It was a day march away from Argenton that Cordelia deemed all preparations in place, and set to put her plan into motion. A perfect time for it, for the day was downcast but yet to manifest in slippery wetness. Heavy did the threat of war hung over their camp, and great was the unrest caused by the barbarian’s words. But aught more delay would be foolish. She feared there would never come another chance where the terms of her inevitable standoff with the einheri would be hers for the choosing. And too she found this alertness suitable for her risky plan.

For the while, Esme was on edge. She had shattered yet another blade given her after the duel with Fidele, and in her calm but forbidding way had given the quartermaster hell for it. She was like to rouse the whole camp to battler frenzy, simmering in a dark mood as though the perceived war was but a matter of days or hours away. Nor did Cordelia attempt to allay this unreasonable temper, for it fit rather too well with her design.

Kamaric himself had been for two nights sleepless, conversing long with his men-at-arms in his pavilion. His wife he neglected, and that was highly unusual for the doting husband. He knew or saw something the rest of them save Esme did not, for the warriors and the idlers were all of the opinion that a barbarian’s words of war could not be trusted, and at any rate proved far less a threat than his blade.

But though she pitied his trouble and his people’s bleak future, Cordelia had her own problem to attend to. And more pressing than ever was the need to vanquish her foe before the coming chaos would deprive her of a knight’s protection.

Customarily, she gave her arsenal a last-minute check before committing. Onlookers would find her staring strangely at some vague point ahead, while standing with her brow furrowed before Kamaric’s pavilion. The whole camp was getting underway after breakfast, but she would still have some time during the knight’s post-meal rest. And so she pulled up the dark tablet. For once it suited the bleak day, hovering gloomily under the heavy sky like a great tombstone on which her name was writ.

Four picks of powers she had at her disposal, in addition to Sedative Miasma and Camouflage.

The first of her picks was from the Mesmerism tree.

Blending Presence: Passively causes one’s presence to be less noticeable and smooth over suspect behaviors that could otherwise call to question the user’s presence.

Now, by itself, the power’s description read like a vague and inferior version of Camouflage. But to Cordelia, its interaction with her next pick more than debated the usefulness, not only for this showoff with the einheri but mayhap many more dealings in the future.

Veil of Semblance, Metamorphosis tree. As the name suggested, this power allowed her to create a veil bearing the appearance of anyone she had met.

Her selections made, she committed to her choices. It was effectively a mental process, done by willing the changes onto the tablet, much like her unheard conversations with Mastema. And yet she made a show of snapping her hand in the air and tracing the etched letters with her fingers. To all but herself, she looked as though weaving patterns into the void, and no few eyes around the camp saw this.

That done, Cordelia whirled around, asking the guard, who had been staring at her odd movements, to announce her presence. The man started, then hurriedly poked his head through the flap to inform the knight of her request.

Her passage granted, she passed into the pavilion. Hotly she felt the man’s curious gaze followed her back, doubtlessly wondering at her strange gestures just now.

Certain whispered rumors had been circulating among Kamaric’s servants that Cordelia was an earnest witch and no foreigner of mere cheap tricks. She had been encouraging it. After observing some of the soldier’s certain gestures to ward off evil and odd rituals, like throwing a handful of grain into the fire the other day, she had devised her own version of pagan mysteries. Twisting her hands a little and whispering sometimes a cryptid word was enough to afford her a place of awe in their minds. Her curated image was neatly situated between a foreigner praying to her foreign gods, and a witch scattering charms of good or ill. She had gone to all these silly troubles because it was better to be thought of as a witch, a mysterious woman who knew magic, than to be suspected as a fey and natural enemy of mankind. And at any rate, she would have to reveal a bit of her hand soon.

So she entered the pavilion. Scrolls and maps lay strewn on a makeshift table. Tokens were laid on the map of Argenton in the middle of the table, denoting garrisons scattered across the province. If the knight marked her glance at the map, he did not seem inclined to prevent it. He was reading. Only when she had arrived before him did the man mark the page and put the book down. For someone who had been staying up for two nights in a row, he did not seem in the least fatigued, but sober and alert. Silently Cordelia reflected upon the man’s superior Endurance.

