A Story From The Elders—

There is an enemy that has made itself the antithesis of our being from the moment we gained our minds.

It is not the Olimpians or Imperials that exist on the coast. While they are strong, they are consumed with their own existence. They do not bother to look beyond their borders to see what doesn't want to be seen.

So as long as we stay in our holy mountains, never venturing out for more than a raid on those who do not know to fear us, we will never invite thaeir wrath.

The Letairry — or Maternal Hegemony in our language — will never let us exist.

Even if all we do is cower in our homes, we will be a direct challenge to their existence, to the foundation of their power. Their strength is founded on the abuse and manipulation of our cousins. Those sad existences who still run around without their minds.

We enlighten as many as we can, but we will never be able to free them all. If there is one thing we can trust about the Lost — thanks to the Olimpian's records — it's a fact that the Lost's numbers were always their strength.

But more than their numbers, it is a miracle they can exist in such a hoard at all.

When they mass into their endless hoards, they shouldn't be able to find enough food, but they never seem to starve. It's the mana. They can live off the world, but hunger will drive them into insanity as they attack everything around them to satiate the hunger.

We, the People, can disrupt that instinctual spell.

With a few mages and a good plan, we can kill the pitiable creatures by the tens of thousands or more.

A fact the Letairry knows well, and they have gathered their pawns to attack us countless times.

We can never forgive them for what they do to the Lost, and they will not let a challenge to their power base exist.

So we are at war — and will remain at war — until the Maternal Hegemony is exterminated.

**********

Kanieta stood in the center of her new bridge. She scuffed her foot against the marred stone bricks in a vain attempt to remove some of the black scorching left by the lightning. I should get someone to clean it up. Make it shine and gleam in the sun. Something new deserves to look like it.

She didn't care what anyone said, damn it. Kanieta liked her bridge. It was far better than the trash Jolten made. That thing was only held together by mana and prayers. By the tip of her tail, a single attack broke the stupid thing. Kanieta scoffed mentally at the dead patchy ass-sniffer.

And the bridge was her idea. The original plan was to throw the bricks into the fort to cause further confusion. She was the one that came up with the idea to do something productive with them.

So, her bridge.

A bridge that can take more than a half-hearted effort before it crumbles, too. Kanieta didn't know about anyone else, but she did not have much time to think or look around when people tried to kill her. Unless a structure was crumbling before her eyes, she wouldn't waste the effort to rip out a chunk of stone and throw it at her enemies, like you could do with a certain other bridge.

On the other hand, her bridge should be able to take a beating by a knight, even before it was reinforced with mana and spells. The material is far better, but that was beside the point.

All that mattered was her bridge was better, and no one would remember the windbag's bridge. Or even his name. Maybe I should name the bridge after him… as an honor to the dead and all that. Her lips curled in vindictive amusement at the pleasant thought.

The old man and all of his lackeys had been a thorn in her side for years.

Turning from the Middle Fort, she signaled the mage to her left with a slash of the hand to stop the spell. While the hearing spell the mage cast couldn't pick up Green reporting to his superior, as one of the knights had put up a barrier, she could still gain quite a lot by watching.

The vision spell, through which she watched the whole interaction, was shaped like a circular window hanging in the air a few feet past the bridge's railing with indistinct, hazy edges. It showed Green and the Legatus like she stood ten feet away from them.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the image showing Green lying on the ground, a couple people hovering over him, snap shut as the mage cut off the mana.

A tiny flicker of concern for Green flared inside her. She enjoyed their short time together and felt kind of guilty for using him like she did and for all the suffering he was subjected to, but she squashed the emotions as soon as their reared up. Kanieta could not entertain such sentiments with the position she was in.

"Do you think he will seek peace?" Elder Lurta asked in a slightly distracted tone.

Looking over, Kanieta saw the old fox had browbeaten someone into fetching her a chair. And now she was having the gofer hold the yarn she was trying to knit into a… snake shirt? Can't be a sleeve. No one has an arm that long. Kanieta didn't know, and telling the old hag she was terrible at knitting only made one suffer the Elder's wrath.

The young man had a crestfallen expression, like the world was ending, and all he could do was watch. His eyes were looking to the Northern Fort in longing as the beat of the party drums sounded. Anyone could tell he yearned to join the celebration.

Having a party when they were still technically fighting wasn't the best idea, but Kanieta had long ago learned to only fight the battles she could win. The best she could do was minimize the risk while retaining her authority.

The Olimpians might be readying to throw back another assault, but attacking those walls was the last thing on her mind. They didn't have another siege spell prepared, so they would have to do it the hard way. There was no way the gains would be worth the cost.

Her eyes traveled over the young man, who might just be Lurta's newest project, even if he didn't know yet. Suppressing the shiver running down her spine at the surfacing memories, she said a silent prayer to the Spirits before focusing on the Elder.

“…He seems competent enough." Kanieta slowly said. "I think he would be open to negotiations once he sees we speak the truth."

"But it's not up to him." Stated Elder Lurta.

