record_id: 30bf8b3e-f83d-8196-800d-c0fe57d4ef17
created_time: 2026-02-18T22:31:00.000Z
title: 02-18 Discussion: Work Logistics and Fantasy Narrative
source_url: /

[TRANSCRIPTION]
Speaker 1 00:00:13
This Is the number one sneaker recommended by specialists. Meet the On.
Speaker 2 00:00:24
Welcome back, America. I'm Hugh Hewitt. Amazon doesn't need my advice. But if Prime is listening, put Lonesome Dove on right now. Add some music from Lonesome Dove. And the Americans who haven't seen it will watch it again. My friend Carl just watched it, and Carl's not in Texas; he thinks it's about Pennsylvania. It's not about Pennsylvania; it's about the Texas cattle drive. And I want people to watch it because Blue Duck will scare you. And it's a fabulous, fabulous television show. But uh you got to be able to find it, and if Prime puts it up there. Harley hasn't watched that? Harley, have you watched that? No. Adam, have you watched that? Nope. Wayne did you watch that? Yeah How good is it Wayne? It's easily top five all time. So TV series, yeah. And so It was made a while ago. And the production values are great because of the great outdoors; just being in the West with great. I don't know who made i,
Speaker 3 00:00:55
T but i's fabulous Closed alert, And exhibiting no signs that the name of De Ulissae was meaningless to her, he'd been counting on that. Appearing important enough to remain among the living, she repeated, "Cadeo De Ulissae." There, it was done. Albus could feel the sharks circling; his stomach heaved. After all, one did not assume the identity of the eldest son of Sylvain De Ulissae, Closest confidant of the Archduke of Arconia and third most powerful man in the city without anticipating certain consequences. But, it was De Ulissae's fault and their mutual interest in the papers of Ardimus The Deceiver that Albus had ever left home. So there was some surely misplaced satisfaction in that. He attained further satisfaction from Aurelia's latest expression.
Speaker 3 00:01:26
Thoughtful, composed, alert, and exhibiting no signs that the name of the *Ulysses* was meaningless to her. He'd been counting on that. Appearing important enough to remain among the living was rather near and dear to Alba's thoughts in that moment. "I can see why you might wish to hide your identity from the Sithearan," Orvania said. She smiled slightly, but it was a lesser copy of her usual knowing expression. She was, Alba reasoned, perhaps more unsettled than he had thought. " S, he is intent on the destruction of your city and would no doubt not hesitate to announce her vendetta with the timely execution of an important personage." Alba swallowed; his tongue seemingly too large for his mouth. "The question is," he managed, "what will you do with this secret princess?" It was a two-layered question. There was the immediate to consider : would Aurelia cement her new alliance by offering up what she thought was a tasty prize to Kalut? But also the long view: namely, Could Alba save Archonia by giving the Macedonos twins a reason to reconsider their plans for renewing Onaxian domination of the Eneran Sea? A great number of adjectives crowded into Alba's head at such a notion, each clamouring for attention: farfetched, outrageous, preposterous, harebrained. Yes. That's the one Eskar would have used. Alba wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He was saved barely from either by Aurelia. "You are my allies' enemy, ", while the revenge that drives Kalut does not occupy my or my brother's heart, they must respect."
Speaker 3 00:02:25
This was not a promising start. But my mother taught me the value of information, and you have just offered me a great deal of information. Not just the secret of your identity, my lord, but the secret of your diplomatic mission to Sendaris. Aurelia leaned forward and put a hand on Albus's. It was not a sensation he enjoyed, And he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from drawing away from her. So I will keep your secrets," Arcadio de Luce said for now, "and later. Even he was quite impressed with the cool nonchalance with which he managed that question. It was after all the very reason he had taken this particular leap. Perhaps the real Arcadio de Luce would be proud after stabbing into Albus's belly no doubt. Aurelia smiled her brilliant, winning smile. Once more the benevolent, generous ruler. It will be as you wish. She squeezed his hand and then released it, settling back into her chair once more. But I will tell my brother. You must understand, my lord. There are no secrets between us. Of course, princess. And you will first undergo the dissolution ceremony? Inconvenient but not altogether unexpected Albus offered his own smile. I waited with an eager mind, The guise of Tristan. Talamus was not all deceit. I trained as a scholar before turning to pursue my civic responsibilities. Arcadiodiolusse was turning out to be quite fascinating, Aurelia stood and leaned close Albus held his breath.
Speaker 3 00:03:22
She touched two fingertips to the place where his heart beat, raced in his chest. Ah, but it is not your scholarly mind I want, my lord. It is what lies in here. Only in our hearts can we find true understanding. The words seeped into Albus as though through her fingers like a chill. And then a small voice in his head, smaller than he would have liked, proclaimed the words nonsense. Very astute, " he princess he heard himself say, or perhaps that was Archelius's doomed answer for Regulus smiled. But Albus though his eyes saw her face was hardly aware from a young age. Albus had possessed an understanding of himself reader thinker not much for outdoor pastimes. Observant, the opposite of mischievous. And then later, scholar and all that word entailed, which was in Albus's mind a great many things. But there in that moment, for the first time in his memory, as he pretended to be a man pretending to be another man, Albus Courtney was suddenly gripped with the sort of uncertainty of self he had yet avoided in his life. That and the fear that he was being made to stand for something unrecognizable. The place turned his stomach into its most fiendish knot yet. As such, In this rather preoccupied state, when Aurelia took him into a dome, - shaped building, led him down, a set of poorly lit, stairs down and down again, and then presented him to a pair of grey- robed women who proceeded to tell him to strip down.
Speaker 3 00:04:21
And smear a questionable red paste over his body. Albus uttered not a word of protest, externally or internally, which resulted in him within a matter of moments, red and pasty and slightly chilled, Finding himself submerged in a vat of well, he wasn't really sure thick and viscous slightly sticky, perhaps the texture of cooling fat that had not quite gone solid, but was well on its way. It was odourless as far as Albus could tell but decidedly tinged with yellow. The sensation was not unpleasant. Around Albus, the substance extended as far as the dark granite walls that sloped upward mimicking the dome of the exterior far above at the surface. There was no telling how far it descended beneath him, though the primary source of light, curiously, seemed to be below, suffusing the chamber with a glow Albus found soothing. His body was settling into the substance at an angle, Neither horizontal nor vertical, but somewhere in between that would not have been sustainable. Were it not for the matter's ability to hold him there. Conveniently located such that he did not have to crane his neck to see it was a platform upon which the two women stood. Albus blinked at them. "What is this place?" He could not remember if he had been instructed to keep silent. Nor could he remember Aurelia leaving or where precisely his clothes had been discarded. "You are in the House of Stone and Water," one of the women intoned. 
Speaker 3 00:05:19
Which was not helpful, as answers went. "Then you are?" "I am Stone." ".and you are Water." "Oh." Albus hesitated. "Am I meant to be doing something?" He addressed the one called Stone, who had spoken first. "Do whatever feels natural," that from Water. Seeing as how none of what he was doing felt natural, this left Albus rather perplexed. He decided after a brief assessment of the reasons for and against to close his eyes. Yes, natural surely. He was about to open them again, just ever so slightly, what could be the harm in peeking when the substance holding his body began to hum. Were it Water he would have done his best to leap free alas Such a maneuver was not possible, though he did squirm about a bit. "Be still," what's happening?" he asked, unsure which one had spoken. "What do you feel happening?" He felt uncomfortable, that's what. But no sooner had this thought harrumphed its way through his mind than he realized. This was not exactly accurate. The substance's hum was, he began to understand, both a sound his ears could measure and a vibration felt against his skin, which was upon reflection growing warmer. He opened his eyes. "I feel this substance vibrating warming What is it? " Like, what do you feel inside? Stone answered ignoring his question, Albus frowned and began to say that he felt nothing.
Speaker 3 00:06:16
Only this would have been a lie. I feel I am a child again, he said quietly. The chamber seemed to swallow this answer. Warm and dry after a rainstorm, the hearth crackling, he closed his eyes. A woman singing. Elena. He had not thought of Elena in a long time, but her voice came back to him clearly, not a particular song no, But her voice as strong and sweet as though she were there with him once more comforting, a small boy giving him pieces of herself she could not afford to give. She was not there. Aldous was under no delusions of that. And while the dissolution ceremony might be intended to reveal something of life and death, this was no vision of the afterlife, no glimpse of a dead woman's spirit. This was memory, searing, unshakable, agonizing memory. If not for the warmth of the substance in which he was suspended, Albus would have shivered, trembled with the force of that memory. As it was, he pressed his eyelids tight together. But whether to ward off Elaina's voice or clasp it close and preserve it within himself, he could not have said. The vibration increased ;, the humming growing louder and Albus was aware of a darkening outside his lids. He opened his eyes to see the chamber vanish more so than it ought to at a simple dimming of an lantern or guttering of a flame. Panic leaped through his chest, but no sooner did he gasp in a shaking breath than it fled, as though from an invisible force—a surging presence.