Even upside down it did not take her more than an instant to scan the gilded title of the book he was reading: The Life and Deeds of Gunther Cynewyrm, as Observed and Recorded by Ghulfrau Vomuninn.

Kamaric caught her look. “A wise king,” he said, “Perhaps wiser than all in living memory. Much there is to be learned from such a leader of men.”

“Do you doubt your leadership, sir?” Cordelia asked conversationally.

“The barbarian had me thinking, and not only about his ominous puzzle.” He gestured at a stool. “Sit. I know not why you came, but it is timely. I have a mind to speak with you.”

“Of what matter, sir?”

“Esme said you hailed from a far country. And ‘twas on the fey road into my domain that you were assaulted by bandits before the girl came to your rescue.”

“All that is true, my lord. Only I did not come alone but with my people, who were not so fortunate as I.”

“News of bandits are rare enough since the Boggarts were about, rarer still are those so bold to rob an armed party,” he said meaningfully.

The man had questioned Esme thoroughly, Cordelia considered quickly. And for a moment she wondered if it was wise to proceed with the plan under the circumstances. Surely the man was in no agreeable mood, and if he suspected her nature it would not be likely that he would grant her request.

But her surface was placid.

“Esme suggested bandits,” she said guardedly, “but neither she nor I know with surety who the assailants were.”

“Although 'tis difficult for a stranger to the land to readily identify a party,” he said, “I think you are somewhat more than you let on, Cordelia. But then again, your devotion to Esme is no false thing.”

“Let me put it this way, sir,” she said, “She’s my savior, and her saving me in the forest that day was only the least of it. If not for her existence, I would have long given up on a world so bleak already.”

“One may choose to interpret what you say in different ways,” he said. But, to her relief, he allowed it to pass. “Well, that is your own matter, I shall not intrude. Now I would like to hear about your country. Tell me, is it so different from mine?”

“Why, my lord?” she asked, on guard again.

“Because,” the man fixed his gaze on the book before him, eyes tracing the gilded letters, “that barbarian had me thinking. He’s a clever man, far more clever than one would readily credit one of his kind, but also he has the benefit of an outsider to observe us without bias. And he said many things most of us already knew but did not like to admit. His ideal ruler, Gunther,” he paused. “The High King who was mighty and wise beyond mortal ken. Do you know he once sought to establish a system of universal justice? Yet few nobles ever sought to be one like him. We all of us think a wise master is born wise under the right star, and so neglect to strive for such height. We demand privileges with our birthrights yet blame our shortcomings upon them also.

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“And too, it would be unthinkable to examine the character of every man and woman in my service, but all the same it was my lack of discipline that allowed one to dishonor you. And who knows how many more have suffered injustice without your voice to speak up? But I told myself that as a lord it was not possible to attend to every problem big and small within my domain. In that way, I shrugged off the blame for these matters. I do my job, and little more. Betimes I think it is not even a proper job I have been doing, what with putting my wife and honor before the lives of the men I lead. But these are the thoughts of a befuddled man! Tell me what you think, Cordelia. Tell me how you see and judge our people. Tell, but beg no modest ignorance, for I see in your eyes what I beheld in that barbarian yesterday: the look of a man or woman driven by great ponderings.”

“Allot Drogva the credit you have given me, lord. And beware of him, for I fear you are in more awe of his words than the threat that he proves. It may be yet that he sought to confuse you and earn your trust even as he observed your troop movements.”

