After Vilventhal, Helrare agreed easily, the small stronghold agreeing readily. It was a far cry from a town or city, but fit the most for the definition of stronghold in the human language. Like Vilvental, it was part of the mountain, but instead of being underneath, it was built into the side. Windows and doors carved into the face of the stone, a single, multi-story building replaced the steep slope of the mountainside, with a few exterior stairways leading downward. Taradira, Selveren, and Faltare walked upwards under the eyes of guards who stared down, made their case to the three leaders, and were promised more than they could have asked for.

  “It seems to me that it would be better for us to abandon this place.”

  Taradira blinked, staring at the elder. “Is this not your home?”

  “It is our home, but it isn’t anything more than that. We are here to hold a gap, prevent the other, larger strongholds from being surrounded. If you win, this place serves no point in the larger picture of our people. It is not a city that can thrive. If you are wiped out, what will some fifty souls do, aside from abandon this place to assist in protecting a larger stronghold anyway? We should all join you. I can give you two hundred and seventy eight Hatharen. We will be part of that number.”

  “Your people will agree to this?”

  “Those that don’t will be few in number, and go along simply to not be alone. They will have the option of returning here afterward.”

  Taradira couldn’t help but smile, thanking the three before continuing her journey.

  At Ravthal, they met resistance. The elders denied her immediately, and she struggled to gather an audience. She gave her first speech to only nine Hatharen, a collection that broke from their families to listen to her. The next day, twice that number appeared, and she spoke again, telling them her plan, making promises of a better life, explaining the risks they would take, the risks they had to take if they wanted to avoid eventual destruction.

  By the end of the week, it seemed like more than half the stronghold turned out to listen to her, and at that point the elders showed up, relenting to her demands easily.

  Valerahal was different. She met their leaders, a group of four elders, with Sahlaren and Lisha standing nearby. Taradira looked at them curiously before turning her attention to the elders.

  “You failed in your duty.” A man said, standing up. He was nearly as tall as her, pale with a stern face. He spoke before she even had a chance to present her case, catching her off guard.

  “Which duty do you believe I failed, and in what way?”

  He pointed to the two Hatharen standing to the side. “You were in charge of all Hatharen in the human lands, yet you allowed these two to be captured and held for decades, during which they were subject to abuse at the hands of humans. You stood by and did nothing.”

  “When a Hatharen enters the human lands, they report to me, and tell of their plans. After that, any further contact is voluntary. I do not track them constantly. I put these two down as missing, but expected them to show up again eventually. In the past, there have been cases of my charges vanishing for hundreds of years before showing up again. I heard no news of them being captured so I did not think it was a pressing issue.”

  He frowned at her. “This is simply more evidence that you did not take your task seriously. We’ve heard of the demands you have brought before the other strongholds. You played general in the human lands and so the others believe you can lead us. The people of Valerahal will not be so easily swayed by someone who slacked in her duty.”

  Taradira clenched her fist. If she had kept closer ties to the Hatharen, she might have prevented what happened to Lisha and Sahlaren. The claims of her failure were not unfounded. She chose to spend less time on them than she did with the humans.

  “What can I do to prove myself?”

  “You should know the tradition.” He responded instantly, fixing her with an accusatory gaze.

  Taradira let out a breath. “A duel. What are the terms, and who is my opponent?”

  “Bladed weapons, till surrender. Trelhas will stand for us all.”

  He pointed at one of the other elders, who rose from his seat. This one stood barely taller than a human, probably slightly taller than Ferene, with a thin build. He didn’t look at Taradira, instead lazily stretching before walking out of the building, the others standing to follow. Taradira wordlessly fell in line behind them, frowning.

  Her armor was in a wagon in Aesuthal. She kept her sword with her, but only that. Her last duel with another Hatharen was before she left for the human lands, her time since then filled with sparring sessions and chaotic battles against humans, where she had an advantage. She followed the procession to what resembled a proper arena - a circular pit dug into the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Faltare walked at her side, whispering.

  “I have to fight to prove myself.”

  The other woman frowned, glancing from Linara to the group of elders. “If-“

  “If Linara was here?” Taradira asked, smiling. Faltare nodded. “I have to do this myself. I have to show them not just my own strength, but that I haven’t lost track of the values of our society. Hatharen solve things this way.”

  Walking down into the pit, she looked across at Trelhas, seeing him handed a long pole by another Hatharen. Gripping it in the middle, he twisted his wrist, twirling the weapon. Taradira saw light flash off the bladed ends. She frowned, considering the weapon, her hand dropping to the hilt of her own sword. While the total length of his weapon was longer than hers, holding it in the center wouldn’t let him make use of that reach, and the blades at both ends prevented any other kind of grip.

