The Gathering lasted longer than any in recent memory — nearly six full weeks before the shamans finally called it to an end. Goodbyes were exchanged in every direction: some full of laughter, others tearful, and a few solemn in a way that spoke of distances far greater than miles.
With the warming weather, the clans scattered to the far corners of the Four Kingdoms. Frostridge rode northwest toward their mines in Galieo, while the others dispersed in no particular pattern, following the pull of hunting ranges, rivers, and grazing land.
The Swiftwind Clan traveled west, heading for a forested region near the Galieo–Dhrygal border. The journey was smooth — cooperative weather, maintained trails, and spirits still high from a successful Gathering.
Each clan had donated tents for the Sentry force, all of which Dem stored in his ring for transport. On the evening of the fifth day, he called the first formal assembly.
Dem unrolled a list of names. Most on it were only a year or two removed from their Massats — young, hungry, and eager.
"I want to welcome everyone who has chosen to take part in our effort to make this continent safer for our clans. I am the Commander of this force; my second is Chief Telo Redfox. Beneath him are five oduns, each with nine members. Each odun has an assigned Sub-Chief."
Telo stepped forward once Dem nodded.
"First, Second, and Third Odun are spear specialists. Their Sub-Chiefs are Rodric Bearclaw, Toman Stonefall, and Erlec Brightsun."
He gestured sharply, and the three stepped forward, lining up one stride apart.
"Our Fourth and Fifth Odun are the archers and scouts. Their Sub-Chiefs are Sark Frostridge and Reyka Frostridge."
The two Frostridge stepped forward to join the line.
Telo gave Dem a nod. "All yours, Commander."
Dem faced the towering Rodric first — the man so tall Dem's neck had to crane back.
"As agreed, until you leave this force, you are clanless. Put your clan armbands away."
Telo stepped behind him, handing each Sub-Chief a new leather band bearing the dark brand of a galloping horse. He slipped his own into place on his right arm.
"Put them on," Dem ordered.
He stepped beside Telo and adjusted his Chief's band until it sat perfectly centered between elbow and shoulder. Then he moved down the line, adjusting each Sub-Chief's band with the same meticulous care before returning to the front.
"The rest of you, fall in behind me."
Telo lifted an eyebrow. This was supposed to be little more than a roll call — a simple introduction. He had no idea what Dem was planning.
Dem inhaled, then spoke clearly for everyone to hear:
"You'll receive your armbands from your Sub-Chiefs after we finish here. But first… we're going to welcome them properly. Do as I do."
He cracked his knuckles.
Then his fist blurred forward and smacked Telo's armband with a loud, echoing thwap.
"Welcome, Telo."
Telo hissed under his breath and shook out his arm.
Dem moved to Rodric.
"Welcome, Rodric."
He punched the giant's armband. Rodric didn't even blink — Dem was fairly certain the man barely felt it.
Next in line behind Dem was Teya Bearclaw. She grinned wickedly, fist already clenched.
"Welcome, Chief Telo."
Her punch made Telo grunt.
Then she stepped to Rodric, eyes narrowing in mischievous delight.
"Welcome, dosu…"
And she struck him with enough force to make his arm tingle.
One by one, every member of the Sentry force delivered their greeting. The ceremony took several minutes — a rhythmic chorus of thwaps, grunts, curses, and laughter. By the end of it, every Sub-Chief except Rodric stood with arms limp at their sides, trying very hard to pretend they weren't throbbing.
But some camaraderie had been forged.
And Dem could feel it — the Sentry force was real now.
Since the Sentry force was traveling with the Swiftwind Clan, Dem and the four Swiftwind members in his ranks continued sleeping in their family tents.
The morning after the first formation, the full Sentry force broke away from the main group, taking the lead position at the front of Swiftwind's long line of wagons and herds. At a steady canter, they easily pulled ahead of the slower-moving clansfolk.
Telo rode beside Dem, still flexing his sore arm from the previous day's "welcoming ceremony."
"We scouting ahead, Commander?"
"Something like that," Dem said with a faint smile.
After holding the pace for about an hour, he reined in and dismounted.
"Have everyone lead their horses, Telo."
Telo nodded. "Everyone, DISMOUNT!"
Dem took his own horse by the reins. "Tell them we're running."
