It is said that when war brews in the minds of great beings, the first and last to know are the people. They are the front lines of any war, the ones that would-be conquerors must either win over or frighten into submission. They see war in the hearts and minds of their fellows, and know when their ruler is a cruel tyrant or a benevolent king. A kingdom without its populace is merely an army, and nobles with no subjects.

47 years ago, a war was waged in the land of Durian. Secessionists in what is now Teredor felt that their needs were not being met by the king of the time, King Foliman, of the line Gregoran. Their pleas for aid fell on deaf ears, and so the leaders of the revolution decided to make a decisive first strike against the kingdom of Teredil. Seizing the city Pyl’s Gate, they quickly drove out the defenders and blocked out the Monolith. They rapidly gained territory, pushing east and nearly reaching the Heartlands in the first months of the war.

King Foliman responded with overwhelming force. Over the course of a decade, the armies of Teredil pushed the Secessionists back, until they reached the massive portcullis of Pyl’s Gate. From there, the newly formed Democratic State of Teredor held the line for five more years until an uneasy armistice was reached. The boundaries of the empires were set along the coast of Lake Fall, and Pyl’s Gate became a neutral grounds of sorts. Both empires set guards in Pyl’s Gate, the largest center of commerce in all of Durian.

32 years have passed since then. The roving gangs of Felrear and Din-Ghulda have constantly probed the defenses of Teredor, and so the border to the north and the northwest is constantly changing.

Conflicts along those borders have not been the only ones in recent years. Small skirmishes between independent mercenaries have taken place all along the border between Teredor and Teredil, though both empires deny any involvement.

War is brewing, and only the simple-minded could not see it coming. Conscriptions have risen in all empires. Teredor and Teredil have both invented technomagical airships, in part based on the technology of the Majin. And it is even rumored that the pirates in Din-Ghulda have started to take people in addition to the riches of the ships they raid. In every aspect, the continent is readying for war, and some fear it may embroil all of the major empires this time.

And thus the cycle continues.

---

“Last call for Thanadan! Last call, anyone not on this ship will have to wait for mornin’!” cried the sailor. “If you got a ticket, get on board! Last call!”

The town of Nifu was quaint, if ramshackle. Merchants, guards, and mercenaries of all types roamed the streets. The air smelled of salt and fish, and a soft breeze chilled the air.

It was sunset, the day winding down. This was the last boat to Thanadan for the day, and you had spent enough time on Naran Island. It was time to go back.

Glancing down at your ticket, you strode up to the walkway and boarded.

---

The ship was large and well staffed. The rooms were large and comfortable enough for any race, and had just enough luxury to make them feel special. After all, the odd painting and brass candle stick was rarely seen on a sea-faring vessel.

Dinner was held in the galley. Even if one wasn’t hungry, they were expected to show and at least introduce themselves to the others on board. At the captain’s insistence, everyone sat down. All told, there were about two dozen passengers. Captain Calhoun cleared his throat to get their attention, and he spoke.

“Welcome! You are onboard the Mighty Gull, one of the finest ships in all of Din Ghulda. We are currently enroute to Thanadan, and should be there by ‘morrow at noon. I encourage you to eat, drink, and converse to your heart’s desire! If there is anything you need or desire, please talk to one of the stewards here. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask one of the crew or myself. Now, I shant keep you waiting. Please, tuck in!”

The Captain swiftly left, and dinner was served. As the plates were delivered and placed in front of you, you gazed at the others seated at the table. Perhaps you should introduce yourself?

As conversation between the passengers slowly warmed up, the voices of two people rose above the din. It was a human male, a mage judging by his robes, and a Djinn, clasped in its blue traveling cloak.

“...Look, all I’m saying is you should recheck your charts. The stars Viamal, Altag, and Pythe are all lining up tonight. Something good is happening soon, I can just tell. I’d wager a month’s pay something along an envoy will be sent between the empires, to cool the tensions,” The man in robes said.

“You are wrong, human,” The djinn replied. “If you would pay more attention, you would see Mirod and Exilum are close behind. They will form an equilateral triangle with Pythe around the same time. If I had to ‘wager’, I would guess an army was just sent out. Nothing good can come of this, I tell you. I have never seen a war as brutal as the Secession War. Bad blood will not lie.”

