Chapter 1

Cyrod

The steady, rhythmic sound of rainfall echoed through the thick jungle of Cyrod, mixing with the wild cries of birds and the occasional growls of hungry predators. The cacophony masked the sounds of a horse slowly trudging through the thick mud of the forest floor. Its rider drew its plaid cloak tighter around itself as it peered out under the hood, scowling as its bright grey eyes scanned the area, searching in vain for the path that it had strayed from hours ago.

Until today, traveling had been relatively simple by comparison, he thought bitterly. He had originally set out from the northern highlands of Tamriel, and for almost three weeks he had deftly woven his way along open mountain paths. From the mouth of the Iliac Bay, he had made his way south through the Dragontail Mountains and the Reach, carefully avoiding the treacherous desert to the west. While cutting directly through the desert might have been faster, it was also far more dangerous, especially to a lone rider unfamiliar with it.

Eventually, the steep, cold mountains of the Reach had given way to smaller, forested mountains that indicated that he had crossed the border from Skyrim into Cyrod. The air had grown steadily warmer and more humid, and the alpine vegetation had been replaced with alien ferns, palmettos, and deciduous trees quite unlike those of his homeland. When he had first arrived, he had felt a sense of elation that his long journey was entering its last leg, and he had been rejuvenated by the thought of exploring a foreign land for the first time. At least until the rain had started.

For the past three days, he had been slogging through intermittent rainstorms of varying strength. Twice, he had been forced to take shelter under low rock formations when the torrential downpours had made travel nearly impossible – he wasn't foolish enough to ride when he could barely see five feet in front of him. Still, he almost would have preferred a proper thunderstorm to the depressing rain he was plodding through now. The clouds above were only a light, misty grey, but the raindrops that splattered around him were fat, heavy droplets of water that splashed uncomfortably into his face when they struck his cloak or the back of the horse beneath him.

The young man smiled wryly as he heard his mount snort with annoyance, and he dropped one gloved hand down and patted the dusky gold hide of the palfrey doggedly ambling through the underbrush beneath him. "I know, Emero," he assured his steed in a gentle voice. "I'm not happy about this either. You have every right to be upset with me, so thank you for enduring this for now. When we find a place to stop, I'll give you a good rub-down. You've more than earned it."

The horse responded by flicking an ear at him, and whether it was intentional or not, the rider was again splashed in the face by a few loose raindrops clinging to the tip of its ear. Despite that, he gave his horse an amused smile as he wiped his hand over his face, and then he sighed and once again looked up at the sky, searching futilely for some sign of the sun.

Part of the reason why he had been having so much trouble orienting himself was due to the lack of visibility in the jungle. The dense canopy above him already made finding the sky difficult at best, even without the clouds, which had completely obscured the sun for hours. What's more, the path he was following through the jungle was narrow, and it was made worse by the thick foliage creeping along the edges of the road, at times making it almost impossible to see. Thus, he was hardly surprised that he had mistaken a break in the vegetation for a fork in the road, which he had followed it for nearly a mile before he realized that he was going the wrong way. He had then tried to retrace his steps, but the steady rain had already washed away his horse's hoofprints, leaving him isolated in the middle of the jungle with no path to follow.

Still, he wasn't panicking. For one, this wasn't the first time he had gotten lost… though admittedly the last time it had happened, he had been in an open mountain range with a clear sky, so he had eventually been able to work his way south and find the path again. Still, there were other ways to navigate, even without using the sun. A slight smile crossed his lips as he glanced down at his horse.

"What do you think, Emero?" he asked his horse, nudging it with his heels. "Do we want to pick a direction and travel in it until we leave the forest? Or do you think we should look for a clearing?"

His horse pointedly ignored him as it continued to plod through the mud, though it paused for a moment to shake its mane and snort at him again. He smiled tolerantly down at it as he reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a small, clear stone.

"Right. Let's see if I can get enough light to use this, then," he said, using his grip on the reins to guide his horse towards a patch of pale light streaming through a gap in the canopy. However, before he could reach it, something distracted him.

A piercing scream echoed through the woods, startling him. The stone slipped out of his grasp, but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground. He turned his head to his left, frowning and straining his ears. After a moment, another scream erupted from that direction.

He hesitated for a moment as he stuffed his stone back into his pouch, considering his options. On the one hand, if someone was screaming, the wise thing to do was avoid the potential danger. Yet… if someone else was nearby, perhaps they could guide him out of the jungle. He frowned deeply as he glanced down towards his left hip, where he wore a straight-bladed bronze shortsword for defense. He was no warrior, but he was armed, and he was nearby. Decency dictated that he try to help someone if they needed it.

He took a deep breath to brace himself, then turned his horse to his left and snapped the reins. Emero took off at a run, and he pressed himself to his horse's wet back to avoid the low-hanging tree branches that whipped past them, narrowly missing his face. He gripped the horse's flanks with his dangling legs and clutched the reins tightly, until a pair of figures came into view. He quickly brought the horse to a stop and straightened up, narrowing his eyes at the scene before him.

