Chapter 7: Commencement

This doesn't feel ready yet. I couldn't even be damned to proofread it. Yet my deadline has passed...

Wonder where this malaise came from. Do I finally feel like I'm really 30 years old now? Is it the "10 years of service" envelope left for me at work tonight? Is it my complete lack of ability to tackle all the writing processes that don't have anything to do with creating content? Was it that rollover I was on Foothill on my way to work? (seriously, how?!)

Those things feel more substantial than this feeling. I think this is just some periodic nihilism. It'll pass. In the meantime, I'll embarrass myself while I'm numb to the humiliation!

I think I'll take a short break from this project. Work on something funny (to me).

G'day mates!

New to the project? Start here. The beginning of this episode is here, and the current chapter is either below or here.


Chapter 7: Commencement

The dinner fire was always a celebration, but this one seemed extra special to Dahlia. She just wished more of the hunters were home so she could share them with Svara - or maybe she wanted to share Svara with them.

It was easy to lose such longings in her present company. As usual, several of her apprentice-aged clanmates sat in her circle - Jedrek, Idris, and Jaquan were nightly companions. Tonight, though, even the matron had abandoned her usual older crowd to dine with Svara.

Every sunset was supposed to be a victory; the elder always said that attitude was the only reason the clan had survived as long as it did. It was a nice sentiment, but Dahlia knew that sense of celebration wasn’t something you could conjure every day. Survival might be hard, but it was still pretty ordinary. A real celebration needed something extraordinary, and the clan’s reaction to Svara only proved it. Even Idris didn’t look as miserable as he usually did when he woke from his daily hibernation.

“No teasin’, Jaq,” Dahlia continued. “Jumped the matron as easy as I c’n jump this log! Coulda gone higher, betcha anythin’.”

“Is it true, Matron Cascata?” Jaquan’s eyes were even starrier in the firelight.

“Aye lad,” the matron confirmed. “Di’n’t even exert ‘erself. I seen birds that ‘ave a harder time gettin’ that high.”

“That’s about as high as I can jump,” Svara confessed. Dahlia was confused by how modest she seemed. “There’s no real need to go any higher. And it’s not like I can do it because I’m strong, I can just make myself really light.

“You really don’t think there’s a need?” Jaquan asked. “I wish I could jump high enough to touch the clouds! Just imagine: if you could do that, nobody could catch you. You’d be the freest person ever!”

Svara chuckled. “Big dreamer, isn’t he?”

Dahlia and the rest of the circle laughed so hard that Svara seemed confused. Apparently, what she said was funnier to people who knew Jaquan.

“Aye, that he is,” Cascata said as her laughter tapered off. She palmed the top of his head and mussed his hair. Jaquan was so small that her hand seemed like a giant’s by comparison “Has all these goals the rest of us don’t us’ally think about. It’s usually fluff, but sometimes he dreams up somethin’ useful.”

“Does ‘e? Where was I when that ‘appened?” Dahlia teased.

Jaquan smiled. He was better than he looked at taking Dahlia’s jabs. “It’s okay, Dahl. It takes a genius to recognize genius, I can’t fault ya for that.”

“Is that where my dreams go?” Idris asked with a chuckle. “Do you take ‘em while I sleep and then sell them as your own?”

“I could,” Jaquan laughed. “You talk a lot when you do. How don’t you remember? Today you tried to sell me produce while you slept.”

“I did?” Idris seemed genuinely oblivious. He gave Idris a sly smile. “Were ya gullible enough to buy it?”

“Of course, I couldn’t let your imaginary landlord evict you!” Idris returned the smirk. “Hope my imaginary money satisfies him, unlike your imaginary apples did for my stomach. You totally conned me!”

“Yeah righ’!” Dahlia interjected. “Look atcha, yer still eatin’! Even Matron Cascata ate her fill, and she eats like a monster! Where do you keep it all?”

“I burn it,” Jaquan took a bite. “Elder says it’s how jumpy creatures do. We eat more to keep our energy up to keep our eyes and ears open for predators.”

“Eat up, then.” Dahlia eyed Idris. “Idris’ll need ya ta rouse ‘im when ya spot a monster sneakin’ up on ‘im.

