Amazonia.

The Murklands.

Gwen's Rat-kin Shadow Guards took another half hour to manifest Inti's providence unto the Pale Priestess. Strung over the back of a large-framed Rat-kin, the Shapeshifter looked more like a human drape than the personal guard of a God King.

Seeing Tupac's sorry state, Gwen allowed genuine compassion to replace her ire toward Sanari's vagueness. Both women dropped to their knees as Tupac was lowered onto an unfolded bed. From the feeble vitality she could feel from Tupac's mangled body, she could sense that her old alumnus from the IUCC was dying, and without intervention, he would soon embark on a one-way journey to Ukhu Pacha.

"Allow me." the Druidess laid a hand on the feverish forehead of Tupac—a seven-time Grammy nominee. For a moment, the Elf's flawless complexion, replete with a permenant fecund moistness found in primal rainforests, glowed viridescent as droplets of life-giving elixir flowed from her palm into the orifices on Tupac's face. "There is extensive damage to his skull and attached nervous systems."

Liquified tissue, clots and what Gwen assumed to be dead cells oozed from Tupac's body as it mended, nearly overwhelming her with its stench. The process was more… Lovecraftian than Gwen had anticipated, for there were even shards of what looked like shattered bone ejecting from the Shapeshifter's fever-slicked skin. A few more minutes after Sanari withdrew her elfin appendage, the man's shallow breaths grew laboured, then easeful. Then, a groggy Tupac sat up right, his pupils slowly coming into focus.

"... By Holy Inti, I live…" The olive giant muttered, his nervous system gradually assuming control of its limp and rigid muscles. Very carefully, he turned to regard the women on either side of him.

The man gulped. "Regent…You are here in Amazonia. The Apu I spoke to wasn't a fevered dream."

"This is Sanari, our resident Druidess from Tryfan," Gwen introduced her Hvítálfar companion. "Strun says he found you deliriously wandering the forest floor. Were you on a combat patrol? Did you get ambushed? We're on the edge of Amazonia, as far as I can tell. Why are you like this?"

“I… we…” Tupic took a deep breath, seemingly puzzled at the painlessness of it all. "I was escorting her Grace, the Living Saintess Lindholm and her entourage of Knights when the Yana Yumbo waylaid us—"

Gwen felt a Barbaginy strike her front lobe when the familiar syllables connected with her highly attuned hearing. If someone had singularly mentioned Lindholm, she might have turned her head, but when that very phrase was married to words like "Saintess" and "Knights", there was no doubt as to whom Tupac referred.

That and the mention of Forest Spirits of the Dark left her no doubt as to why Solana had lubricated her arrival with the impeccable timing of a Tolkienian Wizard.

"Elvia is here?" Gwen found herself gripping the ragged collar of the Shapeshifter, her fingers grappling with the chain of Cloud Puma teeth the Abjurer used as a totem. "Tupac, tell me exactly why a Knight Companion stationed in the English countryside is here in South America, in a Black Zone."

"You do not know?" Tupac seemed more bewildered than she was. "Inti says that they are here to hunt your discoveries in the Fifth Vel."

"My…" Gwen looked to Sanari, whose face said I told you so. "My what?"

"Your advise to erase the Undead Mermen," the Shapeshifter replied, freeing himself by prying her numb fingers. "The Mageocracy delivered a worldwide warning on the emergence of this new threat. Every Ordo in your theocracy is on the hunt. Inti commanded all the heads of state of the Suyu to look out for creatures that parasytised the mind, and for the Undead Mermen. We were unfortunate enough to uncover them in the southern wilds, near the coast of Where the Land Ends. The Ordo arrived after that—"

Gwen felt the pit of her stomach drop.

Again.

So she was the catalyst, again.

She sat back, resting on her calves as her rioting emotions regulated themselves. Logically, it made sense for Elvia to be in the hot seat of an arboreal adventure, not to mention her fanatical Evee had a hankering for self-sacrifice. With Sen-sen and Kiki, and with her ability to absolve Amazonia's endless toxic encounters, there was no reason the Ordo Bath would not send a quasi-Druid into a rainforest Black Zone.

"Alright, fine," she said at last, catching her heart. "Where is Elvia now?"

