“I trust your journey here wasn’t difficult?” Princess Elenore asked from her desk, staring at the two in front of her. She had four golden-armored royal knights standing behind her.

The red-headed siblings Elaine and Rivien Vyrbell shook their heads fiercely. “Not at all,” Rivien began, a statement which Elaine agreed with a mumbled affirmation. “We were accosted by the undead. Fortunately, my sister recently ascended to A-rank.”

“I had been meaning to thank you for your help with my magical progress. I was able to get one of those Magister hoarders to give me the knowledge I needed to ascend,” Elaine thanked her with a hand held to her chest, her green eyes earnest.

Elenore nodded. “Alright. Argrave spoke highly of both your skills, and I’m short of time so I’ll summarize things for now. Rivien—you’re to become a member of parliament and the minister of Jast. You’re to help deliver the king’s will and the parliament’s will to all within the county of Jast. Elaine—you’re to represent the Order on the parliament. Unofficially, you’re a link that I have to keep track of things in the Order. You understand?”

“I do,” both confirmed.

“This is no joke,” Elenore stared at them with her steely gray eyes. “I don’t want underhanded dealings or corruption on any level. I keep track of things. You’ll be well paid, but well monitored. Let that be a deterrent from any skimming off the top you might be considering.”

“I under—”

“And that includes your men.” Elenore stared at Rivien fiercely. “If there are any rogue agents, your head rolls with them. I trust you know how to spell guillotine?”

Rivien stepped back, eyes narrowed. “Here I thought I was the gangster, Bat. Still hard to believe that it was you I was dealing with this whole time… but I digress. Yeah, we have an understanding.”

Elenore placed her elbows on the table and entwined her pale, skinny fingers. “Good. For the first while, you’ll be helping shepherd plague refugees, facilitate road reparation and construction, and find recruits for the military. You’ll get details—for now, I have something to attend to.” She looked behind her. “See them out.”

One of the royal knights moved to obey, moving the Vyrbell siblings out of the room to prepare for the next guest. Elenore briefly wrote on a piece of paper as she waited, then turned to another parchment that had a long list. After crossing off a point on the list, she stared at the next entry for a long time. She rubbed a golden ring on her finger—the B-rank warding ring that Durran had given her.

“Bring him in,” Elenore looked back once again.

The door opened, the royal knight leading the next guest into the room. She stared ahead, her gaze slowly lowering to keep eye contact as the guest entered further into the room.

“I’m very sure the briefing that was given amply conveyed that His Majesty was seeking S-rank spellcasters for potent, highly dangerous combat.” Elenore leaned back in her chair. “I’m wondering why you volunteered to join him, Artur.”

The stunted Magister looked up at Elenore behind her desk—in a rare display, he walked on his own two feet, the mantle he wore dragging along the ground behind him instead of suspending him in the air. His eyes gleamed as he answered, “Do you think enchanting is only for defense, like that bauble on your finger?”

Elenore instinctively hid the ring with her hand but revealed it again half a second later. “I think that His Majesty made it clear that the possibility of fighting things like the Shadowlander was rather high.”

“Good. Perhaps their bones will make for good materials.” Artur spread his arms out. “I do have my reasons. But I assure you that our interests rather closely align.”

#####

Far up in the branches of the redwood trees that constituted the Bloodwoods, a tan-skinned elven woman with white hair sat on one of the branches. Onychinusa wore clothes that covered all but her head, and as her legs swayed back and forth the outfit changed in color to match whatever it was up against. The complete camouflage made her seem like a head floating up in the tree branches.

Onychinusa’s eyes were gone—instead, two tendrils of black smoke danced out of her sockets, stretching past the branches. Far, far away, at the opposite end of this long trail of blackness, her two amber eyes looked down upon a stone fortress. They moved about, taking in sights. When Argrave emerged from his tent, walking about and delivering orders, they fixed on him. The eyes moved with whatever move he made.

Suddenly, she inhaled. In not a second later her entire person, clothes and all, burst into black mist, dispersing through the air and clinging to the trees and leaves. Just after, a flash of gold came to where she had been. The Starsparrow hovered there for a moment, wings beating fast enough a hummingbird was put to shame. The bird’s head darted about, examining the surroundings. Then, it disappeared deeper into the woods.

Onychinusa’s body reformed in a different location, wrapped in leaves so as to conceal herself better. She watched where the bird had left for a long while. After a time, her eyes melted away again, reforming elsewhere as they resumed their task of spying.

A gigantic green creature that had been wound around one of the trees craned its body outwards. It was like a great slug, though thick as an elephant and with an armored carapace. The bottom of its body had sucking teethless mouths that inhaled the leaves of the redwood trees right off the branches and kept it fixed to the trees elsewhere. Its mouths travelled along, inhaling the leaves and fruits of the mutated tree.

When it neared the elven woman, she held her hand out and cast a spell. Spirits danced out from her hand in the wake of a mana ripple, and with a burst of purple light the creature simply vanished. It reappeared miles away, the spirits tossing it into empty air. It flailed helplessly, falling slowly until its body hit the ground and shook the earth for nearly a mile. Predators of all stripes descended on it, fighting it and each other in search of a meal.

