Everything I knew was gone. My brother, my best friend, my lover. Even the Severed Hand. The hold was a shell of stone, with rubble and splinters marking every street. The Wolf House remained, but it was changed. It was a vertical town, with families crammed into every stone corner large enough to hold them. Only the highest level of the Bloody Halls remained off-limits. Even my humble apartment had been turned into a triage, where those with minor wounds were assessed and passed on. All the time, anyone able to wield a blade or point a spear was frantically keeping the chaos spawn at bay. The Bloody Halls had windows and balconies, and every other level was a potential point of ingress. And I kept hearing the same phrase – it’s only a matter of time.
It was hard to process what was happening. The only way to get a complete view of the hold was to travel to the void, and Tomas Red Fang had advised against it for all but the most seasoned spirit-masters. But word had filtered throughout the Wolf House. Everything but stone buildings and walls had been destroyed. The wooden jetties of Laughing Rock remained intact, as if the spawn couldn’t traverse the water, but everywhere else was now their domain. At least for now. The sad reality was that, even if Lord Ulric returned with his ships, we’d still be hopelessly outnumbered.
And it was hard not to stare at the stump of my left arm. It had been my least favourite arm, but still not something I would have willingly sacrificed. I’d risen from bed earlier than Tomas had advised and needed help to dress. I was weighted down by what had happened, but no-one dared to question me or send me back to bed. The blood I’d lost, and the sheer trauma of being crippled, made me light-headed, but the Old Bitch of the Sea had strengthened my will as well as my body and my wyrd.
I’d made my way to a map room – one of the few empty chambers remaining – poring over plans of underground tunnels and possible escape routes. Most were old and unusable, built in the days when Sea Wolves still had things to fear, and the remainder were narrow, and led no further than the treeline of the Wood of Scars. Escape wasn’t an option.
I leaned against the map table and took a few deep breaths. I wore only a woollen robe and sandals, and was barely strong enough to walk unaided. I couldn’t fight, but I could still think. Unfortunately, all my thoughts led me to the same phrase – it was only a matter of time. All I could think to do was struggle on with my sword belt, limp to where there was fighting, and flail painfully at the chaos spawn. It wasn’t much of a plan. Currently, a healthy fisherman would be a better addition to our defences than me. The power I’d been given had stopped the wound from ending my fight, but it wouldn’t grow back my arm, or give me a week’s rest.
“Would you accept help?” asked the voice of my friend.
“Do you mean advice? Because that I would accept.”
“No, I mean help. And not from me. Would you accept it?”
“Help from who?” I asked.
For a moment there was no answer and I again wondered if I was merely hallucinating. Then I heard Jaxon sigh. “You won’t like it,” he replied. “But it’ll soon be dawn, and the sunrise will bring powerful shadows.”
I scratched at the bandaged stump of my left arm. “Having your voice in my head is not entirely unpleasant, but please make sense.”
“I can see strange things in the void,” he replied. “The air is close and charged with energy. It’s as if something is waiting for the dawn. Something powerful.”
“Some kind of help I won’t like?”
“There are owl spirits, circling far overhead,” said Jaxon. “Somehow the Dark Brethren are involved.”
I snarled, a hundred potential conspiracies entering my head. “They’re here to help finish the job,” I muttered, wondering how long it would take me to don my armour.
“No,” replied the voice of the Wisp. “They are here as allies. There is a benevolent power behind them. A shadow.”
I snorted my scepticism and hobbled out of the map room. In the corridor were lines of huddled young men and women, mostly those who had lost parents. They all knew who I was, but my demeanour was clearly not conducive to conversation, as none of them spoke to me. At the end of the passage, where stairs led down to the First Fang’s table, I was met by two duellists, flanking Jonas Grief.
“Addie, if you’re going to get out of bed, please tell someone where you’re going,” said the master-at-arms. “These halls are more crowded than usual.”
“My presence doesn’t add up to much,” I replied, thankful to have someone to lean against. “Give me a few days and I’ll be almost back to my old self. Do we have a few days?”
He bowed his head. It was first time I’d seen fear in his eyes. The same could be said of the duellists behind him and every other Sea Wolf, licking their wounds in the Wolf House.
“Jonas,” I said, gently. “It took me weeks to get over it. Now answer the question.”
“No,” he replied. “We don’t have a few days. They’ll breach soon after dawn.
