“Sir, a messenger from Queen Iniri has arrived.”

The words were calm but the tone was not. Dyen was shocked himself, sitting upright in his chair to stare at the man. The last anyone had heard, she was in Meil, and once the second mage-king had taken over that city, well. Not much news came out of there, these days. Of the good kind, anyway.

Still, the death or capture of the Queen hadn’t been claimed or verified, only rumored, so people held out hope. Dyen hadn’t really been one of those people, though. He’d been there when Tor Kot had fallen on Invin from the sea, and seeing a mage-king in action was humbling and horrifying. Tor Kot had simply ignored spells and blades and arrows, and had barely even bothered to fight himself. The few times he had lifted a hand, things had simply...vaporized.

Vok Nal was, according to some rumors, rather less impressive, but a less impressive god was still a god. But the Tarnil dynasty was nothing if not tenacious, so maybe he shouldn’t have been too surprised. “Well, send them in!” He rose from his seat, ready to greet whomever Iniri had sent to them. Probably a high-level Classer with some sort of movement Skill, to get through the occupied territories.

The young woman the guard escorted in was not what he was expecting. For one, she was fox-kin, which were rare in Tarnil, and for two she was far too young. One had to be careful, because high-level Classers often looked younger than they were, but levels didn’t stop the aging process completely. He’d seen enough Classers to be able to tell the difference between actual youth and merely extraordinarily healthy, high-leveled people. This one had to be no more than twenty or so, which meant that she could have only gained levels during the war and occupation. War was a crucible, true, but not against the mage-kings. She couldn’t be higher than level eight or ten.

“Welcome,” he bid her. “May I have your name?” Courtesy was never wasted, especially not on a beautiful young lady.

“I am Shayma Ell,” she replied with a brilliant smile. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Dyen Korenson, level thirty-five [Shield Soldier] and, for my sins, mayor of Khiral.”

Shayma mouth twitched. “Is it really that bad?”

He rolled his eyes. “You try wrangling several hundred classers, half of whom think they’re capable of a lot more than they actually are.” He waved it away. “But you’re not here to listen to my complaints. I understand you’re my Queen’s messenger?”

“Yes.” She produced a seal from nowhere. Quite literally, it simply appeared in her fingers without a flash or flicker, which made him revise his appraisal of her level. That wasn’t the sort of trick a low-level [Scout] or similar would have. Maybe he was wrong about her age? Kirin-kin like himself tended to be well-preserved, so maybe fox-kin had a similar blessing.

He was a professional, though, and didn’t let himself look too surprised as he held out his hand for the seal. It was genuine, the unique magic projecting the queen’s approval into his mind, and given that the seals were linked by blood to the current monarch he doubted even a mage-king would be able to falsify it. Assuming they even cared to.

“Thank the gods. I thought she was dead. Where’s she gone?” He actually had to stop himself from reaching out to grip the girl’s arm. “I mean, if you can tell me. I should let you give me the message first, hm?” He waved to the chair opposite his. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” She moved with more grace than usual, which meant that she had at least one or two levels in a physical Skill, probably [Agility]. He wasn’t entirely sure what her Class might be, actually. Usually he could get a feeling for whether someone was oriented toward force, finesse, or firepower, especially at the lower levels, but not so with her.

“The message is in several parts. First, that she is safe, as are most of her inner circle. She has found a defensible position outside any of the cities, and she is gathering people to retake Meil. From there, she should be in a position to move on Tor Kot and drive him out of our country.”

“That’s a hell of a message.” He nodded in satisfaction. That was honestly better than other messages she might have sent, like telling them all to flee to another country. Which he believed she really would do, if all hope were lost. “What does she need from us?”

“People. Farmers, especially those who deal with high mana concentrations, and crafters, the same. For combatants, anyone is welcome, but we especially want Classers above level forty.”

“You won’t find many of the last here, I’m afraid. It might take a few days to collect everyone, but Khiral Town stands in support of our Queen.” And if he had to knock a few heads to ensure that, so be it. Not that everyone here was a citizen, but, well, there had to be some benefits to being higher level than everyone else. “Where will we be sending them?”

“I'll be providing direct teleportation.”

He whistled. “What level are you? We're talking hundreds of people!”

She hesitated, one ear swiveling as if she were listening to something. “The mana isn't mine. Or the Skill. I'm just acting as a conduit,” she admitted.

That was still intimidating, since that meant the Queen had entrusted Shayma with an artifact that kingdoms would go to war for. That, or she had some strange Skill that let her use other people's Skills and mana from a distance. Either one put her well above his pay grade. “Yes ma'am,” he told her. “I'll spread the word. In the meantime, I can arrange for lodgings. One of the benefits of being an adventurer town is we have more inns than usual.”

“I appreciate that.” The fox girl suddenly grinned. “You’d think I’d be used to sleeping on the ground by now, but I really like a proper bed.”