The circle shared another chuckle. The clan loved to tease Jaquan and Idris for being opposites, yet spending so much time together. Jaquan was like those birds who sat on the backs of greater beasts and warned them when danger approached, and Idris was the sleepy grazer who barely noticed the extra weight on his back.

“Do you sleep all night, too?” Svara asked.

All the apprentices protested at once. Nobody wanted Idris to be encouraged to try that again.

“If ‘e sleeps at night, none of us get to!” Dahlia proclaimed. She realized that Svara might still be naive enough to try fixing Idris. “When ‘e tries, ‘e panics more’n Jaq ever has.”

“Really?” Svara seemed fascinated. “You get bad dreams if you sleep at night?”

Idris shrugged. “Apparently.”

“He never gets ‘em in the day,” Jaquan added. “The elder has me make sure he sleeps in the sun, too. She says that’s what helps him.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Svara said.

“We’ve never seen anything like it either. I guess everyone has their own-”

Jaquan’s eyes went wide and he whimpered. Cascata was on suddenly on her feet, so Dahlia jumped up too. As Dahlia tried to identify what had startled them, she heard the beginnings of panic from the outer edge of camp.

Dahlia blinked, and when her eyes opened, the matron was grappling with an unfamiliar woman. The stranger had been trying to sprint past her, but with that subtle fluidity Cascata was so famous for, she used the stranger’s momentum to flip her off her feet and straight into the bonfire.

Strangely, the woman’s scream lasted only a fraction of a second. Like a leaf or piece of parchment, the fire consumed her in mere moments.

“Kirana!” Cascata shouted. “Is it them?”

“Aye!” Kirana shouted back. “We’re down two, matron.”

“Don’t move.” Cascata pointed at Svara as she stood. “Jus’ stay right there.”

“But-” Svara was trembling.

“Don’t you dare,” the matron insisted. She called to Kirana again. “Is anyone still fightin’?”

“Nah,” Kirana called back. “Standin’ off.”

“Oi!” Cascata bellowed even louder. “Wanna tell me why yer so eager ta die?”

It was quiet for a long moment. The voice that came back seemed subdued by comparison, and the accent reminded Dahlia of Svara’s.

“I took two of your warriors. By my count, you owe me six more.”

“Oh? My math be different!” Cascata countered. “Three of my warriors took eight o’ yours in a fairer fight. I just took another one durin’ yer cheap shot. By my math, my warriors be worth more’n four o’ yours. I think ya best be on yer way before we show ya jus’ how low ya rate.”

Most of those present were deathly silent, but Dahlia recognized several hunters’ laughter. She’d felt a bit of fear at the start, but their confidence was reinforcing hers. She forced a late chuckle.

“Nobody looks to a savage to do their math,” the foreign man called back. “How about this: give us the girl, and we’ll call it even.”

“Which girl?” Cascata didn’t give him time to answer. “Don’ matter. Ya can’t have any of our women, stranger. Yer best hope would be we’d wait ‘til afer ya gave us a baby before we kill ya and come right back home. Yeh’d best slink on back home, little boy.”

“Why?” Svara asked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think they’d possibly catch up this quick. But it’s over, just give…”

“Ain’t about you, girlie!” Cascata snapped. “Yeh planned ta leave us tomorrow, but tanight, yer family. These cowards killed two o’ me brothers, I ain’t about to give ‘em my daughter. This is war, and it’s happenin’ whether they kill ya or not. If ya don’t want more of us dyin’ while we run after ya, you just stay right where ya are.”

Dahlia finally realized Cascata hadn’t dined with them purely for the pleasure of their company. The matron had joined them just in case this happened. Dahlia hoped she could be as smart as Cascata one day.

The matron called out again, but only loud enough for her hunters to hear. “Anyone willin’ ta switch with me? Turns out I don’ think I can ‘andle this.”

“I can.” Dahlia couldn’t tell who answered. “Ya sure? Yer arm…”

“I’m sure.” Cascata preempted. Dahlia doubted she needed to hear any advice about her injury. “It ain’t the deep woods, and there’s a bright moon. Will ya switch?”

“Aye.”

