Chapter XIII Commercial: Reckoning

Chapter XII Commercial: Journey to the End

Chapter XI: For the Love of a Woman

ic thought to himself that today he would die.

It was clear that he'd finally gotten himself into a mess that he would not be able to get out of. There would be no magical fixes... no eagles whisking him off into the sky... no magic smoke created from Wolfric to mask his escape. Whatever fate beheld him today, he would stand and face it like a man.
Strangely enough, he knew that if he had been given the opportunity to escape, he would not have accepted it. For he could think of no better reason than to die for the one he loved.


What's become of me? He wondered to himself. Once I was a nobody.. a drunk and a scoundrel. Like Wyveryn. With no hope and no one I cared about. Now? She's changed me. She's made things matter that didn't matter before. And if I walked away from this today just to save my life, I wouldn't want a life without her.

It was such a shocking realization that he almost didn't notice when the door of the cell opened. In came one of the higher ranked guards. He stood in the doorway and nodded his head to everyone in the room, then his eyes rested upon Tic.

"You're much smaller than the man you fight today."

"I know." Said Tic matter-of-factly.

"It is likely that you will lose."

"I know." It didn't help to hear it.

"Is there any way we can get him out of this? That I could fight in his place?" Asked Aeroth.

"I'm afraid you do not understand our customs. The one who challenges the husband is the one who vies for the lady's hand. There can be no other way. I thought to come here and inform you of what to expect. The Lady Aurora... I have known her since I was boy. She has always been kind to me. I owe her this much. For if you fail today, it will be both your heads on the chopping block."

Tic's face went white.

"The Bretnach will cheat." Continued the guard. "But if you cheat, they will execute you. Because he is their leader and he is one of them, they tend to... turn a blind eye to his "techniques". You should be prepared for whatever comes your way. For should he come at you with magic, you must not break the rules or they will call the tournament in his favor."

"Great." Said Tic.

"This is sounding better and better as we go along." Wyveryn muttered under his breath.

"You must not kill your opponent. But again, if he should accidentally kill you, then likely they will look at it as a justice being done. You are, after all, an outsider."

"I'm getting that impression..." said Tic.

"No striking directly below the belt or above the neck. Hand to hand combat only. No magic. The Mach Ronans hate magic."

"We gathered that." Said Aeroth.

"And the Bretnach... he is one of our best fighters. And a large man at that. He will tower over you. You'll have to be quick and you'll have to be clever if you're to beat him. In addition, you'll need one more thing."

"What's that?" Tic asked.

"Luck."

Aeroth sighed. "We thank you, soldier, for your information. Would that there were something more that we could do..."

"There isn't. But it seems that the lady's eye favors this young man. And I've learned that can give a man more than an extra surge of strength for when he needs it. And believe me, you shall need it." He glanced behind him at the doorway.

"They'll come for you soon. I was never here."

"Of course." Said Tic, and watched the man go. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach.

Aeroth laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"And if I don't? They'll kill her."

"Maybe not. Maybe if we--"

"If we what, Aeroth? The seven of us take on the entire Mach Ronan Army all by ourselves? This is the only way and you know it."

"Well, I wish there were something we could do to help you."

"There is," said Tic as he heard the door unlocking again. "Pray."



It was not the guards come to get them, but Aurora herself. She was dressed in a long gray cape, her hood covering her face. But when she revealed herself, they saw that she'd been horribly beaten. Her lip was bloodied, and there were swellings forming on the side of her face. The injustice of it made Tic's blood boil.

"What did he do to you?" He hissed.

"He did what it is his right to do. But I did not come here to talk about that. I came here to apologize to all of you. In our desperate situation, I never thought that bringing you here would jeopardize your own lives. I am so, so sorry for what I have put you through. Please know it was not my intention for things to turn out this way. I have requested that, should I be executed, my dying wish would be to release you. I hope that my wish is headed. And Tic.."

She turned to him, tears brimming her green eyes. "I have something I need to say to you. I would say it in private but... there is no time. And no way for me to get you out of here, even to speak with you for a moment. So I will simply say it. I ran away from this life to find a life of my own choosing... to essentially become a free woman. And eventually... hopefully... to find a man whom I choose and who in turn chooses me. I fear that I have placed you in not only a life-threatening situation, but one which you may feel honor-bound and obligated to see through. I am here to tell you that you are no obligated to me in any way. You are free to do what you will, and that what happens to me is due to my own choices long before I met you. I do not want you to do something foolish just because of my own mistakes..."