“Then let us hope the dawn is an ally,” I said, letting him help me down the stairs. “I want to see the hold. Clear a balcony.”
“Easier said than done,” he replied. “The fucking spirits reform within a minute or two. There’re just too many of them.”
At the bottom of the stairs, the huge, red-carpeted hall of Lord Ulric Blood was filled to the brim with huddled folk. Around the high table, wounded and screaming people were tended to by spirit-masters and herbalists. And sitting alone by the far door, with tear-filled eyes, was Rys Coldfire. The Wolf’s Bastard wore battered armour and his fist was still locked around the hilt of his falchion. He’d lost no limbs and suffered no serious wounds, but the defeat in his eyes was almost crippling.
I stood, looking at him, for several moments, until Jonas led me across the hall.
“Mistress Brand,” said Rys, trying to smile. “You look well.” He nodded at the stump of my arm. “Lucky it was the left. You’ll be just as dangerous with practice.”
“Practice takes time,” I replied. “We don’t have time.”
“It seems not. One hundred and sixty-seven years. Hardly a long time in the grand scheme of the world. I thought the Sea Wolves would last longer. But I heard what you did, and you should be commended … Alpha Wolf.”
We shared a nod of respect. “The dawn may yet have a surprise for us,” I said. “Let us stand and greet it.”
The Wolf’s Bastard stood from his chair, grunting at sore limbs and minor wounds. “I’ve made my peace with lady death. She can no longer do anything to me. Send for Tomas Red Fang to join us.”
Jonas, Rys and I made our way down two more flights of stairs, bringing duellists in our wake. Where the Bloody Halls ended, the defence of the Wolf House began. Wide corridors, leading to windows and balconies, were now the frontline. Columns of spearmen worked in rotation, keeping the chaos spawn at bay, with water, food and medicine constantly flowing through the lower levels. But attrition was slowly killing us.
We were greeted with salutes and faltering oaths of loyalty. These men and woman were broken, but were too brave to admit it. They saluted our names and asked if they could assist us, but each pair of eyes was slowly dying. Jonas offered kind words of encouragement, but Rys and I remained silent. I was the only Eastron here not wearing armour and I leant on his shoulder, tuning out the discomfort.
“The balcony,” I muttered, pointing down the largest corridor. “We need to see the dawn.”
“Be light soon,” roared Jonas. “Let’s clear those bastards, so we can see the sun one last time.”
It was enough. The defending Sea Wolves were functioning on their last nerve, just needing one reason to carry on fighting. Perhaps seeing this endless night make way for dawn was enough. Once more for the Severed Hand – the words had never been more true.
At the end of the corridor, framed by mahogany beams, was a wide balcony. It pointed south across the hold, but the view was of eyes, flesh, mouths and death. There was no portcullis, just a narrowing of the stone passageway, allowing a line of five spears to hold the ground. The spawn were patient, testing each and every defender until they made a mistake and died. It was a pattern repeated across hundreds of windows and dozens of balconies. But at this balcony the defenders rallied.
Five spears became ten, then the column advanced. Two more surges, and the chaos spawn were pushed back. The mass of teeth and eyes snapped at spears, and splintered wood, but only three warriors died getting us to the balcony. Rys and Jonas stayed either side of me, as the last embers of defiance showed us a dark sky and a distant glow. A window opened through the curtain of gnashing teeth and thrusting spears, and we saw the sun begin to rise across the Severed Hand.
“In this realm, there are monsters we should fear,” said Jaxon’s voice. “But there are other realms and other powers, in front of which even monsters would do well to cower.”
I was helped onto the balcony, and a ring of spears quickly lined the railing before me. Jonas directed the warriors to hold the ground, and Rys stood at my left shoulder. Up and down, the stone of the Wolf House was covered with crawling amoeba. A cocoon of pulpy flesh, rising above the Severed Hand. When I managed to pull my eyes from the chaos spawn, all I saw was a ruined hold. Everything wooden was gone. Towers, walls, and thousands of buildings. The outline of stone remained, providing a strange sketch of what the Severed Hand used to look like. The tear in the glass was still there, though it was now more of a slice than a gaping wound.
Tomas Red Fang appeared next to Rys and me. “Something comes with the dawn,” said the anxious spirit-master.
“A shadow,” I replied, smiling at the old man. “Perhaps our last hope.”
