Katerin kept her face in a smile as her stomach twisted with worry. I should be there fighting with them. Not out here chasing a myth, she thought, as she handed out various foods to the crew.

Fykes gave her a smile in passing and she hoped he did not see the fear she hid. He might miss a fly right in front of his nose, but he had an eerie knack for reading her.

More than two months into their journey, and still the seas were calm. The only things they had seen, besides the endless water, had been a pair of merchant ships, and those sea drakes. Uneventful by every account. She made it through each day with little star-shaped bottles, a bit of meditation and magic. Slowly she had become far more resilient to the rocking of the water.

You should just tell them, Brazens thoughts filled her mind. You worry too much, and they will not be... angry—He plucked the word from her own thoughts—with you.

You don't know that, she told him, glancing to the side of the ship where he held a long fishing rod with a practiced ease. It turned out he was quite an excellent fisherman, and they had not wanted for food yet. Their stores were holding up excellently.

Her knowledge ate at her. It had been six days since she learned of the fighting on Itrea.

Just tell them. Brazen said. You can't just ignore it. You need a plan.

I don't have a plan!

Maybe they do, Brazen responded, unshaken by her outburst.

They'll just want to return...

And you don't want to? Do you even know?

I can't just give up on this. But I should be there shouldn't I?—Her trailing and looping fears were cut short.

Decide. Quit waiting for someone else to. Graiden isn't going to ask you to come back. Lugaria isn't going to ask for your help. Fykes will not leave you to this alone. Just decide.

Katerin walked up beside him on the deck and sat down, nibbling on the tasteless thing that passed for bread out here.

He showed her pictures of her manor, of the Itrean sunrise, of the inn, and the docks, and Ky'lei'mei hidden in the branches. With these images were feelings, her feelings. Of happiness, elation, comfort and a sense of belonging.

Then he showed her images from her dreams. Of blood and fear and feelings of hopeless terror. An echo of the soft, lilting voice that brought bumps to her arms.

Choose, he said. I am beside you. So are they.

What good is a lady who will not fight for her ho... for her home?

If your home is protected, then you are free to seek the answers you need. It is not you alone. He showed her Graiden fighting in the tournament. Graiden at his desk. He protects home. He is capable. Tactical. Brazen pulled a fish from the water below, and caught it deftly in his hands. Pulling the hook free he dropped it into a basket to his other side. He looked across the deck of the ship, his gaze lingering on Fykes, Arjiah, Jon. Tell them and decide, he said, before returning his attention to the fish.

Katerin worked throughout the day, until the sun fell beneath the horizon. She grabbed her cloak, watched her friends at a table on the deck, Brazen's words ringing out in her head. She watched Fykes, and watched Jon laughing so hard he leaned onto Fykes shoulder. She watched Arjiah make a retort that only made him laugh harder as he tried to right himself. As she approached they quieted their laughter to greet her. Jon looked from his knee to her then back to his knee again, question hanging jokingly in the air.

"I have something to tell you," she said.

Everyone fell silent, and turned to her. Maybe it was the tone of her voice. Maybe it was the way she was ringing out her hands. Or maybe they had been worrying about Itrea right along with her.

"Uh oh," Jon said. "Don't tell me you're having some candid affair with one of these fine dwarves." A grin spread across his face, and he winked.

His words drew a laugh from both Katerin and Arjiah, but Fykes only looked at her, with a serious expression. Brazen stood by her side, his shoulder just close enough for her to lean on, should she need to.

Fykes waited for the laughter to pass, "What is it? You've got that look on your face."

"It's Aughk'tor..." she began. "They are at war with the orcs. Sahn-Raidar is intervening, soon but... it sounds bad."

"What?" Jon straightened in his chair. "War for what?"

Katerin shrugged. "Land, I would guess... I'm not entirely sure. Just know it's there. I spoke to Lugaria, and Graiden."

"Do they need us?" Fykes asked. It was strange to see lines creasing his usually smooth skin.

Breathe, Katerin, you will die if you do not. Brazen reminded through their link.

"I... don't know. Graiden told me not to worry."

Arjiah offered her a sad smile. "Graiden knows what he needs. He is not the man to be too modest to ask when he needs help."

Jon tugged on his beard. "It's a cryin' shame we aren't there to help them out."

Katerin sighed. "We can go back," she said. "Turn the ship around, or I can take us back with magic... we can be there." There was a hesitance, and a defeat to her tone, that she fought to keep at bay.

"We aren't turning around," Fykes said. "Sahn-Raidar and the dwarves are perfectly capable. They don't need us. If they did they would say so."

"Aye," Jon agreed, giving his beard one last tug before glancing at his weapon. "Still a shame though."

Katerin caught Arjiah glancing at Jon with worry in her eyes, but dismissed it as quickly as she saw it. "If you feel that's where you should be..." She glanced at all of them. "It's not—"

"You think I want to pass up the sailing journey of a lifetime, to go slog about in a war with orcs?" Jon said, his tone incredulous.

