’d rather go to the river by your side many years from now rather than have either of us wait.”

“Thank you,” Sabal said gently. “I will do my best.” She knew better than to say if it was a choice between life and doing what was right, she would sacrifice herself every time. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself as a coward or an oathbreaker. She kissed Joan gently, aiming to soothe whatever worry her lover had.

It wasn’t often that Sabal spent this long being tender. Her blood tended to run hot and that meant a certain level of intensity. The thought of losing Joan made it start to rise again. However sorrowful or worried she was, that could be dealt with in a moment. Her fingertips danced along Joan’s thigh as she moved her attention to her lover’s neck. While they were together, Sabal was intent on making Joan feel as wonderful as possible.

Joan let out a low moan into her lover’s mouth, understanding the kind of intensity that was behind this kiss, unlike the ones that they had shared earlier. She settled against Sabal, hips rocking slightly as their tongues danced and her fingers roamed across the yathallar’s body. “I know what you’re trying to do.” She gasped when they pulled away for air, her hands never stilling. “You’re not sneaky, you just know my weaknesses.” She mumbled good naturedly as she pulled Sabal in again.

Though their relationship went against everything Joan’s parents had ever taught her, the redhead wouldn’t have had it any other way. Every kiss was like fire, sending electricity down her spine. It fueled a wanting deep in her stomach, and the bond between them felt as if it grew ever deeper. Sabal may have wanted her to move on with her life if it became a necessity, but she couldn’t imagine her life without her Mak’ur partner in crime.

“You love it,” Sabal said teasingly, very much enjoying her lover's eagerness. She nipped at Joan’s lower lip, a grin forming. The walls were a bit thin, but they had Nadal and Brakis as well as Faisal and Michael’s rooms between them and anyone really trying to sleep. Joan was always vocal, something Sabal thoroughly approved of. “And today, I have yet to hear my favorite way you say my name.”

---

With the Others

“I think perhaps we should speak to Ha’diq T’Laria or at least her daughter, then, once we are more established,” Nadal said as the men stepped out of the room. He would be sharing with Brakis, leaving Jael and Alysstra possession of his own room. He had his bag in hand. “I doubt she would be willing to discuss matters with complete unknowns. We will want to be in something of a bargaining position. Gor also might be able to get us an introduction once we do so. He has many business associates in Concordia. In the meantime, Ryld, I would appreciate it if you paid Siruhi Butcher her blood money.” The contempt in Nadal’s voice was not disguised in the slightest. “Alysstra would prefer to maintain tolerable relations for as long as possible. That said, the Tenet of Reserve is still in effect, despite Sabal’s questionable judgment.”

Ryld sighed. He wasn’t any more eager to spend time around Lusin than any of them were. The woman was problematic at best. “I will right away, Most Honored. What happened with the slaver?”

“A man barely evaded a very unpleasant fate,” Nadal said, golden eyes narrowed at the thought. “A fate that will be revisited in the future. Someday, there will be no place for maggots like Sidros in Maldoria.”

Ryld glanced at the justicars with them for a moment, trying to gauge their intentions. Sabal trusted them, at least to a point, but Ryld was not confident. While he did wholeheartedly believe they were good men, they were also sworn to an order inclined to crush the faithful if what they were doing became apparent. He sincerely doubted that any of the three would break from Lusin’s group when push came to shove, no matter how the camaraderie or even love had grown.

“What are we to do with Aya?” Ryld asked finally. “The others will want to return, but she has no one.”

“I will send a message back through Gor and see if an adoptive family can be found. The TRC has already agreed to devote resources and manpower to the treatment and placement of any rescued souls who wish to leave, as the two we have now are wont to,” Nadal said, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “In the meantime, she has us. She seems rather attached to Alysstra.”

Ryld nodded. “I will go take the funds to the Oberst.” With a bow, he left back to his room to collect what money was there.

Nadal focused on Kaleb for a moment. “Kaleb, I would recommend you eat, rest, and continue your training. I intend on putting you to work helping Sabal with house-cleaning. Another rifle will come in handy.”

The initiate nodded quickly in confirmation. His own bag was in hand. Between life as a slave, and now as a junior member of the faith, he had turned ‘traveling lightly’ into a science. Aside from his rifle, the heaviest weapon he had on him was his copy of the Linath. Everything else that he would need could be easily acquired elsewhere in the base—not that he considered it to be a reliable source of resources. “As you wish, Most Honored. I’m looking forward to helping with that. I’m sure I’ll be more effective there than out in the field,” he admitted as he walked. “Not that I would be opposed to meeting ‘Mister Sidros’ in some dark alley sometime.”

Nadal chuckled as Kaleb walked away. The boy was young. Clearly he hadn’t realized what the yochlol meant with the choice of words ‘house-cleaning’. Granted, there would no doubt be plenty of scrubbing to do as well.

The yochlol turned his gaze on Michael and Faisal, his eyes appraising. “I do not know what you intend to do, justicars, but I will extend you the hospitality of our new base of operations upon the understanding that you will do no one under our protection harm. If you wish to get in an altercation with myself or my fellow yath, I would respectfully request that you take it to the street.”

Nadal stepped in, making eye contact as he lowered his voice. Suddenly, the smile was gone and with it any trace of warmth. He was a big man, and he could be menacing when he wanted to be. That muscle on his body was not for show—he could crack a melon with his hands and had no problem attempting the same with a human head if given reason. “And if you lay a finger on any former slave under the protection of the faithful, they will never find all the pieces of your bodies. I take my duty seriously and find pleasure in simple things, but that long and slow process would be a delight to me. I hope that we now have an understanding.”

The pair of remaining justicars were intimidating in their own right. Even with one good hand, Michael was not a small man. The ways of the justicar had been drilled into his psyche long ago and he practiced his old routine to the best of his abilities every day. He could still run rather well, even if it was only around the perimeter of the factory, and he was strong enough to do push-ups of the one armed variety. Faisal was the shortest of the trio, but stocky and far more dangerous than his comrade ever had been. The warning tone of the yochlol made his powerful leg muscles coil instinctively, fight or flight instincts desperately wanting to override his more better judgement.

”Most Honored,” the darker skinned justicar said firmly, not backing down before the Mak’ur warrior. The latter had a solid head’s worth of height, so he had to look up to meet the man’s dangerous gaze. “I understand you are no fan of my order, but please take my word for it when I say that I would never do anything of the sort. There is no more love in my heart than yours when it comes to slavers; they are scum of the earth and must be treated as such. If I had a say, we would already be purifying those markets with napalm and brass casings. If I, for some ungodly reason, so much as laid a finger on those girls, I deserve nothing less than for you or Jaelryn to end my life personally.”

To his side, Michael shifted uncomfortably. A fight between these two was the last thing he wanted to see play out. “The same for me, Most Honored.” Scratching bad hand in the place where nerve endings burned uncomfortably, he observed Nadal from beneath his lashes. “If you believe this will be that much of an issue, I will stay clear of the new safehouse altogether.” It wasn’t an offer he particularly liked, but he knew that Sabal was no longer the one he took orders from either; the word of Nadal and Alysstra were all that mattered.

“Then we have an understanding,” Nadal said in his blunt way. He had never been one to dance around things. “You are correct, I do not approve of your order. What it has done, or failed to do, in Maldoria has given me ample reason. I do not believe you, but Sabal believes you, and so we will see if your words are more than empty breath. I hope you appreciate the fact that it is not a tolerance I would extend to many in your position. For Sabal’s sake, and for your own, I hope too that I am wrong. But I am not often wrong.”

“Then we have a common understanding. I approve no more of my order than you do right now, but I’m not going to turn my back on them. If I do that, then nothing will change.” Faisal grunted in a very uncharacteristic way. “Not that I expect it to happen with the Oberst in charge of everything for the foreseeable future.” Though he would not boast to to be any kind of effective large unit leader, he liked to think that he had better intentions than whatever she did. “I know my word means little to nothing, but Sabal is one of the most reliable people I have ever met, all of her idiosyncrasies aside. Take her word for it, I won’t let you down, Most Honored.”

Nadal gave Faisal a nod, a faint hint of something in his expression. It was difficult to tell if it was approval or acknowledgement, but it was not the contempt he held for the Butcher. He could appreciate a warrior trying to do the right thing. Time would tell how true Faisal’s words were, but there was a little seed of respect forming in Nadal’s mind. It was understandable, of course. Whatever they were, whoever they were, they had made the pilgrimage—wounded, yes, but also very much alive. That was the main reason he was not discarding them and their intentions out of hand. When Sabal spoke well of them, she had used that fact as ammunition and it was difficult to ignore. The powerfully built yochlol turned and strode away, moving with that cat-like, dancer’s grace that seemed to mark the warrior-clerics of L’i’dol. It was strange to many that Nadal, with his temperament, had ever been yath’abban. He should have surely been a yathrin, people said, but he had proved more useful to the faith in the position he currently occupied than he ever could have as a yathrin. Besides, no beast-spirit had ever expressed an interest in him. He saw Creation through a different lens.

“Have a good evening, Most Honored.” Faisal added, his tone easing into something more relaxed now that the height of the confrontation had passed. He wanted no conflict with the older man, quite the opposite, but he wasn’t about to back down in the face of his anger either—no matter how high strung he may have been. When the man finally disappeared into his room, the kaplan sighed. “That was...trying.”

“Tell me about it.” Michael grunted in reply, shaking his head slightly as he rested his hands on his hips. The pain in his left was present, throbbing slightly, but he did his best to ignore it. The less he needed to rely on a needle, the better...no matter how good it may have felt. “Ryld’s been gone a while, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Faisal replied after a moment of thought. “We should probably go check on him; make sure Lusin hasn’t torn off the poor boy’s head or something.” He added with a tight expression, before giving his companion a ‘follow me’ kind of motion. Heading towards the stairs, he didn’t miss a beat, descending quickly with Michael hot on his heels.

Down on the first floor, Lusin had set up an ad hoc office until the one inside the factory was properly set up. It wasn’t much aside from a couple of laptops to keep in touch with her people back in Shalum, a safe for their mission funds, and other bits and pieces of mission related gear. Peering up at Ryld from her chair, her lips pursed slightly. “Everything appears to be in order. I appreciate the repayment…” Pausing for a moment, she resisted the urge to shake her head. “Though I still stick by the notion that our funds would be better spent on Nalayans rather than your average slave off the streets, young or not. I understand that you want to help them, but they’re a dime a dozen.”

Ryld did his best to swallow his anger. He thought of Aya, trapped in a cage, at the mercy of cruelty that made the yath’abban sick. “Respectfully, Siruhi Oberst, that there is more evil in the world does not mean we should content ourselves with doing nothing,” he said quietly, keeping accusation out of his voice. “However frustrating you might find it, the Most Honored made a judgment in keeping with what she believes is right.”

Lusin rose up from her seat with the grace of an apex predator, feet light as she padded across the room to fix herself another drink. Ice clinked in the glass as she poured very expensive bourbon into it. “I can respect judgement calls. I’m not saying that what the Most Honored did was wrong, Paron, just that I don’t necessarily agree with it. Having been in the same position that Aya was at one time, I know that you can’t save us all.”

Ryld wanted to tell her that she was wrong and that Maldoria would be cleansed by faith, if over the course of generations, but he knew that it was both an imperfect cleaning and that a comment like that was dangerous. “But perhaps we can save some, and it would be wrong of us not to try. We appreciate your assistance, Siruhi Oberst. Perhaps we must agree to disagree on such matters.”

He glanced over when he hear approaching feet. It sounded like justicars. They walked differently and wore slightly different boots. Their company unsettled him somewhat, perhaps because he had spent most of his time in the depths of the Homeland, where the og’elenden were difficult to come by. It was not that he hated them as Nadal did, merely that he was uncertain often as to how they would act or their motivations. The only thing that was abundantly clear was that Lusin was not concerned with Maldoria. She was concerned with getting the Yath out of country as quickly as possible.

“Indeed, I suppose that we will.” Lusin grunted in reply, the clink of the glass following a moment later as she set it down on the desk before her. “Perhaps, at another time, we will be able to find something we agree upon. Surely there is at least one point where we agree.”

Lingering outside the door of her office, the two justicars held firm, waiting for Ryld to emerge after his dismissal. They wore pensive expressions, have clearly heard at least some of what had been said. “Come, let’s go.” Faisal said softly as he motioned to the younger man.

“We came to make sure that she hadn’t taken your head off.” Michael supplied when he felt confident they were out of Lusin’s earshot.

“I am not concerned with that yet,” Ryld said, offering the two men a smile. “So long as we maintain the Tenet of Reserve, I believe we can tolerate each other for a time. Having another location will keep Sabal and Nadal out of a confrontation. They can back off if Lusin starts to grate, difficult as it might be for them.”

Ryld sighed a bit and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wish...I wish that she was not so...callous. I suppose I understand, in part. If one has been surrounded by evil for so long, it is difficult to not become numb. But it is...not a solace to those who are suffering, this contentment to allow it.” He looked at them, a faint and humorless smile on his lips. “My desire to hope for change speaking, I suppose.”

Faisal nodded sagely as he ran one of his hands through his hair. The dark locks had grown far longer than he usually allowed, leaving them almost spikey for a moment as his frustration became apparent. All of it needed to be cut, but he had been too busy to worry about such a thing. “She was born and raised in the life of slavery, passed around more than…” The kaplan grimaced, not evening wanting to think of a proper comparison. “Lusin understands the evils of this place more than any of us, I believe. Bringing purity to this city isn’t what she is aiming to do, I’m afraid.” The older man grimaced. “If we want to help the slaves and oppressed here, it will be up to us.”

“Your help is appreciated,” Ryld said with a smile. “It speaks well of you. We will see what lies ahead. It will be difficult, but so are all worthwhile things. Now, I should retire. We have much work to do in the morning.”

