The Still Vigil often was a solemn festival. Today, the mood might even be called grim. The tension weighed on Esharah like thick cords stretched taut. Thankfully, so far they hadn’t snapped.

  The people of Hellfrost gathered in the town square, in front of the chapel, which still held the mark of the Ideal of Discipline over its heavy oak doors, despite there no longer being a priest dedicated to that Ideal leading the congregation. At least they’d long since removed Yvris’ head from the spike above.

  Under Yvris, this festival would have been cause for fear. To everyone’s relief, Etrani’s interpretation of the Ideal of Discipline didn’t involve spiked chains and rending of souls.

  Esharah’s task for the festival was simple: monitor the crowd, nudge the cloud of feelings in an appropriate way, and continue to act as Etrani’s emotional interpreter.

  The sun shone bright that day, despite the chill. A relatively warm day for the turn to winter, perhaps even warm enough to melt some of the snowpack already covering Hellfrost. The buildings around the square blocked the wind, though, and the gathered crowds huddled for enough warmth to endure. That was the point of the festival, after all: Discipline meant endurance, and Hellfrost knew nothing if not how to endure hardship.

  Esharah stood by Etrani’s side. Esharah never minded the cold as much; dezar handled both heat and cold better than humans in her experience. The smaller Etrani, on the other hand, was bundled in cloaks so heavy that she became an almost shapeless mass topped with rosy cheeks under a thick woolen hat. Some of the village boys had already built a snowman in the corner of the square they’d dubbed Executor, with two large apples for cheeks and a frozen bright-red cranberry for a nose. Esharah dutifully shielded Etrani’s mind from the amusement that so many felt when looking at her swaddled form.

  Diakon Manu led the first part of the rituals: the renewal of oaths. Often during his silent work, the veteran turned priest reminded her of a gnarled knot of oak, tough and weathered, yet holding fast. Now, standing tall and leading the congregation in a booming voice that once had commanded soldiers on the battlefield, Manu was exactly what Hellfrost needed.

  “Today we remember our oaths of Discipline,” the man said, the last syllable echoing through the streets and stone. “That we would stand in service to the Ideal and protect our home from all who would do it harm. We remember those who have fallen in that service, their souls released from the world to the heavens, to rest among the gods as paragons of the Ideals they followed. Speak these oaths in their memory, and follow their example.” He took a breath and spoke the oaths: “I vow to serve the Empire faithfully from birth to death.”

  The people spoke, “I vow to serve the Empire faithfully from birth to death.”

  The words left Esharah’s lips too, but her mind was exploring the crowd at the west side of the square. All the Hellfrost legion stood arrayed there, former prisoners and guards alike. Behind them, the quarry workers. Also former prisoners. Most of those formerly in chains didn’t speak the oath. Why would they? For so many, the empire had torn them away from their tribes or villages, taking them as prisoners of war. Those born in the empire had every reason to feel similarly betrayed. Many had committed grievous crimes to end up here, but the punishments they faced went far beyond justice, no matter what Yvris’ twisted teachings claimed. Glances from the imperial soldiers who did speak the oath brought challenging glares from the silent freed ones. Even among Aven’s warriors, walls remained, walls built on blood and conquest.

  “I vow to train body and mind to follow the Ideals without fail,” Manu continued, echoed by the crowd. “In weakness, I may stumble, but in strength I will endure.” Esharah’s heart beat with those words, her mind and Aelia’s soul both resonating with the vow.

  She felt Aelia’s heartbeat as well, the publicar’s nerves at the coming negotiations, and the speech she would give as well. The words Aelia would speak were the truth as best the two could make of the situation, and yet Esharah knew the pain in her soul was fear. Not of violence, not of death, but of failure. Fear of failing the mission and her duties, the fear of letting down all the souls gathered here in the village. The souls whose lives were in danger.

  Manu’s voice finished the oaths, “Let the footsteps of the Paragons guide our path, that we may stand strong as they did. So shall it be.”