Kanieta said nothing to the obvious statement, "By the time those in power come to the realization they need to act, it will be too late."

"The hoards will be at their borders pressing them hard,"

"Yeah, that too," Kanieta agreed, "but I was talking more about our defenses. Already our mages are hard at work casting spells and reinforcing the battlements. In a few weeks, it will take the combined might of Olimpia to push us back. And if they do that," Kanieta shrugged like there was nothing she could do, "we will both be conquered by the Letairry."

Elder Lurta did not disagree with Kanieta's statement.

Looking past the Elder, Kanieta looked at the river in contentment.

Mana thrummed in the air, and beneath her feet, she could feel the bridge acting as the anchor for the spell stretched over the river, which obscured the line of barges from the Olimpians. They might know we have boats, but no need to advertise how many.

On their decks were all the supplies their farmers would need to start their crops and all the tools the carpenters and masons required to build a city.

Tanners, ranches, woodcutters, miners, smiths, and every other required profession would follow in the next few days. The children and their caretakers would come after.

Sure, Kanieta had not lied when she told Green that most of their army was acting as a rear guard, but that wasn't the whole truth.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Veteran warbands were already sweeping through the Cradle to the east.

That lush, sweeping valley was the only major inhabited area the Olimpians had on this side of the river. The area bordered the Twins and had its back to a series of rolling foothills leading to the Broken Peaks.

The foothills were covered in orchards, and the floors of the valleys were one massive wheat field.

All the food the People would need for the year of the building ahead of them.

Any farmers that still remained would be offered the chance to stay, and they would be given a fair price for their produce, but Kanieta would have that food. She would treat them as well as possible, but they would not be allowed to endanger her charges.

"The Crescent Moon will be trouble." Lurta said, after a while of Kanieta watching people unload the barges, "They won't take being shown up lying down."

“…I know," Kanieta groaned in exasperation. "Couldn't let me enjoy the moment?"

"I have," the Elder said in amusement, "but now you are just putting off calling a Conclave." Kanieta flinched from the accusation and felt her tail betray her nervousness. She really hated those meetings.

Lurta's lips pulled back, showing her fangs, "It's time to show those howlers the cost of breaking the Conclave's laws."

**********

Legatus Panta Valee looks at what appeared to be the normal — if high quality — black lacquered top of the table placed in the middle of the Control Center of the Southern Fort. The table came up to his abdomen, with a foot-tall railing ringing the edge. The perfect level to lean against.

When he first took control of the fort, he toured every nook and cranny of the place, taking in the history.

He spent the vast majority of his time in the legion dealing with the politics of the Isles. The only place he had met a group as cutthroat as those on the Isles was wading through the politics of Olimpia itself.

It was why he had accepted his assignment up here so easily. All he sought was efficiency and competence among his legionaries, but apparently, that was too much to ask.

While dealing with the Hoppers, as those who live in the Isles call themselves, he gained a significant level of respect and power.

A little too much power.

When Panta became the Consul in charge of the Isles, the senators of the Isles took notice. He did, after all, have the power to unify the Isles for the first time, possibly ever. Doing so would end up decreasing the dozens of senators for the Isles to a mere handful. Panta had no plans to do so, but that did not negate the fact he could. Or that others were urging him to do it.

Threatening the power of so many was not the type of attention anyone wanting a long life desired. A category Panta fell into.

So when he was recalled to Olimpia — though how can someone be recalled to a place they have never been? — and was offered wagonloads of titles and lands, all of which just so happened to be far away from the Isles — complete and utter coincidence, he was sure — Panta decided to be, appeased.

They could not strip him of his rank, as that was a legion matter, so he remained the technical Consul of the Isles. But they could prevent him from ever returning.

The stalemate lasted for years until a decade ago when he requested to be transferred to the Northern Line. It was the unofficial-official retirement posting.

Panta was tired of politics. Spending his last years in the legions teaching new recruits while watching over a quiet border sounded nice.

And even now, commanding a position on the Northern Line had a certain level of notoriety, as it was only given to people who had served the legion with distinction. This was ironic because being posted up here in any other position was the opposite and implied that they were out of favor with someone.

It was an amusing fact and something that would change soon, but not because of anything he did. A new war would bring new fame. And the flies who feed off it.

His gut told him the beastkin was being honest about the threat, even if half-truths were sprinkled throughout their message. But even if he took them at face value, verification would still be required.

Panta didn't have the same prejudice against the beastkin that many of his staff seemed to have, but he knew those with authority. "If they didn't know how to lie, they wouldn't be in power," Ponta whispered the old maxim of the Isles.

Eyes focusing on the table again, he studied its surface. If he didn't know better, Ponta would have sworn the grain on the wood was real.

But it couldn't be,

Because no two trees had ever produced the exact same grain, and while he had never seen them, he knew the table had two identical siblings. One in Basetown and the other in Cross.