#####

Svetlana of House Quadreign opened a door, looking about the room quickly enough her blonde hair became a whip. Someone hailed her, and her blue eyes settled upon that person. She quickly strode towards them.

“Ganbaatar,” she said, coming to sit with the man. “I thought… I didn’t think I’d see you again for a long time.”

“Me neither,” the elf confirmed, red eyes watching her passively as she sat. “But… your king summoned me. I was called to this place.” The elf looked around. “I know this kingdom has grander cities—why does the king hold his parliament here? Beyond the grand fortresses blocking the entrances, there’s only this coastal village with one inn alone.”

Svetlana shook her head. “The king has plans for this place, apparently. It’s not my place to judge—merely to represent mom.” She tapped her hand against the table. “We weren’t notified. What’s happening?”

“The king calls upon me for diplomacy, apparently,” Ganbaatar shook his head. “Frankly, I would have ignored it… but that letter had contents about my people. He gave claims for betterment I could not ignore and promises of disaster warranting attention.”

Svetlana stared at him seriously. “So you’re only passing through?”

“Waiting.” Ganbaatar leaned back in his chair. “Don’t like all of this waiting. I need to find the blue-eyed vampire—a harder task now with the eye destroyed. But considering the man that hailed me is the one who knew how to banish the scourge of vampirism without death… I would be well-advised to heed him.”

“So you’re staying?” Svetlana’s pleasure seeped into her voice, and she cleared her throat quickly. “I mean… how long?”

“Few days—a week, probably. Long enough for all others to gather, I’m told.” The elf crossed his arms. “Something big is coming.”

#####

Argrave watched as Elenore’s men walked throughout the camp of Veidimen, hauling crates in pairs of two. It had to be two—the content of the crates was pure metal, and more than that metal made to scale with the Veidimen. Elsewhere, he saw his three officers Grimalt, Bastal, and Rasten already handling their armor. It was dark gray steel, all, and though unpolished the magic on its surface gave it a particular brilliance nonetheless.

“I’ve never known the royal smiths to work this fast,” marveled Orion.

“Maybe it was that stupid bright gold metal that made things take so long. No offense,” he looked at Orion, who wore exactly what he’d just described as stupid. “More than that, I had Elenore tap into her illegal enchanting operations to speed things up.”

The rest of the train of new arrivals was not far behind the armor delivery. The bulk of them were common soldiers and spellcasters to better aid in garrisoning this fortress. Regardless of what they did in their expedition, some migration away from the Bloodwoods might be inevitable. Argrave hoped to mitigate damage from beyond this place while they pressed in.

“So, how much longer before we leave?” Nikoletta stepped ahead of Argrave, crossing her arms as they watched.

“Tomorrow morning,” Argrave told her.

“It’s morning now.” Nikoletta stared at him.

Argrave frowned. “I’ve expedited things enough. If I was taking every precaution, we’d wait a day after tomorrow to let the Veidimen get adjusted to the new armor.”

“You glimpsed what hid in that forest with your druidic bond,” Anneliese spoke to Nikoletta considerably gentler. “The path we routed to the Mother’s Steppe alone is treacherous enough. Caution is well warranted.”

Nikoletta said nothing further. She and Anneliese had scouted together, but without a single sign of her father her harshness grew more severe. Argrave sighed as he stepped ahead towards a familiar face. Ganbaatar hopped off a caravan and took long strides toward Argrave.

“You meant what you wrote? You can deliver a homeland to my people where they need not fight again? Where no other races vie for land?” the elven rogue demanded at once.

Argrave held one hand out to quiet the man. “Relax, take it easy.”

Ganbaatar shut his mouth, turning away as he ran his hands through his long golden hair. “You expect that to come easily?”

Argrave was going to say more, but he spotted two others—Magister Artur, and an old, wrinkled, and undeniably powerful man. Normally that might mean Rowe or Castro, but there was a third in that peer group, and he was here now… Magister Moriatran, Castro’s self-proclaimed rival. The only thing separating him in appearance from the other two was that he was not bald… but his wispy white ‘hair’ atop his head made him appear only older. Perhaps if he lost that last vestige, he might be their equal. But as it stood, Argrave was very glad to see him. That happiness was overshadowed only by his utter surprise the man would volunteer to come here.

Artur’s mantle wreathed around him, carrying him down from the caravan until he alighted on the ground and bowed his body slightly. “Your Majesty.” He looked up. “I see you wear my armor. I’m very pleased.”

“Artur. Moriatran,” Argrave greeted. “Glad you could make it. I know the two of you will be a big help.”

“And what, exactly, is to happen?” Moriatran’s deep blue eyes turned to the Bloodwoods.

“The war against the world is beginning with a thunderous roar instead of a crescendo that leads to one.” Argrave put his hands on his hip as he looked up at the branches. “It’d be quicker to list what’s not going to happen. By the end of this, we’re walking away having kicked in the teeth of a god and enriched beyond belief… or not at all.” He looked back to the two of them. “It’s an early morning tomorrow. Come on—let’s talk. I want there to be no delays.”