"Hush... hush." He took her hand and held it gently in his. "This is of my own choosing. If you are offering me the chance to do what I want, then I choose this.

Know that more than anything in my life, it is clear to me that I want meant for this. So if you came here to talk me out of it, then I'm going to have to ignore you."

Despite her tears, she smiled.



The hillsides of Brón of the Hill thundered that morning. They shook with the tremors of marching feet and a bloodthirsty crowd clapping and shouting. The grass shivered with the vibrations. Everyone waited at the bottom of the hill surrounding the fighting circle. Only the guards left up by the prison cell remain above and away from it all.

Tic was hauled from his cell and shoved down the hill rather harshly. His hands were tied in front of him, perhaps for show. It certainly pleased the crowd. They jeered at his and threw tomatoes at this face. He simply kept his head held high and followed the long winding road down into the valley. There a large circle of stones surrounded a flat space of dirt. Here was where he would fight the Bretnach. And here was where he would probably die.

A tingle on the back of his neck caused him to turn his head and see the distant dais where the Bengar sat at his place. Beside him, heavily guarded, was Aurora. Even from far away, she was still so strikingly beautiful that it caught Tic's breath. The expression on her face was one of suppressed horror. She looked straight at Tic, and he back and her.

To the center of the ring came the Bengar, Aurora’s father. It was
a sign of his power that he silenced the crowd with a mere motion of
his hand.

“Mach Rona, an outsider comes here today to challenge the Bretnach and win the hand of my daughter.”

A chorus of boos rang out over the valley. Tic glanced at Aurora, and her face was like stone. This was not going well for him.

“You know the rules, my countrymen. No blows above the head. You may not kill your opponent. No blows directly below the belt. And absolutely NO magic. This is hand to hand, the strength of a man against the strength of another man. To be pushed outside of the ring is instant loss. The strongest man wins my daughter!”

The crowd cheered.

“Opponents. Approach!”

Tic walked toward Aurora’s father, trying to hold his head high. He was terrified that his knees would give way. And he’d decided to stop looking Aurora’s way, for it was making him lose his nerve. But the moment he locked eyes with the Bretnach, he realized the situation went from grim to impossible.

The first time Tic had seen Aurora’s husband, he was perched on top of an eagle. And then once on land, the Bretnach had been mounted upon a horse. So Tic really hadn’t gotten the full sense of his size. Now, he felt like a dwarf about to take on a giant. Not since Jigger had he seen such a man of immense proportions. It was clear why he was the leader of his people. Mach Ronans revered brute strength, and the Bretnach was undoubtedly unmatched. Tic felt sweat break out over his brow, as he caught villagers passing coins among themselves. He almost laughed. They are taking bets on my life. Like this is some game to them.

The Bretnach spit on the ground before them and sneered at his opponent. He wore no shirt, just a kilt and sandals. And the veins bulged in his arms. Tic found himself staring at them in a sort of hypnotic way, as if they would pop out at any moment and strike him.

“Competitors, do you understand the rules?”

“Aye.” Said the Bretnach.

“Yes.” Said Tic.

“Then all that’s left is to fight. May Tyr have mercy on you both.”
And then the Bretnach raised his hand and dropped it. The fight was to begin.





At first, the giant man toyed with Tic. He laughed heartily as they both sized each other up. The crowd jeered and hollered, passing gold pieces between each other.

“You think you can come to this country and steal my woman? Do you think after me she would welcome a man of your size?”

“I think she would.”

“I beat her senseless last night. I kicked her while she was done. I licked the blood off the corner of her mouth. And you know something? She liked it. She begged for more.”

Tic felt his blood boiling, but said nothing. The Bretnach ran at him but wasn’t able to grasp anything.

“You’re quick. But that will only take you so far.” He lunged again, this time landed a blow to the gut. Tic grunted and rolled to the ground.

The blows kept coming. He would get one in every now and then, but Tic found himself letting his mind wander—as if he were moving into some kind of trance. His thoughts moved to Aurora… the color of her red hair. It was like he was floating through it… as if he were the wind. He thought of her green eyes with specks of blue around the edges. The left one had a flicker of gold in it. He adored that small piece of her. Few knew the real Aurora Bengar. And certainly these people—her countrymen and family—knew her the least.

Tic knew that Aurora was a picture of determination, rarely showing her feelings. Her expression might seem stoic to these people, but he could read her like an open book. Try as she might, she was never able to conceal her true self from him.

He hadn’t noticed it initially, but there was a slight accent to her tone. She flicked her tongue over her bottom teeth, the symptom of a Mach Ronan brogue she’d worked hard to eliminate.