As the two continued to bicker about stars and their patterns, you wonder if introducing yourself and asserting your opinion would make things worse or better. At the very least you may be able to enjoy your meal without an argument breaking out between the two...

Zodiac sniffed suspiciously as she examined the food that had been provided.

Something was up, she was sure of it. Ships simply didn't have actual food unless you were the captain or a wealthy passenger; and judging by the sad lack of an expensive uniform or bulge in her coin purse, she fit neither description.

Which meant something was amiss. Where were the weevils? This bread looked like it was fresh. Giving a piece of it another quick sniff she broke it in half- fresh bread, still with a hint of warmth in it, nice and soft and...

She glanced around for someone hiding in the shadows with hardtack and a bucket of slimy watered down grog. Surely they weren't giving actual decent food to their passengers.

Was it possible the food was poisoned?

Looking around uneasily, her gaze alighted on some other passengers. A young looking man with angular features who seemed oddly familiar, a human mage who seemed to be nearing middle age, young looking human bard with a jovial air, a large framed man in armor, and a Sarben- she could never tell much about them through the wrappings. None of them seemed to be suspicious of the unusual quality of food as far as she could tell. She contemplated asking one of them if they had reservations as well, but a disagreement springing forth behind her piqued her interest as she heard mention of armies and war.

Conflict was good in her eyes, it meant there was a chance at some money- and maybe even striking it rich off that rare bit of loot.

Sidling closer, she listened intently before sliding up towards them. "I heard one of you mention an army? Or stars? What's the problem exactly?"

Both human and djinn glanced at the newcomer, processing her question. The human responded first.

"Problem? Yes, well, I suppose the problem here is that my acquaintance believes that because the stars are forming a pattern in the sky, that war will break out." He scoffed, then said: "Where as I am tracking one of the rarest natural occurrences known to modern minds, which is the alignment of three stars on one night. And specifically, they are Viamal, Altag, and Pythe, and for your information that is a very powerful combination of the Travelling Stars!"

The djinn shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I do not deny that that is the case, of the star's alignment. But whatever good will come of this omen will be far overshadowed by the presence of Mirod and Exilum. One of those alone is enough to cause trouble, but both? With the god of creation, Viamal? An army is being formed, there is no doubt about it. One that brings good fortune to some, but death and destruction to all."

"Bah!" the man exclaimed. "For the last time, recheck your charts! They won't affect the alignment tonight! I swear, all you djinn are so focused on nay-saying and doom preaching."

The djinn was losing his patience. "And I will remind you that I have been reading the stars for nearly as long as you've been alive. Do not presume to mock my culture nor myself, human."

And so the two continued to bicker about stars, alignments, and potentially world shattering events over dinner, occasionally breaking from academia to insult the other. Zodiac had been forgotten in their heated argument.

Zodiac raised an eyebrow at the bickering as it increased in intensity before she could stand it no longer.

She sighed, poking looking to the Djinn, then the human, and then back the Djinn, "Maybe both of you check your charts? And then check each other's? Has it crossed your minds that both of you might be wrong? Sure, the presence of Mirod and Exilum isn't exactly a good omen but heaven's sake not everything means death and destruction. Maybe just a nice little skirmish or two, little bit of carnage, swords are rattled, and then everyone goes back to their staring contest."

She looked down to the piece of bread in her hands, squeezing it to make sure it hadn't turned into hardtack when she'd looked away. Whatever the Djinn and human were doing in response to her didn't register, at least for a second, as she contemplated the potential likelihood of the ship's crew having a plot to feed their passengers uncharacteristically edible fair laced with poison and then hold them hostage once they'd all passed out.

Looking back up to the two... astronomers? astrologists? oddballs? she noticed they hadn't achieved enlightenment, which was just as well she supposed, enlightenment tended to come bundled with being not quite right in the head. Believing in such ridiculous notions such as "peace" and "compassion", whatever those were.

"By the way, I think the crew's laced the food with some sort of poison. I mean, ships simply don't have good food unless one is rich, or the captain. I think they plan to knock us out with the food and hold us hostage. It's a more likely explanation than a ship actually offering food to average passengers."

