Wrath burned hot within him.  He simply couldn’t believe it; everything that he’d worked for, gone in a matter of a few months.  Ever since that Thunderbird brat appeared, everything had started falling apart.

Hector fumed as he paced about the office of the small castle he’d occupied east of Lake Ontarii, not far from the river that drained the lake into the Straits of Keraunos.  It was built in a heavily-wooded location, but it had never been built for stealth.  His time there would be limited, only long enough for him to receive word from his allies opposed to Leon Raime.

‘And his allies,’ Hector thought with bitter rage, one particular face springing to mind.

It had taken centuries to lay the groundwork for the Thunderer’s rise.  Hector had wanted to take the position himself, but his unfortunate loss against Solomon for the position of Hegemon of the Tiger Tribe prevented him from gaining the support he needed to elect himself.

But Hector had been quite happy with his choice to support the Thunderer—up until recently, anyway.  The Thunderer had been charismatic, loyal, intelligent, and wise.  He’d been driven and devoted to seeing their shared dream become a reality.

And he’d thrown it all away.  Hector simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t had Leon Raime murdered as soon as he arrived on the island.  It would’ve been the safest and fastest road to peace, but the Thunderer had dithered and pissed about, giving the outdated and unneeded Elder Council too much say in the matter.

Because of the Thunderer’s softness for the elders, they were now under the thumb of a tyrant again.  Hector couldn’t stand to be in the same city as any of them and left with those who would follow him as soon as he could.  That only a mere three thousand or so followed him east was just another crushing blow that he had to deal with.

He supposed he ought to feel grateful that even that many fighters had chosen to follow him rather than consign themselves to the whims of a boy who hadn’t even lived through his first century just because he had some shiny lightning, but it still cut deeply that the army he’d spent the past few decades leading—the army largely made up of his kin and kith—abandoned him when he needed it.

Now he was stuck squatting in an old castle most had forgotten about in a strategically unimportant location waiting to see how everyone would play their cards.

‘I can count on the Beast Lord…’ he thought for the thousandth time.  ‘But if the Thunderer goes home, the Bears will follow him.  He’s too strong to go against.  The Spiders will be amenable to me, but they won’t stand alone.  I’ll need the support of my Tribe if I’m to make an alliance…’

He knew that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.  He was just about out of options and could do little more than send a few messages and wait around for whatever was going to happen, to happen.

Hector hated the passivity that was now required of him.  He wanted to return to Stormhollow and tear out Leon Raime’s throat with his teeth.  He wanted to rend the Jaguar to shreds with his bare hands for all the broken promises they’d made each other in their youth.  He wanted to claw out the Thunderer’s eyes for being so blind.

But as it was, he’d already heard rumblings from the few thousand that had joined him in flight from Stormhollow.  Even though not much time had passed, they were concerned that more fighters weren’t joining them.  Already there were rumblings of surrender.

‘It’s like they think killing a King would be easy,’ Hector silently bemoaned.  ’These clawless cubs lack commitment.  Everyone on this shit-stained island lacks commitment!’

He desperately wanted to scream into the air in rage and frustration, and it was only his knowledge that the castle’s wards were old and not working quite right that restrained him.  Setting a bad example for those few who stayed would be a terrible idea.

When a knock came to his door, he almost snapped.  He was buried in his thoughts and pulling him out of them was, in the mood he found himself in, damn near grounds for execution.

Fortunately, the man who interrupted his dark musings brought some, if not good news, then at least cathartic news.

“One of the men was captured trying to leave,” the aide informed Hector once he was admitted into the office.  “The officers are asking what to do with him.”

Hector glared at the aide.  “The rules for desertion are clear.”

The aide looked a little nervous.  “Is that… strictly necessary?” he asked.  “We’re not exactly—”

Hector growled and pushed the aide aside, striding through the door at a near-jog.  “Weak,” he murmured to himself.  “I’m surrounded by weakness.”

He ordered the man accused of desertion brought to the castle’s bailey and as many of his officers to join as could fit.  The castle was small, and the majority of his forces were encamped outside its curtain wall, so not even his entire officer corps could fit in the bailey, let alone the majority of his army.

Once everyone had been duly assembled, Hector coldly, but furiously, took it all in.

More than a hundred officers, all fourth-tier or above, and two of the lower enlisted on either side of the deserter, making sure he wasn’t going to run.

He wouldn’t, Hector knew that.  The deserter was only third-tier.  He appeared quite young, too.

‘Shame,’ Hector thought.  ‘A promising man, brought to an end through his own mistakes…’

He took a deep breath, burying as much of his anger at the situation as he could.  He had to maintain discipline, but he couldn’t let the fighters think he was acting out of wrath.

“I expect much from all of you!” he declared.  “You are my best and most loyal soldiers!  My brothers-in-arms!  To have anyone among you, even those lower on the totem than you desert their post…  It is an unforgivable crime!”

The deserter began whimpering, and Hector had to stifle the urge to have him muzzled.  He’d follow through on the instinct if the boy tried to speak, but thankfully, he’d at least had the presence of mind to keep his mouth shut.