A tall figure on a dapple-grey horse was attempting to drag a smaller figure on the ground, the latter of which was viciously struggling against its captor. The being on the horse was quite tall, with dark bronze skin and piercing blue eyes. Its chest was encased in a polished, sleeveless bronze cuirass embossed with feather design. A leather skirt, bronze greaves, and leather sandals covered its legs, while a high-browed bronze helmet protected its skull and cheeks. The figure was instantly recognizable as one of the Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves that ruled the land of Cyrod.

The figure on the ground, by contrast, was a young human woman of Nedic descent. Her skin was pale and freckled, and her short, rust-colored hair was a wet, matted mess around her head. She wore only a tattered chiton that might have once been white, but was now so caked with grime that it was an unsightly mixture of grey and brown. Her wrists and ankles were chained with bronze shackles, and the Ayleid on the horse was gripping the chain binding her wrists, using it to drag her along after him. The girl was furiously tugging against his grasp, digging her bare feet into the mud while desperately struggling to break free. At her feet was an overturned wicker basket, with various herbs and flowers spilling out of it.

"Just… come… along!" the Ayleid snapped, yanking the chains in an attempt to dislodge her grip on the ground, though the girl just dug her toes even deeper into the earth.

"I don't belong to you!" she shrieked. "Help! Mistress!"

The Ayleid snarled and dropped his left hand to his hip, grabbing a bronze mace capped with a spherical head. The girl flinched and tugged at her captor even more frantically as the elf raised his club with a vicious sneer.

"Pardon me," the foreign traveler called out, causing both figures to pause and turn to stare at him as he nudged his horse forward, approaching them at an easy walk. "I was wondering if one of you might be able to assist me."

The girl's eyes widened, and she hurriedly exclaimed, "Please, help me! This man is trying to steal me, and I'm not his sla-!"

The Ayleid roughly yanked the girl's chains again, shutting her up immediately, before turning back to the approaching interloper. He narrowed his icy blue eyes suspiciously as he hissed, "Who are you?"

"My name is Atkynd," he replied, inclining his head in a polite bow under his hood. "I'm a traveler from the highlands in the north, and I'm afraid I've gotten a bit lost. And you are?"

"You don't need to know my name. All you need to know is that I'm a slavecatcher," the Ayleid replied after a moment. "This girl you see is a slave who was trying to escape from my kingdom. I'm simply returning her to her rightful home."

"He's not-!" the girl exclaimed, but then she was forced to duck as the Ayleid swiped at her with his mace.

"Under whose authority?" Atkynd asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the pair.

"The authority of the King of Vindasel, of course," the Ayleid replied simply, tugging the girl's chains again.

"I'm from Ceya-Tar!" the girl protested immediately. "I've never been to Vindasel in my life!"

"She lies," the Ayleid added quickly, glaring down at the girl and raising the cudgel threateningly again. The girl shrank away, but turned to Atkynd with a pleading look on her face.

"That was a rather quick response for someone who was lying," Atkynd pointed out. "Usually, a liar would need a few moments to come up with a response like that. That sounded more like a reflex."

"Slaves will say anything if it helps them escape," the Ayleid insisted.

"Yes, but why would an escaping slave mention where they're from?" Atkynd countered coolly. "Especially if they were trying to flee?"

The Ayleid hesitated, glaring down at the girl, who stared up at him defiantly. "As I explained, it's my duty to return her-"

"Oh, no, I concur," Atkynd agreed smoothly, folding his hands on his horse's back while gazing at the Ayleid. "Now then, she says she's from Ceya-Tar, yes? Is it nearby?"

"Very!" the girl piped up, flinching away from the Ayleid as he threatened her with the club again, his blue eyes wide with warning. Atkynd smiled warmly at her before returning his attention to the Ayleid.

"Excellent! Then we should take her there and get this cleared up," Atkynd said. The Ayleid's expression turned murderous as his piercing eyes turned back to him. "Surely you don't have an issue with that? If Ceya-Tar is close, then that's fortunate for us, as not only does that ensure that we don't need to travel very far, but the nobles there can verify her story. If she's lying, and she is indeed a runaway from Vindasel, they wouldn't recognize her, yes?"

The Ayleid hesitated, while Atkynd carefully suppressed a smile. He knew he had the elf trapped, since there was no logical reason for the slavecatcher to refuse if he was being honest. If they went to Vindasel, it would be easy for him to find someone who would lie for him, but if the slavecatcher was lying and the girl was from Ceya-Tar, the nobles in the city wouldn't be pleased to learn that their property was being poached.

The Ayleid seemed to realize this too, as his stance became more overtly hostile as he rested the mace on his shoulder. "You should keep riding. This doesn't concern you," he warned Atkynd in a low growl.

