They emerged from the forest, panting with exertion, howls of the beasts fading behind them. Parth dragged one of the humans behind her, as he gasped and flailed, barely standing, rapid movements making his injuries worse.

This was the first time she had been outside of elven lands (well, according to Amadiffynwyr they were all elven lands, but not in any meaningful way, at least not anymore). She could feel the difference – the vivid energy was slow and dull around her, no longer a vast, throbbing power, constrained but waiting release. Now it was scattered, countless threads laid atop the land, rather than a single, all-covering blanket. Smoke trailed towards the sky, dirty black fingers drifting towards the lights of heaven, the sky caught between night and day. The smoke was from more fires than she had seen before, the wood frowning upon such things, outside of controlled areas.

And ahead of them was a fortification, ugly lumps of stone stacked atop each other to make a tower. No grace or elegance, although it looked sturdy enough to survive the seasons, at least for a few decades. She ducked to the side as an arrow shot through the air, embedding itself into a tree behind her. She pulled it out, feeling the rushed construction of the thing, the wood poor quality, feathers barely attached, the tip of poorly hammered iron. She nocked it but didn’t fire, as several archers appeared atop the tower.

A bell rang, more forces rapidly appearing, led by a small group of mounted riders. Their horses had various straps of leather and metal attached, forcing them to move – wholly unnecessary, for anyone able to commune with beasts. Still, despite their crudity and heaviness of their armour, they had a certain rough grandeur, armour of bulky metal plates lacking the simplicity of elven chain, but likely proof against most attacks. A banner cracked and snapped in their wind, a winged sword in white, picked out against a black background.

Their leader had short, fair hair, looking like it had been trimmed quickly with a knife. She held a spear at the ready, her shield bearing the same device as her banner. Although her armour sat awkwardly, unable to hide her heavy pregnancy, breastplate only loosely in place. Were the humans so savage that even those close to birth fought? Although their reproductive capacities were apparently vast, maybe they simply didn’t care if a would-be parent died?

Close behind her was an attendant, robed and hooded, holding the hand of a small person. Did they bring their children to fight, or was it some summoned creature? She had been blooded in the hunt at an early age, but that had been against creatures of the wilderness, not anything that could talk back. Although seeing a child at all was unusual – rare and precious amongst her people, they were protected and cosseted until able to stand for themselves in the trials of Wood and Fire. Although in Parth’s case, her childhood had ended early, with her parents giving her a blade, and ordering her to hunt a wolf. Self-consciously, she glanced at the fang hanging on her wrist.

The humans started forward again, Cyentanne readying an arrow herself, trying to cover both the humans they were escorting, and those approaching them. They stared each other down, archers on the tower readying their own arrows. At this range, with their human bows, they were unlikely to be very accurate, but the stone blocks they cowered behind would make it hard to hit them, and an unlucky hit would be painful, and hard to escape. And their own bows would probably have little effect on that bulky armour, although the horse might be a better target.

The stand-off was broken by their leader, who raised a hand, slowly trotting forward, stilling the advance of her followers. Her bannerman rode with her, slowly moving closer. Parth glanced behind herself – the woods were close enough that she could run into the dense woodlands and be safe if needed, although that would mean exposing her back to several arrows.

She cleared her throat, wishing she hadn’t drunk quite as much the night before, feeling as though she’d swallowed a bag of sand. ‘Greeting.’

The woman’s face wasn’t hostile, but, staring down at Parth from atop her horse, was an intimidating vision, despite the swollen curve of her belly beneath her ill-fitting armour. She spoke, tone strong but not overtly violent, Parth having no idea what she was saying. She looked at Cyentanne, hoping for a translation.

‘Something about threats and promises, I think? She talks fast! She showed her teeth though. That’s normally a good thing with humans. Try to look mystical and wise, it might stop them shooting us.’

Parth gave a wide smile, trying to convey a sense of non-violence, despite the arrow readied on her bow. ‘Tell her that we don’t want to kill anyone.’

Cyentanne spoke, slowly and haltingly. The woman looked at her quizzically, before touching an amulet around her neck. A circle of glowing runes shone out, lacing themselves around her neck, slowly shifting and turning.

She spoke again, more barbarous gabble. There was a delay, then the spell began to speak in a clear, dispassionate voice, although the woman’s face conveyed irritation at having to wait.

