The following chapter has a particularly tricky scene at the end that I request anyone reading to pay special attention to. It's a duel between two of the main characters, one of them is blindfolded, and the fight is told from that blind point of view. Taking out the visual element is risky (especially in a fight), because we naturally gravitate toward that when writing description. I've combed over it several times, trying to remove any inconsistencies, but I'm sure I missed a couple. I'm also up for input on whether or not that POV works at all, or if taking out the visual element is dead on arrival (which sucks, because it becomes a big plot point later on).

I'd also like to mention that if anyone recognizes the opening scene, you're not going crazy...I posted it as an excerpt in one of my first blogs. It's changed a bit, so if you've read it before please read it again. To those who commented on it before, I think you'll enjoy seeing your suggestions implemented.

Chapter 4

Pharasi

 "How did it go?" Jemah asked.

     "Not well, but I expected that," Darius said, descending the steps of the Imperial Tower.

     I fear that you might be slipping, Darius. Darius frowned, remembering the words Emperor Winterhaven had chosen to greet him, words of reprimand, delivered upon the spoiled holy grounds of Pharen Itself. Fortunately, he had been kneeling, his head bowed and hiding his rage.

     "I take it that means the Emperor isn't going to do anything about Slave?"

     Darius shook his head, un-wrapping the white sash he wore over one side of his face to hide his scar. Winterhaven refused to admit him without it. He folded it, his lips moving discreetly upward, and stowed it under his belt.

     "No, Sen-Teph. He is not." The name meant "Destiny's Gift". Jemah had come to Darius' company to spy for a rival company owner named Westman. Darius had known this, of course, but played along. Six months after Jemah had joined, Slave began his raids upon them. During the initial attack, a "stray" arrow had injured Jemah, courtesy of True. One of Slave's Wolves had fallen upon him and been a hair's width away from driving his blade into Jemah's chest. Instead, his attacker's head rolled from his shoulders. Jemah later told Darius that in the second afterwards, before the body had gone limp and slumped to the side, it had looked as though Darius' head rested on the Wolf's body, because Darius had been standing behind the decapitated corpse.

     Jemah had laughed; Darius only smiled, knowingly.

     Shortly after the attack, Jemah confessed to being a spy. Darius told Jemah that he appreciated the honesty, forgone though it may be, and offered him a job. When Jemah asked why he escaped punishment, Darius' eye shifted to the arrow wound through his right pectoral. Since then, Jemah had become a captain and, on several occasions, served point for secret assignments.

     A group of Imperial guards stood nearby, watching them for any mischief. Darius gestured that they should walk on before discussing the matter of Winterhaven's reluctance further. They made their way through the arched gate, and it slammed behind them. The Imperial Hub rolled slowly out below them, a city of noble houses built of marble cut by Pharasi hands from the quarries to the southeast. His ancestors had lost a piece of their souls fighting the Osernians for those pits. They lay empty now, raped by the Forani's ever driving need for more.

     "I just don't get it," Jemah said. "Why does Winterhaven leave us to the Wolves?"

     "He walks a fine line," Darius said. Amidst the empty cobblestone streets of the Noble District he heard nothing but the wind. It carried the aroma of richly spiced foods upon which the nobility grew fat, food that had cost Pharasi lives in its delivery. "The nobles claim that the widening acceptance of the Pharasi threaten to taint their rule."

     "They fear you, is what," Jemah said. Darius nodded slightly.

     "How go things at the wall?"

     Jemah stood straight and the air of boredom that had crept into his features as the conversation steered toward politics disappeared, most likely pleased to talk of something he understood. Although a dullard in matters of the pen, give him a sword or a tool and Jemah became a scholar.

     "Smooth driving, Captain. The person I left in charge during our run tells me we had a close call the other day, but they took care of it..."

     "How so? They didn't kill them, did they?" An Imperial search party tearing apart the Quarter looking for missing soldiers would prove more disastrous than their discovery of Darius' work at their precious wall.

     "Oh, no, sir. My supervisor gave them a little bribe. Name's May Suvaris. She's quite fetching. Told me they couldn't get their armor off fast enough."

