Stelancia duRestlafut watched the young human girl being loaded into the wagon. Right now the young girl had a leather collar on her neck but Stella knew that it wouldn't hold her long. The human girl's titan-fire was too bright, too strong, for mere leather to hold her if she knew how to get it loose.

"That is three, Mistress," Harat duRestlafut said, watching the girl having a steel chain attached from the collar to the slats of the cart siding. "How do you think that three valuable war-slaves like them ended up hiding out next to the Red Ferns Quarry?"

Stella shook her head, putting her fist on her hip. "I don't think they were hiding, Harat," She said. "While none of them speak any language we can decipher, all of their body language was of human children who were afraid and seeking help."

"But, Mistress, the girl, she tried to ignite your mage-fire into arcane burn," Harat said.

Stella shook her head again, still looking at the girl. "Yes, she did, but it was untrained, clumsy, like she didn't know what she was doing. It was almost... instinctive," she mused. She turned and began walking toward the smithing sledge.

The entire caravan was built to stay on the move for months, years, if necessary. Massive wheeled barges and sledges pulled by up to dozens of draft animals. There were barges dedicated to repairing the family wagons, barges devoted to corrals for small cattle animals, even barges dedicated for metal and glass working.

Stella picked up her pace, her short legs quickly drawing her closer to the smithing barge. She reached out, grabbing the steel cable, and stepped onto the steps that were supported by chains. She moved up them and onto the railed edge of the barge, grabbing the railing and heading for the entrance.

As soon as she stepped inside she was covered in sweat. There were over a dozen forge setups, complete with smelters, on the slate-floored barge, each of them manned by a half-dozen Phaelan forge workers. Stella looked around and spotted the man she was looking for.

Forge-Master Braylen looked up at a nudge from his apprentice, seeing Mistress Stelancia heading in his direction. The young Phaelani had captured three war-slaves earlier in the evening and Braylen knew she would come to see him soon.

Which is why he had set his apprentices to forging what he knew should would want.

"Forge-Master," Stella said, bringing her hands up to chest level and pressing her fists together as she bowed slightly.

"Mistress," Braylen answered, nodding to her. As she had come into his shop, during work hours, she was the lower ranking, the supplicant, so Braylen was not required to bow.

"Have you heard?" Stella asked. She had known the Forge-Master all of her life and knew better than to treat him like a fool who could not see beyond the edges of his barge.

"You have captured titan-fire infused war-slaves," Braylen nodded. "Pink skinned war-slaves."

Stella nodded. "Two young men and a young woman, human, with pink skin," she clarified. "The woman, she has one bloody eye."

Braylen nodded, motioning for Stella to follow him over to the engraving and inscribing table where several Phaelana Stella recognized as engraving and inscribing masters were hard at work. Curious, Stella followed him.

Three bronze collars were being engraved, silver and callium being inlaid into the spiraling connectors between power runes. Stella knew that the callium would be buffed and polished to a high gloss crimson. As Stella watched one of the engravers finished work on a wheat sheaf, blowing gently on the engraving to both warm it and breathe a bit of his own life-force into it.

"Why wheat?" Stella asked.

"We are within the borders of the land claimed by Bloody Elshon," the engraver said softly, looking up. His clear topaz eyes glowed softly with the fire of his creativity. "Which means, we are within Alben."

Stella shook her head, feeling goosebumps rise up on her arms. Bloody Elshon was a legend throughout the Six Worlds of Shtar. Everyone knew that she had not only pushed the last of the Lich King armies from Red Alben, she had then sided with the Red Queen and helped put down the civil war that had rocked Alben less than a decade ago. Rumor said she was a titan of vast power, barely held restrained by the Red Queen's willpower and dominion over Alben.

"Mistress?" One of the engravers turned in his chair, pushing up the magnifying lenses so that they locked in place at his forehead. He blinked twice.

"Yes, Master Engraver?" Stella asked, putting her fists together and bowing quickly.

"I appeal to you to infuse several dusts with your power so that we may inlay the runes properly," The Phaelana asked.

"Of course, Master Engraver, my power, what remains, is at your disposal," Stella answered. She held her cloak out to Master Braylen, who took it silently.

Braylen stepped back slightly, giving Stella room to work.

The engraver handed Stella an engraved true-silver dish that was half full of powered mix of amethyst and lapis lazuli. The small Phaelani took the dish in both hands, closing her eyes and inhaled deep. As Braylen watched Stella's mage-fire began flickering to life beneath her skin. Stella began whispering to herself, her words and her will guiding her mage-fire. The thick conduit lines came to life first, the intricate scrollwork branching off of the conduit lines lighting up next, until the small female Phaelan was covered by mage-fire simmering beneath her skin. As Braylen watched the scrollwork brightened, starting at her elbow and brightest in her hands. The silver dish's engraved runes began to light up, slowly filling with the pale blue fire spreading from Stella's hands. The powder in the dish shivered, then began to glow with the pale blue light that filled the dish's engravings.