[Nalaya]

Kirana District, Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

It had been three weeks of hard work, but the new base of operations was finally clean and properly consecrated. The Yath had begun the long, hard work of burying themselves into Maldoria, sinking in roots that someday would run deep, if they were careful. It was more than a matter of purifying the orthae qu’ellar itself, though. Sabal and Nadal had been working hard to take the metaphorical trash out along with the rest. It meant paying people to keep eyes out, either viciously beating or killing people intent upon making an assault on anyone in the area, and slowly befriending those in the area with better tendencies. Food and some rudimentary medical care were making it into the area thanks to Ryld’s hard work and Gor’s contacts. It was slow growth, adding powder grain by grain to a keg.

Sabal had never loved her vocation more. This was what she was meant to be doing. It felt better than her time in pilgrimage or even fighting in a war. Not that this wasn’t a war, of course. She had done enough wrong over the course of her life to truly appreciate the opportunity to do something right. Granted, there was and would be a great deal of bloodshed, but change seldom came peacefully in her experience. The world was an inflexible place sometimes. It meant forcing a change.

Where aid went, religion followed. Jaelryn and Sabal were no evangelists, but the lion yathallar had found she could do it in spades. It was the passion. She believed in what she was saying intensely, though she kept away from it when Joan was near her. The anger, the hate, but also the love and hope pushed Sabal inexorably forward, and if she had her way, Maldoria would come as well. We will shatter your chains. We will show the thrones of men what life and death are like beneath. If they do not bend, we will break them. We will burn them with a righteous fire and purify the world. In you, there is more power than even they can imagine. You can master your fate. The divine will bring about the end of oppression, if you carry it with you like a flame.

Nadal’s words were like thunder too, rolling in ahead of the coming storm. He was the master at leaving coals inside people, little things that could spark a soul. There were always flashes of lightning in the distance, arcs of anger and hints of something. It didn’t hurt that he was a terrifying presence when things came to a brawl. Age had not dulled the edges of Nadal’s skill at breaking people. There was something so very satisfying about it, at least to him.

All of this...it felt right.

Alysstra was staying at the justicar base most of the time, to run interference between her people and Lusin’s. Translations and scholarly work kept her busy whenever she wasn’t teaching Aya to read. Jaelryn stopped by regularly to visit, usually bringing a game or something interesting she’d found in the markets. While Sabal was firing people up, Jael was making friends wherever she could with Gor’s various contacts. It was easier to get things in Maldoria with a little help from locals, and Jael was a good deal more savvy when it came to doing business than Nadal or Sabal. It was, generally, a matter of patience. They had other priorities anyway.

Nadal kept Kaleb busy as well, either helping Brakis repair things or working alongside Ryld. Occasionally, the initiate was pulled out to join Sabal. None of them had much in the way of downtime. There was always something that needed to be done, and the Yath were never ones to back away from arduous tasks. They were, in subtle and sometimes obvious ways, making their section of Concordia a little bit safer, a little bit better.

Sabal took a deep breath after she’d finished splashing her face with water. It was icy cold, but she liked the bracing feeling. Now she was awake, alive. There was still a faint ache in her elbow from where it had struck a face and the bruising on her thigh was tender. A length of rebar had worked marvelously for her, like a heavy baton, and so she had come out of her last dust-up relatively unscathed. The same could not be said of her opponent.

She stepped out of the bathroom to see Jael halfway through praying, her soft soprano voice carrying the Linath to the heavens. She always felt a little calmer around the spider yathallar, as if Jaelryn’s patience was rubbing off on her. She waited until Jael had finished and extinguished the bittersweet incense that marked a proper ortelassa to say anything. “Did Nadal already leave?” Sabal asked.

“Shortly after you woke, yes,” Jaelryn said smoothly. “He had a lead on another of the missing girls.”

They had been making agonizingly slow process on that front. As highly valuable slaves, it was difficult to secure freedom for any of them. Nadal’s frequent solution of resorting to violence wasn’t exactly ideal either, but most of the time he could be persuaded into a more subtle alternative. Jaelryn had been busy planting seeds to cover for it, trying to unsettle the slavers in the city or at least make them suspicious of each other—though they were undoubtedly that already. Rumor and insinuation through Gor’s connections did spread, if slowly.

“Have you seen Joan, Faisal, or Michael?” Sabal asked.

“Not today,” Jaelryn said as she rolled her shoulders and then started to stretch. They were all sleeping lightly these days, and invariably taking watches through the night just in case. They were paying off the local urchins to keep an eye out for trouble, but they had all agreed that care was still very much prudent. “I expect we’ll run across them at some point, provided you aren’t out and about all day again.”

“I had planned to take it easier today,” Sabal said, sitting down on the floor by Jaelryn. They’d covered it in rugs, which made it far more comfortable.

“Haven’t been spending as much time with your justicar as you’d like?” Jaelryn said knowingly.

Sabal sighed. “I imagine she’s beginning to feel neglected.” It was difficult to find time for anything but her work, though she was learning to balance things a bit better. She’d never had anyone in her life before the way Joan was. It was strange, if not unpleasantly so. “I just...it’s not as though I can explain.”

Her fellow yathallar smiled faintly. “I suggest flowers.”

“Have you seen a square inch of green since we’ve been in Maldoria?” Sabal said dryly.

“A poor example, perhaps. Do something thoughtful for her, Sabal. It will make you both happier.” Jaelryn carefully set the bowl of water that she’d used for purification before prayer to the side. It would need to be replaced. They’d set up a shrine at the centermost room of the house, though the traditional brazier had been omitted, candles in its place for firelight. “If you are going to continue upon this course until she breaks from you, you should make it a good time to remember.”

Sabal sighed slightly and was quiet for a long moment, hunting for words. Finally, she settled on something. “Am I doing the right thing?”

“That would depend a great deal on who you ask,” Jaelryn said. “Perhaps you are, by giving her a light before the world goes dark. Perhaps you are not, by giving her dreams of a future that cannot come to pass.”

“Very helpful,” Sabal murmured.

“I cannot tell you what is right, Sabal. For that, you must rely upon your own soul,” Jaelryn said. She tilted her head slightly as she looked at Sabal, clearly thoughtful herself. “What is going through your head, Sabal?”

“That I know how this ends, and that is not well.” The lion yathallar ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“That is no longer an option,” Jaelryn said softly. She was sympathetic to Sabal’s position, but she was also in agreement with those fears. “Whether it is when things come to a head with Lusin or when all becomes clear, there will be broken hearts. Sometimes I wonder if it would not be wisest to give her cause to hate you. Perhaps that would make the decision of who to follow easier.”

“I can’t,” Sabal said quietly.

“I know. And that is why my heart fills with sorrow for you,” Jaelryn said softly. “A choice will be forced, it will be inevitable, and betrayal always has the deepest sting.”

“I won’t fault her for choosing Lusin.” It was a bitter thought that hurt more than she wanted to admit, but it was probably the better of the two options.

The spider yathallar nodded before saying, “And what will you do if she chooses you?”

“I can’t let her abandon her faith or her order,” Sabal said with firmness. “Her family is tied to the Christi. I will not push her to shut them out. I cannot ask it of her.”

“It will not be your decision, in the end,” Jaelryn observed. “You cannot choose for her.”

Sabal nodded. The thought made her sick. If she robbed Joan of her world, how long would it be before that pain transmuted into bitterness and anger? She didn’t want to force the justicar into that position, or even allow it. But Jaelryn was right. There would be a choice, and it would not be a welcome one. To expect anything else would be delusional. Maybe it was selfishness, to not break things off. “Where’s Brakis and Kaleb?”

“Still asleep, I think,” Jael said. The sun was barely rising on the horizon. “I did not have the heart to wake either. They have earned a lifetime of sleeping in, though Nadal does not often agree to that where Kaleb is concerned.”

Sabal felt similarly to Jael, bur she knew Nadal could be stubborn about such things. “He just wants to impart discipline.”

“He is a fine initiate yet. Nadal should not be so concerned, with how well he takes to instruction,” the spider yathallar said lightly.

“And Brakis?” Sabal probed. She’d seen the way Jaelryn smiled at the older man. She didn’t expect anything to come of it, with how wary Jaelryn was of the power disparity, but it was sweet to see all the same.

“He has certainly earned the rest. I barely managed to sway him from working on the electricity all night. One would be hard pressed to find a gentler, kinder soul.” Jaelryn rose to her feet. “Shall we see to breakfast? We still have some coffee left.”

Sabal smiled. “I think I would appreciate the taste of home.”

[Shalum]

Kirana District, Lower Wards
Concordia, Maldoria

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

The melodic chirp of a watch brought Joan out of her stupor, her entire body going rigid for a moment as she glanced down at the little radial that adorned her wrist. For the last eight hours, the device had been her only real connection to reality and the passage of time. Guard duty was a long, boring duty where minute could feel like hours, especially when you were slumming it alone like she was. Normally, she would have had someone else to keep her company, if only for a few minutes here or there, but her usual visitors had either clocked out or were out trying to put out the roaring fire that was the city beyond the walls.

Grunting quietly as she lifted herself up off the flat roof, the justicar gathered her things. She rarely brought much up aside from a snack and her rifle, and though tonight was no different, Joan liked to leave things better than when she had found them. Stuffing the wrapper of an MRE in her side pocket, she then slung her rifle over one shoulder and made for the nearby ladder that would take her down to the second floor of the building. Compared to much of their surroundings, the steel was new and gleaming; Kaleb probably still had the bruises from when the original fixture had given away under his weight.

As she made her way through the building, Joan was careful to stay light on her feet. The place may have been built sturdy, but the floorboards still creaked like in any other home, and the last thing she wanted to do was wake up anyone this early in the morning. As it was, she would have to rouse Michael soon so that he could fill the void that she had left.

They didn’t need a guard on duty at all hours, but it didn’t hurt, especially when some of them were out of the house running errands or conducting missions. There was always the danger of roving, opportunistic thugs. The yath had managed to build up a certain level of respect among the locals, but that didn’t mean that they were immune from danger just yet either.

Easing her way down the house’s staircase, Joan found herself moving towards the kitchen without even really thinking about it. Having only eaten fruit and a few pieces of bison jerky for a snack earlier, she wanted to fill herself with something a bit more substantive. Bring a soldier, capable of going days without food if she had too, didn’t mean that she would ever willingly let herself go hungry; weeks on the Zeklet’taune Aluin had ensured that she didn’t take her meals for granted any longer.

The sight of Sabal and Jael moving around caught her off guard for a moment. Joan froze in the doorway, her eyes going wide in surprise for a moment as she watched the two yathallar at work. It appeared that they were making breakfast, or so she could only assume; her eyes had quickly gone to other places besides the stovetop that Brakis had repaired and cleaned up. “Oh, uh, hey you two.” She greeted wearily, giving them a small wave as the smell of coffee hit her like a brick wall. “Whatever you’re doing smells good…”

Despite all her worries and the uncertainty of the future, Sabal smiled at the sight of Joan and the sound of her voice. “Good morning, ussta ssin,” she said. “Would you like some coffee and breakfast? Unless you are headed to bed.”

Jael was pulling the loaves Ryld had left to bake earlier out of the oven. It was an old brick one, not so different from the one she had become used to in Dyvynasshar. There were a few different kinds: fluffy white bread, the dark sweet loaves of ssinhya cahallin, and a flatbread that was for later in the day. There was quite a bit of it, just in case of visitors. The spider yathallar could be trusted in the kitchen, though the yath’abban was the real cook out of the lot of them. She’d cracked some eggs and scrambled them as well, accompanying strips of bacon alongside various sliced fruits and cheeses. There were a few varieties of jam to go with the bread, a gift from Gor. It was a more Shalumite assortment of foods than what the Yath were used to, but Ryld was making an effort.

The smell of fresh bread mingled with the scent of rich coffee, making things a little more homey than they had been before. The bittersweet smell of incense would linger in the other room, but here it was strangely domestic. It could end abruptly at any moment, of course. But for Sabal, it was a welcome respite from the chaos of life. It wasn’t often she had the pleasure of such leisurely, quiet moments.

A small smile creased the redhead’s lips as she padded into the kitchen, tired eyes shining with love as she ran a hand along the small of her lover’s back. “Good morning to you, Sabal.” She murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the yathallar’s lips. “I’m surprised the both of you are up so early.” She added, perhaps a bit too keen on lingering by the stove. Though it was warm during most of the day, night brought with it a chill that required thicker clothing to stave off. As the chill retreated from her bones, she rested her hands on her hips. “All of that sounds lovely, if you’re feeling accommodating. I didn’t eat too much last night.”

Sabal rose from her seat and padded after Joan, slipping her arms around the redhead from behind. She could feel a little bit of the chill lingering in Joan, and while she wanted to offer to really warm the justicar up, Jaelryn probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Besides, Joan needed to eat. She settled for a kiss just below Joan’s ear and holding her. “You should take better care of yourself,” she said softly. Sabal worried just a little bit more than she probably should have about her justicar, given their respective orders. “Have some food.”

“We are usually up at this hour, though often still in our rooms. When we are here,” Jaelryn said lightly. “It is a habit, and a difficult one to break. Besides, I have been informed than I am an insufferable variety of morning person.” She glanced at Sabal and shrugged a little. “We thought it would be worthwhile. Sabal, would you mind supervising the kitchen? I should go find Ryld and tell him that breakfast is ready.”

Sabal was well aware that Jaelryn wasn’t going to hurry back. It was the spider yathallar’s way of granting them some space to talk, or at least be together without prying eyes. That was one advantage of the orthae qu’ellar over the justicar FOB: less concern about the others. Sabal wasn’t terribly interested in exposing Joan to that kind of risk.

