Rael blinked and they were elsewhere.

They found themselves in the middle of wetlands, sinking into mud. Reeds tickled Rael’s chin as they looked about, huffing in annoyance when Astrid easily floated out of the muck and into the air. Her sly smile morphed into a grim line as she got higher. Curious, Rael tried to shift their body into the air after her. It didn’t seem to work.

‘I guess it’s called [Dreamwalking] for a reason.’ Rael grunted as they waded through the mud, stopping immediately when they pushed away the reeds to witness the carnage. ‘Glad I’m not the only one with bad dreams.’

The reeds in the clearing were flattened by a recent battle. The mud was a deep crimson, stained by the blood of hundreds of Faulk, their pale corpses a fresh feast for legions of crows. Scattered limbs and broken weapons littered the battlefield all around. At the center of it all stood the last survivors, wounded men and woman in stone collars breathing heavily as they leaned on their weapons.

“Why dream of this again?”

Astrid’s voice echoed throughout the dream. All the survivors froze in place. All, save one. The smallest, an emaciated boy, looked up to the floating Norn. His eyes were familiar, a hardened gaze that seemed to stare through everything.

“It was someone’s first battle.” The child’s voice deepened and aged as he spoke. His body grew somewhat, mostly filling out in musculature rather than height until Rael was staring at Feldon. “I suppose I was thinking of mine.” His gaze found Rael, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “You’re already taking them into the dreams of others?”

“Dragonward Rael is skilled.” Astrid nodded.

“Well then.” He sat on the closest corpse, watching Rael wade towards them. “Why are you here?”

“My assistants and I have been updating the captains and Jarls.” Astrid continued as Feldon squinted at her. “I also have something you may be personally interested in.”

Astrid rubbed her hands together, grime and mud collecting in her palms. She brought them to her lips and blew, sending a black cloud into the air. The cloud coalesced into a series of shapes. A variety of different Faulkie airships attacking Bergin crafts in different ways. Some fired ballistae, others cast destructive spells, and quite a few boarded the Bergin ships. The end result was the same: The empire’s ships went down.

“We could not capture a single vessel.” Astrid declared. “Whenever a crew got close, one of the officers would destroy critical pieces of the ship.”

“A geas?” Jarl Feldon pulled at his beard.

“Possibly. But Norns Grima and Thorgrim suspect that these scouts had a secondary objective.” The cloud constructs grew large enough for Feldon and Rael to see inhuman shapes leap from the cracks in the hull and scatter in different directions, like insects fleeing from a lifted stone.

“Wargs.” Rael’s heart dropped. “They all had wargs in them.”

“Releasing them into the Faulkie wetlands where they can hunt our people, kill our livestock, and unleash chaos.” Feldon grunted as he pulled his beard tighter. “Insidious.”

“The empire has spent the last seventy years in constant conflict. They are not inexperienced in war.” Astrid clapped her hands and the clouds faded away. “Though the wargs will have a much harder time than Bergin suspects…they are formidable on land, but as Rael has proven, they are lousy swimmers.”

“And they’re not the most dangerous thing in the swamps.” Rael added. “The antimagic collars are strong, but they may as well be soggy paper for the fae.” Astrid’s eyes brightened and she vibrated giddily.

“Dragonward Rael is correct.” She gave Rael an enthusiastic nod. “So long as we are careful, the wargs shouldn’t be a major problem. Did you capture anyone important?”

“Only two officers.” The Jarl frowned. “They knew little. Though I suspect Jarl Trygyve is being held at Beaufort, where they resupply their airships and drop of prisoners.”

“From what I’ve heard from the others, you may be right.” Astrid hovered slowly in circles around Feldon and Rael. “But my sources tell me it is well defended and observed. Anyone approaching in a drakkar would be bombarded by artillery before they would even have a chance to cast a spell.”

“We cannot sacrifice our warriors some half-assed reconnaissance.” Feldon kept his eyes forward as Rael constantly craned their head to follow Astrid’s movements. “We need to find a way to get some eyes in there to confirm whether or not it’s a trap.”

“The entire fort is warded against divination by some powerful magic.” The Norn slapped her fingers and the world around them stretched until the trio were standing on a cloud overlooking a castle. She ignored Feldon as his eyes spun in their sockets and his knees buckled, instead waving her arms pointedly at the dark towers carved from the cliff face. “Behold, Beaufort!”

