Parth had to resist the urge to lay her head on the table and sleep. Everything around her was wobbly, her head drooping unless she concentrated, slender lines of energy tracing around and through everything she could see. And she could feel the drink churning inside her, burning and loose, threatening to return in a rather horrible fashion. She swallowed, mouth dry, trying to concentrate on what she was being told, the elders all looking very serious. Behind them was a cage formed of thick roots, holding three humans. Despite the elders talking, Parth looked at the humans - they looked rough and ragged, their clothing dirty and grimy and falling apart, lacking the toughness and elegance of proper clothing, and clearly lacking even basic cleaning or repair enchantments. The only thing the three had in common, other than looking tatty and tired, was that they bore the same badge, a winged sword of metals, pinned to their tunics. One even had the same symbol tattooed onto their arm, although the lines were blurry, an example of poor, shoddy craftmanship.

She focused through the blurriness and nausea, forcing herself to pay attention. ‘…found sneaking around in the eastern woods. Now that you are the Queen of the Broken Ice, then we feel able to entrust such tasks to you; you have proven more than worthy of such an honour. Make an object lesson of them, so that their kind will stop encroaching into our lands. Not only that, but more of their kind have settled themselves atop the remnants of the Blackclaw Fortress, and claimed it for themselves. While we lack the strength to force them to leave, we must ensure they penetrate no closer.’

Parth made herself nod, not trusting herself to speak without throwing up.

‘Queen Parthenelle, this is a trial set before you. You are to eliminate the trespassers, and prevent more of their kind entering our lands. This must be done with utmost haste; a few weeks should suffice? I believe you can be trusted to make an object lesson of them.’

Amadiffynwyr struck a fist on the table, nodding vigorously enough to set the jewellery laced through her hair jangling. ‘Excellent. We have raised Parthenelle in the deepest of the olden woods still left to us, in accordance with the true and ancient ways. She bears the true spirit of our race within her, and will lead us to greater heights, pushing back the lesser races.’ She turned to look at Parth. ‘Go forth, my child, and instil the fear of the Wild Hunt into them, the terror of the true forest at night, when every shadow bears a fang, and blood hangs heavy in the darkness. I’m sure you will be able to think of a suitable example. Isn’t that right, Parthenelle?’ Parth nodded, hoping the look on her face could be taken as ferociousness, rather than an intense desire not to throw up. ‘And if Cyentanne were to be inspired by her example, then, well, that’s all to the good. The younger generation could do with some martial vigour. The time of the prophecy is nigh upon us, when the world shall fall to eternal darkness again, and we of the elder races must defend what little light remains.’

Cyentanne was only slightly less drunk than Parth, swaying slightly, her pale skin flushed, barely able to pay attention. The humans clearly couldn’t tell what was going on, unable to understand even the simplest elements of a proper language, fear and hate mingled across their faces. Parth managed to resist grinning and waving, wondering how they would react. She had heard some stories of the humans and how they attacked the forest, tearing down ancient temples and citadels, looting treasures they couldn’t understand the true worth of, to melt them down, simply because of the shiny metal they contained. They looked a bit pathetic though, this close – dirty and stinky, and a little stupid, but scarcely a threat. But from what Amadiffynwyr said, they infested the long-abandoned homelands, despoiling all they touched.

Parth blinked, the room now silent, elders looking at her expectantly. She nodded, as gravely as she could manage, trying not to fall over. ‘It shall be done.’

‘Excellent. I, no, we, expect great things from you.’ Amadiffynwyr reached to her hips, unbuckling her sword. ‘This is Greenrazor, the Bloodblossom, the slayer of Jirithia Iceheart. As you know, it has been in our family since before the Fall. It has always been wielded by the greatest champions of our people, and it is an honour to pass it on.’ She passed it over, Parth moving as little as possible lest she react badly. In another time she would have been proud, but right now she just wanted this to be over with. Still, the dragonhide sheathe was warm and smooth beneath her hand, a gem on the hilt seeming to wink at her in the light. She stared at it, lost in the gleam before forcing herself to look away, tucking it through her belt.

‘An honour. My thanks.’

They seemed to take her scarce words as showing her to be awestruck, rather than inebriation.

‘Good. See that it is dealt with. Cyentanne, you are to accompany her. Let her deeds be an example to you.’

With that, Amadiffynwyr made an arcane gesture, bright green light blazing forth, as the elders transported themselves away, no doubt to continue their discussions elsewhere. Or maybe to have their own party – they surely had to relax sometime?

Parth looked at Cyentanne, who looked back at her, equally bemused. They waited for a moment, to ensure the elders wouldn’t return, before letting their self-control slip, dashing for a window and spewing into the night.

She blinked away tears, spitting out the tatters of bile that lingered in her mouth, trying to clear some of the fuzz from her head. Her hand brushed the hilt now at her side, and she drew the blade – it caught the light, perfectly formed and sharp despite its age, unmarred but for two nicks down one side, from fighting a deathknight several centuries ago. The hilt was a work of art, a brass dragon’s head consuming the pommel-gem, her hand adjusting easily to the grip. She swung it, feeling the edge slice through the air, perfectly balanced, a faint shimmering trail hanging in the air behind it. Despite her drunken state, she fell into a standard duelling stance, moving through a swift set of practice movements, blade flicking and cutting, before neatly sliding back into the sheathe. The speed it moved with was more than she supplied, some inner power guiding and pulling the blade. When she stopped, she blinked and swayed, her body rebelling against the sudden movement, guts threatening to rebel again.

