The Lord of Thwrud

The Krue may appear to be a single, united race, but they are not. The Krue are actually a collection of smaller fiefdoms ruled by various lords. They cooperate together to protect their lands from outsiders, but beyond that, there is often great rivalry between the different clans. Each lord has great control over his or her clan's lands, but are also responsible for protecting them from other clans.

— The Krue: A Valiant Race by Terl Fongalto

Clan Hall
Thwrud
Subeleth
October 4

"What…is…this?" demanded Syler through clenched teeth. He spoke each word slowly, clearly, and with exaggerated enunciation.

"It seems to be a small display of Kruish military might in honor of their new lord," sniped Lamastus from beside him. Unlike his friend, the Angvardi seemed to find the entire situation quite amusing and was not afraid to show it.

Syler was clearly not amused. It was bad enough that the pain in his leg was preventing him from walking normally, now he was going to be paraded in front of hundreds of warriors so they could all see it. After what happened in the arena, the only thing he wanted to do was get himself some herbs for his leg and get every Krue out of his sight. Now, he was going to be right up in front of more Krue than he could count.

Delmonor must have read his mind because he said, "Fear not, bwet ley. There is great honor in receiving wounds in battle with worthy foes. Lord Saekoris was very worthy."

"Great," replied Syler while rolling his eyes. "So I now have an honorably crippling wound."

"Syler, calm down," said Bronwyn softly. She put her hand on his forearm and gave it a light squeeze. "They are only doing what they know. In this difficult time, they get comfort from doing what is most familiar. It is no easier for them to have to mourn a beloved Inthaley while embracing a foreigner who doesn't even speak their language."

"Hey, I didn't ask for this." Syler stopped just up the street from where it looked like two entire companies of fully armed and armored warriors had lined up on both sides of the street for his inspection. If they took notice of him or his pause, they didn't react, but kept standing in parade formation facing forward.

"No," said Lamastus, "but you have it. What is wrong with you? You have gone from being a fugitive on the run from the most powerful empire on Teladia with a dying wife to having miraculously healed your wife and becoming a wealthy, powerful clan lord in perhaps the only kingdom on Teladia who can stand up to those who want to kill you. Men would kill to be in your place, and you can do nothing but get angry."

"I never wanted power," said Syler. "All I wanted was peace and the ability to one day find a woman to love and raise some kids. I found the woman and now it seems that everyone suddenly wants to interfere with and control my life."

"At least ya have yer friends," Havert pointed out. "Could be far worse than that, eh?"

"We know it is a lot to take in," said Alltis soothingly, "but sometimes we all have to face what life has in store for us."

Syler wasn't going to be comforted this easily. "I have always accepted what fate had in store for me, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. After what happened with them while bargaining for Bronwyn's life, I have become rather soured with the Elements."

There was a quizzical look on the faces of everyone except Bronwyn. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout?" asked Havert.

Belatedly, he realized that he hadn't had time to properly tell the others about his dealings with Crusos and the other Elements. "Never mind, I will tell you later."

Havert looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it when he saw the expression on Bronwyn's face telling him to drop it. "'Kay, I guess we can hear later."

"Bwet ley, should we move forward?" Delmonor asked hesitantly.

"Yea, we wouldn't want to keep all those fine looking gentlemen waiting for us," Lamastus chimed in. "At least try to look like you are interested or else they may take offense and I really don't want to have a horde of offended Krue after me."

Syler shook his head in defeat and hobbled forward. As much as he didn't want to pay them much attention, he couldn't help himself. He was too fascinated with the armor they wore and the various weapons carried by these warriors not to. Being a blacksmith meant that he was always curious about what others were doing and trying to find out how they did it. If there was anything to like about the Krue, it was their close attention to detail in all of their craftsmanship. He knew just enough about armor to know that the leather they wore, while light, was probably nearly as strong as most of the mail that other kingdoms utilized. It wouldn't stand up against the solid steel of plate armors, but it had the benefit of added mobility and being less exhausting to balance things out.