Katerin snorted. "When you put it that way,"

"It sounds ridiculous," Arjiah agreed. She pointed to the open stool.

Katerin took a seat, and Jon pulled out a deck of cards. "Now, we have to win all our valuables back from Arjiah. I've been waiting all damn day."

Arjiah snickered. "You can try," she winked.

See? Brazen said, as Katerin glanced at the first of her cards.

For someone who doesn't understand emotion you understand people too well, Katerin told him.

I understand it. I just don't feel it, he said. People are much simpler than they like to believe.

The words made Katerin's heart ache. As if it was some cruel trick. To understand but not feel. She looked across the thoughtful faces at the table, as Roahn sauntered over. They aren't simple to me, she said to Brazen. "I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you. I should've said something sooner."

"It's alright," Fykes said, squeezing her hand.

Jon nodded "They don't need us for killing orcs."

Katerin laughed, watching Fykes face. "And don't worry. As fine as all these dwarven folk are, they just aren't my type."

She watched Jon's eyes tear with laughter.

Roahn nodded emphatically. "Aye! She likes the pretty, daft ones."

Arjiah snorted, her blank expression flashing into a grin.

"That's it," Katerin said, shaking her head. "Those are the words that will decorate my headstone."

The night wore on, and the stars shimmered above them, burning brilliantly, yet already gone. Arjiah retired before the rest of them as she usually did, but Katerin noticed she did not find the beds.

Instead she stood at the bow looking cold, and lonely.

Something Katerin was surprised to see on the woman. So when Jon had fallen asleep on his hand of cards, and Fykes was due for watch, Katerin joined her there.

"Are you okay?"

Arjiah's face was hidden under the cowl of her cloak. "I'm fine... just feeling lonesome."

"Do'vak?" Katerin asked, the bright image of the Uhma'zarhin in her mind, smiling and talking with his hands.

Arjiah nodded, "Of course. And... the last time I was on a ship, we were bound for Itrea. Once we got there I didn't leave. I haven't been on the water in years. I'd forgotten the feeling of it. How much it feels like home..."

"Do you want to go back?"

Arjiah sniffed. "Never. It is not my place. I am not one to be bound and beaten by tradition."

"Never is a dangerous word," Katerin said, frowning.

"I tried, once. Fykes saw how that went. My people cannot see the difference between tradition and slavery. They give no choices, nor hold any open minds. They are as cold as the seas they dwell in, and they are more like rocks then the sea."

"Just because you can't go back... that doesn't mean you don't have a place." Katerin studied Arjiah's face. "We'll always be here for you."

Arjiah let out a quiet chuckle. "Ge'henna always told me that a home wasn't the place, it was the people."

"Well, he made a decent point." Katerin smiled. "And I don't often agree with people I never met."

Arjiah was quiet for a long moment taking a deep breath, "You have a place, too. I know Graiden dropped a lot on your plate. But he wouldn't have if he didn't know you could do it well."

Katerin bit her lip. "I'm sure I can do it. I'm just not sure I want to."

"How so?"

"I'm not good with people. Or fighting. I'm good with books, and planning things." She sighed.

"You're an excellent fighter. You faced Byron. Juen'tal." Arjiah grinned. "You even bested Lugaria and Agrata both, in the tournament."

"But it terrifies me. I can hardly think. Fykes, Lugaria. They handle it so gracefully. All I do is feel my heart in my ears."

"They're terrified, too. They just don't show it, or focus on it. No one likes getting stabbed, Katerin."

"They certainly don't seem to be as bothered by it as I am." Katerin said.

"They have quite a bit more practice in the line of work. You don't have to know everything about who you are Katerin. It's perfectly fine not to like a fight. And you know he'll follow you." Arjiah gestured toward the crows nest.

"Maybe he shouldn't."

Arjiah snorted. "Should or shouldn't is never a question with him, when it comes to you. It just is. He follows his own judgment, and nothing else."

At those words the tense air was broken, and they both laughed.

After a moment, Arjiah sighed. "I never got to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you did for him. What you do." Arjiah stretched her arms over her head. "After Ge'henna... none of us could pull him out of that sadness. You did."

Katerin chuckled. "I'm only in it for my reputation."

Arjiah gave her a fangy grin. "You're a terrible liar."

Someone called out Katerin's name, and she looked to find a dwarf, walking towards her across the deck, a stack of plates in his arms. "Ah. Work calls."

"I'll see you in the morning." Arjiah told her.

When Lugaria returned to Aughk'tor he found the scorched bones of a hill giant, a battered wall, and battered dwarves looking over it. A number of the tall dark skinned Uhma'zarhin's stood with them.

They wore thick hide and metal for armor, and carried weapons so sharp that the points could gleam in the sun. They were from Uhm'trimbyha. The only true difference he could see between the tribes of Uhm'trimbyha and Ky'lei'mei was the depth of the sun-kissed hue on their skin, and the depth of their expressions. Those from Ky'lei'mei smiled and held pleasant countenance, while those from Uhm'trimbyha looked stone faced, and serious.

