Matron Stelancia checked the heavy iron ring then the chain, reaching out not just with fingertips and sight, but with her arcane senses. Skyler was slumped down in misery, her hair hiding her face, still naked, still bound by the heavy jewelry that Stella had placed on her.

"I will be back in a few hours to collect you, little one," Stella said. She knelt down and reached out to touch Skyler's chin, lifting the human's head up so Stella could look her in the eyes. Once again the pale-pink eye made Stella's skin prickle in goosebumps.

"Please, it hurts," Skyler sobbed.

"I go to speak to the Patron of House duRavlden. Matron Plevan has decided that you are too dangerous to remain within our caravan and we will turn you over to House duRalvden," Stella said. "They are an ancient house, stretching even back to before the Age of Ascension, their founding and the founding of Alben itself intertwined."

Skyler sobbed, feeling that tingling of her power start to surge and then the barbs digging into her flesh with a painful burning, breaking the gathering power before Skylar could use it in any way.

"Those bindings will be released when you are turned over to the Patron," Stella said, releasing the girl's chin and standing up. Skylar tilted her head slightly to look at Stella.

"I didn't mean to," she whined.

"I cannot teach you further," Stella said, turning away, hiding her sharp pain at seeing such a talented young mage, at seeing what she knew was a child, in such miser. She looked at her cousin, a younger Phaelani who had more knowledge than power.

"If she begins to flare do not hesitate to toss powder upon her. Do not delay, any delay could be dangerous," She told her cousin. The other phaelani nodded, looking determined.

Stella sighed and picked up her wrap from where it hung on a hook. The pre-dawn morning was cool, the dew layered thick, and Stella had never been one to enjoy being wet or cold. She snugged the wrap about herself, taking time to ensure that the decorative and useful broach was secured correctly, and exited her baishin and stepped into the dimness of the false dawn.

The Consortium had arrived several hours before, the trade wagons and the craft sledges stopping at the large open areas at the edge of the city. Normally Stella would have stayed with them but Matron Plevan had insisted on the Matrons who would be accompanying her to meet with Patron duRalvden move to the inner lot.

The buildings around her were tall and wide, windows large enough for a Phaelan to stand in scattered everywhere across the buildings. There was illusionary magic dancing and capering in virtually all the windows to shops, showing off wares or just vying for attention. Magical lights were dimmed in the lamps beside the street. Ancient spells layered into the stone would illuminate and expose anyone who drew a blade with the intent of violence, keep them outlined by magical fire until the guard found them and released the spell. She could see the ripples of ancient spells, the swiftly rushing streams of arcane energy, and the complex weavings that other mages had left behind. Spells hissed and sparked and beckoned to her. Her sharp eyes could see where the buildings had been damaged and then repaired, see the new stone contrasted against the old stone.

War had come to the city in recent years.

Stella closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and letting the breath out slowly.

When she opened her eyes her vision had returned to normal, her mage-sight receding.

"Mistress?" A young Phaelana asked, huddled up in his coat. When Stelancia looked at him he made a motion of concern. "Are you all right, Mistress?"

"I am fine," Stella said. She smiled at him. "The city is dazzling to my eyes."

The Phelana looked around. Most of the magical lights on the lampposts were dimming, most of the advertisements and beguilements in the windows faded and muted, and the city seemed still half asleep, not yet having woken up.

How terrible it must be to have sight beyond sight, The Phelana thought to himself, glad that the Gods had merely blessed him with the ability to inscribe delicate and beautiful illuminations on the edge of parchment and paper, gifted him with steady hands and deep patience.

The Phaelana held out his hand, taking Stelancia's elbow and gently guiding and supporting her as they walked together to the Consortium Matron's baishin.

Matron Plevan was seated in a large round chair, rods through the frame supported by wooden sawhorses keeping it off the ground. There was eight large human men clad only in loincloths, iron collars, and heavy copper bracers, gleaming oil covering their well defined musculature, doing slow stretches nearby. The iron collars on their neck were for show rather than an indication of slavery or thralldom, a mark of their profession rather than bondage.

"Young Stella!" Matron Plevan called out, waving her hand. Stella noticed that none of Matron Plevan's husbands were present.