  “So shall it be,” the final echo came.

  Manu nodded to Aelia, but before the publicar could approach, Aven stepped forward.

  “Executor Etrani,” Aven bowed. “May I give a word on behalf of the Hellfrost Legion?”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Esharah asked mentally. This wasn’t planned. Aven had given no sign of doing anything disruptive even just a moment ago when she’d explored his thoughts. Of course some void-brained scheme would form in his head as quickly as a winter storm over Lake Agenthus.

  Aelia, for her part, barely missed a beat, “Captain Arvanius, we would be honored to hear from the defenders of Hellfrost on this day when we honor the Discipline of the legions that protect us.”

  A beat before Aelia sent a tentative question to Esharah’s mind, wondering if Aven was actually about to do something truly stupid. Esharah gave what little reassurance she could: Hopefully not this time.

  Aven approached the raised dais in front of the temple, Diakon Manu stepping to the side to make room for him. The priest glared daggers at Aven, and Esharah couldn’t quite feel whether the stronger source was annoyance at deviation from the festival’s plan or general dislike for the voidtouched.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  A hush fell over, the wave of trepidation mixed with awe. So many of the people viewed Aven as practically a mythical figure. Even those who refused to believe he’d actually crawled out of a voidpit after two weeks knew the fact that he carried the power of a voidtouched. This was a man who’d stood against a deathsinger, who’d battled countless voidspawn and won, who’d defeated the indomitable Erdrak Skullhammer. Such stories grew taller in the retelling, and few seemed interested in actually sorting out the rumors from the facts.

  More than awe, fear and hatred mingled as well. Aven wasn’t just a hero who’d fought against voidspawn. He was a criminal, a patricide. A prisoner who’d rebelled against the empire and somehow been rewarded with a position as captain.

  Aven spoke, his voice loud but not the thunderous boom of Diakon Manu, “Every day is a test of the Ideal of Discipline, a test of our strength and resolve to follow our path in life.”

  The crowd murmured agreement.

  “I speak to those like me,” Aven looked directly at the assembled Hellfrost Legions. These words weren’t practiced. Esharah felt them bubbling up in the voidtouched’s mind like a boiling pot, half of his mind forming them just in time for the other half to speak. Of all the uses for a Battle Mind, extemporaneous speaking was not one Esharah had heard before. “Those who the empire put in chains, those who suffered at the hand of Yvris’ torture...and Yyvris’ followers.”

  Some of the former guards shifted uncomfortably at that, at Esharah felt the shame rolling off them.

  Aven continued, “Those who know the lash, who know the chains. For us, the Ideal of Discipline is not the ideal of the legion, not an oath of service to the empire. Our discipline was not for them to command, nor were the oaths to follow the empire. Some of you fought the empire and lost. I will not ask you to bind yourself to the empire that destroyed your homes and put you in chains. But we stand against the Void. Spawn of hatred that care not whether we are imperial or beastkin or ogre...or voidtouched. For us, Discipline is more than an ideal of empire. For us, Discipline is an oath to each other, a promise to stand together to protect Hellfrost and defend it against all threats. Will you take this oath?”

  Silence from the crowd as the prisoners considered the invitation.

  “I will!” the canin boy Wally shouted out. His voice cracked with nervous energy, but the boy stood straight,

  “I will,” Logash’s stronger voice joined in.

  Swept up in the fervor as more voices joined, all but a final few scattered prisoners took the oath. A few remained silent. The ondrar woman Gretchen, jaw set even while her maledictus companion spoke the oaths. The beastkin Iskir, hatred for the empire still overpowering all else in his mind. Now, however, those silent faded into the background while the majority swore the oath.

  Tension faded from the onlookers. Seeds of acceptance gained new life. Esharah fed those seeds, subtle nudges turning the crowd’s thoughts to the prisoners who had fought the deathsinger’s horde of voidspawn. This new oath certainly wasn’t orthodox. But little was out at the Empire’s edge.