"No, you're right. It doesn't," Atkynd agreed, nudging his horse forward. The Ayleid raised his mace in warning, but Atkynd held his hand up in a placating gesture. As he kept his eyes fixed on the elf, the palm of his hand began glowing. The Ayleid's eyes widened as a bolt of aqua-colored light erupted from his hand and struck the Ayleid square in the chest. Atkynd held his breath as he watched the Ayleid's face intently. For a few tense moments, it seemed as though nothing had happened. Then, to his relief, the elf's arm went slack and dropped to his side, the mace hanging loosely from his fingers, while a glassy-eyed expression settled over his face. The girl's mouth fell open, and she glanced furtively between the Ayleid and Atkynd, unsure of how to react. Atkynd smiled to himself as he nudged his horse forward a bit more, and he gently held his hand out to the girl. She hesitated for a moment, but when he nodded to her encouragingly, she took his hand. The Ayleid didn't protest, still staring blankly off into space.

"I don't fully understand how this realm operates, so forgive my ignorance," Atkynd continued, turning his attention back to the limp Ayleid. "If I understand correctly, your duty is to the King of Vindasel, yes? I would recommend you deliver a report to him about this incident, so he can prepare for our arrival. In the meantime, I'll save you the journey to Ceya-Tar, and deliver her there myself. You have my word, once I verify that she's escaped from your kingdom, I'll take her to Vindasel myself. Until then, safe journeys!"

The Ayleid didn't respond, but he turned his horse to his right and began riding off in that direction. Atkynd smiled to himself as he turned his attention back to the human girl, who was staring after the Ayleid in disbelief. Atkynd lightly squeezed her hand, trying to regain her attention, at which point she looked back at him.

"We should hurry," he said softly to her, nodding after the Ayleid. "That spell won't last more than a few minutes, and when it wears off, he's going to be after both of our heads. You said we're near Ceya-Tar, right? Is that your home?"

"Y-yes," the girl stammered. "My mistress will be expecting me."

"Indeed? I have a favor to ask, then," Atkynd said. "Like I said, I'm afraid I've lost my way. Do you think there's someone in Ceya-Tar who can direct me to the Temple of the Ancestors?"

"Ah… perhaps? My mistress may be able to help better than I could," the girl said, though she sounded unsure.

"Good enough. Can you lead the way?" Atkynd asked easily.

"Of… of course," she affirmed. "Just… one moment, please."

Atkynd tapped his fingers impatiently on his horse's reins as the girl stooped down and quickly scooped the herbs and flowers that she had gathered back into her basket. As she worked, he kept his eyes glued on the gap in the trees that the Ayleid had disappeared through, and he only relaxed slightly when the girl announced, "Let's be off."

Atkynd nodded and held his hand out to her again. "Do you know how to ride?" he asked. "If you do, we'll be able to make better time."

The girl's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "Slaves aren't allowed to ride horses," she protested.

"I see. Well, this one time shouldn't hurt, right?" Atkynd suggested. The girl, however, took a slight step back and shook her head more vigorously.

"I'm sorry, but if my mistress sees me on horseback, I'll be tortured," the girl insisted. "Please… can I just walk? I promise, Ceya-Tar is within walking distance, or I wouldn't have been allowed out this far, even shackled."

Atkynd shot another glance after the Ayleid, but then he sighed and nodded briefly. "Let's hurry, then," he pressed.

"Of course!" the girl agreed, tucking the basket under her arm. She then took off at a run in one direction, and Atkynd followed her at a trot, trying to keep pace without outrunning the girl. Thankfully, Emero seemed to catch on to what he was doing and matched his speed to the young woman's.

As they traveled, the girl shot him a furtive glance, but she seemed hesitant about speaking up. Finally, Atkynd said, "If you want to say something, please, speak your mind."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, flinching. "You… said that you're a traveler? That you're not from Cyrod? Where… are you from, exactly?"

Atkynd smiled slightly to himself. "I'm from a region to the north known as Malabal."

"High… Rock?" the girl asked hesitantly.

"Well… we call it the Highlands, but yes, High Rock is a direct translation," Atkynd confirmed, noting how she had separated the words "Mala" and "Bal" – "High" and "Rock" respectively.

"I've never seen clothing like yours," she remarked, her eyes running along his white linen undertunic – he'd worn a wool tunic through the mountains, but he found it too warm for Cyrod, and had taken it off shortly after crossing the border – brown pants, and ankle-high leather boots. Her gaze lingered especially on the dark blue and green plaid cloak he wore over his shoulders. "That seems… heavy."

"For this region, yes," Atkynd agreed with a laugh. "But it's a symbol of my kingdom and my clan, so I'm wearing it as a matter of pride. Plus, it repels rain," he added, shooting a glare up at the stormclouds overhead, which seemed to rumble in response.

