Sylvain regarded the young wyvern rider that stood before him. “It’s Eluned, is it? Evaria?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, General Patria,” she responded. She has shoulder-length blonde hair and was surprisingly young. She came from commoner stock, but her family name preceded her. The Eluneds were renowned across the continent for their breeding stock of wyverns. The young woman before her was an emissary of that family. Their wyverns generally fetched a ransom in the merchant market, and every year they gifted six eggs to the King to bolster the forces of Empyrean Riders.

Of those eggs, four would hatch.

Of those, two would survive their first year.

And only one would be successfully trained and claimed by a rider. Wyverns were notoriously difficult to train.

“You come quicker than I expected. It is pleasing to know you and your family take our summons so seriously,” she said. “I was told you were among the fellowship that discovered the Seed of Vaste’lon so long after it had faded away into legend. I admit I may have been foolish enough to think it never actually existed.”

“Then I hope you will not take offense if I were to suggest we were both fools. Despite my youth, I abandoned hope in the gods years ago,” she explained. She looked up to Sylvain and met his gaze. “I come as a response to your summons, and an answer to your request. I am here to serve as you see fit.”

“And I shall ensure you and your family are properly compensated,” he replied. “What news have you for me?”

“As per your request, I regret to inform you that we have no suitable candidates among our livestock,” she said.

Patria sighed. “That is… regrettable,” he admitted.

“My family does not,” she continued. “But I do.” She gestured toward the nearby field where her wyvern lay in the grass. It was sleeker than most, and had a mane of orange feathers running down its back. “Peitzche has been my companion since I was old enough to fly by myself. She was not bred for strength. She was bred for speed and distance.”

“Is she not bound to you?” Patria asked.

“She is,” Evaria admitted. “So in lieu of being able to provide you with a swift mount, I will also provide my services as a messenger. Pietzche can fly the distance between here and Tyrant’s Fall in only a few hours, but she will only be ridden by myself.”

Patria wasn’t sure about the idea of the woman serving as a messenger. There wasn’t much in the way of danger within the provinces, and even if there were, the speed at which Evaria had flown there from Sornacia would outrun most dangers. No, the problem wasn’t that– it was that she was a commoner. Certainly her family held renown, but she was part of no Clan.

Still, the commoner before her held the King’s favor for her part in the retrieval of the Seed.

“Very well,” Patria said. He reached into his breast pocket and took out a sealed envelope. “Put this in the hands of none other than Othniel Caradoc,” he explained. “Ensure no others see it. If you must, destroy it.”

She took the envelope from him and nodded. “I’ll protect it with my life,” she said.

“Do not die for it,” he said. “Just ensure none other than the King see it.”

She nodded.

“Thank you, Evaria Eluned,” she said. “Fly with swift wings.”

With that, Evaria took her leave and walked over to her mount. Sylvain watched her until she took off toward the East.

The letter didn’t contain anything that was particularly secretive. It was little more than a personal letter to the King outlining the changes made over the past ten days since he’d arrived at Mercer’s Mound and took command from Borou. Borou was insistent that the forces gathered there remain in case the Outworlders attempted to invade, but it made no logistical sense. There were nearly fifty thousand troops there. Thousands of horses, dozens of wyverns and at least two thousand commoners to cook, care for, and provide comfort services to the men. All in all, that was far too many mouths to feed, and their rations simply wouldn’t have lasted. He dismissed most of the regiments, sending them back to the borderlands of the Wasted Lands and Turzan’s Trident. The border defenses were too thin, and Sylvain knew it only took one opportunistic demon tribe to encourage the whole of the borderlands into another demon war.

He kept only two regiments. The Eleventh Carradocian Regiment, commonly known as the Flames of Caradoc, and the First An’Taleian Airborne Regiment, Raptor Company. They had been nearly decimated in Outworld, losing ten of their best flyers, but he knew that Raptor Company only accepted the best.

Unfortunately, their wyverns weren’t built for speed and distance, but strength and maneuverability. They were just shy of three thousand soldiers, five hundred horses, and twenty-five wyverns. If Outworld attacked, Sylvain was certain they would be able to hold off the demons long enough to have the Ar’Dunaian Regiments march from their strongholds back to Mercer’s Mound.

Borou strongly disagreed, and he made his disagreement quite vocal. He seemed to be growing increasingly short with Sylvain, particularly after having taken command of the Embrayyan Forces so quickly after he’d been granted the opportunity to lead them.

Still, there were three thousand mouths to feed, and the closest major city, Frowen, were already stretching their food stores too thin. They would need compensation if they were to survive the winter. Thankfully, their men had looted a great many things from Outworld during their brief stay there. Strange black mirrors made of intricately thin metal and smooth glass. Leather wallets. Brightly-colored handheld flame-making devices and numerous colorful boxes filled with the oddly exotic Outworlder beer  and other odds and ends had quickly been sold to merchants for a ransom.

