Margrave Edrick of Watterkrek rubbed his chin, called for a drink to wash away the foul taste in his mouth. The discussion ground to a halt while I waited. His warriors stood by in their black kilts and leathers staring at me silently, at least until the replacement keg arrived and all partook. I sat down on the cold stone steps and waited while they each took their turn. One has to respect such rituals. The slivers of sunlight from the hall’s high slit windows shifted a good space by the time they finished.

“Then, the moment the Season of Storm ends,” he continued after a draught, liberal wiping of his beard. “They strike unexpectedly and in the high pastures, and on the eve of the wool harvest! My shepherds barely escaped with their skins.”

I nodded gravely. Any cost, of course, would be considered dear to a man who needed to maintain such an sizeable keep. He was exaggerating. Red Belly and her brood had devoured only a small fraction of his stock. The true cost would be negligible, even if the potential threat was great.

“My father once spoke of your affinity with such creatures,” he added, gesturing rudely down to me from his high stone seat. “He said that during the Riven War, your wyverns flew in such numbers they blotted out the suns, that they made day seemed like night.”

I nodded, having prepared my responses to such anticipated suspicions. That was a slight exaggeration as well. And almost all of them had been lost.

“That was a long time ago,” I replied. “And a war against dragons from which few of those creatures survived, as your father would have also told you. What your flocks are facing are likely their wild counterparts, few in number and easily frightened off. And while I may not have raised them, I understand such creatures enough to be able to dissuade them from your lands. And, I note, as a return in favor for your father’s bravery in battle, I will be happy to make this a personal favor, with no reduction in your balance of council service otherwise.”

He gathered himself for a moment, clearly somewhat taken aback by my offer, looked to his seneschal, then looked back to me.

“My house will be grateful for your favor,” he offered, suspicion still coloring his tone, but there was appreciation as well. “It has only been recently we have had good seasons and an excess of our most valuable wool. How much time and how many resources will you need to put this to a stop?”

“I assure you, the cost will not be dear. Oh, once I have already scryed the location of the nest. I should be able to send them from your lands in due haste, back to their hunting ranges in the mountains” I told him. “The effort should perhaps take a cycle of days, at the most. And your further losses should be no more than a herd or two. Whatever you have lost in the last cycle should be the worst.”

“You promise?” he leaned down towards me, gaze challenging.

I met his gaze. He had indeed grown to be at least half man his father had been. He did not flinch.

“I promise,” I told him. “There is just one small favor in return I ask in return. Something of your interest as well, I suspect.”

His face turned stony again, the scowl returning.

“And what price would that be, wizard?” he asked, suspicion fully returned.

“That we must discuss in private,” I told him. “You will understand once I speak of it.”