Hordur bid Moira and the rest of the team farewell with a series of deep bows, thanking them for their support during the journey. By tomorrow, the caravan traders would likely continue their trek southward to the Duchy of Aderon and beyond, though probably in smaller groups—there was no longer a need for such a large convoy. The roads in this region were much safer.

The four of them returned to the road wardens’ garrison. The place was bustling with activity. A stablehand took their horses to tend to them, leaving the group free to retreat to their quarters and take a moment to rest after the long journey. The brothers volunteered to inform Captain Darva of their return.

To Moira’s delight, she discovered that while she was away, her belongings from Forest Row had arrived. Still, there was no reply from her mentor yet—not surprising given the considerable distance involved. She had barely begun unpacking and arranging some of the items in her assigned quarters when a knock came at the door.

“Come in!” she called without looking up from her work. The door creaked open, and Otan entered, looking somewhat flustered.

“Well, Darva wants to see you. It’s urgent. A council meeting,” he announced, standing up straighter to strike a semi-formal pose. His tone, however, remained friendly.

“Should I be worried?” she asked, turning to him and trying to sound neutral, though a sinking feeling was settling in her stomach.

“We all should be, from what I gather. They want to consult with you,” he replied, shifting his weight nervously. “When you’re ready, I’m to escort you to the town hall.” He noticed her puzzled and uncertain expression, then raised his hands defensively. “Whoa, it’s nothing like that! It’s for your protection. Darva insisted Ashan and I ensure your safety. He’s already waiting downstairs.”

“Fine. Step out so I can change, and we’ll leave shortly,” she said, nudging him gently out of the room and closing the door behind him. With a sigh, she decided on a brief detour before facing the council. Packing her bathing kit, a clean outfit appropriate for the occasion, and other essentials into a bag, she stepped out to meet Otan.

“I thought you were changing?” he remarked, puzzled.

“Change of plans. We’re stopping by the public baths first—I’m not showing up at the council like this,” she said matter-of-factly. He began to protest, but she quickly cut him off. “Less arguing, more moving. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’ll be on our way.”

“Yes, Lady Moira,” he replied with an exaggeratedly theatrical bow, stepping aside to let her lead. Once downstairs, he briefly explained the situation to Ashan, who raised no objections. The three of them headed to the town’s public bathhouse.

Moira paid for a quick but thorough, no-frills wash, vowing to return for a more relaxing visit when she had more time. Refreshed and dressed in a clean, formal gown that lent her an air of authority, she joined her companions at the town hall. Upon their arrival, they were promptly ushered into the council chamber.

Moira recognized Darva but not the others, who she assumed were council members. There were also uniformed individuals, likely representatives of various city services.

“Miss Moira,” an elderly man standing at the center of the room greeted her. The others rose as well, following his lead. They exchanged pleasantries, bows, and handshakes before he gestured to a prepared seat for her.

The chamber was semi-circular, resembling a small theater, with a focus on a central podium. The long table beneath it bore damaged enchanted crystals, remnants of her prior investigations.

“Before you joined us, I mentioned how much we owe you,” the elder began. “Not only has your work freed Kardum’s region from the scourge of spirits, but we’ve also received word from the Iskev council, via a letter carried by the merchant Hordur. They detail how decisively you addressed the monster plaguing their fishermen, a calamity unleashed by the Cult of the Last Tribe. For these and other deeds, we are forever in your debt.” He paused, allowing nods, murmurs of agreement, and even some polite applause to ripple through the room.

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“As you may know, the Northern Cities Union comprises seven major cities, including Kardum and Iskev, each serving as a central hub for its district. Yesterday, however, we received troubling news from Forgdom, the northernmost city.” He held up a document, displaying it to the room. “This official letter, verified by our clerks, bears the city’s seals. It announces Forgdom’s withdrawal from the Union and urges us to submit to the authority of the Last Tribe. It is signed by someone calling themselves the Elder of the Tribe—a shadowy figure.”

“Yet clearly effective,” interjected a middle-aged man with strikingly gray skin, even for a nomad, and wearing a decorated epaulet. “We’ve apparently lost a city without a single battle.”

The elder countered swiftly. “Each northern city is independent, governing itself and its district. That has been the way for nearly two centuries.” He glanced sternly around the chamber. “I understand the captain’s frustration, but we are not at war, nor are we preparing for one—at least not yet.”

Murmurs of dissent spread through the room, prompting him to raise his voice. “We must confirm whether the Elder obtained Forgdom’s seals through coercion. Until then, I propose we disregard this withdrawal. Who opposes?” He scanned the room, but no hands were raised.

“Good. Now for better news. The eastern Union cities, Lar and Gerd, and the nearby northern city Kaarv, report progress against the cult’s activities. With the aid of Aderon exorcists and increased patrols, they believe they have the situation under control.” He set the paper aside.

“What of Hooren? It’s closest to Forgdom,” asked a silver-haired woman representing the Merchants’ Guild. She was the only non-nomad on the council.

“We’ve heard nothing. Our courier never returned,” he replied grimly, cutting off the rising tide of protests with a raised voice. “That’s why I invited Miss Moira. Her expertise, as the apprentice of the renowned necromancer Umbraval, is invaluable.” The revelation caused a stir in the chamber. Moira flushed with discomfort; her mentor’s fame far outweighed her own obscurity. "We know from the reports that you examined both those cursed crystals and the monstrosity in Iskev. Based on this, how do you assess the risk posed by this Elder? How far could he threaten Hooren or other cities?"

All eyes turned to her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped to the podium, her voice steady.

“At worst, Hooren is already under the Elder’s control. At best, your fellow Union members are fighting for their autonomy against someone who sees no limits to achieving his aims—even if it means raising an army of the dead. If you do not act decisively, I see no reason why he would stop his advance southward, growing stronger with every captured city and village until he stands at Kardum’s gates. He has violated the fundamental tenets of necromantic practice. He is no ally to us. He must be stopped.”

She nearly shouted the final words. The hall erupted into commotion—Darva nodding vigorously in agreement, while others shook their heads in skepticism. The chairman, with a glint in his eye and the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, stepped forward to take her place. By the time he turned to face the assembly, the smirk had vanished entirely.

"Order, please!" he called out, raising his hands. "Calm down! This is the opinion of Umbraval's apprentice, and I suggest we take her words seriously!" His voice cut through the rising murmur of the crowd, gradually quieting the assembly. "Let us now thank Miss Moira and deliberate on our next steps. Once again, I thank you for your studies on the nature of this magic, your efforts in eliminating the monstrosity in Iskev, and for your honest—if difficult for some to hear—assessment," he declared formally.

Then, with a friendly gesture, he placed a hand on her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “Thank you, and my apologies for emphasizing your mentor’s name,” he said softly at the door. “Your words will be critical in shaping our next steps.”

Back outside, the crisp air helped clear her head.

“You did well,” Ashan remarked. “They needed to hear that.” Otan nodded enthusiastically.

“Thanks,” she replied, wrapping her cloak tighter. “That was… a lot. The chairman caught me off guard with that speech request.”

“He seemed pleased, though,” Ashan said optimistically.

“Maybe,” she murmured. “Time will tell.” Adjusting her windblown hair, she sighed. “I’m starving.”

“I know just the place,” Otan offered. They collected Berk and headed to a small family-run inn, where Otan’s “dear auntie” served the best dumplings in the region. Sharing a hearty meal at a cramped table, they returned to their quarters with full bellies, ready at last for some well-earned rest.