It was these tiny details that had put Tic in this ring today. He didn’t just love the idea of Aurora, he loved her idosincrocies. And more than anything, he loved her enough to save her from this brute, even if that meant forfeiting his own life.

Taking each blow felt like being trampled by a horse. He gasped for a breath but could not find one. He felt bones shifting around in his face, and when a blow landed twice in the same spot, Tic felt as if he wanted to die from the burning pain.

But then, as if experiencing the next moment in slow motion, he saw his first opening. The Bretnach may be a giant barbarian, but he was not quite as fast. The Mach Ronan lunged, and Tic leapt upon him locking him in a choke hold. He felt the giant fighting against him but was unable to loosen his grip. Suddenly the tables seemed to turn. Somewhere, Tic sensed gold pieces being passed back to their original owners. The crowd was surprised by the sudden change events. A few of them even stopped cheering for the Bretnach, and stood in stunned silence.

Hold on, Tic kept telling himself. No matter what he does, if you lose your grip, it will be the end of you. Hold on, Thomas.

The Bretnach flung himself onto the ground, landing with his full weight on Tic.

“Oof!”

Still he did not let go.

He could feel his opponent losing strength, and saw that his face and neck were turning bright red. Not only was he losing air and energy, but his fury was rising. Several times, in an attempt to get Tic off his back, he flung himself to the ground. But to no avail.

And then the rules changed. Tic felt the Bretnach pause for a moment as if to gain his strength. But the next blow was to Tic’s ribcage. From the piercing pain that he felt, he knew it was more than knuckles that had struck him. The Bretnach had donned some kind of small weapon, and had stuck it in the muscles between his ribs. Tic cried out and looking pleadingly to the crowd for someone to call the fight. But just as he’d expected, no one seemed to notice. Or to care.

This was what he’d been warned of. The closer The Bretnach came to losing, the more he would find subtle ways of cheating. But still Tic held on, for it was all he could do. It was likely the only thing keeping him alive.

The Mach Ronan then cheated for the second time. Tic had no idea how he did it, but it happened in the blink of an eye. One moment they were attached to each other, the next moment they were not, and the Bretnach was standing beside him facing him. If Tic didn’t know any better, he would say that his opponent had just teleported. Once again, he searched the expressions on the faces of the crowd, but they merely roared in a collective cheer quite pleased that their favorite was now in a good position. He locked eyes with the Bretnach and knew instantly that he had been duped. No magic in Mach Rona? Tic realized that was a great illusion. Only those of Elladrin blood had the natural capability for teleportation. And this giant man was no Elladrin.

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb, little boy…” said the Bretnach in a jeering manner. His eyes flashed angrily as his hands touched his weakened neck. “When I’m done with you, I’m going to take her and bend her over. I will do things to her that will hurt her. Maybe kill her. But slowly. And painfully. I’m going to enjoy it as much as I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

Tic knew he had to end this match. His strength was depleting rapidly, so speed was of essence now. Once more the Bretnach launched himself at him with a loud outcry. And Tic felt the presence of his father in his mind’s eye.



“There are ways to weaken or even kill a man without so much as picking up a weapon, Thomas.”

They were walking through the Fearwood Forest, returning from a successful hunt. His father’s beard was getting long and overgrown like the wild brush, and his grey eyes were calm and focused like they typically were after a long day of training.

Thomas Flick was eleven summers and growing very tired of being a boy. He loved when his father allowed him to go on the hunt, but was ready to begin his sword training. Allen Flick had made it clear that they would begin with sticks, much to Thomas’s disappointment. Still, whenever his father made it a point to teach, Thomas listened.

And he learned.

“All right. I give in. How can you weaken or kill a man without a weapon?”

“Hold your right hand up, Thomas.”

He did.

“And now your left.”

He held up the other, frowning.

“With just my hands?”

“The hands are the second most important weapon against an opponent. Whether they are wielding a sword or without, they give you your control.”

“What is the most important weapon?”

“The mind.” Allen winked at him.

“Now you’re teasing me.”

“Am I?” His father dropped his bow and arrow, along with the bag full of the hare they had just caught. “Come attack me.”

“Just like that? Attack you?”

“Yes. Strike me in the gut.”

“I’m not going to strike you in the gut!”

“Scared?”

Thomas flushed, and launched himself at his father. He didn’t wish to hurt him, but he would not be called a coward. He thought he moved at lightning speed, but his father was faster. Thomas felt his father grab both his arms, spin him around and pin him against his chest. And the next thing he knew, his neck was pinned with his father’s forearm. In fact, he was completely unable to move.

