Summary

You fight so doggedly for those in this world. But have you asked yourself what the both of you would do, knowing the world would not wish you in it? The battle with the Vanahym is over, and Pathonia now finds itself dealing with the war's aftermath. The Free Peoples, still despising the Outlanders, must face the reality that the Outlands destroyed a threat to them as well. In a show of goodwill, the dwarf families of the Free offer to entertain the outcasts among them: The Brownbeards. Carsten Sigurdson finds himself invited to an assembly he does not trust, and carrying a secret. He knows that his cousin is alive, while the rest of the world assumes he is dead. He also knows that his cousin shares a curse, similar to his own, one that is prophesied to bring them into conflict. Meanwhile, Olaf hides away, trying to raise his family as far away from conflict as far as he possibly can. In the shadows, those behind Murethal's meteoric rise still scheme, still pushing the world closer to conflict.

Genre: Fantasy/Action

Author: Jacob Heist

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: 1

Rating: n/a

Age Rating: 16+

Chapter 1

Karkopolis

Archery Range

The arrow slammed into the target, sending a shower of splinters into the air. Miera Blackfire randomly turned to another target and released a second arrow, which she had strung in the time it took to turn. A perfect shot. She did not take the time to revel in it. Instead, she fired over and over, putting a half dozen arrows through as many targets. Miera stopped, breathless. That was a lot harder than I thought it would be, she thought, letting the focus spell she had been using dissipate.

"Well shot. Ten shots, and ten bull's-eyes." She whirled, seeing her sister standing behind her. Arcaena was wearing her ranger's outfit, with her bow slung across her back. A hip quiver hung empty at her side.

"What do you want?" Miera asked, her voice bitter. "Do you not have a dwarf to be snogging or something?"

Arcaena bristled. "What is Carsten to you? And why are you being so hostile?"

"You should have figured it out by now," her sister replied harshly.

"Mother? Are you serious?" Arcaena folded her arms. "I should have thought you might accept it by now."

Miera sighed. "Of course. Let me accept yet another dishonor to our family. Let me accept that you have no regard for our dignity. Arcaena, where does it end?"

"Mother is not a dishonor!" Her sister exploded angrily. "She did what she had to do to survive."

"She cut her ears! She rejected our people and everything we stand for. How can that possibly not be a dishonor?" Miera protested, her eyes wide and filling with tears. "She rejected us, Arcaena. How could she do that to us? Her own children?"

"Miera..." Arcaena's voice trailed off. Her words cut deeper than she wanted to acknowledge. Their mother had secluded herself since going into mourning for their father, and even with Arcaena's attempts to get information out of her, she remained silent. Why did she not come back? She could have. According to Father, she was one of history's most powerful witches. Had she chosen to return, she very well might have.

"Miera what?" She asked. "Do you know? Has she told you something she kept from me?"

Arcaena shook her head. "I wish I had answers for you, Miera, but I do not. I know nothing." She lowered her eyes. "I wish I knew better. I am truly sorry."

"Does it not bother you?" Miera asked.

"Every day," her sister replied, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. "But if mother will not share, there is precious little we can do. I will not turn her out, as she is family. However, I cannot allow her to take power."

Miera blinked. "Wait, what?"

"The council has clearly felt Father's demise," Arcaena told Miera, her eyes misting over. "They want to replace him, if you can believe it. But I can hardly justify it. In truth, I want nothing to do with the throne, but if our choice is either Mother, or one of the lords, it must be one of our sisters. I understand if you want the throne."

"Oh no," Miera said, shaking her head. "I refuse to take anyone's throne. Having seen the strain it put on Father, the seat is yours."

"I..." Arcaena shifted.

Miera nodded. "I see. Well, I will support your decision." She looked down. "I still cannot quite forgive Mother for what she did to us."

"Maybe we have to," her sister said. "We should probably start there."

Karkopolis

Makers' Forge

Carsten dipped the curved blade in the barrel of water beside the anvil. Steam hissed all around him, though he barely felt it collecting on his skin. One of the oddities of the glowing tattoo on his arm seemed to be that he was growing to feel less and less pain. Or maybe my tolerance for pain is growing, he mused, placing the sword on a rack next to the forge.

"Wow." The forge-keeper whistled, looking at the wall full of blades. "Now that is a good day's work, and no mistake. And you said you were poor at forging."

"I am," Carsten said, wiping his soot-stained brow on his apron. "I'm nowhere near as good at it as I should be."

The Dark Elf noted the slight sigh that escaped his lips as he turned to face the forge again. "You can take the day, dwarf. You have done well." He looked over at the wall again. "Did you manage to finish that other thing you were working on?"

"I did," Carsten said, reaching into his pocket. "I do hope she likes it." He added mentally, I hope she says yes. This will be embarrassing otherwise. And he took off his apron. He preferred not to wear his red jerkin in the forge, since it would get quite dirty. Instead, he wore his soft white undergarment, or what had been white, until it had seen the forge in action. He put the jerkin on and ran to where his phoenix, Torchwing, was waiting.

Well, come on, its look said. I can't wait all day.

Oh, shut up. You could use a little patience, his eyes answered.

The phoenix seemed to shrug. I'm not the only one you kept waiting.

Stop. Carsten's eyes narrowed. Leave her out of this.

Oh, please. You want to see her, and you know it.