Chapter 31: How Do You Rule A Ruler?

Sethlzaar turned his attention in the direction of the girl with the tray. To his expectation, Soartin was walking up to the serving girl and the man in his usual steps, regal and composed. It was something that made Sethlzaar suspect the boy's family was quite similar to royalty in Alifat, his posture more of a failed noble than a warrior, like the rest of them.

"The lady doesn't want you," Soartin told the man when he arrived there.

The man's grip tightened before his attention turned to Soartin. "Sod off before I..." the rest of the sentence die in his mouth the moment his eyes met Soartin.

Releasing the girl's waist, the man frowned then took a concentrated interest in the drink in front of him. It was a natural response, something Sethlzaar had discovered on their first outing.

At first he had thought the people feared them but had soon come to correct himself: they didn't fear them, they feared the seminary just as much as the king's soldiers hated it.

Soartin turned to the girl and asked in a completely different tone, "Do you mind serving my brothers and me a few cups? I'm not so sure what they would like, so I think it would be best to ask them." His voice was sleek, somewhat seductive, and Sethlzaar wondered at how his brother would have made a successful diplomat if he hadn't ended up in the seminary.

In a few moments Soartin was back at the table and they were eating and drinking, Soartin's interference almost forgotten, like an unnecessary daily activity.

"Why don't you tell me what you want to get and I'll go get it all," Omage offered after a while, making to leave the table. "That way we all get to enjoy the festival without having to spend most of it looking for the things we wish to buy."

After a brief exchange of words, they gave him their orders and their coins and he vanished the moment he stepped his feet outside the doors and onto the busy roads.

Thirty minutes after Omage's departure their table was slowly flocked by the city girls, amongst whom Sethlzaar was sure were whores. While Alsipin entertained one of the city girl's approach, Sethlzaar watched Narvi shut down every girl that approached him.

Takaris on the other hand was entertaining every girl that crossed his path, while Sethlzaar laughed each time Cenam squirmed from a girl's touch. Sethlzaar left his position so Alsipin could talk with one of the girls and noted the occasional looks from the boys from their various tables.

"Poor girl," Narvi said to no one in particular, and Sethlzaar looked in the direction the boy was watching.

Most of the girls flocked to Soartin's end of the table trying their luck with him. Sadly, as Sethlzaar expected, he spared no attention for any of them including the waitress who had taken a somewhat innocent interest in him.

In all consideration, it was unsurprising.

Soartin was the most handsome of them all, with a squared jaw, being as tall as the adults at the age of sixteen with a quiet look to him. Sethlzaar was not surprised the ladies truly took to.

"If you all do not mind," Alsipin informed them  as a girl led him by the hand, "I'll be upstairs."

Meanwhile, Takaris was at another table with his tongue buried in the throat of another girl that had approached him. Tamael continued flirting with one whose attempts seemed would accumulate to naught.

No one will address this, Sethlzaar understood as all of them engaged in their different activities. Sexual immoralities were against the rules of the seminary but it was not unheard of amongst the brothers. All that mattered was that they didn't get caught, and the absence of any other children of the seminary made Sethlzaar understand the reason Omage had brought them there.

It was a while later, with their food and drinks finished and a contemplation for another set hovering in their minds, when Cenam rose from his seat gently.

Sethlzaar turned to the boy. "What is it, brother?"

"Something's wrong," Cenam said, and made his way to the door of the bar, calm as the morning breeze. He opened it ever so slightly, letting in the noise of the commotion outside in all its brunt. The sound was annoying but a few words caught their attention.

"... seminarian fighting them..."

"... a grey be at one of the Finil's whore houses..."

"...What was he even doing at moonshine."

"... protect her?"

Takaris abandoned the girl he was with and made his way to the table, cleaning his mouth of whatever saliva the girl left behind while Tamael shooed away his entertainment.

"Go get Alsipin," Narvi ordered Sethlzaar, and the rest of them bolted for the door where Cenam was waiting.

Sethlzaar moved quickly.

He weaved around the tables and the guests, his attention primed on the stairs leading to the floors above. He took the steps in twos, reaching the floor as fast as he could, banging on all the doors he passed, apologizing very briefly each time it proved to be someone else.

Finally, one of the doors opened to reveal a bare chested boy.

"WHAT!?" Alsipin barked, his frustration evident before being contained at the sight of Sethlzaar.

"Out. Now," Sethlzaar commanded, giving no attention to the girl on the bed covered in naught but sheets, "Omage needs help."

In seconds, Alsipin was out the door, dressing up with his sheathed swords in hand and running beside him.

They left the bar and ran through the crowds outside, weaving their way towards the commotion, Sethlzaar in the lead.

He recognized the name in the bits of conversation well enough. On their first outing Omage had shown them various places including the brothel, and he knew it wasn't too far from the bar.