As Cascata moved toward the enemy, Dahlia heard Jaquan whimper again. Was he just afraid to have the hunter matron leave him? Then she felt a tremor, heard rumbling like boulders down a hill. Another followed, then another; were they footsteps? Growls?

“That a friend o’ yours?” Cascata bellowed as she walked. She sounded annoyed “Meet yerself some new allies in th’ woods?”

“Not a chance,” the enemy’s liaison shouted back. “That’s a primitive tactic. We’ve seen the company you keep, if anyone brought that here, it’s you.”

Dahlia felt a little satisfied about the fear in the enemy’s voice. Then the rumbling felt closer, and there was another sound with it; like a horse’s nickering made ominous. Nothing like this had ever happened before. They’d seen beasts outside the woods before, but never heard them at night, and had certainly never encountered anything big enough to make these noises. What changed? What made tonight so special?

She heard the sounds of struggle again, and decided such questions could wait.

-CUT-

May guide yer feedback later, but tonight: Nihilism, remember? Just tell me what needs the most improvement, if ya can =)

Chapter 6: Foreign Exchange

  I'm still learnin' my characters, but I'm beginning to get a feel. At the very least, for the 'older' ones (who've been around since book 1).

  I still anticipate going back and adding more humor, more interactions, more quirks. Cross that bridge when we reach it. This chapter had a higher degree of difficulty; maybe that's because it's more tropey?

  Oh wells.

  If you're new to Arbiter, go here. New to book 2? It begins here. Current chapter on protagonize, otherwise, click below.

Chapter 6: Foreign Exchange

Svara was used to teaching large groups of students. This audience consisted of foreigners, however, and her students were thirteen seasoned warriors; taller, bulkier, and riddled with far more scars than children of the warrior caste. She was used to large classes, but such large students made her feel small.

“Is this everyone?” Svara asked Cascata. “With the size of your clan, I would have expected more warriors.”

“There be more. Many more! But they all huntin’ right now,” Cascata explained.

Svara felt yet another pang of guilt. These people probably weren’t accustomed to a chronic threat - at least, not a human one. Most militaries wouldn’t have much interest in a group of nomads, even a tribe of this size. The clan was probably aware of that, so they weren’t likely to worry about such a threat.  If an army found a reason to conquer them - like the reason Svara had given her countrymen - she couldn’t imagine a way for the clan to resist.

At least there was only one small unit on her trail. With the war in the east, the military wasn’t likely to devote more resources to chasing one young traitor; even one with her status.

“Well, it’s not like I need to teach them how to Breathe, right?” Svara asked. “You’re confident you can pass this on to the others when they return?”

“Aye. These twerps be diff’rent types o’ learners,” she gave her fellow hunters a smirk as they playfully protested her insult. “If I ‘ave trouble teachin’ somebody what yer dance is like, these’n’s can think of another way ta ‘splain it.”

“That’s a relief.” Svara turned to address the warriors.

“Ya do know you’re welcome ta stay, right?” the hunter matron preempted Svara. “If ya run and they don’ visit us, we can’t stop ‘em from chasin’ ya. If ya stay, we can protect’ ya.”

Svara clenched her jaw as the audience voiced their approval of the matron’s words. Practically everyone she’d spoken to had made the same offer. It would be a difficult transition, to go from clergy to nomad, but Svara had almost forgotten what safety felt like before Evan rescued her. She was immersed in the feeling here, among these brazen outdoorsmen. It was tempting.

It was wrong, though. While she was desperately afraid of resuming her flight, to stay was to doom these people. This exercise was her contingency plan; the best meager hope she could give them if her pursuers abandoned Svara’s trail in favor of revenge against the clan. Their best chance was for her to leave them behind, to hope her enemies’ leadership valued their orders more than vengeance.

“Thank you, but I can’t do that to you,” Svara made sure everyone present could hear her. She spotted Jedrek and Dahlia in the audience, among a group of their peers. Svara had never asked their age, but she expected they were close to hers. “The people chasing me are dangerous, and there are many of them. You’d lose much more than you’d gain; they might be strong enough to take everything from you. You’re better served if I lead them away…”

“Ya think you’re the only one who’s told tha’ story?” Cascata grinned at Svara. “The clan was started by people who had no place ta go. We made a new place, just for that type o’ person. Most families go by blood, but ours is linked by bein’ outcast. In our eyes, yer already one of us. If ya want in, all ya gotta do is agree. We’ll ‘andle that other nonsense.”