A strident caw echoed in the packed studio.

The man started and looked up from his book, the flickering light of the candle falling on parchment littered with odd glyphs and small, scrawled writing along its margins. His gaze fell on the crow making its perch on a nearby chair.

The bird cocked its head at him, beady eye staring impassively. It was not a large animal, hardly larger than the book he held in his hands, and its feathers had a sheen to them that suggested a certain amount of care. The crow let out another call and fluttered away into the next room, where the light of the candles did not reach.

A moment later, he could hear knocking coming from the front door. He muttered something impolite and rose, his lower back voicing its protest as it left the comfort of his seat. He deposited the book on his desk, among the various, seemingly random odds and ends that littered his workspace, and picked up the candle he had been using as a reading light.

His left hand snaked around his walking cane as he made his way around the detritus that occupied most of the room. He had not needed to use the blackened length of wood for its more obvious purpose – at least within the confines of his home – for some time, but there were other uses for a three-foot long stick if one was creative.

The door rattled again as he made it to the living room, and he paused to wonder what someone could want of him at that time. It had rained for most of the day, barring most people inside, and even though the rain had stopped, nightfall meant it was no longer the time to be out an about.

Then again, someone looking at him could very well label him a shady character. Sunken eyes, taut features, a rough, short beard that could probably use a trim regardless, and a small but noticeable limp on his right leg. The rain had brought with it a sudden wave of cold, and he had covered himself in old blankets he had kept stored around the house – at least those the moths hadn’t rendered completely useless. The hair on his temples had thinned, and enough gray had grown among the dark brown that it drew attention to itself. He leaned on six feet tall – not a freak of nature – but he had to duck his head to avoid some of the beams lining the roof of his small house. He was convinced the previous occupant had been a dwarf. At least the rain had not brought any leaks this time. He could think of better things to do with his time than to try and fix the roof.

Such as ignoring the knocking and hoping whoever was standing on the other side of the door would grow tired and seek someone else to pester.

The door shuddered again, the knocks coming more insistently, and he sighed, leaving the candle where it would illuminate the rest of the room. Then he approached the front of his house. As he neared the door he held his cane forward, the air around his hand humming as he temporarily lowered the wards surrounding his dwelling, and proceeded to open the door.

Outside, a small figure stood, about a head shorter than him. A cloak and hood shrouded their features in darkness, and what little light seeped from within his house did little to illuminate them. Their arms were folded before them, as if trying to ward off the cold.

As if curious, his crow suddenly flew out of the darkness and perched on his shoulder, studying the stranger with a cocked head, and there he stood, scowling, veritable King of Rags at the step of the door.

“What do you want?” he asked impatiently.

“Oh.” The voice was distinctly feminine, and seemed taken aback by the brusqueness of his question. “Um… is Magus Mercer home?”

The man looked down at himself, the old blankets draped over him like a patchwork robe, and he scowled back up to the strange woman. “I am, last I checked.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Something told Mercer this was not quite what she had expected when she knocked on his door. She hesitated when he merely continued to stare at her, until she realized he was waiting for her to answer his question. “Sorry. My name is Claire Asher, an apprentice from the Elsinian. I was told you offer lodging to members?”

Mercer’s expression turned guarded. It had been some time since a mage had passed through the little hamlet. There was little of interest to the magically talented in this town, and most travelling Elsinians tended to skip it entirely, heading for the larger capital of Thanadan or the port towns that gave entry to Royal. For those that did pass through, Mercer’s abode gave them a place to rest or study with tools of the trade and away from the populace.

“I’m afraid your name doesn’t ring any bells,” he said neutrally, as he began closing the door “and I commonly enjoy advance notice from my gues—”

“Wait!” she said with sudden urgency, moving so she could see down the closing gap into his house. “Hold on, I have a message for you! It’s from the Seer.”

That gave him pause. The Seer was a high ranking member of the Elsinian Council of mages, and the man currently occupying the position had been the one to introduce Mercer to the Art. The man was growing old, Mercer had heard – not that the old mage was not already ancient for human standards – and had grown rather reclusive as of late. What felt strange to him was the need for a messenger. Wizards of that caliber had ways of establishing long range communication.