     Jemah winked, and they continued down the main thoroughfare toward the East gate. They exited the Hub and began the half-kilometer walk along the stone wall to where the Pharasi Quarter clung against it like a baby chimp clutching its mother's chest. Darius clenched his cloak around his neck to ward off the gust of northern wind biting at his back. Autumn approached fast this year. He smirked, a puff of breath escaping from between his lips. He had little to worry about, but it would be Punishment on the young girl he now saw clutching her mother's skirts, the patchwork of thin sackcloth hanging from her malnourished body. Her dull eyes met his and she buried her face further into her mother's dress. The gold in his pocket grew cold against his hip as he smiled sympathetically and walked on.

     Thousands of children like her wandered the streets of the Quarter, living in the Thinwood constructs built along a stretch of the Imperial Hub's outer wall. The restrictions placed upon the size of the Quarter had caused it to become a nearly self contained complex of tiny dwellings built chaotically atop each other and over randomly designated roadways and alleys. Most of these streets were only wide enough for two people to walk side by side and had the tendency to double back or abruptly end. Only people born in the Quarter stood any chance of finding their way around and sometimes still got lost.

     They pushed their way deeper into the market. A stranger might assume that every Pharasi man, woman and child had gathered in this small space. People milled about, squeezing past each other from place to place, often with a companion in tow. The merchant stalls stood as crowded together as the people gathered around them, arguing with each other and the vendors over prices. A thick tension rumbled amongst the crowd, threatening to snap the moment someone took an elbow to the eye or said the wrong thing. But such things rarely occurred among the Pharasi.

     Everywhere he looked, Darius saw the evidence of Foranic corruption. Crates and barrels stood stacked here and there, the Imperial seal drawn on rotting wood with flaking white paint. The Guardsman brought the Pharasi an allotment of food every month. Just enough to keep them alive, on their feet, and off the Emperor's back. A couple of men stood next to one of the barrels, fishing around for something that wasn't too bug ridden to eat with his good arm. The other arm was missing below the elbow, ending in an infected stump where it had been torn off by any number of means. Limbs went missing all the time in Winterhaven's empire, either lost to wounds, or the churning wooden gears in work camps, or during "questioning".

     But the Pharasi rarely got angry. They were paid, given food, and protected by a rotating garrison of Guardsmen that patrolled the streets and stood watch along the edge of the quarter. Even now a group of them bartered with a young woman near the entry of an alley. Just contributing to the economy. They pushed themselves against her and groped her body through the moth eaten tunic serving as her only garment, and she gave them half interested smiles that did nothing to hide the emptiness in her eyes. Once they reached a deal she disappeared into the alley, along with four of the guardsman. A fifth stood watch.

     Protecting. Guarding. And the Pharasi gathered in the market took no notice, or pretended not to. They accepted it. This was their life.

     Fight them, Darius thought. He wanted the woman in the alley to fight them. He wanted to see that last guard run into the alley, sword drawn. She would likely die, and more would follow her to serve an example, but never the less, he wanted her to fight. Wanted all of them to fight.

     Like True had fought.

     "Looks like they got some apples in," Jemah said, pulling Darius' attention from the alley. A group had gathered around a cart, no doubt wheeled in during his reverie. Jemah's stomach rumbled.

     "Go ahead," Darius said. "I can walk the rest of the way by myself. Get me a couple, will you?"

     Jemah nodded and joined the throng. Darius shook his head and headed toward his company's headquarters, the White Ox Tavern.

     "Good evening, Dar," a dark skinned man said to him.

     Darius paused on the steps of the tavern, looking up at the man's black rooted grin. "Likewise, Westman," he said. "And please, call me Darius. I have no other name."

     Westman rolled his eyes and elbowed the man next to him. "Look at this guy. So damned prudent about his name, talking like a noble, like he's one of them.

     "You should try coming up for air, Darius. Try loosing your lips from around the Emperor's member long enough to breath."

     Darius lifted the corner of his mouth, and leaned forward.

     "Perhaps if you stopped speaking like a gutter whelp, you and your Company would actually have more than an imagined chance at surpassing me in Emperor Winterhaven's favor."

     Westman's face burned, his teeth grinding.

     "Whew," Darius said, holding out his hands as if to a fire. "That warms things up a bit."

     "I should pummel you..."

     "Darius, what's happening?"

     Darius turned to find Jemah standing behind him with a sack full of apples. He held one in his left hand, a large chunk taken out of the ripe fruit's light yellow flesh.

     "Ay! Westman!" Earling had appeared in the doorway of the Ox, grinning and brandishing a handful of throwing knives. "Come to play?"

     Westman shrunk and backed away.

