It wasn't much of a ceremony. Grem, the assorted probationary subjects he was eating with, Rian to take over when she was done, and anyone else who might be in hearing range, which from the murmur of voices having breakfast in the Dungeon's dining hall wasn't a lot. There was a murmur of excitement in the voices around them that reminded her of the first day of school year at the academy, when classes were slightly reshuffled and people wasted time trying to get to know who they'd been reshuffled with.

"…you are hereby recognized as probationary Lord Grem of Lorian Demesne, under the authority of Lord Rian of same," Lori finished.

There was a moment of stunned silence followed by applause, but Lori didn't stick around to have to deal with it. Behind her, she heard Rian sigh.

"She's like that," she heard him say. "Probably off to build something. Come to me when you're finished eating, I'll tell you what you have to do. It's not very hard… "

She was, in fact, building something. The new shelter for the probationary subjects needed to be built, and she'd already built the shelters twice. A third time was routine, if with the modifications she'd made to the other ones after rebuilding them, like pillars and building it with the door higher than ground level and only ramping downwards once inside. She was done by lunch.

Afterwards, Rian asked her to help with the clay pit. Or to be more specific, the kiln at the clay pit, the original of which had unfortunately fallen when the dragon came. The clay pit discovered some weeks ago had proven surprisingly profitable, and not just because some of the pots and cups and things that had been drying and waiting to go in a kiln, as well as splotches of clay in the pit itself, had been found turned to various materials like metals, salt and lodestone after the dragon's passing, which had all gone into the impromptu vault of mineral wealth. However, the amount of clay itself had proven surprisingly plentiful. The potter, Gu-someone-or-other, thought the whole bank might be rich in clay. Some delving and checking of consistency with her earthwisps had tentatively agreed with that assessment, and so Lori was going to shore up the side of the pit closest to the river with packed earth in case there was annual flooding they didn't know about– and there probably was, given they hadn't lived there long enough to say otherwise– as well as to help construct a new kiln.

'Help' construct this time, because the potter– Gunvi! That was his name, Gunvi!– had already put the kiln together. It was meant to be a reusable kiln, and while they apparently didn't have the right kind of clay to make firebricks, the clay they had would do in a pinch, and they were in a pinch. Lori was at least familiar with the kind of kiln the man had built, one with a firebox underneath that would lead to the chamber where the pieces to be fired would rest. The whole thing had been made of clay, and then had dried for some days to prepare to fire that clay. Only then would it be properly ready to start firing other pieces.

It was only Lori's time working at a potter's herself– that had been a hot and exhausting job, and the pay had only barely been worth it– that kept her from being impatient with all the time this would need. Even with a kiln heated by firewisps to keep the temperature steady and even, firing took time. And it would let them fire large pieces. Lacking metal for hoops, they couldn’t exactly build barrels, so large clay pots would have to do for food storage.

They ended up with a kiln arrangement that was a pace high, wide and deep, and had ledges that they could theoretically put metal or pottery grills on for more space for smaller pieces. There was a firebox, tunnel and chimney arrangement that would allow air to keep circulating through, and the direction of the wind was consistent enough for it to be reasonably reliable, even if Lori hadn't already resigned herself to having to keep firewisps imbued for this thing every time they needed to fire something. Gunvi had been skeptical– apparently he'd never worked with a Whisperer to heat his kiln before, which made sense, since not many places on the peripheral edges of a demesne could afford it– but after Lori had demonstrated the sustained, consistent heat she could generate, he seemed more amenable to the idea.

Hopefully this meant she could stop making everything out of rock.

With a small fire to start with, Lori was able to imbue and bind the firewisps that resulted to maintain an even temperature and spread evenly across the kiln-to-be for however long the thing would need to be fired. Then she sat to wait it out.

It was not unlike sitting down and maintaining the curing sheds. Sure, she could imbue it and let it persist, but it had been long drilled into her not to leave firewisps unsupervised. She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting next to it, doodling on a stone tablet, while Gunvi checked the temperature and had her increase or decrease the temperature according to how he thought it was doing. Eventually, she had him start putting in firewood so she could go to dinner. She passed someone going the other way to bring Gunvi food.

Rian met her at one of the tables at the end, away from everyone, and he had two bowls with him. She took one and they both sat down. For a while, they ate in silence.

Eventually, though she had to speak up. "Who is this?" Lori said, pointing to the young woman eating her dinner while sitting next to Rian. She was probably a probationary subject, as she looked completely unfamiliar, as opposed to looking vaguely familiar but ultimately unimportant. Also, NO ONE ever sat on the same table as her and Rian. Or at least the same table as her.

"Oh, this is Erzebed," Rian said brightly, seemingly completely oblivious to the glares of the two other women sitting at the table behind him. "She's with Golden Sweetwood. Riz was telling me about how she used to be in the militia."

"Great Binder," she said, in the same thick accent as Grem. "I hope I am not disturbing your dinner?"

"Consider your hopes dashed," Lori said bluntly. "Please don't do this again."

That made her blink, and she hesitantly picked up her bowl and moved to further down the table. And then a bit further down when she saw Lori was still looking. Only when she was far enough and at a completely different table did Lori look away and resume eating.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"That was rude," Rian said disapprovingly, even as the two women behind him smirked triumphantly.

"It wasn't rude," Lori said. "She asked and I answered. I even said 'please'. I was perfectly polite."

"You're being deliberately obtuse about this, aren't you?" Rian said.

"I have the right to be who I am, and it would be against that right to impose any sort of dictates on my behavior," Lori smirked.

"Oh f– you're going to be using that argument a lot, aren't you?" he sighed, dropping his head in his hands.

"I find your idea of rights to not be so bad after all," Lori kept smirking.

"This is my fault now?!"

"Whose idea was it?"