The knight sighed, “I do not plan to lead my men down this ill path again in pursuit of a rumor, if that is what you wish to warn me against. Many are the hardened men who know the ways of war in my host, and long we have discussed the matter. It is not one where your counsel is needed, Cordelia, nor your place.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a relief, sir, to hear that you are approaching the matter carefully. But have you considered that very notion might be what he intended for you to believe? What if the purpose of this phantom of war was to have you scruple from the danger of this ravine? I see that you anticipate a power from the south.” She gestured at the map. “Yet what if, in appearing in that ravine, the barbarian wanted to alert you loud and clear and blatantly: this route could very well be one way for the lords from the south to attack you! And so he caused you to doubt, since it was too obvious. Why would he ruin his side’s element of surprise thus? You mistrust his goodwill, and he knew you would. Yet he has planted the seed of doubt. And now mayhap you think: no way they would really come that way again! And next time you would dismiss any news of troops coming through the ravine as falsehood, meaning to draw you from the real frontier. But what if, in lieu of a diversion to draw you from the south, the north should prove the unguarded front of a pincer movement? Could it be that peril lurks in your reading between the lines, sir?”

The knight started, and thought on it. At length he looked up. “Shorter indeed is the direct march from Eyre, yet should a force be amassed to come down from the northern coasts then through this route unchecked, they might yet reach Argenton while my back is turned! It's all in the timing! Even a day in doubt would afford them to strike at my castle while I’m after Eyrie's main force! Now that is a devious plan indeed! You have been thinking deeply about this. How have you discerned this?”

“I discern naught. Nor have I been thinking about it, for I have trouble enough of my own to attend to. It could very well be that Drogva is true. And even if he is false, it might be still that he is false for another design than what I have proposed, I cannot say. But this I know: this barbarian is no fool, and he knows also that you are no fool. To be sure, I have no hardened steel of war in my bones, but I am no stranger to evil and betrayal. Nor am I a warrior, yet the black hearts of man I have touched. Alas, I know a thing or two about their nature!”

Presently, the knight sat back, and said quietly, “You are no ordinary woman, Cordelia. Grave be your speech and fey your look that one wonders about the path you have walked. Am I to believe your story as a minor lordling’s maidservant?”

She was unfazed. “You elected to tolerate my false past for the sake of my true present, sir, don’t revoke it now that I’m being true in my counsels. You wonder about my past, but there is little of it that is strange. Though I confess the state of my homeland affords no few lessons of evil.”

“Tell me of it.”

She coughed.

“If you must hear, sir, then I shall tell it. But you may not believe it to be a true place, and it would be a hard task to convince you otherwise. It lies in a realm far, far away, farther than the mainland, farther than the land to the east from whence that man Fidele hailed. There, the folk are wise in many arts and wield such unfathomable magic as to dominate and corrupt nature. A place of wealth and destruction in equal measure. A people of deep knowledge and outrageous extravagance. Our healing arts could cure many illnesses and injuries here you would think beyond help. But also we created magic weapons which could destroy the world many times over if our quarreling rulers were but so inclined. Wars we wage not upon the perils of man but of all things in existence. Yet even more power ever we crave in our endless pursuit for domination.”

“A fearsome land this is that you speak of,” the knight frowned, “I confess it sounds to me rather like one of the gods than of mortals.”

“Certainly, sir, that some of us have an aura not of earth about them. But not in a holy way. For the desire for power corrupted and hardened us to be selfish and pragmatic folk, so that self-interest and greed were our chief pursuits. We trafficked in things you treat as invaluable here - kindness, honor, virtues - all but goods to trade and barter like spices and jewels. Books we read are not of virtuous men and women or wise rulers like Gunther but of merchants who rise to power through the accumulation of wealth and deception.”

“Your tone is bitter,” the knight remarked. “It seems to me you or yours have suffered great injustices at your brethren's hand. And yet I could not believe aught people could be wholly evil or dishonorable, even if there existed such a powerful and destructive people as you describe. Perhaps you judge harshly?”

“Perhaps, lord. And yet if I was one, I was not alone the bitter judge in that bleak country. But some of us found comfort in thoughts of freedom. Indeed we prided ourselves above all else on this unbridled sense of possibilities, we all of us were born equal, at least in theory, for titles and power in that land are not inherited.”

