Sylvia sat in the basement of the library again, hunched over a fresh piece of paper. Her research was complicated by the glaring lack of reliable source material. She had to rely largely on legends and vague witness accounts to learn more about magic. From what she had gathered, casting was not so different from prayer. Leaving aside the mystery of what gave a person magical affinity, casting was a matter of applying intent. Luckily, there was a little more information about prayer available in the library.

It was generally accepted theory that emotions and intent were intimately connected. According to some, they were even the exact same thing. The reason a true prayer was more powerful than a parroted phrase was the emotion of the individual doing the praying. It stood to reason that the same applied to casting. Anger and fire evidently connected. Priest Ryther had used it, and many legends spoke of fire erupting around mages in battle. Sylvia had theorised that the opposite element ought to be accompanied by the opposite emotion, but affectionate emotions did not produce water. When she attempted casting by keeping Rebecca in her mind, while describing water running through the fields in the outermost ring of Fristad, grass began to sprout from the page.

What else was there? What associations did she have to water? Sylvia closed her eyes and thought back to the Nyberg River. Only a slender creek still gurgled along at the bottom. The watermill lay still and quiet. Their harvest was ever more meagre, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was incredibly frustrating. She dipped her quill and attempted it again. Huffing in discontent, she slowly lettered “water”. Nothing happened. Not that either, then. That, too, was very frustrating. Sprouting grass was a fun party trick, but what she needed was water. Without mastering water, she could not pursue her study of fire, and fire was sure to come in handy if they met Wolves on the road.

She rested her chin on a hand and grumbled. Not affection. Not frustration. Then again, the frustration was not about water, was it? It was about a lack thereof. Sylvia closed her eyes again. What feeling connected directly to water? She imagined the river running high in spring, the deep green moss which used to cover the woods, and the plentiful mushrooms, the chanterelles and boletes. A warmth spread in her soul, an affection of sorts, not love, but joy. Spring enveloped her. Easing her grip on the quill, she retraced her letters. When she lifted the quill off the page, ink flowed out. No, not ink. There was no pigment. Water flowed from the nib, soaking the paper. A smile spread over her lips.

Afi stared at the conjured water in wide-eyed wonderment. “You figured it out.”

Sylvia laughed in joy. “I got it! I did it! Water!”

The water kept running, gathering on the table and finally dribbling onto the floor. Sylvia held the quill close to her nose, trying to see where the water originated. Nowhere, she determined. It merely began to exist right at the nib of her quill and then fell.

“How do you make it stop?”, Afi asked.

Noticing the puddle amassing around her feet, Sylvia lay the quill down. Even without her fingers on the tool, it kept conjuring more and more water. It was fascinating, but also a potential problem. If this continued indefinitely, the basement would flood. As if on cue, the quill stopped conjuring.

“How?”, Afi asked again, baffled at the sight.

Sylvia frowned down at the wet table. That was the question. “Intent”, she realised. “My emotional state, and thus my intent, changed when I was not sure how to stop the water. So it stopped working.”

“Aha. Right”, Afi mumbled. He had been listening to Sylvia's rants about magic and intent with half an ear. Her theories changed every other day, though. It was hard to keep up.

They stood in heavy silence for a long while, observing the mess. Water kept dripping from the table and splashing into the puddle below.

“We should probably clean up”, Afi said eventually.

“Yea, we should”, Sylvia agreed.

“You will have to hurry”, Dana said.

Afi and Sylvia both jerked in surprise.

Dana smiled at them from the stairs. “I did not want to interrupt your thoughts. I assume you cast successfully.”

“I did. I conjured water”, Sylvia said proudly.

“I will be excited to hear all about it. For now, I am afraid you need to turn your attention to other matters. The sisters have summoned you. Oskar and his are expected as well.”

“Strategy meeting”, Afi concluded.

“I would think so.”

Sylvia hurried to fetch a rag and clean up after her experiment.