“If I applied pressure with my hands, I could steal your breath from you. Depending on how long I press, it might cause you to lose consciousness… and all of this without a weapon.” Allen released his son. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Seems like your strength and size were more of a weapon than your mind.”

“Is that was it seemed like, now?” Allen raised his eyebrow. “I will tell you a secret. The truth is if you are clever enough, strength and size have little bearing on the outcome of a fight. Use your mind to outsmart your opponent. Use your hands to attack them where they least expect it. Or just a good old fashioned conk to the head does wonders provided they don’t see it coming.”

Thomas laughed. “Will you show me how you did that then?”

“I will. If you can master it, then I will begin your swordmaster training.”

Thomas’s heart leapt in his chest. “With real swords??”

But Allen just laughed and rustled his son’s hair.

“Don’t push your luck.”



With a single movement, the Mach Ronan whipped Tic over his head so that he landed hard on his back. The blow completely knocked the wind out of him and he gasped unsuccessfully for breath. A cheer rose up from the crowd. More gold was passed between them. He even saw a group of kilted men clapping each other on the back and laughing heartily with mugs of ale in their hands. It made Tic disgusted. Twice now he had been forced to fight for the pleasure of a blood-thirsty audience. First at the Wizard’s Game in Stonehold, now to win the hand of a woman. Only this time, his companions were unable to help him. And he was losing. Badly.

It was as if his father stood behind him, whispering his ear.

“You have to see your opponent’s weakness, Thomas. What is it?”

Tic wiped blood from his nose. “He has none. He’s a fortress!”

“Even a fortress has weaknesses. Look how he leads with his left side…”

Now that he looked, he did indeed see that the Bretnach was left-handed.

“His right side is the weaker. You had the correct idea before, attempting the choke hold. But you hooked yourself to the wrong side. Go for the right…”

“Go for the right…”

At that, when the Bretnach launched his final attack, Tic swerved underneath him and hooked himself like a leech onto his right side. Once again, he took to the choke hold, but his father’s words had been wise… the Bretnach was unable to reach around and attack him from such an angle. He could still throw him to the ground and smother him (which he did on several occasions), but it was reassuring to feel that the man was finally losing strength.

“Tic… Tic… Tic… Tic…”

The chant started from one person in the crowd. Tic couldn’t see who, but the chant spread. The tables were turning, and this time it was in his favor. But if the Bretnach did not fall soon, he knew he would lose his advantage. For he felt his body broken and bruised. He felt the incision in his ribcage where blood was pouring out. He knew his face must look ashen, and that his nose was broken. Every muscle in his body cried out in pain. This would be his final attempt. But if it failed, he would lose the fight. And likely… his life.

Fortunately for him, the Bretnach was in a similar state. So silently, slowly, the air left his lungs and he fell to his knees, and then collapsed into the ground allowing for a cloud of dirt to billow into the air.

Tic wondered for a moment if he was dead. He couldn’t feel his face. And his body refused to let go of the choke hold, as if he had gone into a state of rigor mortis. All he heard was nothing and then…

A great cheer.

They lifted up his broken body, calling his name and passing him amongst each other as their hero. He’d won their respect, and the wife of his opponent, and only at the cost of nearly dying.

A small price to pay, he thought to himself, as they carried him up the hill to the castle.




The prisoners were released immediately upon Tic’s win, and summoned to the castle for a royal celebration. Where moments before they had been treated as outcasts and criminals, they were now catered to like kings. Each of them was permitted their own bath, and new clothes. They would not receive any of their magical items until outside of Mach Ronan territory, but they were given ample amounts of ale to make up for it. And in the castle courtyard, they were the personal guests of the Bengar. Seated at the head table like royalty, it did not take long before the companions were well on their way to being drunk.

Marco disappeared for a long while, exploring the halls of the modest castle.

Aeroth engaged the Bengar in a conversation about Mach Rona’s place in the Kaembran Empire, giving him a better understanding of where these people stood.

“Yvander Lux was a great man.” Said the Bengar after taking a long sip of drink. “I knew him, and considered him a friend. He did the right thing, trying to rid this land of magic. For no good has ever come of it. Take those damn Centaurs, infringing on our lands and declaring war on our people.”

“Those damn horse-people claim that Mach Rona was theirs during The Age of Magic, and we stole it from them during the Age of Twilight. This is our land by right, and I’ll personally stab anyone through the heart that says otherwise!”