He also noticed that these men wore fairly heavy steel mail hauberks under a leather brigandine like what Delmonor had given him at the arena. The longer mail of the hauberks covered their entire arms as well as down to their mid-thigh. The mounted warriors wore only a heavy boiled brigandine and scale bracers and greaves on the parts of the arms and legs that were exposed during mounted combat. These warriors were clearly infantry as their heavy armor was more suited to hand to hand combat on foot.

He got to one particular warrior and had to do a double take. Like all of the warriors in formation, this one wore a dark steel sallet helm with a visor that covered their face down to the chin. That style offered protection while giving plenty of access to air and kept the warrior cooler while giving them the mobility to look around that heavier helms sometimes lacked. What caught his eye was that, unlike every single other Kruish man he had seen since arriving in this city except Lord Saekoris, this particular warrior didn't have a beard.

Syler paused in curiosity and gave the man a closer look. To his surprise, he noticed that this warrior's armor had been modified to allow for the slight swell of breasts and he realized that this was no man, but a female warrior. He cocked his head a little and appraised the woman with an arched brow. Delmonor, seeing the extra attention, stepped forward to say, "The Krue welcome all who properly wield weapons and have desire to protect their clan."

Syler was intrigued despite himself. "Even women?"

"Women can be just as fierce as men, and often be more cunning."

"I never knew that the Krue had women in their ranks," commented Lamastus thoughtfully.

"Many women fight for the People," replied Delmonor.

This was a totally new concept for him and, right now, he would take any distraction that took his mind off of everything else. Syler stroked his beard and asked, "How are they treated?"

"They have same standards as man, though they often be better to prove worthiness. They have equal pay and the same share of bounty and pillage from victories."

The woman continued to stare forward blankly, clearly not understanding anything that was being said about her. Syler was curious enough to ask, "What is her name?"

"Neith fos nuath teskan, dhalka?" asked Delmonor.

The woman didn't hesitate in replying, "Relwind Hastor se Thattos, bwet ley."

"Her name is—" Delmonor started.

"Yes, I know," interrupted Syler. "I may not know your tongue, but I am not stupid."

"Dalmabwes—forgive me," Delmonor said with a quick bow.

"Tell her that she is the first female warrior I have ever met." It was true, other than the magically gifted, he had never met a woman who fought alongside men.

While he did, Lamastus commented, "They have oversized horses, poor fashion senses, brutal entertainment, peculiar methods of succession, and now warrior women. These Krue are just full of surprises, aren't they?"

"And yet," countered Syler, "I notice that your armies bypassed them in favor of going after weaker prey."

The Angvardi nodded in begrudging agreement. "Point taken, my friend."

That at least got a small smile from Syler, though it didn't last long. "Perhaps we should move on," he suggested. Before he did, he told Delmonor one more thing. "Tell her that I admire her willingness to be matched against men and hope to see her fight one day."

He continued to hobble along while his guide translated his message. Now that he knew what to look for, he noticed several women among the ranks. Even then, out of the twelve hundred or so warriors, he guessed only fifty or so were women.

After going through the gauntlet of warriors, Syler began to grow suspicious about where exactly they were being led. He hadn't yet come close to being able to memorize the layout of this city, but he didn't think they were heading back to the estate. "Where are we going, Delmonor?" he asked.

"We go to ka inthadaeka."

"Is that what you call Lord Saekoris' house?"

"No," replied Bronwyn, "that is some sort of clan meeting place, right?"

Delmonor nodded, "It is the hall of the clan. It is where you were first brought."

Syler's face grew dark, "I asked to be taken to his house so we can rest."

"This was known, but not possible." The warrior met Syler's gaze without turning away. "You are the Inthaley, things are required of you first."

"What sort of things?" asked Syler suspiciously.

"The lesser leyi must acknowledge your claim and humble themselves before you."