The structure was balanced precariously atop a cliff, thick walls surrounding four towers that reached beyond them in both directions. A waterfall pushed from the Insular Sea behind the fort, turning a wheel the size of a drakkar and unleashing tons of water in a white spray. At the top of the tallest two towers were great curved platforms, no doubt where they repaired the Bergin airships. Rael felt something was off, until they realized: there were no windows. A few arrow slits on the walls aside, there were no openings. There weren’t even doors, save for the ones at the top of the towers.

“Someone doesn’t want anyone looking inside.” Feldon hummed as he wiped the stars from his vision.

“It is worrisome that not even dreams can penetrate it…”

“Why not just do it the old fashion way?” Rael suggested. “Ruen snuck into places all the time. All he did was disguise himself and pretend he belonged.”

“You’d have to be very good at disguising yourself.” The Jarl said. A smile slowly spread across his lips as his gaze met Rael’s. The youth looked at him curiously until they realized what he was thinking. They groaned. “Norn Astrid, you wouldn’t happen to know where that trio of meddlesome bards could be? Skalds Yvon, Pequit, and Meayetti?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Astrid’s giddy smile mirrored Feldon’s. “They’re with your Captain Kip, helping us gather materials we lack for the war effort.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Only in the richest trade city in Galladia. Nize.”

The Faulk turned to the Dragonward, who was quickly losing all the color in their face. Rael clenched their teeth as Feldon gave them a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Seems like we’re bringing you back to Gulass.”

“Joy.”

<><><>

The tea steamed gently in the porcelain cup, just bitter enough to keep the mind sharp. It had been brought directly from Horsehead Island, one of Bergin’s easternmost provinces that had been adopted by the Empire early in its expansion. Caldon spun the spoon in the teacup gently, letting the crushed tea leaves diffuse throughout the mixture. He frowned as another ache throbbed in his head, the itchiness in his arm flaring up again.

Caldon brought the tea to his lips to bask in the earthy tones, chasing away the minor pains that afflicted him since he left Marnesia. He’d caught a stubborn cold from the southern continent that only got worse after the shipwreck. He closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver. The bloodshed, the madness on the ship before it went down…he still had nightmares. When he first washed up on the shores of the Mulben Province, the mayor of the nearby fishing town refused to believe his story or his identity. Thankfully, the magistrate recognized him. There was a competent mayor leading that town now.

Caldon rubbed his right arm, red and scabbed from his incessant itching. Right where he’d been touched. The greatest physicians in the Empire could not find anything wrong with him. Even when his father pulled strings to get a hold of Spellmaster Kraun, the result was the same. It was ‘all in his head’.

The young man sighed and put down his teacup, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he looked over the easel he’d been working on. He’d always been a painter; the fellow sons and daughters of Bergin nobility spent much of their free time devoted to the arts. At least, that’s what his father told him when he was young. Nowadays, the young nobles wasted their time at brothels, balls, and the gladiator pits. Caldon couldn’t help but look down on his peers. They spoke in half-truths and played political games with one another. Philistines who could not appreciate the beauty of life, who would marry for power and not love. And for what? To satisfy their loins, their purses, their hunger for the new and unique?

The Imperial Doctrine had been eroded away by such people. They could only consume, feeding on the fat of the Bergin Empire. As the son of Senate Leader Caleb Carcassonne, he held himself to a higher standard. He would study. He would build. He would create. And when he failed, he would punish himself.

Caldon frowned at the oil drying on the canvas. He used to paint the birds in his menagerie, but he’d found a new muse. She existed only in his memory. They hadn’t found her body after the shipwreck, nor was she among those recovered. But Caldon knew she was alive. He could feel it. When he turned his head to look out the balcony, to the west, he could practically see her there. Waiting for him. She didn’t have the beauty typical of Bergin maidens. They were dainty and fragile…but Rael? She was a wild mare, unbroken and free even in chains. She had a form that belied a strength beyond the limits of her station.

The painter sighed and peeked over the side of his canvas. The Gulass slave he bought was no more than a broken pony. She shared Rael’s dark skin, her brown eyes and black hair. But the similarities ended there. She appealed more to the beauty standards of Bergin. Small and weak. Like most other women in his life, she could not meet his gaze directly.

