Night had fallen at last after Ahrom, Issa, and Fyr had left Maronsted. The road ahead illuminated only by the rising moonlight. The Dusk-kissed blue that had hung above, had been replaced as the veil of night pulled across the sky. Bringing with it all its many stars. Each a light born of days long passed. And each one complimenting the greater light that now began its rule of the sky. Ahrom looked up at the uncountable stars and could not dare to look away. Happily, he was ensnared by their timeless beauty.
"Eyes on the road pup. Your horse is walking straight towards the tree line." Fyr said sternly to Ahrom with his eclectic accent. Hoping to save the lad from straying too far from the road. Where in, among the trees, his attentions would’ve been set straight by a well placed branch rather than a concerned party. Ahrom had jolted his sight from the magnificent sky, to the grassy clearing between the road and the forest. "Did you forget that the horse goes where you tell it?" Fyr chided with a calm tone.
"Perhaps your horse has the right idea. It would be a little more ideal to make camp there in the woods. Harder to notice a campfire from the road." Issa said to Ahrom. Glancing briefly at the night sky. First in a moment of appreciation for the natural majesty of a sparse clouded night. Then in a moment of consideration for the journey. "We’ll need to reach Rysdain and Minaryn before the noon hour tomorrow. Best to go ahead and make camp." she said as she dismounted her own horse. A well cared for Paint horse wearing a velvet satin blanket under a Deer leather saddle.
Fyr dismounted his own horse as well. A broad Mustang with a hide that complemented the dark of the night. He then looked in one of the saddle bags attached to a bear hide saddle over a black wool blanket. "I don’t like stopping this close to the next town. We don’t know what could be waiting in Tolsborrow."
"We will be fine. Closer to Rysdain and Minaryn is safest. And we’re getting close." Issa told Fyr. Checking her own saddle bags before leading Ahrom and Fyr past the tree line. Keeping her eyes on what she could see in the ill lit expanse of the forest. The moonlight revealed some of the forest. But not all beneath the masses of leaves.
Fyr sighed in response. Agreeing with her against his gut feeling. Skaari were great hunters and warriors. And knew not to trust the wilds at night straight away. Even out of necessity. "I’ll stay awake first then." Fyr stated. Issa agreed with a light hum in her throat.
Ahrom had dismounted and led Hakka to the tree line as well. Checking the supplies in his own saddle bags. As they hung from his Cow leather saddle over a blue wool blanket. "We couldn’t have just stayed in the rooms at the Trouts Kiss back in Maronsted?" Ahrom asked.
"This far south? No. Best to keep to the wilds for now. Issas got it right." Fyr answered him as they made their way deeper into the woods off the road. Having thought over Issas reasoning for making camp before reaching the Twin cities of Rysdain and Minaryn.
"What do you mean?" Ahrom asked.
Issa interrupted Fyr. "We may be on the Dekmirian side of the Redveil Mountains. But we don’t know how far north the Ramians have infiltrated." Issa answered. Shrugging off a look of disapproval from Fyr. Who clearly didn’t think Ahrom didn’t need to know everything just yet.
"Spies?" Ahrom asked.
"Spies. And more than spies." Fyr answered.
"What more could there be than spies this far in enemy territory?" Ahrom asked. Trying to understand.
Issa and Fyr looked to each other. Deliberating within themselves, and seeking deliberation from each other. A point the two agreed to question if Ahrom needed to know. Issa spoke first. "Have you ever heard of the Eariquestar?" She said with a grim portent in her voice as the three stopped in the woods where the trees obscured the road.
"No." Ahrom answered. But recognized the name as Ramian.
"It means Inquisition." Fyr added bluntly.
"Inquisition is the name we’ve given them. The titles real meaning, we have no time, nor a care to speak on now. They are the Ramian Secret Police." Issa clarified as sufficiently as she felt the time constraints needed her to.
"Spies with permission to kill." Ahrom presumed. Issa and Fyr stood silent. Little more needed to be said. The Ramian Inquisition being responsible for many deaths, and the enslavement of thousands.
"As true as the hunters arrow." Fyr stated, smiling at the bluntness of Ahroms presumption. Issa gave him a disparaging look in response.
"You think they’re behind the attack?" Ahrom asked.