The sun poked over the horizon for the first time, beaming a blanket of golden light from the Bright Coast to the Wolf House. As it struck stone, dense black shadows cut through the hold. Every feature, every ruin, they each contributed to the lengthening carpet of black. It was as if the shadows of dawn had been waiting, and now sprinted to cover the hold. They appeared to need just a glint of light, dancing forwards, unnaturally large and shimmering.
“Is this wyrd?” queried Rys, stepping to the edge of the balcony. “Look! The spirits pause.”
We all cast our eyes around the Wolf House. The chaos spawn had stopped gnashing at our defences, and slowly pivoted, as if the shadows called to them, or represented some kind of threat. They backed away from the stone walls, allowing the defenders respite. Every window and balcony was now filled with gawking men and women. They were tired, bloodied and restless, with the encroaching shadows drawing every set of eyes.
The blackness danced, rising from the ground and forming into sinuous whirlwinds of shadow. Small at first, the whirlwinds gently roiled in the charged air of the hold. A thousand different tones of black, plunging backwards and becoming tunnels.
“Be ready,” I commanded. “Something is about to happen. For good or for ill, we must be prepared.”
“Those aren’t void bridges,” said Tomas. “But something’s definitely coming.”
The spawn came together as a single, enormous ball of polypous flesh, teeth and eyes. They left the Wolf House and rippled through the air to meet the lengthening tunnels of shadow.
From my vantage point, on a high balcony, I imagined some incomprehensible spirit-war was taking place. That was until I heard the clank of metal. The closest shadow tunnel was also the largest, and from its depths came a column of warriors. They were indistinct and marched in some kind of close formation. Similar columns emerged from every shadow tunnel. They were all angled downwards, encircling the stone around the Wolf House.
Spears came into view, followed by chainmail and rectangular shields. Finally, black helmets, styled in the likeness of an owl. Dark Brethren void legionnaires, though too distant for me to identify which legion. Around me, the Sea Wolf defenders gasped, too confused to be angry and too tired to move. Everyone just stood in silence. Even Jonas Grief and the Wolf’s Bastard. They stood with me and Tomas Red Fang – four elders of the hold, watching our oldest enemies strike the stone of the Severed Hand, and unable to react. My remaining hand tensed, as if it felt strange not being around the hilt of a sword, and I saw similar signals from those around me.
The Dark Brethren exited the shadow tunnels and formed into dense columns, with shields locked together and spears held low. They saw the huge chaos amoeba, but took no steps back. Their helmets masked their emotions, allowing no fear or confusion to show. Each warrior was a perfect copy of the next, with only minor differences in stature.
“How many men is a legion?” asked Tomas Red Fang.
“Five thousand,” I replied. “Not enough.”
Almost before I’d finished speaking, the shadow tunnels coalesced into a single sheet of blackness. As if alive, the shimmering darkness glided through the air, wrapping itself around the chaos spawn. For a moment, the Wolf House was again enveloped in night, as the shadow passed in front of the balcony. I imagined an enormous hand, half-closing around the bubbling spirits and pulling them towards the waiting spears. The spawn gnashed and squirmed, trying to bite their way free, but every time a mouth closed over shadow, a spirit hissed and blinked out of existence. Thousands died, somehow crushed by a closing hand of shadow. Others tried to flee, buzzing away from the mass, but meeting only a carpet of spears.
In moments, the shadow had killed more chaos spawn than the collective might of the Sea Wolves and their totem. Any spirits that were attacked by the Dark Brethren were already trying to run, and were a fraction compared to those crushed by the shadow creature. I was stunned, as was everyone who watched from the Wolf House. Suddenly, the presence of the void legionnaires was trivial. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Was it another kind of spirit? Or some twisted weapon of the Dark Brethren?
“I think it’s a god,” said the Wisp. “I see a being of form and void, but belonging to neither. And they worship it … some of them.”
The hand closed into a ball, slowly crushing the spawn into nothingness. A few thousand stray spirits were driven into the path of the legion, and quickly corralled into a killing ground between advancing spearmen. Then the air was still. The chaos spawn were all gone and the shadow had pulsed down into a single tight orb of darkness.
I craned my neck around the balcony and saw thousands of Sea Wolves, bearing silent witness to the rising sun. Exhausted and wounded defenders were roused, helped to windows and balconies, and shown that they no longer needed to fight. They understood nothing else of what they saw. Just that they would live another day.
