Chapter 1

The cold air stuttered through her throat as she took a deep, ragged breath. It was something between a gasp of surprise and a sigh of relief - of finally knowing. The air was rich in humidity from the waterfalls called the ‘Mourning Fells’ not far from them in the grassy hills. It was a familiar taste in her mouth, but a bitter iron taste of bile had overpowered it completely at the sight of the tree in front of her eyes. A solitary, massive tree shading the hilltop from the bright light of the realm’s silver moon Vaenya. Under its luscious, thick roof of leaves, nine bodies dangled from ropes, strung up slowly, letting them suffocate rather than breaking their necks at the gallows. Eight of them were human, with the ninth being an elf. The Nyarethien spy by the name of Thaenai Nyareth-lyren. The Moonmaiden looked into her eyes, still wide in terror and felt little more than the bile in her throat.
“This is a declaration of war!” the elf on horseback next to her cried out with a hiss produced by her long, split tongue that nervously twitched between her teeth. The energy in her words seemed to unlodge the ball of hatred that had been creeping up in her, but instead of getting worse, it simply dissipated. Her stiff shoulders fell barely noticably, making the platemail pauldron she wore scrape against her chainmail.
“I doubt you will find many in this part of Thalareth that will care for it, my Starlit-Voice Xelrae.”, she replied to her trusted advisor’s outrage. The tension about the gruesome display slowly leaving her body only reinforced the discomfort of her ill-fitted armor that she had put on in all haste. The reply earned her a frustrated huff from the elf next to her on horseback. Beyond the tall oak that adorned the hilltop they were standing on, the grasslands stretched until the horizon. Empty, no sign of activity from Stalmark or the Heshari as far as they could see. The nervosity in her had made way for melancholy, a profound sadness about knowing that the young Thaenai had met her death long before being able to step in the footsteps of her prestigious line of ancestors. All that was left for her now was to be remade.
“Waging war is a worry for another day. Today, we owe our sister-in-arms her testament.” Her voice had taken on the same coldness as the night around her, yet it seemed to calm Xelrae’s blank nerves, as she only nodded solemnly, offering no resistance. The elf affixed the bridle of her horse to the saddle and turned to face the unit of knights that had accompanied them, alongside the scout that had found her and let them here. “You may return to camp.”
They hesitated, one of them looking around them as if to say ‘You would be safer with our protection, Exalted Moonmaiden’. And the way her right hand officer tensed up next to her, he seemed ready to bark back ‘Do as your Exalted Moonmaiden, Bringer of Sacred Hope in the Absence of the Moonlight, says’. Just as she thought that exact exchange would go down, the leader of the unit saluted with the Sunkissed arm across her chest, lifted her hand in a rallying gesture to follow her, turned around and took the remaining soldiers with her. A fraction of tension fell from the leaders’ shoulders, enough to make her slide out of her saddle more easily.
“Rinzhen, help me cut her down.”
Her Second-in-command, Sunhammer and friend, nodded silently and moved to dismount as well. As a Sunkissed elf, rather than a Nightbloom elf like her and Xelrae, he was smaller, but considerably stronger. Along with his dark skin, his strength was a trait of growing up on the Sunshard coast or in the arid deserts beyond it. Yet even with him, it was hard to cut down  the elven woman she had seen alive just less than a week ago. Nevertheless, with Rinzhen’s help, the young messenger was soon neatly nestled on her back in the long grass at the bottom of the tree. Yinveira stood at her feet, ready to do her duty as a Zhaomire and Moonmaiden. To make sure the messenger would return to the Moon-Pond she was born from. With one more deep breath, she reached for one of the man wax-sealed scrolls affixed to her plate mail armor. As she slowly undid the purple wax seal to reveal the meticulously written prayer within, her fingers prickled with the familiar sensation of magic of the Firmament of All, the power to give, take and renew. Her voice was steady when she began reading the litany out loud.
“Thaenai Nyareth-lyren, Melancholic Calmness, Peaceful Teardrop of the Mirrored Full Moon, strive forth through your endless journey of moonless water and abandon your fears, for you will sing once more. Step into your celestial fate and we will meet again beyond the firmament’s grace.”
The words turned the tingling in her hands into a prickling sensation that summoned blue tendrils from her hand, of moon- and starlight, wrapping and folding around Thaenai, gently lifting her up to her feet. A life force not her own returned into the young elf’s body, a temporary one that left her eyes glassy and her vocal chords mute. When the tendrils stopped streaming forth from the Moonmaiden’s hands, they stood less than a step away from each other. She pressed her forehead against Thaenai’s, whispering only for her to witness “Seek, Child of the Moons, the Moon-Pond of your beginning”. 
With these words, not-quite-Thaenai stepped back, emotionless, her eyes set precisely on the forests of the Thalan Evergreens. There she would find the sacred pool of water, the Moon-Pond, that a Zhaomire like Yinveira had created her from. There she would return to, her body a vehicle to give way for a new life. Granting her this last journey was all she could do for her now.
