Tyrsan looked up from his journal as Ash walked in and dropped into the chair across from him. The Illaini Magus exhaled noisily, forehead propped up in his palm. Without a word, the former Dulain blew the ink dry, draped a ribbon to mark the page and closed the leather-bound book. He retrieved a bottle and two glasses, pouring drinks for them both.

Ash glanced at the glass the other set before him, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “Mountain whiskey? Little strong for this time of day, isn’t it?”

“It has been obvious for days you need a drink.” He sat and took a long sip of his drink. “I felt the same for the first few months after our mistress chose me to be Her Dulain for Sanctuary. It is why I advised delaying your return to Fortress.” He studied the younger man. “Though it seems more than just your new divine tie is troubling you.”

The mage made a face before taking the glass and draining it without blinking. Tyrsan said nothing, simply refilling his glass. “I never claimed to know everything when I attained my master’s rank, but I believed I knew enough to attend to anything that required my attention. But as Storm had pointed out in her usual cut-to-the-bone manner, I am an utter failure as Alanis for the tribe.”

He let his head fall onto the chair’s elegantly carved back. “I thought being a leader wouldn’t be any different than any other challenge I faced. If someone had need, they would come to me to ask me to fix it, or I would just direct people when something came up. But no one comes to me, and there is no task demanding our attentions. Alanis is a title I wear. But Storm lives and breathes it, like it is second nature to her.”

Tyrsan chuckled. “A good leader often makes it look so simple.” His smile faded, concern in his eyes. “Has she been unsettled since the testing?”

“Yes, but she won’t talk to me about it. I doubt she’s spoken to anyone.” He scowled a moment. “Protecting me from herself again. A maddening, endearing trait of hers.”

The former Dulain made a musing sound as he sipped his drink. “She is especially empathetic. I have never seen someone so willing to endure unending torment to protect others from even a fraction of it.”

Ash shook his head, bemused. “I cannot forget how terrified she was of the idea of giving us the tribal bond. That we would suffer because of her.” The faint smile on his lips faded. “I couldn’t let her be so alone. Not when I learned how it tortured her. When I witnessed how very real reliving the past was. I promised I would lead with her.” He growled and downed the second glass. “But in that promise, I am an utter failure.”

“You are hardly a failure,” Tyrsan countered, his tones firm but gentle. “Most do not understand what true leadership entails. There is a saying in Sevmana. To lead people from different backgrounds is like herding cats.” Ash arched a quizzical eyebrow. “The na’Zhekali tribe is more than a simple group of people.

“It claims Forenten, Sevmanen, Vodani and Desanti as part of its make-up. On top of cultural differences, you have masters and god-touched, who are notoriously independent in nature.” He sipped his drink. “And we all are still acclimating to the goddess’ bond, even the three of us who already had one of the two Guardian markings. It is disorienting, to put it simply.”

“I understand now why you insisted we remain, and I appreciate your wisdom.” He closed his eyes partway, forcing himself to relax. “I do not remember it being so bad when I was given my Illaini mark.”

“Everyone reacts differently to divine ties. Bella barely broke her stride. Jaison was physically ill for a month.” He frowned a little. “Though how he concealed his Desanti heritage might have contributed to that. We may never know with certainty since it is unique to each person.”

Ash shook his head as the alcohol started affecting him. He sighed. “It does not change the fact that I am doing a poor job leading the tribe. Storm is…troubled. It makes her withdrawn and erratic. Everyone else is scattered, trying to find their bearings again, and I cannot even begin to help them. I can barely help myself!”

“That is because you are trying to rush things.” Ash blinked, frowning in question. “The hardest time to be a leader is when there is nothing to strive for. Right now, the tribe is in a lull while we recover from the testing. There are no dragons to slay as it were.”

The mage smirked. “That might be a euphemism better left unspoken around the Desanti.”

The other man chuckled. “They would likely appreciate it more than most. But the concept is there. When you have a goal, a leader is there to guide. To see what needs to be done, know who is best to accomplish it, and be the glue that keeps everything and everyone from falling apart. A leader needs to understand what motivates a person, what they are capable of accomplishing, their strengths and weaknesses. Culturally, it is something your people are most suited for.”

The mage frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Your goddess focuses on knowledge and the gaining of it.” Tyrsan made a gesture with one hand. “Even you, when you lived as Avarian, sought to learn about your people’s adversaries, to verify or discover the truth behind the ‘facts’ he had been taught.”

“And discovered there was no need to see them as enemies at all,” Ash murmured, eyes on his drink. A soft smile touched his lips. “And he found Zhekali.”

“Exactly.” Tyrsan smiled. “This whole tribe thing? It is new to all of you. All of us. Being a leader gets no easier when there are new people you are leading.” He sat forward. “Take advantage of this lull. Get to know your tlisan. Really know them. Observe them, talk to them. Most especially, listen to them. Show them you are there for them. In time, they will look to you as someone to turn to when they feel in need of aid.”

“Be the sort of person I had often wished had been there for me.”

“Or had been there.” Tyrsan tilted his head. “Storm told me your master had been your grandfather.” Ash blinked in surprise. “She would have spoken with you, given it was about Forentan culture, but…it was about you and a painful time of your life. The concept of allowing you to believe you were alone bewildered and offended her.” He looked amused as he leaned back in his chair. “She assured me she will not punch your great uncle in the nose when she sees him again.”

Ash blinked again. He could not help but laugh, tension easing across his shoulders. “Ah, goddess’ blessings, I love that girl. Woman,” he corrected himself. “My woman.” He closed his eyes. “My life.”

Tyrsan smiled indulgently, setting his glass down and turning back to his journal. “I am more than happy to be your adviser in matters of leading our tribe. However, I cannot be the leader. When it is time, I have other roads to travel. The others will need your stability.” He glanced up to meet Ash’s eyes. “You are uniquely suited to the task, well-educated in the Knowing One’s edicts but embracing the gifts other nations bring.”

The words made Ash’s expression cloud. “I have not been so invariably accepting.”

“No. But you changed when you learned you were wrong.” Tyrsan wagged his stylus at him. “And that is what makes a good leader. It isn’t about not ever being mistaken, or always being correct. It is about being firm or flexible when you need to be. Better to admit to a mistake than trying to deny it. Others may not initially appreciate such honesty. Idiots never do.”

“You’ve made mistakes?”

Tyrsan looked up with a sardonic expression. “Dremmen?”

“Ah.” Ash remembered killing the hated Unsvet Guardian, his visage hardening. “Yes.” He frowned. “We have not found the thing he had allied himself to.”

“The Desanti have scoured the mountain and surrounding territory and discovered no trace. I suspect it left once the traitor was discovered and his allies were uncovered. Whatever ability Skyfire has, it was effective.” He looked back down at his journal, dipping his stylus in the ink jar. “I can only pray that there are others with his gifts in Desantiva and that they would be willing to offer themselves to service to the Timeless One.”

Ash made a thoughtful sound, tapping the edge of his glass against his bottom lip.