As the sun set over the Aerdian countryside, Pirin and Gray circled down toward the Featherflight. The egg-yolk orange light framed the airship’s envelope and illuminated a slice of the upper viewing platform—where the two scouts stood watch with their bows in-hand.

Pirin circled around the platform twice. Feanscent shouted, “My lord! Did you see anything?”

“No signs of trouble yet,” Pirin called back. “You?”

“Only a few scattered, retreating Aerdian footmen!” the elf called. “Leftovers from yesterday’s battle!”

“Very good.” Pirin urged Gray to dip down with a gentle push. “We’ll land, and I’ll meet you up top in a second.”

Gray nosed down, and his view filled with the broad, slow-moving Eldflow river. The hills around it had flattened into stable ridges, but if Pirin squinted, it looked largely flat. A patchwork of green and bright yellow deciduous trees blanketed the land, right up to the shores of the river, with sparse copses of pines in between. It was old growth, and though they weren’t extraordinarily tall, they were even and level.

Gray swooshed under the belly of the Featherflight and fluttered past the gondola, then swerved back toward the cargo hold. As they were turning, though, a distant speck in the sky streaked through Pirin’s vision.

“Wait, Gray.”

Yeah?

“Do you see that?”

I…registered you seeing it when you asked me that.

The speck approached from the west, streaming through the sky. Pirin focussed, letting the newly-enhanced eyesight of his body take effect. Two more specks chased behind it in the distance. All three were gnatsnappers, and all three had riders.

“Either it’s a patrol coming with bad news…” he said.

Or it’s an attack squadron? Gray suggested.

“With three birds? Only three?”

Then we’ll crush them with ease!

“I say we check it out.” Pirin leaned to the side, signalling for Gray to turn. Obligingly, she agreed and turned. They sped up, her wings whipping into a blur, and shot away from the Featherflight.

Pirin squinted into the wind. The closer they got to the three approaching riders, the more details he could make out. The rider in the lead wore light leather armour with an Aerdian-orange pauldron and an ambersteel helmet, and the two riders behind wore light flight suits and silver helmets.

Dominion? Gray suggested. For the second two, that is! I can tell the difference between orange and silver, I swear!

“The Dominion uses Rockwings, not gnatsnappers. Those second and third riders are Sirdians.”

So they’re chasing? A chase? I love—

“But a single rider? It won’t do much, and I don’t see any dive-bombing equipment.”

And…the pauldron means he’s an officer, right?

“Right…”

Pirin activated the Fracturenet and concentrated its strength on his throat, enhancing his voice. “You there! Aerdian rider! What is your purpose?”

He was still far enough that a regular elf’s voice wouldn’t reach, even at a shout, but enhancing his voice-box with a fortifying Essence technique helped him project it farther.

But that doesn’t do us much good if we can’t hear the pilot’s voice! Gray exclaimed.

Still, the Aerdian pilot rose up in his saddle and raised his arms. He held no weapons, save for an officer’s short sword at his hip.

“If you have peaceful intentions, pull your bird into a circle!” Pirin instructed. “And then we can talk!”

The Aerdian pilot obliged, though, if he was planning a surprise attack, him having peaceful intentions wouldn’t matter one bit.

Still, Pirin and Gray flew closer. Pirin watched for any sort of weapon or alchemical bomb, but there was nothing in the officer’s possession. There was no heavy spiritual pressure to indicate any sort of powerful arcane weapon, and the officer gave off no spiritual pressure of any sort.

And if there was a weapon of mortals, Pirin figured he could at least fend it off for a little while. He maintained the Fracturenet, and charged a Shattered Palm in case he needed to deflect an attack and save Gray.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“What are your intentions?” Pirin asked, circling now only a few wing-lengths away from the Aerdian rider.

The two Sirdian scouts caught up, holding their bows at the ready. “My lord!” one of them exclaimed. “We noticed a single rider dead set on the fleet, racing as fast as he could. We chased, but we couldn’t match his speed.”

Pirin nodded and faced the Aerdian. “Please speak.”

“I…in fact, I came here to speak with you. The black-haired elf. Our true king.”

Pirin raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t exactly hiding who he was, and he wasn’t as surprised by the fact that the Aerdian rider had recognized him as the fact that the Aerdian had wanted to speak with him.

The rider had long, braided blond hair and a thin frame, but he was a few years older than Pirin. Greenpox scars ran down his cheeks, and his hands were callused and scarred. He must’ve been in the military for a while.

Either he was a hard-line Aerdian, or he was desperate.

If only Göttrur was here, Gray lamented. Little guy would’ve been able to tell you exactly what this rider’s intentions were. Or…help you do it.

“Still sleeping,” Pirin reminded her.