The orb of shadow continued to shrink, until it disappeared below, amidst lock-step legionnaires. They lowered their spears and stowed their shields. I heard commands to stand-at-ease, and they formed a disciplined column of owl faces, looking up to the Wolf House.
“We should go below,” said Rys Coldfire. “At least greet them and their shadow with a modicum of respect.”
“That thing could annihilate us,” said Tomas Red Fang.
“These people have fought enough,” said Jonas Grief, gesturing to the battered citizens of the Severed Hand.
All three of them looked at me. They would never openly show deference, but each now felt they should seek my counsel. Something, other than my arm, had changed, and they instinctively reacted to it. I straightened, finding that the stump of my arm barely hurt and my legs again had strength.
“We greet them below,” I said. “With swords peace-tied. Whatever it was … whatever they brought, it saved the hold. Remember that.”
*
The portcullis had been raised, and the ground level was packed with stunned citizens. Some whispered of victory, some of soon being able to return home. But most were in shock. Sea Wolves were hard people, and this would either break us or make us harder. As for me … I was strangely focused. Nothing had made sense when I returned from the Bay of Bliss. I’d seen things I didn’t understand, and lost too many people. But I was somehow changed. One arm or no, I was now called the Alpha Wolf.
Rys Coldfire stood over my left shoulder and Tomas stood over my right. Jonas Grief led a cohort of toughened duellists behind us, with Lagertha Blood holding a place of honour in the middle. We left the Wolf House, followed by a gang of Kneeling Wolves, with Oswald Leaf and Tasha Strong amongst them. Before us was a mass of black armour and spears, parting in the middle to allow their leaders to meet us.
“Peace!” shouted a gravelly voice. “We have done our killing for this morning.”
I was at the centre, striding away from the Wolf House, with a broken hold and five thousand Dark Brethren in front of me. I stopped, within a respectful distance of the void legionnaires, and allowed the duellists of the Severed Hand to form a line either side of me.
“To whom do I speak?” I replied, raising my voice.
Two men approached from the mass of shields and spears. A Dark Brethren and a hulking Sea Wolf. The Brethren wore a long leather coat over a breastplate, and an intractable look in his intelligent eyes. The Sea Wolf twitched manically, but hid it behind a fierce scowl. It was Xavyer Ice, called the Grim Wolf, elder of Nowhere, and his presence was almost as confusing as a dozen other things that had happened since the sun came up.
“My name is Marius Cyclone, I’m called the Stranger,” said the Brethren commander. “Who are you?”
A thousand Sea Wolves growled. None of them would know the Stranger’s face, just his name and reputation. Most would have served aboard ships that pillaged the Dark Harbour’s trade routes, or seen friends die at the flash of a Brethren void path. Of all the people who could have saved the hold, Marius Cyclone was the least likely. As we hated him, he was renowned for his contempt for the Sea Wolves.
I reduced my reply to a curt nod at the Dark Brethren. The Stranger wore a bastard sword across his back, and a blue tattoo poked up from his leather collar.
“Her name is Adeline Brand,” offered the Grim Wolf. “That one is Rys Coldfire, the Wolf’s Bastard. I don’t know the others.”
“Xavyer Ice,” said Rys. “Are you a traitor now? Because if you’re not, you’d better tell me quickly.” His hand went to his falchion. He could advance, draw his weapon, and kill, all in the blink of an eye. If he chose to.
“He’s no traitor,” said Marius Cyclone.
“Silence!” I commanded. “You saved the Severed Hand, so I won’t fillet you for daring to speak here, but your opinion of Xavyer Ice is not relevant.” I turned to the Grim Wolf. “Answer the fucking question.”
The old man of Ice was almost as large as the First Fang, and his sparkling blue eyes shone with almost as much wyrd. “I don’t want to fight either of you,” he replied. “But question my honour again, and you’ll leave me no choice.”
Rys assessed him, gritting his teeth and trying to decide whether or not he liked the answer. A mob of Sea Wolves stood behind him, ready to act, but there was little fight left in their limbs.
I decided to show some leadership, and perhaps stay Rys’s falchion. “If you’re not a traitor, why do you stand alone with one of the Cyclone brothers?”
Marius smiled and drew a fingertip across his lips, indicating that he planned to remain silent. The Grim Wolf twitched at the lack of help, glancing at the Wolf’s Bastard and me. He appeared to be struggling with an answer, as if his thoughts were conflicted. “I don’t know,” he muttered, looking at the ground. “I just know that we are all going to die if we don’t flee this realm of form.”