Lamastus jumped in, "You mean they have to throw themselves at his feet and proclaim him the best of all the lords they ever had?" He elbowed Havert and whispered, "This could be good."

Syler glared at his friend for a second then returned his attention to the hapless Delmonor. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bronwyn cut him off with a gentle touch on the small of his back. "I am sure that wherever we are going, there will be someone there to better see to his leg," she said in a placating voice. "Even Inthaleyi can be wearied and weakened by the frailty of the flesh."

"Pasu, bwet leya," Delmonor said with a bow. "The vostraes thadak should be there."

"Then we had best hurry," she said while throwing a pointed look at her husband.



When they finally arrived at the Clan House, Syler's mood was simmering and just waiting to be given another excuse to boil over. What they found just might have done the trick except for Bronwyn's death grip upon his upper arm reminding him to keep himself under control. As furious as he was at the Krue right now, he didn't want to do anything that would give Bronwyn cause to be cross with him. For her sake, he did his best to keep his face neutral.

There were a few men and women present already, but Delmonor assured him that more would come to pay homage to him and declare their loyalty. Syler ignored them as he hobbled his way up to the raised chair where he had first seen Lord Saekoris. He didn't want to sit there, but Delmonor, with Lamastus' assistance, were guiding him there and not giving him much choice.

As he settled down in the throne, he couldn't keep the grimace off of his face. His leg was throbbing and sending pain shooting up his entire side. "The healer?" he asked as soon as he was settled and his guides were satisfied.

Within a minute, he saw a diminutive figure work her way through the gathered nobility and sighed in a mixture of relief and annoyance. The same healer woman who had tried to help Bronwyn was now coming to help him. When she saw him, she clacked her tongue and said, "You be needing much help, I see. I sense trouble from ye, much trouble indeed."

"He is your Inthaley now, speak with respect," a clearly irritated Delmonor snapped from behind her.

Without any look of concern, she continued toward Syler and knelt down to inspect his calf. When Delmonor took a step forward, she smirked and said, "So I done hear, dhalka. Do you wish me to prostrate meself before him while his wound grows worse?"

"Enough," said Syler as he pounded his fist on the chair. "Let her get on with it."

She crackled quietly to herself as she slowly unwrapped the temporary bandage that Jaquill had given him. "Ahh, Jaquiil be a good lad, but he be needing to learn more of battle wounds. Been treating too many illnesses and not enough proper wounds lately."

Syler gave a sharp intake of breath as she probed his wound. His hands were clenched on the armrests of his throne as he struggled not to give voice to his pain. With the eyes of the others on him, he needed to be strong and show no weakness. The healer woman was putting something on his leg that stung like fire and caused his eyes to water.

"I was never told your name," said Syler, trying to find a way to distract himself from the pain of what she was doing. "What is it?"

The woman cackled manically and said, "So the mighty ley wishes to hear the name of a poor old woman? How amusing."

In no mood to argue or toss around banter, Syler shrugged and replied, "Okay then, don't tell me."

"Do not get testy, my ley, I just be teasing you. Old women such as meself must get our amusements where we can." She reached over to one of the warriors and pulled out a small glass flask and various vials from the chest he held. While humming annoyingly to herself, she began pouring various liquids and powders into the flask and shaking it around.

"What are you mixing?" Syler asked in spite of himself. He was the son of an alchemist, so his curiosity got the better of him.

"I know it not in your tongue, but we call it dhalkaesiin. It is mostly a mixture of vasta, khosako, and thukornae with maliikas added for good measure."

"Warriors Companion?" asked Alltis. "That is what you are giving him?"

"If that be your name for it, yes," the woman replied.

"What does it contain?" asked Syler.

"I be sorry, I know not the names of the herbs in your tongue," the healer woman admitted.

"I believe 'thukornae' is sage," Bronwyn said.

Syler recognized the herb because he had used it himself to treat Bronwyn and others before. He wasn't too concerned about it because Lord Saekoris had trusted the woman. He would satisfy his curiosity at a later time.

