Lamashan 9, 4712 (late afternoon, Path of Aganhei in the Hoarwell March)

The silver dragon returned today. It flew in from the east directly overhead, and then spiraled down towards our caravan. This was another one of those tense moments that had me second-guessing myself: Are those scales silver or are they white? It got close—uncomfortably close—and then called out to us. “Ho! Caravan! Ice trolls ahead of you!” Several of us shouted gratitudes in some form or another in response, and it flew off.

Silver dragons are known for taking a protective role around humanity. Actually dealing with the ice trolls directly would have been better, but that is probably a bit too much to expect. It is not it’s job, and I think the species in general takes the same philosophy as parents when looking after children: it is important to learn to fight your own battles. A little nudging here and there is fine, but intervening directly makes you soft and dependent. I admit I have mixed feelings about this approach to pedotrophy, though, probably because mom’s definition of “a little nudging” differed significantly from the norm: she left the hen house open to the fox and the extent of her guidance was “figure it out”.

Sandru stopped the caravan so that we could work out a plan and the first thing we did was consult with Ulf. “Ice trolls are smaller and weaker than regular trolls, but they are adapted to the cold. And, they’re smarter.”

Of course that is a relative term. It’s not difficult to be smarter than a troll, but he didn’t mean for it to be a backhanded compliment: ice trolls really are cunning, or at least cunning enough, and have been known to create skillful ambushes. We could very easily have stumbled into one if the dragon hadn’t warned us. We needed to know what we were walking into.

I asked Nihali to scout ahead and see what she could learn. This earned me a number of stares. Every time I send her out or involve her in our activities I get questioned about her safety and my apparent disregard for it. I never know what to say to this.

Etayne treats Ling like he is made of glass, and I get it. Much of that is simply the reality of being a witch, but on top of that she has her reasons—very personal reasons—and I don’t question that. But it seems everyone has the same expectation of me, and that is just not how it is. I am sorry to disappoint you. My relationship with Nihali is no less important to me, but what I need from her is not the same as what Etayne needs from Ling.

Whatever their opinion, no one argued with the results. Nihali returned in short order with the rough location of the ice trolls’ camp, and we dealt with them.

Were they as smart as Ulf suggested? More or less. They attempted a respectable, albeit unoriginal, ruse that certainly caught our attention. Their only mistakes were assuming that we didn’t speak giant and wouldn’t recognize flanking maneuvers. In all fairness, I suspect few would pass the first test, and though the second was fairly obvious, if you were close enough to see it you were probably in trouble, anyway. Unless, of course, you were equipped and prepared as we were.

I would never say this to the others, but this skirmish nags at me. It was the first time we have gone out of our way to engage—to kill—creatures native to this part of the world. Logically, I understand that they are a menace, dangerous not just to us but to everyone who lives here, and we saw enough human bones in their camp to reinforce that point, but there’s this fine line between preemptive and aggressive. On which side did we just fall?

Lamashan 11, 4712 (evening, Path of Aganhei in the Hoarwell March)

Snow has been falling steadily since late this morning. This would be lovely if it weren’t for the winds. By mid-afternoon heavy white flakes were blowing all around us making it difficult to even see the road much less make any progress on it. Until they died back it wasn’t possible to tell if the snow we were seeing was newly falling or merely being relocated from points north.

“Died back” is not the same as “stopped entirely”, however, and drifts have started to form on the windward side of the wagons that mark the perimeter of our camp. We’re going to have to dig out in the morning before we can get moving, and that’s assuming we’ll be able to move at all.

I’m not exactly a stranger to snow or even blizzards, but such things are rare occurrences along the Lost Coast and I’ve never been in snowstorms as intense and heavy as this. Growing up we’d get at most an inch or two here and there, and maybe one big snowfall every few years. It was fun as a kid but it’s less so when you can’t just go inside to get out of it. The campfires created from the beads are helping to keep us dry, and our spells and enchanted items are keeping everyone warm, but these things do not keep the wind from whipping the canvas of our tents and the covered wagon, nor do they keep the snow out of our face and hair. The latter in particular makes guard duty particularly unpleasant. I predict a long, damp, and restless night.