The girl nodded slightly, then shot him a sidelong glance. "Ah… what you did to that slavecatcher… was that magic?" she asked.

"It was a charm spell, yes," Atkynd replied. "I'm no mage, but I know a couple of spells, and I find that one particularly useful for resolving situations peacefully. I don't like drawing my sword if I don't have to, especially since I'm no warrior either."

"Are humans in High Rock taught magic, then?" she asked.

Atkynd's smile turned slightly mysterious. "What makes you think I'm human?" he asked in a playfully cryptic voice.

The girl's eyes widened, and she said quickly, "If… if you're not… but all the elves I've met have golden skin, and yours is pale…!"

"Well… perhaps you should look a bit more closely," Atkynd said, reaching up to push his hood back, giving her a good look at his face. While his skin was very fair, his long hair, tied in a loose ponytail with a strand of string, was an unusual shade of silvery-blond – not unheard of in humans, but certainly not common. His eyes were also an odd shade for a human – the same stormy grey as the clouds above them. His most glaring nonhuman characteristic, however, was how the tips his ears tapered to a slight point. While the shape wasn't as pronounced as most elves, it marked him as a descendant of mer blood.

The girl squeaked and shrank away from him, as though she expected to be struck. "Forgive me, my lord! I was unaware you were an elf!" she exclaimed. "I-I didn't mean to presume… or to insult you… I was unaware that the mer of the north looked as you-!"

Atkynd burst out laughing at her reaction, holding his hand up to calm her. "You didn't insult me," he assured her, still chuckling. "And to be fair, you were half-right. I do have human blood as well. I'm what my people call a Manmer. A Beratu. A Breton. A half-elf." He grinned at her mischievously as he added, "I'm also certainly no lord."

The girl's jaw fell open, and she stammered, "But… if you have human blood… how are you not a slave?"

"The simple answer is that not all lands share the same laws about slavery as Cyrod," Atkynd replied easily. "In Malabal, those of us with elven blood are afforded certain privileges, and may even rise to positions where we're given some responsibilities. I'm one of those who was fortunate enough to be born into such circumstances, and to have a liege who values skill over blood."

The young woman gazed at him with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and envy. After a moment, she looked down and murmured, "Fortunate indeed."

"My apologies," Atkynd added quickly, noting her despondent tone. "I didn't mean to sound haughty."

"You… you didn't," the girl said, tilting her head at him curiously. "Strange. I've never had a mer apologize to me before."

"Well… I did sound rude, so you deserve an apology," Atkynd replied, smiling down at her. "Forgive me, I also didn't ask you your name."

The girl hesitated and looked away, putting one hand on her other arm. "I don't have a name," she murmured.

Atkynd opened his mouth, then closed it upon realizing that he couldn't say anything in response to that. His eyes lingered on her as she walked beside him. Now that they were out of danger, he had a better opportunity to appraise her. He supposed she was roughly his age, but it was difficult to tell, given how small she was. While he was taller than most humans, thanks to his mer blood, she was far below average – he guessed she wouldn't even come up to his chest. He wondered how much of that had to do with lack of food. She was painfully thin, to the point that he could see the outlines of her bones under her pale skin, and her face was gaunter than he had first realized. The longer he gazed at her, the more pity he felt for her.

The girl glanced towards him with a curious look. As he caught her gaze, he realized how sharp her blue-green eyes seemed. Then, he abruptly realized that he was staring, and he quickly decided to change the subject. After a moment, his gaze drifted down to the basket in her hand, and he cleared his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing in the woods?"

"This," she replied, holding up the basket. "I was collecting herbs for my mistress. She uses them to make potions."

"Oh, then you're an alchemist?" Atkynd asked, inwardly smiling at the fact that he'd managed to successfully shift the awkward mood between them.

"Not… as such, no," the girl admitted. "My mistress trusts me to gather ingredients and prepare them for her, but she's the one who mixes the actual potions."

"Still, that's a great deal of trust she's placed in you," Atkynd pointed out. "It shows in the fact that she lets you into the jungle without guards."

"Yes… it's a great honor to be so highly regarded as a slave," the girl muttered. Atkynd perked his ear slightly, catching the bitterness in her voice. Before he could continue the conversation, however, she looked up and pointed at something through the trees. "Ah! That's Ceya-Tar."

Atkynd gazed at the spot where she was pointing. Through a gap in the trees, he could make out a magnificent marble city resting in a clearing that had been carved from the jungle. It was surrounded by a low, white, circular wall, patrolled by Ayleid guards wearing sleeveless bronze cuirasses and equipped with short, bronze-tipped spears and elegant wooden bows. One of the guards spotted them approaching and pointed. Another guard walked over and leaned over the edge of the wall with a bemused look.

"What do you think you're doing, girl?" the guard snapped. "Your mistress is already furious that you're late, and now you're bringing an outsider to our gates?!"