Svara envied these people. It took a special kind of insanity to think there were new places in the world. That audacity is probably what allowed them to survive so long in such an unforgiving habitat. If only the world were a better place, maybe their plan could work.

“I’m truly grateful and flattered,” Svara was afraid that if she kept protesting in this manner, they’d find a way to convince her. She’d try another tactic. “But I have some ideas on how to make the enemy lose my trail, and of places that are certain shelter me. I have options that don’t involve putting you in more danger.”

The assertions weren’t true, but Cascata seemed to believe they were. She shrugged. “As long as ya know yer welcome, we’ll respect yer decision. I’ll let ya get started.”

Svara looked to her students and again wondered where she should begin. Which assumptions were safe; did they know the elements? Did they have any understanding of human anatomy? What about the relationship between weight, momentum, and blade?

They’d exceeded her expectations before. She supposed they might be qualified.

“Breathing, in some ways, is as simple as it sounds. The art is simply a mastery of what we all do without thinking. Every living thing breathes, but our subconscious will never take more than it needs. To Breathe as an artist, we ask the air for more than sustenance. In the northern faith, the wind is believed to be a gift from one of the three faces of God: the Sustainer.”

Curiously, she had to make an effort to not stray off-topic and inform them of the recent resurgence. Spreading word of that superstition couldn’t possibly help. She veered back to the course.

“A normal breath helps power the body, but only takes a little of the air’s energy. That’s why we have to take so many breaths. A Breather’s Breath extracts the maximum amount of energy, and it also activates the air we always keep in our bodies. It’s always there, in our gut, our bones, our blood. When activated, our bodies exhibit more attributes we associate with air. It even inspires our earth and water to behave more like air; we become lighter, faster, more flexible, and much more difficult to exhaust.”

Svara inspected the faces of each student. None of them seemed lost, so she turned to Cascata. “Allow me to demonstrate. Matron, may I?”

“O’ course, lass.” Cascata extended her left arm straight out and widened her stance, making it easier for the audience to see the areas a Breather was likely to attack.

Svara brandished her stick as she would a scimitar. “A Breather will select which vital to strike before closing the distance. Usually, it will be an artery; in this case, I’ve chosen one in the neck. Now that I’ve chosen…”

Svara Breathed, and she was instantly invigorated. The sensation made her want to run, so she did. She closed the ten paces in an instant. After a squat with her right leg, she was airborne, sliding her “blade” over Cascata’s throat as she flipped past.

Her left foot returned to the earth, and she was running again. Two seconds later, the matron would have needed a bow and arrows to have any chance of retaliation.

Svara released her Breath. “... I execute the associated routine. As you can see, the speed of the strike doesn’t give me any time to change my mind.”

The audience whooped and applauded at the display. It wasn’t the reaction Svara expected, and she beamed like a simpleton until her wits returned. These people really were unusual.

“I’d give a thing or two ta watch ya move that way more often.” Cascata turned and grinned at her. “Like a leaf on the wind, only the leaf’s in control o’ where it’s goin’.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” Svara hoped she wasn’t blushing. “As pretty as it might seem, it’s not without its weaknesses.”

“Aye, s’pose that’s why we here.” Cascata nodded. “How would you have stopped yerself, if you’d been where I was?”

“There’s a couple things to consider,” Svara began. “First, my attack was chosen and practiced in advance. Most Breathers are assassins or scouts, so the idea is to kill your target before they even know they’re under attack. As such, one of the best things you can do is force us to fight in ways we haven’t practiced.”

“How do we know whatcha practiced, though?” An unfamiliar hunter asked.

“I got ideas fer that.” Cascata offered. “Can ya attack me again, lass? I’ll dance back this time.”

“Absolutely. I’ll aim for…” Svara started.

“Tha’s alright, lass. We’ll learn better if we pretend you’re really tryin’ ta hurt me.”

Svara shrugged and nodded. She took a Breath and sprang forward.

