The Hand arrived, with Princess Miralda, her hand maiden, the remnants of her guard, the Ladies Thalia and Lania, the Maid Carissa, Raven and the wee baby Aldari… not quite where they had expected.

Vulk’s heart sank as he stepped through the Portal, last of all, and found himself not in the tower chamber of the Gate of Shalara, but in some sylvan glade. Sunlight dappled the ground through the bight green of early summer foliage, apparently about the right time of day – at least they weren’t on the other side of the planet!

“I’ll need a few minutes,” he said to the large cluster of confused people milling about the clearing. “I need to recover some strength before trying again… and we need to know exactly where we are, in any case.”

Erol and Devrik undertook to discover that last, striking out down the obvious path out of the glade. They were back in less than a turn of the glass, with the happy news that they were very near the village of Hask, less than ten kilometers west of the city! They had made arrangements with a local drover, and a wagon and team of horses awaited them, ready to convey the ladies (and Raven and the wee baby Alari) into Shalara. Everyone else would have to walk, with the exception of the most badly wounded.

The journey, while relatively short, was tense and quiet. They passed a larger number of people than would normally be expected on a country back road, apparently worried folk fleeing the city for fear of an invasion. Princess Miralda snorted in derision when she learned of this, and shook her head.

“The betrayal of Yorma – or whoever has taken his place –” she added with a  nod to Lady Thalia, ” was a devastating blow. But Shalara is hardly in immediate danger, and even if it it were, it’s still a far safer bastion from marauding enemy troops than any country manor!”

But she agreed there was nothing she could do to stop the fools, if fools they were determined to be, and sat back with a frown, contemplating future remedies.

They arrived in Shalara in the early evening of the first day of Agras, and went immediately to Kar Landsar. Ser Koris was relieved to see his niece, but shocked and saddened to hear of his nephew’s death. The King was not yet returned to the city, he informed the Princess and her companions, but was expected the next day. He commanded the hand to remain in the castle for the night, so that they would be available to give their report as soon as possible on the monarch’s return. He had no specifics about his brother’s wounds, but wasn’t too worried, as he seemed still to be in command.

“It can’t be too bad,” he assured Miralda. “He’s still issuing orders and seeing to every detail of his army, by all reports, so I expect the rumors are far worse than the reality.”

Indeed, the next morning, when he arrived at the eastern gates with columns of soldiers marching in good order, King Maldan rode into the city at their head mounted on his famous white charger. Relieved crowds throng the streets to see him, and cheered as he nodded gravely to all. He wound through several parts of the city, eschewing the most direct route to Kar Landsar, giving as many people as possible a chance to see him.

But when he was safely back in his palace, and had time to eat and hear the news from his daughter, he summoned the Hand to a meeting that revealed another story.

Seated in a large chair, his left leg propped up on a footstool, Maldan looked pale and in pain. He waved away Vulk’s solicitous offer to examine his injuries with an irritated grimace.

“It’s not all that bad,” he said. “My own physicians have the wound well in hand, they assure me. It was an axe blow from that traitorous cur Yorma, laid open my thigh to the bone! Still, I’d have decapitated the bastard if the tide of battle hadn’t swept us apart the next moment…

“I have heard all that my daughter has to tell me, of her bother’s death and the events at car Urkonis. I have heard the testimony of Lady Thalia, concerning the apparent imposture of her husband, and of Lady Lania as well. Now I wish to hear what you all have to say of these matters.”

The King listened for almost an hour as the Hand recounted the events of the last several days, only occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification on some point or probe deeper into a statement. When they had brought the story up to their arrival in Shalara he sat back with a sigh and brooded for a few moments.

“Well, you did all that you could,” he said at last. “It is not your fault that you could not save my son; and if you violated my instructions by taking my daughter through a Nitaran gate, well, it seemed you had little choice. I thank you for your service.”

With that it seemed the audience was over, and the Hand were ushered out of the room, free at last to return to their homes.

♦ ♦ ♦

Raven was suitably impressed by her husbands new mansion… she’d seen enough of civilized life now to recognize its value. It was still in the middle of a city, but there seemed nothing to be done about that, and she looked forward to seeing the country manors he – they – had also acquired. But there was no time for that now, and in any case her main concern was for her brother Black Hawk. Killed in the battle at the inn in Athon’s Grove and resurrected by Vulk thereafter, he had been left in the care of the inn folk. To her relief Mariala was able to assure Raven, through the agency of her magical papers, that Draik had arrived from Dor Dür to oversee her brother’s recovery, and that he should be up and about very soon.