Speaker 3 00:07:14
That Albus would have named light and fury, though the darkness did nothing more than settle about him. Darkness, and a calm born of something outside Albus. The scholarly mind within Albus was fairly sure such a thing was impossible. Indeed it protested strongly in this manner, and yet the protest was somehow muted, as though offered from a great distance. Albus listened to it, heard it, understood it even, But found he was rather more fascinated by what it argued against than the sense it spoke. Estra would understand. Long had she tried to convince him that even the most orderly mind, even the scholar fortified in fact and evidence and logic should cherish wonder. Perhaps he ought to have given her notion more credence. It was in that moment A pleasant moment in which thoughts of Aska mingled with the sensations around him, that Albas, with a sort of mildness one might reserve for an observation about the weather, Noticed he could no longer feel his toes or fingers or the viscous substance encasing any of those appendages. Odd. Decidedly odd. Perhaps I've died, he mused. It seemed possible, certainly though Albas was not one to believe one could be cognizant of one's own death, much less wondering out loud about it. Do you wish to die? The voice that rang out in response did so with quiet authority, neither male nor female by any measure. Albas possessed and not belonging to stone or water, it seemed to emanate from somewhere below instinctively.
Speaker 3 00:08:13
Albus looked down, or he supposed he did, but once again his body seemed elsewhere, and he really could not have said if his neck moved at all. "No," Albus said. "Not yet, at least." "If you wish it," the voice said. "I can grant you death." "That would be unnecessary. I make no claim to immortality and accept that death will find me in time." A moment of silence. Then: "You are wise. Most who appear before me fear death." "Before you? Am I?" I confess I can't see you." The voice laughed, an enormously pleasant sound. "I should hope not! It wouldn't go well for you!" May I ask your name?" As he ventured the question. Albus was aware for the first time that he probably ought to be very frightened. Again, this thought passed as though a bird flying at a far height: observable, noticeable, but altogether unremarkable and without impact. "You don't know it already?" "I'm afraid I don't." The silence was longer this time, though this was not discomforting. At last the voice said: "Then I think I won't burden you with it." "I am delightfully curious," Albus said as much. A laugh again followed by: "I am glad you think so." "No misgiving," Albus said. "It is my nature to be curious. I shall be pondering these moments for a very long time, I think. But if we're being honest, I'm not entirely sure why I'm here."
Speaker 3 00:09:11
Well, I don't why I'm here, But not what I'm meant to be doing or what this is meant to achieve. Why are you here then? Ah, see, Albus said suddenly and thoroughly aware of reasons he could not name that he would not be able to lie. I need to write a letter. And this was the price. I don't remember the last time I was used in a bargain. The tone behind this was undeniably one of amusement. Tell me more about this letter. A pause and then as though the voice could understand something of Albus's mind, it's quite safe. I can promise that. Albus took a breath though he had no sensation of doing so. The letter is to a friend Aunt Moan's The laugh was hidden away like a smile behind a veil. I suppose, but most friends aren't like this friend, Albus said. Which makes all the difference in the world. Go on. It could save very many lives. Are these lives worth saving? Aren't most? Though no sound came, Albus would have sworn he felt the smile. Please don't take this as disappointment. This has been a fascinating experience, but am I not meant to be finding enlightenment? Enlightenment? Is that what they told you? Well, a pause. I suppose that does happen for those who are desperate for such things, but enlightenment is different for every being. Those who ask such meaningless questions are easily appeased. What question then?
Speaker 3 00:10:10
Should I ask of you? The silence that followed might have stretched on for a lifetime, or it could have been no longer than a heartbeat. Pattering through Albus's chest. You should ask me which way the wind will blow when moon meets death. There was something new in the voice then, something stark and solemn. That's very specific, Albus said, and frankly impractical as far as questions go. No answer, no smile. And Albus knew what was expected of him, knew it as surely as he knew the number of grey hairs growing just over his left ear four. In fact, so he asked Which way will the wind blow when moon meets death? The smile returned, So, curious indeed. Chapter twenty three. He will be the spark that sets a fire, but we've no way to contain the smoke. Will he die? Esca knelt next to the still stinking form of Casimir Sanvoria, unwilling to leave his side, even as Nadeja and three other figures had swept through the grass, Chedot trotting at their heels, and taken up positions around the sick man. Not before no not before the matriarch of Wind at Dawn, glanced at the staff on ground next to Esca. There was a covetousness, a possessiveness in that glance, But the moment had passed swiftly for which Esca supposed, she ought to be grateful.
Speaker 3 00:11:09
After all, The matriarch could easily have claimed the staff and abandoned Zanborya where he had fallen, leaving Eshka as a solitary witness to the death that would have followed. Eshka watched now as Nedessa, ignoring Eshka's question, felt Zanborya's pulse and pinched one earlobe. The matriarch then withdrew a roll of thin leather from a pouch at her belt. She unrolled it across one thigh to reveal a series of small needles. After selecting one, She reached into the pouch once more for a plain vessel, the size of her thumb. Prying free the waxy lid, Nedessa stuck the needle into whatever the vessel contained, and then with steady hands, poked the needle into Zanborya's neck, as though he were no more than a piece of leather for stitching. Will he die? The matriarch repeated, her eyes on the desert's face. It was, perhaps, A fool question, or at least not one, she could likely expect the matriarch to have an answer to. The antidote had been expected to work, But there was no telling if the illness Sambora had been mastering would hinder it or if the affliction had damaged him beyond recovery. Nedra's gaze shifted to Esca's face. "Time," she said by way of answer. And with that, the matriarch allowed her attention to be fully claimed by the staff of Mihaila. Rising to her feet, she walked around Esca until her own lay at her feet. Her companions watched with eyes holding an agonizing mixture of apprehension and. 
Speaker 3 00:12:07
Sensing this, Nedeja spoke softly to them, and without complaint or response, They picked up Kazimir's envoya and began to carry him in the direction of the encampment. Chedolingo, with a raised eyebrow from the matriarch, sent Jarl off with more docile acceptance than Esku had expected. Nedeja waited until the sounds of their retreat faded into nothing. Then crouched next to Esku, her gaze fixed once more on the star. "There's no going back if you take that in your hands," is that? Esku said. The other woman glanced at her. "You will be the spark that sets a fire." There'll be no way to contain the smoke. " The words were meaningless to Nedeja, of course, but Esku could see their translation in her eyes and yet, there hesitation there was not born from fear Or a loss of resolve. No, Deska sought only thoughtful contemplation. The desert looked up, her gaze taking in the moon and the stars and the silent scuttling clouds, then the grass in the darkness and the earth, as though committing the moment to memory. This moment when world was still the same. And then she reached out with one hand and grasped a smooth white bone. Nothing happened. Which is not to say exactly that Deska expected anything, but it had seemed a moment full of portents and possibility. But yet the grass only sighed around them, and stars did absolutely nothing at all. - as stars are wont to do. The desert stood ; Deska never moved her hand. ; Ametrab's other hand came to rest below her first.
Speaker 3 00:13:05
The handle, bands of gold, framed her grip. The faint rattle sounded from within once more as the staff shifted, and Eshka caught a slight narrowing of her gaze. And then Nedega was beckoning Eshka to follow as she strode through the brush to return to her people. The encampment slept yet. A dog nosed its way across the well-trodden ground, tail wagging lazily back and forth as it followed a scent toward the river. Whatever, it smelled was of far more interest than two women peering out of the night. In the distance, a single figure, nothing more than a grey shape, poked at the fire pit revealing hot coals beneath sleeping ash. Nedega led Eshka to her tent. Within, her three Vardini companions watched over Kazir's son Borioa The man had been stripped from his sweat - soaked garments and covered with patterned woolen blankets. The pale skin showing just below his neck glistened with an unnatural grey sheen. The matriarch murmured quietly to one attendant, Who nodded and rushed out of the tent as Medeja turned to a large wicker basket. Beside the furs and blankets that made up her bed, Eskar hovered uselessly, Torn between looking after Sandvorriah, for whom she could do nothing and watching Medeja, who had no need for her attention. In the end, Medeja decided for Eskar. The matriarch first removed from the basket, a loop of beads longer than Eskar's arm and draped it around her neck twice. She then pulled a delicate silver chain free from a leather pouch. 
Speaker 3 00:14:04
The matriarch's chain. Nadeja fastened it to her earrings without ceremony, her fingers sure and steady, her face composed if a little tight. But the faces of the two other Vardini present, told Esga what she needed to know. This was the first time Nadeja adorned herself with the symbol of her authority, The first time she would step forth in front of her people without deference to the woman she replaced. She took up the staff once more and moved toward Templea. Esga made to follow, but Nadeja drew up short and The command was practical: Esga needed support. She, the prisoner awaiting trial, was mentally ill, incapacitated. There was no room for her in what was to come, and with the other Vardini women rising toward their new matriarch. There would be no one left to sit with Samburian. Eskar understood this, didn't argue. She gave an all and watched as Negeja slipped into the growing light of morning, light that regardless of outcome, which shined on the land of grass changed that day. But, just because Eskar was meant to remain, did not mean she could not put her head out the tent, which she did the moment she judged Negeja to be some distance away. Indeed, when they dropped was at her side, a few other two clans stirring here and there. No eyes strayed to catch sight of Eskar's force tucked behind thick highlands. But the growing scent of food, soon overpowered even their curiosity for it seemed they had been cooking for hours in steamy messes. She had brought herself a mug and sat down. 
