Eire of Hostility

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  Enochia sat at her alabaster table and was about to perform another far-sight reading when her attention was diverted. She looked up and saw a small, simple portal gate - artless to match the limited skills of low-caste - shimmer into existence in her entry hall.

  A moment later, Harkin stumbled out of it, with some of his feathers floating through behind him. He immediately fell to his knees with one haggard wing pressed to his chest.

  After a few long seconds, the servant found a reserve of fortitude and stood. After he moved to his feet, the door frame blocked Enochia's view to assess his condition. With mild concern, she said, "Harkin, come into the parlor."

  "If it would please you, Mistress, I would wish to compose myself somewhat before you take exception to my currently shabby state."

  Sitting back in her high-backed chair, Enochia replied, "I take exception to you not heeding my request. Come in here now."

  With a slight limp, Harkin stepped into her parlor. His sallow face was bruised and swelling, his long gray hair unkempt. The tip of one of his large bat-like ears was cut off with a clean slice. The ending section and primary mottled feathers of his left wing were ruined and bloody. His crimson vest and trousers were ripped and stained. With all of his injuries, Harkin stood tall and awaited the bidding of his Mistress.

  With a mix of emotions - distress and empathy for her servant, anger and wrath for whoever inflicted the vicious damage - Enochia only said, "Explain."

  Harkin nodded once and said, "I did as you asked, Mistress, and looked to find the latest talk that warriors might be interested in; it didn't take long to find out. In a small village of free gnomes, I gathered whispers of a call to arms by some influential elder. Those low-caste creatures then directed me to a mercenary lodge not far off, in the area of the neutral lands called the Great Timbers. They said I would learn more there, and they were correct."

  "It was in or near the Great Timbers lodge that you were abused?"

  "Yes, Mistress; I offer my apologies for not remaining unremarkable enough for notice."

  Enochia lifted a hand from her lap. "Not necessary, Harkin. While reckless, it took courage to enter one of those barbaric lodges. Carry on."

  After Harkin bowed to the given praise, he continued. "There were over a dozen warriors within, but the conversation between a few had the attention of most of the others. I remained perched in the shadow of a pillar, veiled from the light of a blazing hearth. A dryad elder named Saraid of the Moon Glade was calling warriors to arms for an ongoing injustice. She hopes to rally enough to cleanse Ballaghadaere.

  "Near to me was the boar-morpher, Kazimir of the Callous Ruin; he listened intently, though did not interject. Near the hearth sat the stern troll Cadell Arms-Caller; he too heard the conversation but said nothing. Before the topic reached a crescendo, both elders I mentioned wordlessly departed the lodge.

  "All but one other was unknown to me, including the three who spoke of lady Saraid's campaign. Of those three, I could glean little. One was a caramel-skinned, white-haired Fair fae named Uther; he was in favor of Saraid, and with fervor. Agreeing with him was a younger troll whose name I did not catch. The last, across from them and apparently not in accord was a recently titled, rangy wolf-morpher named Dorian of the Dread Echo. Passions grew and a short battle ensued."

  "I see," Enochia said, "and how did this Dorian fare against the two of opposing view?"

  "Apologies, Mistress, but the wolf-morpher was not brought into battle by those two."

  Enochia had little interest in the details of skirmishes or wars, but was nonetheless intrigued. "Oh? Then whom did he face?"

  "The only other fae I knew by sight, Mistress; Grigori the Glut."

  "The Glut?" Enochia asked with uncommon alarm. "You saw him in combat?"

  "What I could, Mistress; he was mostly a blur after it began. I'm afraid Dorian never had much of a chance, especially when not given the time to completely assume his beast form. Almost instantly after a severed arm was flung from the fray, Grigori rent the morpher's chest open and devoured his heart."

  Enochia was well aware of the infamous name. In the way that some unthinking human parents would speak of a pooka or boogeyman to temper their children, some fae sires and maters scared their younglings with tales of Grigori the Glut. While not militant, the notorious fae had joined in his share of battles and conquests, some say merely for the spoils of feeding. He otherwise kept to himself and only visited remote Verden locations.

  Rumors said that the Glut was the instigation behind the gruesome accounts of Sawney Bean, the 15th century Scottish cannibal, as well as fiends Albert Fish and Alexander Spesivtsev. Grigori's own appetites, whether fae, human, or beast, were legendary as well. Enochia considered that abominable fae as a lethal force of opportunism, skill, and malevolence.

  Harkin continued. "With nary a scratch on him, Grigori and his gremlin servant left the lodge soon after, saying something to the effect of attempting a pact with Saraid."

  Enochia nodded her head in contemplation, and then inquired, "And as of your wounds?"

  'Yes, well . . .," the battered servant said with a hint of humiliation, "the remaining fae, Uther and a few others... their emotions were charged after the frenzied fight, and they thought to have some sport with an easy target. Other than a messenger wisp, I was the only other low-caste in the lodge. When I finally had an opportunity, I found a vocal pitch they found upsetting and managed to escape."

  She studied the abused but proud harpy for a few moments, and then said, "My own ability in the gift of restoration is rudimentary and would be of little aid, so see to your wounds. You have done well in your duty and by me, Harkin; take as long as you desire."

  "Thank you, Mistress." Harkin bowed to her and then limped toward the small, unused room across the entry hall where he was allowed to roost.

  Enochia slumped back in her chair and tugged her frayed green shawl across her willowy form. The stakes had risen; even if the local fae chose to mount a defense, their chances were meager. But with Grigori the Glut in the mix, the outcome seemed bleak indeed, if not doomed.

  With many possible scenarios and with variable actions of so many key individuals, foretelling the most probable outcomes would take time. Still, for any hope of a positive conclusion, she had to find specific events, however subtle, that might be altered to turn the tide.

  Releasing a deep breath, Enochia focused on the grooved alabaster table in front of her and began the tedious search of the key to victory, if there even was one to be found.