Joan smiled softly, instantly leaning back against her lover’s taller frame as a pair of arms wrapped around her. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. And if I can’t, I know there’s always going to be someone there to catch me before I fall.” Despite the gravity of the situation, the redhead couldn’t help but tease her lover. Reaching down, soft palms covered up rough, scarred knuckles. She couldn’t imagine that the position was particularly comfortable for her lover, she hadn’t even unslung her rifle yet.

Glancing over at the spider yath, she nodded slightly. “Take your time. We can hold down the fort for a few minutes.” Though no chef, unlike their guests, the redhead liked to think that she could at least keep from burning a few loaves of bread - not to mention the fact that she would never turn down the chance to be alone with Sabal for a few minutes. “I’m surprised she isn’t going off to find Brakis…” The Shalumite added wistfully, glancing over her shoulder.

“Always,” Sabal promised. She sighed a little bit at the mention of Jael and Brakis in conjunction, gently letting go of Joan. It had been a bit uncomfortable, but it was well worth it. “She is being very careful around Brakis. Jael has always been attentive to...differences in power, as all Mak’ur are. You and I are both warriors, meeting on equal ground. Jael has a position of authority, and Brakis a history of subjugation and abuse. She would never wish for him to feel uncomfortable or pressured, and so she maintains a healthy respect for his person. Perhaps she is excessively cautious, but I think she would rather be that than callous or manipulative. Of all of us, Jael is the one who understands such things the most, I think. She has the weight of personal experience behind her.”

The yathallar went back to her coffee reluctantly, giving Joan space to get food. The bread was still too hot to probably slice into, but everything else was at an edible temperature. For all the talk in other countries of alcohol being the water of life, Sabal knew that was not true of Nalaya. In her homeland, it would ever be coffee. “Besides, if Brakis is still asleep, we should let him stay so. We can keep food warm for him when he wakes. He has been busy building and improving since we moved into the building. I think he has earned a chance to relax.”

There was a gentle clatter as Joan slid the leather strap from her shoulder and set her rifle aside, leaning it against the counter. The long rifle was unloaded, and once she was certain that it was secure, she moved over to fetch a plate from the cupboard. Slowly but surely, the place was turning into a real home for them all, complete with some of the smaller amenities that she hadn’t gotten to experience since she had left for Nalaya long ago.

“I know, I know, it’s just the way they look at each other. That’s all.” The justicar sighed softly as she gathered a little bit of everything. She was careful to ensure that everyone else would get their fill once they began to filter into the kitchen. Joan did swipe a little extra bread and a bit of butter, licking her lips as she set her things down at the table. A moment later, she poured herself a cup of coffee. Sipping on it, she took a seat at the table that Brakis had built for them, noting with amusement that the homemade chair didn’t so much as creak underneath her weight. “Their experiences were different in many ways.” Joan was always careful to leave that issue be, knowing that each yathallar had a reason for why they had come to the faith. There was no doubt that whatever had brought Jael into the fold was all too similar to what they were dealing with now.

There was a slight pause as she nibbled on a piece of bacon, waiting for the bread she had chosen to cool. “I’m sure that if she asked, Brakis would probably be all too eager - assuming he could find his voice again.” Perhaps she was being as overzealous as she was generous, but Joan really did want the best for the former slave. The man’s heart was as gentle as any lamb despite everything that he had gone through at the hands of a master like Pomerok. He deserved to be happy, just like Jael did.

Looking around the room, the justicar sighed softly. “He has been doing a lot around here, hasn’t he? I swear he was up till two last night working on the lighting upstairs.” Joan remembered that clearly; throughout the night, flickers of light and crackles of electricity had made themselves known through one of the open windows she had rested above.

“He’s a good man,” Sabal said by way of agreement. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about that statement. She was more confident in Brakis’s goodness than in her own. “We are lucky to have him around. He is grounded where we are not.”

She sighed softly, studying her coffee for a moment before looking back up at Joan. It was a sound somewhere between contentment and worry. “How are you holding up?” Sabal asked gently. She wanted to apologize for not being around, but she considered it a necessary evil. She couldn’t exactly bring Joan with her when she went out to do unpleasant things to unpleasant people or to spread the faith. That would be a position she did not want to ever put the justicar in. Eventually it would all come out, and it would be ugly, but until then, she wanted to see Joan happy.

Joan nodded in agreement, careful not to reply while her mouth was full of food. Her mother had made a point of raising her as traditionally as possible, and while most of those old lessons had fallen wayside (one glance at Sabal was all it took to affirm such) it didn’t hurt to exercise them now and again. Swallowing thickly, the redhead washed the taste of bacon down with a cup of coffee mixed with a generous helping of honey. “Oh, alright, I guess. Maldoria is so much worse than I thought it would be, but at least it's not as bad as the war back in Nalaya.” Admittedly, even that was a low bar. Back in Armavir, one was prone to a sudden death, a fate much better than the slavery and pain that came with Concordia. “How, uh, are you doing? I know all of this can’t be easy…”

“It is what it is,” Sabal said pensively. “I had not expected it to be easy, and I was not mistaken in that assumption. Maldoria reminds me of why I strive to fulfill my vows at every opportunity.” She wasn’t terribly hungry, but she did make it a point to eat well. Fighting required energy. Not that she was planning on a fight today, but they had a way of finding her. She offered Joan a small smile. “You make it easier. I know I have not been here much, but you are always in my thoughts. If Nadal did not have tasks for me every minute of so many days, I would be here always.” It wasn’t exactly an apology, but Sabal did mean it sincerely.

If she could spend forever with Joan, she would do it gladly. But the universe did not allow forever. There was only a time, always too short, but sometimes it was long enough to feel as though it was something. As much as Sabal knew the grave was in her future, she understood that she would always wish for longer no matter how long she had. It was one of those constants of the universe. Maybe that was what made it so difficult to cause heartbreak in the face of the inevitable or say goodbye.

They were weighty thoughts, so Sabal tried to push them off. She could brood once Joan was safely in bed and asleep. She blamed the conversation with Jael for bringing those thoughts to the surface. It has yet to happen, she told herself. Do not rush it along or waste what you do have. She leaned into the table a little, brushing her fingertips over Joan’s hand that had just set down a coffee cup. She’d missed this. It was a pity that the justicar had been on watch last night. That meant she would likely be asleep for most of Sabal’s free day. Still, that was the nature of life in a position like theirs. If she was fortunate, she would have another.

A warm smile creased Joan’s lips as love flashed in her green eyes. “I’ve missed this.” She said softly, breakfast forgotten for a moment as a tingle rushed up her spine. If there was one thing she could never get enough, it was the touch of her lover. She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes resting on where their hands were together. Letting go of the cup, she turned her hand, palm up so that she could interlace her fingers with Sabal’s. “I know this is trying for you. For Jael. For Ryld and everyone else,” she murmured. “What your faith is doing here is far better than the feeble attempts of my people. You’re actually helping people - protecting them from all the evils of this city. I’m proud of you, Sabal.”

Swallowing again, the justicar shifted slightly in her seat. No part of her was proud of how her order, or namely Lusin for that matter, had conducted themselves here in Maldoria. They had so many resources that the average person didn’t have, and yet they had been all too content with the status quo. If Joan had her way, things would have changed -rather quickly- but alas, she wasn’t the one who was calling the shots. At least as far as the justicars were concerned, anyways. Rubbing her eyes, she gave her lover a quick smile. “Next time, I’m making Michael take over the night shift.” If there was one thing she could control, it was that; it wasn’t as if the third member of their party had much else on his agenda these days.

“We do our best,” Sabal said. It felt good to have Joan’s hand against her own. She hadn’t missed the way those green eyes had lit up. “And perhaps your order does not try, but you do. Things will change in Maldoria, even if it is by inches. That is the one constant of the universe: change.” It was one truth that L’i’dol imparted, with sometimes brutal honest, to its adherents.

She gave Joan’s hand a soft squeeze before letting go. “We will have to have breakfast together more often. I am usually up in the early morning, sometimes even before Nadal. Perhaps when you are not on night shift, if you can persuade Michael to take your place after dark. I would like to spend the day with you. Now eat, so you can go to bed.” Maybe she could at least hold Joan until the justicar was asleep and then get up to do whatever needed doing. Cleaning, probably. It was a constant struggle to keep the dust down, but a familiar one. The Homeland was hardly dust-free.

Sabal wanted to be close, to have her arms around Joan again. It felt like it had been such a long time since they were last like that. Not that they had ever been together without the weight of the world on their shoulders. If it wasn’t Maldoria’s problems, it was a Nalaya at war. If Nalaya wasn’t at war, they were chasing the few slavers that hadn’t quite been crushed into oblivion. It was endless strife, though that came with the territory as far as Sabal could tell. True rest was a rare commodity for people like them.

“I just hope it won’t be too little too late.” Joan replied as she squeezed her lover’s hand before pulling it away to pick up her knife. The metal might have been dull, but the warm loaf of bread gave away easily, steam rising from its soft interior as she cut all the way through it, licking her lips as she spied the little dish of butter she was about to dig into.

Perhaps, if Sabal had chosen to scoot beside her, the justicar might have openly leaned against the one. Joan was a strong woman, that wasn’t in question, but even she could grow tired. Night watch was exhausting in it's own way; one had to endure hours boredom while staying alert at the same time, rather than battling their way through evildoers. The lives of soldiers were often that way, long and uneventful with only short bursts of activity now and then. “I would like that, love.” Joan smiled as she began to spread butter, mixed with a pinch of cinnamon, across the slice. “It’s been too long since we’ve had time together. Even if we did nothing but sweep, I would be content.” She chuckled softly, before digging into her meal eagerly. Sabal was like a mother bear in her own right - not to be trifled with if one valued their health. Joan would have been lying anyways if she said that she wasn’t hungry.

Sabal ate quickly, though only after she’d moved to be beside Joan rather than across from her. She liked not having to turn to see Joan, but she also wanted to be close. It was habit to not spend a lot of time on meals, at least these days. While they were usually leisurely affairs at home, they were still in what was essentially enemy territory. Leisure was hard to come by.

Once breakfast was finished, Sabal took plates and set them beside the sink. She could wash them after Joan was asleep. She was something of a master at doing so quietly, after so much practice. “Let’s get you to bed,” she murmured to Joan, holding her hand out to the justicar.

The justicar swallowed and nodded, glancing down at her place one last time. The breakfast she had fixed stood no chance after nothing but a light snack much earlier in the night. “M’kay, babe.” She murmured sleepily as she stood up, gently taking her lover’s hand. Without really thinking, she began to pull the bleach blonde along, heading towards the stairs. “Will you stay with me ‘till I fall asleep, ussta ssin?” She asked quietly, voice hopeful.

“I will,” Sabal said, amused by a sleepy Joan. She swung their hands a little as they walked, glancing back over her shoulder to see Jael and Ryld stepping into the kitchen now that the pair of them had vacated it. She was grateful for their understanding, whatever they thought of the relationship itself. “You know, I have never understood Shalumite terms of endearments.” She knew Joan was probably half asleep now that hunger wasn’t keeping her awake, so she wasn’t going to start too much of a conversation. She would have carried the justicar, but she wasn’t that strong.

Sabal led the way and then opened up the door for Joan. She knew that her lover was probably going to crash hard, but she could at least make sure Joan was comfortable. Getting boots off and such would be a good first step. The yathallar was still barefoot, like most mornings until she needed to go outside. She’d gone without shoes for enough of her life that it didn’t bother her, even stepping out into the rougher street. The only reason she was wearing boots now was worry over infection. Sanitation was not as careful in Concordia as it was in Dyvynasshar. Then again, Concordia was not a holy city and overall, Maldorians seemed less concerned with being fastidious than Mak’ur were.

It was something Ryld bemoaned when he treated various illnesses or problems that probably could have been prevented by someone cleaning up the streets and water. Sabal understood. If there was one thing Nalaya did right, it was their attention to clean air, clean water, and clean earth....other than the landmines, though perhaps those contributed to the lack of tourists in Nalaya’s wilderness. The absence of people left the Homeland so beautiful and remote, just the way Sabal loved it.


The thought made her homesick. She wanted to go home someday, but she understood the reality of their situation. Maldoria would be a work of generations. She could not just leave it. Not when she could perhaps bring more good into the world by staying. Besides, for all its joys, Nalaya was painted in enough sorrows that it was perhaps better to be distant.

Sabal rested her chin on Joan’s shoulder for a moment before setting to work on the justicar’s boots. She didn’t expect the Shalumite to be coordinated enough for bootlaces at the moment.

“I don’t understand them much either. I mean, how many ways can you call someone your ‘little bear’ or ‘little mouse?’ It doesn’t makes sense.” She drawled sleepily as she padded on with the yathallar, not evening seeming to notice as the two other Mak’ur warriors entered the room behind her. “Now...ussta ssin makes perfect sense to me. I just wish I knew more Nalayan so I didn’t always have to steal your pet name for me.” She murmured, eyes drooping as they made their way up the stairs to the room that they shared. More often than not, it felt like one side of the bed was always cold and empty between night watches and aid missions to the local neighborhood.

“You’re too good to me, love.” Joan murmured as she watched Sabal, swaying on her feet ever so slightly as the laces of her boots gave way to nimble, skilled fingers. Lifting her feet up, she managed to slip out of her socks under her own power, but just barely. “Anything else that I need to take off?” She asked, low and teasingly as she resisted the urge to simply fall back onto the bed.

“When you wake up, most certainly,” Sabal said softly, deftly stealing Joan’s belt from her so it wouldn’t press uncomfortably into her when she was sleeping. She set the belt down by Joan’s boots before pulling the covers back for the justicar. “I look forward to it. But for now, let’s lie down, and you can sleep.”

It was nice to slip into bed with Joan for what felt like the first time in a while. Sabal mainly regretted the fact that it wasn’t the end of the day for both of them. The idea of sleeping next to Joan was a lot more appealing than an empty bed of her own. Maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. Still, she’d never really had anyone she could go to bed with this way. It was a nice feeling. She wished she could stay, and maybe she would for a while. Sabal hoped they would have a proper night or day together. Working on two different schedules was...difficult. But that was her doing, not Joan’s.

