There was a knock on the door. Gard looked up from his desk, hand lifting to remove his spectacles.

  “Come in.”

  Lucette entered, a stack of ledgers balanced neatly in her arms.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “The Chapter-Master has returned,” she said.

  Gard’s brows lifted. “Already? Are you sure?”

  The woman gave him a flat look.

  He raised a hand. “No—apologies. Stupid question. I’ve just had… a strange night.”

  “I see.” Lucette didn’t comment further. She turned on her heel and left as briskly as she’d come.

  The door closed behind her, and Gard quickly began sorting the papers on his desk, sweeping stray sheets into ordered piles before opening a drawer. From within, he drew out the Veil letter, placing it squarely on the wood before rising. Straightening his collar and cuffs, he moved across the office, but he could already hear the heavy steps resounding down the hall.

  They stopped outside the door, which opened without a knock.

  Vanded Blazegrip filled the threshold. His presence was the kind that never needed announcing. His storm-gray coat hung half-open, revealing the dark gleam of sigilplate beneath, his broad frame blotting out the hall light. One scar hooked across his cheekbone and cut upward into a tangled, semi-braided mane of coarse white hair.

  “Gard!” he barked, a grin breaking wide across his weather-bitten face. His steel-bright eyes narrowed with amusement. “I trust you’ve kept the Table in good hands while I’ve been gone?”

  Gard offered a tight nod. The man’s sheer vitality was always exhausting to be near. “Chapter-Master. Good to see you returned in one piece.”

  “Always. Better to put the pieces back in order before coming home, don’t you think? Unlike poor Asten Graycloak. Came home headfirst. Just the head.” His grin twisted wryly as he stepped farther inside, boots thudding against the floor. Gard tried not to think about the trail of mud they left behind.

  “I’m sure,” Gard muttered, moving to close the door as Vanded strode deeper into the office.

  “Things are looking calm here,” the Chapter-Master remarked, glancing around.

  “That is how they look, yes.” Gard passed him on the way back to the desk. “Which makes me wonder why you’ve returned so early in the day. I thought you’d be back tonight at the earliest, or tomorrow.”

  They had only received the Ashmark informing them of their return a few days ago, and at that time, the expedition had still been east of Karthvale.

  Vanded laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. “That was the plan. But last night I got a craving for pickled marrowboar at the Chalice, and once that thought got in my head—well, I made the lot of us march through the night like the Iron Hounds of Farrald Vale. And here we are! Best marrowboar I’ve had in years, I tell you.”

  Gard shook his head, half in disbelief. He pitied the other Chapter members part of the expedition, though they were the ones who had volunteered to join the Chapter-Master. Still, of all the times for an early arrival, this was a good one.

  “So,” Vanded said, folding his thick arms across his chest. “What have I missed?”

  “Had you arrived yesterday, I would have said very little.”

  “Hoh? Then it seems I chose the right day.” He chuckled deeply. “A bit of excitement on one’s return is never wasted.”

  Gard reached for the Veil letter. “I’m afraid this may be the wrong kind of excitement.”

  He handed it over. Vanded studied him, then looked down at the letter. He pressed a calloused thumb against the wax seal and the glyphwork burned into its face. His eyes sharpened as the markings flared faintly in confirmation of the temper. Breaking the already scored seal, he read quickly through the contents Gard had penned.

  A heavy frown gathered across his bushy brow. “Can this be trusted?”

  “I have reason to believe so,” Gard said.

  “Who sent it? I don’t know any other Tenth Binding Channelers in Marrowfen.”

  “I can’t share their identity.”

  Vanded looked up at him. His mouth narrowed, but he only slid the letter into his coat and turned toward the door. “Come. We’re heading out.”

  Gard blinked. “To where?” he asked, hurrying after him. The Chapter-Master was already halfway across the office in only a few strides.

  “The Pale Hall,” Vanded said simply.

  “T-This is highly inappropriate. I must ask that you leave at once and cease this pointless intrusion!” the flustered attendant sputtered as Vanded ignored him entirely and walked toward the Concord’s Assembly Chamber. Gard followed with as neutral an expression he could maintain, keeping his sighs and exasperation bottled inside.

