It was a bit ridiculous that this seeming confrontation was happening in the entry hall. It was far from deserted, even at this hour. These days, the halls of the Bastion were packed at all hours of the day. Either with Order members seeing to their tasks, or with the many, many refugees we helped to support. Luckily, they didn’t seem to mind the disruption. Heads were poking out of doorways left and right, watching the drama with entertained looks on their faces. Even some of my subordinates had stopped to watch the show, some enjoying it more than others.

  Renauld was the only officer on site, from what I could see. Either Maria or Isolde might have been somewhere else in the fortress, I suppose. But something told me they were likely picking up the slack I’d left up at Kyronkar when I abandoned the welcoming committee for the Throng in favor of seeing to Sylvia.

  They probably understood, but I was still a bit embarrassed by it. I’d make it up to them.

  Interestingly enough, Renauld and the older one weren’t the only Gnolls hanging around. Leaving aside that we had a handful of other members of that species in the Order, some of which I noticed were watching the confrontation, there were others. Presumably, they were a part of whatever…delegation the elder one led. There were five of them, from what I could see, and all of them clothed in a strangely identical manner. All five were clad from head to toe in bright yellow hooded robes, cinched closed with white sashes, their tails hidden beneath the cloth. Their snouts poked out of the covering of their drawn hoods, and that was really the only way to tell them apart. Most Gnolls didn’t have a single fur color and pattern, after all. All of them had their hands folded together inside their sleeves and were watching the heated conversation impassively.

  However, there was someone else hanging around that I was glad to see. They were watching the confrontation off to the side with folded arms and a frown on their face, looking almost constipated at the very public fight between the two Gnolls.

  Walter did his best to smile at me when I approached him, but it came out looking more like a grimace. “Sir Nate,” He said, nodding and referring to me by the best compromise I could get out of him, ever since I’d accepted the young man as my squire. Walter had certainly had…a very interesting introduction to the Polaris Reach, with how close his oath had been to the coming of the Skyfall. I hadn’t had as much time to help him settle in as I would have liked to, busy as I’d been with the APD project. But my fellow former slave had been doing well for himself, I’d heard. For the most part, I’d been assigning him to the Healers to help act as an orderly, working directly to assist Renauld. I’d figured he’d been working with the Preceptors for a while now, and that had to mean he had experience among Healers.

  Turns out, I’d been right.

  A smile crossed his lips when he saw my companion, and he dipped his head. “Miss Sylvia. It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you were alright.”

  Sylvia returned his smile. She’d always thought Walter was a nice kid, even though he was…technically older than her. But, well, it was different with Sculpted. “It’s nice to see you, too, Walter. I heard Nathan finally took you on as his squire. I know you were angling for that for some time. Congratulations.”

  Were you now? I suppose it was plausible that Walter might have approached Sylvia about the possibility before he’d actually spoken to me. But this was the first time I was hearing that.

  At my look, Sylvia just shrugged and flashed a quiet, mischievous smile at me.

  I snorted and shook my head.

  “Ah, well,” Walter said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Turns out, I just needed to ask.”

  “Walter,” I butted in, causing my squire to straighten up. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

  “Ah…” Walter scratched his cheek. “Well, the Commander and Captain Rellani are up at Kyronkar-”

  As I’d thought.

  “-but the Commander offered our yard to park their…Gigant, I think it’s called? While the discussions are being held,” My squire continued. “Something about settlement rights? But, this guy and his aides offered to stay behind to guard it, but…I think he has a history with Captain Renauld. They pretty much got into it as soon as the Gigant was settled, and they’ve been going ever since.”

  How wonderful. I did so enjoy interpersonal drama that didn’t involve me.

  Of course, that was sarcasm, Core Ring. Just because sometimes I had to step in-

  You know what? No.

  Shut up.

  In the background, the ‘conversation’ between the two Gnolls reached a boiling point, and after a particularly sharp recrimination from Renauld, the other Gnoll laid a hand on the sword at his waist.

  Alright, enough of this. That was the line for me.

  I stepped forward rapidly, approaching the two quarrelling Gnolls, and activated Might of the Wyrdwood at the lowest possible level. I liked to think of this as point zero five percent power. It didn’t even cause any of the visual quirks of the Skill to manifest at this strength.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Still, it was enough.

  I reached out and clamped down hard on the older Gnoll’s hand, sitting on the hilt of his blade.

  My sudden appearance and apparent intervention caused the argument between the two of them to immediately cease. Renauld blinked at me in confusion, seemingly caught off guard. “Nate…?”

  On the other hand, the older Gnoll had a much more startled reaction. He jerked in place from the pressure I was exerting on his hand, only to wince at the grinding of bones I could feel in my fist. “What the hells?” He grit out, from between his clenched fangs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see one of the yellow-robed Gnolls put a single foot forward, only to immediately freeze in place. His movement had drawn the eye of every single member of my Order currently lingering in the halls, and there were far more of them. No blade was drawn, and no hands even went to any hilts.

  But there sure was some sharp attention thrown their way.

  The robed Gnoll slowly backed into the line he’d been standing in alongside his fellows only moments before, while I allowed a small, mirthless smile to creep over my lips.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I said mildly. “I see that you’re having a bit of a, shall we say, disagreement. That’s all fine and well, of course, but let’s keep it…nonviolent.”

  “Just who do you think you are? Let go of me, now.” The older Gnoll growled at me in a distinctly animal fashion.

