It was not all that long ago that I'd left Colchet – roughly a month – but I had forgotten how gloriously overwhelming the bustle of people could be. Nathlan took it all in beside me as we strolled around the lake, and we shared the odd grin every now and then. There was so much to experience!

Men and women moved back and forth like waves. Throngs of them would lurch towards us, buoyed on by laughter and the giddy excitement of revelry, and then once past, we'd be left in a lull. The streets, if you could call them that, looked strange when empty. They were little more than gaps between the maze of tents, yurts, huts and cobbled together jumbles of timber and canvas that could range anywhere between a luxurious palace and a beggar's heap depending on how they were setup.

There were plenty of shopfronts, forges, taverns and general bustle, but without the chaos of the people, it seemed incomplete. Luckily, just like the tides, every ebb would be followed by a flow, and we'd soon walk past a new shop to be bombarded by calls and hoots, not necessarily directed at us, but just thrown carelessly in our general direction by excited and gregarious barbarians.

I loved it; the chaos, the joy prevalent in the air, the variety of dress and body and person that we came across set my mind alight and kept my smile wide. Nathlan was a little more strained in his appreciation, despite the odd smile he shot my way; he'd never liked crowds much, so this wasn't necessarily his favourite environment. He was working on it though, so I decided to let him make his own decisions. If he wanted some space from it all, he would ask me.

The clan-affiliations of each person were clear. Most wore some sort of fetish or cloth in the colours of their chosen clan, but from what we'd seen today at least, it didn't appear to be a form of segregation. Groups of people were a riotous blend of clans; Red-Field, White-Cliff, Blue-Cavern, Yellow-Peak… On and on it went, such that every street looked like a herd of Jackal-Beaks on the move.

Many bore weapons, and they were just as varied as their skins, furs, silks, armours and dresses. I saw a short, tattooed man with crossed axes on his back, lines of swirling blue ink on every inch of exposed skin. A woman with a strange multi-barrelled flute sauntered past a few moments later, feathers woven through her lustrous hair, and it was only after seeing the holster of darts on one hip that I realised it wasn't a flute at all, but instead some strange sort of blow gun. A few minutes later I saw a mountain of a man with a maul made of emerald glass draped over his shoulders, bones lashed together to form primitive armour on his thighs and shoulders.

Wherever I looked, I saw new forms of weapons and their wielders, all different, all dangerous. Gods, it was exciting!

"I'm beginning to doubt our chances in this 'Blending'," Nathlan remarked after the maul-wielding mammoth man stomped past. I chuckled, unable to fully disagree.

"Let's hope they're not all like these ones, aye?" I called over my shoulder while nodding towards a company of half a dozen barbarians lounging around a large tent playing some sort of dice game. They looked fit and ferocious to a man, their weapons close to hand and their armour well-maintained. I didn't have Nathlan's wealth of experience fighting other humans, but these ones looked far beyond our current strength by my best guess.

"At least it presents challenges and benefits both," Nathlan replied.

"How so?"

"The downsides are obvious, but the benefits should not be discounted. For one, testing ourselves against people with demonstrable competence will only help us grow. And for another, personal strength is not the only form of power. We could perhaps persuade some of these fine warriors to join our cause, or even hire them as mercenaries."

"Well, I take your second point," I replied lazily as I watched a blacksmith beat a metal bar into submission against their anvil.

"But not the first?"

"No, not especially. My last real fight with another human was having the piss beaten out of me by fucking Francis D'Sware! If anything, I could do with the ego boost of beating up a bunch of weaklings," I said with a grin.

"Actually," Nathlan countered, his own smile growing. "I believe your last defeat was by my hand, Lamb."

"Even worse! Come on, let's get some food."

It didn't take us long to find a tavern serving food, given the evening hour, and I managed to persuade Nathlan to indulge in a drink as well while we were there. It's not everyday you found yourself sitting in a longhouse surrounded by boisterous barbarians, and it was important to make the most of the situation sometimes.

