The strong gale chased flocks of clouds over the starry sky, painting pictures of moonlight and ink-black on the desolate canvas of the land. The midnight quiet was broken only by the ceaseless chirps of crickets or, rarely, by the mournful howl of a lone wolf. In the vast openness of the grassy steppe, darkness reigned supreme, save for the circle of small fires surrounding a cluster of white hexagonal tents. Their colorful flaps protected the travelers from the biting chill the wind carried. Even during the fifth month, the cold never completely left Norden.

Amongst the cluster of tents, one stood out with its intricately patterned entrance and the two silent guards keeping vigil, ready to intercept any attack, be it by man or ghost. Inside the tent, large braziers crackled, raising aromatic fumes towards the ceiling and bathing the people gathered inside in golden light. Five white-clad figures sat on the floor, surrounding a sixth in a star-shaped pattern. The man kneeling at the center of the formation had his body perfectly straight. His eyes were tightly shut and not even a muscle twitched beneath the alabaster skin. Fine droplets of sweat rolled down his neck and past the brand mark on his chest that was peeking from the gap in his loose garments.

With a drawn sigh the man at the center of the formation woke up, his eyelids fluttering open. If someone were to look more carefully, they would see his eyes being replaced by darkness with a myriad of stars burning in their depths. After blinking a couple of times, they returned to their normal blue color. The man cracked his neck and said in a quiet voice:

“You can rest now. You did great anchoring me.”

“We serve you, kush-turgan,” replied the five Binshi, finally allowing themselves some movement after hours of strenuous concentration.

One of the anchors grabbed a leather bag and took out a small glass vial with golden liquid inside. Some of the other shamans gave him condescending looks, his shaking hands hastily uncorking the potion not escaping them. He hungrily downed it and brushed away some residue from his lips. The man's actions caught the attention of his kush-turgan.

“Tengar,” he said, “you should be careful when using that potion.”

“Don’t worry, kush-turgan, I am perfectly in control. But you should try the 'Angel’s tears' too. My mind clears and my powers soar after only two sips.”

“No need,” the other man chuckled but his smile did not reach his eyes. “My powers are more than sufficient to do well without aids.”

“F-forgive me, kush-turgan,” Tengar stiffened hearing the chill in his master’s words, “I meant no offense.”

“I thought as much,” said the man at the center of the formation. “But since you have taken your revitalizing potion, I bet you have recuperated enough to go fetch some food for your brothers and sister. We are all famished after the hex.”

“Of course, kush-turgan!” Tengar’s eyes gleamed with relief and excitement as he trotted out of the tent.

The flap had just fallen behind him, when one of the shamans in the now broken circle, a thin, willowy man, erupted.

“Why are you still keeping him so close, kush-turgan?! He dabbles in taboos. He poisons himself and his students with that Limerian brew. His corrupt tastes are an insult to any living creature, not to speak us – the children of the Morning Star.”

“Because a bunch of depraved, potion-addicted fools is what we need in order to succeed. Or are you and your students willing to perform the rituals to create dhrowghosts?”

"Mother Above, have mercy! I would rather die!” The face of the shaman became pale and greenish and he looked like he was going to throw up.

“Akh-Moren,” the only female in the circle raised her voice, “do we really need to create dhrowghosts? And so many? We… we might be sacrificing mixed-breeds, but… they are still children.”

“I wish there was another way,” the leader of the Red Hands gritted his teeth. “But there isn’t. Those Limerians have ways to deal with our magic. Otherwise, Norden would have never fallen into their hands in the first place.”

“But there have not been new nesvet for decades.” The woman was persistent. “The last one died seventy years ago and his heirs were ungifted. The influence of their Church has also weakened since the new duke came to power.”

“You sound almost like some of those foolish beast-followers, sister,” a middle-aged shaman grumbled beside her. “That foreign monster has done everything possible to weaken our blood, pushing laws to create a bunch of powerless mixed-breeds.”

“But they are still children,” the woman said quietly. Behind her, the steppe winds made the cover of the tent flutter a bit, their howling dampened to a ghastly sigh.

“Both of you are right.” Akh-Moren looked sad and tired. “I wish there was another way. We can’t be sure if the Church isn’t hiding the new nesvet or even if the artifacts from the old days are not still usable. And we need to cleanse our bloodline if we want to survive. Those children and the foolish parents that created them are noble sacrifices. Giving their lives for the future of the Star-Children will wash away their sin before the Mother Above.”

“But then why selling them to that Limerian bastard?” The middle-aged man looked grim. “I still can't agree with that. If they have to suffer, let them at least suffer by our hands. Those foreign dogs should not be allowed the pleasure to hurt any of the Star-Children, be it impure ones.”