“May we meet again beyond the firmament’s grace.” her two companions repeated in unison. There was an eerie silence among the three companions as they all observed the young Elven woman that had started her last journey down the hill and through the high grass of the empty fields beyond them. She moved as gracefully as she would’ve if she were still Thaenai Nyareth-lyren, the fastest horseback messenger in the service of the Legion of Bone. Long legs and arms, slender but strong, clad in light silvermetal chainmail which in turn was covered in long, flowing and folding fabric, draped over her shoulders and torso in a typical yellow-orange color combination that was popular among her peers in the Starlit caste. It stood in contrast to Xelrae’s and her own blue and purple Nightbloom caste colors, yet at this moment, it wasn’t any less elegant. The woman would likely walk for many days and nights, sustained by the Zhaomire’s magic, passing ancient evergreens and blooming flower fields, gentle rivers and sweeping hills. She would pass other elves who would stop their daily routines to pay their respects just like Xelrae and Rinzhen had done. When she had reached her destination, she would be greeted with open arms by the Zhaomire and her Moon-Pond, ready to undergo the Mending, the ritual in which her body would be returned to the pond and gave shape to the next life that would step into her footsteps: A new Thaenai, a new, future messenger of the First Legion of Bone. Perhaps they would be the fastest among them again.
With each passing minute they stood in silence, the body that had once been Thaenai became smaller and smaller against the approaching horizon. When she was merely a dot on the next hill over, the Zhaomire took one final look and broke the silence, as was custom.
 “May we meet again beyond the firmament’s grace.”
With her saying grace as the last in the concession, it was officially over. A sense of being able to breathe just a bit more freely washed over her. It did not stay long. Silently, she turned her gaze instead upon the strung up Human corpse closer to her. The iron taste was back in her mouth, this time it was hatred that boiled in her throat. She tried not to let it cloud her judgement. This corpse, she recognized. The mayor of the town she had sent Thaenai to. She didn’t remember his name - she was sure Xaelrae would - but it didn’t matter much now. By the looks of the missive nailed to his chest with an ugly, rough, and too-long black nail with a thick head, someone in his town did not like his response. Something was scrawled across the missive in the language of the humans. She could only assume it was blood. It read ‘No quarter to vile death magic’. A common phrase that she had read too many times before. Lost in thought, her eyes wandered away from the corpse to the lands behind the hilltop. While they were still standing on the soil of the Thalarethian Queendom, not far from them was the border with the Human Republic of Stalmark. In the distance beyond it, the lights of the heavily fortified Human town Stenloch lit up the edge of the forest. Dark plumes of smoke rose from the industrial sawmills that turned the surrounding woods into planks and beams for their fortifications in the mountains beyond it. It disgusted her.
“So the military has already reached Stenloch, then?”, she asked, breaking the silence and peering back to her advisor. She too lifted her eyes away from the hilltop Thaenai had disappeared behind. 
“Most likely, exalted Moonmaiden Yinveira.” she concluded, using the Zhaomire’s formal address in the echo of the ritual. “I would assume the Phyek-Shturmlen has taken the mayor’s position for the time being.” She spit the Stalmarkian word for the Human military commander with a kind of disgust that interrupted her otherwise impeccable and diplomatic tone. 
“Phyek-Komtarn Vladzov, captain of the 2nd Phyekot Regiment.” It was Rinzhen who interjected and reached into his sun-white sash, producing a letter sealed with the golden wax of the Nyarethien, the Hall of the Reflecting Moon, their Elven spies. A hint of embarrassment betrayed his professionalism when he held it out towards Yinveira and put on a mask of protocol. “I took the liberty to take it with me from your desk, as you hadn’t had the time to read it yet.”
She observed the elf, his chiseled jaw flexing with the type of nervosity he seemed to only feel when speaking to her, his commander. Taking her eyes off him, she took the letter.
“I appreciate it.” she reassured him.  “Don’t make it a habit to go through my things.” She had a slight smirk on her face, one that Rinzhen mirrored, even if he tried to stay entirely professional. Returning to focus, Yinveira carefully unsealed the letter and skimmed it for the most important information. It contained a report, hastily written and incomplete, but useful nonetheless. Amongst the name of the Human commander it contained numbers of the Second Infantry Regiment and some of its supply routes. The around five-hundred strong regiment of infantry – Phyekot – soldiers under the army nicknamed the “Steeled Spearpoint” which reportedly had been dispatched just a day after she had been with her First Legion of Bone. It made sense that the Human war council would send a smaller regiment that was able to respond quickly to the threat from the North should it hit the logging town of Stenloch first.
Apart from the information on the  “Steeled Spearpoint”, there were some more numbers on the fortifications of Stenloch and its garrison; about one-hundred strong, the Nyarethien from the Hall of Reflecting Moon reckoned. Apart from that, vital information about the weaponry, weakpoints, possible front- or retreat lines was only speculated and scribbled hastily at the bottom of the letter, seemingly by a different hand than had written the insights above. Yinveira scrunched up her face slightly in annoyance. Even though she knew she could not expect perfection from the Nyarethien spies in the field, no matter how renowned the order of spies was, it was still too little information. Yet given the circumstances and short time, they had provided more than impressive results.