He wove through the gates and gave his report to an interesting group. Beymor, his small council of dwarves, the Sahn-Raidar captains and the delegate from Uhm'trimbyha. All standing stiffly with grim expressions and tired eyes.

"Four thousand orcs," Beymor mused. "You're sure?"

"Of course. And the majority will be heading this way. Breaking off a few miles out to head for Uhm'trimbyha."

"We need to prepare our defenses, ready for a siege." One of the Sahn-Raidar captains said.

"No. Fight in the fields!" Veit argued, shaking his head at the man.

"If we fight in the fields we lose more men," another dwarf echoed.

"If we don't we could loose the wall."

Lugaria leaned against the door post while the argument calmed, watching the Uhma'zarhin regard them all with a quiet irritation. He looked far less a diplomat, than he did a fighter. His expression seemed to say that he did not truly care where he fought, just as long as someone eventually made the decision so he might.

Beymor slammed a fist on his stone tabletop. And glared at everyone in the room who's voices had been raised. He looked at Lugaria. "Let us hear what else you know," he said. Something hopeful in his gaze.

Lugaria continued, simply speaking louder when someone tried to interrupt him, until they knew all that he did. When he was done he leaned back against the empty door frame once again. He waited for the argument to bore him, and looked to Beymor.

Beymor gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Lugaria stepped forward from the door frame, and spoke in a loud, clear voice. They would pay attention to him or not. It was not his concern. "We can hold a line on the hills. Let them push us back at a pace we choose. Then, we use the walls to hold until the group that turns for Uhm'trimbyha is gone. After that is dealt with we can push them back across the hills without worry of anything coming up behind or beside us."

Silence filled the room as his words quieted, as everyone pondered the mixture of ideas.

"That's a solid idea," Beymor agreed. Looking as if he was holding back a heavy sigh. "We need more people."

"I can go and speak with Graiden," Lugaria offered. He would much rather be out and away from this group anyway. They had no idea what they were in the middle of. They could get everyone killed with their idiocy if it was left unchecked.

"No." Veit said. His knotted beard shaking. "We've got plenty of fighters already. We dwarves count for twice as many as any other in a fight. We won't—"

"If you think for one second that what we have right now can hold back the tide that's coming—you best start marching right on out of this building." Vauldra turned to her brother with her arms across her chest, and an almost eager look in her eyes. "Put your pride out the door where it belongs, Veit. Or so help me, I'll do it for you."

There was a long moment of silence, as Veit stared at a sister who would not back down. After a few more few seconds his shoulders dropped and he huffed out a breath, clamping his mouth shut. Lugaria wanted to chuckle at the man, but he kept that hidden. No need to insult someone whose pride had just taken a beating. Vauldra did not require anyone's help, it seemed.

"We would appreciate some messages to Graiden, in any case," Beymor said, staring at the dwarven woman out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the dwarves and Sahn-Raidar captains. "We need a count on our food. We need to be sure every inch of the walls are sturdy and can hold for siege." With each sentence he pointed at one or two people, and gave them all a look that spurred them into motion, and they hastily went to attend with their tasks.

The only people who stayed in the room were the Uhm'trimbyhian delegate, and Lugaria himself.

Beymor turned to the delegate, and the tall man nodded.

"I will return home. But I will leave my people with you. We will prepare. Call upon our sisters."

"Ky'lei'mei's help is appreciated and welcome," Beymor agreed.

"Stay alive, good dwarf. So that we might drink and tell stories of our victory, when all is as it should be," the Uhma'zarhin turned and walked through the door frame, nodding his head once again.

Beymor scrubbed his hands across his face. "Everyone's getting involved now, ain't they."

"The stronger we are the easier this is, Beymor."

Beymor gave him a look that said nothing about this was easy. "The Ironhold fell to orcs and giants," he said. "Their brutality was overwhelming."

"I know. But this isn't Ironhold. You have many more friends than enemies."

"We have no clan."

"You do have a clan. And it has a name. Have you not heard them calling out for clan Bluntaxe? Fighting for the names honor and strength?"

Beymor blinked at him, then his eyes narrowed. "Ya've not even been here a day."

"I simply paid attention." Lugaria pointed to the worn and dusty blunted axe that hung above Beymor's mantle. "And I've seen plenty of people, dwarf and not painting that upon their armor, and carving it into their sword hilts."

Beymor stared at the crest, and gave Lugaria a small nod. Some moments of silence passed until his eyes brightened. "Ya'll be needing these for Graiden," he said, shuffling around on his desk for a bundle of rolled parchments. "I was going ta send a messenger, but this way I know they'll get there quick."

Lugaria took the small bundle and tucked them easily under one arm. "I know you will, but be careful. Something about these orcs is different. Don't let them outsmart you."

Beymor snorted. "The day I let an orc outsmart me is the day my father will come tearing from his grave to spit on me and curse the day I was born."