“I’m afraid that I desire that we get to business first. This is most unusual and I demand an explanation.”

The Prime smiled. The Vigilant from earlier had come to her side and took a stance to her left much like Val did for Dorius.

“Very well. A pilgrim, unsatisfied with the resolution of their pilgrimage this past winter, defied our mandate, broke our seals, and entered the sacred valley of the Mountain God. From there they travelled to the upper slopes and woke the Dragoness from her slumber. We believe she slaughtered most of their party as she woke, and we chose to seal our home until we could treat with her for the safety of everyone.”

Dorius frowned, there was a lot of new information to work through.

“The Dragoness I have a passing familiarity with, the Mountain God I do not know. Please explain further,” he requested politely.

The Prime was not insulted by the request, and even seemed slightly happy to teach. She gestured to the Vigilant, who opened some of the curtains at the back wall. An intricate mosaic of a great black dragon was revealed. The dragon was rampant, great clawed hands splayed and wings wide. Her eyes, claws and spines were bright gold, and on her head were four bronze-gold horns in a crown about her temple - just like the sigil of the Fourth Pentarchy. In the glow of the candle light, Val noted the black tiles caught the light and shone an iridescent purple.

The honey-voiced Vigilant spoke, “The Dragoness is better known as the Dragon God of Death. But that is a simplification of her aspect, she is the god of fading and entropy, of the cruel flow of time and everything that diminishes with its passing. She is the youngest god, and still bitter and angry with her fate.”

“And the Mountain God?”

The Prime answered this one, “The Mountain God is not a member of our pantheon. The Vigil serves the Watcher and the Dragon Gods, but there are other gods that are for the creatures of the earth and the passing of the seasons. The Mountain God was born with this continent before living creatures walked and stands still beneath your very feet.”

“You mean that figuratively?” asked Dorius.

The Prime gave a sly grin, and spoke with a surprising plainness, “No, literally. The Spine is the Mountain God. We rest on its bones and shelter at its breast.”

Dorius seemed skeptical, but moved on to the rest of the Prime's pronouncement, “And you say this Dragoness has awoken, that you have closed your gates for our protection?”

The Prime grew darker, her voice concerned, “Yes, in part. In another, the breaking of our seal was a great betrayal, and the pilgrims will feel the punishment for doing so. But, the Dragoness has been sleeping for a very long time, and she is a creature of bitter violence. We do not know what she intends now she has awoken, it seemed better to keep things quiet till we knew more. We trusted the weaving woke her for reasons beyond our knowledge, and we trusted the weaving to bring us a solution to parley with her.”

“What solution?” asked Dorius, but Val felt she already knew their answer and likely he did as well.

“You.”

Dorius frowned, and folded his arms in his robes. He looked about for a moment and chose a bench by the great dish of water to sit, where he crossed his legs and looked at the Prime sceptically.

“You want me to talk to your god?” he asked, “Why do you think I would be the best option for this and what am I to get from this arrangement?”

“Solving our problem here will re-open our gates for the pilgrims and re-establish diplomacy with your family. That is the task you set here with?”

Dorius nodded.

The Prime continued. “We knew it was likely a member of the Fourth Pentarchy that we would be waiting for. But none had come to our gate… except you. Even now your cousins wait in Kal’Fall, hoping to have others do their work for them. But the weaving did not carry them here. The weaving guides all, and the weaving chooses you.”

Dorius raised an eyebrow, “Which cousins?”

The Prime smiled and did not answer.

Dorius tried another question, “And why a member of the Fourth then?”

Val looked at the dragon mosaic, crown of gold horns just like the Fourth’s sigil. “Because you are her blood,” said the Prime.

Dorius unfolded his arms, “I am related to a god?”