“Here here!” Cried Aeroth. “But what news of Kaembra?”

“You no doubt saw the billows of smoke from the southeast?”

“Aye, we did.”

“It comes from Black Alder. The city is under attack by Okra’s forces. And no doubt, she will fall soon.”

Aeroth was stunned. “And you will sit by and let this happen?”

The Bengar shrugged. “It is not our way to sit back and watch, Paladin. That may be the Shambalan method. But is Mach Ronan nature to take sides, and to side with the Liberist cause. But to make an enemy with Okra… he is too powerful for our lands. Right now, the only thing saving our kingdom is ancient treaties from the Age of Twilight. Treaties that sprouted from the early Liberist theories. Do you know why those dragons that were hunting you turned around when you landed here? It’s because Okra is bound by our ancient treaties. No magic may enter Mach Rona, by any element. He honors that treaty for the moment. We support him with our forces. In return, he helps us fight those blasted Centaurs.”

“But if we were to uncover, say, that Cardinal Okra was being less than honest with you… that he planned to take Mach Rona next…?”

“Then I doubt you’d have any trouble convincing the clans to unite and rise up. It’s not me you have to convince, Paladin. It’s all the other idiot clan leaders. And most of them are off in a corner making love to some whore right now or just getting pissed drunk. None of them, I suspect, has their mind on politics just now.” The Bengar took another sip. “But why should they, eh? It is my daughter’s second wedding day! I woke up this morning, thinking I would be planning her execution and funeral. Now thanks to your friend, her honor has been saved and my daughter is returned to me. It is hardly time for politics! Another ale!”

“Aye!” They toasted to his daughter, while Aeroth considered ways to unite the clans of Mach Rona to their cause. If only all the clan leaders were as open… and as drunk… as the Bengar.



Wyveryn was surrounded by many female admirers, all of which were terribly curious about his culture and his many adventures. But when they saw the red-haired girl approaching, one by one they made excuses to leave. Soon Wyveryn found himself quite alone with this mysterious, seductive creature in a tight brown leather corset and tartan dress. She was short, but did not lack a figure. Her bosom was laid out like a cheese spread, so that the half-elf found it extremely challenging to take his eyes off her assets.



“You are the one they call Wyveryn, yes?”

“I am.”

“All the girls are whispering about you. I’ll admit, I find you very… intriguing.”

Her voice was like sultry caramel, her lips like candied apples. Wyveryn knew almost instantly that he would go anywhere or do anything she wanted. For there was something about this girl that was quite… compelling.

As their conversation carried on, he noticed she sidled closer and closer to him until she was right under his nose, her breasts pushing against his chest. Every sense in his body, every hair on his skin, was alert and at attention.

“Is it true that you are the grandson of Yvander Lux?”

“It is.”

“What is is like… being the grandson of a great man?”

“It’s… “ He searched for the words. “It’s just as you would imagine it.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “A vague and mysterious answer, Wyveryn Lux. Just as I expected. Again… intriguing.”

“So you asked me a question, now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why did all those girls leave when you came around?”

She grinned delightfully. “They do what I ask them to do… even if I do not need to use words. I wanted them to leave. So they left.”

“Do you typically get what you want?”

“Not typically. Always.”

“What is your name?” He asked her.

“Aisling.” She whispered into his ear.

“Aisling…”

And then she leaned into him and kissed him passionately, pressing her warm body against his. Giving into pleasure, Wyveryn happily went down without a fight.



Tic sat in the healer’s bed, surrounded by clerics tending to his many wounds. His bleeding had stopped, and there were bandages all about his body. He was fairly certain he’d cracked a knuckle and maybe two ribs. But he was alive! And that was enough to feel a full sense of satisfaction.

That was when he saw her. When she appeared by his bedside as if like a ghost. His heart thudded in his chest and his breath stopped completely for a moment, as if he’d been struck once more.

The Aurora Bengar that Tic had fallen in love with was a warrior. A woman who tossed her beauty about as if she was completely unaware of it. She wore armor and wielded a sword. She was comfortable with this as if it was her natural state.

But what he saw was another side of her. Gone was the armor. Gone was the chain mail. Gone was the sword at her side. Instead of being tied back in a loose pony tail, or in a messy braid, Aurora’s hair had been brushed smooth and lay in cascading waves about her shoulders. She wore a hunter green gown with the tartan sash of her clan about her shoulders and waste. The gown hugged every line of her curvaceous body, striking Tic with her womanly form. She was, to him, the picture of ultimate femininity.