He’s always sleeping!

“He’s still young.” Pirin shook his head, then plucked his mask out from his haversack. He didn’t need Göttrur’s organizational abilities to tell if someone was lying. As he slid his mask onto his face, he lowered his hand gently, and Gray ruffled her neck feathers to hide his palm from the rider’s sight.

He activated the Whisper Hitch, and with ease, he slipped into the mortal elven officer’s mind.

“My lord,” said the Aerdian rider. “May I plead my case?”

Earnesty. Hope.

“Yes, please,” Pirin said. “No pleading. I just need to know why you’re here and what you want to tell me.”

“The Dominion. The Ten Thousand Horn Army has arrived.” The officer swallowed nervously. “I’m just a low-marshal, but I commandeered a bird from my airbase as soon as I heard of your landing. They’re amassing an army from the Dominion garrisons all across Aerdia, and there…there are whispers. They’re going to march directly for the Dremfell Wall.”

Pirin shut his eyes for a second, both in annoyance at the prospect of a new siege to handle and to concentrate closer on the elf’s mind.

Earnesty, still. Not even a glimmer of fear, or picking words carefully to hide something.

“Your majesty, he’s trying to draw you away,” said one of the Sirdian scouts. “It’s a trap.”

“No, it’s not,” Pirin said. At least, if it was, this low-marshal didn’t know it. “Ten thousand ostal? Do they think that could breach the Dremfell Wall?”

“It’s a force larger than that, my lord,” said the Aerdian. “Ten thousand ostal, and along with them, a hundred thousand low-blood conscripts—men, mostly, though there were a few southern sprites and seafolk among them. And five hundred wizards. Flares.”

Pirin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Only the Dominion could amass an army of that size in such a short time.

His link with the elf’s mind shuddered and bulged, and an image bubbled to the forefront of the low-marshal’s mind—of thousands of ships sloshing ashore, spilling silver-armoured ostal and Dominion conscripts onto the elven shores.

“Where are they?” Pirin asked.

“Fifteen leagues to the south. That’s where the most of them landed. It started a few weeks ago, but now, the vast majority have come ashore. They’ll march for Dremfell any day.”

Pirin nodded solemnly. Again, the elf spoke no lies. “Return to your airbase,” Pirin said. “Don’t speak of our barges, for what good it will do, but spread the word: the true king has returned, and he’s going to rid this land of the Dominion. When the Throne in Vel Aerdeil blooms, they’ll know.”

The captain swallowed and nodded. “Yes, my lord. Before I go…” He hesitated, though Pirin couldn’t identify any clear malice through the Whisper Hitch—just indecision. “...Most Aerdians aren’t happy. I know we aren’t. We want this over. But…we just don’t know what to do, or how to help, and most of us don’t know any different. No change is better than potentially bad change, they say.”

“Will they come if the Throne blooms?”

“Enough soldiers might…but they’d need a leader, someone of their own. Conveniently”—the Whisper Hitch betrayed him; he didn’t actually think it was convenient—“the Dominion called away High Field Marshal Theämir to the Mainland. To a pointless conference in Greatsaad.”

“Him?” Pirin tilted his head, trying to look like he understood, but he didn’t recognize the name.

But he didn’t need to. He searched through the Aerdian rider’s thoughts.

Theämir. A tall man, almost always on horseback. In the elf’s memories, he smiled kindly, before delivering a rousing speech. The Aerdian elves nodded and bowed their heads respectfully, or cheered and laughed with him after the fighting was done.

An Aerdian High Marshal with the respect of his people and the Aerdian army as a whole…

Pirin beamed, and another lump of a plan formed in the back of his mind. “Thank you,” he told the Aerdian rider. “Now go. Protect yourself, and don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“My lord!” one of the scouts exclaimed. “Can you just let him go?”

“He doesn’t have bad intentions,” Pirin asserted.

“He’s an Aerdian!”

“They’re my people too.” Pirin cut off the Whisper Hitch as the Aerdian rider flew away. “And yours. We’re going to put this nation back together, and we’ll kill Aerdians if we have to—but only if we have to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord!” the scouts both shouted.

“Report this to the Chancellor and the marshals,” Pirin instructed. Then, as the scouts shouted in affirmation and fluttered away, Pirin leaned closer to Gray and whispered, “What do you say we do a little more exploration? Are you tired yet?”

A little, Gray said. But we’ve been taking breaks, and I haven’t pushed myself to my limit yet. A dragon would cover that ground in a snap of the fingers! Or…talons. Well, I can snap my talons too!

“Thirty leagues? There and back?”

Child’s play!

Pirin chuckled under his breath. “Alright, then. But if I notice you getting tired, I’ll lend you strength.”

Fine…Now let’s go!