Daughter of the Wind

3. Incursion

Fourth of Harvest

Every land goes through a cycle of conflict and peace, of comfort and struggle. Not every story has a happy ending, and not every story has a clear beginning. The Kingdom of Svaleta had long existed in those misty regions of history, its course ever uncertain. Its geography demanded it, and its civilisation courted it. To the east lay the Artax Mountains, a towering fortress cloaked in perpetual fog. Long ago named "The Misty Veil" by unimaginative travellers, the fog was said to be impenetrable except by a handful of paths known only to the local towns. Beyond the mountains lay the Ikari Dominion, a land ruled by the iron fist of the Ikari orcs. Powerful magic-wielders, they rarely ventured beyond their borders but welcomed any who would bow the knee to their rule. Svaleta was separated from the mountains by two nations. In the north, Lustria was an economic powerhouse. Fully half of their land was mined for iron, gold, and most other resources that the surrounding nations needed. In the south, the Tios Principality was renowned as the moral playground of the continent. It had long been the crossroads between the Ikari and the western regions, and the citizens had developed a myriad of ways to entertain their temporary guests, raising an economy that rivalled Lustria's own.

Separated from them by the Archon River, Svaleta was the wilderness that protected Lustria and Tios from the far west. The northern tip was known as Rignar's Hold, and it provided the crops that fed not just the Kingdom but also Lustria. In the west, a small series of quarries provided a meagre supply of diamonds that nonetheless kept Svaleta's political prisoners occupied. Much of Svaleta was made up of forests and plains leading in the south to Narandir, the Dark Forest, an ancient region that none dared enter. It wasn't unusual to find goblins or other creatures wandering Svaleta, its borders too broad to effectively defend and its interior too inviting for those seeking to rob the unwary. Svaleta's people were a hardy, dark-skinned race used to hardship that existed alongside prosperity. The dichotomy had become just another part of the tapestry of their lives.

The real threat, though, lay in the north on the border with Rignar's Hold. The Aliri Empire, an ancient race of militaristic elves, had a longstanding rivalry with Svaleta. It had been a century since the last war, but the hatred ran deep on both sides. No one knew when another war would come, but few doubted that it would. These were trying times, not quite peaceful and not quite full of struggle. It was the misty in-between that characterised Svaleta's history, and its very character.

It was during a season of relative calm that a single horse driven carriage made its way along a well-trodden path. The horse rider never looked at her passengers, her eyes locked on the road ahead. Her instructions had been simple: go where you're told and forget that you saw anything. A heavy bag of silver had bought her blindness, and silence. The open-air carriage had only two occupants. A young woman slept despite the warm sunlight, a light blanket drawn up under her chin. Beside her was her guide, a heavyset man in his thirties, wearing a cloak that hid the short sword in its scabbard. Tired of watching the young woman sleep, his eyes didn't stop scanning the open plains around them. He stopped only when the Archon River came into view.

"Are we on schedule?" he called out.

"Aye," the rider replied, still not looking back. "If your man stayed true, then we'll meet him on time."

The man didn't reply. People smuggling was never certain, but he paid well enough to expect results. He estimated they were ten or fifteen minutes from the rendezvous. With a final survey of the area, he shook his passenger and leaned in close to announce,

"Belkai. Time to wake."

The woman's green eyes sprang open, and she glanced around before grunting. Ever the wary one, the man thought. Though perhaps not wary enough.