And oddly enough, though it was nothing like the Aurora he knew, she wore this well. It was as if she was just as comfortable in the green gown as she would be in a soldier’s uniform. Her body moved in a slightly different manner. Her hips swayed a bit more freely. But there was his beautiful Aurora with her chin held high and her proud stature no less appealing.

Just when he thought he couldn’t love her anymore, she always taught him otherwise.

She dismissed the nurses with a brief word, and then pulled the curtain around them for privacy. It was only then, when they were truly alone, that her shoulders fell and her lovely green eyes with the one speckle of gold filled with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better in some ways,” he said, smiling weakly, “and in other ways, I’ve never been better.”

She touched his palm gently and ran her hands along his cheek. That was when he saw that she must have been crying.

“Tic, what you did for me out there… what you went through… I can never thank you. I can never repay the debt which I now owe you—“

“Let me be clear on one thing, Aurora. You owe me nothing. Just you being here next to me is reward enough.”

“Tic…” She struggled for the words.

“Thomas.” He corrected her.

“Thomas… it is not too late. You have defeated my husband. My honor is restored. You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to.”

He sighed and then pulled himself up so that he could face her eye to eye.

“There are battles for good and there are battles for land. But there is no doubt that this was for love.”

She said nothing, but listened.

“Aurora, I would gladly be your husband, if that is what you choose.”

“Oh Thomas…” she wiped a tear from her eye, “I chose that a long time ago.”

And then she leaned into him and let her lips linger a while on his mouth. For that tender moment, he forgot the pain.





“Where’s my daughter?!” Cried the Bengar, slamming his mug of ale down on the table.

“She is preparing herself for the pre-wedding ceremony, my lord.” A servant informed him.

“Not that one, the other one!”

“Lady Aisling has not been seen for some time, my lord.”

Aisling. Aeroth remembered the name. He’d seen the girl earlier. She was hard to miss. But he hadn’t realized that Aurora had a younger sister. Worse, he realized he’d seen her disappear… with Wvyeryn. This could be bad. Very bad.

But the Bengar was in good spirits, though his speech was so heavily slurred that it was at times difficult to understand what he was saying.

“I tell you what. If you can convince the other clan leaders to sign a treaty against Okra,” he said, taking another swig of ale, “then I will fight for you. And I will stand on behalf of your cause when they question me. But you have to understand how Mach Rona works, Paladin. We have no king. I am one clan leader among many. Which is why it is no small task to convince us all to fight as one. We make no move unless the vote is unanimous. But if you find the right cause, such as a threat from the Centaurs, or a betrayal by the Cardinal, you will have no problems in unifying the clans and creating such a treaty. Mach Ronans hate treachery. It really makes us want to kill things.” He laughed. “But onto happier things. A toast, Aeroth Ravenswing! To marriage!”

“To marriage!”

“To love! And to beautiful women, for Mach Ronan women are the most beautiful of all!”

“Aye!” Cried Aeroth, clinking his mug against the Bengar’s.

“And to my youngest daughter, let us not forget about her. May she find herself a man as strong as your friend Thomas!”

“It looks like she’s already started, since she disappeared with my other friend, Wyveryn, about an hour ago!”

There was a pregnant pause.

“What?”

Aeroth almost choked on his beer.

“So how about that treaty….?”



Tic & Aurora’s wedding took place at the Edge of the Pillars of Túr, overlooking the vast ocean and the islands to the north. It was a breathtaking view, the fresh smell of the sea spray floating up their way. The morning sun was golden, the grass was dewy and glistening. Aurora wore a flowing but simple white lace gown with the Bengar Tartan flung about her shoulder. Tic had been cleaned up and given his own white tunic and kilt with a leather vest. And gathered about the couple was every clan of Mach Rona, as well as their trusted companions.


The ceremony began with each clan beating their shields in one unison rhythm. And then, as the priest began to speak, the people fell into a hushed silence.

Tic stood facing Aurora and knew that he would never forget this moment. How far he had come from just a few months ago. What a different person he’d been before he’d met her. It was Aurora that had finally coaxed him into manhood. He was proud of this woman who’d chosen him. And honored, in fact, that in affording her the freedom to choose whom she pleased, she’d chosen him.

There were many gathered on the cliffs that day. But for Thomas Flick and Aurora Bengar, there were only two souls who joined as one. Two people who had battled impossible odds together promised to fight side by side for the rest of their days, no matter what the future may hold. And in a time of darkness, a glimpse of light twinkled at the edge of the Empire.