I pulled my aura in tight and blended into the shadows. I slipped through the outer palisade and moved quietly through the yurts. They were even more haphazardly arranged than my own tribes camp layouts. Too many corners and places to lurk, short sight-lines, and not enough guards.

A pair of patrolling warriors emerged around a corner and turned to stare at me. I crossed the distance in a blink and slammed a fist into each of their heads. How the hell was I even going to deal with this bunch? There were a few thousand of them, judging from the expanse of tents I could see via Glimpse.

Killing them all was not an appealing choice. Sure, when the tribes split the herds, it was rarely an amicable arrangement. Raiding would be fierce between the old and new groups for years afterwards. Often, the new tribe would be worn down and forced to fold itself into another tribe in order to survive. These were the sons of my loyal followers, in many cases. Cadet branches of the primary families that had broken with their patriarchs.

They were my people. And I still had my code. Rebelling against me wasn't necessarily a crime worthy of death. The influx of Souls would be nice, I wouldn't lie about that, but there were as many women and children here as there were warriors. If they could be brought back to the fold, it would restore some of my depleted numbers. It had never occurred to me how painfully long it takes for a new crop of warriors to mature. It was like growing trees, a multi-decadal investment.

I dropped my stealth, but spread the non-physical element of my aura out as far as I could. With effort, I could push it out a couple of hundred metres all around me, covering a not inconsiderable area of the camp. Conversations stilled as people glanced about, shying away from me as I strode through the camp towards the chief's tent.

A handful of warriors approached, but at a glare from me, they backed up and simply trailed along behind, hands resting nervously on the hafts of their maces. They all had different lengths of hair, but they were also recently shorn at the back and sides. I had quite an entourage, perhaps fifty whispering warriors, when I arrived at the central cookfire.

"We broke with you according to the old ways," called the new king, sitting on his 'throne'. He was young, and he had shaved back and sides, but the top of his hair had been left to grow long and fall to his shoulders. He wore the brigandine armour I had introduced to the tribes, and had a long steel-tipped spear propped next to him.

"What is your name, king?" I asked.

His eyes were hidden by the long hair that hung in front of his face. It made his expression difficult to read. "I am Parnatik." His voice was steady, despite my aura filling the air with threats.

"I don't know your family. Why did you break your oaths?" I demanded.

"What debt do we owe an outworlder? You'll succumb to the madness if you haven't already. We must preserve a seed of our people who can resume the old ways, after you have burned out." I kind of liked the bloke.

"I won't be burning out, chief."

"King!" he snapped. "I am king of the Parthil!"

"Your fathers miss you. You're brothers weep at the thought of spilling your blood," I replied loudly. My words were aimed at the gathering crowd as much as at this young lordling.

"They're your slaves, they're incapable of thought beyond that which you deem appropriate."

"Is that what you think, young Parnatik? I don't use my power that way."

"But you do. At the Battle of the Bay of Skulls, our fathers fled, our brothers fell back to the high ground just as we were finally winning. You compelled them to abandon us," he said thickly.

"I tried to save as many as I could once I saw the tsunami. Would you not have had me try to save my people? Didn't they tell you to fall back as well?" I asked gently.

"They yelled at us to ride away as they ran. But we were in close, and winning, to turn and run at that point means you get stabbed in the back. Anyone who had lost his horse was dead. And it was your fault, Warlord." He sneered the last words, his hair swaying to show the venom on his face.

"Poseidon cheated. Mortimer didn't have the strength to summon that wave. The Goddess betrayed her own chosen and the rules. The Dead King's army was destroyed completely. It was a divine assassination attempt aimed at me."

"And your stupid squabbles with the gods cost thousands of warriors their lives. But not those you had 'blessed'. Your Soulbound all had a warning that we did not," he hissed.

"Poseidon was punished by the gods for her actions." I decided that expressing my intent to end her permanently was not a wise move. "That doesn't bring our brothers and sisters back. But it was beyond our control. We were at war with Urkash and the army of the dead. You remember the hordes of bandaged men that attacked us at the festival at Hellath? The way they dug themselves out of the ground and attacked everyone?"

"Would that have happened if you hadn't taken refuge among us? Used as living shields?" Parnatik replied coldly.

"I don't know. Do you think Mortimer would have been content not to conquer the steppes?" I retorted.

"Many have tried to conquer us. They all run back south in the end," he sneered. I glanced around at the warriors who had gathered. They fidgeted nervously.

"Why would fighters who were already dead have retreated, boy. They didn't eat, sleep, or tire. They had instructions to drive out the tribes. I stopped them. I led you on your greatest conquests in ten lifetimes! The southlanders speak of the Sykareskyn in hushed whispers, now."