He opened the door slightly, enough to see a pale hand holding out an envelope. He took it and half-turned, letting the light of the candle fall gently on the unbroken seal. The Seer’s insignia stared back at him. An hourglass figure decorated the surface of the letter, inscribed within a circle of runes of some unknown language. Mercer had always suspected they had been made up.

It seemed genuine. His crow cawed next to his ear, as if urging him on.

Grunting, he began opening the letter, keeping an eye trained on the supposed apprentice. That said, opening a letter with one hand was mildly inconvenient, but he was not about to set down his cane to free his left hand, so he took the undignified route of tearing the envelope open with his teeth. Letting the light of the candle fall over the letter, he hunched over, trying to make out the words in the dim lighting.

In the scrawling writing of his first mentor, the first line read, perhaps predictably, Be nice to the girl. A bit ham-fisted, if it was a fake, but he could honestly say it was something he would expect from the Seer.

Mercer let out a huff of air through his nose and studied the figure outside for a moment. Reaching a decision, he opened the door and made an inviting motion with one arm.

The woman moved past him and into the room, at his insistence leaving her mud streaked boots and cloak by the entrance. Claire must have been half his age, maybe a bit younger, with soft features and clear blond hair. Her blue eyes seemed to droop slightly from tiredness, but she still smiled gratefully as she thanked him for his hospitality, small dimples forming on her cheeks. Her traveling clothes were not particularly special in and of themselves, but she filled them well, in a manner that pleased the eye and painfully reminded him of how long it had been since he had last shared a bed with someone. He was not old enough that he could not appreciate beauty when he saw it. She was young enough to make the thought feel uncomfortable.

Two large, disk shaped silver earrings dangled from her ears, clashing with her ensemble. Had it not been for a coincidental flickering of the candlelight, he might have missed the tiny symbols etched along their edges edge.

Foci were one of the most important tools for magic-users, affording them better control of the forces and energies they wielded, and even amplifying the effects of their magic, depending on the make of the focus. The staff was among the oldest, most traditional and well-known examples of a magical focus, but there was no set rule that said a focus had to be a big stick. Jewelry could work just as well. As could a shorter stick. Or his cane.

Mercer went to light the hearth, directing the girl to sit on one of the chairs facing it. The crow jumped as he moved past her and landed on the girl’s shoulder, pecking at one of her earrings. That earned it a yelp and a reflexive slap that sent it tumbling off its perch, squawking indignantly as it disappeared into one of the adjacent rooms.

“Sorry,” she said, catching Mercer’s look. “It startled me.”

He grumbled in answer and turned back to the fireplace. Soon, the warmth of the flames had begun spreading across the room, and Mercer dropped down next to his guest.

“An apprentice, you said. It’s been years since I had to deal with an apprentice. The good ones are always filled with questions, which is probably what makes them so annoying.” Her lip curled down in a small grimace, as if she couldn’t decide if she should take umbrage. “You haven’t asked me anything. Must not be a very impressive student.”

She pursed her lips at that. “I didn’t come here to ask questions. I just needed to deliver a letter and find a place to stay.”

“Good. Then I’ll ask the questions. Let’s start with why I wasn’t told of your coming.”

Claire fidgeted, clearly feeling an interrogation coming. “I didn’t know it worked like that. I thought you simply let members of the Elsinian stay when they come by.”

That was true enough, he supposed, though normally he had more than an apprentice’s word of honor to go with it. “Who told you about this place?”

“The Seer. Or at least I’m pretty sure it was him. Never saw him in person before.” Her eyes moved to the letter Mercer had placed on his lap. “He caught me while I was leaving and asked me to give that to you. It was… inconvenient, but you know what they say about him.” Aye, that he did. Ignore the Seer at your own peril. “He told me I could rest here, and it was dark by the time I made it…” Which was about what he had guessed, but one did not go and answer his own questions when he expected an explanation to fill in the holes. He still had to wonder why he had not been warned. Even if magical communication was out of the table, a bird could easily have made it there in time.