A young man wearing flowing dark red robes without any of the normal Kruish furs or leather approached the small group. Syler noticed that he was wanting to gain his attention, but wouldn't initiate things and figured that it was another of the whole lordship things. He waved the man forward and asked, "Do you understand me?"

The man nodded and said, "I do speak the Outsiders Tongue, my lord." His words were surprisingly devoid of the heavy accent and sometimes strange pronunciation that the other Krue used. If anything, he almost reminded Syler of how Vekla spoke when not distracted.

"What is it that you want me for?"

The man bowed and answered, "It has caught my notice that you are injured. If my lord permits, I wish to offer my services."

The skin beneath Syler's eyes twitched. In a low voice, he asked, "And what services are those?"

The man hesitated briefly, then collected himself. "My deepest apologies, my lord. I assumed you recognized my robes. I am Mage Second Class Zago Khaflar and I am skilled in natural and perspective magics. If my lord would permit, I will heal his leg."

"If you could, then you will have my deepest gratitude."

The healer woman looked at her new rival with disdain, but backed away with only a sniff of indignation. Zago advanced up to the throne and knelt before Syler just as the other woman had. Instead of prodding the wound with his fingers, he held his hands out above the wound and closed his eyes. At first, his expression was calm and in control, but within half a minute, his brows were furrowed and the top of his forehead was wrinkled.

It took another thirty seconds before he admitted defeat. He gasped as though he had been holding his breath and looked up at Syler with wide eyes full of disbelief. "I…" he panted in distress, "I can't…seem to read you. Are you intentionally trying to block me?"

Syler sighed in frustration and fell back into his throne. He had feared that this would happen. Back in the arena, he had considered asking Vekla to heal him, but things were a little hectic there and she seemed justifiably distracted and distraught. Even were she not, he doubted that she could have done anything.

"It isn't you, it is me," he said. "Apparently magic doesn't work on me like normal people. You could blast me with the most powerful fire you could conjure and I wouldn't even feel the warmth. Even if you were able to use your healing magic on me, the only thing I could do with it is take it and reflect it back on you. Being this way has its advantages, but in times like this, I really hate it."

Zago backed away on his knees and nearly fell down the steps leading up to the throne. "It is not possible! It cannot be! You are the One, the Master of Magic, the Majiyae Oretezu!" In a louder voice, he shouted, "Kota fos ka Majiyae Oretezu, ka ley se quanos!"

Ignoring Syler's displeasure, he scrambled to his feet and pointed at him while continuing on in Kruish. Those gathered in the hall were quick to take notice though not all looked surprised. More had come since he had arrived including many who likely had been at the arena and already knew what happened there. There was a lot of discussion in the hall, none of it which he understood.

The healer woman, ignoring the rest of the room, returned to his side and commented wryly, "It be looking as though me services be needed once more, no?" Syler didn't respond, but he did let her continue her treatment of his calf. Once she had finished treating the wound with salves, she stitched it up. Syler was no weakling or stranger to pain, but he had to fight to keep his eyes from watering while she worked.

Syler let the men in the room continue to talk and even argue with each other while he thought of what he could say or do to settle things down. He was no fool and had no misconceptions about the position he now found himself in. Men in power were targets, especially when someone felt they were weak. Lord Saekoris might think he was doing right by his clan by giving them the supposed savior of the world as their leader, but Syler wasn't so sure. As far as he was concerned, prophecy could be damned because it now meant that Thwrud was without a good leader and he was trapped in a role he wasn't prepared for or really wanted.

If he wasn't careful, any one of these brawny warrior nobles just might decide that rule was best left in their own hands and take action against him. Clearly, peaceful retirement wasn't exactly an option for one in his position. It seemed that the easiest way to gain power would be to kill the foreigner who sat on the throne before he could start establishing support. Right now, Syler wasn't up to fighting much and he didn't think he had enough friends to protect him were a number of these nobles take action.