     "I believe you were saying something about pummeling me?" Darius asked. Westman ignored him, fixed his eyes briefly on Jemah, and walked away.

     "I'm ashamed to call him cousin," Jemah said, biting into his apple. Darius looked down at the sack.

     "That was quick," he said. Jemah grinned, bits of the fruit grinding between his teeth. Darius peered around his companion. Several of the stand's customers now sat on the ground, rubbing arms and examining various lumps and bruises. Those still standing glowered in Jemah's direction.

     Instances of violence among the Pharasi were rare, but not unheard of.

     "Right..." he said. "Come. Let us go inside."

 

***

Death can be conquered.

     Kroog sat in the tavern, turning over Euticus' words in his mind and unable to push away the suspicions that they conjured. Only those that had fought in the Border Revolts and those that served Slave knew that ancient motto. The revolts ended forty years ago, long before Euticus could've been born.

     The boy must be a spy.

     Yet he had fought so intensely with Slave's men, and attacked Slave head on. A sham, maybe? No. Kroog had seen enough pulled punches in his time. Euticus came to his aid with every intention of ending Slave, something only a fool or someone ignorant of whom they were dealing with would do.

     Kroog set his head down on the bar, trying to think of something else, when a light weight rested on his shoulder. He found True settling on the stool next to him.

     "Buy me a drink, Old Man?" she joked. Kroog snarled.

     "I'm not old. Just well aged, unlike this lot," he said, sipping his ale. True smiled and turned around, leaning back against the bar.

     "So, what do you think of our new little warrior?" she asked.

     "Do you really want to know what I think, or do you just want me to tell you how you should feel about him?" he asked, his voice muffled by the stein.

     "What's that mean?"

     "Nothing." Kroog set the stein down and turned to face her.

     "Honestly, girl, I don't know what to make of him, and when I don't know what to make of a man, I more often than not decide I don't trust him...but that's just me, so don't go spreading that around, alright?"

     "But why?"

     Kroog sighed, staring down at the bar. Uncountable scratches and carvings marred its surface. Well aged, like him. He knocked on it gently and grabbed his stein.

     "Because of something he said, and because something about him doesn't add up. He feels...out of place, like he's not meant to be..."

     "Not meant to be? What, you mean here?"

     Kroog paused a moment with his stein half way up to his lips, then said, "I mean anywhere."

     "You're drunk."

     "Not nearly enough, so. Hey, tender! Give me some more!"

     "What'd he say?" True asked, putting a hand on Kroog's massive forearm. "Please, tell me."

     Kroog closed his eyes. If wrong, he would have to deal with yet another innocent death on his hands. But if right...

     He beckoned her forward, cupping a hand over her ear.

     "Death can be conquered," he whispered. True gasped, backing away.

     "No, he couldn't have. You're mistaken..."

     "That's what I've been trying to tell my self, True, and I'd be able to believe it except that he said it twice. Once before the attack, and then again, when Slave had him by the neck. The boy'd be grass now if he'd said anything else. "

     True leaned over the bar and ordered a drink. It came quickly, even before Kroog's refill. He eyed the barman fiercely, but to no effect.

     "We have to tell Darius," Kroog said, letting the matter of his drink slide for the moment. True shook her head.

     "I'm sorry True. He's got to know."

     "But, what if we're wrong? It's possible he picked those words up somewhere else. They're merely words, right?"

     "True..."

     "Let me talk to him. Let me question him, please."

     Kroog smiled, knowing that she would not concede.

     "Think you can get him to talk?"

     True raised an eyebrow and tried to arch her back. The leather breast plate she wore rendered the pose stiff. Kroog scrunched up his face and said... "You might think of ditching the armor first."

     True looked down, frowned, and unfastened the plate. She handed the thick leather piece to Kroog and tried the pose again. Twenty years ago, such a pose in Kroog's presence would've gotten her in serious trouble.

     "Hm...passable."

     True stuck out her tongue at him and downed her drink in one long pull, then disappeared into the crowd. Kroog turned back to his stein, which remained dry.

     "Hey, tender!"

* * *

True approached Euticus' door on cat's feet, her heart drumming in her ears. This was a stupid idea, going unarmed into the room of a man under suspicion of spying, for the sheer sake of defending him. She should just trust Kroog's instincts and let him take care of the matter.

     No...that wouldn't do. Not when her own instincts testified to Euticus' innocence.

