CHAPTER 72: THE MUSTER OF HOUSES

Dawn painted the waystation’s courtyard in shades of blood and rust. Soren stood at the edge of the assembly, his back pressed against the cold stone wall as he watched the gathering forces through narrowed eyes.

The expedition was coming to life beneath crimson-streaked skies, and something in the air felt sharp, dangerous, like the moment before steel meets flesh.

Banners snapped in the morning wind, each house’s colors a declaration of power and lineage.

Trescan’s crimson and gold caught the sunrise like flames. Dravien’s midnight blue rippled with silver stars that seemed to mock the fading night sky. Karvath green stood out against the gray stone walls, bold as new growth in spring.

Beneath these proud standards, knights assembled with military precision, armor gleaming despite the early hour, weapons checked and rechecked with ritual care.

Squires darted between them like nervous birds, adjusting straps, delivering messages, offering final cups of watered wine to masters who barely acknowledged their existence.

The shard against Soren’s chest pulsed cold, Valenna’s presence sharpening as she observed through his eyes.

’Look at them,’ she whispered, her voice like frost forming on glass. ’How they preen and posture. One might almost believe they’re united in purpose.’

Soren shifted his weight, easing the pressure on his still-healing ribs. The formal Velrane blacks he wore felt heavier this morning, the silver threading catching the light whenever he moved. He’d polished his blade before dawn, not for show like some of these peacocks, but because Kaelor would have skinned him alive if he hadn’t.

’They’re supposed to be allies,’ he thought back, watching as a Trescan knight deliberately turned his back on a Karvath counterpart mid-conversation.

Valenna’s laughter rippled through his mind, cold and cutting. ’Allies? Is that what you see? I see predators circling the same prey, each waiting for the others to weaken first.’

She wasn’t wrong. Beneath the veneer of cooperation, tensions coiled like serpents. The knights might wear their lords’ colors proudly, but their eyes betrayed deeper truths, calculation, suspicion, ambition barely contained behind masks of noble purpose.

A commotion near the main gate drew Soren’s attention. Lord Ashgard had emerged from the waystation’s main building, his austere figure commanding immediate respect without apparent effort.

Unlike yesterday, he now wore light armor of burnished gray steel, unadorned save for his house crest etched into the breastplate. No ceremonial flourishes, no decorative engravings, just functional protection designed for a man who expected actual combat.

His aides flanked him, carrying maps and ledgers rather than weapons. Behind them came the Ashgard contingent, six knights in matching gray, their faces weathered by actual combat rather than merely tournament glory.

"Form up!" Ashgard’s voice carried across the courtyard without seeming raised. "By house and rank. We ride within the hour."

The response was immediate, knights moving to their designated areas, banners raised higher, final preparations accelerating. Soren pushed away from the wall, seeking Kaelor and Ser Torven among the shifting bodies.

He found them near the Velrane standard, Kaelor checking his saddle straps with methodical precision while Torven secured their provisions. The Swordmaster glanced up as Soren approached, his single eye narrowing in assessment.

"You look like shit," Kaelor observed flatly. "Did you sleep at all?"

Soren shrugged, unwilling to admit how the night had passed in restless anticipation. "Enough."

"Liar." Kaelor returned to his inspection. "Keep your wits sharp even if your body isn’t. We’re surrounded by allies who’d celebrate our failures more eagerly than our successes."

Before Soren could respond, a ripple of movement spread through the gathered knights. House Lanther had arrived, fashionably late, their silver and white banners gleaming in the strengthening sunlight.

Their contingent was smaller than the major houses, just four knights led by a man whose ornate armor seemed designed more for display than protection.

"Lord Casimir Lanther," Torven muttered, following Soren’s gaze. "Third son of the old baron. More coin than sense, but desperate to prove himself."

The Lanther knights positioned themselves with deliberate care, their banner placed just far enough from House Karvath to avoid seeming subordinate, yet close enough to suggest alliance. Politics, Soren realized, continued even in the arrangement of horses and men.

As the final preparations neared completion, Soren became aware of eyes tracking his movements. Not just the occasional curious glance he’d grown accustomed to, but deliberate observation.

He turned, catching Harrick of Trescan watching him with undisguised contempt from across the courtyard.

The young knight stood among his crimson-clad brethren, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt, his posture radiating the easy confidence of one born to privilege.

When their eyes met, Harrick’s mouth curved in a smile that held nothing of humor.

"Velrane’s pet still hasn’t run home," he remarked, voice pitched to carry. "Brave of Lord Callen to risk his investment on such a... questionable blade."

Several knights nearby chuckled, the sound carrying across the suddenly quieter courtyard. Soren felt heat rise in his throat, his fingers twitching toward his sword before he mastered the impulse.

’He wants you to react,’ Valenna cautioned, her voice cool against his anger. ’That’s the game... provoke the street rat, prove you don’t belong among your betters.’