Dyen laughed, patting his slightly protruding gut. There was still muscle there, under the fat, but maybe not as much as there used to be. “Don’t worry, I’m a bit too fond of my own luxuries. I won’t judge you.”

“I appreciate that, too.” She grinned again and Dyen shook his head. If only he were forty years younger…

“Well, I’ll get young Tansen there to show you the best inn.” He waved toward the door, where Tansen was waiting if he knew what was good for him. “Food and lodging, my treat. No, I insist,” he said, as she started to protest. “You’ve brought me the best news I’ve had all year. I’d go myself, but I’ve got a dozen missives to write to start things rolling.”

“I’m looking forward to a hot meal and a roof over my head,” she said, rising as he did. “I’ll recommend you to Queen Iniri.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, and meant it. He’d always wanted to meet her, especially since according to his father, their family was actually distantly related to the Tarnil family.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I was half-afraid nobody here would take me seriously.”

“Well, the foreigners might not. Out-kingdom adventurers can be trouble. But most of us are entirely loyal to the throne.”

“Queen Iniri will be delighted to hear it. These years of fighting...she wouldn’t blame people for losing faith in her.”

“If she has a way to fight back, don’t worry. Everyone here would join in,” he said with more confidence than he actually felt. Actually, a good number of people were more or less indifferent, so long as no calamity befell them personally, but that was just the way of things.

“Tansen!” He called, summoning his aide from his post on the other side of the door. “Please show this lady to the Silver Antler Inn, room and full amenities, billed to me.”

“Yes, sir!” Tansen replied smartly and immediately, showing he did know what was good for him, and Shayma gave him another smile before following the younger man out the door.

For his part, he didn’t delay in dashing out a number of missives by hand, for the most important recipients, leaving a copy for Tansen to reproduce in his own, more readable hand for everyone else. It was already after noon, and he wanted to have at least some people ready to go by the morning. If Shayma was offering teleportation, he knew at least three craftsmen who could pack and be ready to go.

He shrugged on a cloak, told his other aides he was going out, and headed into the rainy streets. The washed cobble and bright storefronts were all made of quarried stone, and not just because of the occasional beasts and monsters that wandered out of Wildwood. Adventurers were people too, and they got drunk or got in fights and if they used their Skills, ordinary wood didn't fare well. Low-levels were the worst when it came to that sort of thing, and Khiral was full of that type.

The weather didn't stop many people, so the streets were still lively. Here, three men with phantom golden shields on their backs crowded into a general store. There, a woman with a flame familiar walked by, the fiery ermine peering out from her cloak. Some Classers were less showy, of course, and even he couldn't tell what they were at a glance.

A few of them recognized him, nodding in respect or, in one case, abruptly turning down a side alley. Most just passed by, about their own business as he was about his. Not that he had far to go, the smithy that was his destination was prestigious enough to have a space in the central square. And expensive enough that there weren’t many people inside when he shouldered the door open.

“Dyen!” The proprietor’s voice boomed out as he waved from behind the counter with far, far too much energy. As if anyone could miss him.

“Eiluth.” He nodded to the big, barrel-chested and flame-haired man, crossing to the counter to clasp arms with him. “I have some good news!”

“Must be mighty good indeed for you to use those two words together!” Eiluth grinned, far too widely.

“It is. We’ve gotten a messenger from the Queen. What’s more -”

“By the gods! She’s alive?”

“Yes. What’s more, she needs crafters that can handle high-mana materials.” He took out the more detailed missive and waved it Eiluth. “Didn’t you always want to be a royal blacksmith?”

Some hours later he emerged from his fifth stop, giving his closest friends the news and the invitation personally. By now the word should be spreading if Tansen had done his job properly, and -

His aide’s paradoxical stone-bird familiar found him by nearly cannoning into him. “There’s been an incident with Shayma.” His voice floated out from the bird’s beak as it peered at him.

“Is she uninjured?” He demanded, reaching down to pick it up. Not without effort. He always forgot how heavy the thing was.

“Yes, but...well, there’s a lot of property damage. At least one death. Right outside the Silver Antler Inn.”

He cursed, but under his breath lest some young priest hear him blaspheming the gods. “All right, I’m on my way.” Dyen broke into a run, summoning up infrequently-used [Skills] to make the corners on his way back to the city center.

When he skidded to a stop in front of the inn, he could see what Tansen had meant by property damage. There was a pit in the cobbles, big enough to fit a cart, right in front of the Silver Antler’s entrance. Above it, the sign, which was wood, had been scorched and blackened from some terrible heat and the same heat had crazed the front windows. The rain hadn’t done the glass any favors, and most of the panes had cracked.

There was no heat now, though. In fact, what was pouring out of the pit was intense cold, fading but still frigid enough to frost the cobbles around it.

Shayma was standing by the pit with a profound scowl and, oddly, in her bare feet. Despite his Class and level, and her earlier friendliness, he was a bit hesitant about approaching her. The sheer amount of force on display was worthy of at least level thirty, but the fact that it was still actually well-confined for all that bumped it by ten levels.