     Shifting the bowl of water and bandages she carried to the crook of one arm, True reached out to open his door, stopping when she noticed the faint traces of mud that streaked her arms. Battle sweat had stained her shirt an offensive green hue broken only by blackish-red slashes of dried blood. A musty odor invaded her nose and stirred up an awkward self awareness.

     She needed a bath, but time didn't allow for it. Darius would return soon and Kroog would tell him what he thought. She set the bowl down, wrung out a length of bandage and began to wash away the worst of the filth. She opened up the front of her blouse, just a little bit at first, then to a point where it revealed more than covered, and let her hair down to hang around her face and shoulders in a coppery mass stiffened by the collective grime inherent to Transporter life.

     I look like a bathhouse whore, she thought, ringing the bandage out so the water dribbled down her neck, over her chest, and between her breasts. Perfect.

     She threw the bandage to the floor amongst a cluster of other refuse, took a deep breath, and entered.

     "Hello, Eu..." she stopped, finding the bed empty and Euticus standing by the room's single window. A quick, uninterested glance at her standing there, half exposed, brought a fiery blush to her skin.

     "I thought I told you to stay in bed," she said, trying to make it sound sensual but sounding more irritated than anything.

     "I'm sorry. I got tired of staring at the ceiling. I had to see outside..."

     She came up beside him, intentionally brushing up against his arm. He looked down and his eyes bulged, roaming over her from head to toe. His eyes lingered, predictably, on her breasts, where the wet fabric of her blouse clung to her skin.

     "What's so interesting?" she asked.

     "Uh...oh. The town..." He swallowed, returning to the window. True moved closer, pressing against his arm.

     "Beautiful..." he whispered. True jerked back from him before realizing he referred to the Hub. She peered out the window, thinking that perhaps some trick of the light had cast an illusion of beauty over the Quarter. Instead she found the same view common to any second story window in the town's many: stacks of poorly constructed shanties, their graying wooden walls slapped chaotically together in a splintering, crooked mass. One day they would reach the top of the wall, and have nowhere to build except the already scant space within.

     "It's just the Pharasi Quarter," she said.

     "I've never seen anything like it."

     The breath of his words danced with the hairs on her neck, prickling her skin. She clutched the windowsill, trying not to show.

     "It's...um, not that impressive," she said. Euticus studied her now. Wonder swirled in those eyes, a mixture of innocence and intuition rather than the restless ghosts of victims felled by a killer or spy. He looked like Darius from the side, even though half of his face had swollen a sickly mix of green and purple; but where Darius concerned himself mostly with solving whatever puzzle sat before him, Euticus appeared to have no desire to "solve" anything. He liked to look, to savor.

     "I think it is," he said. "I am sure you could meet someone new here everyday."

     "Yes, you probably could."

     True stood back from the window sill and crossed her arms over her chest. Her seduction had failed miserably, and her motivation to do so had waned. She reached out and took his hand.

     "Let's change your bandage," she said, leading him back to the bed. He followed, keeping one eye toward the window.

     "Did you sleep well?" she asked, sitting behind him.

     Euticus stiffly turned his neck, and nodded. She lifted a new bandage from the water. Steam rose off it in waves as she rang it out and hung it on a hook in the wall.

     "You acted like a fool out there," she said, unwrapping his old bandage. "But thank you."

     "For what?"

     "Helping Kroog, what else? Ugh...this's an ugly wound. You're lucky you didn't lose your scalp."

     She gently ran her finger along the puckered edge of the gash. It had stopped bleeding, and the skin shone a healthy pink.

     "What happened?" Euticus asked, flinching from the exam. True dropped the bandage into the bowl and grabbed the new one.

     "Darius returned with a division of the Emperor's infantry from the Hub."

     "The Hub?"

     True nodded and began to place the wrap on his head.

     "S'right. We're outside its walls now, in the Pharasi Quarter. We're not to go inside, except Darius."

     "Why?"

     "Long story, but it's because we're Pharasi and the nobility're Forani."

     "You are different tribes, then?"

     "Kind of. The Forani used to believe in the Pharen, but they worship Foran now. We believe in Foran, but as a warrior, not a god."

     Euticus tried to turn, but True stopped him.

     "Ow," he said when she forced his head forward.

    "Sorry."

     "What is the Pharen?" he asked. True paused in her work.

     "Pharen is God."

     "God of what?"

     "What do you mean, of what?"

     "Of harvest? Storms? Good fortune? Of what?"

