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“That’s why the wagon was so heavy,” Rytlock groaned. “Least we won’t have to drag it any farther.”

“Exactly.”

Eir looked around at her crew—Big Zojja and Sandy, Little Zojja and Snaff, Garm, Caithe, Rytlock, and Logan. “All right, everyone, we have a long hike today, and a tough battle ahead. We have water and food for two more days. Beyond that, we’ll have to live off the land.”

“Oh, there’s one more thing we need,” Snaff broke in, fishing in his pocket. Behind him, Sandy seemed to do the same. Snorting, Snaff pulled off the powerstone laurel, letting the golem slump in a heap in the wagon. Snaff then pulled from his pocket a vial of gray dye. “We need tattoos.”

“Tattoos?” Eir asked.

“As you know, the Dragonspawn has a mesmerizing aura that takes hold of minds. Last time, we combated it with gray powerstones on our armor—but if the stone gets struck from the armor, the result could be fatal.”

Eir nodded, trying to follow the thread. “Yes, but—tattoos?”

“Powerstones in our skin!” Snaff enthused, holding up the vial. Tiny stone chips shimmered within the dye. “They’ll block the mind of the Dragonspawn.” He pulled back his tunic, showing a beautifully inscribed emblem that read de. “That for us, Destiny’s Edge, you know? Zojja has one, too. Show them.”

Zojja huffed and pulled back her collar, revealing the same de pattern in a slightly less deft hand.

“I did hers, and she did mine. Give us half an hour, and we’ll have the rest of you done.”

Reluctantly, the others agreed. Snaff inscribed the emblem onto Logan, then shaved a clear patch on Rytlock and Garm and did the same. Zojja took a bit more time and care to work on the shoulders of Eir and Caithe. In the promised half hour, though, the deed was done.

“Here,” Snaff said, slipping the vial of gray dye into Eir’s hand. “I’m always breaking things.”

Eir took a long look at the vial, and an uncommon smile spread across her face. “I know just what to do with this.” She slid the vial into her pocket. “Let’s move out.”

Claws, boots, bolts, and sandy pseudopods set out across the tundra, heading for the icy peaks in the north. They walked in a loose group, Caithe scouting ahead and Garm loping behind. Zojja rode within her golem, and Snaff rode atop Sandy’s head.

The party moved at speed, and the land rolled back around them.

In time, Rytlock and Logan happened to be walking side by side. Neither wanted to fall back, and neither could casually stride ahead. As the awkward silence stretched, Logan at last ventured, “Listen. I know things haven’t been right, not since I tried to take Sohothin.”

The charr’s hand settled on the hilt of his sword. “You’d better not try again.”

“No. That’s the whole thing. I never should have tried to take it. Sohothin is your sword. I see that now.”

Rytlock looked Logan in the eye for the first time in weeks. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You don’t mind seeing a charr carry a ‘man’s sword’?”

“It’s not a man’s sword. It’s a hero’s sword. It’s yours.”

They walked a while longer in silence. Rytlock caught sight of Snaff, who just smiled back at him.

“It’s going to be bad, you know,” Rytlock said.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Worse than any gladiatorial team. Worse than destroyers or devourers or ogres.”

Rytlock nodded. “Well, I’ve gone into a lot of battles with a lot of good warriors. You’re as good as any of them.”

“Thanks.”

“The one thing they had that you don’t—”

“Oh, here it comes.”

“—is a Blood Legion pendant.” Rytlock drew a chain from around his neck. On it hung the maroon and silver crest of the Blood Legion. “Here. Put it on.”

Logan took the pendant and looked Rytlock in the eye. “I don’t know what to say.”

Rytlock gritted his teeth. “Damned human. You don’t have to say anything. Just put it on.”

“Thanks,” Logan replied feebly, slipping the pendant around his neck.

“It’s an honor wearing that thing, you know,” Rytlock said, “an honor I don’t think any other human has ever been given. It means we’re brothers.”

Logan flashed