He needed a way to make sure they recognized that he was in power, but that he wasn't going to try to destroy their way of life. He couldn't give them any signs of weakness, but he couldn't let them think he would be some iron fisted tyrant, either. He was never good with words, but if he wanted to keep his all of his blood inside him where it belonged, he had better learn quickly.

More men and a handful of women arrived while he was thinking and being tended to. There were now dozens of individuals wearing a variety of leather and fur clustered within the hall. Some had taken to the long benches at the tables that ran along either side of the fire pit, but most remained standing and talking to one another in little groups. He didn't recognize any of them except Zago who kept running from group to group with wide eyes and speaking in frantic tones. He did see two others who were wearing robes similar to Zago, though instead of red, theirs were dark blue. Syler didn't know if that meant they were more or less powerful than him, but it didn't matter because, apparently, no mage of any strength was a threat to him with their magic.

"Havert," he said.

The redhead snapped out of whatever daydreams he had been enjoying. "Huh?"

"Give me your sword, mine was destroyed in the arena." They both had been wearing the same type of Seinari made sword that Growald had given them before the attack on the temple, so it would fit within his scabbard and he was familiar with it. He hesitated in disarming one of his friends when a potential threat was near, but he would rather have Lamastus armed than Havert since the guardsman had spent his life as a soldier.

"Um, yea, sure," Havert replied as he slowly pulled his sword out and handed it over. Syler placed it in his own scabbard and took a few deep breaths to prepare him for the showdown that he knew was coming.

He had been so lost in thought that he didn't realize that most of the pain in his leg had faded. Whatever the woman had put onto the gash after stitching it up had numbed the pain considerably. He might not be able to put his full weight on it, but at least walking would cause him to go dizzy with pain. That made him feel a lot more confident about what he was about to do.

As soon as the healer woman had bandaged his calf up, he stood up. He ignored the protests of both Bronwyn and the healer woman and forced himself to remain steady without assistance. "Delmonor," Syler said, "translate what I say." Once he received a nod of confirmation, he began speaking, pausing every few sentences to let him translate. "I am Syler Penion of Sandrin and yes, I am the Majiyae Oretezu. For better or for worse, I was forced to defend my claim in front of thousands of your fellow Krue by slaying your former lord, Avenil Saekoris. I am told that makes me your new clan lord by right of combat and prophecy."

"I am not a Krue and I do not know your ways. I did not seek this power, but it has found me. I am not a politician who knows of politics and negotiation and of good speeches. I am a blacksmith who knows of hard work, metal, and sweat.

"I know many of you have issues and concerns about the future, and I assure you that you are not alone. When I can, I will begin consulting with your elders and nobles so that we can find some way to allow this clan to operate under the rule of an outsider until I can learn more about my role. Until then, it is my will that you continue to conduct business as you have and not change things until you hear otherwise from me."

He paused to let Delmonor finish translating and to let everyone soak in what he said. "Do not think that makes me weak. I am not a warrior by profession or choice, but by circumstance. I have gone to battle and have killed men who stood against me. Make no mistake, I will fight if pushed and I will defend those I love. Many of you will have heard of how I came here with my wife under a curse and stood up against the Elements themselves to save her. That is not a rumor, that is a fact. You must now ask yourselves: what kind of strength and courage does a man who would stand up against the Immortals possess and do you really want to challenge such a man?"

Taking a gamble, he let his anger and frustration over the events of the day flow through him. Boldness had favored him when dealing with the Elements, perhaps it would serve him well here, too. When he thought he was angry enough, he glowered down at them in a direct challenge. If the Krue preferred strength and directness, then he would offer it. Wounded or not, he was not a small man and right now, his anger felt intense enough to boil water.

He drew his sword and planted it tip first in the wood floor in front of him. In a loud, clear, and angry voice, he said, "Are there any here who take issue with that or the fact that I am now the Inthaley of Thwrud? Any who want to challenge my position? If so, let them do so now. If not, bow down before me and pledge your eternal loyalty to me as your rightful inthaley."