Speaker 3 00:15:03
She checked the boy out for any signs of waking or death, she succumbs, still unsure which was more likely. As such, she was rather preoccupied with grinding the antelope meat into submission when wind came. Subtle at first, a gentle breeze that slinked through the gap in the entrance, then ruffled over the hides forming roof of structure. Only when flaps snapped open and closed again did Nessa even notice. This happened twice more in quick succession and A gust, Strong enough to lift Esga's hair from her neck and give a blanket aspirations of flight. Alert now, Esga straightened from patting at some of the sweat on Senvorius' forehead and frowned at the disruptive air as the growing wind continued to do battle against the tent walls. Esga looked over at Senvorius' pale face. "My apologies, Master Crow," she said, " but I imagine you'd be rather cross with me if I couldn't give you a detailed account of this when you wake." And then she was gone, slipping from the tent; her curiosity far too demanding to be ignored. Slipping from the tent was one thing; moving beyond that was quite another, Esga quickly discovered. Winds buffeted her from every direction, lashing her hair against her face. 
Speaker 3 00:15:59
Stranding her as though between competing tides, each threatening to swallow her, each saving her from the harsh grip of the other. steadying herself as best she could, Estra peeked from behind her raised forearm. around her, the hide structures rippled in sharp bursts. the wind whistling through each and every opening. debris tumbled this way and that. a few vardini moved cautiously toward the river, arms tight around each other as they fought against the angry gales. Estra followed overhead, The sky was unnervingly blue quiet, even a flock of birds passed over wings, spread on calm currents unbothered by the storm raging across below ahead. The vardini had gathered their. Backs to Estra, blocking whatever commanded their attention and the air from her sight. The crowd was too heavy to be wormed through, nor were they likely to appreciate any effort Estra made to do so. She scanned her surroundings, searching for anything that might offer her a better vantage point. There, a particularly ornery piebald horse, his nose thrust into the grass, just on the other side of the ropes containing the horses. The rest of which seemed to be exhibiting more sense, having grouped together against the winds as far from commotion as their boundary would allow. We need again," Estra said after crossing the distance and slipping under the rope. The horse continued chomping. "Better that grass than my skin," I suppose," and with that. 
Speaker 3 00:16:55
Esker grasped the thick black mane, and with all the confidence of a horse tamer she was not, vaulted onto the horse's back. It was considerably less gracefully done than such a word implies, but she did manage to avoid tipping over the other side. And when she found her balance, breath clenched somewhere in her throat as she waited for the horse to protest. She was rewarded with, if not a good view, at least a glimpse of the curved hook of the white - boned staff. Logic dictated she would find Nadezhda where she found the staff, and Esker did. But not Nadezhda as she had last seen the matriarch beneath Esker. The horse lurched to attention, head and neck coming up, ears twitching as he assessed the uninvited weight on his back. Esker inhaled, making a quick calculation of the chance she could hold on, if the horse decided he was feeling ornery. The math was not in her favour. Of this she had no doubt. But only half her mind was preparing for the eventuality of being tossed painfully to the ground as she absent - mindedly patted the horse's neck. The other half was consumed by what she saw : The Wind at Dawn matriarch was aloft. Not very high, but seeing as none of her was touching the ground, the exact height of the feat did not seem important to Esker. Medeja's eyes were closed, a staff in one hand, the other arm outstretched. The winds that tore at Vardini around her did little more than caress her clothes and hair.
Speaker 3 00:17:53
And support her, Esku supposed, though whatever current flowed beneath her feet was invisible. A leap of logic that such a current existed. And yet it was abundantly clear Nnedera was responsible for the windstorm. The horse shifted beneath Esku, reminding her of her precarious position. She glanced down for long enough to see its ears twitch. Behind her she could hear the swishing of its tail, Though, whether in an effort to fend off flies or in an expression of annoyance, she was not prepared to say. "I don't like it any more than you do," I promise," Esku murmured. If her voice was soothing, the horse did not let on. For the moment, though his stomach seemed to be reeling with all else, and then Nnedera began to speak. And Esku forgot about the horse. She couldn't understand the words, of course, but she didn't need to. The intent was clear enough from the determined set of the matriarch's jaw, from the fierce intensity smoldering deep in her eyes, from the way she cast her gaze across the assembled Vardini, her people. In that face, Leska saw both conqueror and mother. Her vocabulary lessons with Cheno gave her a few stepping stones upon which she could follow the flow of Magedra's speech. She caught the Vardini words for people, moon grass and life easily enough. And then naming Mahalo was like a beacon surging through the wind. Leska imagined that young matriarch spoke of the staff as a gift, a herald of destiny and purpose, a path to a future that great Mahalo had died for.
Speaker 3 00:18:51
Or something of that nature. Perhaps Esku's imagination exaggerated. Perhaps, she was too caught up in the moment and the emotion surging through Nadeja's rich, vibrant voice to assess the speech with indifference. It was only when she heard the word for moon repeated that Esku noticed the crescent moon hanging in the pale blue morning sky, conveniently placed just above Nadeja and the staff. Clever, Esku murmured. There was no accident here; the young woman had planned her moment with care. The name Mihaila came again, accompanied by a wide, Expansive gesture : The bone staff sweeping over the heads of the Vardini bands of hammered gold flashing in new suns. Esku saw Nadeja point toward sun behind grass matriarch Saw her point to her own chain of silver, and then her voice carried with new vigor, and Esku had no doubt she spoke of senseless feuds and old grudges, of the burden of hatred and the chains of jealousy, punctuated by invocations Esku snatched as they came to her, of the moon and the grass and the mothers who came before. With a flourish and final appeal to Mihaila Nadeja fell silent, Chest rising and falling as though her ribs could not contain the future she promised. The winds had the last say whispering and raging with equal urgency. It was well spoken or so at least Esku liked to think perhaps Nadeja was not the orator Esku credited her as.
Speaker 3 00:19:49
But there was no denying the power of her voice, and even of the words that fell on Estra's ignorant ears. The call had been made, fierce and bright, the kind that inspires loyalty and pride and hope, a clarion waiting to be taken up. What followed was none of those things. What followed was a shattering of promises, of ambition, of belief. There was silence, and then there was chaos. It was difficult later to say how it began. Perhaps, it was the voice anonymous shouting two words. Estra could not understand, but the meaning of which was writ clear enough in the scorn and fear and anger in the voice. Perhaps it was then knocking of an arrow to a string, a single arrow followed closely by a second Perhaps it was the burst of wind lashing out from Nedesa's staff, strong enough for even Esku to feel its sting. Or perhaps it was all of those things at once. Esku had never seen a crowd turn quite so quickly. She saw the Sun Behind the Grass matriarch shouting, Saw arrows fly only to bounce harmlessly off the shell of wind swirling around Nedesa. She saw faces contorted in accusation, Saw men and women converge on the young matriarch Wind at Dawn Sun Behind, the Grass It mattered not. She saw perhaps nine or ten figures rush to Nedesa's defense so few? She saw children reach for stones, their small voices as vicious as those of their mothers and fathers. And through Esku's horrified and helpless fascination a clear thought came to her. 
Speaker 3 00:20:48
It was time to go. Leaping as neatly off the piebald horse as she could, Eskar darted away from his suddenly interested teeth and wound her way back toward Nadezhda's tent. She had little in the way of things to gather, nothing really, But she was not about to leave Kaziimir's own warrior to wake up to whatever was left in the aftermath of Nadezhda's disaster. Though he was well known to the Vardani, She could imagine he would be just as at risk as she was : an outsider, a prying target for wrath and misplaced vengeance. The man from Parnaxi's was, unfortunately well and truly lost to whatever dreams his mind had conjured, Leaving Eskar to contemplate all while attempting not to be overly concerned about the rising sounds of violence outside the confines of the matriarch's tent. How she was meant to rescue him. She could start by dressing him, a cumbersome affair to be sure. Esker shed him of the blankets and began to work his trousers up his pale legs. Was he sweating less? And his fur-trimmed boots onto his feet. The snap of the tent flap made Esker whirl around, Ready to defend herself with whatever she might be able to lay her hands on, but the sight of Cheto's small face brought her up short. For a moment they stood face-to-face, each waiting for the other, each unsure. And then Cheto grinned and thrust the hides farther aside to reveal a familiar black -an d- white face, The piebald horse tranquil under a saddle head drooping as though he might take a nap. Esker smiled but then gestured back at Samborja: "I can't leave him."
Speaker 3 00:21:47
They went. Chetto's nose crinkled as he assessed Samborya's prone form. Then, with a small shrug, he nodded as though this were entirely acceptable and not at all unexpected. Eeska poked her head outside the entrance. The bulk of the commotion was still centered on the place. Nadezhda had chosen for her fateful speech. Only a few Vardini had fled, And these paid no mind to a piebald horse and a small boy sticking their noses into a tent. Hurry now! Eeska returned to Samborya and stuffed his arms one after the other into his heavy brocaded jacket. No time for his other layers; he would have to forgive her later, and then pushed him into a sitting position. This movement caused him to moan, which Eeska would have been delighted to hear If she weren't working so hard to keep him from lolling over on his side. You know, if you were a crow, you could just fly out of here, Esca muttered. A bead of sweat threatened to drip into her arm, and as she reached up to brush it away, she heard Chetto give a command and looked up in astonishment as the horse, now fully within the tent, knelt on its front legs and then slowly lowered its hindquarters to the ground. Chetto smiled. Esca laughed. That's a good trick. The horse snorted. The task was still a challenge, but after a great deal of ungainly, shoving and indecorous lifting, Chetto and Esca had managed to heave Sandboria's right leg over the horse's back and balance him precariously against the horse's neck.