  He knew better than to be surprised. Of course, the first thing the Chapter-Master would do upon returning was make a scene with the Concord in their own hall.

  An entourage of guards and attendants trailed after them, faces taut with unease, hands hovering near weapons. But none dared place themselves in Vanded’s path as he pushed forward through the bone-white corridors of the Boneward Concord’s official headquarters. Gard couldn’t blame them. Only two of the guards looked to be Kindled, and barely at that. It would be folly bordering on suicide to bar the way of Marrowfen’s only Tenth Binding. Especially when Vanded was infamous for his disregard.

  The Concord would settle accounts with him afterward, and at that point, it would always be through Gard, not through the Chapter-Master himself.

  They came to a halt before a great set of bone-carved doors, polished to a sheen of pale white and gray, inlaid with reliefs of legends and battles from the early days of the city. Two guards stood before them, spears resting on the ground. Unlike the others, these men’s faces showed no trace of nerves even as Vanded stared them down.

  Gard was familiar with these two. Both of the Seventh Binding, they were veterans among the Concord’s watch. While they posed no real threat to the Chapter-Master, Gard had always respected their resolve.

  “The Concord is in emergency council,” one of them said, meeting Vanded’s gaze.

  “We cannot let you enter until they have concluded, Chapter-Master Blazegrip,” the other added.

  Vanded crossed his arms, a threatening aura emanating from him. “Is Vaust inside?”

  “The High Warden is present, yes.”

  “I need to speak with him.”

  “Then you will wait.”

  “How long?”

  “As long as necessary.”

  For a moment the air thickened as Vanded’s eyes narrowed on them. Gard tensed—but only slightly—and hid the flicker of relief when Vanded’s shoulders loosened and he shifted into a posture that, while still imposing, carried less threat. With a grunt, he stepped back and moved to lean against the wall a few paces away.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Gard joined him, ignoring the awkward cluster of attendants and guards left milling uncertainly in the corridor.

  A ripple shimmered through the air around Gard, like heat haze. Resonance flared briefly before vanishing.

  Gard turned his head to see Vanded lowering his hand, the faint sigils of Mark of the Unheard Word fading away.

  “…Don’t give me that look,” the man muttered casually, cracking his neck. “I had two duels last night with Rungren and Selka both this morning. Won’t be half a day yet before I’m itching for another, so you’re wasting your worry.”

  “Am I?” Gard asked dryly.

  Vanded was silent for a beat, then chuckled as he shrugged. “Well, probably. But they said Rothgar the Emberhand kept his blood young past nine decades by taking three duels a day. No sense letting the fire cool.”

  “Old legends and half-drunken tavern boasts are hardly a regimen worth modeling your life upon.”

  The Chapter-Master only clapped a heavy hand on Gard’s shoulder. “This is why you’re still so small, Gard. You ought to heed the wisdom of those titans who came before you.”

  Gard shook his head, turning back toward the doors. “…Are you certain about bringing this straight to the High Warden so soon? I had intended to speak with him myself, but given the seriousness of the situation, wouldn’t it be better to wait? To first ensure he isn’t entangled in what’s happening?”

  “Bah. Nonsense.” Vanded waved the concern away. “I’ve known Vaust since we were less than Kindlings. I’d stake my Marks he isn’t involved in this mess. If you wait too long to ask for help, by the time you do, the only thing left to answer is the fire. There are few in Marrowfen better suited to offer that help than him.”

  Gard was quiet for several seconds, then lowered his head. “Very well.” He glanced back. “How were things in the east during the expedition? Is the Covenant still holding against the tribulation?”

  The Chapter-Master’s expression hardened. “They are, mostly. But the Chapters helping aren’t as united as they were during the Echo Sieges, and the Covenant’s struggling to keep the dominions roused and together. The Silence isn’t the same kind of foe as before. It’s tearing at the seams of the alliances.” He nodded toward the chamber doors. “Not that we’re in any place to preach, with the Concord refusing to send proper aid. Even I got sick of fighting the Unraveled before we left. Wasn’t there when Gloamhaven fell, but I saw the aftermath. It’s a nasty one this time.”