"Please allow us in, my lord," the girl replied, lowering her head meekly, gripping her basket tightly in both hands. "This one saved me from being abducted-"

"Truly? He looks like a slave himself," the other guard sneered.

"What's he doing on a horse?" the first guard pondered, touching his chin.

"He's from a distant land," the girl replied. "Please… I intend to take him before my mistress. He will not cause trouble in the meantime."

The guards traded looks, and then the first one shrugged. "Very well. It's your neck," he commented indifferently.

As the gates to the city slowly swung open, Atkynd glanced down at his companion with a raised eyebrow. "Does this happen often?" he asked in a low voice.

"Ceya-Tar has many enemies," the girl admitted. "As does every city in Cyrod. It's only practical for them to be cautious. Follow me. I'll take you to my mistress."

Atkynd quirked his mouth as he glanced down at his horse, then decided to dismount and take Emero by the reins. If the Ayleids were suspicious of humans on horseback, then he should avoid drawing attention to himself, he mused. To his surprise, a blond-haired human girl immediately approached him and tentatively held out her hand to take the reins from him. Atkynd shot a glance at his companion, who nodded quickly. Atkynd smiled down at the blond girl and handed her the reins of his horse, and the girl quietly guided the horse to a stable near the city walls, her head bowed. Atkynd frowned as he watched her, but then he felt his companion tugging his sleeve, motioning for him to come along. He nodded and fell into step beside her.

The girl led him through the dirt streets of Ceya-Tar, leading him past small, circular huts made of branches, mud, and thatch. Atkynd spied small families of slaves inside, all wearing torn, dirty chitons – if they wore anything at all – and all with bronze manacles on their wrists and ankles. The slaves eyed him suspiciously and fearfully, but when he tried to make eye contact with them, they quickly looked away, shrinking back into the shadows of their dwellings.

"Those are house slaves," the girl explained as she followed his gaze. "Some of us are given permission to work in the homes of our Ayleid lords. However, we're not permitted to sleep in their houses. They insist we stay outside with the other animals. Though… they're the fortunate ones," she added. Atkynd raised an eyebrow, and she added, "It's far better than living in the caverns beneath the city. At least the house slaves enjoy the fresh air. And they belong to a household. The ones in the caverns have no protection from…." She trailed off with a shudder.

Atkynd frowned to himself as the girl led him deeper into the city. The wooden huts abruptly gave way to brightly-painted, square-shaped marble houses held up by fluted pillars. Though human slaves busied about inside the houses and walked through the streets, they were overseen by proud Ayleids wearing clean, brightly-colored chitons trimmed with ornate patterns stitched in gold and silver thread, with most also carrying bronze weaponry at their hips. As they passed by the mer, they tended to eye Atkynd with curiosity rather than fear, though a few of their gazes were more overtly hostile. Most seemed surprised when Atkynd returned their gazes, as though they weren't expecting him to meet their eyes. Thankfully, they weren't bothered by anyone, and presently the girl held up her hand as she stopped in front of the largest building in the city.

"The palace of King Hadhuul," the girl explained, folding her hands behind her back as she slumped her shoulders. Atkynd glanced down at her for a moment before returning his attention to the stately palace. The enormous building rested on a foundation of heavy granite, with sixteen stairs flanked by marble statues of elven warriors leading up to the palace proper. The fa?ade of the building consisted of twelve fluted, marble columns capped with floral designs, holding up a triangular roof faced with a colorful fresco of a golden king wreathed in fire. Between each of the columns burned a brass brazier, attended to by a pair of slaves flitting back and forth to ensure that they remained lit. Beyond the pillars were a pair of heavy bronze doors set into a massive, pointed archway. Four palace guards wearing cuirasses etched with ornate flame designs stood at the entrance of the palace. As they approached, they crossed their spears in front of the pair and eyed Atkynd suspiciously. The girl, however, held up her hand and shook her head, silently pleading entry. The guards traded looks, then slowly uncrossed their spears, silently letting them pass. The girl nodded in thanks, and she hurried up the stairs with Atkynd in tow. Four slaves pushed the doors open, and the pair quickly walked past them into the entrance hall of the palace.

The interior of the palace was constructed of marble in various shades – black marble for the floor, pink for the walls, and gleaming white for the pillars and roof. Glowing aquamarine stones were perched in sconces lining the walls, while clusters of white crystals hung above them in black metal chandeliers, bathing the room in a soft, cool light. A long, plush red carpet extended across the floor, leading up to a carved marble throne, which was presently empty. Atkynd heard the girl exhale with what he suspected was relief when she laid eyes on the empty throne, but when he shot her a curious look, she simply shook her head and motioned for him to follow. He tilted his head, but followed her quietly as she hurried across the hall, heading directly for a figure wearing a long blue robe bedecked with feathers.

"Mistress?" the girl asked in a quiet voice, almost squeaking the word out. She curled into herself as the woman swung around, gazing imperiously down at the slave. Her eerie blue eyes lingered on the human for a moment before snapping over to Atkynd.

