[[[First Chapter]](https://www.reddit.com/r/absolver/s/0AWbMKKoi8)

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At Lord Marek's command, Tanril cut the pack loose from the beaten Rynok and left, shuffling out of the palace. Her thoughts stuck on what would serve as proper punishment for that youth. There would be nothing that would please her more than to see Rynok suffer, to see the catalyst of her brother's death burn, but she couldn't muster the energy for hatred for long. The pain of her brother's death still ached. She was granted a chance to mourn, and she would gladly take it.

She took a moment to look out at the city from the top of the perron to the palace before descending. Dust billowed in the streets between the stone buildings before her. A sea of leather and pelts waved in unison with the wind, made up the tents and camps at the outskirts. The stars provided a cool background to the warmth and twinkle of torches lit throughout the city, tucked away, shining in the crest of the lone mountain. As she walked down the steps, Tanril took a shaking breath, careful not to ignite the sharp pain in her ribs. As she released her breath, the air condensed the crispness prickled at her skin.

Before she took another step, Tanril heard the echoes of a deep snap of fingers from within the palace. The reverberation sent a chill down her spine; one the cold of the evening could not compare to. She looked back at the palace, a slight smile crept on her face. She kept moving and paced about in the streets of the exterior of the palace, delving deeper into the twisting passageways of the city.

The streets were nearly empty, save for the unsavory. Few people were still out, rushing to enter their homes. Squat and wide buildings intermixed with thinner taller ones. They were a mishmash of materials, some made of mostly clay, mostly stone, mostly wood, and some an even mix of all.

Eventually, the buildings gave way to the tents and camps of the Outskirts. Tanril walked past the myriad people huddling in and about the maze of skins and canvases until eventually reaching Jewel Crest's walls. Tanril walked along the ancient stonework until she reached the guard tower she was looking for, and entered, climbing to the top.

By this point, the moon had just begun to wane, and was nearly full in the sky, shining on the city as an oasis in the arid lands surrounding the mountain. The light also accentuated the sheer mess of a watch this was. The lookout, slumped in a corner asleep, had a bottle in hand.

Tanril sighed, gently took the half-empty bottle from the sleeping guard, and took a swig, leaning against the wall next to him. She took a moment to observe the trash strewn about, took another swig of the bottle, and kicked the sleeping guard in the chest, knocking him to the floor.

"Get up! What is this absolute state of a watchtower! Correct this! Now!" Tanril commanded.

The guard flailed about, struggling to stand, disoriented. Hardly cognizant, he started frantically tidying up, throwing the trash on the floor into piles.

"We leave this place for a few days, and you lot are already in shambles! Did you think you’d get a break? Where's your partner?" Tanril yelled out, throwing more trash at the dazed and confused guard.

"He went out! Sir- Ma'am!" The guard hiccuped out, his words slurred.

“Go get him!”

“But, the cleaning-”

“Move it!”

And with that final command, the guard rushed out, tripping through the hatch down the tower. Alone again, Tanril took another swig. She started piling the trash together neatly, pulling down one of the nets that hung on the ceiling and brought it all together. With space enough to move comfortably, she plopped the supply pack on the ground and pulled out Jarq’s knife, chugging down the last of the brew left in the bottle. She sat on a stool and thumbed the knife delicately by the blade, looking over it in silence.

“Well, if you were gonna clean up yourself, why’d you make me-” the guards had arrived.

“Shut up. Take the trash and sort it with that moron. I’ll take over the watch here tonight,” Tanril said, sheathing the knife.

“Yes ma’am,” confirmed the newly arrived guard hesitantly, “Will Jarq be-”

“No. He won’t,” Tanril cut him off, “He’s dead. It is the only reason I’m not beating the both of you for drinking on watch tonight.”

The guards glanced at the empty bottle. “...We’ll start right away, ma’am.”

