The rebels tied Libro to a cross shaped rack suspended along a wall, and were making a real mess of things. Moss and Cent were easily secured, but the trouble soon started once they discovered the Captain's missing arm.

"Tie it 'round his neck then," one of the rebels said. "That'll do 'em just fine, I reckon."

"And let him make a noose out of it?" Another one balked. "I'd sooner be kicked in the fruits then let the prisoner kill himself before the Jarla gets her hands on them."

Libro cocked an eyebrow at the name. A Jarla instead of a Jarl ran this particular part of the rebellion. He filed this information away for later.

"Tie it 'round his waist then!"

"I say we make a sling," another suggested. "Like my dah did for me that one time."

"Fark your dah! Let him hang for all I care! He's a royalist spy and we all know it!" An older looking man glared at Libro with one milky eye, spitting goddess knew what onto the cobblestone floor.

"There's actually a better way to hold him up if you tie it round his armpit," Cent offered

"Quiet," a rebel snapped back at him. "Or I'll gag the lot of ya!"

"I was just trying to help!"

"I said shut it!"

The room erupted with loud, angry voices as rebel shouted at rebel, Cent shouted at everyone, and Libro's head pounded worse than hammers on an anvil, veins throbbing with each passing heartbeat.

"Enough!" Libro roared, his voice booming within the cloistered, stone room. The crowd grew silent, rebels and guardsmen alike staring at him expectantly.

"Stop wasting the Jarla's time and tie me up by my armpit already! We have work to do here!"

And as if by magick, they obeyed. Without a word the rebels secured him in the appropriate place, relief flooding through the growing ache in his stump. He shook his head in disbelief as the Lightbringers hastily stepped back and watched him uncertainly. Nido's pearly white tits, but these people could do with a lesson on interrogation etiquette.

A heavy door creaked open as a new figure stepped into view, a woman in the early middles of her life, dressed in a well worn miner's smock, an old coat thrown over with various insignias and totems stitched into the leather. She jingled and rattled as she walked, reminding Libro greatly of the late Ohban, the old, snake mercenary he'd faced back in Middengard.

The woman's features bled into view as she drew closer, a tough leather patch draped over one eye, red bandana covering nose and mouth, the corners of a scar peeking out at an odd angle.

"My Jarla! We weren't expecting your arrival so soon," one of the rebels said, quickly bowing low before her presence.

The woman said nothing as she turned one copper eye on Libro, studying him, dissecting him, as if he was more an insect than a man. It reminded him uneasily of the Empress and her equally cruel stare. Without a word she waved the men away and they hastily retreated from view.

A hard silence fell over the room as the Jarla continued to glare, staring between Libro, Cent and Moss, as if unsure of where to start, or who to kill first.

Libro licked his lips. "My lady, if I may—,"

The rest of his words fell out in a dribbling wheeze as the Jarla shot an arm out and sank her fist into his guts, the wretched sound of flesh striking flesh echoing off the cramped, stone walls.

Libro gasped, gagged, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes as he fought to catch his breath.

"What the fark was that for?" Cent protested. "You have no right!"

The Jarla ignored him, her focus still trained on Libro. Took everything he had not to wretch right in front of her. His stomach roiled like a steaming cauldron, the back of his throat burning with sour spit. But he held his head up regardless, and forced out a smile.

"I apologize for my rudeness, my lady. I didn't mean—,"

"You are not a normal man," the Jarla said, cutting him off with a wet sounding snarl as she spoke for the first time since arriving. Despite the bandana muffling her words, she spoke slowly, eloquently, allowing the words to sink in before she continued. "You have the stomach of a soldier, not a civilian, not a spy, but that does not make you any less dangerous to me." She turned her gaze sharply towards Cent. "And if you speak out of turn again, dog, I will have you muzzled."

Cent looked ready to defy her once more, but a quick hiss from Moss made him think otherwise. He looked to Libro for guidance, but all he could do was nod his head in agreement. There was a time and place for righteous anger, but not here, and definitely not now.

"So tell me," the Jarla said. "Why are foreign soldiers trespassing on Danic Soil and spying on Kel Dracon? You do not look like Lightbringers underneath all that mud and muck, but you do not look like Forsworn or Chosen, or anything like the monsters our Dead King employs as troops. That begs the question then. Just who are you exactly?"

Libro licked his lips once more, knowing he would need to pick his next words very wisely. Balance came from the perfect mixture of truth and lie, how much to say, and how much to leave out.

"Apologies my lady. You see, We've come to you, because we both have a common enemy, you and I. The Right Hand is a thorn in both of our sides, and I believe that means we can work together. I have a plan that will surely benefit the both of us, and all I am needing is for your time and attention. With your—,"

She punched him in the guts again, harder this time and in the same wretched spot, much to Libro's disbelief. The first blow nearly made him retch. This time he did puke, spraying bile onto the dry cobblestones. The Jarla took a step back, her displeasure hidden beneath shadow and mask.

Libro had to hand it to Cent, but the man kept quiet this time, not so much as uttering peep. Moss, as usual, remained as still as a stone.

"Why are foreign soldiers trespassing in Danic," the Jarla repeated. "Who do you work for? Why were you caught spying on Kel Dracon?"

"The Right Hand," Libro wheezed, focusing on the why instead of the who. "He has my wife. I have to rescue her."

"How was she captured?"

"Middlefort. We were in Middlefort when he attacked the city. We barely escaped, but she was taken in the process." He stared up into the Jarla's cold, copper eye. "Please, I am not your enemy. I have a plan to save everyone who was taken by the Right Hand. I just need you to listen to me."

The Jarla narrowed her gaze. "What were you doing in Middlefort?"

