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Chapter 817: Meeting Ashes Again

Lorgar slowed when she saw the first forest.

For the first time in her life she was inside a northern kingdom’s borders. She had heard it described many times: the evergreen woodlands, the steadily flowing water, the soil that was soft and moist if you pushed a hand into it — so different from desert ground, which might hide a sandworm at any depth. People said the north felt alive in the way the Southernmost Region had once felt alive, before the oases began to shrink.

She did not feel that way about it.

The Months of Demons, she supposed. The trees had nothing but bare branches. The ground was covered in withered weeds. Only the dark soil underfoot told her this was not just another stretch of desert wearing a different color. She filed the observation away and kept moving.

She had developed a rhythm over the journey. When darkness came, she transformed into her wolf-form and ran north. She ate what the wilderness offered — sandworms, Giant Scorpions, and once or twice the company of Desert Wolves who had been drawn by her scent. By day, she walked the Silver Stream trade route in her human form, following the caravans by the smell they left in the air, refilling her water bag when she ran into merchants willing to let her near.

The journey had not been without incident.

Princess Lorgar of the Wildflame clan was easy to read as someone carrying gold, and some people who read her that way had acted on the assumption. At the start she had made examples of them; after a while she’d found it simpler to follow the caravans from a distance and let their trail guide her, avoiding the calculation altogether.

Half a day past the forest’s edge, she heard the sea.

Port of Clearwater lay below her on a slope — no thick city walls, so she could see the whole of it from high ground. Tents along the river. Workers packed near the shore, raising the frames of square, flat buildings. The scene was organized and loud, driven by a speed of construction that surprised her. What surprised her more was the composition of the workforce: mostly northerners. Mojin immigrants were present but clearly in the minority.

She descended, identified herself to the First Army’s guards, and was directed to a camp near the water.

The black-haired woman was already there.

Before Lorgar could organize what she’d been intending to say for weeks, Ashes spoke first. “I knew you’d come.” Her golden eyes held a quality Lorgar recognized after a moment as the particular ease of someone who has already sorted out the world around them into a structure they trust. Not warmth, exactly. Certainty. “You’re just like the old me.”

Lorgar found herself looking at the taller woman’s collar. “How did you know?”

“Because you’re like the old me. There’s something you’re chasing.”

Her eyes lifted. “You chased combats too?”

“No.” The Extraordinary shook her head and looked away. “I wanted revenge.” She began walking. “Come with me. Echo will be glad to see you.”

Lorgar fell into step, the word turning over in her mind. “Revenge for what?”

“The Church of Hermes.” Ashes moved easily, without looking back. “At first it was simple — I just wanted to kill as many of them as possible. After long enough, that became a habit. Then I met Her Highness Tilly.” A brief pause. “She helped me see that there were things in the world that mattered more than settling the account.”

When Ashes said the name Tilly, something shifted in her voice — very briefly, a softness that didn’t match anything else about her. Lorgar noted it without commenting on it. She committed the name to memory instead.

They passed a flat building under construction, its frame still open to the sky. “I was told the Port of Clearwater was burned ruins after the Queen of Clearwater left the area,” Lorgar said. “But most of the workers I see are northerners. They don’t look like local refugees.”

“They’re not. They came from Neverwinter.”

“Neverwinter.” She turned this over. “Roland Wimbledon sent his own people to build housing for Mojins here?”

“He didn’t need to send anyone. They came voluntarily. Construction work here pays five to ten silver royals above the Neverwinter rate. Apparently when the Ministry of Construction posted the recruitment notice, City Hall was backed up with applicants for a week.”

Ministry of Construction. City Hall. The words landed in Lorgar’s mind without anchoring to anything. She wagged her tail. “What about the Sand Nation? The Mojins here?”

She remembered that the first batch of Mojin immigrants had been a few thousand people from smaller clans. She couldn’t account for why Graycastle’s great chief would import his own workers when those immigrants were already present.

“As His Majesty is building a new city in Endless Cape, most Mojins went there,” Ashes said. “The Osha clan is there too. Participation in construction is the mechanism — that’s how a Mojin clan earns new homes and a food supply on the same terms as Neverwinter’s own subjects.”

Lorgar stopped walking for a moment. A city in the Endless Cape — the uninhabited wasteland with no oasis, no water, no apparent resource that justified the effort. If it had been anyone other than Ashes telling her this, she would have dismissed it as exaggeration.

“What is the King of Graycastle thinking?”

“No idea,” said Ashes cheerfully. “Even the people who’ve lived in Neverwinter for years can barely follow his reasoning. Andrea might understand — they’re both nobles, similar minds. The rest of us just watch.” She stopped walking. “Here we are.”

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