Speaker 3 00:22:44
Chedo mimed that Esku should climb on behind him, and keep him steady, which caused Esku to raise her eyebrows. Chedo nodded sternly, Which reminded Esku that she really ought not to question a boy born and bred around horses on such things, even if he was a child. Esku did as she was told, Perching herself behind Sanvoria's bulk and placing her arms around him as though this would keep both of them from tumbling to the ground should his body decide to heed gravity. Chedo spoke again and clucked his tongue, and the horse stood. It was not so smooth as that; the movement was dreadfully jerky, and Esku lurched sideways as the rear legs straightened. But just as suddenly as it started it was over, and the top of Esku's head was brushing against the bone supports of Holding behind the loft. Ducking as low as she could and pushing Samborius head awkwardly into the horse's black mane, Niska succeeded in not being scraped off as Chetto led the horse from the high structure. Smoke, screams, the brightness of morning marred by destruction. A woman raced past, intent on escaping whatever madness lay behind her. Niska looked down at Chetto who was staring toward the river. Chetto, come with me, " Niska waited until he looked up at her, then held out her hand, making her words clear. " I can keep you. " She broke off safe that was a word on her lips, but promising such was foolish, nor could she say with any certainty that taking him from his home was right.
Speaker 3 00:23:43
Not even if that home was crumbling before their very eyes. Surely the chaos would diminish. Surely sun behind the grass would assert its dominance, restore peace. And yet Esku knew such things were far from sure. Whatever the young matriarch had unleashed that day, the consequences were likely to ripple out in unpredictable ways. And the boy had no parents, no family to look after him. Esku glanced up, saw the smoke had deepened in colour, saw a cluster of warriors emerge from behind a distant tent. It was only a matter of time before someone remembered the strange woman who was meant to die for her crimes, an easy scapegoat. Chido? Esku said urgently now, but she needn't have bothered ;. The boy was smiling up at her. Not that gleeful smile she had come to know, but one of sadness, the sort of smile that should never be seen on a child's face. He nodded, and then he raced off, which came as something of a surprise. But then Esku supposed the piebald horse was already carrying a great deal. She urged the horse to follow the swift boy. He led them between deserted homes, Snatching a basket from the entrance of one and a pair of waterskins from an antler hook outside another. He even went so far as to disappear into a third hide structure, Perhaps his own Esku could not be sure and emerge a few moments later with a bundle of items clutched in his arms and a blanket falling over one shoulder. As Esku watched unable to help in her position as Sand Warrior's harness, the blanket began to slip from. 
Speaker 3 00:24:41
Wherever it was loosely held. Chato snatched at the wool with his teeth to stop its fall, and grinned up at Esku. One by one, They tucked the objects into whatever nooks and crannies they could find : the blanket resting between Esku's stomach and Samborriar's back, a cloth-wrapped packet of dried meat stuck in one of her pockets, and one of the empty skins in another. Esku offered to take the basket, though she really didn't have anywhere to put it. But Chato shook his head and lofted it onto one shoulder, his small arm holding it up. By this point, As the noises of chaos surged around them and shouts were now distinct threats rather than distant sounds, Esku knew she did not have time to wait. She gave them all And he set off at a steady jog, Taking them past the outskirts of the encampment and then beyond the perimeter and at last into the embrace of the grass. Esku took one last look over her shoulder, Wondering what would become of Nadeja if she had not been trampled to death already. With a start, Esku realized she might never know. Such things came to pass with or without witnesses, and Esku was but a passing memory in that tall grass, Nothing more than a whisper lost in the winds that had swept over those lands for as long as there had been light in the sky. When they had traveled a safe distance away, Far enough that only a blur of smoke served as a reminder of what they'd done. Tilo stopped and turned to face Esku with questions on his mind. He gestured. 
Speaker 4 00:25:39
Pointing first to his left, and then right, and lastly over his shoulder.
Speaker 4 00:27:52
I'm not sure if I can do it.
Speaker 1 00:28:37
Another Day in paradise.
Speaker 4 00:29:06
So.
Speaker 4 00:31:32
I'm not sure what the problem is.
Speaker 4 00:32:13
I'm not going to be able to do this.
Speaker 1 00:32:54
That's not a problem. Period.
Speaker 1 00:33:38
I'll take care of it. Great. West, North.
Speaker 5 00:34:07
She had her answer, though she had not formed it as words in her mind. East, she said, pointing to her right. Yes, east toward the triad of Belzburg,
Speaker 3 00:34:20
East toward the kingdom of Skaganskull and then north to the great moors and mountains beyond. Because somewhere in those moors and icy alpine lakes nestled, a small land called Sambalesse, and the smallest of its small provinces was known as Altier Albus's destination. Perhaps she ought to have turned back. She had no money few supplies, Had acquired the burden of a small child and a sick man. She had her uncle's welfare and that of the Ferenczi Company employees to look after. And Dara would welcome her, if her safe harbor. Francisco would be glad enough for the opportunity to offer a charming rebuke for her insistence on doing a man's work. But there was a god forged in Altiora, or the possibility of one. And she was Espera Caravelle, head of the finest archaeological company in the Seven Cities, no, in the world. If she believed in destiny, She would be quite certain hers, lay with the god forged east, then Chapter Twenty Four Now jump as ambushes go. It was a professional affair.
Speaker 3 00:35:04
Not that such was surprising. The grey eagles might not be members of the uppermost echelon of mercenary forces roaming the continent. One had to part with outrageous sums of money to acquire the services of those two or three truly elite groups. But they were seasoned soldiers, with years of craft sharpening their wits and blades. And while they might profess loyalty to Rens's new command, It was likely not lost on more than a few ambitious members of their ranks that if their captain did not survive the skirmish to come, A certain amount of daring and flair and well executed maneuvers would no doubt garner, a vote or two in an election that would follow. Not that anyone speak so garishly about the future. It would be took him on this and took him on that, and captain my captain, and a great deal of oath-making and promises of sacrifice and so on. Until the captain Bay professed a love, breathed his last. Perhaps not even his last. Professional yes, in both the method and place chosen. Which is to say Sasha saw it coming the moment he saw the overturned cart. Much command Captain Jolie Colombiail saw it too, or at least the possibility of it. Sasha looked to his right where the captain rode, and sought Colombiail's gaze rapidly scanned the bridge, the cart, and surroundings. He rode a vaut just there: tall reeds lining banks of swift rushing river. 
Speaker 3 00:35:57
But most of all, the captain fixed his attention on the old man, bemoaning the fate of his plums and peaches, Which were currently strewn in a bruised and juicy mess across the stones of the bridge. The culprit was a broken wheel, which had sent the cart careening over onto its side, conveniently blocking the width of the bridge. Of course. Could be a ruse," Archon said. "Certainly," Sasha said. He had not quite worked out in his mind how to play this moment. It was not in his nature to be foolish, and his men knew it. And yet Sasha very much wanted whatever trap the Eagles had set to be sprung." But perhaps we might not be too hasty in our conclusions," Captain." The poor man has lost his harvest." Which was true enough." The old man, on his knees amid his peaches, one fist beating his thigh in a mournful sort of way, did not have the look of a soldier. He was wiry and weathered, which tilted the scale not at all. But it was the lute that convinced Sasha. Flung from the driver's bench at the moment of impact, it lay perilously close to the disgruntled donkey's hooves. This was no mercenary prop. This was a small boy and a simple one : the companion for the roan ;, a true farmer, then either paid for his performance and his harvest or -. And this seemed the likelier given that The Grey. Eagles were not particularly acclaimed for possessing a noble creed -, an unfortunate casualty in the wrong place at the wrong time : A pawn unknowingly used by cruel men.
Speaker 3 00:36:56
Let it be said then, that Alexandro Dominus, Arch-Commander of Arcomia, was captured due to an excess of compassion. He could live with that. I'll go. Sasha swung down off his horse before Columbial could object, Knowing full well, the captain would keep the forthcoming objection to himself once Sasha was moving. He might have been expected to remain mounted; indeed, could just as easily speak to the farmer from that vantage point. But Sasha wanted to be less than capable of a quick retreat. More than that, Moving forward on foot separated him from his spear secured at his saddle, and Sasha had no intention of letting the prized weapon be claimed by a grey eagle. Not that he was advancing unarmed ; the sword at his belt would keep him alive. Sasha approached the farmer, who rose to his feet with guarded eyes, One hand reaching for his donkey as much to calm himself Sasha thought as the uneasy beast of burden. Peace, friend, Sasha called out, slowing his steps. Can we offer you assistance? My men can right your cart. The farmer's gaze swept over Sasha, Taking in the military insignia, then darted to the array of soldiers beyond the span of the bridge. It's broken my lord he murmured, his voice caught in the gurgling current of the river below. Even if we get it upright it won't roll. He gestured aimlessly toward the right rear wheel crushed now between a weight of a cart and unyielding stones, whatever initial damage had been a cracked spindle or two, perhaps.
Speaker 3 00:37:55
The crash had exacerbated it beyond repair. I see, Sasha said. Is your orchard nearby? Do you have a spare wheel?
Speaker 5 00:38:03
Pancho Rodriguez said, I'm just not sure if we need to do full surface preparation, pressure wash and all.
Speaker 3 00:38:11
The man shook his head, his eyes seeking the comforting familiarity of his donkey's neck. That was the spare. Haven't had the coin to afford a new one, and that bastard Rasparin won't trade for it. His hand curled into a fist in the donkey's short mane, and his voice grew bitter. And. Now my fruit will fill the bellies of soldiers or rot in the sun. But I'll go home empty-handed. He swallowed. Forgive me, my lord, he said, his voice trailing away. Sasha felt something in his chest harden, Something that would very much like to reach out and throttle Rameses', two commandant and any other gray eagles. He laid eyes on. The farmer took half a step backward and Sasha quickly settled his features. What is your name, friend? The farmer hesitated, His gaze flickering once more to the soldiers behind Sasha till Frelo, my lord till Frelo Lavelle. Sasha moved closer and went to one knee amid the fruit. He picked up a battered peach and brought it close to his nose. 
