An Agreement

Time stretched in silence, each moment pulling tight as Wen weighed his options. The faint flicker of lamplight reflected off the dark emerald ring on his finger as his gaze remained fixed on Daenys. Finally, he broke the silence with a resigned growl.

"Troublesome woman," Wen muttered. "I'll spare you four Relights. No more and no less."

Daenys pressed her luck. "Four won't be enough."

"I shouldn't even be debating giving you four," Wen countered, his tone like iron snapping shut.

She exhaled sharply, knowing when to fold. "Fine. I'll take them."

"They'll arrive before sunrise, riders guiding them," Wen said, leaning back in his chair.

Daenys turned to leave, brushing silver hair from her eyes. "I'll see you at the end of tomorrow, with a town in the palm of my hand."

"Or perhaps I'll see your corpse," Wen replied evenly.

She glanced over her shoulder. "We'll just have to see."

Before she stepped through the doorway, Wen spoke again. "Who else do you plan to pull into this alliance?"

Daenys smirked and tossed a wink back at him. "That would ruin the surprise. And make you less likely to join."

Wen's voice sharpened. "I don't take kindly to being tricked, Gahkar Godren. If others are to join, there are restrictions."

"Better I hear them now than later." She paused, her hand on the doorframe. "What restrictions?"

"Varn and Mox," Wen said, his lip curling faintly. "Neither will be part of this alliance."

Daenys nodded, unbothered. "I hadn't planned to invite either. An assassin and a pompous noble would only hinder us. I wouldn't trust either as far as I could throw them. This alliance will raise us to the top of the Gahkar hierarchy."

Wen rubbed a hand along the stubble on his jaw, his dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Your words are sweet, Godren. But they are just that—words. Fantasy and not action."

"You'll see the truth tomorrow," Daenys said, her tone steady as she ended the meeting.

Tengri stood just outside the pavilion, ever watchful. As she approached, he fell into step beside her. "The Chalicebreakers offered a warhorse as a gift," he said flatly. "I was forced to accept."

Daenys bit down her distaste. Refusing the horse would insult the Chalicebreakers, and she couldn't afford that—not now. "Good," she said curtly. "We still have two others to speak to tonight. Move with haste. You guide the horse. I'll ride behind you."

Tengri's voice was clipped. "I'll ride fast, then."

The next war camp came into view faster than Daenys expected, the chestnut warhorse moving steadily beneath them. The Lunar Storm howled above, and now rain pattered against their cloaks and faces, slicking Tengri's mask and Daenys's silver hair.

As they approached the gates, bows were raised, and torches flickered from the watchtowers.

"Another harsh welcome," Daenys said lightly, her voice cutting through the rain. "You'd think I'd grow used to these by now, Tengri."

"Give your names, or we release the arrows!" shouted a sharp voice.

Tengri reined in the warhorse with a practiced hand, clicking his tongue softly to calm the animal.

Daenys sat straighter, rain dripping off her brow. "I am Gahkar Godren. I have an offer for your Gahkar."

Mutters rippled across the wall, bows lowering as recognition sparked. The gate groaned open, and cloaked Sengus stepped forward to usher them in. Their armor, dyed a muted blue, blended into the shadows, and their sharp hoods marked their allegiance.

The camp mirrored its warband—a practical, disciplined place. Archery targets lined the grounds, arrows half-buried in straw bales. Bows and quivers leaned against barracks, most warriors already asleep, save for the guards.

At the head of the camp stood the war tent. As Daenys entered, the sound of an arrow whistling through the air cut through the rain. Thunk.

The arrow embedded itself in the wooden frame an inch from Daenys's head.

Tengri moved instantly, blade flashing in the lamplight as he knocked the bowman flat on his back, his sword poised to sever the man's throat.

A dry, scratchy voice broke the tension. "My shot remains as straight as ever."

Daenys turned her gaze to the approaching figure—Augustus, Gahkar of the Sengus. He moved with casual arrogance, his hood pulled low over a face weathered by years of war. He plucked the arrow from the wood, inspecting its fletching without so much as a glance at the scene before him.