Kaelor straightened from his inspection, his scarred face turning toward the source of the disturbance. "Ignore him," he muttered, just loud enough for Soren to hear. "He’s not worth the blood it would take to silence him."

But Harrick wasn’t finished. He stepped forward, eyes still fixed on Soren. "Tell me, does House Velrane truly believe this hunt requires a cripple and a gutter rat?" He gestured toward Kaelor’s eyepatch, then to Soren. "Or have they simply sent their most expendable blades?"

The courtyard fell silent, knights from all houses watching with predatory interest. Even Lord Ashgard paused in his preparations, though he made no move to intervene. This, Soren realized with sudden clarity, was a test, not just of him, but of House Velrane’s standing.

Kaelor moved with deceptive casualness, his bulk belying the fluid grace of a lifetime spent in combat. He approached Harrick, stopping just beyond arm’s reach, his single eye measuring the younger man with clinical detachment.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I’ve often wondered why House Trescan bothers to train its sons in swordcraft at all." His voice carried easily in the silent courtyard. "Seems a waste, given how readily they turn and run when real fighting starts."

Harrick’s face flushed crimson. "You dare—"

"I was there," Kaelor continued, as if the other man hadn’t spoken, "at the Battle of Torven’s Pass. Saw the Trescan banner retreat first, before a single blade was blooded." His scarred face twisted in what might have been a smile. "But perhaps that’s why they send you, boy. Can’t tarnish a reputation already stained."

A collective intake of breath swept through the assembled knights. The Battle of Torven’s Pass was recent enough that many present would remember the shame Kaelor had just resurrected. Harrick’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, his face contorted with fury.

"You’ll answer for that," he hissed.

Kaelor shrugged, already turning away. "I answer for many things. Your hurt feelings aren’t among them."

Laughter, quickly suppressed but unmistakable, rippled through knights from several houses. Even a Dravien captain failed to completely hide his smirk. Harrick stood rigid, humiliation and rage warring across his features as Kaelor returned to the Velrane position with unhurried steps.

The confrontation had lasted less than a minute, yet Soren knew its impact would linger far longer.

Kaelor had won this exchange, but the victory felt hollow. The damage was done, House Velrane’s representatives had been publicly questioned, their capabilities doubted. Now every knight present would be watching, measuring, judging their performance against Harrick’s lowered expectations.

Lord Ashgard mounted his warhorse, the action drawing all eyes back to the center of the courtyard. The lord’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts on the exchange, his steel-gray eyes sweeping over the assembled knights with equal parts assessment and command.

"The hunt begins," he announced, voice carrying to every corner of the gathering. "Form your ranks. I will announce the riding assignments."

Knights moved to their mounts with practiced efficiency, banners raised high as each house positioned itself for Ashgard’s inspection. Soren swung into his saddle, adjusting his sword belt as his gelding shifted restlessly beneath him.

Ashgard raised a gloved hand, and silence fell once more.

"This expedition travels in paired contingents," he declared. "Each major house riding alongside another for mutual support and... accountability."

Something in his tone suggested the pairings were as much about watching each other as supporting against external threats. Soren’s gelding sensed his tension, sidestepping nervously until he tightened his grip on the reins.

"House Dravien will ride with House Trescan," Ashgard continued, indicating the midnight blue and crimson banners with a gesture. Murmurs rippled through both contingents, the houses had been rivals for generations, their trading interests frequently at odds.

"House Karvath will ride alongside House Lanther." More murmurs, though less pronounced. The smaller house clearly saw advantage in the pairing, while Karvath’s knights maintained carefully neutral expressions.

Ashgard’s eyes found the Velrane contingent. "House Velrane will ride with my own house."

Soren felt the weight of dozens of gazes shift to them. Ashgard had just elevated their status by claiming them as his own companions, or placed them under his direct supervision, depending on one’s interpretation. Either way, the assignment carried significance that wasn’t lost on anyone present.

"Each pairing will maintain formation throughout our journey," Ashgard continued. "You will camp together, patrol together, hunt together." His gaze hardened. "And should one of your number stray from discipline, both houses will bear the consequence."

The message couldn’t have been clearer. This wasn’t just about finding Sylas, it was about testing the noble houses’ ability to function as a unified force despite their rivalries. Ashgard was using the hunt to expose weaknesses, to see which alliances held under pressure and which fractured at the first sign of strain.

As the horses formed into their assigned groupings, Soren found himself riding beside one of Ashgard’s knights, a weathered woman with close-cropped gray hair and a network of scars across her left cheek. She nodded once in acknowledgment but offered no conversation as they maneuvered into position.

The shard against Soren’s chest cooled sharply, Valenna’s presence surging forward with sudden intensity.

’Clever wolf,’ she murmured.