Telo groaned but relayed it loudly. "We're on foot! Keep the pace!"
Dem broke into an easy run, and the others followed. The pace wasn't punishing at first, but as the minutes stretched and the sun climbed higher, the exertion began to show in flushed faces and heavier breathing.
Dem kept watch, glancing over his shoulder to monitor the group. When a few started to struggle, he slowed to a walk and stopped beside a large boulder.
He unrolled a map on the stone's surface. "Have everyone drink water. Bring the Sub-Chiefs."
Telo shouted the order, and Dem sipped from his canteen as the Sub-Chiefs approached. He'd been mildly concerned about Sark due to his age, but the former Huntmaster wasn't even winded.
"Keep an eye on your oduns," Dem said, tapping the map. "Swiftwind is stopping at the mouth of this river tonight. We'll reach it first, set up camp, and get some training done before the clan arrives."
Telo wiped sweat from his brow and eyed Dem. "Are you even tired?"
Dem swung back into his saddle, shaking his head. "Not really. In any drawn-out fight, fatigue is the real enemy. It slows your blade, shortens your stride, and hampers your aim."
Telo turned and shouted with renewed energy,
"Let's ride!"
With plenty of light left in the day, the Sentry force reached the planned evening stop. They set up camp quickly, tended to their mounts, and then went straight into training. Dem worked with the three spear oduns, going through formations, movement drills, and light sparring. Reyka had her archers shooting in tight patterns at close targets, while Sark simply vanished into the trees, his scouts trailing behind him like quiet shadows.
After drilling with the spear oduns, Dem headed to the archers' side of the field. Reyka stood behind him, adjusting his stance.
"As I said before, Commander — you seem gifted at everything," Reyka said. She used the title naturally, without hesitation.
Dem frowned at the target. "Two misses at this range…"
"Less than two months since you first picked up a bow," Reyka reminded him, repositioning his fingers. "You're squeezing the grip too tightly. That tightens the forearm muscles. Relaxed is better. It's common for melee fighters — men especially — to over-grip."
Dem loosened his hold. "Makes sense. Being disarmed in a melee is usually injury if you're lucky, death if you're not."
Reyka smiled. "If someone gets close enough to disarm you while you're using a bow, something has gone very wrong."
"Agreed." Dem reached for another arrow.
"Can I ask you something, Commander?"
"Of course."
"Did you have to kill often in Thaigmaal?"
"No," Dem answered without hesitation. "Most fights were about territory, loot, or survival. Once one side was losing, they usually backed off. Killing someone meant angering their family or friends. You avoided it if you could."
"You've killed several since joining us," Reyka said quietly.
"Out of necessity," Dem replied. "Rave's kidnapping. The Sybasi duel. The mage ambush. Those couldn't end any other way." He paused, lowering the bow. "Why are the targets so close today?"
Reyka snorted. "Because my arm is still bruised from the punching ceremony. I can barely draw my bow."
Dem laughed, remembering Ai's comment at dinner:
Dasai, put me in the archer odun so I can punch her a few times.
Reyka raised a brow. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Dem smirked, slinging his bow over one shoulder as he went to find Telo.
The next five days followed the same pattern — the Sentries running ahead of the clan, making camp early, and training hard before Swiftwind caught up.
They were one day out from their destination when Elspeth appeared at Dem's family tent.
"Commander," Elspeth said, offering a pretty smile and her usual air of mystery. "If you have a moment, Mamar would like to speak with you."
Dem swallowed the last bite of stew.
"I'll take that, dasai," Ai said, snatching his bowl. "Hurry back. Telo's teaching us dice later."
"Thanks, dosu." Dem stood and followed Elspeth toward the Travelers' wagons at the edge of camp.
She led him up the wagon steps and held the curtain aside. "After you."
Inside, the wagon was brighter than usual. A map was spread across the round table. Mamar sat waiting, her expression unreadable.
"Commander," she greeted warmly. "I'll get right to it. Scout tomorrow's destination with extreme caution. The signs all point to danger."
"Understood," Dem said. He didn't sit. "Is that it?"
"No questions for me?" Mamar asked.
"If you had details, you'd share them," Dem replied. "Until you've proven otherwise, I'll assume you can do what you claim."
He turned and left the tent without another word.