The alternative, that the Seer was unable or unwilling to use proper communication channels, was more than a little worrying.

“Where are you going?” Claire had said she had learned of him just before leaving Elsin, so he had to assume he was not the purpose of the trip.

“Thanadan.”

“To do what?”

“It’s personal,” she replied testily. Mercer felt a spike of irritation. She must have caught his unsatisfied expression, for she quickly amended with, “It’s… a family matter, sir. I’d rather not discuss it with a stranger.” Which was in truth a vaguely more polite way of saying it was none of his business.

Ah, family. If there ever existed a word to justify irrational behavior, that was it. “Even when you are counting on that stranger’s hospitality,” he observed.

The girl looked down at her hands, clasped together on her lap, but she remained silent.

Mercer grunted and rubbed at his temple. He decided to change tack. “What will you do once you finish your apprenticeship?”

The girl blinked, seemingly surprised by the change of direction. “I’m slated to join Elsin’s Battlemage Corps in a year’s time.”

A fledgling battlemage. Wasn’t that a coincidence? “Is Pratersten still harrying new recruits?”

“Pratersten?”

That gave him some relief. He would have been worried if she had pretended to recognize a name he had made up. “Short, round, bald. Front teeth the size of this house.”

“Master Sergeant Mason?” she said in recognition. “The Mouse?”

“Ha! They still call him that?”

The girl gave him a tentative smile. “With good reason.”

Mercer nodded, facing the fire with a pleased expression. He was a good deal more confident that the girl was indeed who she claimed to be.

He found himself looking down at the letter he had been given, and withdrew it completely from the envelope. He skimmed through the beginning paragraphs, mostly pleasantries and a few news from Elsin and the Council. Nothing that immediately caught his attention or explained why the message had reached him the way it had.

“Ah, what is this…” he muttered as he went over one of the last paragraphs.

‘Alas, troubled times means my talents are ever in demand by those leading our Council, and the leisure to act freely has been in short supply. It seems all eyes are focused on the main continent, but I have been alerted to certain developments at the town of Nifu. I believe something may happen that you might wish to witness.’

Mercer puzzled over that last bit of information. Something to witness? Was something about to happen, and he was to be a representative for the Elsinian? If so, why him? Why would he learn of it from a random apprentice instead of official channels? Was the Seer expecting some kind of discretion from him?

His eyes tracked the flames of the hearth, and for a moment he considered throwing the letter into the fire.

Still, something nagged at him. Why would he be expected to act on his own?

He pursed his lips. Simple. Easier to deny responsibility.

The apprentice had been studying his reaction while he read, so he said, “You did not read this.”

“No.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It felt impolite.”

He eyed her. “Do you not want to know what it says? This message that you carried all the way here on the dubious word of an old man that may or may not have been the high ranking Seer of the Elsinian?”

“I do.”

“So why don’t you ask?”

“Something tells me it might be best not to know.” Mercer blinked, and looked at the young girl. She had a thoughtful frown on her face, something that told him she had drawn a few conclusions of her own.

“Hum. You fill my heart with confidence.”

The chair creaked as he rose.

---

Following the letter’s advice, Mercer set out the following day, and the apprentice stayed with him on the road to Thanadan. For some reason, she did not seem to be delighted by the prospect.

Ungrateful girl.

Regardless, the trek was a calm one, and they separated at Teredor’s capital city without issue. Mercer then took a ship directly to the town specified in the letter.

And proceeded to stick his metaphorical thumb up his rear for the next several days.

Perhaps he was not being fair to himself in that regard. He had not sat idle for the entirety of his stay. Rather, most of his time had been spent outside, chasing rumors and gathering information. The problem was, there was very little of interest, and for the few things that seemed mildly relevant, he could not reliably relate to the message he had been given. Talk of soaring tensions in the main continent were vague, common, and so invariably filled of guesswork as to render them meaningless. As to the rest, he could hardly chase down every rumor housewives chewed over in that town.

He eventually had to make the decision to head back. He simply lacked the financial resources or connections to stay in Nifu indefinitely, and felt very little incentive to set up shop somewhere else with so few of his tools in hopes something would happen.