  The murmuring above her grew louder as Trelhas stepped forward, his other arm hanging loose at his side. Taradira raised her sword and stepped forward, pointing the hooked front at her opponent. He glanced at her weapon and nodded.

  Taradira was still waiting for a signal to start when he moved, lurching forward unsteadily. He lashed out, stabbing forward with one end of his weapon. As Taradira intercepted the attack, he spun the staff, bringing the other side around, the point passing in front of Taradira’s face as she stepped back just in time.

  A flowing strike, his entire body twisting to stretch out and strike her. She brought her sword up just in time. A twist of the hand and the other side slid up from below, cutting her elbow. Hopping back, he staggered towards her, swinging wide. She stepped away, staying out of range. He ran in, quick, low, thrusting at her from below. Taradira countered with an attack of her own, and he twisted to the side, causing them both to miss. Every movement was different, unlike the last. Wild, dangerous swings followed by carefully calculated pokes, rapid swaps between quick feints and heavy blows. Taradira felt pressured simply by the wide variety of attacks he presented, none of which felt like it was truly meant to hit her, though a few did, skin-deep cuts appearing on her arms and shoulders.

  After another strange flurry of blows, Trelhas stepped away, tilting his head back and taking a deep breath. He tossed his weapon into the air, caught it with his other hand, and lunged at Taradira again.

  It was different this time. The tip of his weapon thrust at her chest, too fast to be easily evaded. She twisted, feeling it cut into her side as she failed to move out of the way.

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  “You can’t beat me,” he said, his voice quiet, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. The crowd above was murmuring, a low roar. Taradira kept her eyes on him. She’d had worse injuries on the battlefield.

  She had an advantage in both reach and size, yet he never gave her a chance to attack. Every time she made a move to strike, he struck first, forcing her to react again and again. She thought that she had kept up her personal training in her years away, but an analysis of the fight did seem hopeless.

  Taking a deep breath of her own, Taradira stepped back, drawing up to her full height, holding her sword in front of her. “I will save our people. Why are you against that?”

  “We go out and we win already. What needs to change?”

  He drew his knife with his free hand and charged forward again. Taradira blocked a strike from his sword-staff, dodged a stab from the dagger, only to be caught by him slashing her with the opposite end of the staff. She stumbled backwards, bleeding from her shoulder.

  She wished she had a shield, but knew how useless that wish was. Stepping back again, she tightened her grip on her sword. This was all she had. A heavy, curved blade for slashing, a point for stabbing, and a hooked back end for use against armor and shields.

  He stared at her, but didn’t attack. He simply waited, his body swaying from side to side, not with exhaustion but to some internal rhythm. She watched him, seeing that movement. He wasn’t panting or sweating, just waiting, calmly. He didn’t even smile in the joy of the combat.

  Taradira took a step forward, swinging at him as she did so. Before she even brought her hand up, he rushed forward to meet her. Rather than abort her attack to block, she just twisted her body, letting him hit her as she brought her sword down on him.

  The blade of his staff skittered along one of her ribs, slicing open her other side, but she chopped heavily into his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he tried to pull back, but she leaned forward, putting her weight on her weapon, pushing it into the bone. He didn’t yell, didn’t scream, instead just tilted his head at her, as if considering the situation.

  “Stop!” Someone called out.

  Taradira blinked. Selveren was at her side, his hands on her skin, pulling back her bloodied shirt. “Stay still. Don’t move.” She’d seen him do this before, but never to her.

  “If he had been higher, you’d be dead.” Selveren traced a line with his finger, just above where Trelhas slashed her. He turned away from her, advancing on the smaller combatant. “Were you trying to kill her?” he asked without looking the man in the eye. Instead, his attention was on Taradira’s sword, embedded in the bones of Trelhas’ shoulder.

  “She could have avoided it.” he said, his voice tight. He winced when Selveren pulled the sword out, but made no sounds of pain.

  One of the other elders stepped into the pit, ignoring the blood soaking into the dirt. “We will hear you.” He said.

  “Fight for me.” Taradira said, turning to look up at the audience that had gathered. “I’ll give you opportunities to fight like you’ve never fought before. When I return here, be ready to move out. As many of you that are able.”

  The pain wasn’t what kept her back from a longer speech. No other stronghold held an arena like this one. Not a training area, but a place of spectacle. The Hatharen that gathered to watch her without giving her a chance to talk first. Combat was a part of the life of every Hatharen, but in Valerthal it was more than that.

  Turning, she walked out of the pit, but was met at the top of the stairs by a woman. “I want to talk to you.” She said, a hunger in her eyes.

  The woman - Injathere - brought the three to her home. “You are Taradira. You were in charge of the Hatharen in the southern lands.” She made the statement, gray eyes staring at Taradira.

  “I was.”

  “Raulthen. Where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  Injathere blinked twice, then a smile spread across her face. She let out a laugh.