     True frowned. A pagan? If so, it would not set well with either the Pharasi, or their Forani lords.

     "Pharen is the God of everything, Euticus. There is no other."

     "He must be quite busy, then."

     "Not he. Nor she. It. And It can handle the job just fine."

     "It? How can a god not be a man?"

     True tightened the wrap quickly, her frustration getting the better of her. Euticus cried out again.

     "Pharen is not a man, or a woman, because Pharen's above such base needs. That's why the Forani hate us, because we strive to an impossible standard of being, and expect no less from others. It's almost impossible to decry one person's belief without that person taking it as an insult."

     Euticus thought on this for a moment, and nodded. At least he stopped to consider the concept, more than she could say for most outsiders.

     "They think you believe yourselves better than them."

     True nodded. "Yes, and we do, a bad state of mind when outnumbered in population and pocket. Our time's coming, though."

     She looked out the window. Over the rooftops of the Quarter hung the nearly full moon, and she thought of Darius. The tides would be restless along the coast, and so would he.

     "Why would you, a perfect stranger, fight so hard for us?" she asked.

     "I would have died otherwise."

     "If things were so simple I'd believe you," she said, moving the bowl to a table across the room. "But a man simply fighting to survive would not have gone out of his way to save a stranger."

     "Did I do something wrong?"

     "Forget it. I shouldn't question such a blessing. Like I said, if not for you, Kroog would've been killed."

     "Death can be conquered," Euticus said. True's head snapped up, her original purpose flooding back into the forefront of her mind.

     "What?"

     "Death can be conquered. My father taught it to me," Euticus said, laying back. "He was a great warrior, the last living person in my village that had ever been beyond the mountains. Well, before he died, anyway."

     True turned to the window.

     "He ever talk about where he went and who he fought?" she asked.

     Euticus shook his head. "No. I am not sure why, but he never told me about his battles. Could be because I never asked. He did teach me how to fight, though. And he taught me how to see without using my eyes."

     True's heart skipped a beat.

     "Euticus, what was your father's name?" she asked, holding her breath.

     "Ezekiel. Ezekiel Bluejay."

     True gasped. "No. No it can't be..."

     Euticus came to her side, reaching a hand out to her, but she slapped it away and began pacing around the room.

     "True, what?"

     "You...no...but..."

     True stopped pacing and, remembering the state of her blouse, wrapped her arms around her body in a strange bout of modesty.

     "There's an old story," she said. "Tells of a Blind Warrior with two sons. One would bring the Pharasi into slavery through promises of life. The other would deliver the Pharasi into Tephet, a land of freedom, through promises of death."

     Euticus raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is there a third option that does not involve slavery or death?"

     "That supposed to be a joke? Does Pharen make you laugh?"

     "True, I'm still not sure what that is..."

     "Your knowledge of Pharen is not required," entered a new voice, "for Pharen to know you."

     Darius and Kroog stood at the door, faces blank, hiding their thoughts. True hurried to Darius' side.

     "His name is Bluejay, Darius. Euticus Bluejay. His father was Ezekiel."

     "Did you know my father?" Euticus asked.

     "This certainly explains why he knows the motto," Kroog said, ignoring Euticus' question.

     "Yes..." Darius said, more to himself. "Yes. I know your father. Knew him, anyway."

     He turned to True and Kroog, and said, "Leave us."

     Kroog nodded and turned. True did not move until Kroog grabbed her.

     "Come on, old girl. There's no need for you to stay and listen." She went willingly enough, but not without looking back, one curious eye on Euticus until Kroog closed the door behind her.

***

Darius turned back to Euticus, looking him up and down. Despite his naturally tanned skin and clipped accent, his Nepheralian heritage stood apparent to any who looked for it.

     "You must forgive True. She can be most...devout," he said.

     "What is going on? How did you know my father? How could you? You are only a handful of harvests older than me, and my father had not left our village in forty before his death."

     "The autumn is coming..." Darius said, pleased when Euticus' face knit together in confusion.

     "Autumn? The Dying season? Impossible. The Living season just began..."

     "He was my father, also."

     "Huh?"

     "The spring may have begun wherever you are from, but here, it is long past into summer, and now summer fades to autumn."

      "You...you are my brother?"

     Darius smiled, leaning up against the wall. He wondered how long it would take Euticus to catch on. "Autumn is my favorite season. It is the season of change, when the old begins to be swept away..."