“No blackpowder units? Rifles, mines?” she asked in the direction of Rinzhen as she closed the report again.
“None that I know of, exalted Moonmaiden. Possibly defensive blackpowder mortars in the garrison, given its proximity to the borders to its North and West.”
Yinveira gave him an acknowledging nod along with the letter. He didn’t hesitate to put it back into his Sunkissed caste white sash adorning his silvermetal breastplate. 
“Instruct the Nyarethian to track down records of skirmishes and battles with the Second Pheykot Regiment.” she ordered, half lost in thought as she recapitulated all available information. 
“Do you want me to include that they should watch out especially for blackpowder units?” A sense of pride washed over the Moonmaiden, as Rinzhen picked up on exactly what she was interested in in these records. Time and again, he proved to her that it was the correct decision to take him on as her Second-in-Command despite being a lower-ranking Sunhammer rather than a higher-ranked Starseeker, as was more usual for the position. After all of this was over, she seriously had to petition Her Celestial Radiance for his promotion.
“No.” she replied despite him following her train of thought like a wolf on the prowl. “I need their neutral observations. You know how overly nervous they get at the mention of blackpowder.” 
He nodded, not questioning the decision. Perhaps Yinveira was overly vain about her perception on this matter, but in the past, this vanity had not failed her. If she asked specifically for Ordinvek, the feared Human blackpowder armies, everyone was suddenly on edge, knowing they had too little defense against it. Leaving out the mention would yield one of two results: Either the report came back negative, an almost boring recapitulation of small border skirmishes during the reign of the last few Lunar Queens; Or: The Ordinvek would be mentioned specifically and without prompting for it. The latter was the sign for her to start worrying.
“Keep the legion in the current configuration, Elven units at the back. I will not risk our siblings until we are sure we are only facing Stalmarkian steel, not rifles. Return post-haste and have them ready the entrenchments against Phyekot.” A regiment under martial law was as erratic as one of their blackpowder kegs.
This time, when Rinzhen nodded again, his eyebrows narrowed just slightly as they always did when he silently but vehemently agreed with an order.
“It shall be done, exalted Moonmaiden.” he replied, saluting her with the common military salute of the Sunkissed caste – a fist and arm across his chest. After that, he did not hesitate to get on his horse and rode off in the direction of the forest behind them where her legion had put up camp. 
Xelrae had been silent during their exchange about military tactics, knowing full well that her diplomatic knowledge wouldn’t be of much help against a combined 150 Standard Stalmarkian years of warfare experience between Yinveira and Rinzhen.
“You suspect they would turn their blades against us rather than the threat in the North, your Exaltedness?”, she asked. Her question was a valid one, not just in the strategic ways of the battlefield. 
“They’ve already sent one of us back in a noose, Nightbloomed Xelrae.” Perhaps it was just the derangement of the Phyek-Shturmlen that had no doubt seized power after martial law was declared and promptly had Thaenai and the mayor executed, to be sent to them as a barbaric declaration of ‘We would rather kill our own before we close ranks with you against the Heshari’. Yet, the lack of civil unrest from the town in the distance told her that this barbaric stance was not tolerated – it was supported. This knowledge hung unspoken between them. As did the realization that neither of them knew what to do about it. 
“What about them?” Xelrae asked, nodding her head towards the human corpses and switching the topic from what seemed like their impending doom back to the morbid practicality of corpse disposal. Yinveira’s gaze swept over the corpses again, her eyes getting stuck for a second on the gruesome way the black nail had been crudely driven into the mayor’s chest with what seemed to be an improvised hammer. Still, they wandered further, towards the corpse beside him. A woman and two children. Those she did not know, not by name nor by appearance. Yet it was not hard to guess who they had been. Her eyes only swept over the other lifeless human faces for a few seconds. She knew few of them, most apart from the mayor lower-ranked Domars – politicians. She turned towards her horse, ready to leave.
“Leave them here. The crows are going to tend to them.” she said, clipped. There was little in ways of pity for the informants in her heart. They knew the consequences of treason against the dogma of the Stalmarkian Republic and they had been paid quite handsomely for their cooperation with Thalareth. At least while they still had any use for coin.
Xelrae began moving too, turning back towards her horse and the camp in the forest beyond. She did it more hastily than usually, no doubt because she knew what was coming. Yinveira let the magic prickle through her hands again as she sent out a command, reflected by the moon in the sky. As they mounted their horses, the evergreen treetops in front of them started shaking as if animated, hundreds of crows taking flight with an ocean of caws. They closed the distance between the forest and the hilltop quickly, taking shape in the starlit sky. Some as crows you would see in any part of Thalareth, but most in various stages of decay. Where wings were nothing more than bones, missing feathers were replaced with a blue-shimmering spectral echo of what they once had been, giving them the ability to fly as a normal crow would. Where bones had rotted away, the same blue energy replaced them entirely, retaining their danger to scratch with their claws and pick with their beaks. 
Xelrae took the bridle of her horse and gave it a resolute command, urging the animal into a hurried but controlled canter. Yinveira followed closely. Neither turned their head to look back at the source of the sounds of scratching claws and beaks tearing into cold, dead flesh.