We spoke of nothing important, passing the time as we ate with inane chatter and then turned our attention to those around us as we nursed our ales. While there were no obvious signs of hostility between tribes, we did notice a tendency for some to mingle more freely with each other. Yellow-Peak, Blue-Cavern and White-Cliff seemed over-represented in the current settlement we were in, so they were by far the most common, but there were plenty of others. Despite seeing many members of clan Black-Sky or Grey-Rock though, they appeared much more insular, unwilling to mix outside of their own clan.

Of course, drawing conclusions from a snapshot of people in a single tavern was perhaps not wise, so I didn't put too much stock in the observation, but it was interesting to note. What seemed more important of a distinction than clan affiliation though was occupation. There were clear differences between those who seemed to work primarily as warriors, and those who did not. Almost everyone appeared to carry some form of weapon, be it a long knife or hatchet strapped to their waist or the small of their back, but the warriors were those who wore weapons of war openly.

Mauls, bows, swords, spears and a hundred more exotic weapons could be seen. Tools that had little use in hunting or construction. They didn't swagger about, credit to them, and I got no sense of superiority from them, but their methods of dress were subtly different. Clothes would be tightly bound rather than flowing. Hair would be corralled by bands, fasteners or braids rather than loose. Clan affiliation would be marked out on shields, sewed into armour, or wrapped tightly around weapons, rather than left to stream freely in the wind, and while there were a hundred styles of jewellery in evidence, I didn't see any gaudy impractical pieces worn by those with true weapons.

The Mountains clans, whatever else you could say about them, were clearly a people familiar with warfare. Or at least skirmishes. From what little Nathlan had shared of their recent history, they mostly fought as mercenaries for various larger powers and hadn't fought as a united front since the beginning of the 3rd era when the refugees of Ashkania had fled the destruction of their empire and settled in the Dragon-Spine Mountains.

"Shall we see if we can scope out the competition?" I asked, draining the dregs of my tankard. Nathlan looked forlornly at the roaring fire in the nearby hearth before sighing and following me out the door. The sun was bright, though beginning to fade, but while its warmth still blessed the land, we were thousands of feet high here and the air held a brisk chill to it that the lowlands simply lacked, no matter the season.

We hiked through the encampment, looking around like wide-eyed tourists and gossiping about what we saw, guessing at where the young warriors of the clans might train. The White-Cliff and Yellow-Peak clans made Lake Vashtegara their temporary home, so we wouldn't see all of our future fights, but it would still be good to see the general level of competition we'd face. It took a couple of hours to skirt the lake, passing by general traders, butchers and grocers, the crafters and metalworkers and other professionals that kept to their own quarters, before we found something promising.

On the east side, with a view over the entire basin, particularly the dozen rivers that flowed towards the sinkhole in the centre, we came across a training area. Racks of weapons and armour stood nearby, people fought one another in rope-marked circles or trained with heavy weights and training dummies nearby under the watchful eyes of older barbarians. We wandered through, taking in the sights and sounds, looking for people that might be in the 1st tier bracket of The Blending come the morrow.

A woman in black robes with white wraps around her lower legs and forearms swayed this way and that, evading the slow, controlled strikes of her training partner. She barely seemed to move, graceful and elegant as she dodged. Every now and then she'd be forced to block, and I was surprised to see her using her forearms and shins to intercept and redirect the – hopefully blunted – glaive her partner wielded.

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Rather than the crack of breaking bone I was expecting, instead silver dust fell from her wrapped arms with each impact, and I frowned while trying to work out what was happening.

"Is that some sort of Skill?" I asked.

"Yes, I expect so," Nathlan affirmed. "Her timing must be impeccable though, as I doubt that it can be kept active for more than a few moments. Her opponent just needs to make her use it enough to exhaust her spirit. Sorry, mana, is it for you?"

"Yeah, that's right, but I think I've stabilised my soul enough to use other terms now. That's a funny way of measuring progress though, right?"

"I suppose," Nathlan murmured in agreement, though it was obvious his attention was elsewhere.