Instead, he sat grouchily over his plate, disinterestedly poking the food with his fork. He had left his cloak in his cabin, leaving him in just his plain cloth travelling clothes. His cane and satchel rested by his leg, and the small crow stood by the food, eyeing it like a cat eyes its prey.

It was good food. Seemed well-prepared. The cook deserved some praise. A shame it did not look very appetizing to him. In his younger days, some sailor had told him it would not take him long to get his sea legs under him, but Mercer suspected the man had lied to his face. His gut had started voicing its complaints minutes after he had set foot on the ship, and it did not seem to be improving. Mercer preferred to avoid sea travel when possible, but there were only so many ways to reach an island.

If he had known the trip would have been such a colossal waste of time, he could have avoided it, he thought irritated. It was entirely possible that he had been tricked by the Seer, and that the purpose of the trip had been fulfilled already without his noticing. Perhaps having someone accompany the apprentice – whose name was already slipping from his mind – meant she had been saved from some gruesome fate or other. Perhaps he would come back to a burning village and he would have died had he stayed. Perhaps he had simply missed his chance. The issue with prophecy was that even when it came from the most accurate reader, it was never set in stone. Even possessing the knowledge of one’s fate risked to change it, and not necessarily for the better. For readers, the best one could do was place the right person at the right time and place and hope for the best. How that person got there was irrelevant.

Or perhaps the old Seer had finally gone senile. It was a few centuries due, as far as he knew.

Conversation had started to pick up, but perhaps sensing his mood, no one had immediately approached him.

His bird darted in with a peck, snatching away a bite from his plate. Mercer ignored the dark look he got from one of the attending stewards, and decided that he might as well try to fill his stomach before it mounted an armed rebellion.

It really was good food. Too good, it would seem. A woman sitting a few paces away from him, short and exceedingly pale, let loose a theory that the only way the food would look this good was that it was poisoned.

But then, they were not in the midst of a long voyage by sea where they could expect their food rotting in their containers as time passed. It was not just the food, even. The ship itself had a somewhat ostentatious feel to it, and it likely spent enough time at shore to be kept in good condition. Which then left the issue of hostages. Something told him that if these were pirates orchestrating a fiendishly elaborate and expensive ruse, their bounty had not been worth the effort.

Of course, he had already swallowed a portion of their dinner, so it might have been wishful thinking.

He paused for a moment, mid-chew, and considered the idea. Then swallowed again. “Do your best to avenge me, if that’s the case,” he said dryly over the din.

"Maybe both of you check your charts? And then check each other's? Has it crossed your minds that both of you might be wrong? Sure, the presence of Mirod and Exilum isn't exactly a good omen but heaven's sake not everything means death and destruction. Maybe just a nice little skirmish or two, little bit of carnage, swords are rattled, and then everyone goes back to their staring contest."

That made the two bickering astrologists shut up. They looked at each other sheepishly, the human poking at his food and the djinn looking off into space. The human looked back up when Zodiac mentioned the food possibly being poisoned. "I should hope not!" he exclaimed. Then, in a softer voice, "You've never been on one of Captain Calhoun's ships before, have you? He makes it a point of treating his passengers well. This isn't what I'd call an extravagant meal, but it's better than what most long term sailors are used to. It's the Captain's way of drumming up business, you see? Offer food and decent accommodations at affordable prices, and people take notice."

"As do pirates," the djinn casually mentioned. "They say Calhoun has an unlucky streak. Loses at least one or two ships a month, due to privateers and other unsavory sorts."

The human harrumphed. "And I say Calhoun's learned his lesson. He's stepped up the guard recently, and this is his own ship. If pirates did show up, they'd be in a for a tough fight." Indeed, looking around, one could notice that all of the sailors still in the room had a scabbard and sword, and that there seemed to be a lot more than would normally be necessary on a ship like the Mighty Gull.

The djinn shrugged. It stared at Mercer for a while, sizing him up perhaps. After a solid minute, it spoke up. "That cane of yours, the one I saw you walk in with... it's a foci, isn't it? Are you with the Elsinian, perhaps?" It was as good as asking if Mercer was a mage. The djinn's tone was neutral; it seemed more curious than anything, and was trying to drum up a conversation.