  “People of Hellfrost,” Aven said after the Hellfrost Legion took their new oath. “Will you accept our oath? An oath of prisoners and damned? Can you trust us, even if you loathe us, fear us?” He raised a hand to the legion. “We are the defenders of Hellfrost. We shall stand against the voidspawn. We shall stand against all enemies who dare threaten your lives.”

  The crowd erupted with cheers. A voidtouched might be a monster. But Aven was their monster.

  Esharah glanced to the captains. Breton gave a short grunt of approval. Frostclaw remained subdued, jaw set, but he nodded tersely while his soldiers gave more demonstrative shouts. Aelia smiled with relief, eyes fixed on Aven. Was that...fascination pulsing in her emotions? The feeling of a scholar who’d come across a fascinating, possibly erroneous thesis that demanded more exploration simply for its novelty. Whether Etrani viewed Aven just as a fascinating anomaly or something else... That was leaning towards emotions more private than Esharah wanted to explore in the official’s mind.

  Those feelings gave way to astonishment when Aven turned and knelt before the executor.

  “Executor Aelia Etrani,” Aven bowed his head, hand over his heart. Etrani stared, oft-squinting eyes now bulging. “I do not hold your faith in the Ideals and the Empire. I have seen too much failure, too much evil done by those like Yvris who twisted the Ideals and the Empire’s laws for his own greed and lust for power. But I have faith in your vision for Hellfrost. You have worked for peace, order, and fairness in a way that no other executor I’ve seen has matched, in Hellfrost or elsewhere. I’m honored to work alongside you for the good of Hellfrost, and I am honored to serve your vision of the Ideals. My oath is not the empire, nor to the Ideals: it is to you.” A pause. “And to the people of Hellfrost.”

  With Aven’s mind clouded by the void, Esharah couldn’t read it. There was too much astonishment from the crowd, too much mental noise. Not to mention the whirlwind of thoughts in Etrani’s head at the moment.

  “Th-thank you...Captain Arvanius,” Etrani recovered remarkably well, shoving the rather frantic emotions in her head to the side as skillfully as a Battle Mind. “Your oath to...to the people of Hellfrost is appreciated. Thank you for your words. You have...brought our community closer.”

  Aven bowed and returned to the head of his legion, mutters from the crowd still following. There were already rumors about the young captain and executor. Rumors always abounded in a place like Hellfrost where cold weather kept people crowded together like cooped chickens. Couldn’t help but cluck. Esharah knew, though, that what had been idle whispers before would now be shouted about over every mug of ale in town.

  Now for Aelia’s speech. That was an act to follow.

  Esharah offered help, but Aelia already managed to shove aside the feelings, leaving only a heavy blush as evidence of how Aven’s words had affected her. Training took over, hours spent practicing the memorized speech overcoming nerves.

  “We gather today to celebrate the Ideal of Discipline,” Aelia’s words remained stilted. Formal. Hand clutched tight in front of her to sill their shaking.

  At other festivals, Esharah felt a general boredom from the crowd (an emotion that she dutifully hid from Aelia). A charismatic speaker, the executor was not. Today, however, that fit the tone. Discipline wasn’t supposed to be charismatic. It was supposed to be strong, certain. That, Aelia could fulfil.

  Esharah allowed herself a momentary grimace at the thought of how much practice Aelia would need for the festival of Joy in a few weeks.

  Manu and Aven’s words had primed the crowd, and they listened intently. Their attention broke when a runner from the walls sprinted into the square.

  “Executor!” the runner gave a salute.

  Aelia paused, showing considerably less intrigue and more annoyance at this new interruption.

  “Force approaching from the west,” the runner said. “Vulgares!”

  All the peace and unity they’d woven unraveled in an instant into tension rising toward panic. The negotiations were starting early, it seemed. The festival of Discipline would become a test of it – sooner than any of them had hoped.

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