While rain was not unheard of in the sunny plains of Stryn, the sort of torrential downpour that had hampered them for the last two days was a travail unfamiliar to Lady Nissîlat. The usually sunbaked dirt roads had turned into muddy morasses that proved nearly impassable. Indeed, the roads had deteriorated so badly that she’d been forced to abandon the shelter of her stately carriage and continue on horseback in the cold, hard rains.

Despite the unexpected hardships, though, her spirits were high as the walls of Birnah loomed out of the dismal grey clouds that swallowed them up. With the generous deal her uncle had offered the head of the Cult of Duluḫḫû, Nissîlat expected a warm welcome when they arrived in the city, but she was not naive. When they were still a few miles away from the walls, she called for a halt and prepared her men.

Their armor was polished, their weapons sharpened, and most importantly of all, the amulets of protection her uncles had entrusted to her were handed out to everyone of importance. She didn’t have enough, unfortunately, to cover every man in the army from the siren call of the mage’s poisoned tongue, but Nissîlat felt confident that, with all the elites and commanders of her army protected, they would be able to end the mindworm before he could do too much damage, if he tried any treachery.

Still, she approached the gates of Birnah with a light heart, at least until she reached the entrance to the moat. The signs of a mighty battle were everywhere. One gate lay trampled on the ground, the other still hanging off its hinges with a dangerous tilt, and the stones were scarred and scorched by the marks of magic. There were no bodies nor blood - though with the torrential rain, that was hardly a mystery - but there could be no doubt that a battle had been fought here recently - a battle that the defenders had lost, as baffling as she found it. Who other than Stryn would attack this city? The idea was nearly unthinkable, and the only explanation she could come up with was that perhaps the mind mage had lost control of the Atrometos and they had attacked the city in revenge, but she found the notion far-fetched.

Thus, with her hackles raised, Nissîlat ordered the ranks to prepare for battle and only continued through the broken gate when ranks were formed. Behind the gate lay the grand bridge which spanned the moat, wide enough to allow two merchants carts to pass at a time, but guarded by a series of small towers that would allow the city defenders to continue to attack any who managed to break through the first gate. Or at least, there used to be towers.

Now, nearly half were cracked and shattered, their top halves submerged beneath through the moat’s murky waters. A few still remained, repaired in a bizarre mish-mash of wood and stone that was quite unlike anything she’d seen before. In place of the fallen towers, stout earthen barriers had been erected on either side of the bridge, forcing them to take a zig-zag trail toward the main gate.

Their progress was halted again when they spied the sharp, small stakes that had been hammered into the bridge, arrayed in such a fashion that it would be nearly impossible to bring a horse across without maiming it, and Nissîlat’s hopes plummeted. He’s either turned against us, or some rival force has claimed the city. There was an outside possibility, of course, that the mage was still their ally, and the defenses had been set up to protect against whatever force had attacked the outside gate, but she it was a dim hope - a dim hope that died a grisly death when she and her commanders, abandoning the bulk of the troops at the midpoint of the bridge, finally drew close enough to the main gate to see it through the pouring rain.

Like the partially reconstructed towers on the bridge, the main gate was a strange amalgam of masonry and wood, and almost the entire structure had been coated in an oddly shiny coating of wood that topped the stones like icing on a cake. The presence of such magic only deepened the mystery, for Nissîlat knew of few outside of the Fey who could have constructed such an edifice for, while wind magic was fairly widespread amongst the southern Corsyths, few indeed had inherited the ability from their Fey ancestors to manipulate wood.

But what would a Fey be doing here? Surely… For a brief moment, the absurd fear that a new Fey war had been launched tormented her mind. While Stryn had never fallen to the Fey, their lands had been pillaged and torched in the conflict more than once, and with the Empire weakened with the Zalancthian conquest, it was almost believable - almost, until she recalled that the Zalancthians held the entire southern border with the Fey and were not on good terms. Still, the presence of the strange mage almost certainly confirmed the involvement of an outside party. So much for my easy victory.

They paused out of arrowshot of the main gate to apply a protective barrier before preceding, well aware of the watchers on the palisades. It was no surprise at this point that the gates did not swing open to greet them, and Nissîlat steeled herself for the oncoming negotiation. “We are here to free the people of Birnah from the tyranny of their lord,” she yelled out, straining to be heard above the rain.

“King Dannûl heard of your lord’s failure to protect you from the Atrometos’ depravations and has marched to provide aid. Even now, our forces keep watch over your villages.” She left unstated the implication of what would happen if such aid was refused, but in truth her threat was mostly a bluff. Half of the villages they’d encountered along the way had already been burned to the ground, and those that remained were curiously devoid of people. There were only three villages in their grasp, a number of hostages she reckoned would be insufficient to sway the folk of Birnah who had stubbornly resisted their campaigns for generations.