Joan blinked languidly as her hips rocked forward, the worn leather of her belt slipping away with a soft rasp. “Oh, thank you.” She whispered as she watched the material join her boots on the floor. Swallowing thickly as she shuffled to her side of the bed, the redhead slipped under the covers, immediately opening up her arms so that Sabal could join her; the justicar was a notorious cuddler. “Sorry I’m so tired,” she hummed softly. After the better part of a year roughing it, having a proper bed such as this one was worth its weight in gold. “I promise I’ll make it up to you in the morning...or your evening, I guess.”

“Don’t apologize for anything, ussta ssin,” Sabal murmured as she lay down with Joan. The justicar was warm and safe, as if the world didn’t exist outside of the bed. It was still there, but Sabal didn’t care about it for a little while. She moved so that she could press kisses to Joan’s cheek, the corner of her mouth, or her neck. They were soft, mean to reassure rather than wind either of them up. Sabal knew when to behave. Joan needed to sleep. The yathallar slipped her hands beneath the back of Joan’s shirt, slowly stroking soothing patterns with her fingertips. It was gentle, a far cry from the intensity she brought with her to many of their times in bed.

The redhead mewed softly at her lover’s touch, nuzzling closer to the Mak’ur woman’s side as she did so. Tilting her head up, exposing the lines of her tender neck, she pressed a series of little kisses to her companion’s jawline. It felt so good to simply lay here, moving slow as if there wasn’t a world outside that they would have to contend with come morning. “You’re too good to me.” She murmured softly, tucking her forehead against the crook of Sabal’s neck. “I love you.” Joan added in a low, breathy voice as weariness washed over her once again.

“I love you too,” Sabal said. Joan was one of the two people she had ever said that to. She didn’t throw the words around like some people did. She stayed until she was certain Joan was asleep and then a bit longer, still rubbing Joan’s back slowly and gently. It was probably an hour of quiet warmth before she reluctantly eased out of the justicar’s arms, careful not to wake her. Sabal padded quietly out of the room, not sure what to do with herself.

By the time she emerged, a bit more life had returned to the house. Most of the warriors and slaves that they had freed were out and about, their levels of consciousness ranging from fully alert to technically awake. Had she poked her head into his room, the only one who would have still proven to be asleep was Brakis. All of the work he had been doing lately had caught up with him, leaving him splayed out over the mattress, snoring quietly.

The only thing that announced Faisal’s presence was the creak of floorboards under his boots. His old rifle was slung over his shoulder, and a piece of buttered bread was clutched between thick fingers as he chewed quietly. “Morning, Sabal.” He nodded, choosing wisely to not say anything of the room she had just emerged from. “Sleep well?” He asked as he paused, hazel eyes warm and perhaps a bit hazy as he tried to avoid uncomfortable conversation.

“Well enough,” Sabal said. She had a good sense for people, enough to know that Faisal was uncomfortable. She expected it probably had something to do with herself and Joan. “You look tired. I’m glad you found breakfast. How has your morning been?” The conversation was intended to not push on Faisal. If he wanted to say something, she hoped he would.

“Pretty well so far, I’d say.” Faisal replied with a small shrug before taking another bite out of his bread. The muscles in his jaw worked for a moment before he swallowed. “I woke up Michael and got him started on guard duty for the day. One of us will probably going to have to bring him some water up, it’s going to be a hot one.” Of course, it usually was in the city, not that it ever slowed them down that much. “Jael and Ryld can really run a kitchen. I certainly got my fill while I was down there.” He paused to look at the door for a moment. “How, uh, was your morning? Joan feeling okay after an all nighter?”

“She seemed worn out. Night shifts are always the most difficult, to my mind,” Sabal said.“I got her to bed and stayed a while. I’m sure Jael or I can bring Michael water. Neither of us have plans for the day. Ryld will be busy putting his medical skills to use. It will be nice to have a day of quiet. I just wish it had become available when Joan was up and about.” She combed her fingers through her hair thoughtfully, but she didn’t feel like there was more that she could say.

“You’ve got my agreement there. At least it's hard to fall asleep during the day, between the sun on your face and the streets alive with people.” He replied with a small, thoughtful nod. “We don’t really have plans either, aside from assisting the local community. Our contact is still trying to hunt down other girls, or get in touch with some of the local gang leaders - not sure what’s on his agenda today,” Faisal added with a slight shrug. Their goodwill missions were drawing people to their side, even if they had no real use for them at the moment; then again, it never hurt to have a good relationship with the local population. “I was thinking of heading over to the justicar base in the next couple of days to make sure that Alysstra and Nadal are still hanging in over there, but even that can wait.”

He paused and leaned against the wall, studying Sabal for a moment. Faisal knew better than to seek her gaze - the Mak’ur seemed to have some weird view on eye contact. “You know, I don’t think anyone would mind if Joan and Michael traded guard duties for a while, or perhaps Kaleb could take her place. It would be good experience for the kid, even…” He trailed off. Unlike those at the justicar base, he rather approved of their relationship; trying to get Sabal and her lover awake at the same time was proving somewhat difficult with how few warriors they had.

“It would be good for Kaleb. It teaches patience, I think,” Sabal agreed. “But I will have to take it up with Jael and Nadal. They are overseeing his training more than I.” She knew from moments like these that Faisal didn’t mind what she and Joan had, at least for the most part. “It would be...better...to see her more when I am around.” She smiled faintly at the idea. “Thank you for understanding.”

At the thought of the missing girls, the smile evaporated. “It will be some time before we can find them, if we ever do,” Sabal said quietly. “I am certain that some are no longer in Concordia, if the slavers are as we assume. Perhaps we will know more in time. Gor has been doing his best to gather intelligence, but it is dangerous work. We will have to ask Alysstra whether or not the other justicars have learned anything we have not. Provided she is not busy smoothing ruffled feathers.” Alysstra couldn’t do much to change Lusin’s mind other than being polite, but even that was a limited option. The yochlol was trying to build a good relationship with the justicars, but the weight of history was inordinate.

Faisal’s smile matched her’s for a moment as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s nothing, really. I look after my own, and well, you two deserve to be happy after everything we’ve been through. Not to mention the road that lies before us,” he sighed softly. “We’re surrounded by a realm of darkness, who am I to cover up what little white there is?”

“There’s a chance that we won’t find them all.” He conceded softly, shoulders slumping as he leaned against the wall behind him. The focus of his gaze was not on her, but on the threadbare carpet underneath his feet. “From what I understand, at least a few Ha’diqs purchased before we ever arrived in Concordia. Tracking them down will be the hardest, the most difficult.” No matter how much money they may have offered, buying such slaves would likely prove near impossible; taking them by force would be even more difficult, a risk that he wasn’t keen on taking. “If anyone can keep our ‘hosts’ calm, it is likely Alysstra. She and Brakis come from the same vein in that regard. If Gor can’t do it...perhaps there is someone else who can?” No one came to mind, but he really didn’t feel comfortable putting his trust in Lusin at this point either.

“He has some friends. People who might be able to link us to others,” Sabal said. “It is just...slow progress. I have a feeling that the Butcher is not inclined to make it easier. No doubt she would rather be rid of us. But we can do some good while we are here. Now that we are here, now that we have seen Maldoria ourselves…I find the notion of just walking away as if nothing is wrong hard to stomach.” Impossible to. “I do not know how she is able to. I hope you can forgive me for saying this, but I find that more distasteful than the warlords themselves, in some ways.”

She sighed. “L’i’dol teaches passion. There is not room in that for indifference. Love cannot exist without heartbreak and sometimes such suffering could shatter someone, but it also comes with resolve. What would our vows be if they were not coupled with action? I merely wish that such things were universal. I understand Joan, you, and Michael. You strive to make the world better. I suppose I am spoiled. I have seen the better of the Christi, so the worst tastes of betrayal as well as foulness. I had thought, after Dyvynasshar, that perhaps I was wrong in my initial impression. Here, I see all the evil I had thought laid bare, exposed for what it is.”

Faisal grimaced silently, lines digging deep into the tan skin of his temples for a moment as he shifted from one heel to another. She raised rather good points, there was no doubt about that. What could he really say otherwise? There was no reason to defend the obvious injustices that his people had not only committed here in Concordia, but greater Maldoria. At this point, all he and his people could really hope to do was try and fix the problems that the church had left behind, with or without help from Lusin and her cohorts. At this point, the Butcher’s support wasn’t something he really desired, for that matter - she was seeming to cause more harm than good.

“I wish things were different, Sabal - that my people would step up and do something; my fellow justicars are likely acting in the manner that the faithful are all too accustomed to.” She sighed wistfully when he finally looked up, his expression tight. “I hope that your people will be able to forgive mine someday. No matter what happens with the Oberst, you’ve got my support.” He paused to look at the bedroom door. “I’ve got the feeling that she would say the same.”

“I appreciate that. I hope you will not be forced to choose,” Sabal said even though she was certain that was inevitable unless the explosion happened while Faisal was away. She hoped that he, Michael, and Joan would be far from the conflict when it happened. “Indifference, perhaps, can be remedied. I do not know. I do not know the Christi as you do. I am an outsider looking in.” She wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but there was no mistaking the fact that the justicars knew and had not acted. It made her angry, but not at Faisal. He did his best. If he was Oberst, she was certain that the Silver Blades and justicars would not be so...disinterested.

Sabal smiled faintly, but humorlessly. “I do not know how to handle Lusin and her people. Alysstra tries to make nice out of necessity. Nadal would love to burn them one way or another for what they have refused to do. I…am uncertain. I do not suppose you have advice?”

“Most things can be remedied with time and effort, but when you’re going up against the Butcher and a religious institution that has been this way for generations...it’s not going to be easy. Then again, nothing worth doing ever is, I’m afraid.” He replied as his lips tightened into a thin, thoughtful line. “It’s going to take more than a few words, no matter eloquently they’re delivered. To make a statement to Lusin, you’re going to have to take action. At least, that is how I look at it.” He shrugged slightly. The smile he wore was just as faint as lacking good humor. “While I don’t fault Nadal, perhaps a lesser scorch is needed. Like when a child touches a hot stove. That is about the only advice I can offer, and even then, the Obsert is unpredictable at best.”

“As you say, time and effort will remedy it. And I imagine it will bring a scorch with it,” Sorne said. “We do not plan on waiting for the Butcher to change her mind or relying upon her support. It is easier for us to treat the pain away from figures who have inspired distrust and perhaps hatred. I know you might not appreciate Ryld’s insistence that your uniforms not be worn here, but it is because of the association Lusin and her people carry.” Sabal sighed. “There is such suffering in Maldoria. The least we can do is try to ease it while we are here looking for the girls. I hope that the Siruhi Oberst will appreciate the work, but I do not hold out hope that she will tolerate it.”

“Only time will tell whether anything will come of it, I’m afraid. I can’t say that I know how she’ll take it, I’ve avoided Lusin as much as I can for very good reason.” Faisal admitted, his expression wry. “One can only hope that she’ll take it well enough, the last thing we need is her attempting to run interference; there may not be many Christi in the city, but I’m sure there are enough to cause trouble. If the need arises, I would even be willing to go to the forward operations base and try to talk with her; keeping Lusin distracted is something that is worth it's weight in gold,” he added with a humorless chuckle.

“Speaking of all this, is there anything on the agenda today? I’ve got nothing but time if you need any help…” Of course, that was pretty much the case on any given day; the three justicars had essentially attached themselves to the yath, making sure that they always had a few extra bodies around in case they managed to find more girls - or the slavers that had taken them.

Sabal had always been careful to leave with Nadal on the days when they were speaking, so their three justicars never felt it necessary to accompany them. Better they helped Jael and Ryld, where they were less likely to learn too much too soon. “Not today. Resting and recuperating is the most that’s on the agenda, at least for Jael and I. Ryld will probably stay busy,” she said. “Nadal is around the neighborhood, I think. He doesn’t go far on his own, though he’ll probably want Jael to go with him to visit Alysstra and Aya. Gor said he would be sending a few more supplies for our resident yath’abban. Perhaps you could help us unpack when they arrive?”

The kaplan nodded quickly, his smile lightening a little bit at the invitation. While some preferred lounging about, or stopping to smell the roses, Faisal rather enjoyed staying busy. It was something the sisters at the orphanage had always stressed, especially once he got into his teenage years; idle hands were the devil’s workshop as the saying went. Helping others was just the icing on the proverbial cake. He rather approved of what Ryld had been doing lately, and if this meant his job would be even a little bit easier, the justicar was all too eager to assist. “I would be happy to. Though more sleep would probably do me some good, that sounds a lot more productive,” he chuckled softly. “If you and Jael need any help around the house, just let me know. I’m no Brakis, but I can work a broom.”

“Thank you,” Sabal said, sincerely meaning it. Faisal was a good man and they were lucky to have him around helping. She appreciated his willingness to come to Maldoria. It was the kind of place most people would avoid under any circumstances.

Downstairs, Ryld was wolfing down breakfast as he looked through his notes on inventory. Jael had helped him lay out what was essentially a little clinic over the past few weeks, gradually building their inventory of supplies from things that Gor either brought in or scrounged locally. It was generally his philosophy to not ask too many questions when it came to what dealings Gor had his hands in. They wouldn’t include slavery, but aside from that the Yath were quite permissive. Ryld wasn’t a huge fan of addiction after seeing the after-effects, but he believed in harm reduction. He wasn’t going to yank a junkie’s heroin away from them, but he would hand them a clean needle and have narcan in hand for a potential overdose. As such, he could tolerate Gor’s business. His understanding was considerably helped by how far Gor was going out of his way to help.