Using the same routine felt merciful, so she again aimed at the matron’s neck. This time, as she was flipping over the shoulder, she was startled to discover that the matron had caught her stick - when? - and was preventing it from making contact with her neck.

To Breathe was to forfeit contests of strength and weight; Svara let go of her “blade” and  completed the routine without it. The audience gave some muted applause, giving Svara the impression that they weren’t surprised by Cascata’s success.

“I’d ‘ave cut m’self a li’l, if this was a blade. They ain’t heavy enough ta cut through bone, though, that’s why they aim fer art’ries,” Cascata explained. “Also, This one only works durin’ the day. If we fight ‘em while we can see ‘em, then watch their eyes and think o’ what she said about art’ries. It’ll tell ya where they aimin’.”

Svara regained her composure. The art of Breathing taught her how to avoid telegraphing her attacks, but clearly, it wasn’t perfect. Maybe it wasn’t so much a matter of imperfect training as it was the caliber of her opponent.

Cascata pulled a blindfold from her pack and held it towards the younger hunters. “Somebody tie this fer me.”

The matron wanted to demonstrate a technique for fighting at night? That made Svara nervous; she was sure she’d embarrass herself if she had to Breathe while blindfolded.

Fortunately, there were no signs of a second blindfold. The matron called to Svara as one of the students tied the strip over her eyes. “Come at me again once ‘e’s outta the way.”

“You have a preference where I aim?” Svara struggled with the idea that Cascata was comfortable with so many handicaps.

“Won’t matter on this’n.” Cascata assured. “My plan is ta control where ya go.”

The matron tossed the stick back to Svara, whose knuckles went white when they closed around it. She definitely hoped the clan could emerge victorious, but it was still difficult to accept the idea that Cascata could deconstruct Breathing so easily.

She chose a femoral artery and charged. As her first step landed, the matron slid to one side. Svara compensated as Cascata skipped backward. That new distance could be closed in an instant; fleeing a Breather was always a bad option. Svara concentrated on where the targeted thigh would be once she arrived.

Cascata reversed course once more. The unexpected maneuver brought Svara far too close to strike. Before she could change her momentum, the matron’s shoulder was against her stomach. The next thing she knew, she was draped over the matron’s left shoulder and being carried towards the audience.

The matron had won, again. Like the matron had suggested, ny changing direction so much, she’d controlled how Svara would move. If she knew where Svara would be, Cascata could react more quickly.

“They got extra senses, these Breathers,” Cascata explained. “Not sure how, but they’re able ta find their way through th’ woods with more’n just hearing and touch. I dunno who’s better at sensin’ things in the dark - us or them - but like she said, bein’ unpredictable really throws ‘em off.”

“You’re better in the dark,” Svara wasn’t as certain as she sounded, but if Cascata could do that while blindfolded, it had to be true. Breathers were nearly silent when they moved; their reduced weight made it easier to keep twigs from snapping, leaves from rustling, sand from shifting. That didn’t help them hear other people do those things, though. “We get the information from the air, when it’s in our lungs. It tells stories of when it blew through trees and skimmed along the ground. It’s mostly useful for larger targets, or stationary ones. The wind has to be perfect to know what someone of your size is doing in the dark.”

It was hard to not feel discouraged. Rumor had it that potential Breathers were identified by how jealous they acted, that the wind was a jealous element. Svara definitely felt it now. Why couldn’t she be as special as Cascata? Why was the childhood she spent practicing so useless against this opponent?

She made a conscious effort against the envy. If the matron was special, she was made special by enduring a special kind of hell.

After Cascata set her down, Svara turned to the audience. “I’m quite good at Breathing, but only average compared to those who chase me. Some - about half - will be better, and among that half there’s bound to be a true prodigy or two. Only the best are chosen for active service, and none of these soldiers are reserves. Be prepared for faster and more experienced opponents. They may be savvy to these tricks.”

Svara doubted the last part. Breathing wasn’t designed for consensual combat, though it certainly had its uses there. It was ideal for taking the enemy unaware. Most of the enemy Breathers had probably killed before, but she doubted many had needed to deal with a warrior who was aware of their presence. They were likely as vulnerable to the matron’s techniques as she had been.