Lamashan 13, 4712 (evening, Path of Aganhei in the Hoarwell March)

The storm has been our faithful companion for three days now. Only a few inches of snow seems to be falling overall, but the winds have been a constant presence whipping up to blizzard and whiteout conditions for hours at a time. Yesterday it took us much of the morning to dig out and de-ice, and I doubt we traveled more than a dozen miles afterwards.

Today, we didn’t even try to move. The drifts were several feet high, nearly burying the supply wagons, and the wind was gusting heavily. We’d get one wagon cleared, but in the time it took to do another the first would be inundated with more snow and ice. It wasn’t worth wasting our energy on a pointless activity. We have opted to wait it out until morning and see if the weather improves.

I suspect this is just a taste of what is in store for us in the coming months.

Lamashan 14, 4712 (morning, Path of Aganhei in the Hoarwell March)

The storm finally broke over night. After days of gusting winds the air around us is eerily still and silent. We are surrounded by an ocean of snow, with drifts like waves stuck in time. We are supposed to turn off of the Path of Aganhei today and head for the village of Iqaliat but I don’t know how we will be able to see the road we are currently on, much less the next.

Skygni dropped in on us as we were de-icing the wagons in preparation for leaving camp. We asked in passing what he thought of the storm. “Get used to it,” was his reply. I thought that pretty much spoke for itself, but he had more to add. “It’s not common to see this so early in the year, but we’ll get more of it as we head north.”

So that is something to look forward to.

Lamashan 17, 4712 (morning, Hoarwell March)

We can finally see it clearly in the distance: the cliffs that form the edge of the arctic plateau. The High Ice. After two months of travel we are nearly there.

Ulf says we will make Iqaliat by noon. I asked him what we should expect.

“They are mostly a nomadic people. The main caravan route bypassed their village, and they are generally suspicious of outsiders.” He paused and then said, “They have their own ways.”

I interpreted that to mean we would not exactly become close friends during our stay. Ulf concurred. “Don’t expect them to be friendly until they get to know you, and you them.” He pulled out a strange talisman that looked like it was made of remorhaz scales. “This was a gift from their hearth mistress. It’s a token of friendship between me and their tribe.” Which meant he would do most of the talking.

Why make the stop at all, given the cold (ha!) reception we are likely to receive? Because they can tell us what the conditions are like on the Ice. If we ask the same question in Unaimo—which is the last village along the main caravan route on this side—they will in all likelihood (and rather sensibly, I might add) just tell us not to go and leave it at that. Unfortunately, this is not one of our options. We need information, not a nanny, so Iqaliat it is.

(Afternoon, Iqaliat)

There are basically two decent people in this entire village: the hearthmistress, Sonavut, and the chief. Two gods-be-damned people in a village of over one hundred, and truth be told? I think the chief is just being polite. What is wrong with these people?

That’s a rhetorical question. What’s wrong with them begins with, “what is wrong with their shaman, Tunuak?” He is an old, bitter, angry man. Every misfortune is a punishment sent by the gods for some transgression; every penance requires some form of sacrifice (the barbaric variety where you kill some hapless animal and let it go to waste). All his solutions involve returning to the “old ways” and spilling blood.

The Erutaki worship elemental spirits, and if Radella and I are right they believe these spirits control the seasons and the weather. Please the spirits and you are rewarded with sunny skies and a balmy subzero day. Anger them and they park a storm over your head. Or worse.

They are currently dealing with “worse”. In the past four months, a white dragon has raided their village three times, flying nearly 60 miles one way to do it.

Their shaman tried to use us as scapegoats. We stepped out of Sonavut’s home and into a lynching. “It is as I told you,” he cried out to the crowd of villagers that had gathered around him. “We need a grand sacrifice! One of the outsiders must be killed!”