It was a strange arrangement, really. They also made it a point not to play favorites in the treatment of injuries and illnesses, other than basic triage, which helped. He looked up at Jael. “I’ll say this much. I’m looking forward to the delivery.”

“That much antiseptic might even last us an hour,” the spider yathallar agreed. She was joking, but there was an element of truth to it too. Ryld wasn’t about to run out of patients. Not for the first time, she wished she had more medical training to help him with. Another body would be helpful. As it was, she could only assist. Sometimes they had Kaleb as well. “If only we had a proper doctor or two.”

“Maybe after things are more stable,” Ryld said. “I know a few other yath’abban who have that kind of training. We just need more of a foothold before we risk it. For one thing, Lusin would start sniffing around far more intently if we brought over more Yath.”

Brakis had already finished his breakfast by this point, making the yath’abban look like a sloth as far as his own meal went. Years without proper nutrition had apparently given the former slave the appetite of a horse; it seemed impossible for him to carry any bad weight, he just grew more muscular, even at his age. The lifestyle he lived kept him active. Occasionally, he would glance up to observe the two Mak’ur for a moment, before glancing down to take inventory of his toolbox. It looked like he was going to need more copper wire, especially the all-nighter he had pulled.

There was an awkward little cough from across the table. Kaleb, who had been listening intently to his two mentors, gently set his favorite (and only) coffee cup down so that he could give them his full attention for a moment. His stomach rumbled (less) hungrily than, the initiative fully intended on getting seconds if Jael didn’t stop him, but this was the kind of thing that was best said while it was on his mind. “You know, we could probably buy a doctor or two if we are willing to brave the slave markets again. Healers are a product that there is always a demand for.” He explained as he shifted in his seat.

There was a brief pause as the two Yath looked at each other, both clearly contemplating the idea. “Nadal won’t like it,” Ryld said finally in a tone of voice that suggested he didn’t like where Jael’s expression was going. He nodded a little when he saw Kaleb reaching for more food. They had enough.

“The universe is full of things that Nadal does not approve of,” Jaelryn pointed out. “If we bought someone and gave them their freedom, perhaps they would be willing to help us.”

Ryld shifted in his seat just as Kaleb had, looking uncomfortable. “This sounds...nebulous, permissibly speaking,” he said. “Even Alysstra wasn’t alright with spending our money on slaves. She made the Butcher pay for it.”

“And then we paid the Butcher. The point is that money was exchanged by us with someone for a slave, and it was to that slave’s benefit,” Jaelryn said, watching Ryld squirm with something approaching amusement. “How else are we going to find qualified help? I don’t see the justicar medics working alongside us.”

The yath-abban groaned. “First, we try everything else. If Nadal thinks we did this as a first resort, they will never find all the pieces of our skins. It was a good thought, Kaleb, and I’m glad you had it, but…I like living with my hide attached to my body. Besides, we’re going to need more than one doctor, looking at this long-term.”

“When Gor’s runner comes later with the packages, we can send a message back that we’re looking for a doctor. He might also have a client with some medical training. Heroin has many uses,” Jaelryn said. “If that fails, we go to the markets. Perhaps Faisal or Michael will be willing to be our Lusin.”

Ryld sighed. “It was your idea if he asks, Jael.”

“Of course,” the yathallar said serenely. “I’m certainly not going to inflict him on Kaleb or you.”

The initiate nodded quickly, scratching at the back of his neck. His hair was getting to the point of needing a proper cut, but he’d neither had the time or energy to do it as of late. Kaleb was halfway tempted to ask one of the others to do it for him, but he didn’t want to bother them when they had so much greater tasks on their hands. “I mean, I’ll be all too happy to take the fall. It was my idea. He’d probably just call it a ‘teaching moment’ or something like that.” The young man chuckled wryly, knowing how the yochlol felt about him.

“Having someone around here who could patch up our patients would be helpful. From what I understand of Nadal’s trips into the neighborhood, we’re getting popular.” Mostly with street urchins, but then again, that could just as well describe anyone who lived in the lower wards. “There’s a lot of money in having good healers for sale,” he added a bit more quietly. It was his way of saying that the ‘quality’ of their purchase would undoubtedly be high, aside from the fact that they would be taking one more soul out of chains.

“I was friends with a doctor in training once. They took good care of her, fed her better than the rest of us and made sure she was always comfortable. She certainly took her lessons seriously,” Kaleb agreed with a little nod before he took a bite of bacon.

Ryld massaged his temples. “We’ll send a message with Gor and then go to the markets. Hopefully we can get Faisal or Michael to agree to this.”

“It is a plan,” Jael agreed. “But one thing must be very clear. This doctor will be working with us of their own volition, they may leave at any time, and they will be paid. We will give them the opportunity to leave from the start, should they so wish, whether that means going to Shalum proper or to Nalaya or staying in Maldoria.”

Ryld nodded. That was the one part of the plan he was having no qualms agreeing with. The rest of it was in a greyer area than he was comfortable with. “So...who wants to tell Sabal about this little scheme?” he asked. “I mean, she’ll be better than Nadal, but that’s a low bar.”

“You’ve got no argument from me there. Everyone deserves the chance to choose their fate.” Kaleb replied without missing a beat, nodding deeply. Any other notion, especially one that involved forcing the healer to stay, never so much as crossed his mind.

“What are we going to tell Sabal?” Faisal asked as he stepped into the room, brown eyes curious as he made a beeline for the coffee pot. His time in Nalaya had left him just as addicted to the drink as anyone else. The kaplan didn’t take it dark unless its sole purpose was meant to keep him awake at odd hours, otherwise he was far more inclined towards a sweet mixture. “Whatever it is, the word ‘scheme’ doesn’t really inspire confidence.” He noted with amusement as he mixed a bit of honey into his drink.

Ryld shrugged. “It’s not the best plan we’ve ever come up with. We’re going to see if we can find a doctor in the slave markets and grant them their freedom in the hopes that they might want to stay and help. If all else fails, there will be one more freed slave in the world and our funds will be reduced.” He gave Faisal a small grin. “We were hoping you would be willing to help. It is prohibited for Yath to deal with slavers, but if you were the one to make the transaction, we might be able to appease Nadal. With difficulty, granted.”

“He will understand,” Jaelryn said with confidence. “It will just take time and a great deal of explaining. Perhaps some penance. Should they decide to help, the good will become apparent.”

“He isn’t keen on necessary evils,” Ryld mumbled. “That’s half the problem with the Oberst.” The yath’abban sighed, running his hand over his hair. “Well, I should stay and man the clinic. Brakis, would you mind helping me? Kaleb can go with Jael and maybe Faisal and Sabal to the markets.”

“She has no issue with necessary evils. Or collateral damage for that matter.” Faisal added a bit dourly as he leaned against the kitchen counter, rough wood digging into his hip as he sipped on his coffee.

The older man quickly nodded and stood up, knees popping as he did so. He grimaced for a moment and rubbed them before looking over at Ryld. “I would be happy to. I’m not much more than a pair of extra hands when it comes to that sort of thing, though.” He admitted with a small shrug. Brakis glanced over at Jael for a quick moment. “If you happen to go through the general markets, would you pick me up some more copper wiring while you’re out and about?”

“I’m sure we could find the time to make a stop or two.” Faisal added softly before taking another sip. “If you’ve got the money, I’ve got the time. I was supposed to stay and help Gor unload a new shipment of something - heroin, I can only assume. If you don’t mind being shorthanded, I’ve got no problem helping out.” The kaplan simply shrugged. “If this all goes awry, I hope you don’t mind me hiding behind y’all. Nadal isn’t exactly my biggest fan; he warned me what would happen if I so much as looked at a slave the wrong way.”

“I would be happy to look for wire,” Jaelryn said, flashing Brakis a smile.

“Disinfectant, actually,” Ryld said at the mention of Gor’s shipment. “He is a man of many resources. Do not worry about us being shorthanded, Paron. I have no doubt that we can manage. And should you need someone to hide behind, Jaelryn and I will happily run interference.”

“Indeed,” the yathallar said with amusement. “If all else fails, I’m certain we can subdue him.”

“I am not certain of that,” Ryld said wryly. “Maybe with Sabal’s help. Maybe.”

“We have ether, Ryld,” Jael pointed out. “I’m certain you can work something out.”

The yath’abban groaned. “I like living, thank you very much.”

Faisal snorted in amusement as Brakis closed up his toolbox, smirking silently as he pushed the box into the corner of the room. “Something tells me that it would take everyone in this household combined to restrain him, and even then we would need to get the jump on him.” Though he was a proud warrior, having trained from the age of eighteen in martial arts, the kaplan didn’t feel quite confident in his abilities to resist Nadal for any extended period of time.

Looking at Jael, the tan skinned justicar finished off his coffee quickly. He had the feeling that another cup would do him good, but the drink was worth its weight in gold, and he wasn’t about to monopolize the pot. “I’m ready to go whenever you are, Siruhi, just say the word.”

“Do you want me to go with you, Jael, or would you rather me stay behind?” Kaleb asked as he stood up to take his plate to the sink. They had a dishwasher, but it was nonfunctional. Brakis had no idea how to get it working again, either, so until they bought a new one or found someone that could, handwashing was the only method that they had available.

“He is a hard man to ambush, so perhaps it would be best to let diplomacy win the day,’ Jaelryn acknowledged. “Kaleb, you are welcome to come or stay, as pleases you. I understand that the markets are difficult, but I would not turn away willing help.”

“I will handle the dishes,” Ryld said, moving over to the sink. None of the Yath had ever had a dishwasher, so the lack of a functioning one was perfectly acceptable to them. If anything, Ryld felt a little relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about breaking one just yet. “I would say enjoy your outing, but somehow I think the location will be a bit too distasteful for that.”

Kaleb paused for a moment, surprised, before nodding quickly and depositing his dirty plate on the counter next to the sink so that Ryld could do it for him. “At least we have hot water now.” He couldn’t help but smile widely, shooting Brakis a grateful look for a moment, before he sobered up a bit at the notion. “The markets are never an easy affair, but they grower easier with time. Having control -a weapon in my hands, rather than chains around my wrists- helps quite a bit.” He explained as he parted his hands slightly. “I will go. Just say the word and I’ll get ready.” The initiate added, glancing towards the living room where the stairs were; he didn’t often make a habit of bringing his weapons to breakfast.

“Indeed. We are quite fortunate to have our own resident Mue’hal,” Jael said, smiling at Brakis. Every house was said to have a benevolent hearth spirit said to help with chores and protection, but they had been blessed with one in human form. “Let me collect my weapons and you may do the same. Then we can depart. I will tell Sabal what we are doing. She is not someone who appreciates surprises from others.” Sabal had experienced enough unpleasant surprises in her life that she preferred to avoid them whenever possible. When they arrived anyway, she was seldom cheerful about it. “I would rather not tangle with her and Nadal at the same time, if otherwise avoidable.”

Ryld nodded. For all her softness towards Joan, Sabal still had a very hard mind beneath. Perhaps her heart was still tender when human suffering was concerned, but her tolerance for injustice was almost nonexistent and when people strayed close to that line in her perception, she could be snappish at best. “She’ll take it better from you than me or Kaleb,” he agreed.

Jaelryn gave them all a small nod and headed upstairs to find Sabal and her own gear. Ryld turned the faucet on and started to wash dishes, humming to himself quietly as he did so. He had always loved music and so it was seldom far from him.

Brakis flashed the spider-yath a pleased little smile. “I don’t know what that translates too, I’m afraid, but you say it with such good connotations.” He chuckled softly. Padding over to the refrigerator, a relic that was inefficient by every modern standard though still kept things relatively cold, he pulled out a jug of purified water. “I am going to run this up to Michael before we head to the clinic, just in case we get busy.” He explained before padding out of the room, still beaming.

Kaleb and Faisal left at more or less the same time, right on the heels of Jael as they made their way up the stairs. “Just give me a minute to get my things. I need to load up a couple extra magazines. Just in case.” The kaplan explained, earning a quick, tight nod from the initiate who decided to do the same a moment later when he stepped into his own room where his rifle and ammunition was.

Less than a minute later, both men had converged at the little foyer area of the house. Armed, and in Faisal’s case, lightly armored, they looked like a respectable pair of warriors despite the fact that their choice of clothing came with little uniformity. While the justicar had pulled a hood on, shielding his eyes from the worst of the harsh sunlight; Kaleb was content to slowly earn a deep tan.

“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” The initiate muttered as he padded over to the final step, waiting patiently.

Jaelryn emerged, wearing the light kevlar armor that she had as part of her jacket and pants. She had her rifle slung over her shoulder and a hood with a bandana to cover the lower half of her face. It was better to keep their presence to a minimum, and that meant hiding her tattoos at least a little. Someday, it would be safe to show them off, but they were not even near that point yet. She had a few extra magazines tucked in various pockets. Hopefully they were just unnecessary weight. She wasn’t interested in getting into a firefight if it could be avoided. “Ready when you are,” the yathallar said with her customary calm.

Faial shuffled to the side, opening up the heavy wooden door for the spider yath. “After you, Jael.”

[Nalaya]

Co-written with Shalum

The Forward Operating Base
Concordia, Maldoria

A little swoosh of paper filled the air, followed by the occasional thump of heels striking against the metal bedpost. “This handmaiden was an interesting girl, don’t you think, Miss Alys?” She asked quietly as she flipped to the next page, lips curled ever so slightly as she paused to reach up and run a hand through her shoulder length, brown hair. Over the course of the last week or so, she’d braided it a dozen times at least, trying different styles; there were some she liked, and others that she didn’t - for the moment, though, she was sporting a simple ponytail.

Time and good company had healed the physical bruises that Sidros and his people had given her. Aya looked as healthy as ever as she read through the book, eyes attentive as she drank in every little word, committing it to memory as if she may never get hands on another book like this. The same couldn’t be said for the wounds that had been inflicted to her psyche at such a young age; she was still jumpy around men, even Nadal, though it was easier to cope with when there were those around that she trusted.