Once Delmonor finished, all eyes were on the foreigner standing in defiance in front of him. Only the sound of crackling fire intruded upon the silence present in the hall as the assorted men waited for something to happen. Eyes began to scan those around them as each man was wanting to see what their fellow nobles were thinking, but none dared speak a word. As the seconds passed, Syler began to hope that perhaps his gamble had paid off and that nobody would challenge him.

That hope was soon dashed when a particularly large and burly man swathed in thick furs and wearing a long, braided beard stepped forward and crossed his arms in defiance. "Kae sarbwekheith fao pandraukh!" He spat on the ground in front of him.

"He says he won't follow a foreigner," Delmonor whispered in translation, though Syler already got the idea.

Several others crossed their arms across their chest and spat on the ground in front of them. Other individuals slowly began to back away from them as the battle lines were formed. There were about a dozen who stood with the challenger, but so far, none had openly declared for Syler himself. Those who hadn't declared against him were waiting in neutrality to see how Syler responded and handled himself. Their decisiveness wasn't inspiring, but at least they weren't actively against him.

"Now I have to kill him, right?" he asked.

Delmonor replied, "That is the strongest response, but you could always command one of your loyal followers to fight on your behalf. It is safer, but it is not as powerful of a sign."

Syler stared into the challenger's eyes and asked, "Neith fos nuath teskan?" He wanted to know the man's name before they went at it.

"Kae vsu Ley Sutotar Yaegran," the man replied.

"Tell him I accept his challenge and will fight him myself," Syler responded without taking his eyes off of Lord Yaegran. When Bronwyn tried to protest, his clenched fist snapped up commanding a silence that she knew better than to break. He considered his options and decided that if he were going to go out, it might as well as be with a bang. Holding back hadn't helped him so far, so why start now? With a sneer of contempt, Syler added, "Tell him that he is not a worthy enough foe to face on even footing and that I must fight him while wounded in order for there to be a fair fight." He wanted everyone in the room to know that he was wounded and not at his best so that if he won, they would hopefully fear him even more. Such a thing, he hoped, would discourage further challenges and solidify his position without needing to face challenger after challenger.

Lord Yaegran turned red with fury when he heard that. He pulled his axe off of his back and started clawing his way through a rapidly scattering crowd. Syler had hoped that they would go outside to fight, but it appeared that his comment had enraged his foe and that they would be fighting here and now. At least he would have the high ground.

Once he made the decision to fight, Syler didn't hesitate. His weapon was already in his hand so he flipped it up and into the ready position. He rotated to where his uninjured right side was facing his opponent and braced himself with both hands on his sword for the Kruish lord to get into range.

Steel clashed against steel as the two of them all but slammed into each other. Lord Yaegran, determined to quickly destroy his foe and aided by the rage at the insult thrown against him, charged in with no finesse or strategy beyond the desire to crush everything in his path. He saw his foe as nothing more than a wounded, pathetic foreigner who was nothing more than an insect to be crushed so he could acquire power for himself. The blacksmith couldn't stand against the much larger warrior, but that wasn't Syler's intent. Instead of trying to stop him or the giant, heaving swing of his axe, Syler deflected the man's momentum off to his side and straight into the throne they were fighting over. The axe head dug into the back of the chair and the lord himself was thrown face first into it.

Ignoring Lord Yaegran's roar of fury, Syler disengaged his sword and tried to hack at his opponent while he was sprawled halfway in the throne with his knees on the ground in front of it. The warrior was too quick for that and quickly grabbed Syler's two hands with his free one thus preventing him from landing the blow. Syler leaned his weight into the sword hoping that his two arms would be stronger than his foe's one, but Lord Yaegran countered by abandoning his wedged axe and slammed his fist into Syler's midsection. If he hadn't been wearing the brigandine from the arena, Syler would have probably doubled over in agony and the fight would have been over. As it was, the blow hurt, but didn't shake Syler's resolve or ability to fight. He had only to conjure the image of Bronwyn and Karusa's faces to find the will to continue on.