"Who gives an onz of yalk what the shit sitters say? Are we southerners to care for the opinions of others?" Parnatik replied, earning murmurs of approval from the audience.

"Do you care what your elders and patriarchs say? Do you care what they think?" I barked. "You have broken with your families. You have broken your oaths to me!" The last came out as a feline growl.

"Oaths bind both ways, Shikrakyn. Your pets are still loyal, despite how you abandoned them. Go back to your wars and your toys. Leave us in peace." Parnatik certainly had the kingly dictats thing down.

"You will not leave me in peace. You have raided my herds and supplies, stolen enchanted items, and rare metals. Go west, go far away if you won't come back to your families." I left the 'or else' unspoken, but the king snorted and stood up, picking up his spear casually.

"Why should we cede our homeland to a foreigner?" he sneered, spinning the spear lightly in one hand.

"Because they are my lands. Not yours."

"You hear that? This otherworlder thinks he has more claim to the grasslands than we do." The spear stopped spinning, pointing in my direction. "What will you do if I attack you?"

"Beat some sense into your skull, like your mother should have done," I growled.

"You cannot control us, foreigner. You are not of us," he replied smugly, and a chorus of assent went up from those gathered around us.

"I became you. On my world, I was an outsider as well. I found a home with the Sykareskyn, one I have never known before. I came to you this evening as a brother of the steppe. I could have crept in here and killed any of you I chose; I could have burned this place down from afar. For whatever fucking reason, I decided to try and talk to you. If you come back to the fold, no hard feelings. If not, leave my lands forever. Raiding my supply wagons, stealing from my herds… they will not be considered as normal and acceptable, as part of life on the grasslands."

"You cannot dictate to another king!" snapped a large warrior. He was tall by nomad standards, perhaps five-ten. His recently shaved back and sides weren't hidden by the short-cropped hair that remained like Parnatik's were.

"Do you think I can't enforce my will?" I lashed out with my aura, the air around me swirling with semi-illusory daggers, and a wave of dread spread out from me like ripples in a pond. "The game the gods have forced on me isn't done yet. I had hoped it was, that we could all return to the steppe and have something like peace for a time–"

"Peace! Do you think the sons of Aresk want peace?" snapped Parnatik, who was holding up well against my aura. The others had shied away, faces suddenly pale.

"Put that spear down before I break it," I said softly. He didn't move, so I extended the flickering blades that surrounded me. They bit into the spear, slicing down on it and forcing it to the ground. Parnatik refused to let go, and his knees bent as he struggled against the sparks flying from the attacks on the spear. He ended up on his knees, glaring at me from between his long fringe.

"So it's kneel or die?" he hissed as he let go and stood up. I withdrew the physical component of my aura, but not before I used several strikes to flick the spear into my hands. I bent the metal-shod haft until the wood beneath snapped and tossed it to the ground between us.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"I don't want slaves. If you want to fight in the wars to come, you're welcome to return to your brothers and fathers. If not, you go west and do not return." I hoped I was getting this right. Trying to strike a balance between god-like power and reconciliation with such aggressive people wasn't easy. "Just remember, I can find you wherever you go, and if you return to my lands, I will crush you." A wash of aura from Aresk washed out, shields locking in place, which surprised me. It had been a while since he'd interceded.

"You no longer serve Aresk?" called a warrior hesitantly. I looked over, and it was the big bloke from before.

"We are more like cousins now. The other Shikrakyn, Mortimer and Amir, were mad. They thought they were on the path to godhood. Turns out they weren't entirely wrong," I replied carefully.

"And what's to stop you from going the same way?" barked Parnatik, trying to recapture control of the discussion.

"Have you met my wife?" I asked drily. A wave of quiet chuckles spread through the gathering, and I withdrew my divine aura. "Any of you who wish to join me in the East are welcome. If not, I cannot have active forces to my back. You will leave or you will die. I will kill the leaders first, slipping into your camp like a ghost. If you don't take the fucking hint, I will kill the men and take the women and children back to the tribes."

"We are untied and will not be cowed by–" Parnatik began. The guy was too dumb for his own good. Respecting his stubbornness wasn't going to help me here, so I sent out the blades of my aura. His body fell apart, beginning with the extremities. As he was diced alive, the other warriors backed away and reached for their weapons. I raised a hand, and they paused.

Normalis Humano slain x1

Ten Souls gathered.

"I am the Warlord. Parnatik was brave but stupid. I suggest you make a better choice for your next king. You have two days to start heading back to Urkash, or to run west."

I strode towards the ring of fighters, and they parted before me as I moved back into the camp.

