The mother of the flight had rubbed her great heavy head against my chest. Around her, a dozen of her children and grand children hopped or slithered around us, in curiosity I expected. They were not familiar with my scent, having been born in the decades after I freed her and her mate from my service. Red Belly, however, did not forget. She had been more than willing to fly for me once more. I will readily admit her devotion brought a tear to my eyes. The purr of a wyvern is as comforting and sweet as their screams are terrifying.

It is said, all of the creatures of the Draconic, even of not of Underworld origin, have memories as long as their lives. Even the most ancient I remember knelt at Arcory’s feet without hesitation. And this is true of the great winged rock wyverns, those that remain from their once uncountable numbers.

Red Belly also did not hesitate in ensuring her brood knew who I was to her, and therefore to them.

Each in their turn came to me, to bond in their own reptilian manner. They accepted I was one of them. After that, they happily twittered and screeched their delight on my approach, nuzzled me with their great teethy snouts. I admit the love they expressed lifted my spirits, reminding me of the days I could almost consider them my pets just as one would with puppies or kittens.

Understandably, they were reluctant, after their taste of fattened ironwool sheep to leave once a gain, but understood after a time this was only a temporary gift I had offered them. I even surprised myself, as they were willing to take flight south, off to their home amongst the desolate mountain regions between March and Southern Empire. As they left, each shrieked their thanks for the bounty they been provided. Observant training lasts for generations, Arcory had taught me. His words still rang true.

One doesn’t, however, have to be a master of expression to understand Margrave Watterkrek was less than pleased with the price I asked for my assistance in ridding his lands of their unwelcome scourge.

As I had warned Gwyn, a Margrave’s Arcory Stones were more valuable than their more obvious sources of their wealth.

“Those stones are what keep this land from sinking into a foul morass or drying into a parched wasteland like that of the south,” he told me in a hard tone. “They were given until our last blood, for my father’s sacrifices during the Riven War. A promise you made personally, as I was told.”

I nodded, remembering kneeling to offer those words to the man as a young boy who held back the tears at the news of the loss of his elder brothers.

“You have received word of what has become of the Bardelaisch Marches by now, have you not,” I inquired.

He nodded, suspicion returning to his gaze.

“The word is the stones there had grown weak,” he replied. “What does that have to do with ours? The Arbiter’s examined ours but five seasons ago, and she assured me our three stones were still strong as ever.”

“The word you received was in error, Margrave,” I told him, deepening my tone. “The Bardelaisch stones did not weaken. They were removed. Stolen. For what purpose, I know not as yet. But it is my obligation to restore them. As the same would be if it had been yours.”

His gaze searched mine for some trace of duplicity.

“This is the truth?” he wanted to know, clearly shocked. He recovered quickly enough, though. “But how do I know this is not some secret way of consolidating power. Reducing the autonomous marches of their hard won wealth by enriching the great and lesser Kingdoms with the power of our stones.”

I sighed. Such rumors were always spread amongst the often suspicious March Lords.

“Lord Edrick, I am the one who was originally responsible for the gifting of those stones to all the Marches, as I'm sure your father told you many times. I am the last actor upon this stage who would deprive the Marches of what sustains them. I'm trying to ensure that, whoever took them, will be exposed, and the stones returned to the March from which they were taken. I am honor bound to do this. By blood oath, if not geas. And in yours and your neighbor’s stones lie the key to locating those which were removed from Bardelaisch.”

The diplomacy had begun, but it would be hard earned, as Edrick would be only one of three march lords I would have to convince. And I knew it would cost me more than simply the removal of the rock wyvern threat to his march. So be it.

“Besides,” I added, “it is already well past harvest and you are due to recall your flocks before the Cold Sun is ascendant. I only need one stone from your March, Lord Edrick. The remaining two will be enough to sustain your lands through the Season of the Cold Sun. I promise, it will be returned before the return of the Hot Sun.”