Syler tried to shift his weight to the side hoping to wrench his sword away from Lord Yaegran's grip, but the Krue simply added the strength of his second arm to the tug of war. Both men were struggling to gain control of the hilt while glaring into each other's eyes with fury and hatred. Syler grunted with effort as he tried to force the blade down into his opponent's flesh, but he wasn't as strong as his foe and Lord Yaegran knew it. With a cruel smile, he began to get his feet under him and started standing up to gain more leverage. Slowly, bit by bit, the sword began to hover closer to Syler's shoulder. Syler had to do something quickly or this fight wouldn't last for long.

With a snarl, Syler took a risk and tugged one of his hands free from the contest for the sword. Without leaving Lord Yaegran's gaze, his hand darted down to his belt and back up in the blink of an eye. The Kruish lord's eyes widened slightly with realization of what had happened and his mouth opened in a wordless gasp of shock and pain. His eyes slowly turned down to behold the hilt of the knife sticking out of his gut with dark red liquid pouring out over his own stomach and covering Syler's hand.

Syler's upper lip curled in disdain as he twisted the knife up under Lord Yaegran's ribs and into the man's lungs. Blood gushed from Lord Yaegran's mouth and down into his beard. With one final gasp that sent flecks of blood all over Syler's face, the challenger let go of the sword they had been contesting and collapsed with the knife still in his gut onto the ground in front of the throne and the gaze of Thwrud's nobility.

No sooner had the body hit the floor then a boom of lightning broke the resulting silence with shouts of alarm and death. Syler whirled around to see what happened and was astonished at what he saw. The first thing he noticed was an absolutely furious looking Vekla Saekoris standing atop a large crate near the door of the hall. Dark energy still crackled from her fingertips and strands of her long, straight black hair stood on end.

The second thing he noticed was the smell of charred flesh and blood. He took his eyes off the enraged sorceress and beheld the dozen blackened corpses and the rapidly expanding red pools expanding from each. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation for the slaughter when he realized that each of the bodies were where Lord Yaegran's supporters had been standing.

Vekla's enraged voice broke through the ensuing chaos as she shouted, "Vakooth nuamus! Vakooth nuamus! Vakooth nuamus quanos eka nuath pusdosta!"

Bronwyn rushed to her husband's side and began translating what Vekla was shouting as the sorceress continued to lash out against the gathered lords. "Shame to you! Shame to you for your cowardice! Lord Saekoris, my father and your sworn lord, sacrificed himself to give you the Majiyae Oretezu, the one who will be greatest of all mortals. He expected you to abide by his wishes and you hesitated. Shame, shame to you!

"You are unworthy of the gift my father gave you. He gave you a chance to stand first among all Krue, but you did not accept his gift. Because of your hesitation, you shall be humbled. Lord Penion has defended his right and slain the faithless bastard who challenged him. Bow! Bow down before your lord and master, Lord Syler Penion of Sandrin, or I will cut you down as I did those who stood with the traitorous Sutothar! "

When faced with the wrath of a sorceress on one side and Syler's glowering visage on the other, all those who were gathered fell to their knees, bowed their heads, and clasped their right fist over their heart. Syler stood tall and dispassionate with Lord Yaegran's blood still on his hand and face while the survivors came forward one by one to bow and pledge their loyalty to him. More came and, upon seeing the scene and hearing the tale, were quick to bend the knee and swear allegiance. Throughout it all, Syler didn't acknowledge a single one of them. He stood there tall and furious with his wife and friends beside him. The only eyes his met during that hour were the equally furious brown eyes of the sorceress whose father he had killed and, in doing so, had somehow earned her loyalty and protection.

In the end, Syler wanted nothing more than to return to the simple little house he had with Bronwyn back in Kubei and pretend none of the last month had happened.