With an odd eye-watering shimmer the dust suddenly turned to liquid. The dish lifted from Stella's hands, floating over to the engraving table, and settled down with a click.

"Next one," Stella said.

Braylen watched as Stella turned six different dishes of mixed gem powders into liquid for the engravers and inscribers to use in filling the results of their craft. When she was done she stepped back, the mage-fire dimming beneath her skin.

Stella pulled a fan from her sash, snapping it open and fanning her face and the top of her breasts. With her other hand she undid the laces slightly, letting the top of her dress gape open so that her breasts spilled out. Sweat dripped from her skin onto the floor.

Brayden snapped his fingers at one of the apprentices that normally pumped the bellows then pointed at Stella. The apprentice nodded, moving over to the kegs of drink and pouring a foaming mug of ale, pouring a dollop of whiskey into it, then grabbing a fan as he passed the stack of them.

"Thank you, apprentice," Stella said, accepting the mug. When the apprentice began fanning her she sighed, closing her fan and tucking it back into her sash. She took a long drink off of the mug, sighing afterwards.

Brayden waited a few moments, until Stella waved away the apprentice. She looked down at her open top, squinted, and as Brayden watched the lacing rewove, the cloth covered Phaelani's breasts, and then the laces tightened enough to pass for appropriate modesty for those who worked in the arcane.

"Do you think they are war-slaves from Bloody Elshon's host?" Brayden asked.

Stella shook her head. "No. Bloody Elshon did not use war-slaves, although she did use war-bonded. None of the tales tell of her courting such dangers inherent as using Xue'nghozi as war-slaves or even having any in her host."

Brayden nodded. "The Bloody Host was largely drawn from her common-folk and those who would swear to the Red Queen's banner in return for citizenship," He stated.

A very young Phaelani came up to Stella, pressing her fists together and bowing low. "Mistress Stelancia, you have been summoned by Caravan Matron Plevan."

"Let me know when the bindings are finished, if you would, Forge Master," Stella said. She held out her hand for her cloak, which the Forge Master handed her. "Thank you for your hospitality within your domain, Forge-Master."

The Phaelana nodded, turning back to his own work.

Stella followed the young Phaelani out of the Forge-Barge, jumping easily to the ground with a skipping step that bled off the forward momentum of the barge. She had spent her entire life in the caravan, her childhood running alongside the barges and wagons, and she knew almost instinctively where each wagon and barge would be located in the long caravan.

Caravan Matron Plevan's wagon was large, pulled by eight horned bison-like creatures called kulkans. It was big enough to have three rows of six wheels, the row in the middle cleverly concealed inside by tables and storage shelves.

The young Phaelani jumped onto the running board, grabbing the chain by the door, and made a sweeping motion at the door.

"The Caravan Matron awaits you, Mistress," The young female Phaelan said, bowing low.

"Thank you, you have attended well to your duties," Stella said, stepping easily onto the running board. The Phaelani opened the door, warm light and heat spilling out. She stepped inside the luxurious wagon of the caravan's undisputed ruler.

Three young Phaelani were playing harps, joining together in a complex melody from one of the Caravan Matron Plevan's favorite composers. Stella could see the caravan mistress's two favorite husbands sitting on three-legged stools, concentrating on a Warlord's game board.

"Ah, Stelancia, how good of you to come and visit me," The plump matronly looking Phaelani called out from her relaxing circular chair. The older female was laid back, relaxing, her youngest husband on her lap almost completely naked. As Stella watched the caravan mistress picked a piece of sliced fruit from the dish to her right and fed it to her youngest husband. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, High Mistress," Stella said. She put her fists together and bowed low. When she straightened up she moved over to the smaller circular chair, climbing into it and relaxing.

One of Plevan's younger husbands climbed into the chair with Stella, laying across her lap, smiling up at her. Stella felt her stomach clench. The Phealana was handsome, pampered, and obviously affectionate. She tried to ignore the sheer shorts that left little to the imagination, or rather, tried to ignore what was visibly under those silk shorts.

"Word has come to me that you and two of my scouts have captured escaped slaves," The plump Phaelani said, feeding her young husband another slice of fruit. Stella shivered as the young Phealana's plump lips shown for a moment with fruit juice before he locked eyes with Stella and slowly licked his lips.

"Not exactly, High Mistress," Stella said, pulling her eyes away from the handsome face of Plevan's husband.

"Oh," The matronly Phaelani raised her plucked and styled eyebrows. "Please, Stella, explain. And call me Plevan."

"Of course, Plevan," Stella said, feeling sweat break out on her back. Plevan was a canny old in-fighter, a veteran and survivor of thousand rivalries, challenges, and trade wars, who was at her most dangerous when she appeared the most relaxed. She felt a tug at the front of her dress and looked down just in time to see her breasts spill out of the cloth. The young male Phaelan sighed, resting his head on Stella's bare flesh, before looking down at the dish of peeled grapes on his bare stomach.

Stella tried to imagine he was covered in bees.

"Stella?" Matron Plevan said gently.