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“Do not fear - the lords of Stryn will soon put an end to these assaults!” The words felt like lead on her tongue, knowing they were spoken in vain, but Nissîlat pressed on, continuing uninterrupted until she called for their leader. There was a moment of silence on the other side, and when a young woman appeared at the parapets, it solidified Nissilât’s fear that the city had been claimed by an unknown force.

“While the people of Birnah appreciate your king’s generous offer, their rightful lord has already answered their cries for aid. The corrupt lord, Sarganīl, has been defeated, the Atrometos have been driven from our borders, and the mindworm Rahmû’s head now adorns the palace gates. If you’d like to retrieve your ally, I’m sure we can arrange to hand his head over,” the woman added.

It was worse than she’d feared; not only did the unknown forces manage to claim the city, but they were aware of the plot with Rahmû. Nissîlat could only hope that the mage hadn’t been stupid enough to preserve their communications, but-

“And we’ll be happy to turn over your communications with him, once copies have been made for King Kabāni’s and Emperor Eligon’s approval, of course.”

Kruvas̆. Nissîlat gritted her teeth as her victory turned to ash. She would need to verify that the woman wasn’t simply bluffing, but that was barely a consideration now. The only thing that mattered was how to proceed. There were two options - take the hit, and accept the condemnation and reparations that the Emperor would levy on them, or commit to a battle that she hadn’t truly been prepared for.

It was a harder decision than it sounded. While Eligon would no doubt express disapproval, the Emperor was too preoccupied with the front against the Zalancthians and the threat of war from the durgū to penalize Stryn too harshly; if he pressed too hard, Nissîlat knew her uncle would likely ignore Eligon and Eligon knew it too - he couldn’t afford to risk diminishing his authority that way. Thus, the threat of reparations was largely defanged, a temporary humiliation, but nothing that would truly set them back.

On the other hand, that could all be avoided if they simply took the city. The mage’s body, the incriminating letters, and whatever evidence the unknown woman planned to throw at them would go away. Sure, there’d be no hiding the fact that Birnah now belonged to Stryn, but the emperor was in no position to demand it be returned, and she’d have proven herself to her uncle.

There was only one problem - their troops hadn’t truly come expecting a fight. She had a mage or two she could use to shatter the wards, and they could always build a few siege engines to assist with battering down the walls, but their supplies were not as extensive as she would’ve prepared. If it was not for the obviously damaged main gate, she wouldn’t even have considered it; she would have packed and gone home, shamed but undefeated, but as it was…

Is it worth it? Thoughts of the massive feté she’d receive on her triumphant return to Stryn danced through her head, and that would be the least of her rewards. With the mind mage dead, her uncle’s agreement was null and void so who better, then, to rule as Birnah’s new lord than its conqueror?

Her uncle would have no choice but to name her to the seat, and with her new power, she’d finally be free of the engagement hanging over her head. The image of her victory parade was replaced with the visage of her would-be lord, a pallid cripple of a youth who she’d been forced to endure simply because he was the heir to one of Stryn’s strongest houses. But with Birnah at her back…

Nissîlat’s resolve hardened. “There are many who thought to blackmail the lords of Stryn,” she responded coldly. “Their corpses now guard our walls, their very bones committed to eternal vigilance on our behalf. Your victory over the witless mage is commendable, but do not think that you can stand against the forces of Stryn. For too long has the weak lord of Yas̆peh clung to his tiny foothold on the western shores, but this land is ours.”

She gestured to the strange gate, wrapped in a mantle of wood. “You cannot hope to hold out with your defenses so compromised. Once the rain has ceased, how long do you think it will take for us to burn the gates down? But the lords of Stryn are not with mercy. Surrender now, and we will allow you and your men a safe retreat across the River. Refuse…and none shall be spared.”

In truth, Nissîlat expected a swift rejection of her offer. The antipathy between the people of Birnah and the lords of Stryn ran too deep for them to surrender, even in the direst of circumstances. It was that very stubbornness that had preserved through a half-dozen desperate sieges, but the offer was necessary for propriety's sake, if nothing else.

She was surprised, therefore, when her offer was met with silence rather than rejection, as the woman withdrew from the parapet. They waited a few minutes in silence, the only sound the continued thundering of the rain against the aged bridge, before she reappeared. “Can we have some time to decide?”

Nissîlat froze, thrown by the unexpected request. Are they really willing to consider surrender? The possibility - nay, probability - that it was a trick passed through her mind, but the hope of a bloodless victory was too tantalizing to quelch. “Three hours,” she finally replied. “Three hours and I will have your reply.”