Alysstra smiled a little bit at her ward. She hadn’t really let Aya out of her sight since they took her away from Sidros, for a variety of reasons. She didn’t trust the world to have Aya’s best interests at heart. The justicars were just as suspect as Concordia at large, given that there was hardly a clear distinction in mentality between them as far as Alysstra could tell. They were terribly comfortable with all of this, or at least complacent. Nadal would have said complicit, but Alysstra wasn’t quite to that extreme yet.

It wasn’t as though she had a great deal to do, other than looking conspicuously present despite the fact that her fellows weren’t. Jaelryn and Sabal had both stopped by to say hello many times, and even Nadal had visited in the company of at least one of the female yathallar. He knew enough to keep a very respectful distance and his voice soft. The goal was to at least make Aya comfortable and hopefully understand that there were good men in the world as well as bad. Granted, some paranoia was probably good protection given the state of Concordia. Not that they subjected Aya to it at large.

“A very interesting girl, little sister,” Alysstra said softly. “She taught my people a great many things. Above many other things, the value of freedom. And please, there is no need for ‘miss’, I promise you.” They had just about exhausted the supply of books Alysstra and Jaelryn had brought with them, but Jael had promised to bring some new ones when she next stopped by. The thick book of myths and legends seemed to have gone over well, though. It was full of fantastic beasts and famous heroes, though the Mak’ur stories were somewhat different than traditional stories of knights and dragons. One of the most famous myths had a heroic dragon trapped in the guise of a man battling it out with an evil sorceress who had stolen his heart, for example. Another was of the cunning of Drisinil, a girl not much older than Aya, who retrieved fire from the heart of the divine despite the work of trickster spirits and ancient monsters, gifting it to the people of the world.

Granted, the translation had been a bit imperfect, given that Alysstra was copying out each story into Maldorian by hand, just a few a night. Someday Aya would probably be able to read them for herself, because she was getting at least some lessons in the Mak’ur language as part of a game. She taught Alysstra words that the yochlol didn’t know and Alysstra returned the favor. It was important to the yochlol that Aya felt as though she had worth. She was clearly clever and so much stronger than most.

“Freedom is nice. Good. I can see why your people love it so.” The young girl replied softly as she leaned back against the wall, dark eyes focused on Alysstra. The yochlol hadn’t been lying when she had called the former slave a ‘voracious reader’ several days ago; aside from her lessons, sleeping, and exercise, it wasn’t as if she had much else to do but read and learn to pass the time. Her only stumbling block, at least in that regard, were the things lost in translation - not to mention the gaps in her literacy that popped up now and then. Aya could handle the latter on her own, at least for the most part, but she still went to Alysstra for help now and then.

Pausing for a moment, she was thoughtful as feet pattered out in the hall. Things had been much quieter around the apartment since the majority of the gang had essentially moved down to the lower wards. “She was kinda like the Marx guy from Jaelryn’s book then, I guess?” Aya added as she tilted her head to the side.

“Very much so. Both wished people to break the chains that bind them and those that bind their fellow souls, so that they may control their own fate. They are different paths to a similar truth,” Alysstra said, amused by the comparison. She appreciated the fact that Aya could make such a connection...and that she was willing to read and think about the Communist Manifesto. “Someday, perhaps you will use your knowledge and your courage to free others, should you wish it.”

At the sound of approaching feet, Alysstra sighed and set down her pen. Her translation of the Linath was somewhat more difficult than that of the stories, mostly because she was translating for meaning rather than verbatim, which meant adjusting phrasing. The halisstraden were a little more like the stories, given that they were parables or proverbs designed to provoke thought or impart lessons. The walk sounded different than that of her fellow yath, a heavier tread. Alysstra had always been attentive to sounds, more so than any other sense. She knew a justicar’s approach when she heard it.

It worried her. She interacted with them on numerous occasions, but it was seldom an experience that she truly enjoyed and she assumed that feeling was mutual. It was not often that she was sought out in her own room. Granted, she spent a lot of time with Aya in more common or outdoor areas, just so the girl could stretch her legs.

Aya’s smile was wry as she reclined, eyes shifting towards the door now and then as footsteps drew closer. “We’ll have to see about that one, Alys. I’m just trying to keep my head above water right now, I don’t know about mustering the courage to break chains on my own. It’s an ideal to strive for, though, if nothing else.” The young girl didn’t see herself in the same way the yochlol did, that much was for certain. Her mind was sharp and aged well beyond her years, but at the end of the day, she was still a young woman who had missed too many meals in her day - whether or not she would get any bigger time was up in the air at this point.

The footsteps paused just beyond the door that separated their room from the rest of the world. A moment of hesitation followed, and then the sounds of knocking. “Excuse me, Most Honored?” It was the voice of Thul, the slaver turned justicar. “Oberst Lusin was wondering if she could have a word with you at your earliest convenience. She didn’t illuminate me as to why, I’m afraid,” he apologized.

“I know,” the yochlol said, giving Aya a smile. “We will take this one day at a time.” Alysstra answered at the knock, keeping her posture relaxed even though her mind was looking for threats. She wasn’t one to search out altercations, but they were worth preparing for just in case. “Come on, Aya. Bring your book if you like. Hopefully the Oberst does not have much in mind for me, no?” She studied Thul’s face for a moment. He was one of the ones she was most careful around, keeping his past history in mind. It did not necessarily mean he was a bad man now, only that he had a great deal to do penance for, but some habits died hard. “Would you be so kind as to lead the way, Paron? I do not know where in the complex the Oberst might be found.”

The shorter Maldorian just nodded and smiled softly in reply, closing her book with a quiet thump. Standing up, she tucked it under her armpit and walked over to the yochlol, offering up her other hand so that they could walk together like a mother and child might have. “Miss Lusin isn’t always the most entertaining, I might as well bring it.” She smiled softly as she laced her fingers with Alys’s, leaning into her ever so slightly as she waited patiently.

Thul was a large man with rigid features that had become weathered over thirty-some years in the heartlands of Maldoria. He made a universal ‘follow me’ motion towards them before leading them out into the hall of the apartment; no matter how much they cleaned up the place, a slight scent of staleness lingered in the air. “I’m not sure if you remember it, but when we met that first time before going to the markets - that is where she has set up her own little office. It gives her a nice spot to overlook the place while the Blades work,” he said with a small shrug. As they reached the bottom step of the stairs, he paused to look over at the yochlol for a moment. “How have things been with your party, Most Honored? I haven’t seen them around lately, and we haven’t spoken much since your arrival.”

Alysstra smiled faintly. “I had thought that my companions’ preoccupation would be met with great rejoicing on the part of your people, Paron,” she said quietly. “Certainly, it seems less antagonistic, at least. But...they are doing their best to carry out our mission. I hear that some progress has been made in the effort to find our missing women.”

Truth be told, Alysstra didn’t have much free time to interact with the justicars and blades, between her translations, looking after Aya and the other women who had been freed, and attending to the miscellaneous tasks that Jaelryn or Sabal brought her. Granted, they’d been doing their best to keep Sabal well away from Lusin. No one wanted the confrontation that would invariably result, despite the fact that it would probably at least relieve the tension between the two of them...if only because one or both of them would be dead.

She was not precisely nervous as she followed Thul. It was more that she understood full well that at any moment, there could be unpleasant words exchanged, which might lead to very unfortunate consequences. Unlike Sabal and Nadal, however, she was of the opinion that despite their failings—and those were almost legion—there were good intentions and good nature in the justicars. Well, Sabal understood that as well, which was part of what made her furious with them. Alysstra was more sympathetic, even if she did hold them responsible for ignoring Maldoria. It was easier, certainly safer, to pretend that it didn’t exist, but even the idea made Alysstra feel more sick than she had in the slave markets, in some ways.

The justicars became justicars because they wanted to do good in the world, or at least protect their own faith. It was a motivation she understood. Perhaps that was why she felt so sorrowful when she saw how they’d hamstrung themselves with blindness. One day, she would do her best to persuade them in less subtle ways. Alysstra was an avid proponent of the reward with such people, where Nadal often felt there was no recourse except the punishment.

It only took a few minutes to traverse the distance that was between the apartment and the warehouse, in which Thul tried to make quiet conversation. Despite his rough edges, the justicar seemed like a kind man - not that Aya found herself drawn any closer to him. “Oh believe me, we're happy that your people have been staying busy. They've already been rather successful from everything I've seen and heard, I was just curious as to how they've fared in the field lately; it's been awhile since they came home last. I imagine that has left them worn down, knowing the ways of my homeland.” He shrugged as he led them into the warehouse where the Blades were hard at work training.

The office that Lusin had set up for herself wasn’t a large space, but someone had clearly put the time into making it comfortable. The Oberst was settled behind a rugged military field laptop when the trio arrived, and only stood up once Thul had ushered them in. “Most Honored Alysstra, it is a pleasure to see you and your ward again.” She said as walked around her desk, atop a new layer of plush carpet, to offer the yochlol a hand. “I made coffee and tea in case you were thirsty.” She explained as she motioned over to the couple of pitchers and cups on her desk.

“Your hospitality is appreciated, Oberst,” Alysstra said politely. She looked down at Aya, giving her hand a squeeze. “You can have something also, little sister.” Hospitality meant a great deal to Nalayans. It offered politeness, but also protection. A host would not strike at someone who was a guest, nor would a guest attack a host. It was a strange little ceasefire in Nalaya, developed over centuries of strife. “I hope you have been doing well, Oberst. Concordia can be most taxing. I hope that it is very different from the rest of Shalum, where I expect you spend more time.”

Aya nodded slightly and smiled up at the yochlol, though she didn’t immediately let go of the older woman’s hand as they drew near the desk. “I think I’ll stick with tea. As much as I don’t want to sleep, staying up for days like Sabal does isn’t what I’d exactly call a fun time.” She murmured as she lifted up the pitch of greenish-yellow liquid and filled the glass. “I’ll be over here while you talk.” She smiled up at Alyss, nuzzling her for a moment before she pulled away to perch herself on a couch that Lusin kept in the corner, mostly for sleeping when she was too tired to make it to her room in the apartments.

The Oberst had already poured herself a cup of coffee and chose not to indulge as she returned to her leather office chair on the other side of the desk. “I’ve been doing alright, all things considered. The Blades have been preparing for operations in the city when they’re not fortifying the base; nothing as difficult as what your people have been up to in the wards, I’m sure of that much.” She smiled as she leaned back in her seat, watching Alysstra carefully. “I’d much rather be in Shalum, I can walk the streets without worry of being jumped, but I am nothing more than an agent of the church - it isn’t my decision to make.” She shrugged slightly.

“Now, for the reason that I called you up here in the first place.” She added a moment later. “I wanted to know what your people have been up to, exactly, in the city. Aside from rescuing girls, I’ve heard reports from some of my contacts that you’ve been...administering some kind of aid to the local populace? While I admire the charity that you provide to the less fortunate, things such as that aren’t part of the plan - there are better uses for the few resources we have at our disposal.” It wasn’t as if those that they helped were going to pay dividends.

Alysstra poured herself a cup of coffee. Shalumites did not make their coffee in the same way, so it always seemed a touch watery to her, but she appreciated it anyway. And, like many outsiders, Lusin immediately jumped into the business at hand. It came as little surprise that Lusin was starting to catch a clue. Alysstra was well aware from her conversations with Gor that the woman had eyes and ears in the city. She inclined her head slightly to Lusin as she took a seat, a respectful gesture to show that she was listening.

Her response to the justicar oberst’s statements, however, was a frown. “Respectfully, Siruhi, the resources being spent, or wasted as you may perhaps consider it, in alleviating suffering are not your resources. We have been most careful to avoid using your funds and people. I assure you that you are at no disadvantage due to any aid we render.” She sipped her coffee for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I know that you have most certainly seen the city, rife with suffering and abuses. No doubt your people might wish to improve conditions where possible. Mine are no different, even if our virtues sometimes differ, and while we may not be around forever, it is our duty and our desire to aid. If you are asking me to change their minds, I regret to tell you, but I do not have control over where Nadal dictates resources should be allocated.”

She made no mention of the fact that Lusin’s plan and their own clearly did not align. Getting rid of the yath seemed the woman’s priority more than doing anything for Concordia or Maldoria as a whole. She and the others had no intention of leaving, not when there was so much work to be done. They could spend lifetimes in this place and perhaps never eradicate the evil. To abandon the work because it was difficult, however, would be cowardice of the highest order.

Alysstra smiled slightly. “I understand that you do not appreciate our presence, and that is why we have made ourselves less objectionable through absence. But rest assured that we still have our mission in mind.”

“I appreciate that, don’t get me wrong.” Lusin quickly amended before taking a sip of her coffee. Letting the warm, dark liquid slosh around in her mouth for a moment, she shook her head and added another spoonful of sugar before she continued. “While I would never be so inhospitable as to bar your people from the places my order controls, the fact that your people and mine no longer live in close proximity ensure a lower chance of conflict.” The Shalumite reasoned quietly, glancing at Aya for a moment as she kicked her feet up on the couch, going back to reading as if they weren’t having a serious meeting. “That being said, I do worry about the space between our groups at times - it doesn’t exactly breed the kind of constant communication that military units with solid cohesion have. Concordia isn’t a small city, and Maldoria is far larger than ever you may realize - if your people ever need our help, we may not be able to provide it in time.”

Lusin’s concerns weren’t all as valid as she tried to display them as, but that was probably a given anyways. She wasn’t a fan of having yath in her city at all, given their propensity for trouble; the fact that they were operating independently at this point only worsened the situation as far as she was concerned. Her contacts, as few as they were in the lower wards, alluded that they were up to more than finding missing girls, even if it was on a small a scale as cleaning up a backwater neighborhood that most couldn’t find on a map. “Where do you get resources, by the way? I don’t imagine you have many flights that come in and out with hard currency deliveries, and none of the Duchess’s banks are in the areas you operate in, aside from the slave markets anyways.” There was a little pause as she regarded Alysstra. “Perhaps you could convince Nadal to pool his resources with my own, that way we would be more effective at rendering aid to the city.”

