The priestess's eyes were a smoky gray, set deep within a harsh, square-jawed face. A wide-bridged nose and thick, sloping forehead easily proclaimed Durakh's orc blood, though the effect was softened somewhat by high-set, delicate cheekbones and full lips. Three scars, faded to a dull purple with age, crisscrossed the cleric's chin, traveling in ragged lines down toward her rough-skinned throat. The half-orc's hair flowed in thick brown waves around ridged ears and spilled into the folds of her robe. A thick chain hung down from the cleric's neck, suspending a circular onyx disk with a silver Orcish rune inscribed upon it.

If Durakh took offense at such obvious scrutiny, she gave no indication. The cleric bowed her head slightly upon entering and sat upon the simple chair Yulda offered. The door swung closed behind her.

"You summoned me," the cleric said, and though Yulda listened to each word carefully, she could hear no indication of irony or contempt-just a simple statement of fact. Durakh's voice was deep-timbred and rich, though Yulda would never use the word warm to describe it. To her ears, it sounded hollow and cold-like stone in winter.

An apt description for the young priestess.

A nameless sense of menace surrounded the priestess, a sense of the deep, dark places of the land, lying always in shadow. Yulda couldn't quite suppress the shiver that ran up her spine.

"Yes, I did summon you," the witch said, though whether to remind Durakh or herself, she couldn't be sure. "We have been preparing for more than a year. Are our forces ready?"

Yulda asked the question casually, in an almost friendly tone, as if the answer meant nothing more to her than if she had inquired about the weather. Her gaze, however, remained riveted on the cleric. Failure was an option.

For her part, the half-orc returned Yulda's stare before answering, though the witch knew Durakh well enough to see the telltale signs of tension in her lieutenant. It was clear to the Rashemi that Luthic's cleric felt uncomfortable beneath the lidless gaze of her missing eye-a fact that caused Yulda a fair degree of satisfaction.

"Our army is ready," Durakh answered after a moment's hesitation, "though you have caused quite a stir among the goblins with your latest… gift. Razk nearly-"

"May the gods damn that fool of a shaman," Yulda interrupted. "Can you control him?"

The odious beast held a fair amount of power, but he was, like all of his kind, a treacherous, venomous vermin that needed an almost constant lash of discipline and bullying to insure his loyalty.

"Oh yes," the cleric answered, baring a double row of yellowed, razor-sharp teeth as she did so. "Razk desires a certain series of rites that I happen to know. He will follow my lead until such time as he receives his reward."

"See to it that he does," Yulda warned. "Without his presence, the goblins will be far more difficult to manage. What of the others?"

"The bugbears and hobgoblins wait for our signal, as does Nanraak, the wild goblin king," the priestess replied. "They will join our forces once we have begun to attack in earnest. The rest of our army gathers here. In two days' time, we will complete all of the final preparations."

"Ah, that is good," Yulda said, moving toward the desk once more and gathering a number of maps in her hand. "Then the plan remains the same?" she asked.

"Yes," Durakh confirmed. "Several contingents of goblins, ogres, and spiders will move swiftly north and west, harrying and raiding the villages several days' ride from Mulptan, while our main force will sweep out of the mountains and strike first at the Mines of Tethkel and then, once we control the mines, will move to capture or destroy the villages and cities of Lower Rashemen."

Durakh's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she recounted the plan, and Yulda's own doubts were swept away by that cruel glance. She had indeed chosen her lieutenant wisely. The witch smiled in response.

"It is a good plan, if I do say so myself," she said to the cleric, purposefully ignoring the priestess's own integral contributions. It would not do to allow the cleric to become too sure of herself. "Are we certain that the Iron Lord will react to the village raids?" Yulda asked.

The half-orc idly fingered her holy symbol as she considered the question.

"I believe that he will," Durakh responded finally. "My spies say that he grows ever restless locked in his citadel of iron, surrounded by warlords who boast of past victories and drink themselves into oblivion hoping for future glory. Besides," Durakh noted with more than a hint of malice in her voice, "the last assassin that we sent after the Iron Lord nearly slit his throat while he slept. Once Volas Dyervolk hears of the raids, he will gather together his army of berserkers and run headlong into battle like an owlbear protecting its cubs."

Yulda threw the maps down on the table, sending several parchments skittering and rolling to the floor.

"Leaving the bulk of Lower Rashemen open to our attack. Soon," the witch said to no one in particular, "it will all be mine."

"And the wychlaran?" asked Durakh.

Yulda turned to gaze at the cleric. Though the half-orc had asked the question with the same inflection she gave everything else, the Rashemi witch heard something beneath the simple inquiry-an undertone of fear? Hope? It was difficult to tell.

Nevertheless, Yulda fixed the black point of her eldritch gaze upon Durakh.

"Leave them to me," Yulda said in a chill voice.

During the course of the past year, the witch had gathered a growing coterie of sorcerers, wizards, and hags in the wilds of the High Country. Frustrated by the yoke of the wychlaran, choked and broken by their own lust for power, they came to her, eager to trade their own freedom for the scraps from her table. There were more of them than she could ever have imagined. The wychlaran were blinded by their traditional rule of power. Carefree and overly complacent in their hereditary role in Rashemen, they could not even conceive of anyone resisting the natural order of things. There were shadows in their mirrors and weeds in their garden that would choke the very life out of them, and they did not even take notice.

Her coterie would travel with the bulk of the army, stirring up the more impetuous of the telthor and turning their arcane power against the spells of the wychlaran, and without the aid of the vremyonni, the sisterhood of the wychlaran would fall. That left only the durthan, holed up in Erech Forest, but Yulda knew that once the durthan understood which way the wind was blowing, they would flock to her banner. Then she would use them too, as she used everything and everyone in her path, climbing over the backs of their spent and lifeless corpses to attain her goal.

Durakh only nodded at the witch's admonition, her lips pursed in thought.

"There is one thing that I believe we haven't fully considered," Durakh said.

"What is that?" Yulda replied, already sensing the turn of the cleric's thoughts.

"What will Thay do as Rashemen tears itself apart from within?" Durakh asked, and this time Yulda heard true concern in the priestess's voice. "I hardly think that the Red Wizards will sit quietly on the sidelines until the dust settles."

Yulda rubbed her hands together and let out a hideous cackle.

"That is exactly what they will do, dear Durakh," Yulda said as her laughter subsided. "Those petty wizardlings and I have come to a certain… understanding."

In truth, she would have to give up a good portion of the western border of Lower Rashemen, but that would be a small price to pay for the freedom to work without those meddling Thayans interfering. Besides, when she had finally consolidated her power, Yulda might be able to "renegotiate" her agreement.