Arianell Duna listened to the echo of her footsteps as she walked through the empty halls of the Duna Clanhome. Normally the halls were a bustle of activity, between the servants and members of her clan rushing about in their daily duties, but the sun had yet to shine upon the province.

Normally, Arianell would be asleep. She so disliked the flicker of torchlight that danced with the shadows of the wall. The day was her domain, the night she left to the servants. So, being woken so abruptly had already put her into a bad mood.

She’d received word late the previous night of the success of the twinning of the Seed of Vaste’lon, a runner sent by none other than Allanan Borou himself along with a small trinket of Outworld. A coin, it was. A curious coin made with exquisite detail from what appeared to be nickel and copper. The coin was fashioned in two concentric circles, the innermost of which bore the image of a woman on one side, and one the other, a bear-like beast.

The bear-woman fascinated her. She imagined a great ruler who commanded her subjects with the fierce grace that her counterpart, the bear, demanded. Perhaps a Queen, perhaps and Empress. She would have liked to meet such a woman.

Still, the coin was but a simple trinket, and one like it was likely to have been sent to each of the other fourteen Clan Houses across Embrayya. It was a token of their involvement in Caradoc’s war, and stood for little else.

The next runner was not to have arrived until late the next day. So when she was awoken by her servant hours before dawn, she felt both anger and concern. Even the fastest runner would have taken several hours to reach Dunleth, let alone cross the approach to the Clanhouse, even in the dead of night.

Which meant something unexpected had occurred. The last message from Borou had described the ease of victory over the Outworlders. The pathetic defense they put up, and the meekness of the people there. The General’s First Order was all it took to secure their place in Outworld.

Her robes fluttered in the wind as she reached the veranda outside the audience hall. The two guards stationed there saluted her, then opened the doors for her entry.

The three inhabitants of the hall all turned to face her.

“Leave us,” she instructed her two servants. They quietly nodded and made their way to the exit while Arianell examined the rider. She could tell he was filthy even in the flicker of the torchlight. He knelt to the floor, placing a fist against his forehead. On his shoulder he wore the mark of the waterfall, the sigil of Clan Duna. He was not one of General Borou’s runners.

“Who sent you, runner?” she asked as her servants left the room.

“I come with a message from Malin Eero, Wise Mother,” he said.

As she expected. Malin’s loyalty was to Duna, and he had more than proven it over the years. Duna had produced more than its fair share of heroes during the campaigns against Turzan’s Trident and the Wasted Hordes and Malin stood at the top. He was respected both in Dunleth and Tyrant’s Fall, but his first loyalty was to Clan Duna.

“Speak,” she said.

“The campaign for Outworld has failed utterly, Matriarch,” he began. “Just before nightfall, our camp in Outworld was attacked. The Outworlders possess strengths and demons the likes of which we could never have anticipated. They overwhelmed our forces in seconds, coming from out of thin air by land and sky, forcing Embrayyan forces to retreat through the World Tree.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Arianell took this in. “I see,” she said. “How many dead?”

“Most of our forces were able to retreat to safety in the confusion, however Commander Eero regrets to report that the daughter of Emrys Oringard was lost along with several dozen others. Three companies of Empyrean Riders were decimated, and no more than twenty Wolf Riders were able to retreat.”

“What?” Arienell yelled. “Sizilen Freia is dead?”

The messenger nodded.

Arianell turned on her heel and started to pace. As if matters weren’t complicated enough! She’d had misgivings about his war against Outworld since the Seed of Vaste’lon had been found, but was never in a position to show anything but enthusiastic support to a man she detested with every fibre of her being. To bow and scrape before him and compliment his every foolish act.

And for all of Caradoc’s years of planning to obsessively secure his vain quest for a legacy, it had fallen apart in seconds. Moreover, it had put the entire province in jeopardy. If the Outworlders chose to come back to Ayndir, it could have a profound impact on the interests of her Clan. She cursed herself silently. The death of the Freia girl meant she needed to think quickly. She bit the knuckle of her thumb while in thought, a strange act that helped her focus. “What of the Outworlders?”

“Up until I left, they did not pursue us through the World Tree. Commander Eero assumes they fear the Elder Law.”

Perhaps that was true. The Elder Law had defeated them once before, so it could defeat them again. If they decided to cross the threshold between the two worlds, it could present a whole slew of new complications. And the fools had turned every last Augur they had into tributes for the Twinning.

It calmed her, but not much. There was still far too little known about the Outworlders. It certainly could be fear of the Elder Law. That’s what the histories taught. But the Matriarchs of Clan Duna took such things with a pinch of salt.

“How many runners were sent to Tyrant’s Fall?”

“Three that we know of, Wise Mother,” he said.

It would still be another day before even the fastest runner made it to Tyrant’s Fall. The fool King would no doubt act brashly, even dangerously. But it would take a further day and a half to send new orders. That gave Arianell two days to plan and act before the King’s orders would supersede her own.

She had campaigned mercilessly to have Mercer’s Mound declared the site of the World Tree for just such an eventuality. She had not expected it so soon.

“Guardsmen!” she yelled. A moment later, the doors to the hall swung open. She looked to them. “Have my coach prepared for Mercer’s Mound,” she said. “No less than fifty men, and wake the Augurs. Have them prepare for the journey.”

“Yes, Matriarch. How many should we have prepared?”

She looked the guard in the eye. “All of them. Send me two runners bound for Tyrant’s Fall and Aestriv. And wake Ayla.”

The guards saluted her and ran off to follow their orders.

She continued to bite the knuckle of her thumb. “What is your name, runner?”

“Kyrie, Wise Mother,” he replied. “Soren Kyrie, of White Breeze.”

She would have guessed White Breeze, especially after hearing his name. The people who lived in the hills over Soren’s Strait often adopted the name of her ancestor, the man who had given his life in the war against the Tyrant King. It was thought that his spirit looked over them. “You’ve served your Clan well today, Soren Kyrie, and have done credit to your namesake. I will have a bed, a bath and a meal prepared for you. Rest while you can. You will accompany me back to Mercer’s Mound as soon as the coach has been made ready.”

Kyrie placed his fist against his forehead again. “Thank you, Wise Mother.”

The runner stood up and walked toward the open door. Arianell bit the knuckle of her thumb again, deep in thought. An image of her daughter flowed into her head, but it only caused her to bite down harder. All of this was for Cataleya, and she would be damned if she would let it go so easily.

Regardless, she needed more information, and the only way to get that was to go to the World Tree itself. But first, she had messages to craft.