Atkynd took the opportunity to scrutinize her as well. He was a few inches taller than her, but her posture radiated so much confidence that he somehow felt as though she was looking down at him. She wore her long red hair loose around her shoulders, and her hooked nose and feathery mantle reminded Atkynd of a firebird. The woman stared at him for a few moments with a mixture of idle curiosity and contempt before she turned back to the slave. Without warning, she drew her hand up and struck the girl across the face, knocking her to the floor. Atkynd winced as the sound echoed off the walls, though no one else in the area so much as glanced their way.

"You're late, girl," the woman hissed. "I expected you to be done before midday."

"That was hardly her fault," Atkynd interjected. "There was a slave catch-"

"I wasn't addressing you!" the woman snapped, shutting Atkynd up with a glare. She turned her gaze back to the girl cowering in front of her, then she reached down and grabbed her by the face, dragging her forward so that she could stare into the girl's green eyes. "When I give you a command, you fulfill it, even if the daedra themselves try to stop you. Understand?"

The girl nodded quickly, at which point the woman let her go. She gave the girl a final smack across the face, then jabbed her finger at a brazier. "You have until that fire dies down to return to the slave pens, prepare the ingredients for me, get cleaned, and return here," the woman snapped. "We've already lost too much time, and the king expects to depart shortly. Go!"

The girl turned and scrambled away, shooting Atkynd one last glance over her shoulder before she disappeared around the corner of another door. The woman sighed heavily, then turned her attention back to Atkynd. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

"Forgive me," Atkynd replied, quickly slipping into a diplomatic voice. He dipped into a quick bow. "My name is Atkynd. I'm an emissary from Malabal. I'm afraid that I got lost traveling through the forest, though your slave helped me find my way back. She mentioned that you might be able to assist me in finding my way again."

"Indeed? That would partially explain why she was late, if she was dallying with you," the woman said thoughtfully. She then shot him a sidelong glance and added, "You also mentioned something about a slavecatcher?"

"Yes. One was trying to abduct her," Atkynd replied. "If I recall correctly, they claimed that they were from Vindasel."

"Indeed? Then you spared her a horrific fate on one of their wailing wheels, or as a flesh-sculpture," the Ayleid remarked. Atkynd frowned slightly, taken aback by how casual her tone was, despite the horrors she was mentioning. It was as though she was commenting about the storm outside – mildly unpleasant, but not particularly concerning. She folded her arms across her chest, before adding, "I suppose that I should thank you for ensuring that my property wasn't stolen."

"I'm happy to have been of service, my lady," Atkynd replied, inclining his head politely again. "Though, forgive me… I'm unsure how to address you."

"Ah, yes, I didn't introduce myself, did I?" the woman asked rhetorically. "My name is Arcanalata. I am the High Priestess of Magnus, the God of Magic, and advisor to King Hadhuul, the Fire King of Ceya-Tar."

"Then it's an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Eminence," Atkynd said.

"Yes, it is," Arcanalata agreed. She folded her hands behind her back and walked around Atkynd in a short circle, her sandals echoing off the polished marble floor. "Now then. For returning my property safely, I am obligated to grant you a boon, albeit a minor one. State what you wish, and I shall determine if it's within my power to grant it."

"Your graciousness is matched only by your beauty," Atkynd said. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pleased smirk cross her face, and he struggled to keep one of his own off his face. "As I said, I ran across your slave only because I lost my way. I intend to open new trade routes in the name of my king – including with your king, if he's so inclined. I do have wares with me, and I would be more than happy to provide a one or two as a gift, as thanks for your hospitality. However, my ultimate destination is the Temple of the Ancients. I was wondering if perhaps I might be provided an escort – or at least directions – to the City of White-Gold?"

Arcanalata's blue eyes lingered on him for a few moments, and then a light chuckle escaped her lips. She turned her back to him and walked a few paces away, staring into one of the burning braziers with a slight smile on her lips. "You are fortunate indeed," she said. "As it happens, the king's entourage was to set out for the White-Gold City shortly anyways."

"Is that so?" Atkynd asked, surprised. "Is there an event…?"

"Yes. What's more, His Majesty was expected to attend a meeting with the Council of Elders, where the kings of the various states in the empire congregate to discuss regional matters," Arcanalata explained. She turned back to him with a soft chuckle. "Therefore, I can provide you not only with an escort to the city, I can also secure an invitation to speak before the Council of Elders. I trust that should suffice for repayment?"

Atkynd's mouth fell open. "My lady is truly gracious," he replied, inclining his head again. Until now, he had just been flattering her, as was part of the diplomatic dance, but now he was genuinely grateful. He had expected to have to fight for the chance to present himself before any of the Ayleid kings, so an audience with all of them at once was more than he could have hoped for.