Speaker 1 00:39:04
If all goes according to plan, I will likely have a pressure washer with me.
Speaker 1 00:39:37
We can hose it all down.
Speaker 1 00:39:56
And Be on our way. And. 
Speaker 3 00:40:05
Inhaling the sweet scent. This is a fine piece of fruit, Silfrater," Sasha said, looking up. He rose from the stones. "I will do what I can to ensure you do not leave here empty-handed." And he would have. In happier circumstances, Sasha would have tasked his soldiers with collecting whatever fruit might be salvageable and doing what they could to repair the cart. And, he would have sent the farmer home with enough coin to cover his lost crop. But an ambush was not the sort of place for happy circumstances. A heron burst from the reeds, white feathers flashing, elegant wings carrying it over Sasha's head. And then grey eagles broke cover, swarming from thickets of tangled bushes, their rallying cries spiraling into the blue skies above shouts orders men scrambling. 
Speaker 3 00:40:36
Behind the steady lines, towards Droon, ranks formed. The Eagles would be to the rear as well, Sasha knew. Fending his company in with their larger numbers, eating up the best. There was little point. In front of him, Silfrayn blinked, his face not yet registering fear. And beyond, At the far end of a narrow bridge eight, perhaps more Eagles advanced from a bristling wall of swords. Sasha stepped close to the farmer, clapping one hand on his shoulder, and forcing the older man to look him in the eye. Take. This, " Sasha said pressing a small coin purse into man's unresponsive hands. He waited until Silfrayn's fingers at last closed around it and jumped An man spotted him in flight, but Sasha steered him toward the short wall. One eye on the snarling evils, twenty paces away. Fifteen. Ten. Jump! Sasha shouted, one hand reaching for his sword. He spun, his steel meeting and turning aside the first blade aimed for his throat. Behind him, He heard the scrape of leather shoe against stone, and then a splash that warmed his heart. At least Silfrid on the bell would know what was happening now. Sasha parried two more strikes, Then narrowed with that of the bridge of the overturned cart, helping to keep his attackers from swarming over him. The donkey brayed in frustration. 
Speaker 1 00:41:46
I think we should play it safe for Friday. Period. Can you guys bring the pressure washer?
Speaker 1 00:42:32
With you to Eighth Street on Friday, question mark. Please also bring its components, comma the hose and gun. Period. Can you also bring. 
Speaker 1 00:43:05
The hose for the other pressure washer question mark open parentheses, just in case close parentheses,
Speaker 3 00:43:23
Right, and offered a helpful kick, sending an eagle to her knees hands, clutching her ribs in distress. Another parry followed by a feint to his left and a quick reversal, allowing sasha to isolate one eagle, just long enough to bring his sword down in a flesh rending arc. Detaching most of the man's arm at the shoulder. A shape loomed from the left and was met with the full force of Sasha's armored left arm, thrust out in a strike designed to break noses, which it achieved in a smattering of blood. These victims. Three more circled Sasha, warier now in the wake of their companion's various states of injury. Two lingered behind to guard. Do you know who I am? Sasha asked,
Speaker 1 00:43:50
Taking care to snarl That's a dangerous play LOL. 
Speaker 3 00:44:06
All suitably, he was not in a habit of idly chatting with his opponents, nor asking such preening questions designed to satisfy his pride. But, if they didn't decide, it was in their interest to take the arch- commander of Arconia alive, He would have to kill them all and forfeit his opportunity to infiltrate Tukamun's schemes. Behind Sasha.
Speaker 1 00:44:21
Fuel as well,
Speaker 3 00:44:24
Please. The sounds of battle were but a quiet roar. He didn't need to look to know that Captain Columbar would be using every one of his prodigious skills to reach Sasha. This would not do. Don't know, don't care! shouted a grey eagle, in possible malaren. This was followed with a wild swing at Sasha's head, easily dodged. Sasha returned the favour, Taking advantage of the man's offset balance to drag his blade across the back of the eagle's knee, severing tendons. Screaming, the man fell to the bridge, his kneecaps cracking on the stone. The plums for all their plumpness failing to offer any cushion. I'm Alexander Deminos! Arch Commander of Arkonia! I'm worth twenty years of your pay! The sum was pulled out of thin air. Sasha could not say with any certainty, what a grey eagle might be expected to earn in twenty years if he or she lived that long, but precision mattered little, it was gold that mattered and Sasha was willing to bet his life on that.
Speaker 3 00:45:04
The remaining two, Who could be forgiven for indulging briefly in a dream that involved them sharing out a staggering ransom between them, they did not, understandably, include the two Eagles who had yet to breach the carved barricade. Why should they? Shared a glance at the precise moment, Sasha heard hooves clatter to a halt behind him. "We want him alive," Ramses' Tookamun said, his voice a growl of triumph. Indeed. The indignity that followed was designed to humiliate. First, though Sasha had to force himself to pretend to fight his way free - his clumsiest action with a weapon since he was a cadet on the training grounds of the Watch. If Cyrus were there he would have laughed. Instead, the Eagles pounced, And Sasha was stripped of his sword and sent to his knees with a flurry of unarmed blows. He made no move to defend himself, seizing the moment to catch a glimpse of the remainder of his company. There, retreating slowly in small but organized cohorts, forced back by the mercenary company's superior numbers. Jolly Colombi always stormed at range to strike his horse, still trying to reach his commander, Still dealing killing blows to unfortunate Eagles who wandered too close, but faced with a wall of shields five Eagles deep. And then Ramses took a long look in Sasha's face, cutting off all view of the Orkolian forces. His breath hot and his eyes gleaming.
Speaker 3 00:45:58
Sasha's sword in one hand, a fistful of the collar of Sasha's military coat in the other. "I almost thought you were clever beneath all this plumage, Arch-Commander," he said. "My mistake." And then Tookamun did Sasha the favour of connecting fist and jaw, which saved Sasha, Due to his vision swimming suddenly with bursts of white light and his feet being fairly. Certainly, they were ensconced in heaving jelly from having to adopt a defeated air when Tookamun yanked him to his feet and bundled him into the waiting arms of the two Eagles, who with red amour, lay claim to bringing down the famed Silence S phere : The Scourge of Edwin. Chapter Twenty Five You forget. Like some most at mistakes and small files. Do you really expect me to believe you have not solved that particular question? Manon watched the golden skulls, all while chiding herself for trying to read behind Cyprian's words, as though the mask might at long last betray something. In the days since they had left Verdane, the city of quiet shells, its people silent sentinels of ruin watching them go with empty eyes. A brute with Captain Lemero's blood on his hands, authorized to keep their fear burning. The Fisher King had kept to himself, Riding at the front of their party vanishing at night after a resting place was resolved upon and returning at dawn. Manon supposed he slept. 
Speaker 3 00:46:54
It was only because to suppose otherwise was difficult to contemplate, even knowing he had been dead for centuries. She wondered if he removed the mask, If there was a face beneath it that he surrendered to moonlight and the sound of owl wings in dark. I do not wish to make assumptions, that seems unwise, Manon answered. She had been back and forth with that notion, Then left to ride in silence, beside his dark bulk until he deigned to speak. Behind them the rest kept their distance, Luca most of all lurking at rear his hood drawn up against the drizzle. Between Manon and the hunter rode three others, followers of the proxy left in Verdien's variations on each other, cold of face long of steel and with cruelty in their eyes. Luca had whispered to Manon As the sun of the sea faded over the northern horizon, that Vincenzo had named them among the city's vilest criminals, one but a day released from prison on the citizens' orders. "Come," the Fisher King said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "You are not foolish or ignorant. Do not pretend to stupidity because you think it flatters me." He shifted a little. "Tell me, where are we going?" Menon had worked it out. At least she thought she had, though the realization had come to her only the night before, Manifesting in her mind, like a clap of thunder, robbing her of sleep that had been stalking her. "We have been travelling southeast for four days," she began. 
Speaker 3 00:47:50
Torridium lies there, two days away," she said, pointing over her left shoulder. She swung her arm around." And Elysium there, a long day away too if the Corius waters run high." Then on hesitating, trying not to flinch away from the memory of Elysium, the memory of the days she lost Perrin." This morning you adjusted our paths slightly east."
Speaker 5 00:48:06
From Poncho: Corey did you guys pressure wash? Poncho: I did exactly what Brayden said to do.
Speaker 3 00:48:14
She waited half hoping Sibreal might finish for her. The golden face remained impassive and silent; the metal gleaming with damp. An uncanny brightness amid the dim grey day. Manon looked away. If we continue on this course, we will come in time to the mountain of the long night, she swallowed. The place where you were buried, where all the Alethiuse save the last lie entombed. She didn't know why she said that. Ciprina II of all people did not need to be told this. Her answer was met with silence, to her surprise. The Fisher King was an enigma, his moods fleeting and unpredictable Manon had learned. But, she'd also come to understand that if he could be said to enjoy anything, it was to keep her guessing. His silence did no such thing. His silence confirmed her theory. This was deeply unsettling more so than the destination itself.