‘Neither of you speak the common tongue, do you?’

The magic must be translating her words. Parth responded, shaking her head, hoping that some things, at least, would be the same. ‘No.’

Again the pause, before the spell spoke words back, translating both ways.

‘So, why have you come to my lands? Your kind are rare, although I hear you have a small settlement in the woods. I was planning on solidifying my hold here and then dealing with you, but it seems that you have come to me.’ She opened her mouth to carry on, but then paused, and waiting for the spell to finish translating, then spoke again. ‘Some of my followers have been attacked or entered the forest and never returned. Yet you come to my lands, and with my men, no less. Are they your prisoners, or have you saved them from monsters?’

‘Both. To talk. And to bargain.’ It seemed best to appear silent and wise, rather than risk showing her youth.

‘Oh? And what would you offer, that I cannot take? And to offer peace at the point of an arrow?’

Parth pointed at the woman’s own spear, and the sword sheathed on her waist. The human captives looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly, from more than just pain.

She laughed, a short bark. ‘Well, you have a point. But what do you have to bargain with? Time grows short, especially for your kind – your power was shattered by the darkness long, long ago, even as you count time. Power must be forged anew, lest all be destroyed by the endless darkness. It may prove simpler to simply take by force, wrest power from your old and shaking hands, and use it to defend ourselves from the doom that will soon arise.’

Parth’s head, and heart, were both beginning to pound. She might be able to get an arrow off before being attacked, but this close, it would only be one, and that horse could crush her, never mind any attacks from the rider. Despite the woman’s condition, she appeared entirely confident and battle-ready, as Parth tried to stand up straight, to look powerful and mystical. ‘The Triad was defeated.’

‘Oh? The Book was lost along with its bearer centuries ago, the Blade bound within the Sunshrine until the Ravager’s army broke the sanctum and it vanished, and the Bell still rings, deep in the Mournlands, surrounded by countless demons slaved to its chime. They will find wielders again, and your empire lies broken beyond repair. I seek forces to aid in the war to come.’ She had to pause again, her hands twitching in irritation, as she had to wait for the translation to catch up. ‘While your woods are rich and fertile, allies would be more useful than wood and gold, although gold will be useful. The Triad as you fought them may be dead, but their successors are waiting, or perhaps being born, even now. Although perhaps you have retreated so far from the world as to be ignorant of the signs?’

An uneasy feeling tickled the back of Parth’s neck. The woman spoke with surety of things that were meant to be ancient lore, of the Triad, and that they might return to the world, in some form or other. How were the humans, especially some backwoods leader, aware of such things?’

‘Trust? How?’

‘The only way trust can ever be established. Through common desires. You want to keep your woods, I desire allies along my borders. And to not have my men vanishing into the greenwoods, chasing dreams of elven maidens and ancient treasures.’

She glared at the prisoners, who looked slightly embarrassed. She grimaced for a moment, patting the swollen curve of her belly through the armour. ‘This one grows restive, my apologies. She is, it seems, overly eager to enter the world. A gift of her parentage, I suspect, bloody annoying though it is. Now, do you have the authority to speak for your kin? I take it you are a Prengwachod?’

The translation faltered, as it tried to switch languages mid-word, not helped by her awful pronunciation. Also, that no-one had held such a title for centuries, but it seemed unwise to state she was only a thrice-Queen of some distant lands she had never even seen, likely empty and abandoned.

Parth nodded. ‘Yes. A border. Here. The woods, ours, left alone. The castle and the open lands, yours.’

‘You ask a lot, wood-warden, and bring little. I have sufficient forces to simply take what I need, even if may prove troublesome. Something of rather more material gain would be needed. Do you simply desire solitude, even when the world will force itself upon you, given time?’ She smiled, this time obviously less friendly. ‘Considering it a sign of friendship.’

‘Arrangements can be made.’

‘Rather a lot of “arrangements” – your borders will be secure, have no fear of that, but my services don’t come cheap. Especially when I already had to pay the old baron off first, and that wasn’t cheap.’ She grimaced again, her child clearly vigorous. ‘Very well. I shall have my scribes draw up the details. But this place seems a suitable border. Pyrithia, come here!’ She twisted awkwardly in the saddle, shouting back at her followers. The robed one, child still in tow, approached. There was the scent of magic on her, crisp and strong like lightning. The child looked at Parth with unafraid eyes, although from the protective magic laid on her, she had reason to be unafraid – she was wreathed in enough protection to ward off most mundane attacks.

