Lux Tenebris: The Road West...

The woman standing at the marble table, bent over a map of western Nur, was beautiful. Her ebon skin stood out in stark contrast to the silver-white locks tumbling over her shoulders. As the Chief Archivist watched, the woman absently reached up and pushed her long hair over her shoulder.

She's let it grow out, thought the Chief Archivist. She feels safe enough here to relax her guard a bit, to indulge in longer hair.

The Chief Archivist felt a flash of regret at that realization. Nevertheless, she cleared her voice.

The drow turned, one hand going automatically to the point of her hip where her blade would have rested. She had turned it in when she walked through the Archive's doorways, but old habits were hard to break.

"Chief Archivist." The drow woman's voice was low and pleasant, barely tinged by the curious accent of her people. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm told you're planning a trip, Malora."

"Word travels quickly here," remarked the drow. She arched her pale brows and glanced at the room's high marble ceiling. "You'd almost think some people didn't have anything else to do but gossip."

The Chief Archivist just smiled and stepped up to the table.

"You're heading west?"

"Yes," said Malora. She traced a route, west and then south. "To Moontree."

"You're taking the Old Road. The new trade road would be faster."

"And more traveled," said Malora. "I would rather spend more time on the road and less time explaining my bonafides and fending off every idiotic bravo with a sword."

The Chief Archivist nodded. She tapped a section of the map. "I'd avoid Orvald, if I were you. The dwarves there aren't the friendliest folk in the Graytooth Mountains."

"I've heard. I'm going around."

"Some of that road hasn't been maintained in years," cautioned the Chief Archivist.

"I've traveled through rough terraine before, Chief Archivist. I'll be fine."

"No doubt."

"Was there some other reason you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, actually. There was. I would like to commission your services."

"For what?" asked the Iron Rose.

"I'd like you to deliver a sealed message to a friend. His home is on your route."

"And the reason you want to hire me instead of a more . . . traditional courier?"

"The message is sensitive and personal. I require someone of discretion to deliver it. As you yourself said, some people have nothing better to do than gossip."

"I'm not cheap."

"I know," said the Chief Archivist. "I believe this will cover the cost."

She produced a small leather purse and handed it to the drow. The Iron Rose glanced inside the bag. Her expression gave nothing away, but when she spoke her voice held a note of suspicioun.

"This is more than enough for a simple courier job."

"I know," said the Chief Archivist. "Will you do it?"

"I suppose so," said the Iron Rose. She tucked the purse away. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll stop by and pick up your message in the morning and you can give me the details."

The Chief Archivist nodded and, smiling, went on her way.

* * * * *

The next morning, after she had seen off the drow, the Chief Archivist made her way to her personal office. She was not surprised to discover she had a visitor.

Lukus Swann, the Regent of Fallen Baramir, stood at the west-facing window. He spoke without turning around.

"She's off, then?"

"Yes," said the Chief Archivist. She moved to her desk, seated herself in the fine dragonbone chair behind it. "I don't like this, Lukus."

"I know, Selne," said the Regent. "But we have no choice. The war isn't over. This is just a pause. Everyone is catching their breath.  The Empire is fortifying its position in the east and our neighbors are itching to take the fight to them.  I've even heard rumors that Goldsun and Darkwater may join the campaign."

"Darkwater makes sense, but I'm surprised Goldsun would deign to involve themselves in the affairs of the lesser races."

"Not everyone in Goldsun shares your father's prejudices, my dear."

"You could have spoken to Malora yourself," said the Chief Archivist. "Why I let you talk me into acting as your intermediary is beyond me."

"There are too many people watching the Iron Rose and me. If I'd employed her directly can you imagine what the rumormongers and whisperers would make of it?"

"You're paranoid."

"I'm prudent," said Swann.

"You're asking Isteban Mirelle to come back to Fallen Baramir. That's not what I would call a prudent move, Regent."

"I think we'll need him," said Swann. "And he owes us. Me, at least."

"This won't make you any friends when people find out," cautioned the Chief Archivist.

"Yes," said Swann. "Well, friendship isn't what I'm interested in right now."

"Then what?"

"Survival," said the Regent.