been surrounded by evidence ever since and before his trial! Nothing good enough to show him for what he is. Now he manipulates this ruin against us, and we are to do nothing?'
'Bastun stopped the portal,' Anilya said coldly, standing nearby, her hands folded neatly before her as she stared down the warrior, 'and probably saved your life.'
Syrolf chuckled low in his throat and swept his gaze across the rest of the fang.
'The durthan speaks for the exile,' he said, smiling. 'How many among us are surprised at that? A show of hands will do.'
The fang shifted and mumbled to one another, none raising their hands, but many nodding their heads in agreement. Thaena approached closer as Duras pushed Syrolf back a pace.
'Syrolf,' the ethran said calmly, 'let's say I believe you over the durthan. Are you prepared to die in Bastun's place?'
Indignation filled Syrolf's eyes at the question. 'Lady Ethran, he is not-'
'If Bastun is guilty as you say, then the hathran will deal with him,' Thaena said. 'Until he is brought to the Shield and officially declared an exile, he is still vremyonni and only a hathran or an othlor may formally execute a traitorous vremyonni. If he is dead when we arrive, the hathran will demand your sword for his life.'
Even the status of a runescarred berserker could not save Syrolf from the judgment of the hathran. If one of the wychlaren demanded the sword of a berserker, that sword would be returned quickly. Point first. To his credit, Syrolf seemed to be weighing the price of his own sacrifice.
He raised his hands slowly, though his eyes stared daggers into Bastun's. He pushed by Duras, passing between him and the vremyonni. He paused.
'The Nar, these Creel, are here because of him,' the warrior said. 'We were attacked by the rusalka on the lake, because of him. Now here he summons the dead to be free of us. No good can come of this.'
'It's over, Syrolf,' Duras said. 'Let it be.'
Syrolf did not answer, but his left hand gripped the handle of his long sword. Bastun tensed, spells reflexively readying themselves at his fingertips at the first glimmer of steel at Syrolf's side. The runescarred warrior froze, unable to carry out whatever he might have been intending, before the edge of a thin blade appeared at his throat.
Ohriman smirked at the surprised Syrolf, amusement glinting in the tiefling's catlike stare as he pressed his sword against the warrior's neck.
Thaena's eyes widened, and the rest of the fang drew swords, ready to pounce now that one of their own was threatened. Anilya's men seemed not to have moved at all, but Bastun could see hands on their weapons and legs bending slowly into positions more suitable for standing at a moment's notice.
'Ohriman!' Anilya shouted. 'What are you thinking?'
'You seem very quick to accuse the wizard, Rashemi,' Ohriman sneered, his voice low and threatening. 'Leave him be.'
'Put that blade down, outlander,' Thaena said, leveling her gaze on the tiefling.
'There's no law stopping my blade, Rashemi,' he said, ignoring Thaena. 'Remember that.'
'Put it down!'
'Order your own men, ethran,' Anilya said. 'Ohriman is just trying to protect the one man who might know what's happening in this city.'
'By killing one of our own?' Duras said. 'I'll not have any of that!'
Syrolf and Ohriman stared death into one another's eyes as the others argued. Bastun saw the situation deteriorating rapidly, ripples of chaos spreading through the two groups with each threatening word. Syrolf glanced back and forth between Ohriman, Bastun, and the others.
'You see, Syrolf,' Basan said, 'no one wins here. You kill me, Ohriman kills you, and then everyone tries to kill each other.'
'You planned this,' Syrolf said. 'Turning us against one another!'
'I'm not the one holding the sword,' Bastun said, flexing his fingers and feeling the Weave around him ready to respond. The Shield was close enough now that he might elude the conflict and reach it alone. At the moment, he would readily abandon them all.
Syrolf released the grip on his sword, and Ohriman slowly pulled his blade away from the Rashemi's neck. The arguments fell silent as the pair faced one another.
Syrolf took a step backward and turned as Ohriman made to sheath his sword. As soon as the mercenary's hilt touched scabbard, the berserker spun, drawing his sword against the tiefling. In the blink of an eye, Ohriman's blade appeared and blocked the attack, their steel singing as it met and held between them.
Their arms strained and pushed. SyrolPs lip curled as he found the wiry mercenary's strength to be far more than expected.
Ohriman's demeanor remained calm. Bastun swore the man looked as if he could have yawned at any moment. The others stood still, waiting to see if blood would be drawn between the two-there were no wychlaren laws to protect the tiefling. Despite his dislike of Syrolf, Bastun hoped Ohriman would lose. If Syrolf fell, the entire fang might rush to avenge his death.
With a final shove the pair parted. Syrolf merely grunted and turned away. Ohriman walked back to his men and gracefully sat down, drying the condensing mist from his blade with his cloak. Duras stood in SyrolPs path and grabbed his cloak roughly, batting the sword from his hand.
'Get some rest,' he said angrily and pushed Syrolf to the ground. 'We'll discuss this later.'
Syrolf glared and leaned against a block of stone. Another warrior passed him a skin of watered-down jhuild, the infamous Rashemi firewine, with a pat on his shoulder. Syrolf drank slowly, wincing only slightly at Thaena's whisper of admonishment as she passed. Glancing once more in Bastun's direction, he looked away and stared at the ground, seething.
Silence returned to the hall, and both groups settled back in their places. Thaena prepared her spell components, while Duras maintained a close eye on Syrolf, who paid no mind to anything but the wineskin in his hand.
Shaking his head, Bastun resumed his place beside the portal, more comfortable with a puzzle of destructive magic than trying to figure out his fellow mortals.
Duras came to sit by him, wrapped in his cloak and sighing as he rested his legs.
'That was… bracing,' he said quietly, his eyes drifting to Syrolf and Ohriman.
'No blood spilled,' Bastun answered, still unsure of how to act around the warrior. 'Well, not yet at any rate. How long do you suspect this truce will hold?'
'That depends.' Duras raised an eyebrow as he considered the question. 'Mostly on how much opposition we'll face at the Shield. And I say the more the merrier for this band.'
'Common enemies,' Bastun said, nodding.
'It does tend to keep the swords side by side,' Duras replied.
Bastun recalled his vision of the phantoms surrounding the fang as they fought the weeping undead, their ghostly blades blurring alongside Rashemi steel.
'When you were fighting those things, did you… feel anything strange?' Bastun asked, unsure if what he'd seen was even real.
'Something.' The warrior closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. 'There was something-terribly cold. And a memory, as if I'd been here before, fighting the same battle. Does that make any sense?'
'Perhaps,' Bastun replied, biting his lip and caressing the edges of a cracked rune in the portal. 'I thought I saw something.'
In truth Duras's memory meant far more to Bastun than he cared to say within earshot of the durthan and her lackey.
'I wouldn't have let Syrolf kill you,' Duras said, interrupting the vremyonni's thoughts. 'I want you to know that.'
'Well,' Bastun replied, looking around the hall and taking in the odd stare or two from the fang and the sellswords alike. Thaena kept to herself and had made no move toward the pair. 'That makes two of us.'
Duras smiled and glanced back at the durthan and Ohriman.
'Was Anilya right in what she said? Do you know what's happening here?'
'Not really.' It was a safe lie, avoiding the fact that he couldn't truly know for sure. 'Though I doubt we've