Speaker 3 00:48:49
She'd learned about the mountain of the long night as a child, but unlike many stories about the Aleskeus, This one had not been told by a craftly tutor with the aim of eliciting good behavior from children. No, this one had come from Manon's mother, Who once in a fit of frankness Manon had not witnessed before nor again after, Had revealed to her only daughter that she dreamed of tombs of gold beneath an unfathomable amount of stone, of being buried alive and hearing the voice of a dead queen. The revelation unfit for a child of six had sent Manon scurrying from her mother's dark chambers into the comfort of the sun. Except I wasn't Cyprian broke the silence at last, his golden gaze piercing Manon once more. I don't understand. Before this body, I knew soil and darkness. Yes, but not there. Not in my rightful place. Menon frowned. Where then? A place unworthy to be my grave. Anger sparked through his voice now. Unmarked, unfit, forgotten. Menon almost asked how this had happened? How could a king of the seven cities have been sent to his long rest in such a manner? Almost, But there was something in Cyprian's shoulders or perhaps in his grip on the reins that stilled her tongue. It stood to reason that he would not know the answer, which meant her words would only provoke. She asked a different question instead. 
Speaker 3 00:49:47
What purpose will going to the mountains serve? There were rumors of unknown Kariamade artifacts in the Mesquian tombs, buried with their masters who had wielded them with such efficient terror. Perhaps not unlike the bronze discs he wore and Manon carried in her pocket. And treasure beyond imagining. Perhaps a few black pearls and fist - sized rubies could find their way into her pocket, and therefore into the pockets of the Barca creditors. Perhaps there was an artifact that could give Manon her brother back. A thought formed then settled in her mind before she realized she had not specified, which brother, and that perhaps she ought to given the company she kept. Cyprian looked at her for a long moment, the rise and fall of his chest Muted by the heavy armor he wore, the only sign of life. "We will see," a dismissive answer, and Manon expected to have her person dismissed as well. But Cyprian seemed content to let her remain. The mist thickened around them, then turned to rain, a steady unyielding drizzle, the kind that diminished spirits and burst dreams of warm cider by a hearth. Manon drew her cloak tight and tried not to think of the warmth, a small flame cupped in her palm would bring to her hands. Ahead, a bolt of lightning split the endless gray, illuminating the clouds; a distant vein chased by a rumble of thunder. But though the lightning drew Manon's attention, It was the sight of a mill : its wheel, turning slowly in the stream whose path they had traced.
Speaker 3 00:50:45
Setting out that morning, that kept her gaze a mill and beyond a cluster of thatched rooftops, the first village to intersect their path since the departure from Verdien. Three days past, Manon had held her breath at the first sign of cultivated fields, Had watched as the Fisher King rode within sight of a farmhouse and a tree or.
Speaker 1 00:51:07
It looks like Poncho's crew.
Speaker 1 00:51:17
We'll also be filling some voids in shotcrete at Sixth Street on Friday. Period. Can you bring an extra scale?
Speaker 1 00:52:07
And supplies that we can give them so they can apply two fifty four and rapid set. Question mark.
Speaker 3 00:52:56
Outbuildings, had waited for his demand that she ask after the presence of Kariel. But Cyprian had made no move to summon her. Instead, The Fisher King dismounted and stood unmoving for a moment amid a field of cabbages, potatoes. Manon did not know. He had knelt, a smooth easy motion in spite of the armor he wore, and reached out one gauntleted hand to caress one of the tender green plants. Manon had dared to breathe, Had listened for Perrin's voice, as though perhaps her brother had influenced this strange man into peace. And then Cyprian's fist had closed on the plant like a hunter's trap, and he plunged his hand into the earth. Burying his armor-clad arm to the elbow, Sending a wave of force reverberating through the ground with enough strength for Manon to feel it echo through her ribs. Around his forearm, the soil trembled and bounced, then went still as he withdrew, bringing with him something red and viscous and dripping. A thing that seemed in the throes of death, twisting and writhing in his grip, Shedding pieces of itself that seared the ground where they fell and then dissolved into the earth. Scipion had looked at it as well for a long moment, turning his wrist this way and that. Then he dropped it like a wounded creature it floundered out of sight, leaving Manon to stare at the earth. By the time the Fisher King had remounted. 
Speaker 3 00:53:51
By the time they had ridden beyond the field and returned once more to Mountained Meadow, she had been able to smell it: rot, filling her nose, clinging to the roof of her mouth. Milon had fought back a gag, her eyes watering. But turned her head so Cyprian might not see. Had told herself she would not think of what sickness he had planted in the land, Of what hunger the farmers' children might feel in their bellies when cold season came. Told herself there might not even be children. That it was no concern of hers. She tasted black rot again at the sight of them all, ; felt it seep into her senses, into her very pores. Perhaps she heard Lucas say: "We could purchase no grain for horses." It was lightly said; a banal statement. Thought with more meaning than it ought to be. Lightning cracked again. Cyprian's golden face turned to look up. Thunder chased after its bright sister, clenching up, but brighter still was the laughter that rolled from Cyprian's throat. The Fisher King threw back his head, Roaring his amusement as though the very stars could hear him, or perhaps they could. But, it was not the stars that answered him ; that honour belonged to the bronze disc resting against his chest, Glowing dull a warm soft light that grew and grew until it blazed, blue and white. And Manon felt an echoing warmth in her pocket, Felt the small disc that lay nestled there rouse itself and speak to its kin. She clenched her fist to keep from clutching at her coat.
Speaker 3 00:54:49
Wheeled herself to ignore the sudden pulse that beat against her hump. The dead king's laughter ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving behind an ugly silence. While they waited for violence and terror, the Cyprian's armored feet hit the ground. Manon moved her lips silently, knew the words she did not speak to be Perry's name, knew such a hope was foolishness. As she too was led to run, their boots squelching in rain-soaked earth. The Fisher King strode along swift, Carrying him to the mill and tiny hamlet beyond with a relentless surety of the tides, tides surging on the full fury of the ocean at their back. Manon's legs seemed clumsy in his wake ;, the ground sickened her feet ; a blankness in her mind howling through her. It looked the gold for him. She could not have said. If her own sense of self-preservation tried to reason with her, she did not hear it. If the disk in her pocket wanted this, she was at its mercy. In the end, she had to run to catch up, like a child behind a god. And when she caught his elbow, the steel cold even through her glove. It was like a rabbit stumbling into a mountain cat. Rabbits again. Cyprian slowed and turned to face her, a heavy movement. The full weight of his golden gaze descended on her ; the disk, its light steady now blazing his impatience : " T ake care, what you choose to say." The words hissed out of him: smoke and silk and cold cold steel. 
Speaker 3 00:55:48
Let me search the carriers, Manon said, her breath tumbling forth. It was all she could say. The only thing that might stay his wrath. No, not wrath, she knew. Cyprian the Second, the Fisher King, The Prince Beneath, the World did not kill fishermen or poison the soil out of anger, or some only thing that might stay his wrath of him, would unvase distill her blood. If it wanted this, it flew her if you could tide surging on a forked squelching ring. So to hold Manon moved her lips kings laughter ended as suddenly as it had begun leaving it speak to its king. She clenched her fist to keep from clutching Philip blazed, blue and white, but it was not stars, dancing, brighter. Still, there was a light with more meaning than it ought to pause.
Speaker 3 00:56:19
Told herself they might not see. They told herself she would not think of what sickness he had planted in the land, Of what hunger the farmers' children might feel in their bellies when the cold season came. Told herself there might not even be children, that it was no concern of hers. She tasted that rot again at the sight of them all, felt it seep into her senses, into her very pores. Perhaps she heard Luca say, "We could purchase more grain for the horses." It was lightly said, a banal statement fraught with more meaning than it ought to be. Lightning cracked again. Cyprian's golden face turned to Luca. Thunder chased after its bright sister closer now. But brighter still was the laugh that rolled from the Cyprian's throat. The Fisher King threw back his head, roaring his amusement as though the very stars could hear. And perhaps they could. But it was not the stars that answered him. That honour belonged to the bronze disc resting against his chest, glowing then, a warm soft light that grew and grew until it blazed blue and white. And Manon felt an echoing warmth in her pocket, Felt the small disc that lay nestled there rouse itself and speak to its king. She clenched her fist to keep from clutching at her coat, willed herself to ignore the sudden pulse that beat against her heart. The dead king's laughter ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving behind an ugly silence. 
Speaker 3 00:57:14
While they waited for violence and terror, the Cyprian's armored feet hit the ground. Manon moved her lips silently, knew the words she did not speak to be Kieran's name, knew such a hope was foolish. Then she too slid to ground, her boots squelching in rain-soaked earth. The Fisher King's strides were long and swift, Carrying him to the mill and the tiny hamlet beyond with a relentless surety of the tides. Tides surging on the full fury of ocean at their back. Manon's legs seemed clumsy in his wake, the ground sucking at her feet, a blankness of her mind howling through her. If Luca called for her, She could not have said it if her own sense of self-preservation attempted to reason with her ;, she did not hear it. If the disc in her pocket wanted this, she was at its mercy. In the end, she had to run to catch up, like a child behind a goat. And when she caught his elbow, the steel cold even through her glove. It was like a rabbit stumbling into a mountain cat. Rabbits again. Cyprian slowed and turned to face her, a heavy movement. The full weight of his golden gaze descended. The disc, its light steady now, blazing his impatience: "Take care what you choose to say." The words hissed out of him: smoke and silk above cold coal steel. "Let me search for Carian," Manon said, her breath tumbling forth. It was all she could say; the only thing that might stay his wrath. 