‘A treaty will be signed between us. I trust you to work out the details. Dammit.’ She grimaced again. ‘Is there no bloody magic you can use to speed her up? I know she’s destined to fight a lot, but it feels like she’s starting right now!’

‘Given the unusual nature of your condition, then I would advise against any additional magic being used. She may resist such an intrusion, or it may cause other issues’

‘Eugh. Why can’t she be as easy as Carissia? And not as much fun in the getting either! If I’d known this would be the result, I’d have thought twice about it, saviour or not.’ She turned back to Parth. ‘But you are the first of your kind to bother talking, although I hear rumours of some enterprising smugglers trading booze. And not bothering to pay me for the privilege, more to the point! Some rather fine elven wines have been showing up, and playing havoc with my soldiers. I don’t suppose you would happen to know anything of such things?’ She shook her head, then coughed, appearing slightly abashed. ‘My apologies, I am out of sorts. And no doubt you have other concerns, as a priest of the woods, noble Prengwachod.’ The leader wheeled her horse, moving away, as Parth made some hunting hand-signs, hoping they looked appropriately mystical.

The child approached, staring up at Parth. It was mildly disconcerting seeing a child up close – like a person, but squashed, shrunk and out of proportion. Having someone not yet fully in control of themselves in public seemed strange, and inconvenient for everyone else, but this small person seemed well-mannered enough, rather than the feral beast she had expected.

She stared back, their eyes looking together. They had a piercing gaze, uncanny in such a small child. Parth pulled out some berries, bright red and succulent, eating one, before handing several to the child. They examined it for a moment before eating them, first one, then gorging themselves on the rest, transforming from a pristine, if small, noble to a grubby little gremlin, fingers and mouth stained red, along with their clothing. They grinned up at her, teeth stained bloody, berry red.

The attendant, Pyrithia, pulled her back, but not harshly, chiding her gently, and removing the sticky redness with a spell, casting the grime aside, obviously telling the child off.

The child gave her a look that seemed to carry far more cynicism that her years would allow. Although possibly the child was older? Parth knew nothing of the human maturation process, and had met few children of her own kind, such individuals being looked after by their families until fully adult.

Pyrithia spoke. ‘I have heard there are those amongst your kind that are highly revered, that are so close to the spirits of nature that they speak but rarely, in order that their souls not lose their attunement to such things. I take it that you are one such? I am honoured by your visit.’

Parth nodded, resting one hand on her empty sheath, although having to look up at the woman still made her feel like she was about to be crushed, as the woman spoke to her aide.

‘We must arrange a fee. Although we are now settled, the Iristari were founded as mercenaries, and some habits are hard to break. Although if you should contribute any forces, then I’m sure a discount can be arranged. Although those three need treatment. And Barian appears to have acquired a sword, which you will likely want back?’

Pyrithia looked at her with courteous blandness, while the child approached closer, running a sticky hand along Parth’s tunic. As their leader moved away, the translation spell went with her, the child’s words becoming meaningless nonsense. Parth tried to shoo her off, unsure how fragile human children were, as Cyentanne moved close enough to talk.

‘What just happened? Are you paying them off?’

‘A business transaction. Like Gweledydd and his beer.’

Gweledydd himself was looking nervous. ‘What did you do?! That’s their leader. I heard she beat the old ruler to death with the gold she paid him! She built up a mercenary company then came here, and defeated anyone that refused to bow to her! My man is terrified of her. There’s all sorts of rumours about her children, and who, or what, she’s having children with.’

The child looked up at her, holding her hands up for another berry, which was quickly consumed, the paste smearing around her mouth, looking worryingly blood-like.

‘She can’t understand us, can she? I’ve heard she has strange powers. Although I’ve no idea what humans consider “strange”.’

She favoured them with a broad smile, her teeth stained red, Cyentanne looking nervous. Pyrithia approached, bowing low, before speaking, very slowly and haltingly.

‘A deal. Payment for services. A boundary, correct?’

The negotiations promised to be interesting, with communication so limited, and her head pounding. But once they were done, then she could finally rest. And get a goddam drink of water!