Salamede POV

A falling sensation came for only a second before a sudden slow kicked in. The double doors opened to reveal a red-painted wall with shining steel curves around the top and bottom of the walls. This metal contrasted with the softness of the red carpet lining the floor.

Stepping out, it felt like stepping into a home rather than the room of a larger structure. Maybe it was the smaller hallway we stepped into, the embroidered chairs and couches to the left looking more like a private nook as opposed to a public area, or the hooks along the right wall for coats. Whatever the reason, this floor reflected the specific tastes of a handful rather than the masses.

Our guide went down to the right, which we followed. At the end of this hallway was another set of double doors, though these were warm oak emblazoned with silver mountain peaks. Getting them open took a good shove from the lion guard and Kantor. Contrasting with the sturdy entrance was a dining room that seemed more art than residence.

Silver rivers and wildlife flowed around the room's sides while red carpet lined with gold squares sat below all the pristine furniture. At the center was a long table bearing a shiny metal top with strong steel legs beneath. While the chairs were dark cherry wood, their silky cushioning and gold-tipped headrests were no less ornate than anything else. Along dressers on the right and opposite walls were statues of dragons, beasts, and even a few skulls of large-mouthed beasts which were dipped in the same silver. All illuminated by crystal mana lamps on the ceiling that were done up like stars while the nose was filled with a field of flowers.

More than grandeur or wealth, there was a sense of frailty in all the pieces save the table. One errant swing of an arm and a great piece of art would be lost. Using the chairs as one would in a tavern might well mean their death. A disagreement coming to blows probably ended in damages totaling several hundred gold coins.

Our group was ushered to the left where another ornate door stood. As we got close, our human guide coughed into a leather glove.

“This hall has several rooms on the sides for guards. The one at the end will be the lady’s quarters. Here, even the guards lay well. And eat well.” He said as he gripped the door handle and pulled.

Inside was more of the innate hallway, though this one sported two doors on each side and another double door at the end, sporting gold mountains instead of the usual silver. The lion guard gave us a moment to take it in before continuing.

“A messenger will come by later to take your requests for food. You are to be extended the same guest rights as we would the royal family and shouldn’t concern yourself with the expenses of your preferred meal. Magical resources, however, will not be given.”

I walked past him toward the end of the hallway. The Kelton men kept around me as I pushed the door open. Inside was another room with the same silver wall corners and red carpet. My eyes immediately went to the enormous bed on the left. Its landscape of dark red blankets and white sheets had enough room for a family of five to sleep undisturbed with its size and lack of posts or headboard.

Paintings depicting battles and solemnly standing figures, no doubt portraying Laperict history, lined the walls. Above the desk on the right was a particularly large specimen bearing a large bird done up in silver gliding over a mountain. Sunlight layered over the grand room from the window that took up almost the entire opposite wall. On the right wall was an open doorway leading into a washroom. Kantor did a quick scout under the bed and desk but the place, despite its finery, was bare enough that he was bowing with his exit from the room along with all the other men in short order.

Outside the window was a long road surrounded by walls leading to Eli’s creation further out. Besides that, it was jagged and bare rock fields for as far as the eyes could take in with the assistance of the peak sun. My mind started searching for ways to visit those large walls in the distance. Good sense quickly crushed the desire. One visit between scions was a fortuitous meeting. Two was a relationship we weren’t supposed to have.

With nothing left to do, I plopped onto the bed. Fine silk kissed my arms and lower neck. This would probably be the last time I would have nothing to do for weeks. Months, if fate had abandoned me. Blazing sun outside could have tricked my senses into thinking it was summer and the warming enchantments here were good enough to help sell the illusion, though large tufts of snow in and around the landscape undid any such feeling. Staring at the red ceiling of what I wanted to say was cloth, it was only an hour more before a small lad came with a paper and quill for the midday meal. An order that was delivered with a speed I wanted to say defied all sense.

Seared fish with a vegetable salad was eaten in the dining room with my guards on the sides, their meals coming after mine. As I was washing down the last of the perfectly done fillet with light beer, a knock from the hallway doors interrupted the last gulp. The closest of my Kelton guards pulled open the door, out of which came a pudgy man with a bald head and grey eyebrows that matched his lamb chops. While his black butler suit was immaculate, even sporting some gold leaves embroidered throughout, his brown eyes had a harried aspect and the button nose twitched with irritation.

“Lady Ashe Kraton.” He announced with a move to the side.

I rose just as the woman came in with a blue dress. It showed a slight V with gold edges, though the rest of her top was mostly red hair. The attire, bereft of the typical jewelry or fine gold armbands, would have lent a more casual air if not for the tightness in her smile.

“Any scion showing such deference would be a story told as a joke to most.” She offered sweetly as she approached the chair on the opposite side of the table as her butler came up from behind.

“The one who feeds is the one in charge. At least that’s how mother raised me.”

Those green eyes were still strained as the man pulled the chair out but her smile seemed genuine as she sat down.

“Wouldn't that mean chefs are the true rulers of the world.”

“For three times a day, they probably are.” I agreed.

Surprisingly, the Kelton guards closed the doors with a nod from the butler. The head of the Kraton household was sitting here without a single guard of her own banner. The obvious question must have shown on my face because she leaned forward on the table.

“Have the accommodations been sufficient?” She asked in a light tone.

“Beyond. I fear for our treasury should a single arm swing wrong, but I can’t say it doesn’t impress.” I answered honestly.

Ashe nodded with a puckering of her lips pulling at pronounced cheekbones.

“Artistry is certainly a plus. However, its greatest attraction is a single feature made of many parts and the value it provides would only be apparent to people of discretion. Or acts that require such.”

A pronounced gulp down a porcelain throat matched what I’d imagine one would take before taking a jump with doubts about surviving the attempt. Whatever hesitance she had, it was overcome in short order.

“There are times when those among the powerful need to have certain discussions that must not be heard with people who must not be seen. A queen who needs to discuss bribes with a noble from a faction who would look unfavorably on such a meeting. Other times, she may find a man she fancies yet the pouting from the husband would be too much on her ears. Still, the mana crystals must be collected and adulterous seeds sown.

This room answers that call. Only I and a select few have the keys that allow its access. Most assume its value rests on air-deadening enchantments and various defenses, of which it has many, I assure you. But spirit connections and royal guards provide all those things. Allowing a person of questionable character to meet a queen while onlookers assume they went to another floor is something only a building this tall can provide.”

It felt odd, having such a fine room serve as a sibling to a seedy alley. That didn’t keep an odd sensation of relief from coming. I was no queen or woman of great wealth and pretending to be such was probably going to be the greatest challenge I’d face. At least I could do so with the knowledge that no amount of coin could change certain aspects of people the world over.

“And what would be so objectionable to our meeting? There’s no tenderness between our kind but I didn’t think relations were that poor.” I asked with my best attempt to manage that horrid Kelton voice.

Red hair swayed as Ashe took another deep breath.

“Are you familiar with the growth?”

I stared at her with a pensive frown. All living things knew what growth was, so whatever else she was referring to escaped my inner library. Instead of explaining, she rose from her chair and pulled on the left side of her dress.

Pale skin was revealed but what drew any and all attention was a hand-sized patch of reddish waves of flesh below the knee. I wanted to say it as the bulges, a name for growths on the body that always resulted in death at some point. The suspicion became fact when a closer look revealed a sickly ooze around the ridges. With that disgusting sight came understanding, not just of this meeting but also why she had been so aggressive in all her dealings. One desperate play after another for a women whose time was short.

“While I have the same abilities as human healer scions, I was under the impression that it was your house's element. If you’re expecting some new ability from the demon blood to deal with this, I’m afraid your generosity in our accommodation has been wasted.” I stated with a look upward towards the green eyes.

“We are the healing house.” She agreed as her hand released blue cloth with her descent into the chair. “But the math of personal interest has its say as well. Any scion healers we produce are almost immediately snatched up by the City. Family, good relations, and some mana crystals kept the ties up. Unfortunately, the stain of Orc mating has fallen on this house from one foolish man.

By continuing to provide healing services, some might suggest they don’t recognize the severity of that offense or even have unspoken approval. Those scions who cut out and restored the affected bits have since severed ties to quell any such unpleasantness at gatherings should our meetings become known. As a Kelton, however, would I be assuming too much to say you aren’t bothered about the opinions of the high families overseeing the garden of Yeesel?”