The lack of males shows just how important this meeting is, Stelancia thought to herself. Of course, I wouldn't want to bring my pampered and delicate husbands, if I had any, into the presence of an Alben Warlord if I could help it.

"Yes, Matron?" Stella asked, hurrying over.

"Once Matron Oldami joins us, as well as a Daughter of Steel and Blood, we shall journey to where Warlord Elshon holds court from the Patron's seat," The matron said.

Stella felt a cold chill. Common knowledge said that Bloody Elshon had vanished, taking her armies with her into the wilderness to carve out a new kingdom.

"And the War Machine?" Stella asked.

Plevan shook her head, her earrings tinkling. "My spies and informants could find out very little, just that nobody has seen the War Machine of House Ralvden since the end of the civil war."

Stella cursed, looking around. For a Warlord to sit on the Patron's seat of an established house within an established kingdom was rare. They could be a direct challenge to the ruling authorities and a danger to the ruling families.

"We will have move carefully," Plevan said, making a motion of greeting to Mistress Oldami as the older woman walked up, smiling widely.

"More than we are now?" Oldami asked, popping a sweet candy into her mouth.

"Caution is always advised when engaging in the dealings of Titans and Warlords," one of the Daughters of Steel and Blood whispered from behind Oldami. Oldami gave a shriek then coughed for a moment when she swallowed her candy.

The Daughter of Steel and Blood was clad in silk sleeves and pantlets attached to a leather vest and skirt. Her hair was unbound, without wire or razors wound within, and she was unmasked. Her face had an odd ageless quality that made it difficult to pinpoint how old she was within a few decades. Only the savage swirling tattoos on her face gave any hint to what part of the caravan she was aligned to.

Matron Plevan chuckled, watching Matron Oldami straighten up and wipe her eyes, coughing slightly. She snapped her fingers and relaxed in the cradling chair. The hired humans moved into position, grabbing the support poles and lifting them in a smooth motion up to their shoulders. The litter bearers were expensive but Matron Plevan wanted to be sure that House Ralvden knew that the Consortium was wealthy and powerful, not coming to the House as beggars, but offering assistance and would be a beneficial ally.

A seated Warlord. The Six Worlds are yet in danger, the death throes of the Lich Kings still echoing throughout the cosmos, Matron Plevan thought to herself. She reached, out of consternation, for one of her husbands and felt a trickle of despair when she remembered that they had been left behind.

Stella walked behind the carried divan, thinking about how young Skyler would soon leave her baishin and be turned over to the ancient noble house of Ralvden. She had to admit to herself that she was concerned, afraid of...

Her thoughts came to a jangled thought as what felt like a physical blow slammed into her senses. Her mage fire ignited, protecting her, as a wave of power and rage assaulted her senses.

UNBIND ME! the command roared through the false dawn, and it felt to Stella that the sun itself had roared the command at her.

Beside her the witch stumbled, going down on her knees, her hands pressed against the cobbles of the street. The witch moaned in pain, sweat suddenly coating her face, soaking her clothing and wetting her hair.

RELEASE ME! came another command, smashing into both the witch and Stella. Stella lost her balance, falling heavily onto the cobbles.

Stella struggled to her feet, grasping her mage-fire, quickly trying to bring up defenses against the enraged bellow she could hear echoing through the empty morning.

Matron Plevan looked down from the chair, biting her lip in concern for her two companions. The witch vomited up blood and fire into a steaming puddle between her hands. Stella had managed to struggle to her feet, even if she was unsteady, moving her hands quickly and murmuring words of power to protect herself.

Plevan looked around, searching for any hint of attack. Any sign of what was affecting the two members of her delegation.

There was none.

Matron Oldami moved over to the witch, winding her hand in the girl's hair and lifting.

"Up, up, young one," Oldami ordered, her voice firm as if she was speaking to an unruly child. "Get your feet beneath you, take strength from the very earth."

The witch's face looked as if it was spattered with blood, her eyes were wild, almost panicked, and bloody foam drooled from her mouth. Her hair twisted and writhed in Oldami's grip, winding around her wrist and squeezing. More a panic response than any attempt to harm anyone.