Rys looked at me, trying to convey something. I sensed that he was unconvinced by the answer, and felt gratified that he checked with me before killing the Grim Wolf. The hold was a ruin, and thousands were dead, but the Wolf’s Bastard was still strong enough to punish treachery when he saw it.
“I’ve had enough of this,” snapped Marius Cyclone, interrupting Rys, as he reached for his falchion. “Sea Wolves are ignorant brutes, unable to see beyond their blades. If strength is all you understand, I will show you strength.”
I heard the thin whine of a distant whistle, and saw shadows gather around my feet. The cold morning sun danced off ruined buildings and statue-like warriors, creating fingers of darkness at every angle. Whatever shadow beast the Dark Brethren had unleashed, appeared to be returning.
“Show respect,” said the Wisp, murmuring in my head. “You are about to address a god.”
I reached out with my remaining arm, catching Rys before he could draw his blade and kill anyone. “Let it play out,” I ordered, causing a shallow nod from the Wolf’s Bastard.
Marius Cyclone raised his arms, as if summoning the shadows to him. The carpet of black rose from the ground, but didn’t envelop the Stranger. It coalesced behind him, eclipsing my view of the void legion, and forming into a shape. It happened slowly, giving the Sea Wolves at my back time to retreat a step. Even Jonas Grief and Tomas Red Fang took an involuntary stride away from the rising monolith of shadow. Only Rys and I stood our ground, facing down whatever the Stranger had summoned.
“We’ve had enough of conflict,” said Marius, allowing the immense shadow to form arms and legs behind him. “I detest your people. Your arrogance, your pettiness, your lack of sophistication. But my fear of the Sunken God is stronger than my hatred of the Sea Wolves.” His eyes were dark and sunken, as if plagued by memories. “I am not my brothers. I sent no assassin to your hold, nor do I wish to kill you now. I forgo the vengeance I am due for all your acts of brutal piracy … but you will listen.”
His words were given gravitas by the looming shadow behind him. It formed into a giant, thirty feet tall, with a mirror of stars where its face should have been. The limbs oozed and flowed, as if made of thick, black liquid, dripping onto the stone and vanishing. The towering shadow creature blocked out the morning sun, casting a blanket of darkness over thousands of duellists.
“Stand your ground,” I shouted. “We are Sea Wolves of the Severed Hand.”
My words stopped them fleeing, but did nothing to alleviate their fear. The air became still. No-one whispered or shared ideas about what they were seeing and hearing. Questions of what the shadow giant was remained internal.
“Our Kingdom of the Four Claws will fall,” said Marius Cyclone. “You’ve seen a fingernail of the enemy, but there is more to come. The Sunken God awakens and the Eastron are a doomed people. I offer you a chance to leave this realm and rebuild your lives in safety and peace. Many of your people are dead. But the rest can live. This creature …” he waved his arm at the shadow giant, “… is our friend.”
I spat on the floor in front of him, and looked up at the shadow giant. “Is this Dark Brethren your slave?” I asked, approaching the looming figure. “Answer me!”
The Wolf’s Bastard moved with me, but the two of us were alone, our resolve clearly stronger than the rest of our people. I couldn’t speak for Rys, but I’d certainly seen scarier things than a sentient shadow. If it was truly a god, as Jaxon believed, I was not impressed.
“Answer me!” I repeated, this time in an aggressive snarl.
The shadow giant pointed its glassy face downwards, and I saw infinite layers of cosmic immensity. My teeth were gritted, and my remaining hand clenched tightly around the hilt of my cutlass. I would not be cowed by fear. Not now. Not again. The Old Bitch of the Sea had given me strength enough to resist any kind of terror.
“He won’t answer you,” said Marius Cyclone, keeping his face neutral. “Your question or your pointless Sea Wolf challenge.” The Stranger looked up at the shadow giant, his eyes soft and grateful. “But he is our friend, and we have not finished you off … when we could easily have done so.” He snorted, letting anger get the better of him. “Try to let that penetrate your vacuous head.”
Rys punched him in the face. The Brethren elder staggered backwards, and was dropped to the ground by an additional left hook and right cross. “Stand up and I cut off your fucking cock,” growled the Wolf’s Bastard. “We’re talking to the master, not the lackey.”