Stella looked up at the Caravan Matron, swallowing. "Matron?"

"The slaves. You said they weren't just escaped slaves," The Matron said patiently, concealing a smile. Young Phaelani like Stella always thought with their loins. Get the blood rushing there and they couldn't think well enough to lie. Mageborn like young Stella were even easier to overheat into truthfulness. She twitched her fingers in a sign to her fifth husband to slowly stoke Stella's fires without changing her expression.

"Oh, yes, of course," Stella tried to get her thoughts in order. The male on her lap was distracting, his body pleasantly warm and the weight of his head against her breasts exciting. She took a deep breath, which all the males watched approvingly, and stared at the caravan mistress. "They are pink skinned, two male humans and one female human. None of the bear any tattoos or brands of any type, all three have mage-fire, war-fire, and titan-fire."

Matron Plevan didn't let her expression change as fear surged up in her stomach.

The Lich King War was less than two decades in the past. While Stella had been a young Phaelani learning to control her mage-fire toward the end, Matron Plevan was middle age by her race's standards, nearly a century old. She could remember the vast armies clashing, how cities were destroyed, caravan routes disrupted, and how fat the crows and vultures got.

Even the Phaelan caravans, normally inviolate, had been forced to tread carefully during that savage war. Not only from the armies, but dangers posed by wreckage and debris, desperate survivors of fallen city-states and nations, and creatures normally docile turned feral by the warping effect of the war.

Even at the height of it, the Xue'nghozi had been used sparingly at best. Left to their lands on the continent of Arnaka on the fourth world, Dakna, the Xue'nghozi inhabited scattered nation-states that constantly warred with one another. Matron Plevan, like all Phaelan caravan masters, knew to tread carefully if she took a caravan into the lands of the Xue'nghozi. The dizzyingly shifting alliances, treaties, blood oaths, and feuds required even a powerful caravan lord to step carefully in Arnaka.

Matron Plevan shook her head. "They are pink skinned, not bleached by their power like you?" She asked, feeding her young husband, Garta, another slice of starspeckle fruit.

Stella shook her head. "No, mistress. It's unmistakable. They resemble Xue'nghozi."

Plevan was proud that her fingers were steady, showing no hint of her nervousness, as she fed Garta another slice of fruit. "Any hint of how they got here? The continent of Arnaka is under interdiction."

"By the Lich Kings, Matron, and are we sure enough of them remain to curtail the power of the Xue'nghozi Witch-Queens and Battle-Kings?" Stella asked. Before Plevan could answer she kept speaking. "The girl is untrained, as if she has never tasted her own power before, and she nearly destroyed me just by reaching out to me. If her aura hadn't changed color and given me warning, it is doubtful I could have held off her assault."

Plevan nodded slowly, nibbling on a slice of the fruit herself, her expression guarded.

"You are young," Plevan said softly, as if she was dismissing Stella's skill.

"As is she," Stella observed.

"The males, were they difficult to take?" Plevan asked. "Were any Phealana wounded?"

Stella shook her head. "No, Matron. The males were easily subdued. They were naked, cold, and alone. I could feel their confusion, almost as if they were broadcasting it," Stella inhaled sharply as the male on her lap found her bared nipple with his teeth. "One of them almost broke free of my magic instinctively when his war-fire suddenly ignited," the last part was said with a low moan.

"How close are we to the lands of Bloody Elshon?" Plevan asked.

"A handful of days outside her claimed borders," Stella said, shivering but not from the cold. "If we did not stop and took the Old Crow Highway we could be at Estate duRalvden in less than two weeks time," She said.

Matron Plevan looked at Roget, her second husband. "Pass the word to the drivers, I wish to be at Estate duRalvden as soon as possible."

Roget nodded, getting up and grabbing his cloak. He quickly left the comfortable wagon.

"Now, young Stella, do you think we will be safe in the District duRalvden?" Plevan asked after a moment. She had watched her young husband step up his ministrations with a carefully concealed smile. Stella's eyes widened as the Phaelana suddenly slid down, pushing open her legs, and ducked beneath her skirt.

Mages were all alike, consumed by either the fires of magic or the fires of lust.

"I have heard that a patron has been seated to head House duRalvden," Stella said, trying to keep from gasping. The young male was skilled, she'd give him that. She resisted the urge to reach down and tangle her fingers in his hair. "Bloody Elshon herself has not been seen since the end of the Alben Civil War."

Matron Plevan nodded, nibbling on a piece of starspeckle fruit before rubbing the bitten edge of the slice on her husband's lips.

"We will present the escaped war-slaves to Patron duRalvden as gifts," Plevan said softly. "That will hopefully please Patron duRalvden as well as remove dangerous Xue'nghozi from our caravan."

"Do you think there are more Xue'nghozi out there, Matron?" Stella asked.

Matron Plevan looked down and her beautiful and pampered young husband feeling a chill touch her soul at the thought of a ravening horde of Xue'nghozi pouring over the caravan, howling their bloodlust.

"I hope not."