“Your most difficult task will be preventing them from taking you by surprise,” Svara concluded. “And they will try to hide until the last moment. I’m not sure how they’ll attempt to sneak up on you, they’ll have learned that after they learned to Breathe. I can’t tell you the best way to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Still, I do know if you take surprise away from them, you have a real chance.”

The last part felt more real after her spar with the matron. Svara expected Cascata was selected as matron because she was the best, but she also knew Cascata no longer hunted because of her injury. She couldn’t use her right arm, but that hadn’t stopped her from dominating Svara. Did the injury really prevent her from hunting? If so, didn’t that mean the other hunters were even more formidable?

Before this lecture, Svara didn’t really believe the clan could defeat the people chasing her. Now, however…

No, she decided. Even if they could, I shouldn’t risk their lives. I have no right.

“We’re ‘spectin’ the fastest ‘unters ta be back tomorrow,” Cascata said. “Once we got enough ta cover the camp, we’ll start makin’ patrols ta watch fer these Breathers. We don’ get visitors often, so even if they don’ seem ta care about hidin’, assume anyone ya see is an enemy and call fer help. If they act friendly, they could be tryin’ ta trap ya.”

Cascata turned to Svara. “Anythin’ else ya wanna tell us?”

Svara shook her head. “I think we’ve covered everything.”

“Ya mind dancin’ with us a bit?” An unfamiliar hunter asked. “I learn better by doin’.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.” Svara lied. She hoped she wasn’t about to humiliate herself. “I’m spending the night, so we can practice ‘til the sun goes down.”

The woman smiled and stepped forward. As Svara took a Breath and chose a target, she pushed her apprehension aside. These people didn’t seem interested in humiliating her, and they were grateful for her participation. Why not use the opportunity to practice her Breathing, to figure out how to use it against wary and worthy opponents?

Svara rushed forward.

-CUT-

1.) I guess I could ask this question a lot about Arbiter. Is the 'warrior school' trope too strong here? We all know that soldiers need to learn too, and it's pretty clear there's something about it that resonates with authors and readers alike. Ain't a fantasy book out there without a jedi master teaching their padowan how to force.  Good god DAMN there's a lot of this material out there. Has it gotten old for you yet? Is my version just more of the same? Or am I doin' alright?

Can't think of a way to better-guide your feedback right now. It's my birthweek, I'll cry if I want to!

Chapter Five: Zeal

On and on is all we are.

This was a fun one. Different is good. I hope it's as fun to read; let me know if you doubt it!

If you're new to the series, start here. If you're done with the first book but haven't started this one, then begin Chasing Wind. If you wanna read this chapter on Protagonize, pick this one. Otherwise, it's down here:

Chapter 5: Zeal

Gaurang hated these woods. He’d been raised to fear them, but now that he was lost inside, he’d come to realize just how abominable the Dawnless Woods really were.

They’d claimed one of his soldiers within an hour of entering. Their unit lost another four to another of the forest’s monsters when they broke camp. The north’s finest scholars claimed the Dawnless curse was making their drought worse, and even the untouchables understood that there would be no war in the east if Midway had never disappeared into this endless night.

There seemed no end to the reasons for hating the Dawnless Woods.

As he and his remaining troops sprinted along the proselytes’ trail, he reckoned there was only one thing he hated more than these woods: the girl. Gaurang had never met her, but he did know she was the worst kind of traitor.

No deed could be more glorious than dying for the greater good. Yet this whelp had refused to do so. The Destroyer would weep, if he knew. He was always bound to be the most misunderstood of the three faces of God, but a member of the clergy should know better. If God demands your death, you die smiling for the honor.

If Gaurang had any say in the matter, the Destroyer would never know of her shame. The deity’s attention was focused on the war in the east, and that’s where it belonged.

Gaurang might not be a true proselyte, but as a soldier, he admired his warlord. If giving the campaign a religious flavor made the war easier to swallow, Gaurang was happy to participate. Whether as a heathen or a simple traitor, he’d see the girl die.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shift in the trail. The unit began to drift left, cutting the corner off the girl’s path. Gaurang couldn’t guess what inspired her to change direction, but he hoped this was a sign that they were getting closer. They’d been sprinting for less than a day, but the darkness and silence made it seem so much longer. If even his disciplined mind was beginning to wonder how long it could last, then his subordinates were surely in danger of going mad.