The answer was obvious, at least for most of the last bit, but a yes here felt like an answer to many different questions, leaving me to splinter them from each other. Which I did by offering my own questions.

“And should the worst come to pass, what will your successors do if my aid is discovered? Helping people in need is one thing, but plowing my people through foreign politics could threaten me. Opening up to the wider world was already a monstrous task. Having to explain how we became involved in a succession dispute with some humans would be a step farther than my current position allows.”

Ashe nodded in the human way with a small smile.

“If my condition were to become known, they would immediately move up from successor to owner. After the Kraton house tore itself apart, at least. Whoever rose from the flames, however, would probably be more accommodating than you’d expect. They’ll raise a big fuss and maybe demand some public apology for hiding my condition but everyone knows some families get the growth more than others. It seems blood carries more than magic or sexual perversion, so they’ll not harm the only person they can turn to when the day comes that they feel these bumps on their skin.”

“That only covers those from below. How will I deal with the royal family? Maybe they’ll be grateful for the assistance, maybe they’ll remove a pernicious weed that’s interfered with their beloved kingdom. What assurances could you have that this won’t end with a Rodring fleet outside of my harbor?” I countered with a cross of my arms.

For the first time, Ashe chuckled. The bite of her lips and slight shake of her head made it clear how little fear was inside.

“I doubt Princess Palta would allow such an action. My generosity in bed has been considerable and I’ve given her enough pleasant memories to at least merit some fondness for those who have helped me.”

All I could give her was widened eyes, which didn’t quite feel like enough. Fortunately, her butler more than made up for any of my lacking facial effort. His face went red as he reared on his supposed superior. The change in skin tone only made the white of his bit lips more apparent. Brown eyes stared into green ones for only a second.

“No, Rennard.” She stated in a forceful voice. “If we will discuss this, it will be for all to hear.”

The butler took a deep breath before releasing it with his lips.

“It is a shameful thing on its own. But the fact that you don’t even have the inclination in the first place-”

Her chin stuck out in defiance and her green eyes were steel.

“My inclination is for house Kraton to be in its proper place. Everything else is in service to that end.”

That hard gaze then turned to me.

“And dead women work towards no ends. Whether that be their ascent to greater heights or shielding their fellows from horrors past. Horrors that had almost killed them to the last.”

I sat up a bit straighter at the reference to my people's previous slaughter and exile from these lands, though I didn’t make any objection to her continuing.

“I will not insult your intelligence by playing at some pretension that I have the advantage here. You are my best, and likely only, chance of seeing another winter. But I may also be what your people need to see what I won’t without your healing. Tell me, Passmede, how hard do you think it is to secretly move hundreds of mages at a time without being detected?”

“Very,” I offered lamely.

“Impossible,” Ashe corrected with a slight shake of her head. She was breathing like she had taken a minute jog between her last two sentences. “Mages consider the north barren as far as magical resources go. Those who consider themselves above petty nations are still bound by social expectations and monitoring by their peers. Failure is broadcast to every ear that will listen and it can take years to recapture lost standing, if at all. The raid that put your people to the sword must have taken a lot of convincing.”

Skepticism coursed through me. We were the mages of Keltons. Our power was in the workings of mana and stores of great magical resources. Of course some thieves would come knocking to take our riches.

Then another voice came. Greatness was relative. Sure, for Keltons my ancestors were unfathomably rich. But rich for a poor people can be poverty to true wealth. And there were few people more lacking in coin than mine.

“What happened to your ancestor who helped pilfer ours?” I demanded with no concern for the typical roughness on the ears.

“She was shortly deposed and replaced with a nameless underlings if our records are accurate. Officially, outside mages have little authority inside the kingdom. Something quickly forgotten if you want to remain in your position.”

Bitter bile rose in my throat. Our lifeblood wasn’t even sweet enough to merit the squeeze. In the depths of my soul was the feeling that it would have been better if the woman responsible for it all had gone on to live in gaudy richness. At least there was some kind of dignity in having enough to satisfy the thief.

“That is the known history.” Ashe continued, “There is another version, of course. One where your people took off to the snail's domain with all the true hoards of mana crystals and magical resources. Which would have been dismissed if not for its evident truth being displayed these past few weeks.”

I took a moment to push aside my feelings and consider what to say, in what order, and what the implications would be.

“Partly true. We have some resources but rumors often exaggerate their foundation of truth.” I offered with a stiff face.

She nodded in the human way, never pulling away from my gaze as she did so.

“Rumors still move bodies onto ships and swords out of holsters. In all your plans to prevent the second home from going the way of the first, did you consider a more friendly Crasden?”

I bit my lips for only a second.

“Friendly in what ways?”

“I won’t goad mages to attack you is one. Even if some ponder over your riches, recreating such a raid will be considerably harder without the support of Crasden. Doing so over my objections could still happen, I admit. They’ll probably hide a small army in small bands throughout the various remaining towns who’ve survived the Mist pirates for months. That is exponentially more expensive than holding them all up in a few ships at the local capital. Which alone could make the economics of an attack almost irredeemable.

The other is cooperation. Working together, we can make a far stronger defense of our seas than what the brigands faced in their first coming. Mist pirates are a savage lot but slights give them long memories. They’ll be back and both our people need to be prepared.

That is what I can provide. Of course, I need to be alive for this relationship to flourish.”

Not wholly true. Any leader of Crasden would be friendly towards us. They don’t know how strong we are and we’ve already flexed considerable muscle.

Well….

Friendly because the situation aligns with the stance is more like being amicable. Getting along because you’re the only thing keeping them out of the grave is probably closer than most siblings. And even if my healing only delayed her end by a few years, that would probably be long enough for Eli to finish his AI chips.

For a second, I had to reexamine that last thought. I wasn’t waiting for Eli to complete his project because the quad mage was dead and I was a lone mage leading her clan into the future. Balancing the views of two different women was often effortless, but moments like these made the mask itch.

She exaggerated some points as I doubted a trove of magical resources would be denied from putting up mundane soldiers around a few towns. Still, this was as good an opportunity as any to keep conflict with the humans to mere disagreements, if it could be trusted. A slight cough was my first answer.

“A lot of that is going on your word for an exchange that will be spoken of only between us. I can’t make plans around such cooperation and expect the council to accept. That goes without saying that this all works on me trusting your word alone. Something more tangible will need to be at hand to convince them and my own doubt.”

Ashe puckered her lips as she pulled back into the chair.

“Such as?”

“Metals.” I offered. “The snails don’t have it nor is any ore abundant in their domain that we stole into. I’m sure you figured out we’ve been smuggling it in minutes after hearing of our existence.”

“There was some suspicion,” Ashe confirmed in a non-committal tone.

“As bad as our history with your kind is, we aren’t any more eager to be dependent on the other clans. The opening of your market to our purses, not a free haul of ores mind you, would provide us with enough stores to manage on our own as well as take away the neighbor's leverage. Lacking iron and copper is something we’ve always struggled with and I can see an arrangement being accepted in the council. This little healing exchange can be slipped in with me coming out to make some inconsequential change to the purchases every so often.”

I finished with a slight stroke along the side of the flesh harp. Green eyes stared intently for a second before Ashe released a breath.

“And will a lowering of tariffs will be expected?”

“A four percent grace.” I offered.

A red eyebrow raised.

“The tax is six percent at base. Such a steep discount would be uncomfortable to explain based on our known relationship.”

“Three percent.” I offered. “Will people really object to helping those who did so much to stem the bloodshed?”

She bit her lips again while looking at the table.

“The heads of the smith and miner guilds didn’t get into their positions by taking an arrow for others.” Ashe mused to herself before looking back up at me. “Everyone else, however, is still dealing with the loss of loved ones in the butchery so I doubt those dirty men will come out against it. They will have some legitimate concerns about abuse of such generously taxation. Could you promise to not offshore any ores or bars to other sellers?”

“Raw? Sure. I doubt we’ll have much to spare traders anyway. Metal goods and weapons might be another matter. Our metal magic can make every item imaginable. Controlling the trade of pots or hairpins is something the harbor master would be loathe to burden the guard with.”