"If they're alive, then they are taken by the Yana Yumbo," the Shapeshifter explained with a pained expression. "I alone escaped to notify Inti, at the cost of my entire combat patrol."

"If this is true, they should be alive and well for some time…" Sanari interjected before Gwen's mind could explode for a second time. "There will be no curios quite like your Saintess and her Knights to our sisters in Che'ell-Cressen. They will be tested in the blood pits, but the crowds they draw will ensure significant longevity before…"

Before the psychotic game masters grow bored… Gwen figured the rest before either Sanari or Tupac needed to vocalise the obvious. Nonetheless, Elvia's safety was, at present, a theory rather than a certainty.

"Fine. How do I get in?" Gwen said at once. "Into Che'ell-Cressen, I mean."

Tupac looked horrified, while Sanari gently took over the conversation. "You likely won't, not directly. I must confess that, while lord Tyfanevius can dream of Quar-Tath of the Long Night, we Hvítálfar have long since lost the means to interact with our Svartálfar cousins in a non-destructive, diplomatic manner. Short of a blind incursion into Amazonia itself, a visit would require intervention from the local inhabitants."

Gwen turned to Inti's guardian. "Well? How do we rescue… How do I find these Svartálfar?"

"You do not find the Yana Yumbo, Regent! They find you!" The Shapeshifter wilted under her deathly glare. "Maybe… maybe Inti will know. The Masters of the Suyu would have that knowledge, especially Lord Amaru."

Her impeccable memory map quickly navigated to the visage of a pale-skinned advisor, the Tower Master of Cuzco, the Administrator of the Ministry, and their chief liaison for the IIUC.

The man reminded her of a snake.

So her options were… to find a formal way to knock on the door of the dark-skinned Elves.

Or to burn her way through Amazonia until they were accosted by enraged Svartálfar Wardens.

"Sanari, how long do we have until the inevitable happens?" she turned to her only source of informed Svartálfar affairs.

"A few weeks, give or take, given the performance of your friend and her Knights in the Arena. I would fear far more for her companions. As a Vessel of the Yinglong, not to mention a blessed Vessel who had navigated a significant ordeal for her Patron, Quar-Tath herself would be loath to extinguish your Saintess. The Eternal Midnight is a slumberer, and so is the Yinglong, and both understand the ire that arises from being disturbed from the long dream."

Gwen imagined that, indeed, what would irk the Dragons more than anything would be a bother that was too intrusive to ignore. An itch that had to be scratched in this manner would not be an act of pleasure, but a cause for cataclysmic violence.

"Look. Is Elvia's preservation a fact, or a theory?" Gwen followed up on her suspicion that her Elven companion was being euphemistic. "Just give it to me straight."

"Well… it isn't just the Fangs of Quar-Tath fighting in her pits. There are other denizens of the Murk as well. Monstrous creatures, aberrants, Sinneslukare…"

"MOTHERFU–" Gwen stopped herself before she could finish. "The Yinglong won't allow that."

"No, but there's no guarantee the Saintess will remain whole or sane," Sanari said sagely. "There is urgency, certainly. I do promise at least two, three weeks, though, as the prowess of the Knights is well known in even our Druidic circles, maybe longer. The Faith magic of Humanity is, after all, the very progenitor of the Undead scourge… and why we stand here today."

"Alright, thank you." Gwen sighed, then turned her thoughts inward to measure the most cost-effective way to reach her goal.

At least now, she knew why her Omni Orb had pointed her in this direction. The Undead Mermen, the Sinneslukare, and the Sinneslukare Lich were here, somewhere on the south coast, near somewhere called Where the Land Ends,which sounded like the Chilean coast. To the east, across the Andes or perhaps bisecting it, were entry ways into Che'ell-Cressen.

To their north-west, lay Cuzco, where she needed to convince Inti to convince his Tower Master to send her to the equivalent of Tryfan's Trawsfynydd. In this halfway zone, it was possible to encounter the Svartálfar and make a formal petition to visit as a member of The Accord.

Logistically, she had established a Dyar Morkk path straight from Shalkar to their present location, setting the turnaround of troops, supplies, and trade goods at somewhere between eight and nine days.

Murk-wise, her Dwarves were fully willing to commit a military expedition into the Chilean Coast, but the same could not be said if their target was the webspires of Che'ell-Cressen.