“Wartime demands that we enforce discipline!” Hector continued, his officers looking on stone-faced and serious.  He took that to be a good sign, though he was a little irritated that many seemed to be looking at each other rather than paying attention to him.

A little louder, he added, “We cannot allow the rot of desertion to take place in our army!  For make no mistakes, my friends, we are at war!  With the barbarians, yes, but also with the fools in Stormhollow who wish to see us shackled like slaves to an ancient bloodline, bowing to a usurper and a fraud!  We are the only shield the Ten Tribes have left against such tyranny!

“And that is why it is especially important that deserters are punished!”

Hector began to stride threateningly toward the deserter, whose whimpering became more pronounced.  He opened his mouth to say something but Hector moved quickly, drawing a spear and plunging it into the deserter’s heart before he could so much as take a breath.  The deserter died instantly, whatever words he’d been planning on saying dying on his lips.

“Now, more than ever,” Hector repeated as he pulled his spear back into his soul realm and continued to address the crowd, “we must enforce discipline!  And punish traitors!”

His officers had little reaction to the deserter’s death, giving him just another reason to be irate.  He hadn’t expected roaring applause, but the stony silence he received was equally unexpected.

Regardless, he ordered the two enlisted to clean up the deserter’s bloody corpse and walked back into the castle.  He was done addressing them, and the officers began streaming out of the castle’s main gate.

Hector allowed a faint smile to grace his lips.  He couldn’t do much about Leon Raime or the Jaguar right now, but he could at least maintain discipline in his camp.  That, at least, he had control of…

---

The sword cut through the air barely an inch from Leon’s neck, but he didn’t care.  He’d dodged only as much as he’d needed to, and as the blade passed him, he lunged forward, striking his opponent with a hard jab to the chest.

His opponent gasped in response, so Leon took a step forward, getting behind his opponent’s guard and giving him a body check, sending him crashing to the ground.  For a moment, his opponent looked like he wanted to continue, but as he stared up at Leon, he surrendered.

“You got me, brother,” Anzu said.  “I don’t think I’ll win a fight like this…”

“Don’t think like that,” Leon said with a laugh as he held out his hand for Anzu to take.  The griffin-in-human-form shrugged before taking Leon’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet.  “A few more years to get used to fighting like a human and you’ll be a terror on the battlefield no matter what form you choose to take!”

Anzu sighed and gave his training sword a venomous look.  “I’d rather taste the blood of my enemies,” he darkly stated.  “Tearing out their throats and their hearts with claw and beak are far more satisfying than anything…”

Leon fought the urge to smile.  “That’s quite violent of you…”

Anzu shrugged again.  “If they oppose us, they deserve it.”

That statement gave Leon pause.  “Wait a minute,” he said.  “That’s not—let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here.  Or too full of ourselves or whatever.  I’d rather we not just assume that we’re right and that everyone else is wrong.  Even if they are wrong, there’s nothing inherent about being wrong that demands we respond with violence.”

Anzu frowned.  “We’ve always killed our enemies, brother.  Is that going to change?”

“No,” Leon immediately replied.  “It only depends on who our enemies are.  Someone opposing us doesn’t necessarily make them our enemy, does it?  Look at Iron-Striker, he was opposing us but I managed to persuade him to our side.  And we’re stronger for it.”

Leon smiled proudly.  He’d gotten word just before this training session that Iron-Striker had assumed control over the Bear Tribe and that their army on the border with the Jaguar Tribe was already dispersing and returning home.  It looked like there wasn’t going to be a massive civil war between the Tribes he was now King of after all.  He wasn’t going to have to start his reign off by killing thousands of Tribesmen.

Anzu shrugged a third time.  “Would’ve been easier to kill him,” he muttered.

“He’s a tenth-tier mage,” Leon pointed out.  “One doesn’t simply kill a tenth-tier mage!”

“It would’ve been easy for us, though!” Anzu protested.

“No, and it would’ve made our lives harder!” Leon insisted.  “Killing him would’ve made the whole system unstable and potentially could’ve triggered a war!  This way is better.  Less death and the Tribes are more loyal to me than they might’ve otherwise been.”

Anzu continued frowning.

“Do you disagree?” Leon asked with a smile.

Anzu, in what Leon dearly hoped wasn’t going to turn into a habit, shrugged.

“If you disagree, then prove yourself right,” Leon said as he assumed a defensive posture.  “If your sword arm is so ferocious that you can ignore civilized conventions, then show me that strength!”

Anzu didn’t say another word but charged at Leon with his weapon raised.

Leon ducked under a telegraphed overhead strike and then slid out of the way of the follow-up feint with little more than a flex of his hips.  Anzu pressed, but just because he was giving ground didn’t mean Leon wasn’t in control of the spar.  And, to Leon’s happiness, Anzu wasn’t fighting like he thought he was in any way directing the fight.  Leon supposed it was the dozens of spars they’d had that Leon was using to teach him how to wield a sword.