  Gard’s face tightened. He’d lived in Gloamhaven for three years in his youth. Hearing about its fall had pained him. He was glad that he hadn’t witnessed it himself, but also ashamed at his relief.

  “Marrowfen’ll be pulled in by year’s end whether they like it or not,” Vanded continued grimly. “No skirting it. That’s why we can’t let petty local rots like this one fester. Best to tear it out by the roots, same as Olric the Black with the Emberbound Traitors, before it poisons the whole field.”

  Gard studied him. “…I somehow doubt the Concord will change their stance simply because you’ve returned. Half of them hate you.”

  Vanded smiled thinly, his knuckles tightening with a crack. “Olric had a solution for that, too.”

  Gard suppressed a shiver. Vanded had made similar threats in jest before, but this time, the weight behind his words felt uncomfortably real.

  A few minutes of silence passed as they waited, and Gard’s thoughts began to drift.

  “…Chapter-Master,” he said after some time. “Is it true most of the Marked Ones haven’t taken part in this tribulation?”

  Vanded looked at him, brow furrowing. “Huh? That rumor’s reached even here?”

  “Are they only rumors?”

  The larger man considered him for a moment, then turned his gaze forward. “You’re worrying over nothing, Gard. The dominions aren’t standing on the back of a few ‘Marked Ones’ alone. And don’t forget—they’re still folk. Bleed and burn, most of them hit the Tenth same year I did.”

  “But they didn’t stop there,” Gard pointed out.

  Vanded fell silent, then let out a sharp huff of amusement through his nose. “Suppose so. But even monsters are still folk at the end of the day.”

  “That is… debatable. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “I don’t know the answer. I fought beside Wakeshade in Halveth, saw the Flamebearer burn half a siegehost in Belras, and Halstrad was meant to be holding in Darnelle. That’s near half of them accounted for at least.”

  “I take it that means you’re unsure about the rest.”

  The man grunted. “Doubt they’re dead. And it’d be even more surprising if they just up and vanished into thin air. I’d say they’re likely moving somewhere out there where we can’t see.”

  “Do you think that includes the Ashborn Ascendant?” Gard asked.

  Vanded’s eyes shifted to him. “Mournvale?” A slight frown creased his brow. “…Hard to say with that one specifically. She always danced to her own tune. And after the Crucible…” His gaze lingered on Gard before turning forward again. “…If there is one of them we don’t see again, it’s probably her.”

  A flicker of confusion rose on Gard’s face. “What—”

  The sound of heavy doors opening and closing cut him short.

  His head turned toward the Assembly Chamber entrance. Three faces had exited. Sancter Vehl, clad in long slate-gray vestments; Envoy Virehall in layered green silks; and Trade Voice Mercer Brel Tannot wrapped in brocade and rings enough to shame a jeweler’s coffer. Three influential members of the Boneward Concord, flanked by personal guards.

  All three noted Vanded and Gard waiting. Vehl’s lips pressed into a thin line, Virehall’s brow furrowed, and Tannot merely sniffed. None addressed them, passing down the hall in silence.

  The shimmer around Gard disappeared as Vanded dismissed his Mark. The man stepped toward the doors, but the guards crossed their spears.

  Vanded looked down at them. “The meeting’s over.”

  “The High Warden will meet you if he chooses to,” one of the guards said.

  A sudden pressure of Resonance bled into the air, faint but undeniable. Gard saw both guards stiffen as they braced against it. Vanded hadn’t moved a muscle, but the suggestion of what he’d do if they kept refusing him was more than clear.

  Before the tension sharpened further, the bone-carved doors swung inward, offering a view of the corridor beyond.

  A man stepped out, nearly Vanded’s equal in size, though broader across the shoulders, with a bulk that seemed born less of battlefield campaigns and monster hunts than of deliberate cultivation.

  Mereon Talse, the Bonewright Guildmaster.

  His pale hair was cropped short, catching the light at harsh angles, and his voluminous robes were stitched with heavy white-threaded sigils. His eyes—dark, flat, and assessing—moved over the guards before landing on Vanded and Gard.