Speaker 3 00:58:13
No, not wrath, she knew. Cyprian the Second, the Fisher King, the Prince beneath the Moon, Did not kill fishermen or poison the soil out of anger or some need for vengeance. He did these things because he could. The disk hot now in Minorn's pocket vibrated with such force, she was sure it would tear free of its humble confines. Here Cyprian said his voice full of scorn as thunder rumbled overhead : In. This place without a name. These are peasants, ignorant and useless their greatest ambition to keep their teeth, their most pressing question, the direction in which their pig has wandered. They are unfit. There is no greatness here. There is no blood that can join mine not in this place.
Speaker 3 00:58:43
A scholar might have stopped to ponder the significance of these words, of this argument the Eleskuin king was making, that carrier talent could not flourish among the poor, or downtrodden, or even simply the hardworking. An advocate might have countered with the notion that talent could not grow if left. Untaught. And if the health of a certain pig carried the weight of existence. But Manon was no scholar, and the Barker name was the only thing for which she was familiar advocating. They will hate you if you bring only death. The laugh again, quieter, far more satisfied dismissing. I have been hated before. He made to turn away. Manon reached for him once more instinct without intent her glove made contact The sky flashed with lightning. Cyprian's disc flared, the sigil in her pocket surged. Emonon was thrown back, breath rushing from her chest as she hit the ground. The sky above a rage of thunder. Gasping, head ringing, Emonon waited for fire and glass and death. But there was only the patter of raindrops on her face, her side aching. She pushed herself up on one arm and saw the Fisher King, he who had turned a city to glass, he who had killed a man with rains of sand, was on his knees, head hanging, one hand supporting his weight; the mud sucking at his steel gauntlet. And there dangling from his neck : the bronze disc ; its light sputtering in frantic pulses ; its edge ember - bright as.
Speaker 3 00:59:42
So whatever power lay inside, threatened to split its cage and loose itself upon the world. The golden face came up, meeting Manon's stare. The hard planes of his skull somehow sharper, the empty eye sockets twin abysses. Lightning striking, thunder crashing. And then Cyprian got to his feet, steady, powerful, imposing as he had been from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Manon steeled herself for his rage. Her father's voice insisting that a Barca was not meant to die in a puddle of mud. Her brother Victor quiet but harsh command that she fight. She struggled to rise. So Cyprian raised one hand tried not to flinch, but his fingers came to rest on the disc, cradling it in one palm. He. Held it in front of him, dark gaze fixed on the runes carved there. Something uncertain in the tilt of his head, a master studying a loyal hound who has disobeyed. Lucas leaned to the side, his arms reaching for her, his body a shield from the strike they had both expected. His gaze searching her for signs of harm. "I'm all right," she murmured, tearing her attention away from the fish killer. "You did too?" Milana shook her head. "It wasn't him. " Lucas's gaze dropped to the place where the small disc lay close to her skin and paused. "Maybe," she said softly, "I don't know." The storm? The lightning? My brother? I don't know. " But, it's not the first time his power has failed to work precisely as he expected."
Speaker 3 01:00:41
"Look, I'm holding. Let's get you up." He grabbed Manon by both elbows and got her to her feet. "You brushed your cheek. Marked," she said, "pounds." "Are you sure you're not hurt?" Manon pressed a hand to her back hip, which had taken the brunt of the impact. "Just bruised." A horse thundered past, hooves churning the mud, tail streaming. Cyprian crouched low over the stallion's neck, Graceful despite the bulk of his armor ;, his golden face, nothing more than a blur—a storm within a storm. Behind him, his little retinue followed; and fresh muck painted Manon's boots. She watched them go, ; then took her first true look at the small village next to the hill. :, nine, ten buildings, ;, a pair of sodden goats. A henhouse providing shelter for its feathered inhabitants. An axe waiting to split logs. Of the two legged inhabitants, there was little sign. Only smoke drifting up from three or four chimneys to join the rain. They would never know how close they came to death, or at least to ruin, which would be their death. The thought twisted Manon's mouth into a scowl. "They're fortunate," Lucas said. She didn't have to look at him to know his gaze was not on the thatched roofs and the bleating goats. "He's not wrong." They are ignorant, Ignorant of what almost happened here today is that a thing to be glad of? Perhaps not, but perhaps a small shard of you longs for some of what they have for that veil to shelter them from the world.
Speaker 3 01:01:40
Manon turned her frown on Lucan. "That veil was ripped from me long ago," she snapped. Lucan nodded, unperturbed by her vehemence. "I know," he said softly. He held out her ring once more. Behind him, the horse snorted. He didn't know—not about Victor, not about her mother, not about her father beyond what little the Archduke had forced her to reveal. Not about Barber Company always falling short of expectations of funds or patrons or the desperate caravan of the Lorenzio Company. His own veil of ignorance lay between them, And Manon could not decide whether his willingness to show her sympathy despite that made him a fool or a wise man.Perhaps there was no great difference between the two Perhaps against. Deciphering that was of real importance. Melwin he stood before her, hand outstretched, waiting. Manon took the reins. She swung up into the saddle, victorious against the mud's attempts to keep her rooted in the ground. I know where he's going, she said. She slipped two fingers inside her coat pocket and withdrew the bronze disc. It was cool and unremarkable, quickly dampened by drops of rain, dull in the dim light. Manon turned it this way and that, searching for a glimmer of the power sleeping within it, Thinking of the things she could do with a lightning curse to command Barca company need never be second to Ferenzia again! But the disc was merely a lump of metal in her palm. 
Speaker 3 01:02:36
Unresponsive to her lion-like exceptional talent. Do you know the story of the troop blade? The question was so entirely unexpected that Manon had to take a moment to place the name. She urged her horse forward, following Cyprien's wild tracks, deep divots in the mud, quickly filling with rainwater as though made by some strange creature, not a horse with hooves like any other. Lucan mirrored her and they rode at a brisk trot, Not fast enough to catch the dead king, but fast enough to induce a sudden chill. Everyone knows about the troop blade," Manon said.
Speaker 3 01:06:38
Manon shot an irritated glance Luka's way, and was rewarded for her effort by a fat raindrop in the eye. She blinked furiously, blinded for a moment. "Are we children telling stories?" "Then you don't believe in the true blade?" Luka asked. "Visit," For her effort by a fast enough to end rainwater. The question was so entirely unexpected that Manon had to take a moment to place the name. She urged her horse forward, following Cyprien's wild tracks deep divots in the mud, quickly filling with rainwater as though made by some strange creature, not a horse with hooves like any other. Luka mirrored her and they rode at a brisk trot, Not fast enough to catch the dead king, but fast enough to induce a sudden chill. "Everyone knows about the true blade," Manon said "Tell me what you know." Vennan shot an irritated glance Lucas's way, and was rewarded for her effort by a fat raindrop in the eye. She blinked furiously, blinded for a moment. "Are we children telling stories?" "Then you don't believe in the True Blade?" Lucas asked. "Is it just a story for children? Invented after the Great Rising to give the people, the hero, the Tribunals failed to be?" Vennan's eyes faltered. "I hadn't thought that. I hadn't thought much about the True Blade, I suppose. " She could hear the smile in Lucas's voice when he spoke next : " B eca use. You had dreams of your own about being a hero. You had no need for heroes. " The uncanny accuracy of this assessment also said something Vennan did not spend considerable time on.
Speaker 3 01:07:37
Time in the pondland, sat on the nollan's tongue like a blacksmith's anvil. As for me, Luca continued, I spent far too many hot afternoons under the cool shade of an ancestral oak, imagining myself performing great deeds for the seven sittings. A celestial knight that's what I wanted to be. Ranked among the likes of Saphira Golden Eyes and Doomslayer Renzo of Damascena. And. So I thought about the true blade and other legendary figures a great deal more than I ought to have if it might fix in the world. The nollan frowned trying to work out where Luca's mind, and this conversation was headed and said, If you're the expert you tell me about the true blade. Luca's smile turned wistful And Menon could very nearly see his childhood dreams fading like shapes in the mist. We are told that the True Blade was the instrument that brought about Varyn's fall, that the attack on Elysium could not have succeeded without the True Blade's intervention, That only the True Blade had the power to withstand the might of the Unasked. You disagree? Lucas shook his head. Not exactly. But we can't discount all that Trivion has planned: The careful planning, The commitment to a cause despite uncertainty and grievous toll, The decisions that brought them to precipice of Varyn's ruin and freedom from tyranny, And all those willing to die for a victory. They would never see One heroic deed at moment of crisis does not outweigh all of that And yet Menon prompted.
Speaker 3 01:08:33
And yet the tribunes made it to the precipice. And who is to say what sent them over the edge? Lucas sighed. "I think we need heroes, even if they are varnished ones." Even if they are falsified figments of poets' imagination or clever politicians' creation, Pieced together out of an understanding of what people need in times of struggle and chaos. Then you don't believe the true blade was real? You would abandon your childhood dreams? Lucas smiled. "No, I believe it is in my nature. " Men only could understand that had seen that earnestness at the core of Lucas. And I am with those who believe that the true Blade is not the end of all things. I believe there have been others, wielders of that mantle, and will be more. But, what I am saying is that it doesn't matter if the true Blade was a real person, or the powers in the bloodline of the Blade or something else entirely. What matters is that we believe it to be so. Because only by believing in one hero can we have hope to see another. That ideal matters, that celestial mark for us to strive for. At last, Menon understood: maybe you think we need a hero now? Now that an Alethean walks the world again? You believe someone out there was born for this moment, For impossible greatness in the face of terror and death—a new True Blade in this time of need?