“She was not a god when she mothered her offspring. Gods are not born with all their powers, most are mortal initially, and rise above the weaving. That is what makes them a god, when their thread twists so powerfully that the Watcher bids the Weaver cast their line free to make their own path. The Dragoness fled to the Mountain God and fell to sleep as she watched her mortal life collapse around her while ascending to her immortal role, she experienced great loss and sadness. We hope that seeing that part of her mortal self still continued may soothe her enough to settle her waking,” explained the Prime, “The gods are troublesome for the Weaver, the pattern must be improvised after the gods choose where their threads travel. Hence, so much manual intervention in this wakening.”

Dorius continued, “I do not understand. I am human, as was my mother and hers before that, is the Dragoness a dragon?”

The Prime sat up straight, and waved her hand with annoyance, “A great many things have been lost with time as the magic faded. What you cannot comprehend now was once a matter of fact. It does not matter how, it only matters that you are her bloodline.”

Val realised now as the Prime sat straight, that one shoulder and arm of her robe was loose as if empty, and that it was not a quirk of her relaxed position on her throne, but instead that she was missing an entire arm.

Dorius frowned and pressed on, “Who broke your seal and woke her then?”

The Prime looked sideways at this question, Val expected her to not answer, but it seemed they thought an explanation due for their non-answer this time, “The answer to that strays a little too close to politics that are not our place to interfere with. They are already gone, and the punishment for their transgression began before they even knew they would come here.”

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Dorius fell silent, and chewed away at the torrent of information the Prime had felt willing to share. Val stood quietly at his side, and watched the horned Fae at the feet of the Prime play idly with a tie on his loincloth.

“I will do as you bid and speak with this god, but I have conditions,” declared Dorius after a time.

The Prime smiled, “Very well, I will hear them.”

Dorius took a deep breath, “When I have done this task, you will negotiate with the Fourth Pentarchy only through myself or my agents.”

The Prime nodded, “We can agree to that term.”

“In addition, if it ever comes up my family will only know that I have done you a favor, and not the specifics of our deal nor our relationship to this god.”

“Also agreed.”

“The Vigilants I have met before do not have your powers or authority, is that true?” asked Dorius.

The Prime thought for a moment about their answer, “Yes and no. All Vigilants stand in Vigil of the weaving, we observe and document no matter our station. If the Watcher spoke, all would listen and follow her command without hesitation. But, it is the nature of our highest Chapel in the Mountain God’s embrace that we remain closer to the old magic than anywhere else in the Pentarchy’s lands. The listening is easier and the old magic saturates us, changing us whether we like it or not.”

“I would have a Vigilant like yourselves then, saturated with whatever changes you and gives you powers, stationed at Southold and working in partnership with my household there,” requested Dorius.

The Prime frowned slightly, “That is harder to accommodate, being far from the Mountain also fades those who are changed.”

“You can rotate,” offered Dorius, unwilling to compromise on his ask.

“We will commit to making something work,” offered the Prime.

“A commitment to do your best to ensure a Vigilant like yourselves is always present in Southold then.”

“Agreed.”

Dorius smiled, pleased with his terms so far, “I have one more ask then. I have a loyal retainer, Val, who is Fae like yours. She knows not of her kind and has an uncontrolled magic, I would have you order them to help her learn what she can of herself.”

Val turned, mouth open at this request. Dorius did not look at her, his hands folded in his robes he remained fixed watching the Prime.

The Prime broke into a satisfied smile, “That is not a request we can accommodate. Their service to us is an exchange, I cannot order them beyond its terms. Ja’kel?”

The Fae at her feet inclined his head in response to his name being called, as if he had been ignorant of all conversation up to that moment, and turned his gaze towards Val. He looked perturbed at being disturbed from his rest at the Prime’s feet, and stared at Val and Dorius as if they were insects that slightly disgusted him. “I have no desire to teach this Alate how to walk and speak. Child rearing is for the Maiden Caste,” he spat venomously.

Dorius bristled and rose to his feet, “You will not speak to my guard in that manner.”

“Ha, what pity, it hides behind a Hume,” taunted the Fae. Val flinched, her face turning red.