You may want to look at this, sent Glimpse.

I borrowed his senses. The bird was perched on a tent nearby, head cocked at a wagon.

It's a wagon?

Wait for it, he replied.

A woman stuck her head out for a moment before ducking back inside after glancing around. She had been beautiful, not uncommon among the tribal women, but her blonde hair screamed she was not a native nomad, and the scarlet letters floating over her head were even more distinctive. I checked the threads that led out from my soul and confirmed she wasn't Soulbound to me.

I pulled my aura around me to hide myself, seeming to fade into the shadows as I passed quietly towards the wagon. I arrived and crouched down in the gloom beneath the tail of the vehicle. A few minutes later, the head poked out again, and I lashed out with a fist, straight into her temple. I pulled her unconscious body into a storage ring and glanced at Glimpse. The crow hopped down onto my shoulder, and I nodded. There was a brief infinity of nothing, and I opened my eyes outside the settlement around Urkash. I fought the urge to return to my domain. I needed to put that aside for now and build my power on Urth

A pair of mage-Huskars silently fell in beside me as I stormed through the camp to the command area. I sent Glimpse back north to watch the Parthil. An infiltrator from another exile in the first rebel group. I had to assume there were more. Someone had stirred up this rebellion, exacerbated legitimate grievances to drive a wedge in my forces.

All around me, I saw scarlet letters. Almost everyone who remained in my camp was Soulbound. There were a number of legionaries who hadn't been given Souls, and a number of women and camp followers, but the majority of them were bound to me. Scanning the lines of connection that grew from my mind was like looking at a circle composed of thousands of threads all spreading out from my body. I didn't even blink when I saw a Soulbound; they were all mine. Or so I had assumed.

I headed for Jandak's tent and coughed until he stuck his head out.

"Can't a man say goodbye to his wife in peace?" he grumbled.

"I found an unknown Soulbound with the Parthil," I said simply, and he blinked, then stepped out, letting the flap close behind him. He was only wearing his trousers, and his chest was covered with scars from our battles together.

"Whose?" he asked, rubbing a hand through his mullet.

"Don't know. I captured her. She needs to be interrogated."

"You want me to torture a woman?" he said softly. "I will but it–"

"No. This is work for the coven. I need Haylin."

"She'll love that!" he snorted. While he wouldn't want to do the deed himself, he chuckled at the thought of his wife wielding the hot tongs.

"I'll love what?" Said wife snapped as she stuck her head out of the tent as well. "Mond. What do you want?"

"Nice to see you too," I laughed. "I caught a spy, a Soulbound woman. Care to ask her a few questions? I need to know who she calls boss, and how many more there are. This camp is full of Soulbound, it's the best place for them to hide."

"Can't you tell? If they aren't yours, then they should stick out like tits on a bull!" Jandak said.

"Give me a minute!" Haylin disappeared into the tent, and the sound of her cursing as she struggled into some clothes filtered through the felt door.

"There are so many of them. I've got tens of thousands of threads connecting me to other people, that Panash prick managed to fake being one of us right in front of me," I growled unhappily. "Before, if we saw a Soulbound it was simple. Now there are fucking thousands of them all around!"

"I can think of a couple of ways to find them," said Kril as he walked out of a nearby tent.

"That's Lissa's tent, you old goat!" chuckled Jandak. Kril shrugged and cackled.

"First, I want to find out who this woman in my storage ring is working for. Then I can sit down and have every fucking Soulbound in the camp walk past my chair," I said.

"Give her to me. I'll get Fay and some of the coven." Haylin's voice was flat and full of menace. Being handed over to the women was the worst thing that could happen to a nomad. I hadn't really understood it before, but that tone and the cold look in her eyes left me in no doubt as to why the men would rather die in battle.

I produced the still-unconscious woman, and Haylin heaved her over one shoulder effortlessly. Some of the coven were terrifyingly strong; Fay's closest friends, like Haylin, had received a certain amount of preferential treatment. Jandak's wife strolled away like she was carrying a sack of flour, heading towards my own tent.

"The only ones we can trust are the Huskar," Jandak said firmly.

"Pfft. What do you know, boy? I've seen Mond grow to match the smaller of them in stature," Kril objected, spitting to one side through the gap in his teeth.

"Only for a few seconds. I can't do it for long, nowhere near long enough to infiltrate them," I said.

"You think you know all there is to this magic? Some of us have unlocked spells you haven't," my mentor snapped.

"Like what?" I asked.