"The roofs," Alsipin suggested, his voice almost muffled by the ruckus of the ceremony around them.

Sethlzaar did not hesitate. Soon, they found themselves scaling rooftops, jumping over alleyways. Drawing closer to a larger commotion and the sounds of metals clashing, they found themselves above the fight.

Their brothers were fending of at least twelve men whilst protecting a young girl, holding an arch around her as a deterrent.

Alsipin dropped into their midst, sword drawn, and Sethlzaar followed, one of his throwing knives left his hand, flying straight into one of the men's shoulder.

"What's happening?" he asked Narvi, pulling up to the brother's side, veils drawn.

"He's protecting the girl," Narvi explained, his eyes never leaving their opponents, "and so are we."

Although his arrival with Alsipin made their opponents wary and halted the fight, they were still nowhere near escape. He spared a brief glance at the girl and noted the way she looked at Omage.

She knows him, he deduced. I'm guessing he knows her too.

"Ready?" Narvi asked.

Understanding he spoke to them, Sethlzaar and the others gave a brief nod as their assailants closed in. They were only eighteen. Sethlzaar knew it was not a number too great for them.

"Why are we still here?" he whispered.

"We had to wait for you," Narvi replied with a smile. Then in a raised voice, he announced, "Break bones. Shed blood. Take no lives!"

Then everywhere erupted.

Sethlzaar parried and evaded, flinging his throwing knives and catching every target in the thigh, bringing them to their knees in amidst cries of pain. The fight was over as quickly as it had started. Then they were running through the streets, Omage leading the girl by the hand.

When they were clear of the brothel and their assailants, Takaris asked, "How long before they catch up?"

"They won't," Sethlzaar answered him. "They have a lot of wounded to deal with."

"...Thank you, I don't know to repay you," the girl said between breaths.

Narvi ignored her and walked up to Omage, his fury strong, so that when he spoke his voice carried it. "Who is she?"

The girl frowned at him. "I'm Cren Urvin."

Narvi pointed his blade at her, its point stopping at the side of her neck, just beneath her jaw. "I do not remember asking you."

Urvin?

They all knew the name. Slowly, they turned their eyes to Omage. Some of them had families they had left behind, and Omage had just run into one of his own. They couldn't hold his actions entirely against him. However, the way the girl was dressed was evident to all of them. As young as she was, she was a whore.

"The Finil guild is using her to pay of our..." Omage paused, "her father's debt."

They had all heard him correct himself, and Sethlzaar had seen the girl flinch at his words. She hasn't accepted that he's no longer her family.

"Before I joined the seminary," Omage continued as they hid behind a building in a less busy part of the city, "her family owed the guild money. Her father was deep in debt. Now that her parents are dead, they plan to use her to pay for it."

"So 'cos of your past I have to spend my free day running?" Takaris asked, annoyed.

Cren stepped away from Narvi's veil and he let her. Then she walked up to them in a rage of her own. "I'm a person too, and he's still my brother..." Then she pointed a frustrated finger at Omage. "...and he's still your father."

Alsipin moved, fast as the killer they were intended to one day become. He lifted Cren off the floor by her neck in one swift motion, displaying a ruthlessness and skill Master Yggdra would be proud of.

Omage took a step towards him as Cren struggled in pain, clutching Alsipin's hand—the noise of the festival drowning out whatever choked sounds escaped her lips—and stopped.

Alsipin was a tall boy, and Cren barely reached his shoulder. But now she looked down at him as her legs dangled in the air. It was beginning to seem the boy was coming into his blessed strength Father Karnamis had told them would eventually happen. Either that or the girl weighed next to nothing.

"Now," Alsipin began in seething fury, "I may care about you, brothers, but I certainly do not like the idea of risking my life or my day off for a girl I've never met," he released the girl and she fell to the floor, and stepped away from her so that he stepped up to Omage, "much less a whore. So the next time she opens her mouth, I'll break her neck and be done with it."

Alsipin was clearly on edge. They had spent the most of their last four years inside the seminary, and in the few days that they were out they had known and understood the name of the Finil guild.

Somehow Sethlzaar knew that was not the reason the brother was on edge, or why any of the others were on edge.

Apart for Omage and Narvi, the others seemed to hunger for something, their grip on their veils tighter than was necessary, their eyes ever watchful of the corners, their feet twitching in anticipation of movement.

They can't stay calm, he realized.

They were eight people who had spent the most part of four years learning how best to kill a man and had just spent time, however briefly, in a fight, leaving without killing anyone. Omage was too busy worrying about other things and Narvi was simply himself; capable of concealing everything he felt. Sethlzaar understood the situation before him and found himself dreading it. The truth hit him like the winter wind.

They want blood.

He placed himself beside Narvi and whispered, "We have to leave, brother. Now."

Narvi turned to him, perplexed. "Why?"