The shadow giant reacted, swatting a heavy hand at Rys, like a cat pawing at a ball of string. He flew backwards, landing next to Lagertha Blood. Tomas rushed to his side, but the Wolf’s Bastard quickly sat up, coughing blood from a bruised mouth and grasping his chest.
“I said,” grunted Marius, gingerly getting to his feet, “that he won’t answer you. And thank you for confirming my assessment of your character.” The Stranger didn’t appear angry, or even concerned. He didn’t touch his bleeding face, or glare at Rys Coldfire. He just looked at me. “Showing you strength, Adeline Brand, is clearly not enough.”
The shadow giant took a step towards me, its astral face tilting downwards. In my mind, creeping to my ears from a great distance, came a strange voice. It was clipped at the edges, but clear and precise. “Listen well, Sea Wolf. You will open your mind to me, and your people will follow you to safety. You will feel no pain, and I will force you to do nothing that damages your honour.”
The voice was easy to listen to, like the comforting sound of a trusted relative. I felt a warmth envelop my mind, as if ceding control was the simplest, most natural thing in the world. Then I heard a growl, and the Old Bitch of the Sea reminded me who I was.
Must be fight … fight back against Sunken God. Not enough time to save all. The Sea Wolves must fight. The Sea Wolves’ fight will save the Eastron.
The shadow giant balked, as if it had heard the she-wolf. It straightened back to its full height, towering over thousands of gawking warriors, and removing its influence from my mind. I became angry.
“No!” I roared, glaring daggers at the giant. “No gods, spirits, or men hold dominion over me.”
My words carried far, but only Rys, clutching his wounded chest, moved to flank me. Tomas Red Fang, Jonas Grief, and the assembled duellists were still struggling to explain what they saw.
“Strike me if you wish, but my mind and my wyrd are my own.” I turned my back on the shadow beast, and thrust out my chin, addressing the Sea Wolves. “I am Adeline Brand, called the Alpha Wolf. Listen to my words.” I drew many eyes to me, but most were still fixed on the huge creature.
“Listen!” I boomed. “It you want to fear something, fear me.” I pushed a fragment of the Old Bitch of the Sea outwards, framing my body and appearing as an opaque she-wolf, ravening above my head. Suddenly, all eyes were on me, and all ears listened. Faces hardened, and terrified people remembered they were Sea Wolves. The old spirit-master and the master-at-arms joined the Wolf’s Bastard, their backs turned to the shadow giant, and their might added to my own. Together, with the she-wolf poised above me, the four of us produced enough wyrd to almost eclipse the shadow creature.
“We are Sea Wolves of the Severed Hand,” I shouted, letting a growl follow every other word. “Send word to Moon Rock, to Rathwater, to Four Claw’s Folly, and to Last Port. Tell them the Sunken Men and their dreaming god have returned … that they brought the teeth and gums of chaos to the Severed Hand.” I paused, pulsing with rage. “But we are still here, and we will strike back.” I bowed my head, trying to control my surging emotions. “Men, women, children and spirits are dead. Too many for me alone to mourn. I ask each of you to mourn with me … and then to fight with me.”
“Once more for the Severed Hand,” boomed Rys Coldfire, spraying blood and spit across the ground. “One more fight for the Severed Hand.”
Some people cheered, some cried, others shouted or dropped to their knees. It was as if the entire hold used that moment, with our words echoing in their ears, to release tension. They’d fought for their homes, their futures and their loved ones. Each and every one would have seen someone they knew die. But, in this time and this place, each would pledge their lives to fight for the Severed Hand.
I turned from the crowd and addressed Marius Cyclone directly, keeping my eyes fixed on the Stranger, and away from the hulking shadow creature who’d tried to control my mind. “Run if you wish,” I said. “But our path will lead us south. To the Sea of Stars and the Sunken City. If you have the will to fight, I invite you to bring your legions, your outrider knights, your void walkers. I may even let you sail with us. But if your will is … lacking. If your path is retreat.” I frowned at him, shaking my head. “Then you should go, for cowardice has no place here.”
“We are both Eastron from across the sea,” replied Marius. “I wish you and your people the best. May your wyrd flow freely, for you cannot win.”
I growled, taking a step towards the Dark Brethren. “There will be a fight back,” I replied. “But do not think me a fool. For me, wisdom was hard won. I will attack this Sunken God, and I will war against his servants. If the wisdom of my totem means anything, you and I will help save the Eastron from extinction. Me with a blade, you with cowardice. Now, take your god and leave.”