"None of your business, boy. Let an old man keep a few secrets. The problem is two-fold. You are no longer the chosen of Aresk. You're still his favourite, no doubt! But you don't bear the mark anymore. You underestimated just how much subtle influence that thing had on the tribes. Second is this infiltration. And finally, you fucked off after the battle and left us to rule ourselves again, but I already bollocked you about that. We need a Warlord, or we fall back into our old squabbles."

"Well, I'm back now. I have my own mark and aura. Maybe I should make it plain that I'm now more of a little brother to Aresk than I am his pet."

"Brother! That's a big claim!" Jandak exclaimed.

"It's the truth. He calls Mond his 'little brother' in my dreams. Using your aura might help, but what are you the god of, Mond?" Kril asked,

"I am– No, I am becoming a god of killing, of murder."

"Hah, that will go down fine with the tribes. Especially if Aresk will make a small show of support when you announce it. Which he better had." Kril briefly glared at the sky, but no response was forthcoming.

"I should have just used all the Souls to level myself and a couple of allies," I said regretfully.

"Then all the tribes would have melted away, and you wouldn't have the big bastards throwing fire and lightning. No, it was the right choice, I think. We will just have to find a way to live with the consequences. Let the women question this stranger. Once we know whose plan she serves, we can find any other spies easily enough."

"How, Kril?" I demanded. The old man did love to play the wise man, but I wasn't in the mood for it.

"You showed me the solution yourself earlier today," he grinned at me, but I just stared at him in confusion. He sighed. "You can compel your own Soulbound." He said it as if I were a small child failing at some simple task.

"Yes."

"So do that. Make all of your Soulbound, everywhere, mark themselves in some fashion. A simple cut on the back of their left hand with a dagger, or something. And a command to kill any Soulbound who isn't sporting that mark." He laid it out like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"You want me to order my followers to cut themselves, and then kill anyone who doesn't? It could work. I don't like it, bloke, but it could work."

"We all appreciate your restraint when it comes to abusing the hold you have over us," Kril said. Jandak grumbled a little, still bitter about the times I had used it on him. "But now is not the time to neglect that power."

"I'll do it tonight. They can cut the back of their hands and not speak about it to anyone. And anyone they see with scarlet letters who hasn't done it needs to be captured," I said firmly.

"Now is not the time for childish restraint. You have one prisoner to question. We have already formed our suspicions as to which faction they belong to. These Beauties are too slick at infiltration, aren't they, Jandak?" The Fist glared at the Dreamer, who cackled softly at the look.

"They might be from both factions. Capture first, kill if needed," I decided. "I'm going to have a chat with someone. See if I can get some more information from the Scholars."

"Can you trust what they say? They may be knowledgeable, but Memnis is not always a god of sharing. His chosen should not be trusted," Kril objected.

I said goodnight and headed back to my tent. The fire was dying, so I added some more wood. The chest containing her clothes had been left open, a sign she had left in a hurry with Haylin. I put a kettle of water over the embers and fetched a pot of ched leaves from the shelves.

While I waited for the water to boil, I took out the communication crystal and set it in front of me. I flicked it gently with a finger, but nothing happened. Picking it up, I rolled it around in one hand, thinking hard about speaking to Patricia. Again, no joy. I set it down and made the tea, blowing on the hot drink as I glared at the crystal.

Assimilation of the Source of The Cycle: 6% complete

Dammit. Had the rate slowed? Was I going to have to set my plans in motion and hide in stasis while we travelled, only coming out to fight or make decisions? It seemed likely it might come to that. I'd be trapped in my domain, training with a ghost, and waiting for brief moments in the real world.

I was just preparing to reach out and send a command down the myriad threads that grew from my soul when I heard a voice. It was muffled, but I recognised it. Nudging the crystal a couple of times, I got it to face the right way, and Patricia's head and shoulders floated in front of me.

"You wished to speak with me?" she snapped.

"Tell me about Jeremy's Beauties," I replied affably.

"Hah. Started finding them where they shouldn't be, have you?" she replied with a slightly manic laugh. "Learning to spot your own is hard when there are a lot of scarlet letters!"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"You need to find a way. I use my Magi. Most of them have access to a spell called True Sight. It lets them see the bindings on someone's soul," she said, then she sighed. "Do you know how bad the infection is?"

"You're talking about it like it's a disease," I said, taken aback by her serious tone.

"They are like cancer cells. They propagate within the body politic, blending in, driving dissent and rebellion. 'The Petal King is much more generous, much more worthy' etc etc. Assholes. Once we figured out how to make the veil work correctly, they stopped being a problem. Now he sends armies of mortals led by sects of Beauties to cause problems outside our defences, and fanatical mortals to infiltrate us."

"He is asking for me to help him against you."

"And will you?" she asked with sudden focus. I just grinned in response.

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