Their route took them up stairway after stairway, climbing higher until they reached an elevation where Brandt could see most of the valley. He wasn’t sure he’d ever worked harder in his life for a drink. He arrived at the tavern out of breath, but the view gave meaning to his exhaustion.
Ren waited for them. He had saved them a table, though the act appeared unnecessary. Only a few patrons graced the establishment, but they all looked dangerous. They weren’t ruffians, by any means. They sipped at drinks as they spoke quietly to one another. But Brandt noticed their studious glances, the gazes that never rested long in one place. Each of the warriors radiated a dangerous calm.
The effect was enhanced by the tavern itself. Weapons served as the wall decor, several of them notched from frequent use. Brandt’s entrance, accompanied by Leana, drew a handful of respectful nods.
A sense of belonging settled over Brandt. He never felt more comfortable than when he was in the presence of competent warriors. And this tavern held nothing but.
Ren’s smile grew as he watched Brandt’s reactions. “I thought you might appreciate it here.”
“What is this?”
“It’s run by a former Senki for one of the elder warleaders. When he fell to age, he started his third life as the owner here. He caters to warriors who seek companionship and no quarrel. It attracts many strong fighters who are passing through Faldun.”
“Thank you for introducing me.”
Before long, Brandt had lost count of the number of mugs he’d finished. It couldn’t have been more than five or six, but he couldn’t remember, despite his best efforts.
On the road, they had imbibed whenever Leana could get her hands on alcohol, a skill in which she showed remarkable competence. The companionship of the other Senkis led Brandt to drinking more than he had in the past. That wasn’t saying much—since joining the monasteries, he’d barely consumed any. He didn’t care much one way or the other about the drink, but he enjoyed the nightly conversations with the other warriors. They reminded him of his evenings with his wolfblades long ago.
“You said the owner was on his ‘third life’ when I came in,” Brandt said. “What does that mean?”
“We live three lives before we go to the gate,” Leana answered, her words slurred just a little. She’d had more to drink than either of the others, finishing two mugs for every one of Brandt’s. “Not everyone gets all three, of course. But there is the life of training to become a warrior, the life of the warrior, and the life that comes after.”
“What marks the transitions?”
Ren answered. “The transition from the first life to the second is clear enough. Sometime between the ages of twelve and sixteen the trials are offered to children. Passage of those trials marks the beginning of the second life and the right to start a family. The move from the second life to the third varies more widely. Sometimes it is due to injury. For others it is age, and yet for others it is usefulness. In his case,” Ren gestured to the massive owner of the tavern, “his role in his party was to draw an enormous bow. When he could no longer reliably draw and aim the bow, he passed his duty on to another and began his third life.”
Leana chimed in. “Some are eager to begin a third life and do so when they are younger, perhaps in their thirties. But such choices are frowned upon and uncommon.”
As often happened during such explanations, Brandt found himself leaning forward as he listened.
Another round found its way to their table, but Brandt insisted it be the last. His head was already pleasantly fuzzy, and he didn’t dare go further while in Faldun. It was easy, among Ren and Leana, to forget where he was and why he was here.
“When will Regar speak to the elders?” Brandt asked.
“Soon,” Ren answered. “Most likely in the next day or two. As much as the elders might want to delay, I do not think they will risk it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Tensions in the city, and throughout the land, are high. Though they might not wish to make a decision, I believe they recognize the time has come. Delay only invites disaster.”
“Disaster?”
Ren nodded, his look serious. “Conflicts between war parties have increased the last few years.” He made a gesture to reassure Brandt. “There’s always some in-fighting. But recently, it’s become more violent, and more frequent.” Ren’s face went dark with memory.
Leana continued. “Most fighting between war parties happens when scouts run across one another. Warrior against warrior. But this spring, one war party killed three whole families of another war party on a raid. Years ago, such an act would have brought retribution down on the offending war party. This spring it brought none. The warleaders were too worried it would lead to outright civil war.”
“All because some war parties seek peace with the empire?”
Ren nodded. “It’s a simplification, but yes. Those of us who seek peace often believe some of our traditions and ways are outdated. Those who disagree believe it is our traditions that made us who we are, and that abandoning them means disaster. It’s dozens of small disagreements that have found their focus in this single issue.”
“And Regar’s visit is the center of this now.”
“It is,” Ren said. “It’s surprising the warleaders opposed to us haven’t done more to stop our progress. They plan something, but I haven’t heard even a whisper of what it might be, which concerns me.”
Brandt sat up straighter, though the effort didn’t come easy. “Is Regar safe?”
Leana laughed. “Regar has never been safe. But the expected attacks haven’t come.”
“I don’t understand. The road here seemed peaceful.”
Ren grimaced. “Too peaceful. We should have been attacked at least twice passing through land controlled by hostile war parties.”
“Even with all those who accompanied us?”
Ren chuckled, the sound grim. “Have you
