Despite the complete lack of the comforts made available to her at Mercer’s Mound, Arianell Duna valued her evening baths. Oftentimes the water was too hot, or too cold. It was rarely at the temperature she desired. Nor was it particularly private. It was in the center of her tent, and was frequented by others.

Not that she expected privacy, of course. It was more that she expected quiet. It was easy enough to ignore the comings and goings of Commander Eero or her niece, Ayla so long as they were quiet.

Her bath was also a place she preferred to speak candidly, and as such had on occasion invited others to join her for discussions.

But this time, she required privacy. Soren Kyrie, a young runner under the command of Dalin Eero sat in the bath across from her as she leaned her head back, her eyes covered in a hot, wet cloth. The rest of the tent was empty. She’d asked Ayla to ensure their conversation was kept private after he’d arrived early that morning from Dunleth.

Kyrie, to his credit, realized the honor she was granting him. A man of his rank and station would never have been invited to bathe with a Clan-Mother in normal circumstances. But Arianell found herself growing increasingly fond of the young man.

Not to mention she found him to be pleasing to her eyes. She considered him inviting the young man into her bed for a night. After all, the younger men were always so much more eager to please her. Certainly they were awkward novices between the sheets, but they were ready to take instruction on the ways of pleasing a woman.

But men older than twenty-eight summers were… well, they were too often disappointing. They seemed to lack the energy, the interest and the will to do what she desired of them. Too focused on showing off the skills they’d practiced on young farm girls who were as novice as they were, or had spent too much time in the company of the priestesses of Vandima that they had forgotten it wasn’t purely about their own pleasure.

Arianell could guide the young men to be expert lovers. They could then take her teachings and apply it to their future lovers and wives. Not to mention the fact that they had so much more stamina than the older men.

Upon seeing him disrobe, Arianell knew the young man would be spending the night in her tent. But first, they had much to discuss.

“Are you suitably warmed, Runner Kyrie?” she asked, the steaming cloth still over her eyes.

“I am, Clan-Mother,” he replied.

She pulled the cloth from her face and looked to the young man. Her eyes traced the outline of his nude form beneath the water’s surface and she gave him an eager smile.

“What do my engineers have to say?” she asked.

“Master Edda believes he understands how the weapons function,” he explained. “But is still testing his theories.”

“And pray, what are these theories?”

“He believes the projectiles are launched through the pipe through an explosive force caused by a direct strike to a shock-sensitive alchemical compound somehow injected into the metal,” he explained. “He has been unable to identify the nature of this compound, but he is making progress in adapting the design of the weapons to something within our means.”

“Did he say when we might expect results? The Outworlders are ramping up their incursions. Just yesterday they sent another one of their… things through the World Tree. It moved on treads, and unlike the others, this one was tethered.”

“He did not, Wise Mother,” he explained. “But assured me that every possibility was being explored, and it is the highest of his priorities.”

She nodded in understanding. Master Edda had redesigned the irrigation networks of the farms north of the city. She had faith in him. If anyone in Embrayya was capable of figuring it out, it was Edda. But he was no alchemist.

She stretched her arms and stood up. The young man looked away from her and blushed. She smiled at him. So innocent. She turned her back to him and stepped out of the bath, wrapping a robe around herself. She sat down at a desk and began to write.

“It sounds to me, young Soren, that Master Edda needs the assistance of an alchemist,” she explained. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would, Wise Mother,” he said. “There are many in Dunleth we–”

“They are all oathsworn,” she commented. She looked back at him. “Do you know of the three oaths of the Alchemist’s Collective?”

“I have heard they are obliged to be truthful at all times,” he offered.

“No,” she said, raising a finger in the air. “They are sworn to never lie. That does not mean they always tell the truth.” She raised a second finger. “They are also sworn to only create that which protects life. That makes it difficult to ask for their help in creating a weapon.”

She sighed. “Then there’s their third oath,” she said. “An Alchemist must share what they create with the rest of the Collective.”

“So they would not be of help?”

Arianell shook her head. “No,” she said. She smiled. “At least, no Embrayyan Alchemist would be of help. But a Nakrean Alchemist is another matter.”

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“Are there Nakrean Alchemists in Embrayya?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But only in the ports. But I happen to know of a man who may be of help living in Cayde,” she said. “A man as fond of coin as he is the arts.”

“Do you wish for me to travel across the border, Wise Mother?”

“Have you ever left Embrayya, Soren Kyrie?”

“I first became a runner during the campaign with Turzan’s Trident. I have. But I have never been to Cayde.”

“Cayde is a different place than both, I’m afraid,” she said. “Full of strange laws and customs. Did you know their leader is no King? He is not born into the role, he is chosen for it, all too often against his will. The Caydens believe the most effective leaders are those who do not aspire to the role, but are forced to accept it.” She continued to write the letter. “A foolish notion, but we are still allied because of our shared borders with the Wasted Lands.”

“Shall I ready myself for the long ride, Wise Mother?”