"With the war, it certainly stands to reason that they would be. But the Assassin was a Man of Dekmire. Not a Ramian. And the Inquisition only ever employs true born Ramian Natives." Issa answered. Her professional tone causing Ahrom to feel further unnerved with every word. Since he abhorred prejudice practices.
Without warning, as if to defuse the bitter topic. Fyr abrasively vacated his nostrils one by one. Holding one nostril closed with his dirty thumb, then repeating the process with the other. Issa, who sat next to him, expressed her disgust. Yet a grin had infected the expression. Ahrom could see. These two had been on the road together long. And were as close as siblings. "See Issa. I aimed this time." Fyr jested to Issa, sniffling as he did so.
"Yes. And yet I still could feel droplets hit my face. A boon for me that you don’t use a bow. You might shoot me instead." Issa exaggerated with jest. Fyr let out a thundering cackle in response. He enjoyed her jabs at his lack of prowess with other weapons. Ahrom smiled. Saying nothing, in order to take it all in. "Returning to the matter at hand." Issa stated. Rolling her eyes at Fyr for his abrasive behavior. "The Assassin being a Heartland Man thwarts the theory of the Inquisitions direct involvement. Though its not unlikely they passed coin to the assassins handlers."
"Someone in the Dekmirian Court. Seems a clear case of traitors to me. Why involve a Paladin?" Ahrom asked.
"Because this man, upon dying from my spear in his chest, burst into dark blue flames. We suspected a kind of possession." Issa answered.
Ahrom fell silent. The fact had shaken him deep. He had originally intended to ride north to the Paladin Monastery of Dawnsreach Tower in order to warn of the incident at Fort Krantborg involving Dark Blue Fire. Only to hear that it is happening north of the Fort already. Even the thought of the cold light of those flames brought him back to the terrible memory from his childhood. Issa noticed his declaring expression.
"You’ve seen these flames before then?" Issa asked.
"Yes. At Fort Krantborg. Where I had left a recent defeat of a Ramian incursion." Ahrom answered. Fyr and Issa both froze in place.
"Are you certain?" Fyr asked bluntly.
"Better than anyone." Ahrom replied. A low tone in his voice.
"Is it possession then?" Issa asked.
"Possession is when a Daemon takes control of the body. What ever this Dark Blue Fire is, its not any possession I’ve ever heard of." Ahrom answered. His tone had grown far more foreboding.
"Then there’s known about it?" Fyr asked with impatience dominating his tone.
"I didn’t say that." Ahrom answered.
"What then?" Fyr asked, a degree of demanding in his tone.
"The flames seem to occur from the inside of a victims body. Bursting out like forge smoke from a chimney. The flames give off no heat as regular fire. And burn considerably brighter." Ahrom answered.
"Necromancy." Fyr assumed with a contemptuous tone. True to his Skaari upbringing. No Skaari would trust magic that animates dead corpses.
"It seems more complicated than that." Ahrom retorted Fyr. Yet couldn’t personally rule it out.
"It seems, like depraved fuckery!" Fyr said aggressively. The contempt for those arts of magic that took command of the bodies of the dead. A cruel and ancient taboo among Mages that had been strictly forbidden for generations.
"Fyr." Issa said with a low yet piercing tone. A frequency Ahrom had only ever known from Haeratus during his time as a Page under his tutelage during his Paladin Trials. "Here’s as good a spot as any. Collect us some wood for burning." Issa told Fyr. Seeking to set his mind on something else. Fyr grunted and got to work collecting fallen branches both large and fragile. Murmuring curses about Necromancy all the while.
Issa kept her gaze on Ahrom. She could see his familiarity with the fire was not a recent thing. "I didn’t mean to rile him." Ahrom said. Seeking to clarify her prolonged glance.
"You hardly need to. Fyr is Griffonguard. Loyal, and stalwart. But he is also Skaari. Despite his ascribed epithet." Issa assured Ahrom.
"Brittle-Shield?" Ahrom asked.
"A kind of curse from his fellow Skaari. The Longest Winter is four years over now. But Skaari and Heartland Men alike recall the slights and horrors done by both sides. Fyrs kin call him Brittle-Shield as an insult for serving a Dekmirian King." Issa answered. Reminding Ahrom of that the fifteen year long war between the Skaari of Bulgaard and the Kingdom of Dekmire. Its damages yet lingering even after its end four years ago.