The redhead stilled for a second before nodding again.

“I know the mundanes do some trade with the Kelton clans for our forge work. Not here. Out in some of the towns dotting the coast. The threat of the pirates will help smooth over any initial worries until things settle and one merchant or another starts running their usual stock against yours. Such matters will have to be addressed when specifics can be given.”

My head leaned back with the rest of my body into the chair.

“How soon could we start such purchases?”

The white teeth inside Ashe’s large smile were flawless yet not enough to undo how forced the display felt.

“Considering every breath I take might be the one right before the growth kills me, right now if you wish. As long as both ends of the agreement become active.”

“I’m well rested,” I agreed with a rise from the chair. “Where are we going?”

“Here,” Ashe pronounced as she followed my motions. “Certain things need to be brought in, which should take no more than an hour.”

I nodded to her in the human way, which she returned before heading out of the room. The meal was complete, so I headed back to the plush bedroom to spend the remaining hour looking into every ridge and side of my flesh harp. Maybe the name flesh harp was a bit…. Cold. If it had any indication of emotion or thought coming from it, I might feel bad about the name I settled on. For all my efforts and prodding, the first assumption of it being more of an unconnected limb than a familiar grew into certainty.

As the winter sun just finished dying, a knock came on the door. I immediately went to it with my scion tool on my left arm. Opening the door revealed Kantor who merely gave me a Kelton nod before turning around. I followed him down the hallway towards the dining room. Fighting with the floral scent was the smell of alcohol while the faint sound of bubbling bounced off the walls.

My entrance into the room left me wondering if I had somehow taken a wrong turn in the straight hallway. White sheets covered everything with the central table now gone. A pot on the right had clouds of steam pouring out of it courtesy of a piece of mana crystal spewing flames onto its bottom. The handles of various blades sticking out of it didn’t seem to mind the temperature.

The pot's closeness was the reason I saw it first. Any other entrance would have immediately drawn my eyes to the small bench on the opposite end of the room holding various liquor bottles. That or the rise in the white cloth near the middle of the room with a single leg sticking out of the fabric. It had a feminine aspect. Any mystery about the limbs owner was answered by the patch of festering red flesh near knee.

I took a single step forward to ask what this all was.

“You must be the new help.” A dimmed voice announced.

An immediate turn to the right produced the vision of a square plate of black glass floating in the air and fine leather gloves moving about in front of the double doors. Another second passed before the person's body covering of white cloth matching the walls made itself distinct against the backdrop.

“Can I assume this is your first time in such settings?” The person behind the glass asked with a look up to me, any intuition of gender or tone lost in the dimmed plate.

“Yes,” I offered lamely with a quick look to the left. Kantor merely stared directly ahead with no sign he found any of this off-putting.

“Lady Ashe is currently out. The mix only lasts forty minutes or so and waking up in the middle of getting your hide diced isn’t a pleasant thing. So, if we could get started.”

I looked between them and the boiling pot then to the alcohol on the stand to the left.

“The great ultimate mage Rodring once remarked on procedures such as these. He mentioned things about the purest concentrations of liquors, to rather undrinkable concentrations. That and the boiling of the tools. If he mentioned the why’s of such things, I’ve not read them. Their effectiveness in this type of medicine, however, is proven beyond all doubt.”

Having displayed such faith in ultimate mages more times than probably anyone else alive, or has ever lived, I was content to put all of this into the same mental space I put Eli’s AI chips and never stopping heaters. I gave the walking mass of cloth and leather gloves a simple nod before moving towards Ashe.

“I’ll be relying on you to lead me.” I offered.

A simple human nod of the glass slab was all I got back before they started pulling out the steaming knives.

“Just heal the flesh as I cut. We’ll be taking the whole leg below the knee. Restoring it will be the part I leave to your expertise.” They offered as steaming blades were doused in the clear liquid from the bottles. Floral scent was now totally overwhelmed with the pungent sting as rags soaking in the same alcohol were brought closer.

Their movement towards Ashe was a bit slow with the various items slowing them down, but the burdens were placed at the slender table with surprising care around what I wanted to say was the redhead’s mid-section. Once all the cutlery was lying in a neat row, they pulled up the white cloth around the leg to reveal a sickle made of wood from its handle to the tip of the blade. Its magical enchantments weren’t obvious but I wasn’t given time to ponder what they could be as the glass slab turned to me.

“Ready?”

I answered with a human nod as I sucked in the ambient mana.

A soaked rag was quickly applied below Ashe's knee. One of the still steaming knives was raised and the butcher's work began with a single cut on the leg's left side. Red rivers flowed over the white cloth without the typical screams and kicking accompanying the outpouring.

My right hand moved a construct of golden triangles, circles, and squares to apply the needed element but magic couldn’t heal as quickly as steel could cut. While not as free-flowing as the first slice, red droplets still managed to splatter and soon an aromatic trio of flowers, alcohol, and the iron tang of blood filled my nose. Our work was quick and soon only two bones connected the lower leg to the rest of Ashes body.

Steel and booze were put to the sides to make room for the wooden sickle. A line of flame sprang from between the blade's tip and its base. That string of fire was soon applied to bone. Its cut was accompanied by a smell of charred flesh. I gave it my best, but such heat was more than what my magic could overcome in equal time. The offending foot was freed with two quick swipes of the sickle and placed off to the side but the flesh that had connected it was badly burned, as it was on the main body.

“I believe this is now your domain.” The glass face said as they moved off to the right.

Fingers were the typical order when it came to limb restoration, leaving this as a semi-new challenge just in the sheer amount of flesh that had to be weaved from mana and air. Fortunately, nature's designs often favored simple bone placements in this portion. Time lost meaning as muscle and fat were molded around equally fresh bone.

Speed was never an issue when doing healing since people were often too worried about getting back a lost finger or toe. Perhaps that habit of sloth was what made my efforts go a bit slack around ten minutes in as sweat started forming around my brow. The time limit around Ashe waking up was still mentally present but when twenty minutes passed and I was still inches from getting near the foot, some part of me accepted I was going to run past the deadline.

When I approached the ankle and the white sheets stirred with a shift of the foot, I couldn’t say I was surprised. Which was fortunate since it meant I could stop the healing magic before fixing something the wrong way. A slight groan came from the white cloth, prompting my covered companion to lean towards the general spot of Ashe’s head.

“She’s almost finished,” The figure put in with not as much deference as I would have expected. “Any pain?”

“Uuugh,” The weak woman’s voice answered. A few seconds of silence before she resumed. “No.”

As feeble as Ashe sounded, the white-clothed figure nodded and hummed in satisfaction.

“That means my portion is complete.” They announced before turning away from our patient to me. “Once the foot is finished, her guard will see to the cleanup.”

I nodded before turning back to the unfinished leg. Despite being less demanding in terms of mass, getting all the joints, cartilage, and bones in the foot right took a bit longer than the rest of the leg. After nearly an hour or more of sweat, mana, and ceaseless mental concentration, I pulled back from the leg for the final time. It was a bit grey and noticeably emaciated but there was also a lack of the oozing ridges telling of coming death.

“Is that good?” I asked the limb.

Feeble toes wiggled before the new foot went up and down.

“It feels weird.” Ashe’s weakly offered through the white sheet. “Still, I prefer morning exercise to preparing my funeral. As exhausted as you are now, know you will look back on this as the start of your people’s moving beyond the glory of the past and into a future beyond even those dreams of years gone.”

Managing to work politics after coming out of a drug-induced sleep made my respect for her rise a level. I decided the first response would be a cough.

“We are both in need of rest. My father Kantor will be ready to start making purchases tomorrow.”

“Agreed, on both accounts.”

With that, my healing companion started gathering up the tools and wrapping up the white sheets, careful to not spill any of the blood as they did so. I simply turned around and went back to the bedroom. As I approached the door, Ashe’s butler ran in. His worried look told of a relationship beyond the professional and a harried run to his master's side ignored any offense at the smells or sights greeting him. I continued down the hall and went back into the main chambers.

Outside the window lay a sea of black pitch disturbed only by the faint flicker of torches along the walls leading to Eli’s domain. I had worked only an hour and secured an unofficial alliance with the other great human power, something beyond even my ancestor's accomplishments, and accessed a reliable source of metal, with all the great military and economic ability that brought. The subtle spider web of aches throughout my body and residual sweat along my neck cared only for the here and now, however. A quick visit to the washroom and I was back to bed.