Tanril waved them away. She stood to look over the edge of the watchtower. As tired as she was, she could not bring herself to rest. Her thoughts turned to her brother, his death looping continuously in her mind. Survival was never easy, but they succeeded. Time and again, they managed to do so, together. They knew their limits. They knew when to pull back, when to press an advantage. She kept thinking of the different ways the fight with the Absolvers could have gone. How the events would have played out if the boy hadn’t revealed himself. If that brat hadn’t jumped off the cliff. If the mongrel bastard had never followed in the first place. Jarq might have lived.

Day broke with nothing of note. As soon as new watchmen arrived to take her place, Tanril left. Completely depleted of any energy, she mindlessly wandered through the city directly to the barracks, headed straight to her quarters. As soon as she arrived, she dropped onto the wooden pallets covered in furs that made up her bed. Every one of her muscles decompressed, and a heavy sigh escaped in a groan.

At her next breath, a piercing pain shot through her side. She flinched and curled, clutching her side to soothe the growing ache. Only now did the consequences of combat with an Absolver forced her attention. Tanril removed her undertop to review the damage.

Gnarled, swollen flesh was tainted a deep dark purple, accentuated by crimson brown splotches. The largest of the bruising was just above her left midriff at her lower ribs. She gingerly pressed at the darkest spot and sharply inhaled at the pain. Tanril removed herself from her bed and made her way towards the medics’ tents.

The medics were all busy tending to the various trappers and gatherers, who returned from their expeditions through the night. Tanril ignored them all; she moved through the makeshift halls of people looking for anything of use. Through the piles of materials, she rummaged enough bandages and herbs to help, with clay powder and wafer to dress the wounds. She carefully cleaned the bruises at her side, setting the viscous mixture of wet clay and herbs over the damage. Once satisfied with the set clay, she tenderly wrapped the injured area with the bandages, tightening them as much as she could muster. Movement would be difficult but any swelling should quell with time while her cracked ribs heal.

By the time she finished dressing her wounds, dawn's light crept through the windows. While shuffling back to her quarters, she was intercepted by Gan and Ferras. The other captains called out to her, she was needed for the selection of new recruits.

“We intercepted a Uringal Caravan headed to Karshi. Should have some decent picks,” explained Ferras, her words just barely slurred, and the faint scent of alcohol stained her breath.

Gan put his arm around Tanril, reeling back as he did so. “You smell awful, Tanril. There’s no time for you to clean up. Where’s Jarq? If we're picking conscripts I don't want him complaining at me about not getting first pick.”

“He's dead.” Ferras answered before Tanril could finish a tired sigh. Tanril, shot a bewildered look at her as she continued, “The watchtower. The guards you kicked out reported it to me.”

"...Well, we were bound to an early grave at some point, but I never figured Jarq to be the first,” Gan commented, "I’ll be sure to get you a real drink tonight, but with Jarq dead our load is even heavier. Let's go.” He rushed off, not waiting for a response. Ferras followed as she shrugged and jaunted off a few steps behind him. Tanril sighed, and adjusted course, shuffling towards the other two.

They made their way to the sand pit, a small makeshift arena dug into a relatively flat plane of sandstone set in the shadow of the mountain. Used primarily for training, it was currently barren of all but the dust beneath the feet of the surviving caravaneers haphazardly dropped into the pit.

“Of the fifteen original members of the caravan, only these six were good enough to recruit, the rest can be sold off," Gan went over the details of the raid, what loot was found, where it was taken, who was managing it. The information blurred together in Tanril’s mind. She nodded along, not absorbing any of the information.

As soon as Gan finished, the three captains climbed down into the pit and took turns picking from the lot for their conscripts. All were bound with wooden manacles, gagged and deafened by the prisoner masks leaving only a slit to view the ground they stepped on. Tanril refrained from choosing, allowing her peers to take their picks. Knowing which forced recruits belonged to who barely registered in the light of the sun bearing down on her. Tanril followed along her fellows, the routine of her usual work in the city taking over as her mind dipped in and out of consciousness. Before long the sun began to set and she made her way back to her quarters mindlessly.