The next several days were spent by the members of the Hand in ordering their new homes, studying and practicing the various arts on which their lives depended, and eagerly seeking all the news of what was going on in the east and the north. Kar Vinkara and the Earl of Kinen remained cut off and under siege, but showed no signs of falling. News from the captured eastern lands was sporadic, but seemed to show no particular bent of the invaders to more than the usual rapine and pillaging… indeed, less than might be expected, as if they expected to be in possession of the lands permanently and therefore not wishing to despoil them unduly. News from the rebel fortress of Yormashire was scant indeed, even to rumor.

One story that seemed to buoy the spirits of the city was that of the Princess Miralda, and her heroic leading of her troops into battle at Dor Lorethal, breaking the siege and providing the one success of that terrible day. Her mystique was only enhanced by her subsequent capture by, and escape from, the traitor Earl of Yorma, bringing out with her the Earl’s betrayed wife as well as the wife and doughtier of the brave Earl of Kinen. The Hand’s role in these events was seriously downplayed, to the chagrin of some and the amusement of others.

“No doubt it is the desire of the Crown to do everything they can to enhance the Princess in the eyes of the people,” Vulk said when Korwin complained about the lack of credit over dinner one evening. “She is the Heiress now, and the last thing this country needs is another Succession Crisis should, Immortals forfend, anything happen to the King.”

“Yes,” agreed Mariala, “I imagine Maldan will try to get Miralda recognized by the Landsar Succession Council, as he did for his son, before he goes into battle again. Anything that makes her popular with the people can only help in that regard.”

And the Princess’ popularity did index seem to be riding high, at least with the people of the capital. With the King’s return, and the safety of the new Heiress, the number of people leaving the city slowed, and even reversed itself as many of those who fled early returned quietly and red-faced.

On the seventh of the month the Hand was summoned to Kar Landsar at noon, where they found themselves among a large throng of nobles and gentry, all summoned to hear the official proclamation of the Princess Miralda as the Heir Apparent and Crown Princess. Apparently Maldan had forced this through the Council, who must still be worried about another crisis in the midst of a war. The people seemed generally in favor of this announcement, what murmuring there was centered more on her age than her gender. But even that seemed muted in the face of her apparent martial abilities and sharp wits.

As they were preparing to leave the castle after the ceremony, the group was discreetly intercepted by one of the upper servants of the King’s household, who asked them to follow hi, at the King’s command. They were once again brought into the small study cum audience chamber where they had last seen the ruler. His leg was again hoisted onto a cushioned footstool, although he seemed less in pain today than previously. The Crown Princess stood beside him, and ranged about the room were his brother Ser Koris, several Court officials, and a dour-looking Khundari in rich robe. The King wasted no time getting down to the matter at hand.

“We wish you to undertake an embassy for us,” he began as soon as they had made their courtesies. “Specifically, We wish Cantor Ser Vulk to act as Our envoy to his own king, Dorikon IV of Arushal, in seeking an alliance 0f Our two realms against the threat of this mysterious Vortex.

“You are ideally suited to this task, not only by reason of your being a subject of Arushal, but because of your close personal involvement in many of the events that have led us to what little is known of this Vortex. Who better, along with your companions, to convince Our brother ruler and his advisors of the true nature of the mutual danger we face? We are also led to understand that you are not unknown to certain noble elements of the Arushali Court, including the King’s own brother.

“In addition, We have recently made treaty with Prince Rhogûn of Dürokon, in common cause against this foe. Ambassador Ghervin Stonefoot,” and here he gestured at the grave Kundari, “has a similar writ for Toran Quickhand, to act as envoy for their own ruler, and help bring Arushal into this alliance.

“Your writ is not to return with a treaty, of course, but to convince Dorikon that he should meet with Us as speedily as possible – I propose the Arushali border fortress of Vandol as the best place for our conference, but We are open to any other suggestions he or his people might make. But time is of the essence. Do you accept this mission on Our behalf, Ser Vulk, Lord Toran?”

When they had made their acceptance, the King continued. “We are placing at your disposal the royal warship HMS Kestrel, one of the mightiest of Our fleet. In international diplomacy, it does not do to introduce the uncanny – and it is best for Our own prestige that Our envoy is seen to arrive in style and power, not skulk into Lothkir unnoticed!

“The ship sails on the dawn tide tomorrow. Our Chancellor has your credentials and the official documents of proposal for the Conference of Vandol; Lord Stonefoot has similar documents for Lord Toran. May the Immortals smile upon you and bless this endeavor!”