But in any case, she could not be in many places at once, which meant that she must find the path of greatest efficacy to achieve her immediate and long-term goals of snuffing the Sinneslukare like she had done with the Triffids.

That, and she would owe Slylth yet another favour if she had to name drop Sythinthimryr.

A dozen scenarios played across her mind as her eyes wandered, first looking at Tupac, then Sanari, then the great vista of Amazonia, in the depth of which her Elvia was looking down a long tunnel leading to some god-forsaken arena where she was made to perform as a baited bear against aberrant hounds.

Quivering, Gwen swallowed bitter bile in her throat. She fought down the impulse to drop a Shoggoth atop the Wall of Woods and demand Evee's release.

And amidst everything, she vaguely understood the unspoken expectations of The Accord.

As its newest member, she had quelled the Fire Sea.

Doused the flames burning down Illhîweth.

Thwarted Spectre's planned chaos in Central Asia.

Pacified the Fifth Vel.

Sprouted her own World Tree.

And brought Deepholm into the fold…

Each achievement had made the world a little better, steered the Prime Material toward stability, or at least reversed the veering minute hand of destruction. She had facilitated trade, thereby bringing peace and prosperity to species and races that were usually caught in conflict.

Now she was in Amazonia, where the conflict between the Hvítálfar and the Svartálfar had existed since the Primordial Age, when each race had taken up their roles as the Guardians of the World Trees, becoming Vessels of the Dragons that sheltered within the Planar Pillars against the predation of peers.

It wasn't hard to guess what Tyfanevius might be hoping for, considering her existing resume.

But Elvia? Gwen felt a little cross. Her friend was too precious a pawn and too dire a motivator. It was unpleasant to think that after everything, she was still a Queen in the grip of chessmasters, rather than a novice playmaker herself—but that would be a challenge for another day. Right now, she needed the most expedient way to find Elvia, and that meant coming into diplomatic contact with the Daughters of Quar-Tath.

"Tupac," the Regent of Shalkar spoke once more after an uncertain number of minutes had passed. "Where is your closest Teleportation Station? Find Inti, and tell him that an old friend has arrived with a big favour to trade."

Cuzco

Tawantinsuyu

The Temple of the Sun.

Within the courtyard of the cyclopean fortress of Sacsahuamán, the scion of the Yupanqui and the Capca lineage held counsel with his chief advisors, entertaining the august presence of their guest.

Here, Achiq, the Sapa Inti, delivered his opinions upon the policy shifts requested by their largest trading partner, represented by a middle-aged, well-groomed Magister by the name of Anthony Holbrooke.

To the Sapa's left and right, his advisors, Caquingora, chief of the Qulla, Huaman of the west, Suyuntu of Chimú and Manco, Magistrate of the Antis Amazonia, had all given their conflicted insights into the American diplomat's request.

"Inti, my son," the Sapa turned to the last of his advisors, who would be the tie-breaker between the dissenting opinions. "You have travelled to America, seen its grand cities, and you have visited the golden ziggurats of Neo-Tenochtitlan. How would you measure Magister Holbrooke's… demand?"

"I wouldn't frame it like that," the Magister's blues eyes, intelligent as they are wily, twinkled as he looked down at the well-oiled, gold-painted body of the future Sun King. "We two nations are founded on the ideals of peace and prosperity, unlike our warmonger neighbours. In these dire times, our friendship is far more important than the small conflicts in ideology we have entertained."

"Father, Magister," Inti bowed his body slightly. It was true that, in all of Tawantinsuyu, there were only a few hundred upper-ranked Mages who had been to both realms of the north, and had spoken to their people and seen their lands. In his honest, educated opinion, Neo-Tenochtitlanians were an immediate and dangerous threat, while the United States of North America was an inevitable and far greater threat. The former desired land, labour, and sacrifices in service to their serpent Gods, while the latter's voracious appetite was without limitations. "Magister Holbrooke has made a very compelling case, and I do believe that it is in our interests to ally ourselves with the Great American Empire. However, Tica and I have studied the agreement the Magister seeks to wrap around our shoulders—and the warmth it gives may become shackles if we remain ignorant."

