The only sound through the camp was the murmur of the wind and the crackling of campfires. The conversations died away as Tikeya and Reimm stood at the edge of the crowd. The man clutched between them stood caught in place, his dark eyes round and fixed on Mian.

Takio pressed a hand to his face, masking a sigh. There it is.

You knew they would not disappoint, Shiina chimed in his mind. He flinched as a wall of sparks drifted past him, coalescing into her delicate form. She flounced forward, hair and ribbons flying, and came to a stop just in front of the Narai. She leaned in closer, inspecting him. “And they have done as you asked.”

Yes, they had. Takio tore his eyes off his goddess, just in time to see Tikeya and Reimm take a step away from their captive. The man stayed where he was, swaying gently.

“What’s this about?” Takio said, his voice carefully neutral. He stayed where he was, his sheathed sword still resting against the ground.

Reimm spoke first, his shoulders bouncing as he took a step towards Takio. “We were inspecting the camp, Charred. And we found this.”

The thump of metal against dirt and stone echoed across the quiet as he threw a sword to the ground before Takio. The archer had always been a cheerful companion among their number, Takio thought, his fingers tightening about his sword’s hilt. There wasn’t a hint of a smile on his face at that moment.

“Oh?” he said, hiding all of his tension behind the simple word. And then he stooped, slowly leaning down to grasp the new weapon.

It was a sword, short-bladed and unsheathed. Takio lifted it as he rose, unwilling to let go of his own blade long enough to take it in both hands. He didn’t need to, anyway. Even at a glance, the workmanship of the weapon was unmistakable. Ripples of folded metal shone under the blade’s surface, and he knew the thing was sharp enough to cut him if he looked at it the wrong way.

The mark etched into the crossguard was enough to confirm all of that and more.

“How is it,” he began, leaning back to fix Mian with a long, hard look, “that your men are walking around with clan Goro’s blades?”

“W-What?” Mian snapped, his suntanned skin losing a bit of its color. “What are you-”

Takio turned the blade around so Mian could see, tapping his thumb against the rune. “A piece like this would fetch a fine price in Drenwell, I’m sure. Your clan must be doing quite well for itself to afford it.”

Kassien snorted. Takio heard the dull thud of Antiel’s elbow slamming into his side. He couldn’t blame his bodyguard - the very notion was absurd. The tents pressed in around them were run-down and old, if serviceable enough, and Mian’s men were all plain-dressed.

“I-I couldn’t say,” Mian said, a stammer entering his tone for the first time. “I’ve never seen that before. Taero!” His eyes snapped to the man still standing between Tikeya and Reimm. “What have you done? Is this yours?”

The clansman froze, going pale under the combined glares suddenly leveled his way. “I….I don’t-”

“How do I know that’s even real?” Mian interrupted, spinning back to Takio. “I don’t appreciate unfounded accusations, Charred.”

“Well, now, that’s easily enough seen,” Antiel said. His voice was smooth as butter, carefully controlled. He crossed to where Takio stood, putting himself between his Ascended and the clanleader. Takio sighed as the weight lifted from his hand.

Antiel balanced the blade in his grip. His eyes swept up and down its length, gauging it carefully - but only for a moment. A second later, his gaze flicked up to meet Takio’s. His back was still turned, shielding him from the sight of the others. He stared at Takio, holding him in place. And then he made a face, turning back.

“It’s authentic enough. The enchantments and runecraft are less than a month old,” he said, looking up at Mian. The clanleader towered over Antiel, but the advisor seemed less than worried.

Mian scowled. “Oh? And how are you supposed to tell that?”

Takio started forward, but Antiel only tilted his head to one side. “My good man, I’m a shaman. Don’t ask absurd questions.”

Takio winced. For Antiel, that was as close to biting as he got.

He glanced over to Shiina instead. The girl picked her way through the crowds, peering up into face after face. Is that all?

What do you think?

...I see.

Her eyes were flat, expressionless orbs glowing a wary red in her tanned face. I know the business is unpleasant, little cinder, but-

I know. Before she could lecture him further, he cleared his throat, drawing their eyes back to him. “Well, now that that’s settled.”

“Trust me, Charred, I don’t tolerate thieves in my clan,” Mian said, straightening himself.

“Besides your men stealing herdbeasts,” Reimm said. He fell quiet at Takio’s glare.

The look the clanleader shot the archer was positively venomous. “I don’t know where he got the thing, but it’s just one blade. I’m sorry, but-”

“Oh.”

Takio stopped, catching himself before he could launch into the older man. Tikeya had spoken, at last - and the normally-quiet woman shifted on her feet. Her gear was as plain and threadbare as the rest of them, all fur-lined steel and sturdy fabric. A bag hung down her side, strapped securely to her belt, and it was that bag she was reaching into.

When she pulled her hand free, an ingot lay clutched in her palm. Takio eyed the flat, unpolished metal, letting his gaze drift from it to her face. The thing engulfed her hand - and she’d been carrying it around this whole time?

She seemed not in the least bothered as she stepped forward, handing it to Antiel. “Found that in his tent, too,” she said. Her gravelly voice was low and serious. “Whole crate of the things.” Her lips curled down in the faintest hint of a frown. “Lots of ‘em.”

Too many for one man to carry, in other words. Takio’s mind supplied the words she was leaving out. He nodded slowly, turning back to Mian.

“W-Well, I suppose I might have been talking to the elders, winter past,” Mian said, folding his arms obstinately. “Told ‘em, it’s no life living off sheep and weeds. Real money’s in the metal, of late. Drenwell’s payin’ well, and Ondria wouldn’t turn their noses up at a good shot either. Was thinkin’ maybe we’d get into the metalworkin’ game. Maybe-”

“So you’d steal Goro’s work,” Takio interrupted. The clearing around them grew with every word, his clan drawing closer and closer together. “To kickstart your ambitions.”

“Flameweaver’s tits, boy, no,” Mian snapped. “Stop readin’ whatever you want out of this and see straight.”

“Go on, then,” Takio said. It took everything he had to keep from leaping across the gap between them and pummeling the man. Dealing with the clanleaders was always a pain. He longed for the day when they’d look at him and see something besides for an upstart brat a fraction their age, prancing into their lands and ordering them around.

Respect is earned, child.

I get that. You don’t have to tell me.

Do not sass me.

I’m not- Takio gave up halfway through the thought, turning back to Mian. The clanleader had assumed a more neutral position, leaning towards him as though trying to convince Takio of his honesty.

“Perhaps Taero merely thought to help his clan,” Mian said, spreading his hands helplessly. “Perhaps he thought to win some favor, down the line. Perhaps he wanted to gain a prime example.” His head snapped over, fixating on his clansman. Taero shrank down, going even paler. “If he’s stolen, Charred, then I apologize, but surely you’ll allow me the chance to handle my own-”

“And what of the other reports?” Takio said, slipping his hand into his pocket and sliding the scrap of paper free. He held it up, watching as Mian’s eyes focused in on it. “The stories I’ve heard from clans Goro and Maima? Complaints of bandits, focusing in on the shipments they’ve sent to Jaimar? It’s a curious business, how they always seem to know.”

He smiled lazily, knowing how the expression would look to someone in Mian’s position. Shiina was right - respect was earned, and he had to take it. He had to make them listen, until his reputation was enough to do it for him.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would it?”