Not even perusing my harp could keep me going. Soon the plush blankets were wrapped around me like a cocoon and black void came to nurse away the aches and pains. The next sensation that followed was the smell of searing meats.

Something that made me keenly aware of the dagger-like pain in my stomach. Winter had a tendency of playing on the perception of time. I rarely suffered from this fact but yesterday I had mistaken a late lunch for dinner. After a few seconds of clawing out of the blankets I half sprinted to the door from which a tantalizing sizzle was emanating, harp in hand. Opening it revealed a small pile in front of the door comprised of a white gown, fluffy shoes, and some soaps.

The hallway beyond was empty. This only made the waft of searing meats stronger without the additional door in the way. Saliva filled my mouth yet…. Showing up to the meal with the rough fur and smell of fresh waking would be unseemly. Another stab of hunger blasted such concerns away like sand thrown in a river.

A single step was taken over the pile of morning essentials before another thought occurred to me. Even if the humans didn’t know who I truly was, Kantor and the guards did. Would such a presentation be acceptable for the wife of an ultimate mage? Doesn’t the way a wife present herself reflect the judgment of her husband?

The guards wouldn’t say anything. And Eli wouldn't care about me taking one morning to be messy. But…. I do. Letting loose a pouting groan not heard since my years gained two digits, the bundle was taken up with my re-entry. A dash towards the right where the washroom was nearly sent the soaps flying as I worked off the blue dress at the same time. For five agonizing minutes, fur was doused and scrubbed, a careful spraying around the needed bits was conducted, and teeth were scrubbed.

I came out of the room in a white robe fluffier than my fur and shoes that felt like a sheep’s rub. The harp was immune to the temptation calling from the dining room, but the last bits of self-control finally snapped with a sprint toward breakfast. I only just pulled it together as I pushed the last door open.

The room was mostly the same as I had first seen it with no hint of the butchery that had taken place yesterday. Only this time on the right was Ashe’s butler working a large cart sporting a flat slab of dark iron heated by two fire-spewing mana crystals below it. The black butler jacket was replaced with a white apron. His brown eyes were looking over several slabs of searing ham. On another cart to the left was an array of eggs, potatoes, meats, breads, and jugs.

“Ah,” He announced with a turn of his brown eyes to me. “The lady of the hour. I can’t profess to match the royal chef, but my steaks have never been burned and eggs have always maintained their yolks when I’ve wanted them to.”

I merely nodded in the human way as I sat at the head of the table.

“How has Ashe been?” I asked. “Has the foot given her any trouble?”

“None,” Rennard announced with a pleasant smile. “My lady wishes to convey her satisfaction with your work. She would give the thanks personally, sadly this all happened without the usual planning and has left her with several morning appointments she cannot simply cancel. This leaves my wholly insufficient gratitude and cooking to serve in proper thanks stead.”

“Is your care for her special or are all human servants so devoted?” I asked as the hams were flipped with a spatula.

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A small smile broke out between his lamb chops as his head shook.

“Most haven’t served their charges since they were in the cradle. She’s not mine as I have none to claim. But it seems the human spirit cares not. It’s hard to keep business and the personal separate when you’ve had your better bouncing on your lap asking for juices and sweets.”

His eyes told of memories far off before he turned to me.

“I’ve helped make some breakfast for your men but now that day greets you, would you have any preferences?”

I shook my head.

“We’re making up for a missed dinner last night. A little of everything is in order.”

The human nodded before turning back to the cart. My next hour of existence passed in a haze of meats ranging from chickens to pork and biscuits served with jellies. His morning cakes with syrup were also of good quality, though not a match for the other two main courses.

A succulent meal washed down with ciders and juices from all known fruits. Every second of the delicious meal was spent with a subtle spirit connection on the back of my head. Something I could only hope time would make unnoticeable. As the last of the meal was savored, one of my guards returned with a change of clothes.

I was taking the new clothes when the butler coughed. He stood in front of the now cold cooking cart, his apron lying on its equally empty sibling.

“The clothes provided will be given as gifts along with my gratitude, as meager as they are. Your father, Kentor, has been procuring the first loads of iron bars.”

“Kantor.” I corrected.

He responded with a deep bow.

“I will endeavor to remember. But the demands of leadership are familiar to me though I’ve never donned the crown and I’m sure events await you in your domain. One of our guards will see you out when you’re ready.” He finished before turning around and pushing the carts out of the room.

Whether it was a casual offer or a gentle nudge, the need to get back to where I belonged was no less urgent for it. I stretched my arms and yawned before getting out of the chair. The guard holding the green dress handed it off to me before I went back to the door I had come in. My return to the bedroom was slower than the first but once inside I was quick to gather up the harp and change into the green dress. A few seconds was spent getting leather shoes on but it wasn’t long before everything I had brought into the tower was stacked in my arms.

At the entrance to the dining room was a Kelton guard on the left who put out his hands to bear the burden, which I obliged save the harp. As our group moved towards the double doors leading to the elevator, it opened with the black-furred head of Kantor sticking out before the rest of his steel-clad body came through.

“Irons’ packed and ready.” He offered with the usual grating on the ears.

“Let’s go then,” I responded.

When we were in the hallway with a lion guard to accompany us, my mind started wandering. With this new income of ore and metal bars, we’ll probably need to expand the forge area. Perhaps this could also be a diplomatic tool. I couldn’t say what the Kelton tribes bartered with the southern humans for, but I knew there had to be something our metal magic could provide that would tempt the chiefs. That and the occasional pondering over the features of the harp left me blindly following the steel Keltons ahead of me.

In my world, seconds passed as I parsed diplomacy and magical birthright. Which made it all the more surprising when it was interrupted by the need to climb into a carriage. A single thought was spared to move the needed muscles before I returned to the infinite possibilities in my mind. It was only when the crashing of waves filled my ears and the taste of salt played on the breeze that I finally gave into the world's insistence that I pay attention to it.

The carriage was coming to a stop but the windows were covered in red curtains leaving me to guess where we were. When the box on wheels finally stopped, the door was pushed open by Kantor who exited with the other waiting for me to go ahead. I obliged them and stepped out onto a wooden dock. A long finger of wood stretched into the bay with a large square fort off to the left standing among the frothing peaks.

I took off with a final heave towards the ship on the right of the pier. Late morning sun filtered in through the clouds like a whisper of springs coming. With one admiring look upward, a blast of bone-chilling wind from the sea penetrated even my fur to nip the skin beneath and threaten black fingers. If winter was to die, it seems it would hold on to the last. Biting my lips, I could only trudge forward with the trip's true prize in hand. The on-boarding of the iron meant a plank was still connecting the ship to the dock, which allowed the passing into properly Kelton territory to take only seconds.

A few sailors were talking among themselves at various spots along the deck. Kantor seemed offended by their idleness and immediately moved to the nearest group while I made an escape to the captain's quarters on the left. Pushing open the door didn’t feel like walking into an oven this time. Evidently, the captain was too embarrassed to resume his routine with members of the council on board.

My bottom soon rested on the chair in the middle of the room. While good sense said to ponder over all the implications of the massive treaty I had just agreed on for my entire fake civilization, along with the unspoken bits of healing, the harp was a mystery tied up with my very body and I couldn’t fight the tantalizing possibilities it oozed. Besides, Eli got as long as he wanted to work with all of Cell’s bits and pieces. It was only fair I should get a similar chance.

It took a minute of trial and error before I decided to hold it like the wooden versions. Hard cartilage rested against my left breast and flexed with only a thought from me. The brown fur pierced into the green cloth like the quills of a porcupine yet those same tips softened when they reached my skin. It didn’t have a brain that I could speak with, but it evidently didn’t like having any material not of its master’s flesh holding it up. Which means the royal bed probably had a considerable number of holes in it.

A soft grimace stole over my face as I considered the poor tailor who had to fix the sheets.

That was the last thought I spared the human city before trying out the magical abilities of the harp. Not trusting my control to keep the magic from slicing the ship in half, I went outside in the cold wind and experimented on the left side of the deck to an audience of interested sailors and guards. Water blades skipped over the waves and gusts of wind fought nature's breath. All done without a single bit of mana being used directly from me.