"Surely," Holbrooke was not at all insulted by Inti's objection. "The Empire of the Burning Sun will not leave a resource as rich as Amazonia untapped forever? What means do you possess to resist its natural expansion, and the Beast Tides that emerge from within, if the Suyus do not join our coalition? Our continent is far, very far from the Mageocracy's reach. No matter the volumes of HDMs traded, you cannot possibly hope for the Mageocracy to send you their foremost Mage Flights, for they have their own battles."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The Magister took a tall drink of blessed, sweet water provided by the Temple of Mama Cuna.

"You know it to be true, future Sapa. If we can indeed repress the sway of Neo-Tenochtitlán and rename the Gulf of Mexico, both our nations will prosper. There shall be no conflict, other than the question of how much resource we can both extract from Amazonia. Without the United States, with Neo-Tenochtitlan to your north, and Amazonia to your south-west, how will you survive? The Black Zone isn't kind, and I dare say the sacrificial blades of the Tenochtitlanian are less kind."

Inti remained smiling, but knew that the Magister had come with, as the Americans say, "to grab them by the balls.

" He also disliked the way the Magister had spoken to and leered at Tica, which was why his wife was now absent from their meetings, despite being the representative from the Temple of Mama Cuna. Nonetheless, Cuzco needed food. A nation abundant in rare metals and HDMs should have little trouble with providing its citizens with nourishment, but not when inexplicable diseases ravaged its tablelands to the south, and Beast Tides disrupted the planting and harvesting seasons. If it were just the monsters, Inti would have suspected that the Americans had a hand in driving Cuzco to desperation—but not even the Magi-tech masters of the United States could induce month-long droughts followed by month-long floods and consequent landslides year after year.

"Your insights are admirable, Magister, and I find myself unable to find fault," Inti remained his diplomatic self. "That said, I have been to your nation in the past, and I have rubbed shoulders with your heir-apparents. You speak for the state, sir, and I believe in every word of your sincerity. However, do you truly speak for the masters of your estate?"

The Magister's expression grew slightly wooden. "Whatever are you implying, future Inti?"

"I met Eric Gilt at the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy while I was finishing my studies there. As mutual heirs to Empires, we spoke at length about our hopes for our nations…" Inti smiled warmly at the flustered Mage. "I will withhold the exact nature of our discussion, but let us both agree that access to Amazonia is the primary objective of your visit, while the survival of our nation, be it through trade or military pacts, is secondary. Your nation is a voracious Titan Boa, wiraqucha, there's no need to mask your appetite when our relationship is built on transactional transparency."

"I see," the Magister looked him up and down, as if perceiving him in a new light. "I must say that your… likeness to the Sun God is deceiving. The Sapa Inti is lucky to have you."

Inti laughed, as did his father and the others.

As is tradition, Inti was robed loosely in a toga that covered half his torso and his lower body. His chiselled exterior was otherwise carved from honeyed marble, inlaid with strands of woven gold and mithril. As a Radiant Mage, he also gave off a much younger, youthful aura, which belied the cold intelligence hidden behind his amber-gold eyes.

"You flatter me," Inti said, boyishly scratching his head. "Will you reconsider some of our counter-terms?"

"I should concede something, if only to please the future king," the American statesman sighed and smiled. "Some accords, however, must remain. If you understand our corporations, you should also understand how unreasonable they can be. I am merely trying to find a path of mutual profit, so please be flexible…"

DING–!

Much to the surprise of those preparing for another round of verbosity from the ambassador, Inti's earrings let loose a subtle ping that signified a Message of significant import. As the silent message played out, the Prince's face changed from mild annoyance to surprise, then a large, affable grin replaced the repressed frustration that had marred it for days.

"We have a rare guest," the Prince announced to the court. "And we shall receive her at once, while the Masters of the Suyus are gathered."

The American Ambassador was taken aback by the disruption of protocol, but disguised his displeasure well by smiling and then returning to his seat, just below the Sapa Inti and his advisors.

Inti then assured his father and his uncles with a smile of his own, before proceeding to walk from the dias to personally greet the woman whose last visit had overturned the cloudy peaks of Machu Picchu.

He needed not wait long.

The path from the ISTC station for state dignitaries was not far, though it was several tiers below the Temple of the Sun.