Then he saw that the bottom of the pit contained ice and lava frozen mid-churn and he revised his estimate upward again. Third-tier Class at least, level fifty or above. If there was a corpse somewhere in there, it’d take a lot of getting. “...was this really necessary?” He asked mildly, his hands clasped behind him as he joined her at the edge of the pit.

“No,” she said flatly. “It was an overreaction by my Patron.” Her ears flattened and she glared off at nothing, making him pick his next words carefully.

“Your...patron? You mean Queen Iniri?”

She shook her head. “My Patron is hosting the Queen. And he’s apparently overly sensitive to people threatening me.” Her ears flicked backward, then forward again. “Yes you are, this wasn’t...that’s true, but look at all this! And you could have hurt - no, you aren’t going to -”

Dyen stared as she argued with someone unseen and unheard, at a loss for a moment before his brain caught up. Clearly her Patron had some sort of far-seeing and far-speaking ability. And to be able to project magic this far? Clearly a fourth tier Classer, upper seventies at least, which meant it was one of a dozen people on the continent. Which one though, he couldn’t figure.

“Miss Shayma,” he kept himself polite and respectful. “Could you tell me what happened here?”

“Someone tried to rob me,” she shrugged. “Two someones actually. Len Sannar, level twenty-eight Fencer, and Harrison Grummon, level twenty-seven Phantom Shadow.” Her left ear swiveled, listening to her Patron as she recited the names, levels, and Classes. “Standard tag-team? What does that even mean? Okay, standard tag-team, one to distract the mark - right, I see what you mean now - and one to do the actual thieving. I caught them at it, and Harrison pulled a weapon while getting handsy. So, this happened to him.” She waved at the pit. “Len ran off.”

“...I see.” And he did. He didn’t know whether those two just thought Shayma was an easy mark for being a low-level Classer, or whether they’d put two and two together from the missives and figured she had a teleportation artifact they could acquire. “Well, I'm hardly going to try to arrest you, and it sounds like this Harrison brought it on himself. But I would humbly ask that your Patron be somewhat more restrained in the future. It's going to take a while to clean all this up…”

Shayma's ears flicked again, and she nodded. “He says he can clean it up himself if you don't mind.”

“It would make my life easier,” he admitted. Tracking down this Len person and writing up a death-by-misadventure was going to be work enough without having to find the finances and workers necessary to fix the street and the inn. Though given all the elemental difference involved, he was quite curious how this Patron of hers intended to go about it. Perhaps some sort of temporal spell?

The answer, apparently, was no spell at all. Without a whiff of mana, the street sealed over and cobbled itself, the sign was restored, and the glass and scorched front of the store became as new. It took maybe a minute total, and while Shayma's tail flicked furiously the whole time she didn't seem to be spending any effort. Dyen couldn't help but whistle in appreciation. “That sure is a trick. Who exactly is your Patron, if you don't mind my asking?”

She glanced sideways at him, shaking one foot and then the other as if trying to rid it of water. A hopeless task, considering the rain. “He's a Power,” she answered at length.

He immediately took three steps back. “Gods above, lady!”

Her face fell, then firmed again as her ear twitched. “Oh, don't worry, he thinks you're a pretty good guy.”

“That’s... flattering, but if anyone had known... nobody would have tried to rob you.”

“Blue isn’t entirely ready to be...fully public,” she said, after another pause. “Besides, I don’t exactly look the part?” She waved at her leathers, which was appropriate for a tier one Classer, but not whatever absurd tier she qualified for as a Power’s emissary. “...which reminds me, I need to replace my boots.” She frowned down at her bare feet.

“I have a number of friends who’d be happy to make you new equipment for free. After all, you’re -”

She held up a hand, stopping him. “Blue says he doesn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. Thank you, but we’ll pay for it.”

“Ah…” Dyen’s mind stuttered for a moment, pulling away from Powers to the more mundane realities of commerce. “I’m afraid gold isn’t going to be much use in the better shops here. They trade more in magical items or components and favors. And since you don’t want to trade favors...”

Shayma tilted her head, her hood crinkling, then held out her hand. There was a wisp of black, then an egg-sized spherical gem appeared, ruby-red and faintly glowing. “Will this do?” She asked.

He nearly choked. “God’s blood, I’ve never seen a fire Source that big! My lady, you could buy an entire store with that. Don’t show that around unless you want more people to try and rob you.”

Her expression twitched. “...yes, that is pretty embarrassing.” The gem vanished. “Thank you for your help, Dyen. If you could give me the names of your friends anyway…? I’ll want to send them to Queen Iniri, too.”

“Of course,” he agreed. Hopefully he’d be able to warn them before Shayma arrived. No matter how well-intentioned this “Blue” claimed to be, he was still a Power and something most people would rather not deal with. “...Blue won’t tell her himself?”

“He won’t communicate except through me. Not even through writing or anything.” Shayma shrugged. “Powers are weird.”