It was slow going.  Anzu was firmly of the belief that he would only ever fight in griffin form, not human form, but Leon wanted him to have some more diverse skills.  Thus, not only the sword lessons, but he was also teaching Anzu how to use lightning magic.  Griffins weren’t just limited to wind magic, after all, and had some natural affinity for lightning.

Not that that was going anywhere, but Leon wasn’t going to let Anzu’s lack of enthusiasm stop him from trying to round out the griffin’s skills.  Unfortunately, he was taking to the lessons on lightning magic about as well as he was to those on swordplay.

While inundating the surroundings with his magic senses, Leon noticed Gaius enter the training room.  Leon and Anzu had been training with most of the rest of the retinue, save for Alcander and Alix who were supervising the addition of hundreds of Tribesmen into the Tempest Knights, while Gaius had been out acting essentially as Leon’s secretary.

Not that Leon would ever call the man that.  But he was a noble and used to fielding petitions from civilians, so Leon put him in charge of his schedule.

So, seeing the serious look on Gaius’ face, Leon switched gears, easily dodging out of the way of a strike that Anzu overcommitted to and swept his feet out from under him.

“Good try, little brother,” Leon said with a wry smile.

Anzu grumbled as he returned to his feet, and Gaius walked over.

“Leon,” the former nobleman said.

“Gaius.  What’s the word?”

Gaius’ stern demeanor cracked for a moment to reveal a smile of anticipation.  “We’ve found Hector.”

---

“All right,” Leon said to the assembled Inquisitors who had waited for him in one of his temporary palace’s meeting rooms, led by Linda, “where is he?”

“About four thousand miles east,” Linda said as she indicated a map already laid out on the meeting room table.  “In a fort close to the Eastvein River.”  The castle was already marked.

“That’s great,” Leon stated.  “Do we know what he’s been doing for the past few weeks?”

“He’s sent out a few messages,” Linda replied, “but he hasn’t moved at all since his arrival—or so my intel indicates.”

“What’s the source of this intel?” Leon asked.

“I’ve had boots on the ground for the past two days so that I could confirm the report,” Linda explained.  “We were tipped off by a defector from his army.”

“A defector?  Three thousand of his most loyal men and women who abandoned Iron-Striker and Stormhollow for him, and they conveniently start defecting before even a month has passed?”  Leon cocked an eyebrow and gave Linda a doubting look.

“I understand, Leon,” she replied without missing a beat.  “There have been multiple defectors, and all have confirmed the first’s reports.”

“Multiple?”

“The first was nearly a week ago.  He was caught and publicly executed by Hector.  More have followed since.”

Leon softly snorted.  “Was he trying to prevent further defections with that execution?  Looks like he only encouraged more…”

“He’s caught a few more,” Linda continued.  “Their heads have been put on spikes on the castle’s outer wall.”

“How many soldiers does he still have?”

“Half his original number.”

Leon’s other eyebrow shot upwards.  “Half?  Fifteen hundred of his people have deserted in less than a week?  What the hells has he been doing?!”

“Fuckin’ their wives in front of ‘em or somethin’,” one of the Inquisitors quipped with a crude smile.  He immediately straightened up when Linda gave him a withering glare.  “‘Pologies, Your Kingliness…”

Leon chuckled and fought the urge to correct him to using his name instead of his style.

“The news that the Thu—that Iron-Striker,” Linda explained, her face stoic despite her slip of the tongue, “has taken control over the Bear Tribe has likely reached them.  Their only hope now lies in Hector receiving more aid from his Tribe, or from the Spiders.”

“And?  Do you think him likely to receive help from either?”

“I have no reason to believe that he will.  Hegemon Solomon is in Raiden maintaining his grip on power within the Tiger Tribe.  The Spiders have holed up in their home, receiving messages but not sending many.  It’s taken a great deal of effort for even me to learn that they are still debating amongst themselves whether or not to accept you.  They have not yet reached a consensus.”

“Then we move before either of these things can change,” Leon declared.  “Gaius!”

The man in question practically snapped to attention.  “Leon!”

“Tell Alcander that the Tempest Knights will be launching their first mission as soon as possible!”

Gaius nodded.

“I also want the other Tribes to commit two hundred and fifty extra warriors to help in dealing with Hector!  We’re going to end this rebellion of his before he has a chance to turn his luck around!”

Gaius nodded again, and when it became clear that Leon was done with giving him orders, he ducked out of the room to deliver those messages.

Leon turned his attention back to the map and glared at the castle Hector had occupied.  It wasn’t large, barely enough for a garrison of a hundred, let alone fifteen times that number.  Still, it was a fortified location, and that might make it difficult to take.

A smile spread across his face, though.  The Tempest Knights had been training on the MALLs he’d brought, and he looked forward to seeing how well they operated the weapons.  He might even see if the Ravens or whoever else might be able to bring an ark or two.

Regardless, he wasn’t going to give Hector any offer of surrender.  His forces, Leon might extend mercy to.  But Hector himself?  Not a chance.  Leon had effectively forgiven the Bears now that Iron-Striker was in charge.  He was liberal with mercy where it was required, but in this case, he felt he had to make it known that he wasn’t soft.

Hector was going to die.

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