"What a strange Skill," I mused as we watched the woman with the white arm and leg wraps drill her blocking. Again, I was impressed by her timing, but did notice how slowly they moved through the motions. She'd need to be quicker than that in a real fight. "I overheard her talking to one of the others earlier when we arrived. Something about studying a type of armoured spider that lives high up in the mountains – I wonder if that's where she learned it from."

Nathlan raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought arachnids did not tolerate the cold well."

I shrugged. "Why not? They can grow armour. I killed a rhino that could conjure ice not that long ago, so who's to say what's weird and what's normal?"

"I cannot argue with that, I suppose."

"So what are we looking for out of this tournament, then?" I asked.

We were gathered in our surprisingly spacious tent, the four us sprawled out on various pieces of furniture that Jorge and Vera had carried in their storage devices. Nathlan was still very much building his personal hoard up – right now it mostly contained scrolls and letters that he found interesting, and some emergency supplies: food, water, canvas, rope, cleaning materials for his weapon and some spare clothes.

I'd never given it much thought, but a storage item was only as useful as the things you kept within, and building up a personal store would be both time-consuming and expensive. I still had no idea how they organised the damned things, but I'd ask about that once I got one myself. For now, there were too many other pressing questions.

"Well… that depends on you, lads."

I raised an eyebrow at Jorge, and he shrugged. "Honestly, I've got no dog in this fight. We needed to come here for supplies and information before we can cross the Dragon-Spines, but The Blending itself gains us nothing. We could leave in a week once we've stocked up, and it would make no difference whether you compete or not." He then raised one hand and wiggled it back and forth before him. "That being said, I think it might be useful for you both to get some experience and perspective."

"Go on," I said, gesturing him to continue. Nathlan leaned forwards as well.

"Well, y'see–"

"When we reach the sunsets, we'll more than likely be fighting and killing lots of humans. You need the practice," Vera interrupted before he could finish the thought.

I blinked, taken aback by the words, though I surely couldn't have been by their content. I knew we were heading to assassinate a leader, and that leader would clearly have people protecting him that we would have to fight and kill. I'd obviously hoped we could do so with as little bloodshed as possible, but even I wasn't naive enough to think there wouldn't be any.

"I didn't have much trouble with Sven and Shavkat," I replied, somewhat defensively.

"I know, lad," Jorge said calmly, shooting Vera a reproachful look. "But there's a difference between an ambush and a set battle, right? Looking another man or woman directly in the eyes, both of you knowing it's kill or be killed… Takes some practice, is all."

I leaned back, somewhat mollified. "Aye, I suppose most of my experience so far is against wild animals. Is it really that different?"

"Yes," Nathlan, Jorge and Vera all answered immediately.

"But I've sparred all of you," I protested. "In fact, I've spent far more time fighting humans than anything else if you take that into account. Which you should," I added reproachfully.

"Aye, but you know our Skills. It's the unexpected ones that are the problem."

I sighed. "So we get some experience fighting other humans with strange Skills… What else? Don't tell me that's all – we could have sparred a dozen different fighters today if that was our only goal."

"Don't be so sure, lad," Jorge said with a laugh. "Couple of 'lowlanders' turn up looking for a scrap – I'm not sure the clans would give you the tutelage you'd like. More of a beating than anything. Besides, the Holders will keep you safe during the actual fights, and that's the important part."

"Does that not defeat the purpose of this exercise?" Nathlan asked.

"No. It means you can try and genuinely hurt someone. Go for the kill, test yourself properly, and push your limits without worry of maiming your enemy. Anyway, it's a single elimination tournament, though there's a loser's bracket as well. The winner is crowned First in their generation, and it comes with a significant boon. Same is true for the Second that wins the loser's bracket, though to a much lesser degree."

"Well, that's good at least. Perhaps we can get something material out of this as well," I said, somewhat optimistically. Jorge's next suggestion took most of that optimism away.

"Funny you should say that, Lamb, as I've got a plan specifically for you."

"Oh?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

Jorge plucked a necklace from the air. It was made of wooden beads, carved by an amateur's hand and unadorned and untreated. He handed it over, gesturing for me to put it on. I did, and they settled against my shirt with a subtle weight.