"Think nothing of it. I simply don't wish to be indebted to anyone, regardless of how small the debt might be," Arcanalata replied, waving off his thanks. She turned towards the one of the arched, shuttered windows of the palace, which she pushed open to gaze outside. Atkynd followed her line of sight and noticed that the rain was finally stopping, though the sky remained overcast.

"And it would seem our fortunes continue to rise," Arcanalata remarked. She turned back to Atkynd, adding, "You've had a long journey, yes? Would you care for something to drink?"

"If you could spare a bit of water?" Atkynd asked. Arcanalata tilted her head upwards, seeming pleased by his humble request, and she snapped her fingers. A young boy wearing only a short skirt scampered up to her, and he lowered his head as she glared imperiously down at him.

"Fetch our guest some water," she ordered him. The boy scurried off towards a back room, and moments later returned with a clay bowl filled with clear water.

"Thank you," Atkynd said quietly. The boy's eyes widened, his mouth falling open at the unexpected gratitude, and he nodded furiously before dashing off again. Atkynd watched him run off with a pitying smile on his lips, but a moment later, his eyes were drawn to a new figure sweeping into the hall.

The Ayleid that strode into the hall stood almost a full head above Arcanalata, and his posture made him appear even taller. He had a broad, chiseled jaw and hooded blue eyes, giving him a naturally severe expression. His hair was hidden under a bronze helmet adorned with a crown-like design that was somehow simultaneously evocative of flames and wings. His polished bronze armor was etched with stylized flames, though unlike the sleeveless cuirasses of his guards, his armor included flared pauldrons that protected his shoulders. Open-fingered bronze gauntlets covered his hands and ornate greaves protected his knees and shins. A long red cape bearing a stylized golden flame fluttered behind him. In his hand he gripped a long bronze spear blazing with magical fire, which he idly twirled as he approached Arcanalata, ignoring Atkynd. Atkynd immediately realized who the Ayleid was and stooped his head in a low bow, though he didn't say a word.

"Is our entourage prepared to leave?" the man asked Arcanalata shortly, resting the butt of his spear on the marble floor as he stared down at the priestess.

"Whenever Your Majesty desires," Arcanalata replied, lowering her head in a slight bow.

"Excellent. We've been delayed by this storm long enough, and I'm eager to attend the festivities," the Ayleid remarked. His eyes wandered over to Atkynd, and a low, disapproving growl rumbled in his throat. "One of the slaves is loose. Kill it," he said idly. Atkynd felt his heart stop, until the king added, "No… wait. Have it bound and caged. We'll take it with us so that we can hunt it later. It's been quite some time since we've had a good, sporting hunt. The children are becoming dull – they tend to get caught too quickly." Atkynd dared to peek up at the Ayleid, and his blood turned to ice as he caught sight of the sadistic sneer curling on the man's lip.

"I'm afraid I can't comply with your request, Your Majesty," Arcanalata replied smoothly. Atkynd felt another rush of gratitude towards the woman, though he was unnerved by the detached way she declined. Her tone made it clear that she was only denying the king as a matter of protocol rather than out of any actual desire to help Atkynd. "This is not one of our slaves. He claims to be an emissary from one of the kingdoms of Malabal."

"And? It's in our territory now. Chain it. If it's from another land, so much the better – it'll make the hunt exotic," the king replied airily. Atkynd swallowed hard as Arcanalata sighed impatiently.

"I must remind Your Majesty that capturing an emissary is tantamount to declaring war upon another kingdom, which we have no desire for right now," Arcanalata explained. "Our skirmishes with Vindasel are still occupying most of our forces' time, and we can't spare the soldiers to fight a war on another front. Besides, he claims that he can present us with trade goods."

"Indeed? Have we seized them yet?" the king asked.

"Majesty," Arcanalata said, her tone almost admonishing, though it remained respectful.

"…Very well. As this is a day of celebration, we'll show some magnanimity," the king sighed. "Announce us, priestess."

"Atkynd, you have the great honor of standing in the presence of Hadhuul, King of Ceya-Tar," Arcanalata said.

"Your Majesty's mercy is matched only by his radiance," Atkynd said, slipping into a sycophantic tone that he figured would appeal to the king's ego. "We are humbled to be in your presence."

"As well you should be, boy," Hadhuul replied shortly. "We shall permit you to raise your head. You have brought us gifts?"

"If it pleases your Majesty," Atkynd replied quickly. To his chagrin, he realized that he had left his bundle of wares on his horse, but he had thankfully thought to keep a couple small items on him. He reached to his belt pouch and pulled out a small goblet made of tin and inlaid with garnets. He balanced it on his palm and extended it to King Hadhuul. "A token, and an example."

Hadhuul snatched the goblet from him and coldly examined it, before looking back down at him. "I have little interest in trinkets, boy," he snapped, though he closed his fingers around the goblet anyways. "What I'd rather discuss are… live goods."