I looked down at the weird mashing of musical tool and flesh with a sense of relief. With this, healing could be done for far longer. My next thought was to see how it used that dual element. Oddly, the sense of mana being expended came from the strings. Then a rather obvious fact came to me. Any time I used the water element, it came out of the left arm of the harp, while wind came out of the right.

I brought a steady hand up to the sinew strings with an extended index finger. The expected tingle of warmth came along with a feeling of…. Tearing. Pulling the finger down, a tuneless twang sounded out over the waves. The lack of musical ability was ignored as a hair-thin piece of sinew lay over my offending digit.

A slickness similar to fat mixed with the warmth of healing for a few seconds before the magic sensation died and the meaty string crumbled into dust. The harp didn’t send anything through the spirit connection besides a sense of shifting. My first thought was to see if I could push it to the limits of its spell work but decided against such exercises. Whatever its abilities, newborns should be given time to grow without strain.

I was so lost in thought I nearly missed the errant hair of tallow floating out of the left side of the harp. The string slithered out of the same patch the chord came from before winding around the larger rope and disappearing among its kin. Satisfied with the perusing, my return to the cabin was helped along with a slap of winter wind.

Hours passed with only the harp to keep me company and a reminder not to nod, even around the humans, from Kantor. Early night came with a steaming bowl of fish soup and left with a breakfast of porridge. Around midday when the sun was still out, a knock came at the door.

“We’re near, my lady.” The unseen Kantor announced as I inspected the joints of my harp.

“Good,” I idly responded. “Get a messenger boy and tell him to inform the smiths of our bounty. Menkie will have to make the needed room for this load and many others. When we get back, I’ll have a list of people I’m considering for taking over the warehouses. Opinions will be appreciated.”

“I doubt I have much worth saying on it,” Kantor’s rough voice responded. “But the others will.”

The closing of the door prompted me take savor the silence. This was the last bit of blissful silence I would be enjoying that didn’t involve sleep, so I savored it. When I finished, I put a hand on the desk to prepare for the final disembark. Silence’s life was cut short as the door was again opened with my rise out of the chair.

“The chiefs are here,” Kantor growled from beyond without even waiting for his head to reach past the door.

I stopped at an awkward point in the rise where my knees threatened to buckle. Finishing the motion gave me enough time to process that he wasn’t talking about the council. The second it took for me to compose the response, his head of black finally fur stuck out.

“Their messengers. Sorry, their messengers, not the chiefs themselves.” He spat out in a rough voice.

“What do they want?” I asked with a slight clenching of my left hand around the harp.

“An in-person meet.”

For a moment, I wanted to demand he tell me what that meant before I considered all the other questions that would need to accompany it.

“Get the Council together,” I commanded.

He gave me a Kelton nod before pulling back. The first thing I did was close my eyes and suck in a lungful of sea air. Slowly releasing it between my lips took another second. Not even a minute back and this place was already landing blows. Pushing aside the urge to command the ship turn back to sea, I went through the door, harp in hand.

Above was a ceiling of stone dotted with mana lamps along the center. The deck sported several groups of sailors too busy whispering among themselves to notice me or my guards leaving. If any doubts about the seriousness of these events remained in me, the fact that I wasn’t the center of attention dispelled them. As conceited as that proof may be.

I took a right to the plank and scaled the wooden slant. This brought me onto a wooden pier with the ropes and gears of a crane directly ahead. My move to the left and down the pier presented the large double doors of this thing between a warehouse and a pier. I put extra power in each step but it still felt like long minutes before I was going out of them and onto the stone road. Red rocks and moving snails the size of carriages lay before me but I left nature with a rightward turn.

At the end of this road lay the city proper with this snake of magic stone going between the large block structures of the harbor office and the open docks with their warehouses sporting slanted roofs. Any beauty in the domed houses the harbors own craftsmanship was dulled by the grey sky. The walk was no slower, or less agonizing, than the exit from the covered pier but soon our group was putting shoe prints on the wide double road that cut straight from the harbor to the giant dome with towers along the sides. Along with it came the usual crowds. Whatever drove them through the winter chill, they didn’t think it was worth holding up the leader of the city as we marched past.

“Kantor,” I called towards the back without turning around.

My fake sire came up from the back to walk on the right. Something I greeted with a spirit connection.

‘Get their messengers in the dome after we’ve met with the council. They’ll need to be informed of our securing of the north and the potential trade of metal goods. After we’ve established the available amounts, of course.’

He bit his lip for a second before coughing loud enough to be heard over each other's footsteps.

‘Allowing a messenger to speak directly would be slighting your position. We will appoint one who will speak on your behalf. It is their words that will be brought to their chief. To allow a mere messenger direct contact with a chief shows his desperation to hear the other side. Hers, in this case.’

I took in the chill air and released it in a cloud as we passed a large cart.

‘Are there any other bits of diplomacy I need to keep in mind?’

Kantor huffed with an amused smile.

‘People such as ours don’t have time to waste on such frivolities.’

Right. No time for careful diplomacy, oh, but we can use people as glorified pieces of paper to save face. Who has the resources for etiquette, just don’t nod up and down. Or at all if you’re a chief. There seems to be a growing list of transgressions for a people supposedly too poor to have them.

It took a few steps before I realized I was clenching my jaw. Maybe it was the stress of having to make all these monumental decisions on my own, one after the other, or perhaps the exhaustion of forging a leg was still lingering. Whatever it was, it aggravated the demon side of my ancestry, leaving me with the desire to bite someone. And I was tempted to let the monster do as it would see fit.

I left walking to some baser part of my brain as meager knowledge of the surrounding clans was sifted through. The Heesan were my people’s former slaves but also slit the throats of wastelanders for encroaching on their territory so don’t think of them as the ‘good’ Kelton clan. Great. The other…. Whatever their names, were our former vassals.

Maybe.

Odd bits of half-remembered lore fought to free themselves from lost sections of memory but no amount of effort could jostle them onto my tongue. Moving through the empty stone yard and past some equally deserted benches, we went through the double doors of the dome with respectful head bobs from two of the steel-clad guards. Inside were the stone steps along the walls serving as seats for situations where large groups needed to discuss the latest happenings. Any actual talking would be done on the painted sun in the middle of the floor but for now, it was the plain door along the grey stone wall to the right that called me.

Heavy steps brought a small chorus of thumps with our approach to the door. Their faint echoes pulled my thoughts away from clans far away, whose existence I had only known from stories told before bed. Tales now knocking on the front door.

Going through the door, the long room was the same as always. A long stone table in the middle with wooden chairs illuminated by a mana lamp on the ceiling above. It was an empty thing. Hardly the place for great leaders to meet. Some idle thought about dressing the place up was entertained as I went to the head of the table. A few seconds of idle thought turned into several minutes. After nearly fifteen minutes of admittedly blissful silence, Kantor came in with Joeseen.

The older Kelton man sported a blue robe with a white scarf that made it hard to distinguish where his grey fur started. His stubby brown horns had bits of water falling onto the floor, something his pronounced chin also participated in.

“Our esteemed smith and lady of needles have decided to forgo this meeting,” Joeseen announced as he approached the chair on my left. “Both because of the demands from the recent news and their lack of expertise in the clan's workings.”

Kantor likewise took up the seat on the right. It took only a second for the two men to get in place and an electric buzz to form on the left side of my shoulder.

‘Sheeka wanted to start threading some blankets as farewell gifts for the chiefs. It’s a gesture of friendship. A rather small one at that so I agreed. Still, we wanted to get your permission before any knitting started.’ The old Kelton asked in my head.

‘Is it more than a hug?’ I replied with a raised eyebrow.

‘More between a hug and a handshake,’ Kantor responded. ‘Most importantly, refusal makes one look unreasonable. To toss aside precious warmth for nothing in return invites questions of their judgment.’

‘Something no ruler ever wants.’

They both gave sideways head bobs.

‘Then I see no problem gifting some woven cloth. A more pertinent issue is everything preceding the farewell. Any ideas on how we should present ourselves? More strong than inviting or the opposite?’