It was almost as if we weren’t welcome here.

He was whipping the villagers into a frenzy, and was not above using a little magic to improve his delivery. Well, sir, two can play at that game. I had prepared for the possibility that we would need similar help ourselves, so when Olmas stepped up to try and reason with the people and their chief, I figured there was no better time than the present. The shaman then tried to bully us with veiled threats, but Sparna would have none of that. Finally, he resorted to the time-honored tradition of outright lies, and that’s when Qatana joined the fray.

In the end it was something of a draw. “We are not going to sacrifice anyone,” the chief said, which sounded pretty good, but then she turned to us and added, “You may stay the night, but you must leave the village in the morning.” Hardly a ringing endorsement. As for the shaman? He expected his performance to end with, I don’t know, a public beheading or something. When it didn’t, he stormed off in anger.

I wanted to leave this village to rot and its wounds to fester right then, especially given the welcoming party, but two things have turned their problems into our problems.

The first came from the hearth mistress. The usual caravan route is completely blocked by what she called the morozokus. “They are terrible storms that come down from the north, from the center of the High Ice.” It’s been an unusual year. Not only is this not their normal season, but they are traveling farther and farther south, and are fiercer than ever.

If that sounds a little like she thought of them as being alive, I had the same question. “The old gods of the wind oversee the mighty storms. Our shaman has been chastising our people for not doing the normal homage to them.” More elemental spirit mumbo-jumbo. Regardless of the reason, though, the result is the same: the caravan route is blocked by the storms, and that leaves only the alternate route—the passage north that Ulf spoke of. The problem is that this northern route will take us near the dragon’s lair.

Of course, we could just take our chances on that: three attacks in four months sounds like pretty good odds for just passing through. But there’s that second thing I mentioned.

It came from Radella, who had the wisdom (and the skill) to follow our shaman friend after he left his impromptu town hall meeting. With a little help from some invisibility, courtesy of yours truly, she was able to tail him all the way to his secret lair hidden in the cliffs above the village. No, really. That is actually a thing.

Tunuak has been a busy man, and we’re pretty sure no one else in the village knows what he’s up to. We’re certain they don’t know he’s been creating or controlling undead. This little but of news was enough to grab our full attention, and even Ulf had something to add after Radella described what she saw. “They say the souls of those who die from the freezing cold come back as frost spirits.”

Qatana and I looked at each other and I could see the look of grim resolve and determination on her face. She started in Pharasma’s church before…well, before. Unlife is the very antithesis of Pharasma’s domain. Willing souls use it to cheat death and avoid her judgement. Unwilling souls are ripped from her grasp. Qatana may no longer be part of that faith, but her views on this particular matter haven’t changed. If the shaman is using this brand of necromancy then he is up to no good, and we are getting involved.

I admit I am concerned, though. They insist on doing this today…on doing it now. I don’t have the right spells for this. I am going in unprepared.

(afternoon, cliffs above Iqaliat)

He smashed the eggs. The bastard smashed her eggs.

OK, I don’t have proof of that, but something tells me those eggshell fragments are not some  grand coincidence, and he wasn’t trying to hatch a dragon of his own. And if I am right…

Gods! What if I am right? What if this is exactly what it appears to be? She’d just be defending her nest. Can we blame her? Should we be surprised if she blamed the village for this crime? They don’t all deserve to be punished for what happened, but isn’t this her nature? If we kill her, are we any better? Are we even doing the right thing?

Gods, I feel sick.

Can we do this? Should we do this?

Arodus 18, 4712 (evening, Kalsgard)

Today we confirmed that Kimandatsu killed Silverskorr. Qatana used a spell to speak with the dead, and the ogre mage’s eyes opened and stared blankly into the distance. The whole thing was a macabre puppet show. Her eyes and mouth twitched as she spoke, and we saw unnatural flashes of her tongue as she answered Qatana’s questions in a rasping, lifeless voice.

This is what our lives have become.