Speaker 3 01:09:32
Going for it, ready for it. What is the difference? Minna looked at Luka, saw a warmth in his features, saw something she had never seen in herself. I don't expect fate's timing is that good. Luka laughed. Surely you aren't suggesting that I am some sort of hero? She raised an eyebrow, trying to mask her discomfort at this notion with humour. You forget, I excel most at mistakes and small fires. He laughed again, gentle like the rain. Interlude six dated three months after the death of Varin the second Of nine hundred and eighty seven decrees, the tribunal is made. In the first six months after the fall of the Elesnius. Tribunal decree four hundred and seventy two. We, the tribunes of Balan, Do hereby establish a permanent guard to take up residence at Mountain of Balan Rock, known hereafter as The Watchers. They shall guard the tombs and treasure of Elesnius against looting, vandalism, grave robbing, cult worship and other disruptive behavior. The Watchers shall one serve terms of five years with the option to extend those through evaluation. Two be of captain, minor rank or higher three be chosen by a committee consisting of the tribunes and their superior officers. The Watchers shall not one. 
Speaker 3 01:10:27
Be of carrier blood, In accordance with tribunal decree twelve and the exclusion of carrier blood from military service. So ordered and signed. Celestine de Rama, Cancano, Giuliano Titianus, Livenisi, Godofroi Almina Toridio, Sophia Ilosconi Panaxis. Melvina de Barbaro Lechenza. Lorenzo de Malvo Falconia. Abstention: Calixtus d'Orne Rea. Chapter twenty six : No matter, not at all. It happened under the slender crescent moon. The third night spent under the dark skies and bright stars, the third night after a day moving toward the eastern horizon. The third night of waiting for Kazimir Zangoy to die. Only, he hadn't died. Had instead exhibited a rather stubborn unwillingness to die. Whatever illness ate at him, exacerbated by the poison slipped into his blood. Whatever work it did to cause his heart to race and his skin to turn hot and then cold. Whatever the reason for the sweating and the sickly sweet smell, the man seemed intent on living or at least lingering somewhere close to it. And, so Esgar and Cheddo had lowered him from the back of the piebald horse as they had the past two nights when Cheddo judged the grass to be right for making their nightly camp. It was still a clumsy thing getting Zangoy onto ground. 
Speaker 3 01:11:24
Esker and the boy had established a method, such as it was, but she still imagined, after a lost grip or a spark of mischief from the horse, him landing on his head each time. Ned stretched him out on the ground, tucking the blanket tight. Then Shadow was busy skinning the rabbit his slingshot had procured them. As Esker attempted to get some water down the unconscious man's throat. He in fact managed with such competence that Esker need only admire his skill. That and the smell of the meeting between meat and flame, A welcome change from the stale rations Shadow had managed to collect during their hasty departure from Winterdawn Camp. Esker leaned back against her saddle and looked up at stars and waning moon. We're making good time, I think," she said. It had become her habit in the past days to speak to Chetto, as though the language barrier between them did not exist. To her delight, the boy had begun to answer in the same manner. He did so now, his face serious as he held the rabbit over the fire. In truth, Erskyll did not think they were making particularly good time. A horse carrying a large man and two travelers on foot, one of small stride, could hardly be expected to do so. But the immediate danger of being caught by blue - cloaked W, ind-, at- D awn warriors or worse—a united force of W ind-, at-, D, awn and Sun B eh ind- the- G rass—had evidently passed, and Erskyll was inclined toward the optimistic.
Speaker 3 01:12:20
As Alder had pointed out to her on the day of their first meeting, and had continued to do ever since. Of, some concern was the chance of stumbling into another clan or a hunting party, but whether by Cheto's skill or good fortune, they had passed through the grass unseen and alone, without sight of man or horse. Have you ever been so far from home? Cheto? It was not she knew a stunningly astute question, as she did not know how far the Wind at Dawn territory extended. Cheto answered, rattling off a sentence while poking in her direction with the rabbit. Careful! You're going to let it catch fire! She returned her gaze to the stars above. Do you dream? Cheto? I don't mean of swift horses or strong bows, though those are fine things to dream of. I mean of things beyond these moments, of the future, of your future. Esku turned onto one elbow to study the Vardia boy once more. He spoke something with the lilt of a question, and Esku smiled. Whatever dreams he had for himself, They likely did not include leaving his home in the company of a stranger with no certainty of ever returning or being welcome if he did. They settled into silence. Each, Esku was fairly certain, too distracted by the smell of the cooking meat to ponder much else. A slight breeze stirred the grass, bringing a wave of Samborian scent to Esku's nostrils. She wrinkled her nose against it, her concern for him, flaring anew. He might not have died yet, but neither had he improved.
Speaker 3 01:13:19
If he did not receive proper care and regain consciousness, he would melt into nothingness. His body weakening, unable to fight the illness, a husk ready to blow away in the first wind. Wind. It was stronger now, tugging at Esku's hair, ruffling the edge of the blanket draped over Serevorief. The grass closest to Esku whispered with it. And yet, the grass behind Cheddo did not move. Esku sat up alert on edge Cheddo. She murmured without any sense of what she might say. Next, The boy looked up confusion and exhaustion, causing him to blink rapidly And. Then the grass parted bending to the whims of the wind, a path forged out of the dark night and Nadeja emerged. Into the light of Chedot's fire. Esku rose to her feet, hardly aware of the motion, her gaze taking in the young matriarch. If Ndeja could still lay claim to such authority. Bereft of silver chain, bereft of shoes, bereft of her hair, The woman was a shadow of the wind wielder Esku had seen stand before her people and lay claim to a legacy. Ndeja looked from Esku to Chedo, her body still, the grass behind her waving with dreamlike slowness. The white staff of bone and gold still in one hand, but held between limp fingers as if forgotten. Chedo spoke a single word and bowed his head in respect, and the staff dropped to the ground as though released by the boy's voice.
Speaker 3 01:14:17
The grass went quiet behind Ndegeja, who followed the staff to the earth, her knees absorbing the impact. The last vestige of dignity rolling off her sagging shoulders and fading into the darkness as she wept silent tears. It was Chedo who went to her, After a moment in which he and Eska shared a look that made it clear neither knew quite what to do. The boy crouched at his matriarch's side, one small hand coming to rest on the woman's arm. Eska waited, Her mind racing ahead to contemplate more things than it ought to in that moment : Would their meagre food supply support another mouth? Would Ndegeja demand custody of Chedo? Was Sun behind the grass in pursuit of the woman who had threatened to undermine their authority? Her gaze then falling to the staff, no longer just an artifact of beauty And academic interest. She thought of her mother, imagining the carrier fires, designed to snuff out Serena de Caravaggio's life all those years ago. Thought of Manon Barker's vile attempt to send Esga to the deep silt - rich bottom of the Torridian harbor. Esga knelt and took the staff in both hands, then laid it carefully. It was still after all a priceless piece of history, out of Nadeja's reach. Looking up, she tried to smile. Water? Perhaps? Chetto took the proffered flask and removed the stopper, But Nadeja made no move to accept it, even as the boy tried to close her fingers around the smooth leather. The woman's sobs had gentled but still she remained hunched over the earth. 
Speaker 3 01:15:15
It was this particular moment that Kazimir San Voria chose to wake. The tableau, Esga was vaguely aware, was fitting for a painting by one of the great masters, Lillipina perhaps, who would have gotten the twilight just right. Or Fedoro, who liked to paint weeping women. Esga might have given a commission to Benoit de Vaulieu forty years dead due to his penchant for sweeping scenes under open skies. An observer of the scene or the painting might be forgiven for assuming the bald woman on her knees, grieved the death of the rather large man comforted by their only child, which made Esga a bystander, perhaps a priestess, and that priestess Esga. Was the first to see Senvorius's eyes, stared at something other than their own lids. Perhaps then, the sombre tableau was rather more appropriate for a stage performance. One of Dion's dark absurd comedies would do. As if on cue, Senvorius groaned, a weak sound followed by a feeble twitching of one hand against the blanket. Nadezhda and her staff and all the questions in Askar's mind shuffled off to a convenient corner where they would fester, if left too long as she went to the man's side, fingers reaching to feel for his pulse, her other hand, grasping his as it searched for only his dreams, knew what Katimir she said. Can you hear me? The flutter of his heartbeat? Was she decided somewhat stronger than it had been?
Speaker 3 01:16:12
His unfocused gaze slid over her face and up to the stars, where it wandered from constellation to constellation. Though Eske doubted he was cognizant of what he was seeing, and for a moment she was resigning to receiving no answer, which would not bode well for his future health. But then the man from Planaxis grunted, and his voice, faint, decidedly without strength, drifted up: "That's very familiar of you. " This was followed by an inhale, more appropriate for a pair of lamp slums. "Worrying," but Eske smiled. " I ' m afraid your dignity was lost somewhere between the third and fourth times. I had to drag you onto a horse by your boots and belt." She squeezed his hand. "Or perhaps it was much earlier when I had to dress your unconscious form." Regardless, we are well beyond formalities. Another group, if you insist. Welcome back to the living, Master Crow. You find it? Baiserk hesitated. Somewhat changed? Oh, Senghori appeared to attempt to sit.

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