“Not yet,” she said. She smiled at the young man. “Tonight I wish to enjoy your company. Tomorrow I will have you make for Ar’Veda and cross the border at Reach and follow the road to the Capital at Zaleins.”

She took special pleasure at seeing the young man blush at the implication of what she was requesting of him.

As she finished writing the letter, the sounds of commotion drifted into her tent from outside. She could hear Ayla’s voice, and the telltale sounds of men approaching. She quickly stood up.

“Wait for me in my bed,” she told the young man. “I must attend to this.” She walked past him briskly, and made her way to the entrance, emerging from her tent into the cool evening air.

There, Ayla was dealing directly with General Patria and Borou. The pair of them were arguing with her, but to her credit, Ayla was barring their entry to the tent. Patria’s eyes fell upon her, a grave look upon his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Outworld has sent another of their queer devices through,” he announced. He held up a piece of white paper. “This was attached to it. It bears your name.”

Arianell blinked. “What?” she asked.

“We severed their tether, and were about to destroy the contraption, but we then noticed this. It is addressed to you,” he explained, offering her the paper.

She took it from him and examined it. It was folded up and held together with a clear, thin adhesive. Written upon it was her name.

Surprised, she peeled off the adhesive and unfolded the letter. As she read it, her heart started to pound.

“It’s… it’s from Sizilen Freia,” she said.

“What? Sizilen? “Ayla suddenly asked. “She lives?”

Arianell looked to General Borou, who seemed just as surprised as the rest of them.

“I… What, no! It’s impossible!” Borou protested. “I saw her draw her final breath. She was–”

“How certain are you of that?” Patria asked accusingly.

“I… they had her. The blasted Outworlders killed her. On my honor, they did!”

Arianell’s niece glanced at the writing for a moment. “That is her hand,” she confirmed. “I will swear by it.”

“But–” Borou protested again.

“Enough!” Patria shouted. He turned back to Arianell. “What does it say, Wise Mother?”

Arianell read through the letter and took a deep breath.

“To the Wise Mother of Clan Duna,” she began. “I hope this letter finds you and all of Embrayya in goodness. I know you have many questions, least of which is how I know you are present at Mercer’s Mound, but I must be quick. I am the woman you knew as Sizilen Freia, but circumstances have deemed I adopt the name Oringard, for my father Emrys. I, along with twelve others, was captured by Outworld when they attacked our encampment. We have been treated kindly. They have not injured, starved or tortured us.”

“It’s impossible!” Borou protested yet again. “I saw a demon standing over her. He meant to kill her, I swear it! This must be a trick.” He reached out for the letter, but Arianell pulled it away.

“For whatever reason, she lived. There is more,” she said. She continued to read. “The people of Outworld are not as we were led to believe by the old legends. They are kind. They treat even we, who ambushed and slaughtered their people, with kindness and patience. They wish to speak, to come to terms with Embrayya. They do not mean to harm us. They request an audience on the day to come. Should there be no aggression from our people, they promise no aggression from theirs. They only wish to speak, and I have found no reason as of yet to cast doubt upon their intentions.”

“Lies,” Borou muttered.

“Perhaps,” Patria said.

“Tomorrow,” Arianell continued. “They will send through their machine. It will be a white cloth, their symbol for peace. That will be your invitation to cross. They will allow up to four to cross to ensure the safety of the emissary you choose. There, I will meet them with those who speak for the people of Outworld.”

She looked up to Patria. “Tomorrow,” she repeated.

“The Eluned girl is in Tyrant’s Fall as we speak. There will not be time to notify the King by other means.”

“Then I shall do it,” announced Arianell.

“Wise Mother, with due respect–” Patria started before he was cut off.

“Yes, General. I know it is a risk. I know it is dangerous. That’s why you will be with me and my niece.”

“Your niece?”

“Ayla and Sizilen Freia share a past,” she explained. “If Sizilen is being coerced, she will know. Isn’t that right, Ayla?”

Ayla nodded. “We share trust between us,” she explained. “I will know if she does this against her will.”

Arianell nodded. “Then so be it,” she said. “Ayla, prepare yourself for the morning.” She looked to Patria and Borou. “I will have Dalin Eero be my second. And then one of you.”

“It should be me!” Borou exclaimed. “If it truly is Sizilen Freia, I must confirm this with my own eyes. And if it be a trick, I’ll gut the Outworlders where they stand–”

“You would risk the life of a Clan Mother for your pride, Borou?”

Borou looked wounded for a moment, but put it aside. “It must be me, Patria,” he said. “You are needed here. If the worst should happen, you need to prepare.”

“He is correct, General Patria,” Arianell agreed. “You are too valuable here in Mercer’s Mound. We will pass through the World Tree, but I should think it foolish to go blindly. I trust you can think of a plan should the worst occur?”

Sylvain Patria put his hand to his chin in thought. “Perhaps,” he said. “Yes.”

“Then I suggest you prepare, General,” Arianell added. She turned around and started to walk into the tent.

“Where are you going?” Patria asked.

“To bed, General,” she said. “I daresay I’ll soon be exhausted, and you have much to do.”