"I'm glad I missed," Augustus said, pulling a faint smile that didn't touch his eye. "An angry warband would bring me defeat, and that would be… messy. They call you a hero, you know."

Daenys's lip curled. "I am no hero."

"No," Augustus replied calmly, "you are not." He finally looked at Tengri and the Sengus beneath his sword. "Your Enlightened is quick. Leave the man as he is."

Daenys frowned. "What?"

Augustus ignored her, still inspecting the arrow. "Your bow remains as beautiful as ever."

"Enough," Daenys snapped, irritation threading her voice.

Augustus shrugged. "I've no need for incompetence."

Daenys relented with a sigh. "Stay as you are, Tengri. Let's get this over with."

Augustus finally looked at her, his tone shifting. "You have a deal, then?"

"I seek to form an alliance," Daenys said, her back straightening.

"And what do you hope to accomplish?" Augustus asked.

Daenys measured her words. The Sengus were the finest archers in Estil—a perfect counterbalance to Wen's monstrous creatures. Their support would provide cover fire, allowing her forces to move swiftly and freely.

"I seek to claim the Pickette and Karlon when this war is finished," she said firmly. "As is my right as Gahkar. We will hold bordering lands, and I'll gladly lessen the taxes on resin trade. I may even gift your warband a small load of red resin as a gesture of goodwill."

Augustus smirked. "The Deadites won't like that. Nor will the other nine Gahkar support your claim. Only Castellans can hold land."

"I only need two Gahkar to agree and three to abstain," Daenys countered, conviction hardening her voice.

"And who else is in this little scheme of yours?"

"Wen and I," Daenys replied without hesitation, though she carefully omitted the condition Wen had imposed.

Augustus chuckled softly. "Most Gahkars are too dull to notice the threat such an alliance poses."

"Not Rev or Varn," Daenys said, narrowing her gaze.

"Perhaps. But the others crave raids, not politics," Augustus replied. "We have Castellans for that."

"And what about you?" she asked, carefully probing.

Augustus tilted his head. "Who is the third Gahkar?"

Daenys clicked her tongue. "The leader of the Impalers."

Augustus snorted. "An apex predator in water that craves blood. But they have no ships. Easily controlled." He paused. "The alliance holds merit. But my Sengus do not see eye to eye with the Impalers."

"So will you join?"

Augustus's smile faded, and his tone turned deadly cold. "Order the death of that Sengus."

Daenys froze. "No."

"Then I will not join."

The weight of the moment pressed against her like a blade to the throat. Her grip tightened on the edge of her cloak. A life for an alliance—an alliance that could save thousands. To make her father's dream a reality. To keep Nalla and the villages safe from war.

Her voice felt distant when she spoke. "Do it."

Tengri did not hesitate. The blade sang, swift and clean. The Sengus beneath him gave a brief, strangled cry before falling still.

Augustus watched dispassionately, as though observing a rainstorm. "You passed the test."

Daenys's teeth ground together. "A test? That man's life—a loyal follower—was just a test to you?"

"Yes," Augustus said simply, his gaze unyielding. "And you passed."

Daenys left without another word, her footsteps heavy with unspoken fury. Tengri followed a step behind as she muttered under her breath, "A test. I'll show that bastard what a test is. Why kill a man loyal to you for a test?"

"Daenys," Tengri said softly.

She turned sharply. "What?"

"Breathe," Tengri said.

"Breathe?" Daenys repeated bitterly. "I just killed a man, Tengri. And you tell me to breathe?"

"I swung the sword," Tengri replied evenly.

"And I gave the command."

"Yes. That's what it takes to lead."

Daenys's voice broke slightly. "Then maybe I'm not fit to lead."

Tengri said nothing more, offering his hand. She took it, and together they swung onto the horse. The final war camp awaited them, but Daenys barely saw the path ahead. In the rain-soaked darkness, all she could see was the man's face.

It was the first memory she wished she could forget.