"Why does he use it as part of his name then? Seems like he’s inviting the curse to take effect." Ahrom asked Issa.
Issa smirked. "He thinks to turn it against the intentions of those that sling it. To earn esteem and renown under it. The Skaari way." She answered. Admiration for the Skaari ideals of personal honor and endurance in hardships both physical and social. Grinning at Fyr as he circled around the camp site, gathering up firewood.
"A hard task." Ahrom stated.
"The worthiest tasks often are." Issa said. Speaking clearly from her own experience.
Ahrom smiled as he began to set his tent. A simple canvas tarp to be held aloft by oak poles. Once it had been secured. Ahrom unrolled his bedroll. A simple length of canvas with thick collections of sheeps wool sewn on. An addition Ahrom made some time ago. Before he had gone to fight at Fort Krantborg.
Issa set her own tent opposite Ahroms. Her tent as well was the typical canvas that was commercially available. Though Issa used iron rods to prop up her tent. And rather than typical canvas. Her bedroll had been leather with padded bear pelt.
Fyr returned to Ahrom and Issa like a Giant. His right arm, holding over his left shoulder, three thick logs to be used as benches. And wrapped up under the left, many slightly smaller articles of wood to form the fire. Letting the soon to be firewood fall from left arm and down next to his leg. He gripped one of the bench logs and slid it from the top of the trio. Letting it fall before kicking it in front of Issas tent. He did the same for another log in front of Ahroms tent. Before carelessly letting fall the last log. Stepping to the other side of it, Fyr kicked the log forward. Forming a triangle among the others around what was to be the camp fire spot.
"Wow..." Ahrom voiced his amazement of Fyrs strength aloud. Fyr grinned. And Issa smirked.
"They’ll sing songs of my strength. Now you’re task’ll be to inform the Bards." Fyr boasted. His Skaari pride plain on his face.
"Careful you don’t throw out your back in building up your legend." Issa jabbed at Fyr in light spirits.
"Impossible." Fyr retorted bluntly. His pride impenetrable.
"You two have been traveling a long time together. Haven’t you?" Ahrom furthered the nights conversation.
"And fought together a long time as well. No better lancer than Issa here. She wields that spear like a lightning bolt." Fyr boasted of his companion as he began piling the firewood in the open space between the logs for burning.
"Did you learn how to fight with your spear where you’re from?" Ahrom asked Issa.
"I spent time with the Dead Dragons in Craeda. I learned from my comrades in the mercenary company." Issa answered as she began to strike flint together to spark the kindling she had in her pack. She struck and struck until finally the kindling caught fire, and needed only careful bellows of breath before being given to the firewood pile.
"So you’ve been in a lot of battles?" Ahrom asked. Remembering the circumstances of his last battle at Fort Krantborg. When the Riders of Harrowmark rode down the retreating Ramians.
"Four. The rest had merely been bodyguard work. Lots of individual Mercenaries make their fortunes that way." Issa answered.
"So you’ve seen broken forces ridden down unnecessarily?" Ahrom asked Issa. Seeking closure for the injustice of what he saw.
Issa looked at Ahrom in a serious expression. The question had been specific. "Yes. Other times, it was excessive rather than unnecessary." Issa said from experience.
"I’m not sure I understand the difference you’re implying." Ahrom clarified.
"Then you do not understand war." Issa retorted.
"I’m beginning to realize this myself." Ahrom stated. After a brief silence.
"Broken men can be rallied again. Sent in a frenzy back towards the enemy. Even the broken blade may yet cut the deepest." Issa said from experience. Ahrom sat in thrall to her words. "War is not something that everyone could understand. Much less believe the retelling of it. While what I’ve said is not always true of every assembled army put to flight. It cannot be given over to chance when one must defend their home, their family, their means of life." Ahrom sat silent. Thinking on what she said.
The silence broke when Ahrom asked "Then when is war necessary?"
"When we declare it ourselves. In the name of what we hold dear. Against what ever would dare assault our lives. Only then is the enemy clear, and the stakes at their most dire." Issa replied. Ahrom sat in silence once again. "Why don’t we change the subject. War is not an easy topic." Issa said aloud. Seeing the conflict in Ahroms eyes as they glimpsed downward, yet looked to nothing.