A look passed between the two men. They stared at each other for only a second before leaning back in their chairs with a resigned drop of their shoulders. I was only a bit surprised when Kantor’s voice sounded off in my head.

‘Ironically, I think what happens now is out of our control.’

Joeseen’s Kelton nod only made me raise an eyebrow. An unspoken question that the old sailor answered.

‘What could be a greater show of strength than tossing the pirates out of the north? Do we need to entice them? The chiefs personally coming is already an admission of need on their part. They may be the closest thing to a king in their holds, but whispers on the streets have a power they cannot match.

Nothing will be said to their faces, of course. Because everyone already knows it's the strong who lead. If they continue to sit back while we demonstrate time and again our shield is the only one that will hold, sub-clans will start thinking their lot is better with ours. Merchants will favor stopping at our holds first and with their best goods. Ignore that for long enough and all those whispers manifest as the tip of a blade plunging into your backside, courtesy of an ambitious underling.

We’ve done everything that can be done and we hold most of the cards in this game despite our recent start. What happens next is determined by how reasonable the leaders of the Heesan and Keersee decide to be. Wisdom dictates that cooperation would serve them best but such truth cannot be forced into their skulls.’

Kantor gave a slight hum at that.

‘A sword or mace could reach inside to deliver the message.’

I gave him a tolerant smile.

‘If you try that, it will be you who explains to Eli why the entire Kelton lands are now plunged into civil war.’

Joeseen matched my smirk as Kantor took a deep breath and crossed his arms as white orbs stared somewhere in the distance.

‘I’ll tell him it was to protect you. The quad mage would forgive the transgression before I even finished explaining.’

The agreeing nod from the grey Kelton brought some heat to my cheeks. But what was I going to refute?

‘Since it appears we accept our impotence, I would declare this meeting over.’ I announced.

A duo of Kelton nods greeted my announcement which was accompanied by the vacating of their chairs. I sat still and merely watched as Joeseen closed the door behind him, leaving empty silence as the only other companion in the room. There was so much to do with running the city, finding someone to manage the warehouses, yet the only items I wanted to work on was the harp and how to please Eli on our meeting. Having left most of the work to him when it came to building the base and setting things up, I was beginning to appreciate how hard it was to not push aside paperwork. Proper labor at least distracted but when all the toil was just making decision after decision, the body craved something more.

Giving the meeting room a final sigh, I rose from the chair and moved towards the door. With only a moment's hesitation, I gave the wooden slab a push. The rest of the day, and the two after it, were spent in a blur of activity catching up on the bits that had been neglected in my absence and the new ones brought about by the metal deal with Crasden.

Somehow I managed to get the interviews for the warehouse position finished somewhere in the drudgery. The final candidate was a thin man of brown fur who snatched victory by his ability to do multiplication and division. After the shipwrights, smiths, and builders took everyone with any amount of skill, I suppose I should be grateful there was anyone left who could perform anything more than addition.

As easily as complaining came to me these days, none of the others were lazing about. We needed to know as much about the chiefs as we could. That left everyone in the council asking around for people who knew about our future guests. Bits of rumors, personal stories, and odd scraps of lore gradually filtered back to me. It wasn’t much considering the people we took in were too poor to be in any ruler's retinue but a crude tapestry of the characters involved slowly stitched together.

As I finished a quick lunch and exited my office, I walked over the yellow sun in the middle of the forum before a messenger boy in blue clothes came running from the double doors serving as the entrance to the dome. Sweat dripped down his brow in a manner that told of a heavy sprint. One no dull report could merit. Before the faint buzz of a spirit connection even reached my skin, I was already gripping the harp on my left breast.

‘The first of the chiefs, my lady,’ He announced with a breathlessness even his soundless words carried. ‘Lord Disslen is here, requesting guest rights.’

‘Grant them. I assume the council is gathering.’ I asked casually.

‘Joeseen sent word, my lady. The needed chairs and couch are already being brought.’

‘Good,’ I offered as I looked behind him.

Through the door I could see another dreary winter sky, though it came with a chill fought off with a coat or scarf. Not anywhere near hot enough to produce sweat save the most arduous sprint. The poor lad had probably run straight from the harbor without stopping.

‘Also, stop by the kitchen for a treat. An order from Passmede.’

His grin spread to the sides of his face. A simple Kelton nod was all he gave me before running out the doors. Such youthful joy helped soothe the ball of anxiousness and impatience trying to claw its way up my throat.

This meeting was the culmination of months of subterfuge, planning, and back-shattering toil. Every word and decision in the next hour would determine whether all that labor would be towards building up the Kelton lands or keeping my people locked in proverbial cages to prevent further harm. So why was the temptation to speed through it and get to the end immediately so beguiling? Even as I moved to the side while two guards brought in the couch complete with pillows and white fur, my inner perusing of this desire to sprint through the last hours of this month's long venture produced no logical foundation yet it was no less strong for it.

I sat down among soft pillows and lush fur with nothing but the harp to keep me company. Given that, falling asleep was more a certainty than a possibility. A rough cough to the right stirred me from oblivion. The source was Kantor in the immediate right-side chair. He sported the usual armor while behind him the grey fur and curled brown horns of Menkie looked showed white eyes taking me in. On the left was Joeseen in the same blue robe and white scarf. The chair to his left held Sheeka, though only the light brown fur and straight ivory horns were visible from my position. Besides the two extra guards around both the double doors ahead and our line of chairs, it all looked the same as ever. The distraction of fresh waking left me unaware of the spirit connection around my right shoulder, which Kantors’ mental voice quickly remedied.

‘Disslen is insisting he and his men be allowed their weapons.’

‘What are the rules around that?’ I asked as I rubbed the last bits of the nap out of my eyes.

‘Chiefs meeting in person only happens when one is standing in the middle of the others freshly conquered hold. There are no rules for something that never happens. That’s without considering his attachment to the famed spear.’

I puckered my lips for a second before sighing.

‘We’re armed no matter what, so allowing them the small respect is no loss. No arrows and nothing comes out of their sheaths, however.’

Kantor gave me a Kelton nod before turning to one of the guards along the right. The mass of shining steel quickly moved towards the entrance, which the men guarding it opened. He returned almost as quickly as he left and soon the doors were opening from the outside.

For a moment, I felt like my heart was going to burst. The odd sensation of falling came to me as I sat still on the couch. Months of work and centuries of legacy culminated in the moment now arriving. Feelings I did my best to squash down.

Through the iron slabs came a small crowd of Keltons. The men were all clad in leather with iron breastplates and swords, though their exact metal couldn’t be seen in the sheaths. Which could not be said for the array of silver and copper rings through their ears. Decorations the two brown-furred women on the left of the pack didn’t deign to adorn themselves in. Those of my fellow sex had stubby brown horns with one having wider cheekbones and the other a white snout.

A wiry man sporting a white shirt beneath a leather vest drew the most attention. Brown pants moved with his confident strides at the front of the pack. He sported light grey fur mixed with hints of yellow, which could do nothing to hide his stout chin. Black horns flowed along the back of his head like an arch. I had no knowledge of his looks and temperament before this meeting, yet the spear with horsehair around a shining metal tip placed along his back marked him as surely as any memory.

“Greetings, from clan Keersee to the head of clan Kreshton.” Disslen boomed with a wide grin. “From the stories my mother had told, the last chief who would ever speak those words died long ago. It appears she was wrong in several of her stories.”

“Oh?” I asked with a raised eyebrow that somehow didn’t shake off any sweat.

His stride halted a stone toss away from our line of chairs, barely touching the yellow triangle of the painted sun. White eyes immediately went below my neck. In times past, I would suspect he was sizing up my chest. The gulp and slight pull back of his head said he was paying more attention to the flesh harp. While the man had a boisterous air, and a reputation to match, there were enough wits behind the playful demeanor to gather his thoughts.

“These buildings surpass the stories. By a time and half, I suspect.” He offered in a hoarse voice restrained with measured tones. “Your demise is another fiction. The tales of tools made of flesh appear closer to the mark than I would have thought.”

I was getting ready to open my mouth when the doors behind the crowd opened again. This time one of our steel-clad guards came through with a dash past the Keersee members. The urge to rip his head off was only reigned in by the curiosity at what prompted him. Surely everyone understood how dire this meeting was. Because if they didn’t, I suppose the art of whippings will have to be another skill perfected by our craftsmen.