What would they do if the trail ended inside the woods? The mission was more important than their lives, they all understood that. Still, if the girl died, there was no need for them to do the same. Their Breaths could tell glean information from the atmosphere, but unless a miraculous shift of wind brought them some unmistakable trace of the outside world, none of them knew how to ask the air to point them towards sunlight.

They could follow their own trail back to where they entered, but Gaurang refused to consider that option. They’d survived the trek once, but one good roll of the dice did nothing to help the next one.

His eyes suddenly burned, and the world became white. Gaurang skidded to a stop and shielded his face. No amount of blinking seemed to help his eyes come back into focus, but he grinned in spite of the shock. Gaurang couldn’t guess how she’d managed it, but the girl had led them out.

He heard his comrades emerge in rapid succession. There were a few collisions as some soldiers stopped too abruptly for the one behind them, but the sense of relief was still palpable.

Even as his soldiers began to break their long silence with mutual congratulations, Gaurang’s own relief waned. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the traces of smoke in the wind.

Seven funeral pyres were smoldering in an evenly-spaced semicircle. Northern customs demanded that the dead be burned, and while these fires hadn’t been made in the proper manner, this couldn’t be a coincidence. The proselytes had died, and their killers had done their best to respect their funeral customs.

It wasn’t enough. This couldn’t be forgiven.

“Who could have done this?” Gaurang didn’t bother seeing which of his subordinates was asking. “The monsters wouldn’t respect our dead like this, but it would take a monster to kill seven proselytes…”

“Don’t be a moron,” Gaurang interrupted. “Take a Breath and know for yourself. They’re close. She is close.”

He heard several of his soldiers obey; the rest had probably not needed his prompting. A large group was camped nearby, and the girl’s trail lead into that collection of smoke, leather, and sweat.

Now that he was outside the woods, he didn’t understand how it took so long to notice the camp was there. It had probably been the anchor the girl used to navigate out of the darkness.

“She’s defected!” One of the men postulated. “She sent word ahead, and the west met her here and ambushed our brethren as they left the woods!”

It wasn’t a bad theory, but Gaurang wondered. There’d been a fight here, that much was certain. Still, would the proselytes die without taking a single enemy with them? There wasn’t enough blood, was no sign of any enemy casualties. Even exhausted, even while temporarily blinded by the sun, the proselytes should have had some warning that an army was waiting for them. Gaurang didn’t know of any way to hide that many people from a Breather; not at this distance.

Perhaps the west was more formidable than they thought. Perhaps the girl had defected, and they’d sent some of their own artists to counter the north’s Breathers. There were applications of all seven elements that could compensate for a Breather’s strengths.

“Get some rest, everyone.” Gaurang squinted towards the sun. Just after midday, he reckoned. “In six hours, we’ll begin preparations. We strike after sundown.”

Some soldiers collapsed where they stood, too exhausted to bother with their packs. Others approached the dying fires to pay their respects. Gaurang’s brightest came to him; they’d refuse to rest until they had the beginnings of a plan.

“They aren’t military, captain.” Visheta wasted no time.

“What makes you say that?” Gaurang hoped she’d thought this through.

“Some of them are warriors, certainly,” Visheta glanced at the nearest pyre. “But there are elders and children among them. It isn’t a military camp, it’s more like a village.”

Gaurang knew it must be true; Visheta was talented at deciphering the winds’ tidings.

“Nomads, probably.” Old Bodhi thought he knew everything. “The west is not known for its cohesion.”

“You’re telling me a group of savages killed seven Breathers?” Gaurang let his impatience leak into his voice. If they were going to share their theories, he wanted them to be certain. “Would those with the Destroyer’s blessing fall without bringing a single enemy with them?”

“Yes.” Visheta didn’t hesitate. Gaurang knew she was hawkish, but this still surprised him. “Their camp is too close to the Dawnless Woods by most sane standards. If they do this regularly, they must have warriors capable of protecting the weak from those monsters.”