“Come now, try to emit a powerful presence.” His eyes trailed over the contours of her body.

She shivered and pulled the drapes closer to her body. Caldon clicked his tongue and shook his head. He brought up the paintbrush to measure her proportions when the door opened behind him. The thumping footsteps of his father approached him, a gait he only adopted when he was angry at him. Caldon sighed and tried to focus on the shivering model, but the steady tapping disturbed his concentration.

“Yes, father?” The young man didn’t turn away from his easel. He knew his father had his arms crossed as he tapped his foot against the floor.

“You’ve done it again.”

The young man pursed his lips. It was one of his father’s favorite little tricks. A purposefully vague accusation to get him to fess up to one of his many ‘mistakes’.

“You are correct, father. I should have used ochre instead of turmeric for the lighted portions.” Caldon’s smirk grew as the tapping grew louder. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed loudly. “I cannot take away the brushstrokes from my painting any more than I can pull my words from the air.”

“[Clear Canvas].” The paint peeled off the canvas until there was a puddle of colors at Caldon’s feet. He grimaced for a moment and controlled his expression as he turned to face his father. “As usual, you lack imagination.”

“There was no need to do something so childish, father. I was paying attention.” Caldon gave Caleb an angelic smile. “Haven’t you impressed the value of these oils on me?”

“Caldon.” The red tinge on the older Carcassonne’s cheeks grew, yet he did not break. “You used my name to steal resources intended for the House of Research.”

Caldon sneered and looked back at his shrinking muse. She was more than just a ‘resource’. A slave, yes. Lesser, definitely. But she and all the others had a chance to grow, become better to support the Empire. Her beauty was wasted on the tables of the House of Research. As his model, she served a higher purpose.

“They make better maids than experiments.”

“Maids? Objects of your lust, you mean.” Caleb snapped. “I am no fool, Caldon. I recognize the garments you make them wear. Holy vestments indeed.” He rolled his eyes and held up his hand when his son opened his mouth. “Those are the clothes the Zirconian priestesses of fertility wear. Anyone with eyes can see what purpose they serve!”

“Why do you care? Head Physician Parl has no power over you.”

“Since you’ve been gone, he’s formed a solid relationship with Kendrick.” Caldon stood up straight. That was a problem. “Not to mention the recent death of broodmother four. General Malach has insisted we shift to finding more viable means of reproducing wargs; broodfather three is getting old.” Caleb let out a slow exhale through his nose and sagged. “None of the airships we sent into the Faulkie Jarldoms came back. And the tracking spells we placed on the wargs are not working. They need every spare body they can get their hands on.”

With the Quellor uprising in the north and the recent fiasco in the Ribs, Bergin may run low on warg shock troops. Enlistments may extend to more than just serfs and slaves, but citizens as well. And since he’d pushed his father to break the tie on whether they should deal with the Jarldoms, he was in an awkward position in the Senate.

“I am going to ask you a question. One that will determine their fate. [Detect Lies].”

The young man swallowed. If he wanted to keep his maids, he would need to beat his father’s spell. He summoned his tome, a quill, in his stained sleeve. He’d been practicing his non-verbal spells for months now. What he would cast depended on the question.

“Do any of them bear your seed?” Caleb locked eyes with his son, his dark blue eyes meeting with a steel that he rarely used with his progeny. Caldon schooled his expression. Technically…

He held his quill tighter and focused his spell to manifest. [Shift Truth] took a few seconds to cast silently, but the telltale shiver up his spine and coolness on his tongue nearly brought a smile to his face.

“Yes.”

Caleb nodded sagely.

“Very well.” The young man smiled as his father turned around. Until he held his scroll up. “[Reignite Slave Brand].”

The slave doubled in pain as the brand on her back burned bright. An anguished scream tore from her lips and she rolled around in a futile effort to quell the flames erupting from beneath her skin. Her ragged screams echoed throughout the mansion, cutting short when Caleb lowered his tome.

“Follow.” It was a simple command, one ingrained in every slave’s mind. The fear in her eyes was replaced by dread, then grim acceptance. She pulled herself to her feet in shaky breaths, holding the fabric close to her body. “Leave it.”