"Our brothers want blood," he answered, cautious. "So we cannot remain here."

Sheathing his veils in their scabbards at his hips, Narvi began giving out commands. "Cren, any other word out of you and I'll let him kill you," he warned, pointing at Alsipin. He turned to Omage. "We need a way back without being spotted. Soartin, you'll be our mouth. The rest of you, remember: break bones, shed blood..."

"...Take no lives," They answered in unison, like a battalion primed for war.

They returned to the crowd immediately, weaving through it with Omage and Soartin at the lead as they made a conscious effort not to move too fast for the sake of Cren. After a while Sethlzaar understood Omage was leading them away from the brothel, taking a long route in their return.

Something's wrong, Sethlzaar thought as they moved. His instincts were all over the place. His eyes darting around in search of something. What exactly they sought, he did not know. The guild will not take on the seminary, he reasoned, but one well-placed arrow could end it all.

A moment later he realized what worried him. His eyes moved to the rooftops as he made his way closer to Cren, his worries growing with the observation. There were too many houses and too many rooftops around them. The crowd kept them invisible to eyes on the floor but it wasn't as efficient for eyes searching from above.

Then he saw it.

Archers.

His hand shot out at the last second and grabbed an arrow before it pierced the girl.

"Faster!" he bellowed, pulling her to a lowered position.

This is not principle, Sethlzaar thought. The shot had been well placed. To have achieved such a feat against a target concealed in a crowd was no joke. There was no way a person of such skill would be sent after them simply to uphold a principle in such a petty problem. Or is it just luck? He shook his head. No. She knows something they don't want anyone else to.

They pulled out to the main road, moving quickly, dashing into the sea of trees that surrounded the seminary the moment it came into view, hoping their presence would be lost within it. But Sethlzaar knew better. The guild members still followed. Running a few more miles, they ended up before the mist and the sight of Father Yggdra standing as still as the trees, hands hidden behind his back. The look in his eyes told them he knew of the events of their outing.

Word was always known to travel fast.

"Have you no fear?!" the priest roared, eerily maintaining his stillness.

It took them a moment to understand he didn't addressed them as their assailants stepped out from behind the trees. Fifteen in all, with only three bows shared between them. The bow men perched in the trees, not truly concealed by the branches.

"Fear, old man?" one of them asked. "Peace has made all of you weak, a shadow of what you once were. No," he declared. "We have no fear for past glories."

Yggdra's jaw twitched mere seconds before he acted. Sethlzaar would like to say he moved graciously but, in truth, he didn't see the man move. Yddgra was merely a blur.

What ensued was nothing short of a display of the seminary's power. Yggdra disarmed and broke bones while evading thrusts and slashes and arrows flying from the trees, covering every distance required in one step.

In moments, all his opponents were on the ground moaning in pain, cradling broken bones and bloody noses. The bow men had just begun their retreat when Yggdra called out.

"Sorlan!"

In this, Sethlzaar moved with a precision. Readying his bow, he released three arrows into the trees in quick succession.

First came the cries of pain, then the thudding of men falling from high places. Certain everything was over, the priest turned on them.

"You stole something from them!" he growled. His eyes spoke of an unseen rage as he turned to them and, looking at Cren, grunted a sound they could not interpret. His rage returned behind a contemplative expression.

After a while, he spoke again. "The Monsignor will decide what will be done about her."

Turning towards the mist, Omage spared no glance at Cren before they walked into it. Engulfed in its moist atmosphere, they navigated their way to the wolf gate in silence. Sethlzaar wondered if they would one day grow to be as strong as Father Yggdra, and how many of them would truly survive to live as long as the priest.

Would he have been mad if I'd killed them, he wondered, as they approached the gate.

After passing the information to Father Antuas, they retired to their rooms under his command and awaited their judgement, Alsipin raging audibly at the loss of his day.

It was a while before Father Ordan walked into their room with a disappointed expression. Oddly, he seemed more disappointed in himself than he did in them, something they had not seen before.

"This mess could've been avoided if yer had just killed them," he scoffed in disgust before turning his gaze on Narvi. "Somethin' yer could have done easily if yer'd paid attention to yer lessons."

Narvi stepped forward. "I thought it best not to take any lives."

Ordan ran a hand across his face in frustration. "Of course yer did," he said, voice resigned. "I guess yer did right."

"What is our punishment?" Cenam asked, surprising them as Ordan turned towards the door.

"Punishmen'?"

"Yes, Father."

"Yer brother will lose his family a secon' time," Ordan stated looking at Omage, "an' yer are unable to enjoy the rest of yer day out. I think that is punishmen' enough."

He turned away from them, leaving the room, and mumbling under his breath. "Would still have been better if you had just killed them."

