The Warden of Blightstone Fortress, Knight of the long spear, Slayer of over one thousand Green beasts set her weight on her hands as she leaned against the worn stone of her favorite tower. She knew almost every speck of this old stone block by heart. When she was still a child she had leaned against it while talking with her mother about rulership and training. She snuck up here to contemplate the night before her marriage. It was here she watched her mother leave the fortress never to return.

And, from this same spot, she was watching a caravan take her only child away.

He would return, she was confident of that, but she had thought the same of her mother. That memory still had the taste of ashes.

Basil was still quailing in their room. She would have to console him later, but for now she just watched as the orcs took her son away.

He would survive. Nickolas was a tough boy if nothing else. The Warden liked to think that was some of her blood showing true. Other times she couldn't help but see so much of his father in him. Especially the stubborn streak. It was much of the reason she had fallen for Basil as their marriage went on. As well as the reason raising Nickolas felt like pulling teeth.

With the protection of the orcs Nickolas would survive, perhaps even thrive in that dark deadly place. They would not let him come to harm. Their pride wouldn't allow it, and while the Warden did not fully trust the orcs she could always rely on a woman's pride.

Honestly that boy. she thought with a smile. Not taking a shine to the heartlands is fine. Those prissy soft snakes don't deserve him anyway. It doesn't mean you need to run off with a bunch of orcs to get away.

The Warden's eyes narrowed and she caught the gleam of armor moving with a cart.

Perfectly acceptable women here to keep you company. she thought, staring at Molly. There was no need for you to get jittery over some foolish heartlands carrion beast.

Fingernails traced stone, aura flickering at the tips. When the Warden had first received the report about her son's suitors she had driven her fingers through a Glumwood desk in rage.

It's not like I don't understand son. she thought. I just wish you understood that I would never have let you get hurt.

Neither would the orcs. They understood these things.

Maria hadn't understood. Which was baffling to the Warden even now. Sending her sister out of the fortress proper had been her compromise while heads cooled over the incident. A loose end that would have to be dealt with now that Nickolas was safely away. As much as the Warden loved her sister she knew that the woman was unrepentant, and didn't want to risk getting Nickolas caught up in the inevitable screaming match.

Well hopefully just screaming. It was possible that Maria hadn't given up on winning a duel yet. That was always an annoying evening.

Sighing the Warden turned and left the tower's edge. The caravan would not be out of sight for a while yet, but her boy was nestled in a wagon in the center anyway so it mattered little.

Her bodyguards stood at attention, following their master in stoic silence as always. Tromping down the sturdy ladder she headed for her office. Many of her people had waited to give reports from across the territory. The early arrival of the tithe caravan had set everything back and it was going to be a hectic season of catching up.

There was a sound around the corner, footsteps, rapid. Tess, her senior bodyguard surged forward catching a figure by the neck, and flaring her aura.

The Warden blinked at the portly man now held by her guard. He blinked back in confusion, and rage.

“Victor?” the Warden drawled. “Is there a reason you attempted to rush me on the way to my office?”

“My son!” the Medicine Man gasped out. “Those feral women took my son!”

“Marious?” the Warden replied. “How? He wasn't on the tithe list. He wasn't claimed last night.”

“Kidnapping!” Victor moaned. “They stole my son away as they were leaving, they even left this ridiculous note to throw me off the trail.”

Tess released her grip on the weeping man and carefully pried the parchment from his sweaty grip, handing it to her Warden.

“I'm sure he hasn't been harmed.” the Warden assured as she scanned the letter. “But, well, Victor this does appear to be in your son's handwriting.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Lies Warden!” the Medicine Man half shrieked, teeth gnashing. “They held a blade to my boy's throat and took him! Oh my poor boy! He must be terrified! We must go! Stop them Warden! Please!”

The Warden spared a glance at Tess, who shrugged, helpful as ever.

“Victor, we are not going to go charging down the tithe caravan.” the Warden said calmly. “I'm sure your son will come to his senses and return before they get close to the Green. He's not foolish enough to continue once he sees it properly. He'll be back before nightfall.”

“No! Warden.” the man cried. “He wouldn't do this! Not my boy! He wouldn't leave me.”

He would. And this is precisely why. the Warden thought, unkindly. That boy has been trying to escape you and his mother for cycles, and I can wish him only the best. He'll do well with the orcs. They'll be fascinated by a free man, and if he can learn even half of their remedies he'll be worth far more to this fortress than you. I just wish he had told me he was planning this so I could arrange another Knight to keep him company, I suppose Molly will have to do double duty.

The weight of the irony struck her hard. That she was delighted to see another parent's son taken away to the Green while cursing her own blood doing the same.

The hypocrisy of being a ruler I suppose. the Warden reasoned. I sent dozens of boys away before Nickolas even considered leaving, and I'll send away dozens more even when Molly drags him back. I won't lose him to the Deep. Those old crones can wail all they wish, but he's only on loan until that Hunter he calls a wife meets her end. A cycle, maybe two, and he'll be safe at home. Yet your son will stay. He has value there. I won't risk that over the tears of one man.

