t had taken little more than a day and a half to organize her warband. Men followed Daenys' orders without complaint—for the most part. There were always challengers, those whose pride or ambition compelled them to test her authority. Tengri dealt with the worst of them, his blade cutting through those who dared to attack her. But Daenys, for the most part, dismissed them with a simple wave of her hand. It was enough to show the others that her rule was not fragile, yet merciful when it served her purpose.
Now, as she gazed upon the terrible tower in the distance, the enormity of her task sank in. Everything they had said about the Pickette—the tales of its strength, its grandeur, its impenetrability—was true.
The tower loomed like a dark sentinel above the fractured landscape. Intricate stone carvings spiraled along its ancient walls, etched deep into its surface by hands that had long since turned to dust. The Pickette stood apart from the rest of Karlon, elevated by the narrow landbridge that connected it to the city. It was an enduring leviathan, a relic of a bygone age.
Even Karlon, vast as it was, seemed dwarfed by the sheer scale of the Pickette. The nearby mountain peaks bowed to its height, and the structure itself seemed to pulse with its own sense of power. The air around it felt heavy, charged with something ancient and unknowable.
"My mother often said that the Pickette has faded with time," Merd said softly. She clutched several scrolls against her chest, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "The people of Karlon always called it a relic of the Age of Infinite Arcana. A launching platform, they used to say."
Daenys allowed herself the faintest smile. "Then we should thank time for its mercy."
Merd glanced up at her, frowning. "What do you mean, my lady?"
Daenys' gaze remained locked on the tower. "Because it gives us a chance to break it over our knees."
Behind her, Tengri's gravelly voice carried on the wind, calm yet brimming with quiet menace. "The Black Baron will defend it with everything he has. It may have been meant for another purpose once, but its current purpose is survival. And survival breeds desperation."
"I admire that," Daenys admitted. "Even a desperate beast can bite when cornered."
Their conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of hoofbeats. Tasha and Reman approached on horseback, their mounts stirring up the dust of the barren road. Tasha dismounted first, brushing a strand of her short hair away from her face.
"The camp grows restless," she said, tossing her reins to one of the nearby warriors. "The men are ready to march."
Reman followed her lead, his polished armor catching the sunlight. "We should not keep Gahkar Rev waiting. He is not a man who enjoys delays."
Tasha rolled her single eye, clearly unimpressed. "Says one of his Deathless. I say we let him wait a little longer. Everyone knows Daenys will refuse his offer anyway."
Daenys ignored their bickering and turned to Merd. "Gather your most trusted members of the Jagged Scars. I need ten of them—no more, no less. I'll be writing letters to the other Gahkars to announce my... arrival."
Merd stiffened, clutching the scrolls tighter. "Is that wise, my lady?"
"It is necessary," Daenys replied, her tone brooking no argument. "The warband already calls me Gahkar. It is time the others acknowledge it as well. Cementing my position among the Gahkar is as critical as taking the Pickette itself. I'll win the hidden battle before the physical one begins."
Tengri shifted uncomfortably behind her, his bandaged face unreadable. "Better to remain a shadow," he said softly. "Revealing yourself too soon only invites enemies to strike from the dark."
Reman, ever eager to counter the Enlightened, scoffed. "And hiding will only anger the Gahkar further. Show strength, and they may hesitate to strike. A Heartrender does not skulk in the shadows like a common thief."
Tengri's voice darkened. "And yet shadows have kept her alive this far. If she dies, the warband will crumble before it can even reach the gates of the Pickette."
"Then do your job," Reman shot back, his hand gripping the hilt of his spear. "Keep her alive. If her death worries you so much, Tengri, then protect her. That is your role, is it not?"
"Enough," Daenys snapped, her voice cutting through their argument like a blade. Her patience was wearing thin. "I have no time for this nonsense. If you wish to insult each other, do it elsewhere. I'll not have the two of you bickering like children while we stand on the edge of war."
Tasha laughed, breaking the tension with a casual grin. "They're so dramatic, aren't they? Reminds me of the Nervin. Always posturing, always brooding."
Daenys pinched the bridge of her nose. "If you three can't act like adults, then perhaps I'll find others who can."
Tasha shrugged. "You'll find no better, Gahkar," she said, her tone teasing. "But don't worry. We're with you, even if you don't appreciate our charm."
Daenys didn't answer. Her gaze turned back to the Pickette, its towering form dominating the horizon. For a moment, her mind drifted to the forest she had left behind. What would her mother think of her now? What would Akash or Mirak have said, seeing her like this? She felt a pang of longing for her sister, for the simple life they had once shared. But that life was gone, and there was no sense dwelling on it now.
She pushed those thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. "Reman," she said, her voice steady.
The Deathless stepped forward, his golden spear glinting in the light. "I am yours to command."
"I'm entrusting you with the next phase of the plan," Daenys said. "If there's anything hidden in the crater—any weakness we can exploit—you will find it. I need you to succeed. If you do, you'll not only be my second-in-command but my hand. A general of this warband."
Reman hesitated, his grip tightening on the shaft of his spear. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air. "A general?" he repeated, his voice tinged with surprise.
Daenys nodded. "The first of many, I hope."
For a moment, Reman said nothing. Then he dropped to one knee, his golden shield braced against the ground. "It will be done," he said simply.
Daenys placed a hand on his shoulder. "Good. Then go. Prove yourself."
Reman rose, placing his helmet over his head before departing. Tasha leaned over to Daenys as he left, her tone light but probing. "A general, huh? Handing out titles already? What's next? A crown?"
Daenys ignored her. "Tasha, Tengri—we've delayed this meeting long enough. Let's go."
As they approached Gahkar Rev's camp, Daenys felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Rev had been her ally once. He had guided her, believed in her, helped shape her into the leader she was becoming. And now, she was walking into his camp as an equal—a Gahkar in her own right.
But the truth weighed heavily on her. She wasn't an equal. Not yet. Her warband was small, untested. Her claim to power was fragile at best, and she knew Rev would see it. He would see the cracks, and he would push against them.
The Deathless guards outside the camp were as imposing as ever. Their golden shields bore intricate carvings, each depicting a personal triumph or battle. One warrior's shield showed a snarling wolf; another bore the image of a dragon mid-flight. Their spears gleamed, sharp and ready, as they leveled them at Daenys and her companions.
"Halt," one of the Deathless commanded. His voice was deep and unwavering, like the toll of a bell. "State your business with Gahkar Rev."
Daenys stepped forward, her head held high. "I am Daenys Godren, Heartrender and Gahkar of Estil. I have come to speak with Rev."
The Deathless hesitated for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. Then he stepped aside, motioning for her to enter.
"Proceed," he said. "But tread carefully, Gahkar."
Daenys swallowed her nerves and strode into the camp, her companions following close behind. Whatever awaited her, she would face it head-on.