  Taradira watched her, carefully. “Zasthagel still lives.”

  “He is a victim. Twice a victim. Raulthen was a villain. We knew he was. He’s the real killer.”

  “I do not know their story. Will you tell me?” Taradira asked.

  Injathere nodded. “Raulthen and Zasthagel. Twins are rare. There was always something wrong with Raulthen. The way he looked at others. The way he didn’t like fighting. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else, that we were all below him. He was pretty, though. Not everyone saw how he looked at others, they just saw a pretty face. They liked him, how he talked, how he looked. Keltrenhas was part of my family. He hated how nobody saw what we saw. He was young. He challenged Raulthen to a sparring match.”

  When Zasthagel arrived in Ettsgras, Taradira heard his side of the story. This was a new perspective on those events. She nodded, signaling Injathere to continue.

  “Keltrenhas was angry, but when Raulthen had his brother fight in his place, he became furious. The fight should have been called off, but Raulthen just laughed. He said that it was fine, nothing bad would happen to his brother. His words angered Keltrenhas further. He made a mistake, and he died. Raulthen smiled. His brother faced exile for breaking the one law, and he smiled. He didn’t care about his brother. He didn’t say a single word of defense. I stepped forward, I tried to say it was an accident, when it was my family that was dead. Raulthen was happy to see his brother exiled. He went with him. Tell me, who killed Raulthen? Do you know?”

  “Zasthagel told me a human killed him.”

  Injathere fell silent before she nodded, once.

  “You hold no grudge against Zasthagel?”

  “He loved his brother. Who wouldn’t love their family unconditionally? He is a victim of his brother, and a victim of our society. He wasn’t the one that deserved exile.”

  “Would you fight alongside him?”

  She hesitated for a moment, studying Taradira. “He is part of your army?” She nodded, and Injathere copied the motion. “I will.”

  “Your turn. Tell me about Trelhas.”

  “He hates the council, even though he’s part of it. He’ll go out on every mission to the north, even without his family. He just joins you when you’re head out, follows along, and kills whatever monsters he finds. He’ll accept any duel, and he’s never lost…until today.”

  Taradira shook her head. “Not sure I won. He could have killed me, if he wanted. It felt like he wasn’t trying.”

  “He never does.”

  Leaving Valerhal behind, the three moved on, walking along the south side of the mountains, following instructions to find the hidden entrance to Yonthal. Partway through their search, a Hatharen stepped out from a nearly-invisible hole in the cliff, gesturing them to follow.

  A wooden elevator carried the four of them upwards, into the stronghold. Their guide stared at Selveren, watching him intently.

  “You’re Ferene’s father.” she finally said. Selveren nodded in response.

  “Who are you?”

  “Alri. We took Ferene into our family when we found her.”

  Taradira watched his expression. While he didn’t frown, he did press his lips together, his eyes slightly downcast. She couldn’t be sure what was going on in his mind.

  At the top, they found the inhabitants of the stronghold in preparation. Alri guided them further on, up a disguised rope they had to climb by hand to a lone building in a cavern. The six waiting inside were obviously the council of elders. Taradira frowned, under their scrutiny.

  “We have already agreed to the terms presented in your letter, Taradira.” One of them said. “You do not need to worry.”

  “I’m just curious as to why I am here in front of you all, then.”

  “We wanted to see who will be leading our people to their future. To ask you some questions, learn more about you.”

  “Even though you’ve already committed to following me.”

  “Yes, even with that. Ferene came back to us a very different person than when she left. We-“

  “You wanted to feel better about forcing her out to begin with.” A voice said from behind Taradira. She turned, seeing a tall, thin Hatharen walk into the room, followed by a short and stocky man with his hand on the sword at his waist. The speaker moved with an eerie elegance. “You wanted to tell yourselves that this person changed her, and you sending her away is what led to that change. You’d be right, so spare yourselves the useless prattling. Congratulations.”

  “Tahrean, you are not welcome in this-“

  “This is the chamber of the elders, is it not? Am I not the eldest in the chamber? Do I need the permission of you youngsters to be here?”

  “You abandoned your position a long time ago.”

  Tahrean laughed, the sound filling the chamber. Taradira looked back at the council, all six of them varying degrees of unnerved, even frightened. “Do not look at them, Taradira. I am here for you. You have dared to do something that our people never have before. Something that perhaps I should have done, long ago, but failed to do so while I was wallowing in my spite for our people and the way of life they adopted. You wish to lead all of us, together, in a fight? I will join you.”

  Taradira turned to the speaker, staring at them. “What exactly are you?”

  Tahrean laughed. “I was born in a time before we lived in the strongholds, before Hatharen lived their lives to fight and breed and die endlessly. A Hatharen that is very interested in helping someone who wants more out of life than that. The man at my side is Relgren. He’s good with a sword.”