When the fabled Pale Priestess of Shalkar grew visible, the future Sun King was surprised to witness that she was not wearing a scandalous tunic that exposed her lithe legs and svelte shoulders. Instead, the Priestess was crow-black and dressed for war, sporting a tightly woven battle suit clad in the feathers of what could only belong to the Kuntur Apu, the human-faced sky spirits of Amazonia.

What was more quizzical was her entourage.

The most notable was a young Asian woman wearing armour with a brutalist, geometric design, stylised with intricate plaques of jadeite. Beside her was his friend and bodyguard, Tupaq, whom Inti was glad had returned, though the man clearly looked worse for his expedition in guiding the Knights of Bath. Below them both was the sleek form of a Rat-faced Apu in the garbs of an assassin, strangely juxtaposing its furry, piebald face. Below the Apu walked a stout human with a magnificent beard, clanking across the court's cobblestones in a textbook Dwarven Klad.

A Priestess.

A Sword Mage.

A Rat

And a Dwarf.

Certainly, no one in the Temple of the Sun could have suspected that this was what Prince Inti was welcoming to their midst, and so all stood to greet the sudden arrival of the unusual personages.

"Father, my Uncles of the Suyus, Magister Holbrooke, may I introduce my friend and former companion in the IIUC, The Regent of Shalkar, Magister Gwen Song of London."

Inti watched Ambassador Holbrooke's eyes grow suddenly wide as he forced himself to remain composed. As a nation invested in international trade, the Americans knew well the price of produce from Shalkar, for the tiny Protectorate's Elf-blessed exports fetched luxury prices among the northern continent's merchant barons that could only be considered criminal. Concurrently, even in Cuzco, the news of Gwen bodying Tower Master Popov of Moscow had been widespread and celebrated, for the Pale Priestess had cut a popular figure among Inti's people ever since the competition.

The Regent's eyes, as vividly emerald and amber as Inti recalled, were enough to make even his father think twice about putting on airs.

"A rare guest!" his father left the dais with his uncles, and a round of handshakes took place as the Regent introduced her companions as the Marshal of Shalkar, the Commander of her Militia, and the Commandrum of the Iron Legion.

"Tupac, how is it that you are with the Regent, and not…" Inti soon diverted the small talk to matters of true import. He could read the Regent's face, and the young woman was not here for pleasure.

"Inti, I bring dire news," his Captain of the Guard sighed, his shoulders stooping. "Can we speak in private? The Regent has a request."

"Of course." Inti nodded at once, first to his father, then to the Ambassador. "If the Regent of the world-famous Shalkar has a concern, it is only Cuzco's duty to answer it. Come, Regent, let us proceed to the Temple of the Moon. Tica would be thrilled to see you again, and we will likely need the aid of the Matrons of Mama Cuna if you are here for the reason I think you are…"

"Much obliged," the Regent bowed her head curtly, clearly impatient to get past the politeness. In Inti's mind, the Gwen of today looked very different to the timidly hopeful sorceress he had met many yesteryears ago. Physically, she looked a little taller, more regal, her beauty like a carnivorous bloom. However, though no lines marred her face, he starkly sensed a weight of responsibility on her shoulders that exceeded his own, a weight of lives in the millions, all hinged upon a gesture or a word that could change their fate for weal or woe. "The matter is… urgent."

With a gaze from Inti, the servant girls withdrew the colourfully knotted llama-fur curtains partitioning the central dias from the temple's side gardens and avenues.

Without returning to their seats, his father and uncles bid him take care of their esteemed guest.

"Ambassador, we shall speak again as soon as I am able," he assured the American still watching the entourage of man, Dwarf and Rat with intense scrutiny. "I hope that in good time, we can arrive at a compromise that is… as you say… mutually beneficial."

Cuzco.

The Temple of the Moon.

Gwen welcomed the full-bodied hug from Tica, now wife to Inti, when she shared the horrid news that the Svartálfar had captured Elvia. Though an acquaintance, there was something wonderfully soft and warm about the motherly Tica that managed to unwind at least some of the tension keeping her painfully high-strung. Without delay, her caramel-complexioned friend called upon her foster father, the Tower Master Amaru, who promised that he would wrap up his meetings and attend to the Regent of Shalkar at the first opportunity.