A while later Soartin brought out a wooden box from within his cloak and placed it on the floor. Opening it revealed a game of war, the box housing its wooden pieces and opening fully to serve as the game board. Apparently, he had bought it despite how the day had gone.

"Who's interested?" he asked, a question that had them lining up, save Alsipin who left the room in anger.

As the night drew nearer, Sethlzaar found himself at the stables brushing the horses. He had gotten to play two games with Soartin, losing at both before leaving the room and making his way to there.

Soartin proved adept at the game, Narvi proving the only challenge for him and losing nonetheless. Truthfully, Soartin's skill at the game had come as no surprise to them. The boy had always been the smart one of them all.

"One of yours is inside," Father Bjorg informed him, stepping out of the kennel and heading for the stables exit. "Watch the place for me."

It didn't take long to find himself inside the kennel. There was only one person that could possibly be in the kennel.

One of yours, Setglzqar considered Bjorg's words. It was the only way the stable master addressed the rest of his mates when speaking to him. There was only him and those related to him.

Once upon a time one of his brothers had told him that the man had referred to them as one of his when they'd entered the stable at another priest's behest.

Alsipin was squatted in front of the wolf's cage holding out a piece of meat. Sethlzaar knew his brother was as aware as he was that it wasn't going to take the meat... and yet he tries... Every chance he gets.

"He has grown since I brought him here," Alsipin said, staring into the darkness of the cage.

Sethlzaar approached him and squatted next to him. "Have you cooled off?" he asked.

Alsipin spared him a quick look. "Not really."

"You should know that it's not so easy to let go of family."

"I don't see how we had to suffer for her." Alsipin frowned. "She's not our family, and we don't even know her."

"We did not do what we did for her," Sethlzaar corrected. "We did it for our brother."

"...And I didn't get to have fun." Alsipin complained, his voice losing its anger to something saddening.

Sethlzaar smiled. "Don't worry, brother. You'll get another chance for a good shag another time."

The moment the words left his mouth Alsipin's lips curved into a knowing smile, one that gave him a very strange look. It was a look Sethlzaar had seen on the brother when they were at the bar.

Alsipin dropped the piece of meat on the ground between them and leaned in close.

"Father Bjorg will not be coming back anytime soon," he said, his voice husky, barely above a whisper, and he rolled the words in a strange way as he continued. "Maybe you can finish what the girl at the bar started." His lips curled in desire as he enunciated each word.

Sethlzaar could feel Alsipin's breath on his skin. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it. He'd felt it countless times on the training grounds grappling under Father Yggdra's lessons, practically during all their training sessions. But to feel it now, with no provocation, came with a discomfort that almost had him squirming. Then there was the predatory look in his eyes, his pupils dilated, his attention sharp, yet they seemed almost clouded, smoky.

The world seemed to warp around Alsipin, like wisps of nothingness caressing his skin at the edges of his form. With the distortion in his view came a slow thrum of an ache in his head. When Sethlzaar opened his mouth to speak he realized it was barely an inch from Alsipin's, so much that he could taste the boy's breath if he tried.

"Quit with your jokes, brother."

Alsipin paused.

"You're no fun," he said, then moved away from him, all desire gone from his voice—because Sethlzaar noted it for what it was now, and he did not like it.

Reaching for the piece of meat Alsipin had dropped, he picked it up as the brother left him for the exit and offered it into the cage.

He heard the low growl before he saw the blue eyes. The wolf stepped into sight, walking past the different pieces of meat scattered across the ground.

Sethlzaar found himself transfixed by its gaze as it moved, each step proving more majestic than the one before it. Feeling the power from its gaze, he understood how such a beast was a predator, a king unto itself and, for a moment, he thought he saw something in its eyes, something an animal was not meant to have. Intelligence?

How does one lead such a thing?

How does one rule a ruler? "... How are you not divine?" he whispered.

"I see you've made a friend."

At Alsipin's words he realized what had happened. He hadn't intended to voice his thoughts but they'd found their way into the world. With the freedom from his enamor came the realization of what he had said, and he wondered if Alsipin had heard his words; thoughts intended for the recesses of his mind but made manifest in them.

His hand felt odd, the weight of the meat gone, replaced by a furry warmth. He looked down and found blue eyes looking up at him, the wolf easing its head against his hand.

When...? The thought left him perturbed while he kept his hand still, not wanting to provoke the creature. He had heard stories but, in this moment, he didn't trust them enough to be calm.

"I'll let Father Bjorg know," Alsipin said after a while and left the kennel, unhappy.

Sethlzaar had noted the tone of his voice. It had been present in the words that had brought him from his trance. The tone conveyed a feeling he had once felt towards Frent before the winter test and he felt bad for invoking it in another person. But unlike him, Alsipin had a right to it.

Jealousy.

Looking back at the head still pressed against his hand, and the eyes still looking, watching, assessing, he asked himself one more time.

How do you rule a ruler?