//------------------------------//
// 11~The Tsereg 
// Story: The Shadow's Edge 
// by Centurion Pike-Wall 
//------------------------------//

Two days later...

The door of the tent opened, with Alastor peeking his head in. "The Tsereg are here."

Everyone else in the room, including Shining, turned away from their lunch in order to look at him. Ciemny put down his plate, standing up. "Come on, Ciaran. Shining. I expect whoever they sent will want to see you."

"Right", Shining said, putting down his own plate and joining his hosts by the door. 

The past few days had passed uneventfully; at least by the standards of the family he was housed with. For Shining, it differed heavily from his typical schedule. Of course, as the Captain of the Royal Guard, he was no stranger to strenuous work. Countless hours of drills and over a dozen training excursions had often left him exhausted and left him with a great deal of stamina. 

That being said, the life of an Umbrum Herder was vastly different in its exercise and in its level of activity. As soon as they were all awoken by some unseen alarm clock, they would get to work. Despite breaks for rest and food being common, he still found himself exhausted after a day of performing the various tasks needed to keep warm, fed, and alive in this harsh land. Still, in a way, he found it... rewarding. 

As he left the tent, he saw many of those still in the encampment were also out, watching the arrival of the newcomers. In front of him stood three massive sleds, each of them harnessed to massive dogs. The sleds exterior of the armor was covered in metal plates, while twin holsters near the front were filled with javelins. 

Most of those arriving on the sleds appeared to be soldiers. Unlike the Royal Guard, who wore distinctive uniforms that separated them from the general populace, these Umbrum soldiers wore mostly the same thing as the villagers they were visiting. The exception was a segmented metal breastplate that extended up the neck and down the chest, with segmented plates running along the shoulders, back, and barrel. These were accompanied by armored plating on their boots and a fur-lined, conical helmet, possessing a set of leather neck guards and a three-pronged spike mounted on top. 

By Shining's guess, there were about twelve soldiers. As they climbed off the sleds, they grabbed spears not too dissimilar to the ones that Alastor and Ciemny used for their own uses. Speaking of Alastor, he saw him watching the soldiers with interest. "What's up?"

"Nothing", he said, perhaps too quickly. A look from Shining sent him pawing the ground, his gaze drifting away from both Shining and his father. "It's... well, I've always looked up to the Tsereg."

"What exactly are they?", Shining asked. 

Ciaran butted in, saying, "Each clan has a group of militia. In times of conflict, the Imperial Council can summon the to create a proper army. The Tsereg are the personal troops of the Ceannaire; the best of the best."

"Yeah", Alastor said. 

The soldiers weren't the only ones who got off of the sleds; two others were assisted off of the sleds, coming to the front of the impromptu group. The first was an older Umbrum, a multi-colored shawl wrapped around his neck. His face was obscured by a large mask made from strands of cloth that was connected to a leather headband, adorned with beads and a pair of deer antlers. He was assisted in walking with a large, knarled wooden staff, the top of which was wrapped with cords, strips of fur, and feathers. 

The other wore similar clothes to all of the others, save for a blood-red sash around her chest. She looked around, her gaze both nervous and anticipatory. She straightened up when Betzalel and several other clan leaders approached. They were too far away for him to pick up what they were saying, though he had seen plenty of meetings to get a feeling for basic introductions. 

After a little bit, Betzalel looked around himself, finally laying eyes on Shining and Ciaran. He beckoned them over, lowering his head as he said, "Magistrate, this is Ciaran; she's an apprentice to our healer. And, this is Shining Armor, the one raised in the South I mentioned in my report."

Ciaran also inclined her head to the figure, prompting Shining to do the same. "Please, there's no need", she said, waving her hoof to get them to look up. She then stepped aside, allowing the older Umbrum to step forward. "This is Varjo Sanvaartan. He's here to confirm if the other Umbrum is really the Great Liberator."

"Of course", Betzalel said. "He's in our recovery tent. This way." 

Betzalel led, weaving in between the tents and the other Umbrum, all of whom parted to allow them to pass. As they walked, he noticed that the Magistrate kept looking over her shoulder; at him, specifically. She tried to make the movement supple, obviously trying to avoid being seen. However, perhaps he in turn was too obvious with his own look at her, causing her to stop and look ahead. 

Shining didn't really know why she was looking at him. Well, that wasn't really true; it was obvious there was some kind of interest in him, being an Umbrum raised in the south. But that didn't feel like the whole or only reason. Plus, that didn't explain a strange, nagging thought. One that commented on how she seemed somehow familiar...

They arrived at the tent not long after. It appeared unchanged since the last time he had been there, save for a pair of Umbrum wearing leather helmets and scale armor standing outside. Betzalel said, "You two are dismissed." The two guards nodded and left, allowing a pair of Tsereg soldiers to take their place. "After you, Sanvaartan." 

The old Umbrum entered, followed by Betzalel and the other clan officials. Shining was about to join them before an aura of magic wrapped around his chest. "Wait", the Magistrate said. "Come with me."

"Why?", he asked, turning to look at her. 

She met his gaze, her glittering blue eyes resolute. "We have our own matters to discuss."