While they waited, a feast was laid out, where Gwen found some distraction from the thought of Elvia fighting for her life somewhere in a pit in the Murk. Gwen told her companions to relax and rest, though both Lulan and Strun proved resistant. Hanmoul, however, soon found the chicha and was enjoying himself immensely while they waited. Inti took the opportunity to lay out the current crisis facing his nation, which proved a better distraction for Gwen from her soul-gnawing anxiety.

"We have the HDMs and the trade goods," Initi assured her as he cradled the horned cup of chicha, Tica resting in his lap as she fed him grapes. "The Americans are artificially scarceifying their supply of wheat and grain. Hence, our granaries are under significant strain of late, as Tenochtitlan also tithes us for our produce so that they can focus on fighting the Americans."

Gwen was not too familiar with the geo-politics of the region, but as Regent of a multi-Planar city, she was no stranger to the Great Game of Houses. Between the three major human powers of the Americas, the United States was in direct conflict with Tenochtitlán. The resurgent theocracy had not only resisted the Puritanic expeditions but had also destroyed the slave trade so central to America's founding. Presently, Tenochtitlan was amassing power, hybridising their relationship with the Demi-humans of the Gulf to threaten their neighbours to the south, concurrently disputing the land of their former colonists to the north. This left Cuzco to play the role of the appeaser, trading with both Tenochtitlán and the United States, while egging on the nations' conflicts so that they might remain neutral.

It was a good balance, but now Cuzco was running out of food, and the Americans were taking the moment to extend their reach so that Tenochtitlan would be caught in a pincer movement.

"On paper, we are not adverse to an American Tower stationed in the northern Suyu city of Quito. That said, if what I know of our neighbours proves correct, the invitation and support we provide isn't anything near the lease they propose—but a permanent installation that would block our nation from the continent's northern coast."

Gwen sipped her drink as Inti trauma dumped. "So, does Cuzco wish to remain neutral? Is that possible?"

"It's something we need to do, for as long as we can," Inti confessed, pulling his face like a llama. "It's not honourable…"

"Pish—what's honour? It's air—" Gwen dismissed the Prince's useless moralism. "All's fair in love and war, and this is more than just war. What concerns me is that, say I provide you with the necessary grains I can purchase from China and Shalkar, and transport them here through the Dyarr Morkk—"

She gathered her thoughts for a moment. "—And Cuzco persists in providing logistical support to both America and Tenochtitlan, what happened when they finally realise neither side is gaining ground because you've been playing both sides? I mean, the status quo is one thing, but if you start profiting, that's going to be a catastrophe."

"There is no perfect solution, I fear. It's a line my nation must walk," Inti patted Tica's head as she whispered something in his ear. "Tica's right in that we should appear helpful but not threatening, even as we grow our strength. As you know, our faith magic depends on our population. We must be kind to our own people."

"Somehow, I wouldn't put it past the Aztecas or the Americans to start fucking with your civilians…" Gwen genuinely felt repressed by Inti's horrible dilemma. "Besides, what are your Mutually Assured Destruction doctrines? The Americans have their Towers and Magi-tech, the Aztecs have their Feathered Dragons… what do you have that can threaten their cities?"

"Me?" Inti replied, flexing as a jest. "I am not a Dragon, but I can scorch a city or two…"

"Can you fight a Shoggoth?" Gwen asked half-seriously. "Is your Tower strong enough to fight off the American fleet, or the Feathered Gods of the Aztecs?"

Inti lost his glow. “No… and no…”

"Cuzco needs something like… a Guardian", Gwen digressed a little in terms of her recent conquest of Deepholm, and her invitation to the Earthen Dragon Dhànthárian to be Deepholm's keeper. "There isn't a balance of power if you don't have an equal threat. Right now, you're just telling them—Don't make me join the other side! That's only going to take you so far."

"Perhaps you have an idea? Or a solution?" Tica's hopeful eyes made Gwen feel a strange tingle. "You know, my invitation remains open…"

Inti coughed and cleared his throat.

"Like I said earlier, maybe we need to find you a Guardian of sorts. We'll visit Lake Titicaca once this is over." Gwen said seriously, her mind pondering the possibilities of trade and Towers and sleeping Dragons. "First, let me find Elvia in Che'ell-Cresse, then, we sort out this Undead Mer problem, assuming we succeed, you should have contributed enough to our Planar Police Force to extract the benefits."