     "That is why they call it the Dying Season. I hate it..."

     "So did Ezekiel Bluejay," Darius said.

     "Would you stop that?" Euticus said, shaking his head in frustration.

     "Stop what?"

     "Changing subjects like that."

     "It is clear that father did not teach you."

     "Teach me what?"

     "Winter is the one I hate..."

     Euticus groaned and slammed his fist against the mattress in frustration. Darius's smile grew to show teeth.

     "If he had taught you, then you would be able to keep up with me, and believe me, this conversation is very simple."

     Euticus narrowed his eyes. "My father taught me every thing. How to fight and hunt, how to see with out seeing. I knew him my entire life, until his death."

     "And when was that?"

     "Four harv...two years ago."

     Darius stood straight.

     "Hm. Then I guess we are right back where we started now, are we not, with you a big mystery? See, my father died five years after my birth, killed by a man he called brother, my uncle. The man now known as Slave. That's where I got this..."

     Darius reached up and ran a finger over his scar. When they first met, he'd noticed Euticus staring at it. Now, however, Euticus kept his emotions guarded. On the other hand, perhaps, after coming face to face with Slave, the stranger simply believed such scars common place on the plains of Nepheralia.

     "It also seems that we are faced with our main concern towards you, young Euticus."

     "And what is that?"

     "'Death can be conquered.' You spoke those words before the battle, did you not?"

     "Yes. It is an invocation of courage. My father taught it to me."

     "Ezekiel Bluejay?"

     "Yes."

     Darius' face guarded his thoughts, and Euticus grew tense.

     "Do you know the origin of the words you speak?" Darius asked. Euticus shook his head.

     "My father only told me that it is a very old creed, one held by warriors of a long dead order."

     Darius nodded. "That is partly true, but that is not the meaning of it now. The only people who speak those words are those who hail from the east, under the command of Slave.

     "You are under suspicion, Euticus, of spying."

     Euticus turned white.

     "I can only give you my word that I am not, but I guess that is not good enough?"

     Darius shook his head. "I am afraid not."

     "So, I guess you are going to kill me, or banish me..."

     "No," Darius said, and started to the door. He opened it, and turned back in the doorway. "I'm going to give you a chance. Follow me."

***

Euticus followed Darius at a distance down the stairs and through the tavern, where the two of them drew several glances. Hundreds of dirty faces parted a way to the door before them, cramming themselves tightly along the walls so they could pass. True, Kroog, Earling, and the rest of Darius's men followed behind them into the street.

     "Kroog, Earling, clear the area and have the men form a wall," Darius ordered, and within a couple minutes Earling had cleared a twenty-meter stretch of road. Darius and Euticus stood in the center.

     "What's happening?" Euticus asked. Darius turned to True.

     "Swords, True, and blindfold." She stepped forward, brandishing two blades, and handed them to Darius. From the waistband of her trousers she pulled a long scrap of cloth.

      Euticus repeated his question. Darius began strapping the sword to his waist.

     "We are going to see if you are truly your father's son," Darius said, and True stepped up behind Euticus. She tried to wrap the blindfold over his eyes, but he ducked away.

     "What, you don't get one?" Euticus asked, keeping True at arm's distance. Darius shrugged.

     "You do not have much of a choice," he said, and Euticus allowed him self to be blindfolded after fastening his own sword to his waist. He felt True's hand rest gently on his shoulder.

     "Good luck, Eue," she whispered, then rejoined the crowd.

     Euticus drew and closed his eyes beneath the blindfold. They would do him no good. He kept his ears and heart open, however. Darius moved quickly with no sound but that of soft footfalls. No one in the crowd would hear it, but Euticus did, off to his left. He blocked the attack and their blades locked.

     Darius pushed Euticus and sent him stumbling back. Euticus spun around, knowing that Darius' back would be vulnerable, but his blade only bit steel. Darius parried the blade away from him, leaving Euticus hurrying to recover.

     The crowd around them began to cheer, making things a bit more difficult for Euticus. He could no longer rely on his hearing, but he had obtained a feel for Darius' style: quick and graceful, better fitted for show than battle.

     Which means that he is playing with me.

     Something cold missed his face by a feather's width, nearly ending this little encounter. He needed to concentrate, to focus, but the sound of the crowd cheering for Darius caught in his ears and echoed.