"Gird yourself. We approach a war-souled," Oldami said. She shook the witch lightly, still holding her up by her hair. "Gather your strength."

The witch's eyes focused on Oldami's face and she managed to get her feet under her. Stella wiped her face with a cloth, using her magic to unbutton the front of her blouse. Her breasts steamed in the cool morning air as her elevated body temperature evaporated the sweat covering her skin.

"What transpired?" Matron Plevan asked, her voice sounding bored and disinterested.

"I... I do not know," Stella admitted.

They all looked at the witch, who shook her head and wiped her mouth with one sleeve.

"Be as it may, we must continue. Mayhaps it is related to our three young charges," Matron Plevan guessed.

The gates of the manor drew closer and Stella looked at the young witch, exchanging worried expressions. They could both feel the slowly fading reverberations of an enraged Titan. Not placated or satisfied, but instead bound and chained despite its wrath.

The handful of Phaelan in the lead consulted the gate guards, who slowly opened the gate.

It did not surprise Plevan to discover that they were expected. Her own spies and informants had reported to her and Plevan had no doubt more than half of them had immediately turned around and reported to House Ralvden.

For a moment she saw a tall woman standing in the doorway of the manor, a sword against one shoulder, her hair shining in the sun. Then the woman entered the manor, the doors closing behind her.

Bloody Elshon or someone else? Plevan wondered.

"Go slow," Plevan ordered the litter-bearers, glancing at the two spellcasters accompanying her. The witch looked different, something about the eyes, something beyond the fact that her silk leggings and sleeves looked scorched and tattered.

Stella had unlaced her blouse almost to her navel, revealing what would be a scandalous amount of skin for anyone who wasn't mage-blooded. Stella's magefire rippled and sparkled beneath her skin and Plevan hoped that House Ralvden would not take offense to the fact that Stella was now shielding and protecting herself.

It took a few moments to admit them into the manor, and Matron Plevan ordered the bearers to move slowly, to shuffle only. Partly to give the appearance of nonchalance but mostly to give Plevan time to think, to observe, and to consider strategies.

House Ralvden was in dire straights. Unlike most noble families, it wasn't wealth, it wasn't (for the most part) political intrigue, it definitely wasn't the threat of violence on their lands. The real threat was that the house had no heirs and almost no family left.

According to Matron Plevan's spies, a bare handful of family remained. A powerful mage who had been badly wounded during the Lich King War, a foundling who had been entered into the Book of Blood before the Matron of Blood & Honor had been destroyed, an ancient War Machine from before the war released from his armor, and of course, Bloody Elshon.

None of whom were wed. None of whom had produced issue.

That meant most of the House offices were empty, that vital positions were staffed, not by members of the House's blood, but by whomever the House could convince to take up those positions.

And no heirs.

Plevan was wise enough to know that a house the size of Ralvden, as wealthy as the House was, collapsing or going defunct ran a high risk of causing another round of civil war. As it bordered the territory of the Ruby City, even that vast City State would want to slice off a chunk of Ralvden lands and wealth for itself.

Stella kept her calm around her, excluding the strong magicks woven through the house from her senses. From weapons that cajoled her to find them wielders to muttered threats of doom from suits of armor to figures in paintings watching her pass, the house was steeped in magic.

Stella frowned, slowing down as they approached the heavy oak doors of the throne room, and looking around. She reached out with her senses, slowly, carefully, to confirm a nagging suspicion.

And fear.

As the doors swung open she realized what she was feeling.

There was no house titan. The spirit, the soul, the collected intelligence, will, and wisdom of the House, was missing. She could taste it, that it had been present. It had been strong, vital, and powerful, but not it was missing, leaving behind an empty feeling.

Yet she had felt it near the entrance to the manor.

A glance at the witch got a slow nod. She too could sense it was missing.

While Plevan and Patron Elshon were speaking, exchanging platitudes a large man entered the rear of the hall, assisted by what could only be a witch and the missing sorcereress.

They receded in Stella's vision.

Her sight, and the sight of the witch, were wholly centered around the man between the two women.

Rather, what was bound inside of the man.

The House Titan of House Ralvden roared in rage, yanking against the chains of duty binding it, within the man.