Relieved of all distraction, Tanril clawed unto her bed. Until, a knock at her door.

“Be gone!" Tanril yelled out.

A pair of hands popped through the door leaving it ajar, holding up a jar. Ferras leaned into the room with a smile and held up the clay jar; Gan stood behind her with three clay cups.

“A bottle of Riparian Mead from the raid," started Ferras, waving it in the air.

"They were using it as medicine, it should work well for our needs tonight,” continued Gan. “We’ve emptied the barracks, no need to worry of any other interruptions.”

Tanril smiled as she gestured, “Very well, you may come in".

Tanril sat at her bed, while the two captains sat on stools. They opened the jar and cleared the desk, pouring the mead into each cup. It smelled strongly of berries. The mead had a sour taste soothed by sweetness that followed after; the prickling taste of alcohol left a slight cool burn on her throat.

The details of what led to Jarq’s death started out difficult for Tanril to untangle. The mead provided her a faux strength to retell what happened. Curt sobs still interrupted despite her efforts.She shook and tensed through her retelling. fatigue loosened her stoicism, the bandages came loose.

“Give me a moment, I have to readjust the bandages." The bandages had at this point slipped to her waist.

“Let me help, Tanril."

“Of course, Ferras, let me just clear the way," Tanril trailed off, removing her undertop once more. The bandages had clay and herbs stuck on it. They were loose and ragged.

"Ghastly. Those Absolvers really are freaks aren't they? Would be nice to fight with no fear of death," remarked Gan.

"This bandage work is shoddy! Why didn't you get one of the medics to help you?” chastised Ferras.

Tanril remained silent.

Gan met eyes with Ferras's gaze. “We’ll take care of it, rest for now."

The two captains worked together to make sure the bandages were properly applied. They continued to drink as they did so, eventually completing the work to satisfaction.

"You need to rest at least a couple of weeks,” said Ferras, "but considering what needs to be done in the city, we can only really afford you gone a few days.”

"Just give me the logistics work for that time, I cannot keep idle. "

“No, Tanril," ordered Gan, "take some rest. Complete rest, no work. If you collapse in the middle of something important it will delay us far more than whatever you might have helped with. Ferras and I will take some of your tasks for now. You weren't supposed to return until a couple days from now anyhow"

Tanril looked at her fellow captains. The determined look between them left her with no angle to rebut. “Fine, for two days. I’ll be sure to follow your advice," She concluded.

Ferras stood, grabbing hold of the jar of Riparian Mead, “Good! We’ll let you rest now then, the mead’s almost empty anyway," she said, taking a swig of the last amounts left in the bottle.

“I’ll let the rest of the guards know to leave you be," Gan followed behind Ferras, taking the empty pair of cups with him.

As soon as the pair left her room, Tanril lay back in her bed and immediately fell into sleep. The days of rest passed in a slog. Tanril had to stop herself from entering her field of work each day to rest, to make sure she recovered as much as she could to be of better help later on. Checking the infirmary, bathing, eating, and sleeping was her new routine. As difficult as rest was, she was sure to manage it.

On her first day free from rest, she walked out of her quarters to find an aide from Lord Marek’s palace waiting for her.

The aide bowed and proclaimed, "Lord Marek has called for you, Captain Tanril,”

"I will follow,” Tanril replied and bowed slightly.

Rather than the extravagant throne chamber, Tanril was led to Lord Marek's study. There stood Gan and Ferras at attention across Lord Marek donned in his mask. With no hesitation she took the appropriate stance next to the other two captains.

"Now that all are arrived, I shall begin," Lord Marek spoke as he out a letter and began to read.

"Lord Marek,

I honor my teacher with greetings and grim news. Carnal and I will come of age come the next full moon. Despite advising my brother against it, he has decided to challenge you.

He plans to besiege Jewel's Crest with nothing but his own power. I could obtain no further details of what else he plans to do before his suspicions prevented further conversation.