“Without titles!” the knight exclaimed, “truly the place you describe is an unimaginable haven of dreamers.”

“Far from it, lord. No inheritable power,” she smiled, “save that of wealth and its many implications. And here I arrive at the rub of your doubts. I do not argue against the truth of such doubts, nor do I deny the existence of good and evil rulers in all the places and all the worlds. But imagine, a place and a people who were but components in a machine. A land of merits. A land of universal justice. A land of efficiency. There could be no Kamaric of Argenton who rules by justice while upholding his cherished values. Only this and that ruler of whatever name or office they will, who promise this and that in the good of their people. ‘Tis a speech, but no more than a speech, even as said the barbarian. Without a heritage to fall back to, the ideals and messages our rulers espoused are whatever would keep him in power, so that his personality is more embellished than a minstrel’s motley suit. Everyone from every walk of life does not control their place in the world so much as their role commands them. Oft they lay the blame of their greed upon the roles they must function. And speak they such words as you may find oddly familiar: they only do their job, they only look after themselves, they but fulfill their role in society. And so they turn away from the evil before their eyes, evil of their own doing or their neighbors’, though they may speak much of goodness. Really, about the only similarities in the ruling class between my homeland and yours are the odd tyrants of certain realms, who slaughtered and lorded over man by absolute terror, but even they dressed their ill deeds in solemn reasons, however ridiculous they sometimes sound. So not even they could be themselves but as a front, ever in fear of dropping their guards and ruthlessness lest their subjects turn upon them.”

For a while the marcher lord appeared to ponder over her words. Then suddenly he gave a cry.

“Aha! I see now what you are trying to do, clever girl. You propose a fictional world, one so ridiculous it could never be real, all for the sake of comparing our politics favorably to the alternative. But I do protest. That is not the only possible alternative, and mayhap there could yet be a way towards a just system!”

Cordelia smiled. “My point, sir, is that the system itself hardly matters. The evil I have faced in this land does not speak favorably of it compared to mine. But all the same, no matter the mode of pretension, good and evil exist in all the world and all the lands. In this land, however, the personal will of a ruler has spared me from the laws he vowed to protect, where the general will of her people would have condemned me to death. And too, I have encountered a man who dared to overturn the fate ordained by his religion to protect his family. I have been promised of a lone existence by which all evil shall be vanquished. I confess I would rather live in a world where the earnest will of the individuals matters in the grand scheme of things, whether justly or not, instead of one at the mercy of a mindless, impersonal, and all-devouring system.”

“Such cryptid words you speak,” the knight rubbed his chin, seeming wearier than before. “But there is perhaps wisdom one could glean in them. I see that you are indeed a learned woman, Cordelia. Your mentor must have been a wise man.”

“A wise woman, sir, who imparted most of my now beliefs, love and hate.”

“I did not err then, in picking you for my children’s mentor, for your heart seems to be in the right place, if there is a bitter taste to it, and there seems to be more of it you can teach than dictions. By the by, what think you of them?”

“Your children, sir?” Her eyebrows raised at the sudden change of topic. “To speak truthfully and without reservation?”

“Nothing less.”

“Then, sir, I don’t think they will ever be wise rulers. Etna has a short temper and Eric does not much care for learning aught but the blade. Still, they are good-hearted and could make for valorous knights when they grow up.”

The knight nodded, “That’s good. They may yet calm down and learn to appreciate the use of knowledge as they grow up, as had I. But even if they will not, it is better to be strong and honest than to be weak and devious, if one cannot be wise.”

Cordelia gave a wry smile, for she perceived herself as the worst sort of the three categories.

“Well, I have detained you long enough,” the knight said. “And you came here with a request, I still remember. What is it?”

“Ah, of course. I just want to borrow your wife for a bit.”

He frowned, “Right now as we are about to strike camp? Whyever?”

“Why, sir,” she beamed, “to hunt a unicorn.”