     There, warm air. He swung the blade to his right. A loud clang cut through the air and vibrated down his arms. Darius allowed no pause in his attack and swung around, but Euticus knew he only needed to raise the sword straight up to block it. He parried, guiding the sword down into the muck of the road.

     The air grew hotter. Euticus smiled now, able to block Darius' frustrated attacks. Slowly the grace fell away and Darius' aggression mounted, his form becoming sloppy. He'd apparently had more practice in commanding or mounted combat than on foot.

     Euticus stayed on defense, waiting to feel an opening. One presented itself when Darius' sword glinted violently to the left. This should have meant that Darius flailed, trying to regain his balance. Euticus lashed out.

     Darius blocked his strike. Euticus felt his blade sink into something wooden, and it took a moment to recognize what had happened. He'd been relying on Darius losing his patience; Darius had anticipated Euticus' ill-founded cockiness.

     Euticus almost lost the fight right then, but when Darius cut downwards he jumped, keeping his hand on the sword. He went up and over, feeling the metal break in the middle of the blade. He rolled forward and turned, throwing the sword at Darius and employing another, mostly frowned upon though no less deadly technique: fighting dirty. He heard Darius cry out and charged.

     The crowd gasped when he felt his fist strike Darius' jaw. It hurt, bad, but the winded oomph that indicated Darius falling square on his backside presented Euticus a small victory that helped to deaden the pain. He fell upon Darius and began raining blows on his body. The beat down did not last long. Darius got a leg free and kicked Euticus in the chest, stunning him long enough for Darius to regain his feet. Euticus charged again. Darius must have anticipated the move, and when Euticus swung he felt his fist pass through nothing but air, followed by vertigo when his own movement sent him spinning wildly. Arms weaved under his own and around his neck, and something knocked his knees out. He fell to the ground, Darius coiled around him like a snake.

     "You did well, Euticus. Perhaps what you say is true. Now. Submit."

      Euticus struggled defiantly, which Darius answered by squeezing a bit tighter. Euticus tapped out, and Darius stood, helped Euticus up, and removed his blindfold.

     "Fellow transporters, I would like to introduce you to the newest member of my company. Euticus Bluejay."

     The transporters crowded around him, smiling, welcoming him with various words. The sudden attention caused another whirling sense of vertigo, but Euticus kept his feet, greeting them each in turn.

     "Join me, brother," Darius said, and Euticus turned to find Darius already mounting the steps to the tavern, his hand out. Euticus joined his side and Darius wrapped his arm around his shoulders. The tension drained under that weight.

    Brother. The word repeated in Euticus' mind. Only one other had called him that in his life, and that other had turned his back on him. He looked at Darius, felt connected to him, and examining the crowd, felt the same.

     They entered the tavern and the Pharasi inside began to clap wildly, welcoming Euticus into their fold. The heightened joy of the now suppressed his memories of Sparrow, Crow, and the childhood games they had played.

     "Get our newest sibling a drink, tender!" Darius cried. The bar keep gave him a small salute and poured a dark ale into a mug made of strange material that Euticus recognized, but could not place. When they got to the bar, Darius picked up the mug and handed it to him. When he grasped it, Euticus had a flash, there and gone, of where he'd seen the **** substance before. His smile disappeared, his eyes blank.

     "Euticus, is something wrong?"

     Euticus looked up in surprise at Darius, knowing that his change in demeanor had been drastic.

     "This mug, what is it made of?"

     Darius' face split into a wide grin, and he laughed.

     "Why, this is glass," he said.

     "Glass," Euticus repeated, running his fingers over its smooth surface. The transporters gathered around him had gone quiet, watching with intense curiosity. Earling burst out laughing.

     "You'd think he's seeing some kind of magic!" he cried, and the others joined in the laughter.

     "Drink up!" Darius yelled, clapping Euticus on the back. Euticus lifted the glass and took a drink. It stung his tongue and throat and he began to cough, eliciting more laughter. Darius lifted his glass in a toast.

     "To The Blind Warrior!" he called.

     "Hear, hear!" called the others, and then one called "To the Coachman!"

     Darius' countenance darkened a bit at this sentiment, but he quickly recovered and repeated it, though with notably less vigor. They all drank, and Euticus managed not to choke again. With the toasts said, the celebration began. A woman pushed her way forward and pulled Euticus onto the floor. They danced and others joined in, and soon the mass of Pharasi became a swirling blur of smiles and laughter. They sang and danced and drank long into the night, and Euticus found himself to be home.