The humans shrank back, glowering at her, muttering something in their ugly, muddled language. Cyentanne puked again, before recovering herself. ‘Sun and sky, what are we meant to do now? I blacked out partway through. Something about making an example?’

Parth briefly explained, at least the bits she could remember. Cyentanne sucked in deep breaths, either still drunk, in shock, or both. ‘Kill them? That seems a bad idea. There’s an entire village of them not far away, and they probably won’t take kindly to some of their own being killed. And they’ve not actually done anything, really, have they? They’ve not attacked anyone or done anything bad.’

‘What should we do then?’ They might not live long, but keeping three humans hidden away for however many years it took for them to die of natural causes sounded like a nuisance.

‘Don’t look at me, you’re the queen here! I speak a bit of their language though, let me see what they say.’

She moved closer to them, barking and spitting. Parth could guess at some of the words, those absorbed from a better, purer language, some that she had heard from Gweledydd, but most of it was just empty noise. They barked back, looking aggressive, but the root cage kept them contained.

‘They say that they’re here to trade, and demand to be taken home. Or else their own leader will kill us all.’

From their looks, their leader was just a bandit chieftain, but the rangers were stretched thin already, and poorly placed to defend against another threat. Parth stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of her new weapon, trying to look calm and confident, even though she’d just thrown up in front of them, remembering the few scattered words of the human tongue she had heard from others.

‘Kill. But not kill. Safety. Peace?’

They looked at her in confusion, then started clamouring far too loudly, Parth shuddering at the noise echoing in her head.

‘What are you telling them?’

‘That you’re not going to kill them and raise them as undead. They’re very superstitious. See that tattoo? It’s the mark of their leader, I think it’s some sort of lucky charm – completely useless, of course, with no actual power, and not even drawn well. But they don’t want to die, which is good, and they’re afraid of us. What’s your plan?’

‘Get them home, scare them away, I suppose. Does anyone care about the Blackclaw Fortress? It belongs to Salagaliath’s clan. I’m sure I can bully him into handing it over, and it’s not been populated for centuries, it barely even rates a title.’

‘So how the hell are we going to get them out of here, without raising an alarm, or these savages trying to kill us? You’re the queen, you better have a plan for this!’

‘Can they pretend to be dead? Can you ask them that?’

From their horrified reactions, Parth guessed that something was lost in translation, as she tried to clarify. ‘Escape. Life, peace. Talk.’ They looked even more horrified. ‘Not death.’ She tried to explain further.

‘Parth, just… just stop talking. I think that they think that you’re threatening to kill them and bind their souls into their bodies or something.’

Parth shuddered. ‘That would be grotesque. And we don’t do that sort of magic anyway, not since the Black Songstress and her betrayal.’ She shuddered, the thoughts threatening to send her dashing for the window again. There were several bottles of wine hidden away, to keep the elders refreshed in long meetings – she opened one up, trying to slake her thirst, before handing it over to Cyentanne.

‘Yes, but humans don’t know that, at least most of them. Only some of them do magic, and the rest distrust them for that. So they probably think you’re some elder or something, with powerful magic at your command.’

‘Not for a few more centuries yet!’

‘Humans can’t tell the difference, they’re stupid that way. Met some that called me an “ancient elder”, which was flattering, but strange. I don’t look reverend, do I?’

To Parth’s eyes, her face was clearly that of a youth, but humans apparently had far duller senses. From the looks of abject terror on their faces, they weren’t likely to come along peaceably. Killing them would do nothing, and be a nuisance to deal with, as the bodies would stink for a while before returning to the forest. If they could be returned home, then she could go and sleep somewhere, before the headache got even worse. She took another bottle of wine for herself, popping out the cork with a thorn.

‘I don’t think they’re going to come without persuasion. They’re terrified.’

The one with the tattoo looked fierce still, even without any hope of escape, glaring at them, his body tense. How to get them out without anyone noticing?

‘Most people are still celebrating. This can’t be that hard, all the guards are looking out, not in. Gweledydd has some friends amongst the guards, he can probably help. And he likes doing stupid things, especially for you. The elders released some creatures into the border-forest as well, to stop the humans coming through, so there should be even fewer people around.’

‘What about if we find a monster? These don’t look wood-wise enough to manage. I’m surprised that they managed to survive getting here, to be honest.’

Parth shrugged. ‘I don’t think they’ve released anything that bad. I’m sure we can deal with a few plant guardians or something. There can’t be anything that monstrous or powerful out there, surely? If we can bind their hands so they don’t try and attack us, then we can have them out of the forest in a few hours, and then be back here by dawn.’ And then she could lay down and rest! She took another drink of the wine, staring straight ahead and trying to stop the room reeling around her. ‘Get them through the forest, scare them a bit, get them to promise not to return, should be easy.’