The Red Hand and his disciple rode across the fields of Seisse, following their new Steppehawk. It swooped southwest, turning toward Plainspar.
There weren’t really borders anymore, not when it came to the Mainland, but most people knew where the old boundaries between nations had been before the Dominion conquered them.
They splashed across a broad but shallow river that separated the Seisse peninsula from the fields of Plainspar. The Steppehawk swooped high overhead, disobeying roads and trails. The Hand had no choice but to ride in the bare fields to chase after it.
The hawk had been flying for a few long days. It hadn’t stopped to rest, so neither could the Hand or Khara—or better yet, the horses they had taken in Port Masyne.
It was early evening, and the last slivers of twilight faded from the sky, but the hawk’s glowing runes on its tail feathers turned it into a tiny blue star. In fact, it was easier to follow at night.
They lost ground to it when they passed cities or villages—the Hand didn’t dare to ride straight through—but they caught up on straightaways. Steppehawks couldn’t fly at their top speeds then delivering messages (or in this case, a pouch of stones to trick it), otherwise they’d tire themselves out.
“Why Plainspar?” Khara yelled, trotting along behind the Hand.
“I have a hunch,” said the Hand.
“It’s still following them, right, sir?”
“It’s tracking the heir.” He snapped his horse’s reins and guided the beast to the left, around an especially large boulder. They were approaching a medium-sized Plainsparan city, and the Hand would have to go around as fast as they could, then they could catch up with the hawk.
“I mean, Plainspar is just a bunch of farmers and horsemen. Don’t even know why the Dominion cares about it so much…”
“Yet a very important man lives in these lands,” the Hand said. “The Unbound Lord One. His estate is the headquarters of his family, and where he holds all of his Family’s advancement resources.”
“They’re stealing from him?”
“Indeed.”
“They’re going to get themselves killed before they even know what hit them. Lord One could evaporate them with a flick of his wrist!”
“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” said the Hand. “The heir and Leursyn have advanced higher than you realize.”
“Whatever it is, One is a Wildflame and they’re not. He could destroy their bodies and leave no trace!” Khara urged her horse to trot faster until it was neck-and-neck with the Hand’s. “Then you don’t get the heir’s head, and I don’t get revenge.”
“I suspect One won’t even know there are two gnats on his property, stealing from him. Our prey has help now.”
“Nomad?”
“Precisely.” At least she was starting to jump to some of her own conclusions.
“And why would you know so much about him?”
The Hand snorted. “Nomad has lived many lives and trained many disciples. Who do you think taught me?”
Khara was silent.
“The Dominion’s swordsmen are not skilled enough to harness Reign, and though my Seissen upbringing might have taught me to wield a sword…” He trailed off, hoping to lead her on to the next deduction.
“The Seissens couldn’t teach you to harness Reign,” Khara finished. “Nomad did.”
“That’s it.” The Hand straightened up on the back of his old horse. “Nomad moves with the wind. He doesn’t plan; he just bends with his conscience and moves between whatever catches his fancy. We will snatch his new disciples from under his nose.”
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It was morning when Lady Neria stepped out of the gondola of her airship and jumped down into the grass of the Aremir estate. Lord Three floated down behind her, his dark cloak fluttering behind him.
Neria walked away from the ship without a word. The crew would know to wait for her, and her mortal guards would be entirely unnecessary. Their bodies would break and they would die on the spot, if push came to shove.
The same would go for her, though. If the Unbound Lords fought, and Three didn’t shield her, she would die.
The only thing keeping her alive was her wit.
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Two Aremir family guards met her outside her airship. They stood beside their horse Familiars and carried spears.
“Flares,” Three said.
As expected. Most wizards in the Dominion only made it to Flare by the time they were an adult. Some advanced to Blaze later in life, but it was only the truly powerful who advanced to Blaze when young.
Even a powerful family couldn’t overcome some of the bounds of magic. Only the most determined and fortunate could reach the top, and they had to consolidate their resources to produce their best heirs.
But the determined and desperate rarely understood how blessed they were.
“Come this way, honoured Lady,” one of the Aremir guards said. He dipped his head, then motioned with his spear toward a complex of tents set out in front of the airship.
“This is the gathering area for equinox celebration guests,” Neria said bitterly. “Do you know who I am?” She hadn’t come here to participate in equinox celebrations—she needed to speak with Lord One.
“We are aware, madam, however we must maintain proper protocols at all times.”
“I sent a letter explaining my intentions.”
“The Lord One received it. He is…preoccupied at the moment.”
Neria snorted, then said nothing else. If One wouldn’t willingly grant them an audience, Three could cause enough of a stir that only One could stop him. And if One still wouldn’t give them an audience, then he would die.