The tables were a relic of the past. One of the many masterpieces that appeared when Olimpia was on the brink of collapse. A time in which every year was a scramble as dozens of legions were fielded to hold back the unending tide of beastkins. At the height of the Northern Line, the tables were able to show the real-time positions of all those legions.

Those days were long since past, and the tables hadn't been turned on in centuries. The last commander who did was tried by the Senate for wasting legion resources, bankrupting her family when she was forced to pay off the sixty mind stones.

Panta had never thought there would come a time that he would look at the table and know that its time had come again. That he would be turning it on.

Then again, he could be wrong.

Even now, the scouts and messengers he had sent out were gathering the information, but he didn't need it. He trusted his gut. Even if he was wrong, he could cover the cost of the mind stones. If only barely. And the beastkin controlling two-thirds of the Triad was enough to rationalize his actions, right?

Right.

Done justifying himself, Ponta moved to activate the table.

With reverence, he slid open a panel on the side of the table. The bottom of the cabinet was a bronze circular tray whose edges rose an inch, making a small basin. From the three walls of the alcove, strands of what looked like copper, thick as the stem of a foot-tall blade of grass, poked out of the wood. It didn't look like they were pushed through a drilled-out hole but rather grown from the walls themselves.

The strands made a latticework that held twenty clear crystals, each as large as two fingers, positioning them into the rough shape of a cone pointed up.

Placing the middle of his palm on the cone, so his finger splayed over the collective tip, Panta mentally readied himself. Hesitant at first, he pushed out a single strand from his hand, gently feeding his psy into the crystal. The moment psy entered the crystal, the table's surface rippled like it was covered in a thin layer of water, and he kicked the table's leg.

With increasing speed, Panta dumped three fourth of his psy pool into the crystal, finally realizing that it could take far more than he could ever offer in one sitting. With a slight mental pull, he started feeding the Command Table the psy of his legion.

The energy built, and Panta could feel his cape flap in an invisible wind before the table released a massive pulse of psy.

What was once nothing more than a black surface became a far more detailed map of the northern border than he had ever seen. Then the map became topographical as mountain peaks, plunging valleys, and rolling forests formed.

Legend said that if one ran their hand over the section of grasslands the table showed, it was like touching a million blades of grass at once. As Panta looked at the ever-increasing details, he could believe it.

The map showed a 500 miles wide section reaching the edge of the Broken Peaks to the north to the upper sections of the Plains and Step to the south. To the west, it showed the Great Lake and stretched a little more than 1000 miles to the Weeping Peaks to the far east. In the middle of all that land sat the Triad, sitting over the junction of two rivers.

The life-like depictions of the map became a little different with a flick of Panta's will. It was basically the same, except for a sea of red that consumed everything north of the Rush and Twins rivers.

A crescent moon behind a wolf's paw was in the Western Fort, while a flicking red tail with a white tip was in the Northern Fort.

Moving his focus from the table, he looked to the side to see his Prefect standing there. Her face told him she had bad news.

Without being prompted, she said, "The knights scouted the Cradle like you asked. They found multiple warbands moving through the area. There are no signs of them slaughtering the inhabitance, but they appear to be setting up forts. None of them look to be going anywhere soon."

The Cradle Flashed red. He wrote a few notes in the margins and then finished by adding a few more touches to the map.

A 15 with a background of black stood at the Southern Fort. Over at Basetown was the number 14 and 13. And far to the west were the numbers 16, 17, and 18. Six legions left to man a border that once commanded dozens.

Coming from the mountains, towards Bastown and Cross, were anticipated lines of attack.

He did not know if they would see, but all of the tables were connected, and what happened to one happened to all. It was one of the greatest psy castings he had ever seen. And worth most cities. Yet it was worthless when it lay forgotten.

"What are we going to do, sir?" Asked Prefect Pompi.

He stood a moment, looking at the Mountain range, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "We are going to scout, Perfect. Scout and prepare our fortifications. We can't take back what we lost, not without help… And most importantly, you are going to quietly find some rats."

**********

A figure in a black cloak darted into an alleyway, disappearing into the shadows like it was the union between old friends.

Seconds after the figure disappeared, five legionaries marched past the opening. Their helms cast shadows over their faces, but light reflected off their eyes as their heads swiveled side to side.

They were searching.

Oh, they were trying to hide what

they were doing. And doing a decent job… for a child.

But to anyone who knew how to listen, their minds were shouting with suspicion. The figure wasn't even trying, but the shift in the mood of the fort and the surrounding city was like an open book.

Everyone knew the 15th Legion was searching for something. A search that started right after the People returned their prisoners.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the beasts had blabbed about the Letairry. And whether the Olimpians believed them or not, things were now going to get… complicated.

A complication that the Maternal Hegemony would remember and add to the beasts' debt for rebelling.

What looked like any other slab of stone silently lifted up and slid to the side, revealing a hole in the ground.

Without hesitation, the figure dripped into the hole as soon as it was wide enough, and the cover moved back into place, never making a sound. The 7th Night Corps needed to know the Olimpians might soon learn of their existence.

End of book 1