“Young and foolish,” said the oldest shaman from the circle and moved a bit, his joints making low crackling sounds. “Preparing the sacrifices for the ritual takes time and manpower. And what is more, it scars one’s soul forever even if you aren’t performing the hex yourself. For our plan, we would have needed hundreds of abominations like Tengar and his students. This would have doomed our kin forever before the Mother Above and closed the Spirit Realm for us. The Limerians are heartless and vicious in nature, and even more so towards their slaves. Branding them like livestock, pfui! Then let them do our dirty work and doom themselves.”

“You are right, dede,” the leader of the Red Hands turned to the old man politely. “And with the money we acquire, we can help our brethren in need and prepare for when the true war starts. Besides, we are also planting the seeds of doom in the enemy’s camp. We need to send only a handful of shamans to the mainland to raise an army of dhrowghosts at the hearth of their Empire..”

“An army…” the woman hesitated, “who is going to control them?”

There was an evil glint in Akh-Moren’s eyes.

“No one.”

At his words, all five of the Red Hands shivered. An army of dhrowghosts would bring unimaginable death and devastation, turning the land of their enemies into a graveyard. The thought of the hundreds of thousands that would lose their lives was blood-chilling. But at the same time, burning rage was kindled in their hearts. It was horrible but just; a punishment fit for their crimes. For over two centuries those invaders were trampling their holy lands, killing, kidnapping, and raping their kin, digging the riches from their mountains, hunting deer and argali from their planes. They had tried to destroy Norden’s magic, soul, and blood. Now, it was time for payback. Even if they were hated today, the future generations would thank them.

The braziers crackled, spewing ruby sparks in the warm air. At the center of the broken circle, Akh-Moren eyed his brethren with satisfaction. He knew what they were thinking. He felt and thought the same. Maybe there had been another way but now it was all lost. Ever since that fake-prophet Yanosh had sided with the enemy, ever since he showed to everyone who had eyes to see how deep the Limerian infestation had reached, there had been only one path. Deep in his soul, Akh-Moren felt the anger of all the innocent lives sacrificed by the Empire and its dogs. Every precious Binshi flame that had been extinguished, betrayed by false promises and treaties over the centuries. He felt them all. He was them all. And he was the one to set things right.

Sharp pain ran through the brand mark on his chest, forcing Akh-Moren to hold his breath. This constant ache accompanying him was the proof of his mission. Yanosh had chosen poorly. Now it was his turn to start their kin anew. All the souls of his brethren were with him. All their might was seeping into his flesh and bones as the days went by. With the purifying powers he was absorbing from the Star-gazer, he would soon surpass Yanosh and become an equal to his future bride. Together, they would renew the blood of Star-path Valley; they would bear worthy descendants of the Mother Above once more.

“Kush-turgan,” the willowy shaman called, bringing him back to the present, “was the hex successful in the end? Did you learn anything from the spy? And what about our Star-maiden?”

“It was hard,” Akh-Moren responded in a tired voice and rubbed his temples. “She is tougher than anticipated and is resisting the corruption but I managed to gather enough from both her and our the Star-gazer. The child still has her head muddled by those lying dogs. Fortunately, she is opening herself more and more to me. If all goes well, during this Council meeting we will be able to take her away.”

“But is it wise to personally go to the meeting?” the old shaman scrunched his forehead. “Can’t you just send someone to be your kukul and represent you?”

“And who can manage to switch souls with me for a long time, dede? I know your body is too old to handle the pressure for more than fifteen minutes, not to mention hours at a time, and the rest don’t even have the vessel to accept my soul. This is, unfortunately, the downside of receiving such a big blessing.”

“But you have used Tengar as your kukul before. He survived the soul-merge,” said the middle-aged shaman, although his entire face clearly showed that he was against the idea.

“Alas, Tengar cannot accompany us to Ildemar. Their duchess has some pretty sharp eyes. She might be able to recognize him.”

“Didn’t he say the room she was kept in was dark?” the old shaman snorted.

“It was, dede. But that woman is more than it meets the eye. From a couple of smells and a few minor details, she was able to guess the occupation of our Limerian friend.”

“So what?” the middle-aged man shrugged. “I’ve heard that the Limerian noblewomen have no say. They are just decorations and bed-warmers for their men. Would she dare speak against official envoys and endanger the peace between us and their kind?”

“Oh, she will,” Akh-Moren’s eyes sparkled. “She dared reprimand a high-ranking cleric from their church before witnesses. And it seems the rumors were false after all and the duke is very smitten with her.”

“May the star-hounds gnaw on Tengar!” The old shaman cursed and his spittle hissed in one of the braziers. “He let that wench escape.”

“Don’t worry, I have plans for her in motion. As for Tengar,” the leader of the Red Hands mused a bit, “I might have another use for him. The duke seems to have some capable dogs under him. It would be a matter of time before they find a connection between Baron Rowell and us.”

“Then…?”

An evil smile crept on Akh-Moren’s face.

“If a Limerian baron were to go berserk during the meeting due to a Binshi hex, I wonder how well the peace would hold.”