When Sylvia and Afi entered the Harbour Inn a short while later, Frida led them into a private room behind the bar, where the inner circle had gathered. Everyone was sitting at one oblong table. Oskar and his guards were seated on one side, while the sisters and their sworn were on the opposite. One notable exception was Kvist, who had yet to arrive. No longer bothering with the custom of accepting wine which she did not enjoy either way, Sylvia waved at Bothilder dismissively and took a seat. Afi leaned against the wall behind her.

“We are trying to determine what our first move ought to be”, Bothilder said.

“Clearly, we need to establish Oskar as a prospect, before making any direct move toward the capital. The current proposal is to bring Guldhamn into the alliance as well”, Kaija filled in.

“Makes sense. They are our closest neighbours who are not Wolves or lawless”, Sylvia agreed.

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“And quite a notable power of their own”, Kaija added.

“The only problem is that Linus Guld has little reason to hear anyone not carrying his flag”, Yri said. “His lands are rich and well connected. Guldhamn trades with Eshein even now, and the river Guldader makes travel easy.”

Kaija nodded. “That is how he retains control over so much land in the first place. Three major cities are along Adern. Guldhamn at the ocean, Brofäste in the middle, and Adersta furthest inland. All three are heavily fortified, and the surrounding land is fertile. The waterway is their trading route. Frankly, they have little reason to concern themselves with the issues of Holmen and the East Cut. They have everything they need.”

“They may still prefer a country with a functioning government and open trading routes, but what would compel someone like Guld to heed the word of bandits?”, Yri prompted.

“Bandits?”, Sylvia questioned.

“In his eyes”, Thorun confirmed irritably.

“I must admit, I used to think the same”, Oskar said.

Thorun shot him a biting glare. “Come again?”

“Not now, of course. In chaos, we all need to care for our own. But you were not part of the Crown before. You took land which was not yours to take”, Oskar defended.

“Choose your next words with care”, Thorun cautioned.

Oskar hesitated. “My apologies.”

“Good choice.”

“So it is an image problem”, Sylvia diagnosed.

“Quite”, Yri agreed.

“Then we need a campaign.”

“We have nothing to trade these people. They have everything they need and more. We are customers at best”, Yri argued.

“Then avoid making it about material goods, about worldly possessions. Get right to the point. Travel the lands and spread the word about the future of Sev. The great king is on his way, with the blood of Floki running through his veins. Floki is more legend than man at this point. Invoking him should lend Oskar an air of mystic grandness. Your commodity is not food, or metal, or even money. It is legend. It is hope.”

Yri and Thorun exchanged a long look.

“It is different, but it might just work”, Yri said.

“What if it is not enough to convince Guld?”, Oskar asked.

“Do you have a better idea?”, Thorun challenged.

“I do not.”

“Then this is the plan, Your Mystical Legendness.”

“I doubt Guld will hear us just because we have a tall tale”, Una argued.

“True. He needs to hear it from his own”, Yri agreed. “We will have to spend some time visiting smaller settlements. If we manage to convince some of the river traders, or perhaps even the mayors, word will spread faster than our caravan can travel. Guld will hear about us long before he can see us coming.”

Bothilder hummed in agreement. “We will have to stay east of Adern. We do not want to get too close to the mountains. The folk there are not a friendly type. Where we have horses, they have bears. In contrast to the Wolves, the Bears have their name for good reason. Even if we by some miracle do not run into trouble with them, we should not risk rumours of an alliance with mountain folk.” Turning to Theodorus, he added, “No offence.”

“None taken”, Theodorus responded at once. It was quick and dry, like he had tucked away his original reaction long ago and replaced it with a new one, ready at the tip of his tongue whenever needed.

“The western roads are broader and better kept, though”, Tone argued.

Looking to Theodorus, Thorun asked, “Do you think you would be able to talk to the mountain folk if there is any trouble?”

“Me?”, Theodorus returned the question.

“You are from the area, are you not?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I would recognise that mark anywhere.” Thorun motioned to her chin. “Southern part of the mountains. No dots, so you have no bears of your own, but who else uses those lines in their face markings?”

