“Morning, Nepta,” she called, as she started to stand.

“Good morning, Fawn-“

The junior wizard did not get the word out of her mouth, as Fawnlum suddenly felt the flat of small dagger resting under her chin.

“Good morning, Lady Raijum,” a soft voice smugly greeted in her ear.

“Good morning, Honee,” Fawnlum sighed, as one would speak to a rambunctious child.  “Oh, master of sneakiness and silent arts.  How long were you hiding back there?”

“I followed you from the room in the Peg-Top.”

“How much did you hear?”

“How much of what,” the black-haired girl asked, with a slight smile, wink, and fingertip to her lips, as she hopped down from the rock.

Towering over them both with her six and a half foot height, muscular shoulders and powerful build, Fawnlum noted as always how the dark-garbed Honee represented the polar opposite of the bright-robed Nepta, even though they were both a mere four inches over five feet tall and of similar build.  But just as Nepta excelled at magic despite her young years, Honee excelled at stealthily scouting out enemy positions, and eliminating them.

“And you never even noticed me,” she quipped, rubbing it in.

“Where’s Sienna?” Fawnlum asked, changing the subject, referring to the fourth member of their battle-group.

Honee stepped back up on the rock, took a quick look down the grassy slope and the gaggle of people, and said, “I don’t see Sienna, but there’s Viognia.  Looks like she wants to talk to you.”

Fawnlum followed her pointing finger, and saw the blonde foreigner, waving.

“Might as well get it over with,” she pleasantly said, and trudged down the slope.

As she took in the smaller woman’s well-tailored green and white dress, and bright demeanor, smiling as she closed the distance, she noted the somber expressions of the two men with her.  Estanol, her middle-aged steward, and Clandolne, her veteran bodyguard, looked serious, as always.  But this morning, they looked rather grim.

“What’s the matter?” she asked them.  “Has she already run you ragged today?”

To Clandolne specifically, she went on, “Been guarding her 15 years, and she still won’t act her age, eh?”

“Excuse me,” Viognia Sovola curtly replied, “but I have several years’ worth of seniority on you.”

Fawnlum bowed with a flourish.  “Of course, Madam Ambassador.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, can it wait?” Fawnlum quickly asked, trying to hide the aversion in her voice.

“Please,” Viognia implored, with upraised hands.  “A few minutes, I promise.”  She nodded toward a large wagon sitting next to the tree line.  Without waiting for a response, she turned and starting walking, followed by Estanol.

Clandolne courteously waved a hand, inviting Fawnlum to precede him.  Accepting the fact, she followed Estanol around the other side of the vehicle, where its mass gave them some privacy.

As Fawnlum joined Viognia, she noticed Clandolne and Estanol stood, one male behind each female, helping to isolate them from the crowd.

Viognia intently looked up at her.

“Do you remember what I told you before your last training mission?”

“Of course,” Fawnlum sighed.  “That – once again – you want to recruit my sisters and me, to help guard the borders of your kingdom, and we would be well-paid.  Pardon my saying so, but you tell us every chance you get.  The answer is still no.  We won’t go to Humboldt Bruit at this time.”

“And I still say to you, don’t show emotion – including boredom – when talking about such matters.  I’ve tried to teach you – “

“So I’ll be well-trained to talk to people, when I do go to your homeland.  Yes, I remember that as well.  The lessons are appreciated.”

“Fawnlum, my young friend, the state of affairs is not what I told you before.”

The pretty blue of her eyes cast a sharper, more reflective light, and her lips became slightly thinner with firmness.

It was so unusual for the pleasant diplomat to let any hint of angst be seen on her fair and self-assured features, Fawnlum felt a sudden foreboding, and waited for the next words attentively.

“Our people,” Viognia coldly elaborated, “are under siege.  Not just by orcs.  But also giant-kin, and other monsters coming from the hills, the plains, and even thin air!  They raid, then retreat.  When local fighters rally to meet them, they disappear.”

“What do you mean, ‘disappear’?”

“Exactly as it sounds.  There one moment, gone the next.  Our cavalry rides through burned villages and fresh graves, along trails a blind man could follow.  And then the tracks just,…cease.”

“As if by magic?  What about your wizards?”

“They’re dumbfounded.  They can’t tell how they’re doing it, so they can’t make magical means to prevent it.  Well over six months it’s been happening, and the tide is pushing inward.  Our people are running, dying; more troops are sent over a wider area and are spread thin.  No one can resist an enemy who can come and go as they please.”

Fawnlum clutched the side of the wagon with a growing, knuckle-whitening grip, and nearly glowered at the petite woman.  “How can you tell me this?  How can you give me this call to arms, knowing I can’t go anywhere while that dragon threatens us?  And even if not for Felldrake, I couldn’t leave – “

“The Fighter’s School, until your mother, your Guardian-sayer, lets them award your battlefield rank.  I must say, I’ve known conflicts between nations easier to resolve than the stubbornness between you two.

“As your Guardian-sayer, she has refused to let you marry the man of your choice for three years.  And the School can’t bestow that coveted position, until you’ve met, by their standards, the greatest performance of combat and leadership.”

Fawnlum did not respond; Viognia knew the details.

“But you can go above her authority, if you graduate early.  To that end, you have pushed yourself in your training, working harder and reaching a level of prowess unseen in recent memory.  You’ve dragged your battle-group along in your punishing regimen, and the four of you have met such enemies and fought such battles, it has nearly been the death of all of you, several times over.

“In answer to your earlier question,” the sharp-minded diplomat continued, “We all have sacrifices to make, dear.  Despite your youth, you and your sisters have stood beside the mightiest battalions, in the fiercest fighting.  And among the warriors of the Coast, that’s saying something!”

“Thank you, for your kind words,” Fawnlum replied, as Viognia never gave compliments lightly.

“What would you say,” she asked, a bit more cannily, “if I told you, I’ve already petitioned King Bolden to award you a rank in our forces, with power – to a degree – to command Humboldt troops in battle?”

Fawnlum froze, eyes wide and lost for words.  And Viognia – almost – kept the satisfaction off her face, at the enormity of what she had just offered.

“I can’t tell him what to do,” she succinctly clarified. “But I am his dear little cousin, whom he trusts very much.  He can be persuaded, where the choice is either victory, or the death of our people.

“The more glory you win there, would prove your merit to hold a battlefield rank here.

“This would give you what you want, yes?” she went on.  “For his own court to speak of your exploits, your mother would have little cause to argue.”  She leaned closer with her characteristic smile.  “Or tell you who you can wed.”

Then she turned away, to walk back out into the crowd.

“Viognia.”  Fawnlum’s voice was subtle, but sharp as a stiletto blade, halting the diplomat before she had gone two steps.

“You’re in a land threatened by a red dragon and his brood.  Yet King Bolden would rather let you stay here than be at home right now.”

Viognia half-turned back to her.  “As I said, we all have sacrifices to make.  The Coastals have defeated red dragons in the past.  So I can’t be any less safe here, can I?

“If you or your friends want to talk about it, come see me.”