I sent word to Lute in case it would help. Not that it was proof he could use, but at least he could make the claim with confidence.

On the way over, I also stopped to send a letter home, and to hire a solicitor to deliver a small package to Helva. I am sure she’ll appreciate the contents. I have had enough of Kimandatsu, Snorri Stone-Eye, and the Rimerunners Guild, and right now I just want to watch it all burn. Part of me wishes we could witness the fallout from Lute’s little meeting with the Crown, but of course it would be foolish to stay here too long. It is just a matter of time before the Five Storms figure out what happened and come looking for answers. We need to disappear long before that.

The Five Storms. Who comes up with these names? That is what Ameiko, and by extension, we, are up against. Apparently the divine right to rule is taken fairly literally over there. From what we could piece together from Kimandatsu’s answers and Suishen, they were responsible for a widespread, and highly successful, assassination campaign against the five royal families of Minkai. Ameiko’s grandfather had the foresight to see what was unfolding around him, and got his family out before the oni caught up to them.

Whatever puppet government rules there now is apparently unpopular, and more importantly, suspected to be illegitimate. The return of an Amatatsu, someone with that divine right to rule, could serve as a catalyst for a genuine uprising. We just need to get her there.

We’re going to make the crossing now, at the worst possible time. The idea is, if we wait until the right season, we’ll probably not live to see it. If we leave now, on what looks like a suicide journey across the Crown in the dead of winter, and take our time doing it, it will look like we ran off in a panic and died in the attempt. The trick will be surviving our own cleverness.

Arodus 21, 4712 (evening, Kalsgard)

Ameiko joined me at the Shrine again today. She has been playing her samisen while I practice with Shiro. Which is actually kind of amazing. Dancing to her music is very inspiriting and also kind of nostalgic. It recaptures some of the feelings I had when we were growing up.

We had a long talk on the way back to the caravan.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when you swung a weapon. I mean, really swung one.”

“I prefer the dance. And I know. Please don’t remind me.”

She grinned at me. “Maybe I should have tried music back then.”

When the bullying turned violent—genuinely violent—Ameiko didn’t teach me to fight: she taught me to avoid fights. How to be alert for trouble; how to get away if I was cornered. It worked most of the time. When it didn’t, she was usually there with a potion lifted from her dad’s storeroom.

“I’m glad we did it the way that we did,” I said.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

We walked in silence for a bit and I could tell she had something on her mind. She gets this faraway look when she is deep in thought. I decided not to press her on it. She’d tell me, or not. You didn’t force things with Ameiko.

After a couple of blocks like this, she finally said, “When we left Riddleport, I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t know if I could do this.”

I smiled. “Tell me about it.”

“No, not the trip, Kali. The whole thing! The ‘ruler of my empire’ part. At first I didn’t even want to say the words.”

What do you say to that? There were no secrets like this in my family. No one was hiding their past from anyone. I had no idea what she was going through. Fortunately, she saved me from having to come up with some kind of a response.

“But, and this is what’s strange, as we get closer and closer to it, I actually feel like…I don’t know. Like, it’s what I am supposed to do. It’s just gradually feeling more…normal. More right.”

This actually took me aback. The first time Olmas had a conversation with her about her role and importance, I thought she was going to lose it. Like, it might actually come to blows. Even Suishen had stopped baiting her on the topic, and baiting people is all Suishen seems to do.

“This is a long way from almost punching the last person who called you ‘princess’,” I said.

She grinned at that. “Yeah. I guess I have just grown more accustomed to it. Still, it won’t be like the old days, will it?”

“That’s an understatement if ever I have heard one.”

“Do you think they’d let me sneak off for an adventure, or a night of singing in a tavern?” She gave me a wry smile, but I knew she was only half-joking. I played along, anyway.

“Oh, Gods, can you imagine? You’d put the entire country in a panic! I don’t know what would be worse, you disappearing, or them finding their empress in a common tavern.”

We had a good laugh over this, imagining the possibilities. Then the laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. I looked over to her and saw that her face had gone completely pale. She looked nauseas.