Tica puffed out her cheeks. The Priestess raised her head to regard the painted murals depicting the founding of Machu Picchu by the Incan Gods. "I can't believe there's so much more to… everything. And here I thought our politics were an impossible puzzle."

"I am no expert," Gwen confessed to her lack of access to the entire picture. "But—the stability of the Prime Material always comes before the interests of nations. The Mageocracy paints a nice picture, but they're no less guilty of undermining wherever they can for profit, so long as it doesn't collapse the Prime Material."

Having conversed with Inti with her present state of knowledge, she also found it discerning that the Andes, a literal mountain with a literal skylake, had rumours of, but not the actuality of, a local Dragon.

Then again… if indeed there was a surviving Amaru from the Primordial Age, how would such a winged creature thrive between the Big Birds and the widow-maker Quar-Tath, Matron of the Long Night, and the sacrifice-loving twins Quetzalcōātl and Xoloti, who could hold their own against a Magi-tech empire? And suppose she indeed managed to awaken Amaru and craft an "Accord" between the Dragon and Cuzco. What help could a Dragon a millennium older than Ruxin offer against its ageless great-grandsires?

Starkly, she felt the frustrations of a middle manager.

Nation against nation.

Dragons against Dragons.

Nations against Dragons.

Gwen was glad that her immediate concern was a blonde Saintess with the doe-like eyes of her soft-hearted flock.

More chicha passed their lips.

Finally, before her impatience grew excessive, the Prince cleared his throat, eased Tica from his arms, then announced that their esteemed Uncle was on his way.

A burst of Conjuration lit up the Teleportation Circle on the far side of the vaulted space housing the shaded garden within which Gwen and her entourage rested uneasily.

Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, cousin to the Sapa Inca, uncle twice-removed to the young Inti and the Tower Master of Cuzco, arrived with a bow, revealing his pale face in the same movement.

"I have come prepared," the Tower Master spoke with no room for pleasantries. "Regent, I can arrange for a meeting with a representative from Che'ell-Cressen. I must confess, however, that I am only able to inform them of your coming. Beyond presenting… gifts, tributes and suggestions, we have no other means of influence among the Svartálfar. The avoidance of conflict… is unfortunately the extent of our diplomatic history."

The Tower Master had a face that only a mother could trust—but Gwen could trust that she would not be deceived in her capacity as the Regent of Shalkar, and the solution to Cuzco's larger problems.

"Please arrange a guide to take us…" Gwen agreed at once. "Time is of the essence."

"So it is, and so it has already been done," the Tower Master's gaze swept past Inti to meet that of the Prince's wife. "Tica. You are well?"

"I am, uncle," Tica tiptoed forward, then gave the man a generous hug, burying her face in his colourful robes. Gwen watched the Tower Master's face soften, seemingly lost in the moment, feeling the tingling of an uneasy suspicion. Nonetheless, her observance was no concern to her now, not with Elvia still in the Murk. "Thank you for your promptness. It means a lot to me."

"Anything for you, my Ñusta," the Tower Master looked over at Initi with the face of a man staring down an overripe Durian. "My Inti."

"Uncle," Inti replied awkwardly, evidently uncomfortable. "Thank you for coming to our aid."

"Tica's aid," the man insisted. "Regent, if you will follow me? The Mage Flight awaits you… and your forces."

"Just us, for now," Gwen's gaze encompassed her Rat-kin and her bodyguard. "Commandrumm Bronzeborn here will liaise with Master Inti regarding the borderlands and the construction of a forward staging station. We have already received permission from the Sapa."

The Tower Master paused to digest her words, then inclined his chin. "I hope they understand what they've invited." He smiled at her with his pearly white teeth, which truly added to the ophidian likeness. "So Cuzco enters the fray. Not with the Americans, but the Mageocracy, and her Profitess no less? You are bold, my Inti."

"Well, these are… needful times," Inti did not retort, but allowed his uncle's insolence.

Gwen watched the two, knowing that at least, at some point, they would have to drink the poison they were brewing. Perhaps Tica could be the medicinal antidote, or maybe she was the fatalistic compound.

Though for now, her only interest was in meeting the Yana cousins of Tryfan and the retrieval of her heart's desire.