"…Slaves, Your Majesty?" Atkynd inferred.

"So, it can think," Hadhuul smirked. "Yes. I've little knowledge of the northern stock of humans. What breeds of slave can your king provide us with?"

Atkynd hesitated for a long moment, struggling to keep the discomfort off his face. "I… would need to speak with my king directly in order to ascertain his position on the matter," he said finally. "However, my king is generally loath to part with his Nedic subjects, even for the sake of profit."

"Subjects? What a curious thing to call one's slaves," Hadhuul remarked with a sneer. "Does he refer to them as subjects because he has deluded himself into believing that he rules them as a lord, rather than as a master?"

Atkynd swallowed hard, choosing to ignore the king's question. Instead, he inclined his head and said, "We also have other goods which might interest His Majesty. We recently discovered and claimed a rich vein of tin-"

"We have little interest in anything else," Hadhuul interrupted him shortly. "Our stock of slaves tends to run low rather quickly."

"Your Majesty does so enjoy his hunting," Arcanalata commented in a low, sardonic voice.

"We do indeed," Hadhuul agreed, apparently not catching the sarcasm in Arcanalata's voice. "If your king is willing to consider trading in slaves, then we might perhaps reach an accord. If not, we have little else to discuss."

"As Your Majesty wishes," Atkynd replied, stooping into another bow. "Once my business in Cyrod is concluded, I shall convey your wishes to him."

"See that you do. We are eager to expand into new markets, if they become available. And we will certainly reward your king greatly if he elects to do business with us," Hadhuul said. "Until then… we suspect it would not be standing here if you did not permit it, priestess. Will it be accompanying us to the Temple of the Ancestors?" he asked, glancing towards Arcanalata.

"I agreed to let him join our entourage when we depart, as a favor," Arcanalata nodded.

"Oh… very well. It may ride in the back," Hadhuul sighed. He turned back towards Atkynd, and a look of disgust crossed his face. "We do so hate having the taint of humanity in our presence," he growled. "Our patience with you is at an end. Begone," he snapped suddenly. When Atkynd blinked in surprise, the king raised his spear, and the flames near the tip roared to life.

Atkynd's eyes wideend, and he bowed again and hastily retreated, hurrying to the entrance of the palace. He practically ran through the double doors and stumbled onto the granite steps, ignoring the guards chortling at him as he rushed past them. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was seated on the stairs, whereupon he took several deep breaths and stared down at the bowl of water trembling in his hands. He suddenly became aware of his very dry throat, and he quickly swallowed the rest of the water. Naturally, it didn't help. One of the slaves approached him and held her hands out for the bowl. Atkynd placed it in her hands, then crossed his arms on his knees, struggling to calm his heartbeat.

"Our king will be pleased to know that others still find him intimidating. He does so enjoy striking fear into the hearts of those that meet him," a feminine voice announced. Atkynd looked over his shoulder to see Arcanalata staring down at him with an amused smirk on her lips. He quickly pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off.

"Forgive me for my abrupt departure. I merely felt it prudent to obey the king's command as expediently as possible," Atkynd explained hurriedly.

"Indeed? Surely it had nothing to do with the king threatening you?" Arcanalata countered, chuckling. Atkynd grimaced and lowered his head. "You were wise to obey him," she added. "And you were fortunate. King Hadhuul was in good spirits. Usually, he does not suffer those with human blood in his presence. Gods, he barely tolerates other Ayleids."

"You… said you are his advisor," Atkynd commented as his heartbeat began slowing. "Is it a difficult position?"

"At times, quite. Particularly when a situation calls for diplomacy rather than force of arms, and His Majesty is disinclined to heed advice," Arcanalata sighed. "Nevertheless, he is our king, and we obey him. His temper is deadly, but his strength of arm is undeniable, and he has protected us for many years." She folded her hands in front of her, adding, "A word of advice, boy. You will meet with others like him when you venture into the White-Gold City. You should prepare yourself for such encounters."

"Thank you," Atkynd said softly, lowering his head. "I… admit, I had not expected such a… reception," he said, after spending a moment to find the right word.

"Your king is elven as well, yes?" Arcanalata asked. "He would have been wiser to send a mer emissary. Sending one with human blood was like sending a lamb into a lion's den."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, his is my king, and I obey him," Atkynd replied, echoing Arcanalata's words.

To his surprise, the Ayleid woman let out a soft chuckle. "You do not want for courage or determination, at least," she remarked. "Rest assured, I shall fulfill my promise to secure you an audience with the kings in the Temple of the Ancestors, though you may eventually feel that my offer was not a boon." She looked past him towards the walls of Ceya-Tar. "Retrieve your horse. We will leave shortly. As King Hadhuul ordered, ride in the back of the procession, and avoid drawing attention to yourself." She turned back towards the palace, but then paused and looked back over her shoulder with an ironic smile. "And welcome to Cyrod."