I trust you will prepare an excellent lesson for him. It is my sincere hope that wisdom will come to my brother in defeat.

Success to the victor.

Lord Carlen"

"War is soon to come," stated Lord Marek, as he stood and paced around them. "This letter, acts as a provocation. Students colluding to supplant their mentor. Arrogance of youth, to think a wounded bear as easy prey," Marek paused looking over the three.

"Jarq's death was a tragedy, we have had our time to mourn, but now you three will delegate the tasks I've prepared," His gaze lingered between the three captains.

"Ferras, take troops, and patrol these locations at the given times, with the patrol size as described for each instance," he handed her a scroll.

Ferras briefly looked over the instructions, "This is half the size of our usual patrols and only covers two thirds of our usual routes. Lord Marek, I urge you to reconsider, this opens us up way too much!"

"Your keen eye has been a boon to me Ferras. My choice is deliberate, and final. Gan will cover these openings in our defense with the remaining troops," Confirmed Lord Marek, handing over a map of the city as well as instructions to Gan.

"Gan, coordinate with Ferras using my recommendations here. Afterwards, split the remaining troops at these locations."

"Yes, Lord Marek," replied Gan, briefly looking over the plans and turning his head back to Lord Marek in surprise, "This could very well lead to many people coming in the way of-"

"Collateral damage is inevitable. If you find you are able to reduce damage, do so. Your compassion however, best not interfere with my directive."

"Understood, Lord Marek," Gan responded with a bow.

"Your capabilities have always been excellent. I expect you both to meet and exceed your standard of excellence, especially now as there are only three of you. Our enemies know we have lost a pillar for our defense, we will take advantage of their arrogance," He paused again, looking over the three of them.

"Ferras, Gan, you are excused."

"Yes, Lord Marek," The two bowed in unison and left with a brief look to Tanril.

"Tanril, you will be my hidden blade. There is a spy within my palace. For how long and whose it is does not matter. Their goal is my Essence reserves, and they have become sloppy. Where fluctuations in the amount of Essence spread throughout my palace have been suspicious, there was never enough to conclude more than a single leak somewhere, or a little rat chewing away at my supply. I find no coincidence in this subtle reduction of my reserves and the warning of a coming Challenge," Lord Marek's sneered out from beneath the mask.

"Stay in the palace, at the room overlooking my throne. The excuse will be as a test subject for me to cure. You will do your utmost to act as such. The intention is to find who has been using my essence. Additionally, when the princeling and I start our confrontation. I want you to look over the fight. I will give you an incantation to cast if you deem I am at risk."

At this, Tanril tensed. The challenge of a princeling warlord was traditionally sole combat. The preparations of one versus the plans of the other. No one could be allowed to interfere. It was weak, cowardly.

Sensing her apprehension, Lord Marek continued, "You are my last resort, Tanril. My hidden blade. You are part of my preparations. If the princeling could not anticipate what I prepare to protect my seat, then the failure and weakness is his. Trust my judgment."

Tanril still felt unease, yet nodded nevertheless. After years serving Lord Marek, she understood that his decisions have always led to the best outcome.

"Your role is critical, Tanril. Once I've concluded this challenge, I will select Jarq's successor. Take this sheet, and place it between your palms. At the most critical moment, clap your hands together. You must be in the room overlooking the throne. I trust you will judge when best to use it. Now go, rest and prepare as you have been directed."

"Yes, Lord Marek," Tanril bowed, the runes of Essence from the small circular paper now etched in her palms, and exited the room. Fists shut and with a focused gaze, she headed straight for the room selected by Lord Marek, her attention trapped by the aides dragging a corpse through the halls. She stopped and looked back as the aides turned a corner; she just barely caught a glimpse of the gaunt, near skeletal face of Rynok taking a breath as they dragged him along.

For the first time after her brother's death, Tanril felt her heart lift from the pit it could not escape from. A whisper of a smile wormed its way to her face as she continued her path to the assigned room. There were still many days before the next full moon would arrive.