The court of Kirest was an exercise in opulence and decadence. Throngs of fiends mingled, conversing in low tones as petitioners approached Kirest’s throne, made their requests and awaited judgement. The most powerful fiends occupied positions near the throne, seldom moving for fear of losing their position near the top of the throng and thus visibility to the Lord of the Fiends. The ever-present hum of conversation stilled as the twin doors at the far end of the hall opened, admitting the well known, and feared, figure of Hiron into the room. Hiron, was seldom a guest at court and all knew that he would not follow protocol, that he would use the privilege of his position to bypass the queue and ignore those he considered his lesser, that being everyone but Lord Kirest, that thronged the hall seeking the favour of Kirest.

Hiron approached the throne, sank briefly to one knee with bowed head and then stood.

"My Lord Kirest, I seek private audience."

Kirest sat up straighter. Hiron in court indicated something of interest, Hiron seeking private audience promised it. A simple nod and guards detached themselves from the walls and swept the courtiers and petitioners alike from the room, leaving Kirest and Hiron alone.

"It's started My Lord. The spies we have back home report that the Lord of the Eighth is moving against us. Rumours say he will try to bolster those cities not yet conquered."

Kirest leaned forward, smiling. "Finally! What lever do you think they will use? We have known they would eventually move against us once it was obvious we were accumulating enough power to demand a seat in the ruling circle."

"My son, if the rumours are to be believed. Seems they'll use him to contact the cities, gain their confidence."

Kirest's laugh was hearty, it actually filled with warmth, probably the reason it was only heard every other century or so. "They're going to use a half-fiend to gain their trust? I thought maybe we had cause to worry. It seems they are going to need to learn about the fools that live in this world. We should have a couple of centuries before they learn better and any effective opposition starts." Kirest leaned back, closed his eyes, revelling in the presence of probably the only being he fully trusted, or at least trusted not to attack without good cause.

Hiron looked at Kirest, tempted by the moment of weakness. It is not the time, let him gain the seat in the circle first, then I can unseat him and claim his place. For now, let him be the target, let him attract the gaze and the wrath of the powerful.

***

Jeria stood before those seated at the table. For five hours they had talked, questioned him, dissected his story and yet they were still locked in debate. The Dark Paeons and the Arcane Tower arguing against Jeria, Gunder's Hall and Harmony Lake supporting him and Fort Livian neutral, not swayed by any of the arguments offered. There did not seem to be much chance of any faction changing their stance, and that was when the hooded figure spoke for the second time.

"This just boils down to trust. Those who trust the half-fiend support him, the rest either reject him, and thus his testimony, or refuse to commit." It stopped speaking, the cowl turning in Jeria's direction. "I can enter your mind, confirm or reject your testimony. I know Archmage Aliat will accept my word. The thing is, will you trust me?" Silently the hood was pulled back, the bald, earless, head looked almost insectile with two massive dark orbs for eyes, a nose that was merely a slit and a mouth that was a gaping hole below a long trunk, which sported its own set of mandibles. Delire’s gasp of shock was clearly audible, the reaction of the priests of the Forge Father equally as telling.

"Abomination! Archmage, how could you bring one of these within these walls, into this council?" Kier's voice rang out, loud, booming, the guards scattered around the room tensing, feeling the increase in tension.

"Ever seen an Aeliogh before Jeria?" Delire's soft voice carried through the room. "Knowing what he is, everyone here would accept his word. The risk though... Jeria as easily as he wanders through your mind, sees the reality of what you say, he can eat your thoughts, leave you a mindless husk, an automaton, no more independent than a set of hands."

Silence fell and all eyes were on Jeria. Slowly he walked over to the Aeliogh, catching the eye of Mekior as he passed; the two had become fast friends in the intervening years, and then the eyes of Gyv whom he had not seen for close on three years since she had left for Gunder's hall.

The Aeliogh pulled him down with a clawed had, its trunk and its mandibles resting against his forehead. At first, it felt like a breeze across his mind, a gentle whisper passing through. Then the pain started, and the screaming began, but only until he blacked out, oblivious to the world.

***

"He'd best be OK. Your life is forfeit if he is harmed." Mekior's voice entered his consciousness as the darkness lifted. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Mekior's sword was drawn, the tip against the neck of the Aeliogh. Gyv stood by his back, sword at the ready, protecting Mekior from any that would seek to harm him.

"Sheathe your sword human, he is fine. Observe, even now he awakens." The Aeliogh's thin, sharp tongue swept across its lip, moistening them, evidently nervous in the room full of hostile people, "I did not harm him, not even slightly, but his fiendish blood sought to protect him. I had to use more force than I expected. There would have been pain, lots of it!"

Jeria sat up, "I can vouch for the pain! My head is still pounding! Let him go Mekior, I'm fine. Sore, but fine."

Mekior lowered his sword, his gaze lingering on the Aeliogh, who replaced his cowl, and spoke again. "The Half-Fiend speaks the truth, at least as far as he knows. Whether or not the fiends deceived him we cannot know, but he, at least, is free of deception." The Aeliogh sank back into its seat, a few beads of sweat dropping onto the table as it lowered its head.

"The tower arcane will move to support meeting with the fiends." The archmages voice was clear, his look at General Ferilice and D'Wiglo, challenging them.

D'Wiglo stood, and bowed to Jeria, "Our apologies Jeria, from this moment on we will not doubt your voice." D'Wiglo sat and looked questioningly at General Ferilice, the sole individual at the table yet to voice their support of Jeria.

"I came here unexpectedly, at the behest of an ally. I will not place my city, my people at risk over the word of a half-fiend. Perhaps one day we will work together, but I cannot put my trust in people that will allow abominations and fiend-spawn to lead us into an alliance with our foes!" He turned and walked out, followed by his guard and followers.

"Who will carry the message back to the fiends? Jeria, obviously, but who will accompany him into the fiend's den?" Kier started talking from the moment the last of the Dark Paeon's left the room and his wards informed him they could no longer observe or hear what transpired within the room.

D'Wiglo spoke. "Let each faction here send a representative. My brother will accept this honour, this burden, in the name of Fort Livian."

Aliat looked back at his entourage, catching the eye of a middle-aged woman, her face worn with strife, her arms covered in scars. "Sister Egrit shall represent the Tower. She is a mage of some power, as well as having other skills." He looked at the people around the table. "Those who travel with her will learn of them in time." He fell silent, leaving those present to wander at the enigma he raised.

"Gyv will go on behalf of Gunder's Hall. She knows Jeria and we trust her to represent us well." Behind Vixel, Gyv's face registered her surprise. She tugged on Vixel's shirt. He turned and looked straight at her. "You are sworn to the cities service, Gyv. This is your duty and you shall perform it.

"Guess its Mekior then." Delire's voice was light, jovial. "Gyv, Jeria and Mekior worked well together previously. Any ill effects of that previous journey were not of their making. If we are all agreed, let the five talk, and decide on their way forward. They will need to plan, and we need to support them so make sure that plan succeeds."

The meeting adjourned, the five chosen to set forth to invite the fiends to parley came together. In mutual agreement, they moved off, finding their own spot to camp; a place to plan and learn what they could about each other before they set out.