  I met the Gnoll’s dark eyes unflinchingly. “Why, I’m the owner of this fortress, of course. Marshall Nathaniel Hart, if you please. And the person you were haranguing just so happens to not only be the Captain of my Healing division, but my close personal friend.”

  Something in the Gnoll’s eyes…shifted at my words. “Is that so?”

  “Indeed.” I cocked my head, the smile on my lips not budging an inch.

  The tension between the two of us mounted, and judging by how I could feel his hand tensing, I think things might have degenerated even further in mere moments.

  If two separate people didn’t step in at that exact moment, of course.

  Renauld edged into my field of vision behind the other Gnoll, his jaw clenched tightly enough that I was afraid his fangs would chip. “Nate, it’s…fine,” He grit out, with some reluctance. “I mean, it’s not, but I’m…used to dealing with him. He’s…”

  “His Father,” Sylvia cut in, stepping up to stand at my side. Gently, she grabbed my hand and loosened my fingers from the top of the Gnoll’s hand. Since it was her, I let it happen, and in moments, I’d let go of the offending limb. Its owner immediately stepped back and folded both of his hands behind his back.

  But not before I saw him flex his fingers, as if he was trying to get blood flow back into them.

  “Commandant Marcel, of the Mother’s Claw,” Sylvia continued, sliding her palm into mine. “The enforcement arm of the Throng’s Council of Matrons.”

  In other words, the leaders of the Gnolls. They were a matriarchal society, from what I understood. It was difficult to get anything out of either Renauld or Liora on a good day about the actual culture of the Gnolls. But I understood that much at least.

  So.

  This was Renauld’s Father. I suppose I could see the resemblance.

  “…a pleasure,” Marcel managed to grit out, as Renauld came to stand on my other side. However, his gaze softened when it landed on Sylvia. “Ms. Sylvia. I see you managed to find your way back to your…companions. I’m glad to see the trip didn’t cause you too much grief.”

  Sylvia hummed non-committedly in response, while I carefully kept my expression still. She was in plenty of grief, fool. She was just incredibly skilled at hiding her pain, and very much not inclined to share her personal life with near strangers.

  “Can I help you somehow, Commandant?” I asked pointedly, drawing the elder Gnoll’s attention back to me.

  Marcel’s expression immediately closed off once more. “Not as such, Marshall. Your Commander,” He stressed, almost snidely. “Has already finalized the details on our agreement, while the Circle negotiates with your Regent and the High Assembly. I was merely…surprised, at the presence of my son-”

  “I’m barely your son at all, you old bastard!” Renauld butted in, outright baring his teeth to his progenitor. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his agitation through the rapid swishing of his tail, continuously disturbing his robes.

  The Commandant just ignored the interruption. “-and that he had risen so high into a Herztalian Martial Order. It’s quite a change from when he explicitly refused to join the ranks of the Mother’s Claw so he could defend his people. One wonders just what has changed.”

  Renauld clenched his fists tightly enough that I’m surprised his claws didn’t pierce his palms. “I don’t have to listen to this,” He growled. “I left you and your gods be damned dogma behind so I didn’t have to. Eat shit and die, old man.” At that, he stormed away in the direction of the stairs and the personal offices for the leadership on the upper floors. I caught the eye of a concerned-looking Walter and nodded after the retreating Healer. My squire got the hint and scurried off after him. The whole room watched the upset Gnoll leave, and when he and Walter were out of sight, a number of very unfriendly looks were suddenly directed toward the Commandant.

  As one might expect, Healers were very popular among Classers. In the Order of the Polaris Reach, that was doubly true. After all, we were meant to help people, and who was more helpful than the man who cured your wounds?

  And, on occasion, your hangovers.

  Even though he seemed like an asshole, the Commandant was apparently no fool. He straightened the collar of leather armor, somewhat uselessly, I might add, and straightened up. “I’ll be going now,” He said stolidly. “I must return to my duties aboard the Gigant.”

  “You do that, Commandant,” I said calmly. “We wouldn’t want to keep you.”

  When Marcel moved to leave the hall, with his troupe of robed toadies in tow, I pointedly didn’t move out of the way. Instead, they all had to edge past me and thread the group of Order members who had formed a deliberate lane toward the open doors of the Bastion. As soon as the last of them were outside, one of my subordinates, a man named Matthew, I believe, slammed it behind them. “And stay out, ya furry git,” The man grumbled.

  I huffed a short laugh, shaking my head. Abruptly, I clapped my hands together, getting the attention of everyone standing around. “Alright, show’s over,” I said loudly. “I’m sure you all have duties you’re neglecting right now. Chop chop, and all that.”

  By now, everyone was used to my strange sayings and didn’t even blink twice at them. Instead, they did as they were told, and resumed their regularly scheduled…hmm.

  Was it classist if I thought of it as programming?

  Ah, whatever. Instead of dwelling on such useless thoughts, I offered my arm to a pensive-looking Sylvia. I smiled at her raised eyebrow. “Let’s go. Someone needs to make sure Renauld doesn’t drink himself into an early grave.”

  Sylvia sighed and nodded, a resigned smile on her Mithril lips. “Yes, he’s probably already cracked a bottle. Let’s go.” She said, taking my arm.

  Arm in arm, the two of us followed after Renauld and Walter, as the normal hustle and bustle of the Bastion resumed.