“Respectfully, Siruhi, we are not another extension of your own coterie. We honor your own command, as I hope you will respect that of Nadal and myself,” the yochlol said. There were some boundaries that she needed respected. “We do not wish to put your people in a position where they might be at risk, even if we are imperiled as a result. Your concern is appreciated, but we are well aware of the risks entailed. Also, you must understand that Yath are seldom in constant communication with any of the powers that be even in Nalaya. We answer only to the Quarval-sharess and the divine itself, much to the annoyance of even the C’rintrin at times, and we are often on our own or in small groups carrying out the tasks required of us.”

“We have our ways,” Alysstra said with a little shrug on the subject of supplies. There was no way on earth she was getting Gor involved in this if it could be avoided. Lusin wrecking his business and his associates’ would put a lot of people in a bad spot, beyond just the yath. He was a one man pharmacy, not that he couldn’t be replaced. “A little here, a little there in support from home. It adds up over time.” She sighed a bit at the idea of Nadal and Lusin pooling anything. “I do not imagine you are familiar with the Tenet of Reserve, Siruhi, as our faith is not well known outside our homeland. Much of the ku’nal are less strongly bound by it, but yath are more rigid in their expectations for themselves and Nadal is no exception. I will broach the subject to him, but...I can promise you nothing. I believe your people would do good if they could, but he may see things differently.”

Alysstra had not lied thus far and preferred to keep it that way, except for by omission. She did not believe that Lusin was someone who would do good if she could, if only because she absolutely could and yet hadn’t. After this conversation, it would be time to reconsider whether she and Aya should remain. If nothing else, it would be safer for their youngest ward to be further away. She would probably appreciate seeing Jaelryn more often anyway. “If you are concerned, I will pass the details of our conversation on to my fellows when I visit. Perhaps I can even tell Nadal that you would like to speak to him, should you so desire it.”

“Fair enough.” Lusin conceded as a muscle in her jaw twitched defiantly. She understood the kind of thing that her compatriot was speaking of; justicars often operated in the same way. Keeping in touch with someone higher up the chain of command, but it was not always practical when waging war against the darkness of the world. “Even so, I can’t help but mention my Blades once more. They didn’t take their vows because they were afraid of whatever risks hide in dark alleys, after all.” She couldn’t help but quip with a small shrug. Of course, they got paychecks to reflect that, as well as the best gear that money could buy; their group was small, but they could certainly give any local group one hell of a fight no matter the difference in manpower.

“I’m familiar with the concept, at least. I can’t say that I’m fluent with the linath, however.” Lusin admitted as she poured herself another cup of coffee, adding even more sugar and milk to the mix. While her mother had taught her some things about her heritage, the church was more concerned with her fluency of the Christian word - for very obvious reasons. The oberst could pull verses from memory without missing the beat, but she couldn’t remember a single line from the texts that the yathallar preferred to study. “We could certainly do good with the resources we have, but I don’t know how the Duchess would feel about it. I will have to take aid missions to the local populace under consideration, particularly if you intend to do the same in the lower wards.” Lusin wasn’t one that cared about competition, but if the underfunded yath could do good with far fewer resources than she did, it likely wouldn’t look good if the church elders were to look into operations in Maldoria. “It would be a good way to keep my people busy, if nothing else.”

Lusin paused for a moment, mulling over the options for a moment before she shrugged slightly. “I wouldn’t call myself concerned, but the absence of your party is something that I’ve come to notice in the last couple of weeks. I simply wanted to keep in touch with you, shall we say. I believe that doing it more often would be mutually beneficial.” The oberst said as she inclined her head towards Alysstra. “Feel free to mention this to Nadal if you wish. If he thinks that a sit down would be preferable, by all means, tell him that he is welcome in my office anytime.” She wasn’t about to meet the Nalayans on the field that they chose to do battle on. “Otherwise, I’d hate to take any more of his time than I have to - I know he keeps busy.”

“I will be the last to dissuade you if you decide you wish to help those ground into the dust,” Alysstra said softly. But I do not believe you will ever mean it the way others do. The Butcher was a weapon, not unlike a yath, but they were trained to be attentive to their passions where she was not. When a softer feeling cropped up, it was not ignored. It was not always followed, but the emotion was at least acknowledged. She did not believe that justicars’ training was even similar. In the end, L’i’dol was a religion of people as much as the divine. While some yath left worldly things behind entirely and lost themselves to the wild places, known only through their writings, or devoted themselves to war and protective anger with the exclusion of all else, both groups were in the minority.

The justicars were fundamentally good people, who were bound by their vows and their commanders. The yath were fundamentally bad people, who were bound by their vows and their emotion, more akin to penitents—most had done a great many terrible things and desired to atone, while others had suffered so much that they searched for meaning to it and found faith. Both justicars and yath could work great good or great harm, but at least in places like Maldoria, the yath understood their place and the task at hand: to be flames in the dark, bringers of light but also purification. One could not have light without darkness, and assuredly both existed in their souls, and so both would be used in the days to come for divine purpose.

Alysstra drank more of her coffee, watching the oberst for a long moment, not hiding her scrutiny or the moment when she came to a decision. “I do not believe that we must be enemies in this,” she said. “Perhaps in the days to come you and your people could learn enough of us that we would not be steeped in such tension and mistrust. Open minds mean open hearts, yes? I have read your bible, enough to understand something of what it means to be Christi. You must understand that we have heard a good many words from you, and words from it, but seen little. Is it not written in your holy book—I apologize if this is a poor translation—prayer without works is dead? This is why Nadal is as he is towards you, or the main reason. Words are not enough. Do not feel beholden to us, but please understand the nature of our prejudice. If you are concerned about the Duchess, I would understand.”

“Something like that, yes. Hopefully, one day we can all sit down at the table of brotherhood in peace without having to look at one another with suspicion.” As optimistic as the idea was, Lusin wasn’t going to put much stock in it. Nalayans were creatures that didn’t let go of the past, and unless the ku’nal were willing to put crusades of old behind them, the oberst wasn’t certain that any real changes would ever be made. If only Nalaya had converted, some voice mused in the back of her mind. The church and Empire had both sent expeditions to the wild lands, and while they had come back with exotic products, little to no progress had been made in terms of conversion.

“I know words aren’t enough, I really do. For that...for that I should probably apologize. I know how it looks, my people here with all of these resources and little to show for it but...the Duchess doesn’t make anything easy once you get her attention. If she doesn’t like you, the works you try and do here in Concordia become far different. She’ll simply reverse any progress you’ve made, if not liquidate you altogether and wait for the next sap to fill the void.” Lusin shrugged. “She’s made her bed with the Imperial government of Shalum; if you want someone to contend with, it is her people - not the church.”

“I am not expecting, nor offering, brotherhood in the foreseeable future. Let us be pragmatists,” Alysstra said calmly, her goals more realistic than Lusin had perhaps assumed of her. “I offer and hope for only understanding. I am well aware that we are heathens to you, as you are og’elenden to us. That degree of disagreement requires some separation: the Tenet of Reserve. We are not now the same, and should a change in that come to pass, it will be centuries after you and I both are dead and gone.” She sipped her coffee. “We understand the danger posed by the Duchess. It is clear that she jealously guards her power and uses it to encourage evil. We have seen her type before, though without the backing of a government....more due to a lack of the option than any moral qualms of the powerful.”

Alysstra leaned back in her seat. “I do not intend to consider you enemies, nor ‘contend’ with you or your church, Oberst. We do not hold you responsible for the creation of the evils here,” the yochlol said with that same methodical, pensive tone. Only the permissive attitude towards them. “Besides, whatever our different ideologies, I have no doubt that either of us appreciate the situation here or wish it to persist.” Alysstra hoped that was the case, at least. If it was not, there was a larger problem than just disagreement on doctrine. “I hope we can only do our small part to ease some suffering as we carry out our search.”

Whatever else was true about her, Alysstra was not a woman who did things impulsively. For all her time as a warrior, she was also a scholar and a poet. Her curiosity and patience had created a mind well-suited to deal with debate and measured thought. Her understanding of the faiths of the outside world had both colored her perception of them in more thoughtful shades and hardened her resolve in her own faith. She had studied the best of those faiths and their worst, before turning that inquiring mind upon her own. She had picked it apart, piece by piece, to understand it. And so she had become a yochlol who worshipped the best in L’i’dol and sought to correct the worst. There were lessons to be learned from the failings of others.

She finished her cup of coffee. “I will visit with Nadal and the others today and tell them of what we have discussed. I thank you for your time, Siruhi. Perhaps we will have coffee another day, and speak of lighter things. I wish you well.”

“We’ll simply have to take things one day at a time. I’m under no impression that the changes will be so rapid as to be in your lifetime in mine, though one can’t help but dream.” Lusin smiled wryly as she reached up to run a hand through her ebony hair. “For now, though, we can focus on finding your girls, and undermining the Duchess if you are interested in such. She has many ventures across the area, I’m sure that you could do your fair share of damage - if you’re willing to take the risks associated with that, anyways.” Mines, refineries, factories - the Duchess had her hands in a half-dozen industries it seemed like, all of which supported her operation and brought in large sums of cash that never drizzled down to the bottom. “That isn’t even mentioning the many things we can do in this city.” Taking one final sip of her coffee, she set the cup down. “I look forward to the day, Most Honored. Until then.”

Aya had sat up at some point earlier, the book tucked back under her arm. She watched her guardian curiously, idly kicking her feet as she waited for the pair of them to wrap up.

“Making life more difficult for the Duchess may make our search somewhat easier. For now, though, I think such a thing would be unwise. But perhaps I am wrong. Nadal and I will discuss,” Alysstra said. Getting the justicars to keep themselves busy with that would probably give the yath more breathing room, so she was somewhat amenable to the idea. It was just a question of how much exposure they were ready for. Support enough to protect them wasn’t the kind of thing built overnight. There was a lot more agitating to do.

Alysstra bowed her head to Lusin before holding her hand out to Aya. She was ready to step out and leave the dangerous zone that was interaction with the Butcher. At least this one had ended on positive terms, or at least polite ones. Next visit, she would leave with her fellows and bring Aya along to discuss with Nadal and protect the girl. She wasn’t certain who to trust, if anyone, among the individuals here at the justicar compound. Some seemed better than others, but appearances were only that: appearances.

Little Aya was all too happy to take the yochlol’s hand, gently interlacing her fingers with Aly’s once more. “That was fun.” She murmured as she gently pulled the older woman towards the door, closing it gently behind them. “Miss Lusin is...different than the others, isn’t she?” She asked as they made their way towards the stairs that would take them away from the oberst’s office. The Blades had never been anything but kind to them, Lusin on the other hand was always guarded it seemed - mildly confrontational like she had just been. “Why is that?” The Maldorian added curiously as she looked up at the yochlol.

“Some people carry hard hearts,” Alysstra said quietly, once they were a ways away. “They have suffered or seen suffering and find it is easier to deal with by simply not caring any longer. It is a difficult and empty life, though I think she uses it to protect more than she uses it to crush. Somewhere in her, there is good, but such things wither in want of warmth. Still, the Oberst has her reasons for how she is, as we have our reasons for how we are. Men and women like her deserve your sympathy and kindness where you may, but they should not command your trust.”

Alystin sighed slightly. “In addition, we believe very different things, and that makes her unhappy with us.” She smiled faintly at Aya. “Don’t worry, little sister. Perhaps we can change her mind someday.”

“Huh. It’s kind hard to imagine her as anything else, really.” Aya admitted as she walked along with the yochlol, eyes fixated on her rather than the two dozen Blades that were training or working throughout the warehouse. “I wasn’t saying that Miss Lusin was a bad person, but she isn’t friendly - not like Miss Boss or her assistant Gator.” The Maldorian girl shrugged. “How do we change minds like her’s, though? She seems...set in her ways, just like my people.”

“How does water wear away a stone?” Alysstra said with a little shrug. “Power can break them, like waves tearing through a dam, but to truly change them in a way that lasts? It is a long, slow process that requires a great persistence. The Handmaiden did not purge slavery in a single day. It took a very long time for her to eradicate it in the Homeland, and there are parts of Nalaya where the battle is still fought, but every year is another victory. I will say this: the only constant in the world is change. The world changes and people with it, no matter how anyone tries to stop it. Sometimes it is only a matter of giving such changes light to grow by.” And that is why we are here.

She lead the way out towards the courtyard, a chance to catch some sunlight and enjoy the warmth. “It is the duty of good people to bring about better change. And, even if there are a great many evil people in the world, there are more good ones. That is why wickedness can be uprooted and burned away, like a poisoned vine.”

Justicar Ayle Khan had let herself out a good half-hour again. Sitting up upon an old, rugged concrete table with match seats, she quietly sharpened and oiled her kukri style blades as the sun beat down on her mocha colored skin. Once humming under her breath, she paused to look up to the sound of approaching footsteps, smiling softly as she listened in on the conversation. “You’re exactly right, Most Honored.” She said as she looked back down at her blade, careful with the whetstone. It was a blade that she had been given by her grandfather long ago. “It’s our duty, yathallar or justicar, to do just that.”

“Hello Ayle.” The little Maldorian girl waved.

“Hello, Aya.” The dark haired woman smiled back.

“It is good to hear you say so, Siruhi Khan,” the yochlol said as she stretched, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. Sometimes I wonder whether anyone cares about Maldoria besides those who have chosen to come here. “I will admit that at times I have my doubts whether the world listens to the songs of the divine, whether written or given breath. It is comforting to know that such can be heard in the speech of others. Now we need only pair it with deed and the world will become brighter.” She took a seat at a respectful distance.