Dorius opened his mouth to snap a retort, but Val lightly touched his shoulder, “Don’t make this worse,” she whispered.

Dorius turned to her, and she saw a flood of emotions in his crystal blue eyes. Concern, fear, hope. He was her Prince, but he was also her closest friend. She felt the tug of his conflicted emotions about her magic, the desire for power she could bring him as a weapon but also a fear for the harm it might do uncontrolled, or the freedom it might finally buy her from his service. Despite this, she knew him as clearly as if he were a book open for her to read. He would defy his better judgement and risk it all for her - in response to her quiet wish the day before to know of her own kind. She knew in turn, the loyalty he gave her she would pay back in full and follow him to her end. The fire within her warmed a little, giving her strength.

Val stamped the heel of her axe once against the stone of the Chapel floor. The commanding beat demanded only silence. “I do not know what you are, nor what you call me,” she declared, “But I do not hide behind my Prince. Who are you to speak to me this way while you lounge at the feet of another like an indolent?”

Dorius folded his hands within his robes and shot the Fae a piercing look, challenging him to speak again.

The Fae laughed, tossing his head backwards in a manner that bordered on violent when accented with his sickle horns. “Indeed,” he responded after a moment to regain his composure. He forced a smile, “It is a pity then, we have no Alate who could teach even if I deigned to lend them to you.”

A spark of something instinctive danced at the back of Val’s mind, spurned by the fire in her chest. “It is my command that you teach me,” she instructed. She was not unused to authority, in battle the mercenaries would sometimes turn to her and she kept a cool head, made easier by being so much larger than most foes. The tone in her voice she had never heard from her own mouth before, it carried the bark of birthright command. Even Dorius started a little beneath her.

The Fae blanched, his manner instantly shifting. He sat straight and brought his hands together, showing her a deference now that imitated a bow. “Alate, your command. I spoke true. We have no Alate of our own, the last born has wandered for several years now without word to us. You must do as most Alate do and learn unaided by the colony.”

Val cocked her head, copying his phrasing and hoping she interpreted the meanings correctly, “It is not just magic, I had no colony. I know not of my myself or what I am as Alate. I am as a child like you say,” she admitted, “If not you, is there a Maiden?”

Ja’Kel inclined his head, although there was a twist to his lip at the mention she had no colony. Holding a fist to his chest, “The Maiden’s may not leave the colony. But we may send a worker or soldier caste to travel with you. I will find suitable candidates to serve you.”

Dorius shook his head, “Not good enough. Val must learn to control her magic,” he demanded.

The Prime, who had watched the exchange with great amusement, spoke then, “I do not know if the technique will be the same, but we have several Vigilants who have become attuned to the magic in their changing. We could offer the chance to speak with them?”

Val felt her heart lift. Dorius frowned, as if he considered asking for more. Val placed a hand on his shoulder again, and gave a slight squeeze. This was enough, she begged silently, this was more than enough. Dorius raised a hand and placed it over hers in a familiar reassuring exchange, then lifted his chin and addressed the Prime.

“The terms of this exchange are to my satisfaction. How am I to contact this Dragoness and what are the terms of the agreement you wish to broker with her?”

To Val, this was suddenly feeling somewhat like a Company contract. There was a reassuring familiarity to that thought.

The Prime relaxed in her chair, crossing her legs and leaning on her good hand again.

“We will call down an acquaintance from the northern slopes who will guide you to her. He is also familiar with the Dragoness and may be helpful in negotiating with her. It will likely take a week for him to arrive, you may wait with the pilgrim’s or visit your cousins in Kal’Fall in the interim. In terms of what we wish to know, we simply wish to settle her rage. If she does not kill you, we’d like you to bring her to us so we can ease her from her sleep.”

Dorius raised an eyebrow at this request, but did not speak. The dragons in ballads and stories were towering creatures, bigger than buildings. Where or how they would transport an angry one was likely to be an interesting challenge.

“Our contract is complete then,” spoke Dorius, “How would you have us leave?”