Chapter Forty One
Master Of Wyverns


Missive to Council from Arbiter El Endande

Storm Season Fourth Quarter First Day of Charm

After several cycles of days, I have heard of a re-appearance of Greyslan Amberglass. Apparently he has found his way to the Buerland Marches. How he made his way there from the Silverborne Sea, I am uncertain, but he seems to have arrived upon the unanswered complaint from the current count of rock wyvern’s attacking his flocks. While this is an unusual act, it seems to hold within the Tenets of Balance.

I do have a ledger of obligations to tend to, but as per your last missive, I shall endeavor to locate your wayward Wizard and ensure he will be sent his way back to council. I of course would appreciate any compensation that would be sent to my prevue for the effort as of course, there is always much to do to maintain balance in the regions of my purview.


Watterkrek had grown since last time I’d been through the Buerland Marches. A collection of straw thatched buildings huddled around the Margrave’s keep, but there were many more than even a decade ago. The young Margrave’s keep was more imposing than his father’s had been. Taller, Wider, with two new towers. Watterkrek was doing well.

At the keep’s gate, I announced myself and was told to wait for the Warden to take me to see the Margrave.

I was led in by Roderick, a particularly taciturn march warden, grey of beard and clanking of piecework armor to the Margrave of Watterkrek’s great, if rough-hewn hall with minimal ceremony. Notably, the newer Watterkrek Keep was more solidly built than his father’s had been, mountain-granite walled, rather than the found stone the original had been. Clearly Gwynhafer’s knowledge of the March stood in good stead. The trade in ironwool had been good to the young Margrave. Still, despite his wealth, the lord I was lead to wore the similar rough clothing of any March Lord.

Youth, of course, is as always a matter of perspective, Margrave Edrick was a middle aged man now, his own short beard and red hair streaked with grey, certainly not the child of the army commander who had been granted this land after the First War of the Alliance. His eyes, however, remained the same. Slate grey, narrow and resentful. The Second War of the Alliance had not sat well with his kind. Betrayals and compelled sacrifice rarely do.

“It’s been a long time venerable Amberglass,” Edrick offered, rubbing the now weathered and lined face bore a notable trace of his father’s hard features. The scowl I remembered he had as a boy had rearranged his Waterford features into something long lasting and unpleasant to look at. He had been eating well, though. The Margrave of Watterkrek was no taller than his father had been, but he was not such a slim man.

“I was just on a journey through the Buerlands, Lord Margrave, and heard tales of your recent troubles” I told him. Simplicity and concern was always the best approach when crafting such deceptions. “But in reverence to your father’s great deeds and heroism, and also my familiarity with such difficult beasts, I thought it was best that I took a personal interest and offered my help you in your time of need. I take it the cost so far has been dear.”

He nodded unhappily, his scowl deepening.

“Blighted winged serpents with poison on their tails.” He spat, leaning back in the same granite seat of office his father had once occupied, if uncomfortably. “Rock wyverns, not seen for a generation. I had thought them gone for good. Your kind should have wiped them out with the rest of the foul dragonkind from the Underworld.”

I decided not to remind him that wyvern’s had no relation to the Great Dragons. They were as natural to our world as either of us.

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