It was habit to be touchy with her fellows and mindful of herself with others, at least the justicars. Truth be told, Alysstra had not been out of the Homeland in years before this venture. Yochlol had so many responsibilities that it was difficult to simply walk away. This was different: they were here as extensions of the Quarval-sharess’s will, her voice and hands in the world. No doubt there would be new yochlol anointed in Dyvynasshar now. This was not expected to be a round trip, after all. The dangers were too great, and Alysstra understood that before she even accepted the duty. “But that is my philosophizing. I assume you are out here to enjoy the weather, Siruhi?”

While Aya took a seat next to her guardian, the justicar nodded and hopped off her seat. Tucking the blade against her arm, she took a few quick swings, making sure everything felt right; she was no blademaster like Lusin was, at least not yet, but she knew how to keep her gear in working order if nothing else. Sliding it back into the sheath, finally, she turned to look at Alys, smiling as she sat down again. “I often think the same thing, Most Honored. My people, and many before us, have preached the good word - yet many do not listen, both here in Maldoria and abroad. It is a shame.” She replied as she stretched out her legs. “You could say that, yes. It’s a bit dry here, but Concordia is always that way, unless you have the money for excess water. It’s good to get out and about, too much training in the warehouse does one little good for the soul.” She smiled up towards the sky. “I presume that is the same reason you’re out here?”

“It is,” Alysstra confirmed, relaxing a little. While she did enjoy religious debate, she preferred not to have it in a scenario where she was surrounded by armed individuals with unfavorable opinions about her person and religion. There wasn’t enough tolerance here to feel safe on such subjects. “I do miss that about my homeland, the warmth and the sun, the clean air and the stars at night. Maldoria is dry, warmer than the rest of Shalum perhaps, but it is different. Cooler, for one.” Concordia was dirtier than what she was used to and missing the wilderness gardens kept in Mak’ur cities, but that was no fault of the people who lived here. Where there was no hope, it was hard for things to grow.

The yochlol sighed a bit, but it was a sound of fond memories rather than a despondent one. “I used to spend days like this on the shores of the sea at Undraeth. It is a holy site at the wildest part of the coast, where thorn trees blossom into gold and the grass looks like silver. My people teach that it is where the Handmaiden stepped from the shore into heaven, slipping from this world to the next as you might step across a threshold. The waters are warm there, and clear as crystal. There are no crowds, no noise beyond that of nature, no dust and thirst and hunger.” She nudged Aya. “You would like it there, little sister. You could build castles in the sand for the little crabs and play in the white-peaked surf. And at night, when the moon is young in the sky, you can look up and see the universe.” She missed her homeland, sometimes intensely, but she carried the memories of its beauty in her poet’s soul.

She flashed the justicar a smile as well. “If you were not so bound by duty, Siruhi Khan, perhaps I would recommend it to you. It is a place of solitude and peace, where the divine is written in the waves and the stones, in the sunlight and the wind. A balm to the soul if ever there was one. The Homeland has many such places where the world is quiet and unworked by the hands of humans, but Undraeth is one of the most beautiful.”

Drawing her kurki again, Ayle was content to slowly practice the elbow-slashes that came with using a knife like the one she carried. It was a hard, aggressive style, but it had certainly gotten the job done over the years. When she wielded the blade, she wasn’t even trying to kill the target - that was the job of whoever followed behind her. “All things considered, weather in the Empire is more pleasant. I miss the different seasons; we’re in the right spot for all four, though the length of them varies by the year.” The dark skinned justicar shrugged. “Don’t even get me started on things like rain or trains; I never realized how much I took them for granted until they were just...gone.” She shrugged slightly. “Then again, I hear being this high up isn’t bad for one’s lungs, but I may be mistaken.”

It wasn’t as if Maldoria was a dry, barren place altogether. There were areas, particularly in the extreme south, where the mountains gave away to more fertile valleys and plains that were fed by melting snow. None of that was to be found this far north, however. What water there was either went to irrigation, or was controlled tightly by the Duchess’s engineers. Those in the lower wards got the bare minimum -liquid that most likely wouldn’t kill them, especially if boiled - while those in better wards got cleaner, better tasting drinks. Not to mention enough to grow actual grass and trees.

Aya nuzzled against the yochlol’s side, her boot forgotten on the space beside her for a moment. “That sounds lovely, Alys, like something out of a fairy tale. I can only imagine what it would be like.” She said as she looked out into the courtyard, imagining every little detail, rather than the hard packed dirt and broken asphalt that laid beyond them. “Could we go there someday?” The ward couldn’t help but ask hopefully. She’d seen enough of her homeland and it’s evil deeds to last a lifetime “Maybe we could get Jaelryn and Brakis to even come.” She added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, proving that even she wasn’t blind to the passions of her countryman.

If Khan heard, she chose not to comment, instead making another slash before she smiled at the yochlol. “My duty does not bind me to one place or another unless told otherwise. I could easily slip away for a week or two, assuming nothing came up.” That was being generous, of course, if only because she doubted her superiors would smile upon her slipping away to Nalaya of all places. “Alas, I doubt I would be able to visit any time soon. Perhaps it’d be safer to take a train north to Shalum one day and see the oceans there, I know many good places if you’re willing to be surrounded by Imperials,” she chuckled.

“If you wish to go to Undraeth, little sister, we will make it so.” Even if things went completely sideways, Alysstra would make certain that the girl left the country with Gor’s people. Aya might be frightened by it, but she would be safe. The yochlol had every intention of getting the girl out of Maldoria when the pressure started to really build. Alysstra had a good sense for people and for fault lines. In times like these, she generally knew when situations were going to crack. She’d also already paid Gor’s people for passage for her young ward.

Alysstra gave Khan a small, almost wry smile. “You would not be the first justicar in that part of Nalaya, though it is a ways from the Zeklet’taune Aluin. Though I doubt your order would approve...or is approving.” She had not been terribly pleased herself when Sabal showed up on their doorstep with the three justicars, but she understood why Sabal had done it to at least a degree. Alysstra had to admit that she approved of them a good deal more now that she knew them better, though it was hard not to narrow her eyes at Michael after talking with her younger sister. Still, the pilgrimage had punished him enough. He had not walked the path and emerged unscathed.

Still, she could only imagine what the Shalumites were thinking. After all, taking that pilgrimage was at least technically participating in one of the core rights of sacred passage in L’i’dol, though no one had probably told any of the justicars’ people that, possibly including the three justicars themselves. Sometimes, Sabal took for granted that something would be understood. For justicar leadership to understand the gravity, it would require a deeper knowledge of the foreign religion than just what a cursory glance would pick out, and seldom did L’i’dol garner more than that outside of Nalaya. That, or talking to the Yath, of course. Not that anyone had come knocking on their door to ask, for obvious reasons.

“I do not believe I am ready for a beach beyond the Homeland,” Alysstra said. “For me the waves have always been a thing of serenity. Polluting such a thing with great crowds would be unpleasant. If I want such a thing, I can walk through a bazaar or the streets.” Dyvynasshar was less populous than most of Nalaya’s large cities, well smaller than Armvair, but it was still bustling. “I must hold onto fragile dreams when I am in a place like this, no?”

“Far too true, I’m afraid. You know what they say though right, Most Honored?” Ayle replied, the gleam of her teeth as bright as that of her blade in the bright summer sun. “Ignorance is bliss; what the church elders don’t know doesn’t hurt them.” The young ward giggled at that, and the justicar’s amusement was clear as she switched to her weaker, left hand. “I know what you mean though, having so many people around can really spoil an otherwise positive experience. Aya’s first trip to a beach should be the best one possible, that might just mean waiting a little while longer.”

“I can wait, I really can.” The young girl replied with a quick, serious nod as she looked between them. “Good things come to those that do that, right?” She asked with an innocent smile.

“Indeed they do,” Alysstra confirmed. She wasn’t certain what to think of Ayle, but she hoped. She studied the woman in question, watching the woman but also the blade. The style was different, but similar, to those she’d seen in Nalaya. Personally, the yochlol much preferred firearms, much as Ryld and Jaelryn did. They were quick and far cleaner. She had seen what Sabal and Nadal could do with knives. In Alysstra’s experience, people vastly underestimated the ugliness of the blade.

But at least for Nadal, there was something viscerally satisfying in ripping apart the wicked. Alysstra doubted that Sabal was any different. It suited her hot temper and deceptive strength. The yochlol had confidence that even Joan hadn’t managed to change that about their lioness, if she was even aware of its presence. They had seen her among her own people, away from the things she hated, the things that stirred up wrath without equal in her. Now, that softness would be hard to come by. That was why Alysstra was uncertain that Joan would stay.

“You know what you are doing, Siruhi,” she said, nodding slightly to the blade.

Ayle took a few more quick swings, her elbow right behind the blade. In her mind, she could only imagine clearing a hallway in this manner, delivering precise strikes in the blink of her eye. It was something she had only done a few times in her life, and by no means satisfying - it got the job done though. “Thank you, Most Honored.” She said when she came to a pause, barely sweating. The justicar could have moved far faster, but she wasn’t inclined while being watched, and in the presence of a young child. “This blade was given to me when I joined my order. My grandfather is a professional armorer; he wanted me to have a good weapon, made by the family, on my side when I went into battle. I prefer it to my guns; this takes skill, but any fool with a half-decent aim can put down an unsuspecting target at range.”

“Ah. Sabal would approve,” Alysstra said. “She is very similarly inclined.” If perhaps crueler. “Many of my people treasure the blade, as can be said of many Nalayans, but for us it is a tool, a weapon, and a sacred implement all at once.” She wasn’t at all troubled by weapons showing in front of Aya, but most Mak’ur children were also around them from a very young age. How else could they be taught what was safe and what was dangerous?

Aya looked fascinated, if nothing else, by the level of blade mastery that the justicar wielded with each careful swing and strike. The kukri was meant to be tucked along the arm, but it could be used with a hammer-style just as easily. “That is what I’ve heard from Joan in the past. It is something about Nalaya that I find rather agreeable,” she smiled warmly. It wasn’t as if she disapproved of anything in particular, aside from cannibalism, but it wasn’t as if many this far north truly knew those that lived in the southern continent. “I’d offer to spar with Sabal, but I’ve heard what she can do. I’m not sure my ego could handle that kind of loss,” she joked.

Alysstra laughed. “I think you would present an interesting challenge, and Sabal does appreciate those,” the yochlol said. She had no idea how true the presenting a challenge part was, but she was confident that the justicar was more than capable with a blade if it was her preferred weapon. In practice, the two would probably play nicely. Sabal could be competitive, but she knew to scale things back in practice. Her training with Nadal and Jaelryn was almost gentle, considering their level of skill at breaking people. The more someone knew, the more careful they had to be. At least, that was the theory. Conditioning was where things could become brutal. Alysstra had tried to go on a run up a mountain with Sabal and Jaelryn once, only for her body to remind her that while she was fit, she was still a scholar. It had been amusing for the pair, who had kindly slowed themselves down.

But a yathallar was supposed to be that way. Where yochlol served to administer the Quarval-sharess’s will, which did admittedly often include violence—which explained Nadal’s skill set—yathallar were dedicated warriors. They existed for the purpose of defending the faithful and punishing the wicked. That was all. In folklore and myth, there were even the yath’ktonos, yathallar with a fury and a duty so great that they returned from the dead as revenants to destroy the transgressors who had done an injustice so great that the divine could not allow it to go unpunished. Alysstra understood that such things were legend, but she had seen a fair number of yathallar survive things in the name of vengeance that had killed many others, so she supposed there was some kernel of truth that myth had exaggerated over a few thousand years.

L’i’dol had many glowing myths, but just as many dark ones. After all, passion was more than just love and life.

“If that is the case then, please extend an invitation to her; I wouldn’t be one to turn away a new training partner. Concordia is the kind of place where one should keep their skills sharp.” She said as she pausing, whipping the blade around so that she could slide the kurki back into it's aged, but tough leather sheath. “Not to mention anyone else in your party, justicars included. I’d love to cross blades with Joan again; she may seem sweet, but she is a respectable warrior in her own right.” The redhead may have been a sniper by trade, but there was a standard that every member of their order was held to.

“Miss Joan is dangerous?” Aya couldn’t help but ask with a giggle as she looked between them.

“When she wants to be. I’ve served with her before.” Ayle mused as she nodded, plopping down onto the bench beside the pair.

“She must be. Or at least, I expect nothing less,” Alysstra said with a smile. Sabal isn’t the type for fading flowers. “I will discuss it with Sabal. She and Nadal made noises about visiting today, so I assume they’ll turn up at some point, when they have finished any outstanding business.” She expected at least a little blood, though she didn’t expect it would be theirs. Well, perhaps some, not that seeing her own blood was a discouragement for Sabal.

Aya perked up at that, though she had heard something to that extent earlier in the day. “I would love to see them if they’re willing, assuming they show up today.” The justicar smiled as she swung her arms from side to side, stretching out her hips. She was looking forward to meeting with them, even if nothing occurred; Lusin may have not liked their guests, but Ayle didn’t have anything against them. “I hate to, but I think I am going to head in now. I’m slated for training some Blades soon, Most Honored.”

“Of course. Enjoy your training, Siruhi,” Alysstra said. She looked down at Aya. “Shall we head in, little sister? I have a feeling that it won’t be too long of a wait.” She held out her hand to her young ward with a small smile.

“I will do my best, Most Honored. It was a pleasure, as always.” The Maldorian justicar smiled warmly. “The same to you, little Aya. Take care, I’m sure we’ll each other again soon.” She said before picking up her canteen and flashing them a little wave before heading in.

Aya hopped off the table, offering a little hand to Alys. “Let’s go, big sister.” She replied as her eyes flickered happily. “Until then, I have the stories of the Handmaiden to read up on.”