Borou didn’t spare a thought for the cost of the mission, only that the King’s ambition be single-mindedly fulfilled.

Sylvain was somewhat relieved that the mission had been turned on its end. He never liked the idea of attempting to invade the homeworld of the demons that have plagued Ayndir since the dawn of time. But he wasn’t so foolish to say it aloud. The King was kinder than his father, but more naive, and at times too confident for his own good. It would merely have given those who attempted to play the King ample cause to strike a divide between them.

“General Patria!” a young Ar’Dunaian runner called to him running down the hill. He was part of the entourage for Ayla Duna, who had been left at Mercer’s Mound to be Arianell Duna’s eyes and ears while she was attending to the King’s Summons. As Sylvain understood, Ayla had once been part of the fellowship for the Seed of Vaste’lon as well. She was accompanied by fifty Augurs, including a half-dozen adepts and the Elite Guard of the Charred Towers. “Something’s emerged from the World Tree!”

“What?” Patria asked. He broke into a run up the hill. “Tell me, Runner!”

“They believe it to be dead, but I saw it. It flew and fell from the sky,” the Runner explained.

In Patria’s age, the run up the hill took a great deal of effort. Out of breath, he finally reached the top of Mercer’s Mound. On the ground near the World Tree, surrounded by his men, was a black object no larger than a washing-stool.

“Patria,” Borou exclaimed. “You see? I had warned Outworld would not stay on their side of the World Tree. We should begin to fortify the World Tree before–”

“Who saw what happened?”

An archer raised his fist. “I saw, Wise General,” he said. He pointed to the World Tree. “It emerged from near the top. It took us all by surprise, making the sound of a hundred bee hives. It hovered there, in the air without moving for some time, but then it fell to the ground.”

As Patria got closer, he got a better look at the object. The closer he drew, the more he realized it wasn’t dead. More importantly, it wasn’t alive, either. It was… an object. He looked up to the top of the portal on the tree. If it came from where the archer had pointed, it was a spot five men tall.

He reached down and touched it.

“Take a care, Patria,” Borou warned. “That thing could still bite.”

“I’ve never seen a demon that didn’t bleed when you break its leg,” he said, gesturing to a broken piece on its underside. He knocked on it. “Nor one with a shell as hard as this.” He pointed to the now-stripped metal frame of the four-wheeled contraption at the bottom of the hill. “This is no more alive than that monstrosity of metal. A machine.” He picked it up. It was surprisingly light. At the top were four blades– no. They looked like blades but they were dull-edged. He ran his finger along them and felt no bite. It did not slice into his skin.

Moreover, they spun in place. He turned it over and inspected it further. On the bottom was a small box with what appeared to be a small glass eye. Could the Outworlders see through the eye?

He doubted it. He wondered if it was even an eye at all.

He passed the device to the Ar’Dunaian Runner. “Take this to the engineers,” he said. “Have them inspect it. I want to know what it is.”

“Your will, General,” he said before taking off.

“What does Outworld mean by sending this through?” Borou asked. “A trap? Are they attempting to confuse us?”

“No,” Patria said, looking up at the portal. He paused for a moment, then kneeled down and picked up a rock, whipping it at the surface of the portal. It passed through, and unlike previous attempts, it did not bounce back as quickly as before. The barrier on the other side had moved– not far, but far enough for Patria to know what that meant.

“We’ll see more of things like this soon,” Patria said. “This wasn’t meant to confuse us. No. Whatever this was was meant to provide answers for them. They are being cautious not to send their men through. They know we will attack. So they send this through. To what end– who knows? Perhaps the Engineers might tell us.” He looked to Borou. “Soon they will begin to find answers they seek.”

“All the more reason to fortify the World Tree entirely,” Borou argued. “We must not let them through.”

Patria walked up the branches of the World Tree toward the shimmering gateway on the surface. He unceremoniously plunged his hand into it. On the other side, he could feel the barrier, and pulled it away in surprise as he realized it was moving back into place on the other side.

“Take care, Patria. One of them might take your arm!” Borou warned.

“Perhaps,” Patria replied, inspecting his fingers. “But they did not. And we know they’re patient. Fourteen days and this is the first thing that’s passed through from the other side that wasn’t taken directly by Embrayyan hands. They don’t have the answers they need yet. We can use that to our advantage.” He nodded. “For once I concur with you, General Borou. Fortify the World Tree. I want wooden barricades up against that gateway by morning. Triple the watch. Attack or destroy anything or anyone that comes through, and notify me immediately if the surface of the gateway so much as shudders. We’ve had peace these past fourteen days, and they’ve now broken that. I want the men ready to fight at a moment’s notice should the worst occur.”