"You picked them!"

"And they wouldn't have existed for me to pick if you hadn't insisted on bringing them to my attention," Lori said.

"Well, at least you're coming around to the idea," Rian said. "So did you have something to talk about or were you just being aggressively antisocial?"

"Have you gotten a list of the occupations of our probationaries?" she said.

"Not a complete list," Rian said. "Just some generalities. Six of them are trained medics, and another is an actual doctor. Apparently two others stayed at their old demesne."

Lori suddenly frowned. "Wait, stayed? Why?"

"They had injured from the dragon they couldn't safely transport," Rian said. "Broken bones, things like that, they said. Grem told me after you left. Their families stayed behind to take care of them in the hope that Grem and his group would confirm the existence of another demesne upriver, and come back for them. Grem was telling me about it, asking to go back and get them, and I told him to wait, that you'd want to know before you decided to allow anyone else to be brought here."

Lori frowned. "How many more are we talking about?"

"Around thirty to forty people?" Rian said. "Grem thinks there might be less than that now, from succumbing to injuries"

Lori gave him a flat look. "He wants to bring them here?"

"If I hadn't told him you needed to know, he'd have gone back today," Rian said.

"Why did you wait until now to tell me?"

"Honestly?" Rian met her gaze. "To see if he'd wait."

She stared at him, surprised.

"What? Just because I get along with people doesn't mean I trust everyone I meet right away," he said. "These are former militia. That's a big spectrum ranging from a bunch of people getting together and doing patrols as an excuse to try each other's booze to actual trained and experienced soldiers, and most of them came to us armed. I know some of the men stayed up last night with their spears next to them, and they're probably going to do the same thing tonight and tomorrow too. By the way, you might want to change your door, give it a few sharp turns when you close it. As it is, an arrow can get to you through it."

Rian paused to take a spoonful of stew, and Lori realized she'd stopped eating. She followed his example.

"So he waited," she said eventually. "What does that mean?"

"It means he has self-discipline, and understands that we'd be stupid to trust him right away," Rian said. "He's willing to wait a little to earn our goodwill. And his people trust him, because they didn't bring it up or insist on it, despite those injured possibly being friends or family of theirs. It means they're disciplined too."

"They could have just written those people off as dead," Lori suggested.

Rian was already shaking his head. "Soldiers, good soldiers, have traditions about leaving people behind. They don't," he said simply. "It's a bad precedent to set. After all, the person getting left behind might be them some day."

"You know an awful lot about soldiers," Lori said.

"I did have a life before coming here, you know," he pointed out.

"But if they don't leave people behind, why didn't he tell me about them when I asked him to show me where their demesne was?" Lori said.

"I don't know," Rian said. "And that's worrying me. Maybe he just didn't want to ask favors of you right away. Maybe he always intended to ask for help for them and it just slipped his mind right then because your little interview weirded him out. Maybe I'm completely wrong and he did leave those people behind to die, essentially writing them off and only now bringing them up out of guilt. Or…"

"Or?" Lori prompted.

"Or there's something about the people left behind," Rian said. "Something he's not telling us. Something he needs us at his back for. In which case, they might not have been left behind because they were injured. They might have been left behind because of a disagreement."

"You are being very pessimistic and untrusting," Lori said. "It's vaguely disturbing. Will you kindly please stop it?"

Rian fell silent, going back to dinner. Lori did as well.

Eventually, he said, "What do you want to do?"

Eventually, she answered. "You're suggesting either this is all a result of Grem either being polite and holding off a request, being forgetful, having some sort of change of heart, or having a fundamental disagreement with these people ostensibly left behind in their old demesne. Well, it doesn't matter. Either way, there's an unclaimed demesne out there, and I want it."

"And if the story of an unclaimed demesne is bait?" Rian said softly.

Lori frowned at him.

"It’s a story too good to be true, for a wizard," Rian continued. "An unclaimed demesne, ripe for the taking. The only thing a wizard might possibly leave their demesne for."

A heartsick cold gripped Lori's heart. She sat there, filled with a twisting disquiet, as around them the sounds of dinner, of vague conversation, of random laughter and the other sounds that she'd learned to take for granted surrounded her, a comfort she hadn't realized she'd come to rely on.

She took a deep breath, drawing in the familiar feeling of magic dissolved in the air, filling her lungs, letting it pass through her body and out again, binding the air around her breath by breath. The familiar exercise didn't calm her so much as ground her, giving her something to concentrate on as she waited out the sudden tension in her body.

If they were lying about there being another wizard… if they were lying about their demesne collapsing…

She could see it all too well. After all, she'd been willing to jump at the mere mention of an unclaimed demesne. If, instead, she had a chance to lure another wizard out of safety so she could take theirs and add it to her own…?

Lori found she honestly didn't have an answer to that question ready. But then she recalled the sheer desire she had when an unclaimed demesne was mentioned…

Eventually, she said, "Do you trust them?"

"I want to," Rian said. "They seem like nice people. But I have to think of these things in case you didn't. If I'm wrong, you'll just be angry at me for wasting your time. If I'm right… then we have a big problem."

Lori took one last deep breath. "You're better than me at judging people. If you say they seem like nice people, they probably are."

"And if I'm wrong?"

"Then I'm blaming you," Lori said flatly.

"Putting all the pressure on me?" Rian said.

"It's called delegating."

Rian snorted. "I should have quit when I had the chance. What's the plan?"

"I'm delegating that too," Lori said.

He rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. There goes a good night's sleep." Sighing, he finished his bowl quickly. "Well, in that case, there are people I need to talk to…"

Giving her a nod, he rose and left the table.

Lori didn't watch him go. She just stared at her bowl and forced herself to eat.

When she finished, she went to add two right angle turns to the slit she used as a door into the small alcove she slept in now...