Valaran, chief consort of Emperor Ackal V, nodded once and dismissed her ladies-in-waiting with a wave of her hand. When she and her visitor were alone, she seated herself again on the stone bench.

“You are called Zala?” The stranger nodded, and Valaran added, “Let me see you.”

The cape was removed. Of medium height, with a lithe build, the visitor had chin-length black hair which she tucked haphazardly behind her ears.

Taking note of those ears, Valaran asked, “Which of your parents was an elf?”

“My mother was Silvanesti, Your Majesty.”

“You had no trouble reaching me?”

“No special trouble, Majesty. A riot rages in the New City.”

Finely shaped eyebrows knit in confusion. “Another one? Why wasn’t I told? That’s the third in ten days!”

“Have you not seen the fires, Majesty?”

“I rarely leave the palace’s inner core. I must get to the battlements more often.” Velvet strained through her fingers as Valaran clenched a hand in her lap. “By custom long established, the empress of Ergoth resides in seclusion. It is a custom my husband delights in enforcing.”

At the empress’s request, Zala told what she knew of the riot and its cause. “No fresh meat has come to the city for four days,” she finished. “It’s said the cattlemen up north are holding onto their herds, lest they fall into the hands of the invaders.”

“All the more reason your mission must be carried out without delay,” Valaran said. “You’re said to be an expert tracker and huntress. You’ll need all your skills. The country between here and where you’re going is no temple garden.”

Zala gave no response, since none had been requested, but her journey here from Caergoth hadn’t been exactly easy. Although the bakali invaders had not penetrated as far south as her native city, their approach had driven desperate refugees there to rob and kill. And there were nomads, plainsmen from the east, rampaging though the border provinces. Most of the once peaceful roads and fields were now highly dangerous to traverse.