"Even if you don’t know what we want to know about that cold fire. Your perspective can’t hurt." Fyr said to Ahrom. Finally sitting down after bellowing at the fire with his breath. "I’ve seen what Issa’s seen. What you know about it is born of a sore memory. And since we need you to have your wits. We won’t press further here. Though it may have to come out later." Fyr said.
"Fyr." Issa urged Fyr to tread carefully.
"I’m merely bracing him for strain. Nothing more." Fyr defended.
Taking it upon himself to diverge the subject. "How exactly does Haeratus know King Eorman?" Ahrom asked the two.
"He never told you?" Issa asked. Confused by his ignorance to the tale.
"Haeratus talks about his past as many times as I’ve taken flight. What little I know about his past, he’s let slip. Or others have informed me on." Ahrom replied. His lament for that fact almost unnoticeable in his face.
"As we understand it. The two met in the year seventeen-hundred and two. Before the Fermonts became the royal family. King Eormans uncle, the late Alder Lord Cireton Fermont. Had been possessed after the death of his wife. three nights had passed before a Paladin was sent for. Haeratus answered the summons and exorcised the Daemon. The King and Haeratus had known each other well ever since. Even fighting together during the Kenmore Rebellion." Issa told the tale. Remembering well the Kenmore Rebellion. The devastatingly timed uprising of the former Alder Lord Furstis Kenmore while the Longest Winter raged in the North. Rebelling in protest for his family not being chosen as the successors to the Deremand Family. Which had gone extinct with the death of Uestis Deremand the Third.
"I was five years old when the Kenmore raiders came to burn my home. I was from Telshire." Ahrom said with clear lament in voice and expression. The memory still fresh in his mind. Even after twenty years.
"You’re from Telshire?" Issa asked. Remembering the ruin of the former farming town that rested on the borders of three of Dekmires Alder territories. Recalling how tragic it was that none survived. But had been relieved that it seemed one had survived.
"Its where I met Haeratus. He saved me from Kenmore Rebels. I joined the Order of the Crimson Dawn after that. I felt I had an example to live up to." Ahrom said. An element of pride in his voice from the recollection of his time as a newly ordained Paladin revisited.
"We didn’t think anyone survived Telshire. Furstis Kenmore was sentenced to life imprisonment for his assault and slaughter of innocents." Issa said. A nigh indiscernible element of anger in her voice. Undoubtedly from the recollection of the events of the Kenmore Rebellion. "I was part of the Loyalist forces that crushed Kenmore Castle in Lorcard. I still remember hearing the worthless Furstis cursing all from his quarters in the castle. Even over the shouts of thousands ringing in my ear." Issa said, grinning at the memory.
"A noose or a headsman’s ax would’ve been more appropriate if you ask me." Fyr stated. "Contesting the crown was one thing. But the slaughter of citizens? Unforgivable." Fyr added. His Skaari sense of honor thundering in every word.
"Good King Eorman wanted to pass fair and appropriate judgement. Death would’ve relieved Furstis Kenmore of responsibility for his crimes. Staying alive, but incapable of living his live? That is a worthy punishment." Issa said to Fyr. Fyr grunted with an agreeing nod. He added another handful of branches to the fire as the flames came into their own.
"So you’ve not met another survivor from Telshire? Not one?" Fyr asked Ahrom.
"There may be at least one that I can think of. But he was taken away by a Mage Acolyte. He had the Mages Gift. I never saw him again after that." Ahrom said with a lamenting tone.
"You knew him well?" Issa asked.
"He was one of my only friends growing up in the orphanage. There were three of us. Now it may only be me." Ahrom replied.
"Do you remember his name?" Issa asked.
"Onevar Dalcrest." Ahrom answered. To which Fyr and Issa looked to each other. As though they recognized the name.
"And you hadn’t made any attempts to find him?" Fyr asked. Issa kept silent, awaiting Ahroms answer.
"I had kept my ear to the ground. But my duties as a Paladin make a search difficult. Not that I’ve given up though." Ahrom replied.
"Then you’ll not have to look far." Issa said. Fyr and Ahrom both looked at her.
"What?" Ahrom asked.
"Onevar Dalcrest is the Court Wizard of his Majesty, King Eorman." Issa replied with a smile. Glad to have brought some closure to Ahroms heart. Ahrom was at a loss for words. Fyr simply sat in surprise. Until a loud crack of branches sounded out in the night shadowed woods. Fyr jumped from his seated position on the log. He waited for another crack of branches. Issa stood up calmly. Having never put her spear out of her hand since she sat down.