“We'll get to the bottom of this Victor.” she promised with a smile. “I'll send a messenger out right away to clear things up. She'll make sure to talk to your son, and ensure he hasn't come to harm. If he wants to return she can bring him home.”

“That's-” Victor sighed, and seemed to deflate. “Thank you Warden. Just bring my boy back home safe. Please.”

“In the meantime Tess will take you back to your quarters. I'm sure your wife is worried sick.” the warden said. “We'll drop Marious off with you when he returns.”

Tess nodded at the implied order and started coaxing the weeping man back to his quarters. The Warden rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Fool boy she thought to herself If you wanted to run off with Nickolas I could have put you on the list. Boys and their drama I suppose.

With the disturbance settled the Warden made her way to her office. The room was bright compared to the gloomy halls, and musty rooms the rest of the fortresses was known for. A large stained glass window made up most of the rear wall, bathing the center of the room in multifaceted light. Her desk was flush against one wall, reports piled around it. The opposite wall held a smoldering fireplace, keeping the room slightly too toasty in the warm weather, just as the Warden preferred things. The Warden's boots sunk into the soft carpeting, and she kicked them off into the corner to enjoy the sensation between her toes.

Mousia was already standing by her desk. The Treasurer of Blightstone always seemed to slouch as she stood. Surrounded by the harsh warriors of the fortresses Mousia seemed soft, with full cheeks and half lidded eyes. The Warden had only experienced her aura once, over a decade ago, but that was enough to never underestimate the woman.

Since then Mousia had risen in rank, proving herself invaluable in running the quieter aspects of the fortress as the Warden settled into her duties. Few of the Knights held the Treasurer in high esteem, but as trade increased, and granaries swelled, none could doubt her usefulness to Blightstone.

“That went as smoothly as we could hope for Warden.” Mousia said with an easy tone as the Warden seated herself. “Our orcish friends filled our quota and then some. We'll have a substantial surplus for trade even with the loss of the iron.”

The Treasurer extended a list for the Warden's inspection. Her ordered handwriting separated into neat rows of supplies, foodstuff, and commodities.

“I'll take a look at it later.” the Warden sighed, snatching a bottle from under her desk and uncorking it. “Did you hear the commotion outside? Little Marious ran off with the tithe caravan. We'll need to summon a new healer from one of the villages.”

Mousia set the report aside, and without missing a beat procured a census list. After a quick scan of the document she set it before the Warden, pointing at a few names.

“As you predicted Warden.” she said. “Though I believe running off with the orcs is a surprise. Does this fit with your plans, or should I be concerned for young Marious?”

“It might actually simplify things.” the Warden admitted. “We expected him to sus out some secrets while, or maybe discover a few in some dingy workshop to trade with the heartlands. The orcs will work just as well, they have direct access to more medicinal herbs than we can imagine, and by the looks of some of those scars make good use of them.”

She took a long drink from the bottle.

“Doesn't make dealing with Victor and Sisera any easier.” she said with a grimace. “Victor came to me wailing before the caravan was even out of sight. I give it a few bells before his wife notices, but it's still trouble.”

“Perhaps it was time they were retired to a village.” Mousia suggested. “At least until their son returns.”

She paused.

“Assuming young Marious will be returning with Nickolas.” she said, the question hanging in the air.

“The path will be open if he finds to the Green too hostile.” the Warden replied mildly. “Either way he will have provided a great service to us. The boy is brilliant at his craft. Any secrets he finds could save lives for a century to come.”

“And grow the value of the herbs we trade to the heartlands each cycle.” Mousia added, slightly wistful. “Even if it's just a fertility tea, or a novel treatment for back aches. There are soft nobles that will pay their weight in iron for such luxuries.”

“Yes, well, let's not congratulate ourselves on living rugged lives too much.” the Warden replied, lips twitching slightly at the corners. “We wouldn't want to become North Shore braggarts. And honestly, do we truly wish to mock a woman trying to become a mother? That was a low blow Mousia.”

Mousia bit her tongue slightly to keep from chuckling. Fertility herbs, and the rumors around them had turned into a steady income steam for the fortresses on the edge of the Green. Every cycle the noble women of the heartlands whispered of some miracle tea, or magical root that would gift them a powerful daughter. Most whispered of exotic plants from the Green of course. To add mystery to the myth.

The plump Treasurer was formulating a joke about never insulting her cherished customers when she paused. She noted her lord's posture. The way she moved her hands, almost hovering over her midsection.

Recalling the tithe feast, she noted that the Warden drank far less than was typical.

“Lord Warden.” Mousia said softly, a smile forming anew. “Should I...prepare another feast? Say, the end of harvest season?”

The Warden paused. Then winked at her friend.

“Let's focus on getting a proper healer settled into the fortress before the season of fire starts.” she remarked. “It's too early to drop hints about the good news.”

Mousia nodded, still smiling, and shifted the conversation back to the storage of trade goods.

Internally the Treasurer was screaming with glee.

An heir.

Blightstone was gaining an heir.