The guard leaned towards Joeseen for only a moment before pulling back. Whatever was spoken, Kantor was given it first before he finally relayed it to me through a spirit connection.

‘A fun day this is.’ His bitter sarcasm coming clear through. ‘The Heesan have arrived and are asking for permission to meet.’

I could almost feel my heart exploding in my ribs. Of all the-

A slight cough came from Disslen, his raised eyebrows clearly asking what the interruption was. It seemed too familiar until I remembered the history of our people. They were basically our enforcers in the past and he probably thought this was just a meeting of old acquaintances. I could only take a deep breath to calm the nerves threatening to shatter.

“A ship from the Heesan is waiting in our port. I intended to keep this as separate meetings and I could explain we serve in the order of arrival. However, time is a precious thing for all of us. I have no objection to allowing this to be a three-way discussion if you don’t.”

The head of yellowish-white fur bounced back and forth for a second.

“I’m fine with that. Talking through messengers takes weeks and it’s never been my favorite part of the chair. What terms will we be explaining to them?”

My mouth opened to respond when the sheer magnitude of the question rolled over me. It took a few seconds to work through all the smaller questions and implications it entailed before I finally spoke.

“We will all be working together. As much as we each desire to, at least.”

“No return to glory? To the times when someone else was emptying the relieving pots?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. ‘Will we enslave them?’ was never asked so innocently.

“The times of glory ended with our corpses on the rocks. Nostalgia withers in such soil, does it not?”

Disslen got a small smile at that. There was a faint feeling he wanted to nod but the protocol of chiefs denied him that motion.

“It would,” He offered with a raising of his eyebrows before turning back to the crowd of his kin.

More agonizing minutes passed with nothing to do but observe the guests. Disslen was clearly conducting a spirit conversation with the two women. Their brown fur matched the dresses covering them but pouty lips and flared snouts drew attention more than anything they could wear. Despite the position of chief being a male posting, it seems the wives of the Keersee clan were involved in his business beyond just giving him heirs.

At last the iron doors swung open again. This time only two figures walked through. On the left was a man just in the bloom of his twenties. His frame in the simple brown robes was neither muscular or lean. Dark grey fur covered a stubby chin while obsidian black horns stood out on both sides of his face like a pointed mustache. At his left was an older woman of grey fur, though what was from age or natural coloring could not be discerned from this distance. The grey robes around her didn’t help in distinguishing her features, though stubby ivory horns did try to stand out. They strode around their rivals while bearing not a piece of metal.

“No weapons?” Disslen jeered from the middle of his pack with a nasty grin. “Is your neck already prepared for its collar?”

The man turned to him with narrowed white eyes and puckered lips.

“You think steel offers any protection here? They let you hold them for the same reason a mother allows her babe to hide under blankets as the storm rages. Do not shove your false comfort in my face and expect me to be impressed.” He shot back with contempt not even the hoarse Kelton voice could hide.

A few of the Keersee’s hands began conspicuously moving towards their swords.

“Disslen,” I called with something hopefully approaching confidence.

Both groups turned to me with expectant stares.

“The Keersee have given their introduction. I feel giving the Heesan the same opportunity is only fair.”

Disslen looked to his men. With a slight pullback from the crowd of Kelton men, the new arrivals were given a clear shot to me. Something the man took as he moved forward with a strong stride. It was only as he got closer that I could see the bits of sweat around his lips and brow. He stopped near the yellow triangle of the painted sun as the color acted as an unspoken barrier for both men.

“I am Hern. Son of Gerru. Chief of clan Heesan.” He pronounced with a spine so stiff a steel rod would have more curve. “I come to you now as an equal. Any discussion will be done as equals. And if you have any intention of collaring us like the days of old, know we will fight with such dedication and ferocity that you will receive only corpses for your efforts.”

He finished with a heavy breathing that sent some sweat falling down his flared snout. I was stuck between admiring the display and being put off by it. There was an earnest sincerity in every word but the eyes had a manic wideness to them. I couldn’t blame him. We were ghosts of a terrible past come knocking and little imagination was needed to envision how hard his life had been since our reveal to the world.

“Good,” I announced in a measured tone. “If you had arrived minutes earlier, you would have heard of our reluctance to return to the times that ended with our annihilation. But I will repeat it again. Mages learn from our mistakes. Rule by fear and intimidation has shown its downsides and wisdom now dictates a more mutually beneficial arrangement. A fully consensual one.”

Hern raised his head a bit, clearly trying to not look too relieved. Something Disslen didn’t notice as he strode up to the left.

“The best arrangements are those that keep everyone alive.” He said with Hern only giving him a slight scowl. “While reliving good memories is fun, the present has already seen one of the strongest holdings torched. A remedy to the human situation will need to be worked on.”

“Pirates,” I corrected. “It is the pirates who invaded our lands. Not all the humans.”

His bit lip and casual shrug said he didn’t much care for the distinction. Hern didn’t seem any more convinced, leaving me to push on.

“Besides that fact, the issue has already been seen to. The curs have been kicked off their last perch.”

Both men raised eyebrows at the revelation.

“Rainbow’s Piss finally got around to it then?” Disslen asked with some skepticism.

A moment to connect Crasden to the half-remembered label passed before I finally took a deep breath.

“We took the shield of the north back from the pirates. Which we handed back off to the humans in Crasden.”

Disslen scrunched his eyebrows while Hern merely crossed his arms.

“With that, we can consider the Kelton lands safe. For a few years, at least.” I finished.

A look passed between them. There was a suggestion of a spirit connection but they looked back to me almost immediately.

“You brought the pirates low?” Hern asked suspiciously.

I stiffened my back to emphasize the pride I didn’t quite feel.

“Yes. You can dispatch a ship here to be escorted to the great fort on the sea, if you please. But while we’re discussing travel, know we will be working with the humans as well. Something we consider to be a strictly Kreshton affair. Any attacks on their ships sanctioned to be in our waters or people in our lands will be considered an attack on us and the response will be as much as we gave to the pirates.”

Again, both men merely raised their eyebrows. I was beginning to interpret that motion as a substitute for a nod, so I continued on.

“I can tell the story if you wish, but our kinds throats are not suited to such long tales. If I could initiate a spirit connection, that would be appreciated.”

“Ok”

“Fine”

With that, I sent a buzz of electric sensation to them. The tale started out after Emerett first arrived and I was able to get to Kantor cooking the giant crabs at the fort before I noticed Hern’s gaze. No matter their age, males had a certain skittishness when they were trying to not stare at a woman’s breasts.

Trying and failing.

If not for the years of experience, I would say he was trying to take in the oddities of the flesh harp. The fake yawns to make it seem like eyes were elsewhere and darting gazes when you looked to the side, however, were male tricks I knew all too well. As irritating as it was, this dance was a familiar thing, including the needed shift of pillows around the time I was explaining our visit to Crasden. And with the end of the story, Hern finally fixed his gaze upward.

‘With that, we have begun pulling our troops back to allow Crasden to retake its lost heritage.’ I finished with a small smile.

“You said it was to protect the Kelton lands, correct?” Disslen audibly asked with crossed arms.

“Yes,” I answered with furrowed eyebrows.

“Well…. You talk of mutual agreement but one does not protect things that don’t belong to them.” He stated with some defensiveness.

Only the blind wouldn’t notice how the two men were standing a bit closer. Evidently, they had come to some agreements beforehand. Probably covering cases where the resurrected mage clan made a play for the entire north. That they both arrived at the same time wasn't something I could believe was a coincidence given that.

There was a temptation to explain the greater good of our people. In the past, I would have gone with that. I had since learned of my homeland's true harshness and the lack of charity it inspired. Justifying such an expenditure on nothing but goodwill would fail. Disslen’s history, however, held the how of explaining it.

“Disslen, when you stuck that troll with the spear, what was the great and grand plan for what came after?”

A wide grin stretched the length of his goat face. The world demanded emotional balance, so Hern closed his eyes and his shoulders fell in resignation. Surprisingly, this dread was shared with the Keersee crowd in the back. Several of the man’s guards let loose soundless sighs with a look to the ceiling while the chief's own wives regarded me with the type of snarls usually reserved for a freshly stomped foot.