The slave’s gaze fell, and she dropped the cloak, revealing her bare body to the world. Caldon hated that about his father. Whenever he took a slave away for whatever minor infraction, he led them out into the street naked. A message to all the other servants in the mansion; to Caleb Carcassonne, the servants were only human if they served him. Otherwise, they could walk bare in the cold like animals.

“I will gather the other two.” He faced his son again. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, father.” Caldon grit his teeth.

“Your spellcasting has improved. Unfortunately, you still need to eliminate your tells. One more question.” Caldon’s flexed his fingers anxiously as his father looked him over again. “Are you sure the slave you met on the ship back wasn’t a Meta?”

“Absolutely.” The young man said immediately.

Caleb nodded and led the shivering slave away, slamming the door shut on his way out. Caldon walked onto his balcony, staring wistfully at the horizon. He grinned and leaned his head on his arm. He lied to his father’s face, and he was none the wiser. Three naked slaves with smoking brands on their backs walked across the sharp gravel, their heads low.

‘What a pity,’ Caldon thought to himself. ‘They were so pretty.’ The one he was painting even had the right size bust. But she was nothing compared to the real thing.

“Oh Rael…” Caldon sighed wistfully. “When we meet again, I need to ensure that my father won’t take you from me.” He rose an eyebrow when he felt something warm trickle down his arm. He’d unconsciously scratched open his arm again. He’d been scratching at it since his father came in. He tried not to look deeply at it…last time he did, he was compelled to pick at it. Once or twice, he even thought he saw something move beneath his skin. He focused his thoughts on Rael, keeping her in his mind as he clenched his hands together. “We will be together.”

<><><>

Rael shot up from their cot, knocking their head on the board above. They pushed open the door and burst onto the deck, the prickling in their throat growing stronger. They retched overboard, spitting out bile and water. A sordid start for the first day of actual sunshine Rael had seen in months, a storm having followed the vessel across the channel for the past few days.

“I thought you were getting better with airsickness?” Ulric jauntily plucked a lute, his thick fingers awkwardly pulling at strings.

“I thought you only played the bagpipes.” Rael spat another glob of bile overboard.

“A man can have many talents.” He nodded his head towards the prow. “Like Azmond there.”

The Child of Dragons worked with two other Faulk to pull in the spinnaker. He windmilled his arms wildly to catch the canvas as it descended, shoving it into the bag that hung between the two hulls. He’d gotten the hang of it quickly, learning how to do in days tasks that Real took weeks to learn how to do properly. Rael had no doubt he’d be swinging from the mast within the month.

“When it comes to spells, though…you’re the fastest learner I’ve ever seen.”

“Sure.” Rael scoffed.

“I’m not kidding.” Ulric prodded them with his elbow. “I’ve never seen someone with so much flexibility in using water spells. I also heard you’re Dreamwalking on your own?”

Rael felt the queasiness rise up in their throat again. They pushed it down and looked down into the blue waters, cresting waves over colorful reefs below centering their mind.

“It was given to me. I did not earn it.”

“It was given to most shamans.” Ulric pointed out. “And it took Bak a year before he was ready to use it alone.” He clapped Rael on the back. “It’s good that you’re awake. Shieldmaiden Edith will appreciate any help in telling us what to expect in Nize.”

Rael wanted to grimace, but they forced a smile instead. While it was in Gulass, Nize was far enough from Tulip’s Hold that nobody they knew would be there. From what Rael had heard, it was an incredible city, less bound by Gulass’ peculiarities. It would help distract them from the closeness they felt to Caldon’s mind. How they felt his thoughts so close to their own, his elitist, perverse mind brushing against Rael’s with such vigor they feared his being might consume them. Rael shivered.

‘Anything to not think about him.’

Edith sat at the front of the boat for her presentation, aided by one of the crewmen’s illusion spells. Rael tried to focus on what she was talking about, but their mind wandered. Their fists were clenched tight on their knees. A small, sweaty hand wiggled its way into Rael’s grasp. Az huddled close to Rael, bottom lip quivering. Rael held the boy close, Edith’s explanations fading away to a dull drone.

“What’s wrong?” Rael’s whisper was so soft that none but a Scaled could hear it.

Azmond shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He leaned into Rael’s ear.

“It smells like home.”