“Ameiko? Are you OK?”

“I almost ruined everything.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Genius that I am.

“I really screwed up, Kali,” she said, in a shaky, faint voice. There as a small park up ahead and I steered us over to a bench as she spoke. “I just wanted to get out to the Jade Quarter, you know? To learn some more about…” Her voice trailed off.

She sat down on the large, wooden bench. It was probably sized right for an Ulfen, but for us it was big and uncomfortable. But it was a place to sit.

“I even disguised myself, you know? I am still pretty good at that. And I thought I had done really well and could just…blend in. Not be noticed. Like I used to do. And instead…” Her voice broke then. “I am so sorry, Kali. You all are doing this for me, and I almost wrecked everything!”

She buried her face in her hands. I put an arm around her and she leaned into me. We sat there for I don’t know how long. A few minutes, I think. I knew better than to say “it’s OK” because, well, because it wasn’t OK, and she knew it, and patronizing her wasn’t going to help. But neither would lecturing.

I finally worked up the courage to say something.

“Ameiko, when we raided Ravenscraeg, we went in there without any protection against poison. None. I mean, that very morning before we left, they put that arrow into the side of the wagon, and it was coated with the most expensive, most exotic, most deadly poison known to man. You would think we would have gotten the message.”

Ameiko looked up at me, her face red and a little puffy, and said, “This is not making me feel better, Kali.”

I ignored her and went on. “The point is, we all made mistakes. Mistakes that could have gotten us killed. Ours almost got Olmas killed. No one blames you. I don’t blame you. We all ended up in over our heads.”

She thought about this and I watched a tiny smile appear at the very corner of her lips. “That was pretty stupid of you all.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said. “Anyone who wants to give you a hard time over this needs to look in a mirror first. And, they’ll have to go through me, too.”

Her smile became a tiny snort. “Gods, Kali, I can go through you.”

“Me and Qatana, then.”

I got her to laugh, which was a good sign, I think.

Her voice was steadier now. “Let’s get back.”

Arodus 26, 4712 (night, Turvik)

We had a going away party for Etayne tonight. Is that the right word? Party? It didn’t feel like a celebration. Or rather, it did until it didn’t. I guess it just really hit me, right then and there, that she was leaving. I got up to get another drink, but instead just kept walking out the door.

Qatana found me several minutes later, sitting out front.

“Is everything OK?” she asked.

“No,” was all I could muster for an answer.

She looked at me and then, in what I can only describe as classic Qatana fashion, asked, “Does this have something to do with your hair?”

I had given it the first of what will be several growth spurts the day we left Kalsgard. I didn’t expect it to go unnoticed, of course, I just would have preferred better timing for that conversation.

“No, it’s not related to my hair. I am just growing it out. I am literally growing it out.”

This is not what I wanted to talk about, but it’s Qatana. You have to answer the question. Thoroughly.

“It’s just a spell I learned,” I added.

“Oh. So what’s wrong, then?”

“People keep leaving.”

I don’t know why it was affecting me like it did, but it was. I didn’t really expect Kelda to stay on with us, of course, but then Herlgarval announced it was time for him to move on. Then Spivey was next. And finally Etayne, who had been with us since the beginning.

“I saw some mice in the building out back. Do you want to go try and catch them?”

And, believe it or not, that actually sounded comforting. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

We returned to the party a while later with several in tow.

Rova 14, 4712 (noon, The Path of Aganhei in the Middle of Fucking Nowhere)

The last few weeks have been a grind. The days are all running together, and the landscape has barely changed since crossing the mountains, just like the routine. Each day we get up, break our fast, travel 5 hours, stop for lunch, travel again, and then stop for the night and for dinner. (Well, the others eat. Thanks to the ring, I only nibble here and there for the tastes.)

My day doesn’t end there. I work the next several hours enchanting one in a seemingly endless string of items for myself and the others: earrings that protect me from the elements, boots so Sparna can keep up with us, a huge extra-dimensional storage bag, beads to make campfires, even a halter for Kasimir. As I said: a grind.