“The proselytes would have been even more exhausted than we are,” Bodhi observed. “As formidable as the proselytes are, even these primitives might best them in that condition. Particularly if they brought superior numbers.”

“So if they’re not military, we won’t be marching to certain death,” Gaurang interpreted. He had been prepared to do so. “This is fortunate.”

His advisors glanced at each other before Bodhi replied. “Perhaps not, but we shouldn’t underestimate them. Seven proselytes died to a small force. We suspect unusual circumstances, but that should still be cause for caution.”

“As if I could forget!” Gaurang snapped. The pragmatic part of him was struggling to control his desire for vengeance; he was tempted to change their objective and slaughter everyone in that camp. “We’re Breathers, the Destroyer’s scouts and assassins. Our role has always been to walk the line between careful and bold.”

“Then you agree.” Bodhi ignored his superior’s anger. “We should take the proper time and scout…”

“No.” Gaurang nodded into the wind. “This may be the usual current. It would explain how the girl managed to leave the woods. But if we take too long and the wind shifts, she’ll know we’re coming. If we take that chance, we’re forced to resume the chase.”

If the girl fled, it also meant Gaurang couldn’t afford to waste time exacting his revenge on these people. That would almost be as bad as failing the mission.

“The line between careful and bold is nice and thick here, captain.” Both men looked to Visheta as she spoke. “These circumstances are ideal.”

“You have a plan?” Gaurang prompted.

“The usual, only simpler.” Visheta pointed in the direction of their enemy. “Some of us engage their warriors. Kill a few while surprise is on our side. That will make their comrades good and mad, mad enough to only focus on the enemy they can see. As Breathers, there’s no risk of being overrun before we can retreat; once the decoys have pulled their fighters away, a few of us surround and terminate the target.”

“And if she’s smart enough to stay with the warriors as they chase the decoy?” Bodhi asked.

“They don’t know our numbers.” Visheta smiled mischievously. “The decoy can be small enough that we can make a third division.”

“One that collects hostages,” Gaurang realized what Visheta was suggesting. “We force the warriors to choose between their family and the girl.”

“Civilized people hide their weak behind walls.” Visheta gave the captain a knowing nod. “They may be strong, but this is proof they’re primitive.”

Gaurang felt Visheta’s wicked smile creeping across his own lips. She was right, this was good. “Think we can convince Nabhi to be in the division that targets the girl?”

“Not a chance.” Bodhi shook his head. “He’ll insist on being a decoy. If we refuse, he won’t participate.”

Gaurang sneered. “The only thing more infuriating than his insubordinance is the fact he’s good enough to get away with it.”

Visheta shrugged. “At least we know he’ll succeed in whatever role he accepts.”

“True enough,” Gaurang’s mood was lightening. “Visheta, Bodhi; once again your service is exemplary. Consider how we’ll make the divisions as you rest.”

“As you command,” they said in unison, saluting with a fist over their hearts. As they walked away, Gaurang caught hints of the fatigue they were hiding.

He sighed, unshouldering his pack and plopping into a weary sit. He’d stretched his own limits in this mission, so most of his comrades were probably at wits’ end. The Destroyer would make it up to them. After this mission, they’d all be candidates for proselyte.

As he lay his head into a softer portion of his pack, he considered an earlier thought: no deed could be more glorious than dying for the greater good. That death would be even more glorious if it was preceded by a whole lot of killing for the greater good.

-CUT-

1.) Didja follow everything okay? Who these people are, the fact that they're after Svara, how they're tracking her, and their plan to assassinate her: was it all clear?

2.) Were the names too exotic? The north has a Hindi vibe to its culture, so all the names are Indian. Should I try harder to find ones that feel more natural to an English-speaker?

Meta-critique:

A.) I'm not sure it's necessary, but I like the idea of a reader anticipating where the three parties will collide. In this chapter, I'm kinda hoping the reader remembers that Miracle is planning to ensure that nobody lives to tell about that time they chased a girl through the Dawnless Woods. As you listened to Gaurang and his unit making their plans, was Miracle still there in the back of your mind?

Again, not sure it necessarily needs to, but I think it'd be fun it it worked that way.