"It’s just some animal surely." Ahrom said.
"Shhh!!" Fyr hushed Ahrom. Slowly bringing his hand to the hilt of the sword on his belt. His face was as stiff as stone. His feet planted like the roots of an ancient oak. Immovable. And defiant of any storm. The Skaari way. Fyr listened close to the woods still hearing the rustle of scattered leaves on the grass and dirt.
Issa slowly removed the leather sheath from her spear. Then slowly put it on the log. Returning her hand to the shaft of her spear she readied herself for battle. Keeping her grip sure, but fluid. To be able to maneuver the spear at the pace of a lightning strike. "Ready." Issa whispered to Fyr. Who had not budged from his spot. Listening to the rustle of the trees in the wind. The leaves against the forest earth. And the crackle of the campfire.
"Three of them." Fyr whispered to Issa. "Short swords. And crossbows." Fyr whispered on. Standing as still as mountain stone. "They’re within eight feet of the tents." Fyr whispered. Another loud crack of branches sounded out. "Six feet. Get ready on your left." Fyr whispered delicately to Issa. So as to not betray their awareness of the surroundings. The wind passed through the trees another time. Opening up some of the tree branch clusters above. As they broke, moonlight would pass through. And in the moonlight, a man shaped figure had moonlight cast upon it. Before retreating out of the beam of moonlight.
"What do we do?" Ahrom whispered. Having heard Fyr whisper about crossbows.
"Wait." Fyr whispered in the same hushed tone as before. But his impatience with Ahrom was clear. Fyr awaited them. Like a cold, calculating wolf. Until finally, the crack of branches he waited for finally sounded out. Fyr then shouted "Left!"
With a leap, Issa let her spear fly. It cut through the tent canvas like a whisper freed from an east born wind. The spear loudly pierced the mans chest cavity and rooted between the columns of his spine at the level of his heart. Issa then charged after the spear to meet the foes in the tree line.
Fyr pulled his sword from the scabbard. The blades edge against the wood of the scabbard let out a sound like a lions roar. Like a drummer striking his instrument, quick paced foot falls struck the forest dirt. Before long a man leapt into the light of the campfire. Brandishing a serrated short sword. Looking to kill Fyr. But with a robust swing to the left, Fyr had cut one of the three from shoulder to shoulder through his neck and collar bones. The severed head smacked against the space it had once been joined to as the mans body fell to the ground. Bumping against Fyrs leg like a dropped log. And met with the same indifference from Fyr. With immense pride, Fyr shouted his own name like a war chant at the corpse. As if to shame the spirit that once lived in it for wasting its life trying to kill him. "Fyr!" The Skaari way.
Issa had retrieved her spear. Distant foot falls sounded out beneath the noise of the wind rushing through the forest. Foot falls sounding out in a rush towards the road. Issa raised her spear over her shoulder, waiting for the right moment. When that same wind would carry her spear like the wrath of a goddess. At last, her moment came. And the spear flew swifter than the hunters arrow. Piercing the open air. Before running through both of the mans thighs. The man let out a loud scream of agony. Ahrom was without words at the skill of that throw.
"Right. Let’s see what we caught." Fyr said to Ahrom with an eager smile. Rubbing his hands against each other quick. As if anticipating a bountiful feast. His sense of enthusiasm for combat did the Skaari credit.
"How did you know that it was these men and not animals?" Ahrom asked Fyr as they walked over to the pierced man.
"They were following us since Maronsted. They may have hung back a few miles but I knew they couldn’t be too far behind. So I set branch ties out in the woods around the camp at different distances while I was grabbing up wood for the fire. A little Skaari hunters trick to make sure a bigger predator doesn’t get the better of you." Fyr replied casually.
His answer had staggered Ahrom. He only noticed Issa and Fyr back in Maronsted. But soon realized that they wanted him to see them. These men hid more skillfully. This had been the first he’d ever seen of them. It lingered in his mind.
"Always beware the blades you cannot see. They’re always on their way." Fyr said to Ahrom. Speaking from experience. As Issa had. They approached the man as he groaned and wailed in pain. The spear wobbling as its head and shaft pierced both of the mans thighs. "Lets head over here and have a talk." Fyr said as he ripped the dagger from the mans belt and kicked the short sword away. He dragged the man by his feet with one hand. Shaking his hold on the mans foot to make it hurt. He wailed in pain.