“You have been to the mountains?”, Theodorus asked.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Thorun slimmed her eyes at him. “I have had the displeasure. What I have been trying to figure out is why you decorate yourself with an owl. You are no northerner, that much is clear.”

“You must be very well travelled”, Theodorus commented.

“Never have I met a Bear so adamant to avoid questions, though”, Thorun pressed.

“Oh? You had a question? I heard only accusations”, Theodorus responded calmly. “If I am a Bear, then what would I be doing fighting for Nordborg?”

“That is a good question. Add it to my list.”

Theodorus took a sip from his wine to stall. Then, he sighed. “No, I would not be able to negotiate peace with the Bears if we run into them. The rest is none of your business.”

“Rude”, Yri chuckled.

“I adapt to local custom.”

The gathered Fri burst into laughter.

“He has got you there”, Kaija sniggered.

“Ah, well, that is a shame. That means we will have to make our way through the woods instead”, Thorun concluded. “No matter. There are more small settlements on the eastern side of Adern anyway. Our little prince will have to speak to the locals, convince them of his mighty ancestry.”

Meeting Oskar’s eyes, Yri emphasised, “You will have to be at your best. You are not just trying to establish trade relations. You will have to convince these folk that they should trust in you to protect Sev.”

“They call this land Rodina”, Theodorus pointed out.

“What land?”

“Sev. This country has many names. Rodina, Heim, but also Demon Cape, Black Cape, and of course Sev, West Severn, and Cape Severn. Though, I never understood the cape thing. Sev is an island.”

“It used to be a cape”, Ida explained.

“Really?”

Ida nodded. “Yea. During a battle between the first king of Sev and the royal family of Severn, it is said that a demon awoke to fight alongside Floki. The East Cut was dug by the Severn army to keep this beast from roaming the lands, confining it to the so named Demon Cape.”

“That is an interesting interpretation”, Theodorus mumbled.

Sylvia frowned as well. She had heard the tale of the demon king, and Yri had made her case about the unnatural appearance of the river, but digging a channel that broad and deep still sounded absurd. “I find that hard to believe”, she commented.

“Your belief is of no consequence. It is true”, Ida maintained.

“Water does not contain demons. Everyone knows that. Only crystals can do that”, Sylvia argued.

“Or silverwood”, Una added.

“Possibly”, Ida shrugged. “But, no, Fri, not everyone knows that. It has been a long time since any demon formed in Sev. Many commoners do not even believe in their existence any more, so why would they be concerned with such knowledge?”

“Fair enough”, Sylvia conceded.

Kaija chuckled. “Demons? You seriously believe they exists?”

“I know they do. When intent is misused, a god can turn into a demon quicker than you would like to think. It lies in the nature of magic itself”, Ida attested.

A laboured silence fell around the gathering. Sylvia could understand both the scepticism and the belief, but she was not about to get involved. She had no desire to inject herself into this particular discussion. “Where shall we begin then? Adersta?”, she suggested.

“As good a place as any”, Yri agreed. “We are bound to run into smaller settlements along the way. After Adersta, we can work our way down along the river until we reach the ocean. That should take us past most of the important towns of the area as well.”

“Then it is settled. Let us beat the first snow. I want to be back in Fristad before night frost. We ride out next week.”, Thorun determined. With her usual air of finality, she swung back her wine and left the room.

Tone whispered something to Ida before leaving. Ida sighed to herself and got up. She turned to Sylvia with a meaning expression. Sylvia waited with her for the room to clear. Once they were alone, Ida bowed her head. “I apologise if I came across as impudent.”

Surprised, Sylvia shook her head. “Not at all. I appreciate your veracity. It is a rare gift. Do not let yourself be silenced by manners.”

Ida smiled at that. She placed a hand on her hip. “Oh? In that case, I would love to continue this discussion sometime.”

“I love a good discussion”, Sylvia concurred. “Come by the library at any time.”