The catch? I can’t really complain because we need all this stuff. You know, if we want to live. Gods, that sounds so trite. But it’s true.

I need a change in scenery. I am trying not to think of what it will be like on the ice.

Rova 20, 4712 (evening, Path of Aganhei, Rimethirst Mountains)

Skygni met up with us in the foothills of the Rimethirst Mountains. So far he seems content to simply shadow the caravan from a distance, disappearing from time to time to hunt. It’s only been a couple of days, but I have to admit I feel less trepidatious about his presence than I did back in Ravenscraeg. The few times he’s interacted with us he’s actually been polite.

What does it say when the winter wolf has better manners than the sword?

Rova 23, 4712 (night, Path of Aganhei, Urjuk)

Is this what our journey is going to be? One sad and depressing scene after another? The frost giant that attacked us wasn’t just old, he looked haggard. Worn down. One of the others, Sparna I think, inspected his axe and said it was so rusted and decrepit that it wasn’t worth repairing.

We tracked him back to the cave where had had been living with his winter wolf companions (what a tense moment that was: my fear was that Skygni was not going to take to us fighting others of his kind, but it was clearly not an issue). This was about what you would expect. Rags, bones, and not much else. He was living the dream.

Not too far from the cave entrance was a wrecked caravan wagon. Inside we found the remains of a man that, amazingly, Ulf recognized. Apparently he was another Crown guide. We asked Ulf if he would like to bury the body and he said yes, so we held a small ceremony and put him to rest.

Welcome to the Crown of the World.

Ramashan 6, 4712 (evening)

We spotted a silver dragon today. At first I was scared to death, because it was a dragon, but then once we figured out it was silver instead of white most everyone, including me, relaxed. It shadowed us for a while, doing lazy circles and loops in the sky above us.

Dragons are quite beautiful once you stop being terrified.

Ulf wants to visit a small village off the main path before hitting the ice. He has never traveled during the “off season” (as he calls it) so he wants to get some more information on the road ahead. Fair enough. We have a guide for a reason.

Arodus 17, 4712 (night, Kalsgard)

I left Irori’s church when I was fifteen. I want to to say that it was not an easy decision, or that I struggled with what to do, or even that I felt guilty about it afterwards, but in all honesty none of those are true. It was an easy decision and I knew I had done the right thing. Irori’s path was not right for me, and I probably stuck with it far longer than I should have because I felt giving up was an admission of failure.

The thing is, mom and dad never pressured me, that I remember, when it came to religion and worship, though I am sure it pleased dad to see me follow his path. When I turned eleven we traveled to Jalmeray, one of the earliest trips to see dadi and dada that I remember, and for the first time I really felt connected to my Vudrani heritage. Obviously that was only on dad’s side, but I looked Vudrani and that is what mattered to me. I stood out in Varisia, specifically in Sandpoint but in Korvosa as well, and I came home from that trip taking pride in looking and being different, and in identifying with a completely foreign culture.

It also made me a little more arrogant, a little more obnoxious, and probably a lot less tolerable. It’s embarrassing thinking about what I was like 10 years ago, but what kid isn’t awful in some way at that age? Though with all that was going on back then, this sort of thing obviously did not help. But that’s another story.

At first I found Irori’s teachings to be enlightening and inspiring (confession time: I actually still do, mostly) but ultimately I was fighting my own physical limitations. The diet, the physical and mental exercises, and the emphasis on discipline and control I could manage, but when it came to “strength of body”, at least in the literal sense, I struggled. Struggled and failed, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

Why bring this up? Because I always get asked how a Vudrani came to Shelyn. I mean, it must be pretty unusual if it keeps coming up. Either that, or people just genuinely don’t know, and all they have to go on are stereotypes about Vudrani, Irori, and the pantheon of a thousand gods.

“Do you ever get tired of having to tell that same story, over and over?” Ameiko asked.