They approached the campfire. Issa retrieved her spear from the mans thighs. Issa tore a piece of the mans shirt off and wiped the spear head and shaft of the blood. Once cleaned she tossed the cloth piece on the mans face. He threw it aside in embarrassment and anger. "Tell us who you are." Issa demanded of the man. He sat silent. Issa stomped her foot on one of the thighs she had wounded. He raved with pain frantically.
"Rrrrrgh! Rourke!" The man shouted. Revealing his identity.
"Why were you trying to kill us?" Issa demanded.
"I’ll take that spear away and fuck you with it you foreign whore!" Rourke shouted. Fyr grabbed his ear firmly and carved with his knife. Rourkes screams put an imperceptible grin on Issas face. As Fyr made a final swipe of his knife, the ear was removed from Rourkes head. Fyr dangled it over Rourke as he held his hands against the wound. Rocking back and forth instinctively to remedy the pain.
"This is why its better to be a gentleman." Fyr said tauntingly as he wobbled the severed ear over Rourke as he continued to clutch his wound.
Issa stomped on the other thigh wound. "Why were you trying to kill us?!" Issa demanded again.
"We were paid! A dead drop in Southmore! A letter describing you, with the place, said ta kill ya!" Rourke shouted in pain. The loudness took his attention away from his agony for but a moment. But proved fruitless.
"A name!" Fyr roared. Demanding an answer of Rourke. The severed ear still in his hand.
"There was! No! Name! A letter, a bag o’ Alents. That’s all! Please! Let me go! The pain!" Rourke shouted. Clutching the wound where his ear once was. And trying to hold in the blood flowing out of his thighs. To no avail.
Fyr turned to Issa with a casual expression. To ask about what to do next. But without words. Issa stood silent for a time. Looking at Rourke. She then knelt down and broke her silence with a low toned question. Voiced calmly. Coldly. "And how many... Foreign whores have you killed?... Rourke." Issa asked with a tone of voice that gave Ahrom chills.
"Oh fuck! No!" Rourke screamed before Issas spear traveled through his mouth and out of the back of his head with a swift thrust. Blood flowed like mountain waterfalls from his mouth. His final expression, one of dread. Dread due to a woman who will suffer no fool to insult her. Who in Issas experience, had with a certainty, harmed many women. A fact given away by how awfully he had spoken to her.
Fyr stood silently. He knew not to speak while Issa was like this. He didn’t want to upset her more. Fyr waited for her to speak.
At last, she did. "Fyr."
"Hm?" Fyr responded with a concerned tone.
"Move these bodies away from camp. I don’t want the camp to smell like garbage." Issa said as she walked towards her tent. "And you’re taking first watch Ahrom." She yelled with a reserved temperament before closing the hanging flaps of her canvas tent.
Ahrom and Fyr stood silently over Rourkes corpse before Ahrom finally asked "Will she be alright?"
Fyr stood silent for a moment before answering "Not right away. But she will be. She’s been through a lot."
"When she was a mercenary?" Ahrom asked.
"When she first came over to the Heartland Realms." Fyr clarified with a grim tone. "She saw things done by cruel men. Men who deserve only pain. But gave it out instead. Issa may not have been a victim. But she was an unfortunate witness. I’ve seen what that does to people who can’t just stand by. But have no choice. No way to help. Would you be alright?" Fyr stated before asking Ahrom in order to enlighten him. Ahrom kept silent. He had no words.
Fyr picked up Rourkes corpse like the bench logs. With as much respect as a sack of potatoes being carried through a crowd. "You go grab that one I cleaved. I’ll get Issas kill. We’ll toss em in that ditch over there so that the wind won’t carry the smell before we get at least an hour of sleep." Fyr told Ahrom before walking off to pick up the corpse of the man that Issa killed. Ahrom walked over to the corpse by the campfire that Fyr had made. Ahrom was speechless at the cut. The blade was sharp. But the force Fyrs slash had impacted the mans skin and bones. Rending it in a left-wise course. But before long, Ahroms thoughts returned to Issas troubles. And eventually, to the Dark Blue Fire.