Libro blinked up at her. "To meet the Jarl."

The Jarla's third punch lashed out like a viper, hammering Libro in the same spot again. Nothing came out of his stomach this time, just a terrible, hollow belch that made his throat burn. She grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back up.

"If you spare me the details on your next answer, I will cut that silver tongue out of your head. Do you understand?" A knife flashed into Libro's vision as the Jarla pulled him in closer, close enough that he could see under her bandana, exposed teeth and raw red gums gleaming wetly under a ragged hole in her cheek.

"I understand," Libro croaked.

"Good," the Jarla let go of him, keeping the knife trained on his throat. "Now, what were you doing in Middlefort? Why were you there to meet the Jarl?"

Libro sucked in a breath and blew it out. Damned but everything hurt. His head was a buzzing mess, his stomach was a massive, burning ache, his throat a raw, strip of meat. And all because of one man. All because of one woman.

"My name is Libro, Captain of the Vangen Royal Guard, Defender of the Onyx Throne and the Empress who sits upon it. I am a servant of the Empire, tasked with the sacred duty of hunting down a fugitive wanted for the crimes of desertion. I have come to these lands in search of him, after having chased them half away across the Cont to get here. Me and my men believe he is here, somewhere, and cannot leave until our sacred oath has been fulfilled and we bring him back to the Empire to face justice, dead or alive."

Libro sighed and spat sour spit onto the cobbles. "I say this in all sincerity, my lady," He added. "And no matter how much you beat me afterwards, the story you hear will not change, as I have stated—,"

The Jarla wrapped a hand around Libro's throat, squeezing just hard enough to make him stop talking.

"I have heard enough," she said. "You may stop now."

Libro nodded, gasping as the Jarla released her grip on him. The door opened, and a second figure emerged, thinner this time and taller too, despite the odd hunch. An old man hobbled into view, wearing a stained white cossack over gleaming chainmail. Despite the many years on him, there was still a prideful jaunt in his step, as if the dust had not quite settled into his bones yet.

"I see you are entertaining guests without me, dear Freyah?" The old man teased, his eyes glowing faintly in the faintly lit room.

Libro blinked, shook his head, but he wasn't imagining it. The man's eyes really did glow. Like two soft lanterns winking in the far distance. Another Wyrdling perhaps, as Regis had described them.

"I am Interrogating prisoners," The Jarla countered. "Not Guests. Did everything go according to plan back at Middlefort?"

"More or less." The old man stepped away from the Jarla and addressed Libro. "I apologize for the rudeness you've received by my compatriot here, but do please understand the conditions we are all living under right now. Eternal darkness, undead hordes," he flashed Libro a sharp look. "Kidnapped wives. You understand, right?"

There was something sinister about how the old man stared at Libro. A shared commonality between him and the Jarla. She could cut a person down to their very core with just one look, much like the Empress could, but this man possessed a different quality. A look that could draw you in and make you listen to every word if you weren't careful. It reminded him more of the Emperor.

These were the eyes of people who saw beyond the lands, and the battles, and the armies, people who preferred moving pieces over the board and reaping the rewards through careless cruelty.

The iron mask came down over Libro immediately. "I understand completely."

"Then all is forgiven. I am Olaf, the Bright-Eyed. I see you have already become well acquainted with Jarla Freyah already."

"I would introduce myself," Libro said. "But I do hate repeating myself. You probably heard everything you needed to know already from outside the door."

"Smart lad," Olaf said. "I like that. I can see you and your friends are in a real bind. The Right Hand has your wife, you're looking for a fugitive somewhere in Danic, and with a civil war in the process it can't make things easy."

"From what I've gathered, the Right Hand isn't exactly someone you'd consider a friend around these parts, now would you?"

"Not in the slightest. He is, after all, a thorn in both of our sides."

Libro snorted. So he had heard everything. "Then I've a proposal then, if you're interested?"

Olaf's eyes shimmered at the prospect, unsettling Libro even further. "What did you have in mind, my boy?"

"The Right Hand has made itself an enemy to both us. I want my wife back, and wrestling Kel Dracon from the royalists would only further bolster the remaining Lightbringers in this area. With Veil gone, you'll need another strong vantage point for your Jarla to keep hold of."

That earned him a sharp look from the woman. She may not have possessed the same eerie glow Olaf did, but her one good eye still held its own personal menace.

"If we work together," Libro continued. "We can make both our dreams come true."

Olaf studied Libro for a while, no doubt calculating the risks and benefits of his proposal.

Libro spoke up before the old man could finish his thoughts, leaning in close. "Tell me, how many masons in Veil survived the night of its destruction?"

"That's a good question. Why do you ask?"

"Because I have a hunch Veil was destroyed in the first place because they were the ones to build Kel Dracon in the first place, and the Right Hand didn't want anyone finding out how to get inside once he took up residence."

"So what?" Freyah cut in. "The town is gone, the people living there either captured or killed. They cannot help us."

"When a mason builds something," Libro said, ignoring the Jarla's outburst. "He makes a diagram so he'll never have to build it by memory again. but he needs a place to store it somewhere, and inside something that would last him forever."

Libro looked about the cold, stone room for emphasis before continuing. "I don't know about you, but if I were a mason, I'd make a vault out of stone, put my prized possessions inside it, and bury it in the cold ,hard ground. Where no man nor fire may find it. That begs the question then. Just how long were the raiders in Veil before they finally departed?"

Olaf smiled, his eyes narrowing into two, glimmering slits. "Not for very long, from what I heard. My scouts told me they'd left after finding nothing of value. Why don't you and I make a trip of it together, and see if they were right?"

***