“It’s hard to talk so openly about my flaws, especially with strangers. But it’s where I ended up that matters the most. So, I guess I don’t.”

The thing about Shelyn is, she teaches the value of appreciation. Appreciation for what is around you, for what you can create, for what others create, and for what you can build together. I feel like I am a part of something.

We came to the shrine today in part to donate to the reconstruction effort, but mostly we just wanted to have that shared, communal experience that only Shelynites can provide. They were renting a temporary space just a few doors down to serve as a place for worship and gathering. Colored silks and other fabrics draped the walls and entrance, small but dramatic floral arrangements and greenery added splashes of color and a pleasant fragrance to the air. And then there was the music and dancing.

We were there most of the day. I needed to purge Ravenscraeg and Kimandatsu out of my head. Ameiko probably did, too.

One of the handful of people that asked me the question I always get asked was a Tian man named Jukodo Shiro. Here’s the thing: he was different, and I bring this up because it has become a sort of turning point for me. Most of those who are active in Shelyn’s church, the ones who aren’t clergy? They tend to be performers or artists of some sort. But like me, Shiro didn’t fit that mold. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly how. He was just different.

He apparently sensed something in me, too, because we talked for a couple of hours. The whole time, I had this feeling he was trying to take the measure of me in some fashion. It wasn’t rude, it was just…it was like he was probing for something without really coming out and asking what. Like he was testing the waters. Whatever it was? I guess he found it because out of the blue he asked, “Have you ever wielded the glaive?”

I almost opened my mouth to blow him off. I mean, are you shitting me? How did I possibly look like “glaive” material?

When I was twelve years old my dad tried to teach me how to use the khopesh and it was a disaster. It was heavy and clumsy, and I was barely strong enough to hold it much less swing it with any purpose. I would eventually start wearing one strapped to my back, but that was just for show (because it looked wicked, and in Magnimar I needed the deterrent). But actually use it? Hell, no. So, the glaive? Me? Really?

But I figured he was getting at something, and maybe it was important that I actually listen for once, and wait to hear what it was. So instead, I answered politely and honestly. “Never. I doubt I could even hold it properly.”

By this time, Ameiko was off playing her samisen, accompanying a couple of other musicians. The melody filling the space was light and playful, and the tempo upbeat; music that was perfect for dancing. So I was only a little surprised when he abruptly changed the subject again, and asked, “Do you dance?”

Mom and dad—mom, especially—were not going to raise a daughter that couldn’t dance. So, yeah. “I can. Are you asking me?”

He smiled and said, “Something like that. May I?”

I nodded and stood up with him. And, I kid you not, he picked up his glaive that was leaning against the wall behind us. And he proceeded to teach me how to swing and even twirl it in time with the music.

I am still more or less in shock. The pole alone was over a foot and a half taller than me, and yet he was swinging it gracefully in time with the music. I remembered seeing something like this before, back when we visited Andoran several years ago. Dad called it the Color Guard, but while that was mostly for show what Shiro started teaching me went beyond that. He could swing the pole and the blade around, fluidly, into what was clearly a strike. My motions with it were less polished and confident, but I was amazed at how swiftly it moved in my hands, at first under his direction, and then on my own. This was most definitely not the heavy, clunky khopesh,

“Dancing and fighting are not that far apart,” he said. “At least, not with this. The glaive is a weapon of grace and beauty in the right hands.”

Except for the part where it kills people. But of course I didn’t say that.

“You would make a good missionary for Shelyn. Her church needs more than just clergy and artists: it needs faithful from all walks of life to serve as role models. It’s something I think you should consider.”

This, too, took me by surprise. “Me? I never considered myself to be a role model for anything.”

He smiled at me. “Most role models don’t.” After a short pause, he went on. “You should look the part, though. It’s important. Come back tomorrow, around noon, and I’ll show you some more.” He tapped the pole of his glaive with his right hand. “If you are interested, of course?”

I said yes.