  “Ah,” he said, almost idly, as though remarking on children who’d tracked mud across the hall. “Blazegrip. I should have guessed you’d be the cause of the ruckus. You do love arriving with thunder in your boots.”

  Vanded’s grin returned, broad and seemingly unbothered. “Better thunder than silence, Talse. People should know when one appears.”

  “True enough. A brute’s entrance leaves little space for subtlety.” Mereon’s tone was cool, sharpened at the edges but not heated. Despite his appearance he had barely any Bindings to his name, yet half of the city’s guilds bent beneath his weight.

  His gaze flicked briefly to Gard, considering him for a heartbeat before dismissing him.

  Of all the Concord members Gard was suspicious of, Mereon Talse was at the top of his list.

  Vanded chuckled low in his chest. “The blunt end’s what history remembers, Talse. Ask any of the Stone Kings what cracked their crowns.”

  Gard glanced at him sidelong. For all the Chapter-Master’s noise and seeming recklessness, the word ‘brute’ was one that fit few men less. Vanded Blazegrip was perhaps the most well-read man Gard had ever met, though it rarely showed outside the battlefield or his incessant habit of quoting half-forgotten myths and figures.

  Mereon seemed unconvinced. His lips tugged into something near a smile to mirror Vanded’s grin. “History also remembers those crowns long after the hammer’s shattered. Their echo lasts longer than the blow, and there’s very little that cannot be restored.”

  Vanded’s shoulders rose in a shrug and fell again. “Then I’ll leave you your echoes. My business is with Vaust. So move aside.”

  The guards’ grips on their spears tightened. Gard observed them closely. He got the strange sense that they weren’t simply wary of Vanded’s presence. It almost seemed as if they were waiting for Mereon’s word.

  Mereon blinked once, slow and deliberate, in a gesture that dismissed more than words could. “The High Warden’s time is not yours to claim. If you have business with him, it passes first through the Concord, or through his office. This is the Pale Hall. You cannot batter your way through it with your name alone, Blazegrip.” His head tilted, voice cooling further. “Unless you prefer forcing the matter. In which case, I wonder how long before your boots leave scuffs even you cannot clean.”

  Gard narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t Mereon’s usual measured disdain. It set Gard’s instincts on high alert. His gut told him that the man was intentionally trying to provoke, and Mereon Talse was not one for pointless posturing.

  Gard couldn’t be sure, but perhaps the worst thing Vanded could do now was to rise to it.

  He braced himself, ready to intervene, when Vanded suddenly laughed. The sound echoed off the walls, turning heads and setting every individual in range on edge. It went on several beats too long before it finally ebbed.

  He looked at Mereon, grin still carved across his face. “Vaust isn’t in there, is he? Nor Elra. Nor Scarn.”

  Gard’s eyes widened.

  Something flickered across Mereon’s face—the barest twitch at the corner of his eye. “…As ever, you spin your own little fantasies.”

  He snapped his fingers. The doors sealed shut behind him, and without another glance, he strode past them down the hall. “Force your way in if you like, Blazegrip. But the weight of disrespecting the Concord’s sanctum is something even you would have to contend with.”

  He disappeared down a corner, and only once his footsteps receded did the guards ease by half a measure, though their eyes never left Vanded.

  For a long moment, the Chapter-Master didn’t move, smile still fixed in place. Then he cut a glance at Gard.

  Gard met it, and he understood the man’s quiet intent.

  This wasn’t the time.

  Vanded exhaled through his nose and rolled his shoulders as though sloughing off the earlier interaction’s weight. Then, without another word, he turned, boots striking stone with their usual force as he strode back the way they had come.

  Gard lingered for another second, eyes on the guards and the sealed doors. Only yesterday, he’d spoken with the High Warden face-to-face without issue. For the situation to have shifted so suddenly, only one recent event came to mind as the cause. But the speed of it unsettled him the most.

  He drew a slow breath and followed Vanded, keeping his thoughts locked tight behind a neutral mask.

  It seemed Marrowfen was much worse off than he had feared.