The Shattered Crowns

"Oh no, nothing of the like, Augustus. Just that there have been rumors, and I thought you might like to hear them. They obviously aren't true," Varn said with a sly grin breaking the silence from the crowd. The Gahkars began trading barbs again, their words filled with veiled insults and pointed jabs. Nirme used the distraction to guide Daenys and Reman out of the building without further notice.

The Deathless fell into step on either side of them as they exited the door. Outside, the Lunar Storms greeted them, their eerie tendrils of faint light brushing against Daenys' skin like a phantom's touch. The air carried that same strange tingling sensation, one she couldn't quite shake. She took a deep breath and adjusted her posture, trying to ignore the sensation as they made their way back to Nirme's quarters.

Reman remained silent as they walked, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his spear. He glanced back toward the hall where the Gahkars continued their petty bickering, a faint scowl flickering across his face. "The way they talk, you'd think we weren't on the brink of a war," he muttered under his breath.

"Let them talk," Nirme said without looking back. "It keeps their blades sharp and their minds sharper. We'll need both at the Pickette."

When they reached his headquarters, Nirme stopped abruptly and turned to the two Deathless flanking them. "Leave us and spend the rest of the night as you please," he commanded, his tone calm but firm. The Deathless hesitated, their loyalty making them reluctant to leave.

"I said I wish to be alone," Nirme repeated, his voice brooking no argument. Reluctantly, the two warriors bowed their heads and walked away, disappearing into the shadows in search of a place to rest.

Once they were alone, Nirme gestured for Daenys and Reman to enter. As the door shut behind them, Nirme turned to Daenys. "Well then, what are your thoughts?" he asked, his tone lighter now, but still expectant.

Daenys fidgeted for a moment, searching for the right words. The Gahkars, from what she'd observed, were men of power and ambition, but their endless bickering and veiled insults reminded her of squabbling children. Petty. The word came to mind unbidden, but she hesitated to say it aloud.

Finally, she answered hesitantly, "They seem... petty."

Nirme raised an eyebrow, then stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Petty?" he repeated, as if testing the word.

She stiffened, thinking she'd offended him, but to her surprise, he chuckled softly. "Perhaps you're right," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "The Gahkars have always tried to pull each other down. Even when we fight together on a raid, old habits die hard. Varn, of course, is the catalyst for much of it, but truthfully, all of them are just waiting for their moment."

Reman, leaning casually against the doorframe, let out a scoff. "Moment for what? To prove who has the sharpest tongue? A lot of talk and too little action from them."

Nirme turned to his younger warrior, his expression bemused. "Words are a weapon too, Reman. You'll understand that when you stand among the Gahkars one day."

"Not if I have to act like them," Reman said bluntly. "I'd rather die with a spear in my hand than sit on a podium trading barbs like a drunk fool."

Daenys couldn't help but smirk. She liked Reman's straightforwardness, even if his words sometimes bordered on reckless.

"You might find yourself eating those words sooner than you think," Nirme said, his tone carrying a note of warning. "Don't let their bickering fool you. Every one of them has spilled more blood than you or I could count. Their words cut deeper than you realize."

Daenys studied the older man carefully. The question that had been plaguing her for days resurfaced, gnawing at the edge of her thoughts. Why was she still here? Why was someone as powerful as Nirme bothering with her? She was just a girl he'd found in the middle of a battlefield. She offered him nothing he couldn't already command. So why did she remain?

Her curiosity got the better of her. "Why are you helping me?" she asked bluntly, watching his reaction closely.

Nirme's hand moved to his right arm, where the tattoo of a wolf's head, inked in the same hues as Augustus' crest, peeked out from beneath his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"No," Daenys said quickly, shaking her head. "I'm grateful for the help, but… I just don't understand what you want from me."

Nirme regarded her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "You think there's always a debt to be paid, don't you? No one does something for nothing. Isn't that it?"

She hesitated but nodded. "There's always a price. My mother taught me that."

"A wise woman," Nirme said with a slight incline of his head. "And what else did she teach you?"

"She taught me everything I know," Daenys answered softly.

Nirme's expression softened. "Then I'll be straightforward with you. The Gahkars of Estil are stuck in a cycle of bickering and infighting. They claw at one another for power, even as Astad presses us. I need new blood—someone who can break the cycle and change the way we lead. I believe you could be that person."

Daenys froze. His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. "No," she said firmly, taking a step back as his meaning sank in. "I can't. Once it's safe, I'm leaving. I'm going back to Morgoi. I don't know these people, and I don't want to lead them."

Reman straightened from where he'd been leaning, his expression unreadable. "You're wasting your breath, Nirme," he said. "She's no Deathless. She doesn't have the stomach for it."

"Enough, Reman," Nirme said sharply, silencing the younger warrior. His gaze returned to Daenys, steady and unyielding. "The best leaders," he said gently, "are often those who do not wish to lead."

Her face darkened, and her voice came out sharp and unyielding. "All I care about is getting back to my sister. She's growing up without me, and I'm wasting time here while she's alone. If it were safe, I'd already be gone."

Nirme studied her for a long moment, then said quietly, "Do you think this war will stop at Estil's borders, Daenys? That it won't reach Morgoi eventually?"

She scowled. "The jungles of Morgoi are harsh. Your soldiers wouldn't survive there."

A bark of laughter escaped Nirme's lips. "We of Estil were born as slaves, girl. If our numbers dwindle, we'll keep pushing. Harsh jungles won't stop us. And don't think for a moment that Astad would be any better. They'd burn your trees to ash and salt the earth behind them."

Daenys stiffened, her chest tightening as she pictured her village smothered in smoke and fire. Food was already scarce, and survival was hard enough without war disrupting their fragile balance. Her father's words echoed in her mind: Protect Nalla. Was this what he had meant?

Her voice came out soft but steady. "What do I need to do?"

Nirme's gaze didn't waver. "Prove your strength at the Pickette. Show the other warbands that you can lead. Draw warriors from the other Gahkars to your banner. If you can rise to the rank of Gahkar during the battle, you'll have the influence to stop Estil from ever setting foot in Morgoi. I'll back your claim to its dangers."

"It won't work," Daenys said, shaking her head. "I've never led anyone before."

"I'll stand with you," Reman said, his voice quieter now. "If you'll fight for Estil, I'll fight for you."

Daenys glanced at him, surprised. The fire in his eyes hadn't diminished, but there was a hint of something else—respect, perhaps.

Nirme nodded approvingly. "You won't face this alone, Daenys. Reman will fight at your side. He'll help you rise, just as you'll help him become the undefeated champion of the Nervan."

Daenys took a deep breath and squeezed Nirme's hands. "I'll try," she said finally.