Neria stomped along after the guard, but Three hesitated slightly—until Lady Neria reached into her coat and withdrew a thin glass vial with a glowing orange elixir in it. A temporary Essence-enhancement elixir to push a wizard’s strength a half-stage higher. She swirled it around, making sure Three saw it.
He trailed along like an obedient puppy. Sure, he could kill her and take any elixirs she had on her person, but she had a vast arsenal of them hidden away in vaults all across Greatsaad. If Three killed her, he wouldn’t get any more.
The Aremir guards led them down a street of packed mud. They passed between ornate tents with lower family and clan crests. Guards in all sorts of armour and livery lined the streets—from Esybia to Pherodotes to Ostanor, families had gathered, vying for the favour of an Unbound Lord and hoping to climb the ladder themselves.
They reached a broad tent at the end of the street. Two more Aremir guards stood outside the tent, but they sat atop their horses, reigning supreme over the lesser families. The two guards who escorted Lady Neria and Three motioned to the open flap of the tent, but they waited outside.
The guard who spoke before said, “You will find a Blaze elder within. He speaks with Lord One’s words.”
Close, but not good enough. Still, it was a step up.
Neria bowed her head and stepped through the flap in the tent. A carpet of furs covered the floor, and a long table ran down the center. At the very end of the table was a Blaze-stage wizard.
Neria didn’t need spiritual senses to tell what stage the old man was. A runebond tattoo ran along his arms, its rigid lines glowing gold with ichor ink. It would have run all the way across his body, tracing his channels, but he wore a plain white and green robe to conceal it.
Awfully presumptive of the Aremir family to adopt the colours of the Dominion and the Emperor’s house.
Lady Neria sat down at a chair on the opposite side of the table, and Three remained standing behind her. She placed her elbows down on the table’s varnished wood and leaned forward. “I must speak with Lord One immediately.”
“You will speak with this Elder Méoread first,” said the Blaze, motioning to himself. He didn’t have his Familiar with him, but he bore the only other sign of a Blaze—the bondmark. It differed for every Path and every Familiar, but the bondmark of the Aremir family was simple: a mane of horsehair ran down the back of their head, neck, and if he hadn’t been wearing a robe, his back too. His man was brown—that must have been the colour of his Familiar.
“Why does the Lady Neria travel from Greatsaad to Plainspar to meet with an Unbound Lord when she already has one in her service?” Elder Méoread demanded.
Everything about this Elder made Neria’s skin crawl. The Aremir family was an old institution, and they did not raise up the best or brightest. They often jumped over the women of their family for male heirs, for no discernable reason other than tradition—and that mortals did it too.
“If the rest of the Unbound will not join me, they will die,” Neria said plainly.
Méoread’s hand immediately reached for the short sword at his hip, but Neria clicked her tongue. Three straightened up and cycled his Essence—her mortal will trembled and a great pressure tore out from Three, threatening to strike her dead, but he stopped short of pushing it too far.
“Is that a threat, Lady?”
“It is an ultimatum. The Emperor is weak-willed and needs replacing. You would have a strong, brave, and charismatic Empress in his stead. I would see the North united, and I would see our defences shored up.”
“That is treason.”
“The North used to be stronger,” said Neria. “Lord One can bask in that strength, or he can burn with the rest of it. There are threats to the south, long forgotten, and we cannot protect our lands if we continue this infighting. If Three does not kill your family and tear down your estate, there will be others who can. Once I control the Dominion, I will bring our full might against the elves and destroy any pockets of resistance that remain. A single speck of rot can ruin an apple if it isn’t cut out and destroyed. And a rotten apple does no one any good.”
Whether the threat of the South was true or not, a little fear and anxiety wouldn’t hurt her cause.
“The Emperor isn’t a conqueror,” Neria continued. “His father took the Mainland and he decided that it was enough, and now our current ruler only sponsors an Aerdian vassal with soldiers and gold. It’s non-committal. I would see the glory of the North restored.”
Méoread was silent for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “Lord One will seek an audience with you. Remain here until he is available.”
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Nomad was finding it harder and harder to avoid detection over the hours.
First, he had disabled the rune-lines that controlled the central alarm systems—and just in time. His disciple—disciples?—had just breached the elixir storeroom. The alarms might go off a few miles across the estate, but the central palace wouldn’t hear about it until messengers arrived.
After that, he trailed Lord One through the hallways, clinging to the shadows and projecting a sphere of murkiness. His little brother had never attuned his spiritual senses well, and such murkiness wouldn’t seem any different than normal.
But it would make it impossible for his enhanced Wildflame everything to detect the presence of Pirin and Myraden.
All would have gone to plan if a messenger hadn’t called Lord One away to speak with someone called Lady Neria.