"Ready?" he asked, to which my obvious retort of 'for what?' was ignored.

Then I felt the spiritual pressure. Something tried to press in on my soul, and I flinched. It wasn't painful, but I didn't like it. It felt like being under the weight of a powerful aura, like I had experienced before in the Iona Chasm when Jorge had spread his out to call the skeletons to me. Before I could protest though, he explained.

"This artifact will allow me to limit your attributes – temporarily," he emphasised heavily. "From a distance. I want you to use your weapons and your Skills to win, not just brute force. Given your combat class, you'll have a significant attribute advantage over everyone you face, and I need to see how you do without it."

"That hardly seems fair," I groused, though I wasn't actually upset. A bit miffed to be losing my one advantage, maybe. "These people have spent their entire lives training and fighting while I'm out here with six months' experience. If you take away my attributes, what have I got left?"

"It's not about fair, lad," Jorge explained patiently. "You need to get used to fighting from a disadvantage in every way. The people we will face in the sunsets might out-level you, and I'll feel no better if you win The Blending only to be gutted by one of the 2nd tier veteran Lions working for the duke. You understand?"

I did. It was hard to hear, but it made sense. If I was to commit to fighting a fucking war against an enemy, guerrilla or otherwise, I needed to be prepared to fight from the back foot. Shame my chances of placing highly had just sailed off over the horizon though.

"Anyway," Jorge continued. "I'll set your attributes to roughly the level of your opponents' once I get a good look at them, though they'll be distributed in the same way as normal for you. I'll try and give you a few moments to get used to your new limitations before each match begins in earnest, but it will be a close thing, so make sure to feel them out at the start rather than rushing headlong in."

"I understand the need for it," I said. "But how will I win any of my fights? I'm not talking about taking home the glory or anything, but how am I going to even come close to challenging these people? They're the best of the best, right?"

It was Vera who answered me this time. "The best of their age. The truly exceptional warriors of this generation are already 2nd tier. You're facing the best of the clans' youngest. Still a challenge, but you'll have something they lack."

She leaned forward, making sure I held her gaze before speaking again. "You've got grit. You've faced your own death and pushed through. You've killed. Take them by surprise, use the any advantage you can find. Distract them, trip them, fight through the pain and push them into deep waters. Some might drag themselves out and beat you on the sand, but most will simply drown."

I nodded, mulling that over while Nathlan was given his instructions. He was still in the low thirties in level and so would likely be roughly even attribute-wise with his opponents. It was his Skill levels that would hold him back, the Skills being weaker and more expensive due to his soul still developing. Jorge's plan for him, therefore, involved relying on his Skills as much as possible to push them to grow and adapt. He needed to get as used to them before he could break through to the 2nd tier, and so while it might ruin his chances of winning the tournament, Nathlan would have to try and win without an overreliance on his experience and bladework, though obviously it was impossible to discount that entirely from his arsenal.

At the end of it, Jorge clapped his hands and gave us a cheery smile. "I'm not expecting greatness. Go out there and have fun. Pull a blow that you think it will be lethal, but the Holders are all significantly higher levelled than the combatants and should be able to pull out anyone before a fatal strike. Anything you want to say, Vera?"

Vera gave her characteristic wisdom with little fanfare. "Go and fight. Win if you can, lose if you must. It's all training." She then got to her feet and headed for the exit, her wisdom now depleted.

"You coming, lads?" Jorge asked as he stood himself, stretching out with a tired groan. "Vera's off to procure us winter gear for the high mountains, and I fancy having a peruse of the armourers here. White-Cliff trade with a lot of lowlanders, so they have styles from all over."

Nathlan shook his head. "I have lots to think on," he said quietly.

I took that as a hint that he wanted to be alone, so I stood and followed Jorge out the tent. "Aye, I need some armour for tomorrow anyway, and I sure as hells can't pay for it, so I might as well tag along," I said.

Jorge chuckled. "Come on then, you cheeky bastard. Let's go."

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