“When a monster like that comes roaming around, plans count for little.” Disslen expounded with a noticeably puffed chest. “I sailed out to find the beast stalking my father's lands. Three days of churning waves and dreary skies while we took up and down every river. On the morning of the fourth day, there he was. A mountain of fur, muscle, and malice lounging on the muddy bank.

And very hungry. Before a single arrow could be knocked, the beast stood up and made his way across the water. Unfortunately, the current wasn’t strong and our rowers didn’t have any hope of turning us around in time. We spearmen moved to form a wall and await our doom. The troll quickly obliged us as it hefted itself on board. Some tried to stab the fingers to keep it in the water while others sunk steel into its chest. All for nothing.

The monster took to our deck as it would to any piece of land. Archers scrambled to get arrows, swordsmen looked for an opening that would never come, and we people of the sharp sticks had to hold back a beast with more muscle in an arm than most had in their bodies.

Then it happened.

The troll grabbed a man and bit down on his head. Poor lad didn’t even get to scream but the monster enjoyed the sickening crunch all the same. Whatever our brains taste like, the troll savored the flavor so much it stopped moving for a second. Pure instinct took over as destiny helped me heft my spear into what could be the last throw of my life.

With every bit of strength I could muster, I sent this very spear whistling through the air. It flew like a bolt of lightning and sailed true through the monster's eye and into its brain. There was no struggling, wobbling, or screaming as it dropped onto the deck like a rock. Spirits as my witness or my mother strike me dead for a lie, the cloudy skies parted and a beam of sunlight fell on the ship to bathe the gathering pool of blood in warmth. That was the day I was put on the path of being chief. The big chair wasn’t mine at that exact moment, but the mandate of greatness was clear.” Disslen finished with a smug grin.

That he in no way answered the question was something I put to the side.

“Is this true?” I asked with a turn to Hern.

He bit his tongue as it stuck out just beyond his lips.

“The clouds splitting to ordain him is hotly contested. Several mercenaries and warriors of neutral loyalty to him have confirmed it was a single spear through the eye that brought the troll low. And it was almost certainly from Disslen.” Hern finished with a sigh of resignation.

If the bitter rival to Keersee was conceding as much, then perhaps the whole of it was true. A bit of history that I wasn’t going to delve further into.

“And in slaying the creature, did you claim all the holds nearby? Of your vassals and such.”

“No,” Disslen sternly rebuffed. “It was an issue we as the head family of the Keersee clan had to deal with for its closeness to our borders.”

“Exactly. A problem for everyone came but it was going to be ours more than any other, seeing as we are now the southernmost tribe. That we protected the whole of our people's abode is true but the first motivation was keeping our own hold sound.”

“Holds,” Hern put in with puckered lips. “Unless everyone I’ve spoken to was lying, Zeedans Peak along with clan Messineens rest in your hand.”

Disslen scoffed as he turned to his semi-ally.

“With their hides intact. By all rights, the Messineen sons should be fighting over rotten fish while their mothers whore out for stale bread. They’ve been treated far better than their lot has any right to hope for. Especially considering their role in Kreshton’s fall.”

Both men turned to me with expectant looks. I only calmly raised my eyebrows to confirm our knowledge of this lore. Disslen took a deep breath before releasing it back into the air.

“I am satisfied. Maybe time will prove me wrong, but nothing I’ve seen or heard tells of a blade waiting for my people's backs. As long as you don’t send more than two ships at a time into our territory, they’ll be welcome.”

A small smile was my response before turning to Hern. He stood off to the right, alone against his people’s two greatest enemies. Lips curled and that brown snout flared. More than anger, I got the sense he was frustrated at things easily guessed. When the snarl receded, a second of silence passed before he finally spoke.

“As chief, I know all too well the feelings of my people. I can stand here and listen to your words, see how you’ve treated those you had greater cause to harm, and reach whatever conclusions I want, but the will of my kin is clear. No Kreshton ship is to sail our waters save a sloop with a message nor is a single one of your people to step foot on our lands.”

Could your eyes endure such a separation from my breasts?

The bitter thought was shoved down before I spoke up again.

“As is your right.” I offered as my spine relaxed.

Kantor and Joeseen were right, this was a decision up to the other clans. That doesn’t mean I had to like it. What more could we do? If our ropes pulled down the sun and brought eternal spring to the white wastes, perhaps they might even deign a proper greeting on its arrival.

“The last item,” I continued as some faint strain started showing in my throat. “Is trade. Joeseen handles water-bound affairs and can explain all te tariffs to any of your merchants. As for our restrictions, no more than one official ship in our territory at a time for business. Your merchants can come and go as they please, as long as the Messineen clan says there is room for them and they have a reputation for honest dealing. It goes without saying travel directly here will be…. More heavily restricted.”

Both men raised their eyebrows in agreement but Disslen let loose a small cough almost immediately.

“As we speak of trade, those ships in the harbor are familiar to us. I can count two with loads of leather and coal that were supposed to be in my warehouses.”

Hern raised his eyebrows with an expectant look at me. I managed to keep a small sigh from escaping as I opened my mouth.

“Those records have been maintained. Of course, without us, the ship's crew would have perished and you would be negotiating with fish for those goods. Some exchange of payment can be worked out.”

Disslen stretched towards the ceiling for a moment before loosing a long breath.

“A matter for another time. My people are waiting for my return and if I’m too late, they’ll launch ships for a raid to save me. I bid you a good day, Lady Passmede. I’d wish you the same, Hern, but you’d just find a reason to be sour no matter how good it was.”

His erstwhile allystared daggers as Disslen whipped around and moved back towards his pack. The other chief merely raised his eyebrows at the childish, if not accurate, ribbing but said nothing as he moved toward the older woman’s side. They stared at each other, talking in a spirit connection as their rivals filtered out through the iron doors. It took only a second before they followed behind them. When the iron doors closed shut, their boom made the dead silence left behind all the heavier.

“My throat has given its all,” I announced with the typical rough Kelton voice violating the peace. “If anything of importance is to be shared, it can be done in my abode.”

With that, I rose out of the couch feeling like I had worked for days. The rest of the council only gave me Kelton nods, so I left the forum and retreated to my office. Hours of paperwork passed without interruption until a meal was brought in then a sleep.

Evidently the council members saw to their new and old tasks without issue, because for three days no messages asking for guidance on the prices for the two clans' goods or the tariffs for the outside merchants arrived. Maybe I could squeeze a few more silver here and there, but risking relations and protracted negotiations didn’t seem worth it. The fact actual silver wasn’t worth such time only made the thirty-year life I had lived before now seem ever more distant.

It was on the fourth day, as I was looking over a request for more stone purchases, that a messenger came into my office. This time the boy in blue wasn’t dripping in sweat and the gradual swing of my wooden door suggested a lack of urgency. Which I wouldn’t have guessed given the page in his right hand. Sporting more white than yellow, I immediately placed its origin as Crasden.

My hand outstretched, he quickly placed it in the waiting palm, which brought it up to my face.

‘Greetings, Lady Passmede. With our great victory-’

Perhaps immediately skimming through an official letter wasn’t the wisest thing, but if they couldn’t trim down their poetry, then I refused to shoulder most of the blame. When I got to the end, the important bit finally showed itself.

‘Our stewardship of Passtoon’s Watch will be far firmer than times past yet its use more lax. Know your ships will be allowed free passage, at Lady Ashe’s request.’

I sat there as the word's profound meaning washed over me.

It was finished.

This long, grueling slog of mayhem and butchery was behind us. Maybe Ashe would fumble it or the pirates would come back with a fleet thrice its previous size, but such an investment wouldn’t be wise on the pirate's part nor did I think Ashe so lacking in ability or motivation to allow a slip in the defenses. If we had been able to stick to the base with no ships coming by for a new spot to anchor in, perhaps the entire north would be pirate territory by now.

All the coulds and woulds didn’t change the fact that we basically saved an entire region. I allowed myself a moment to soak in satisfaction. Placing the page down, I looked towards the lad waiting in front of the stone desk.

“Thank you. That will be all.”

He gave me a Kelton nod before turning out of the door. Without thinking, I started humming a tune. Something from a childhood since passed to help me work on the less interesting papers littering my space.