Once everyone was seated, Margo continued, "ladies, this is Generalissimo Gargle of the Army of Gorgurak, Bishop Geralt de Ramnerburg of Tammerhof, Prince Willam Nordweg, and Duke Sven Nordweg.

The general was between me and Wren. Wren was opposite Queen Margo and I was opposite the Prince. He tried smiling at me. I tilted my head, studied him without blinking at all, and counted how long it took for his smile to falter. It took him up to a count of 36, which is longer than I thought it would take. Once his smile died and was replaced by dismay, I made sure to yawn loudly. The general had to put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

"Well, now that we are all settled," the Queen began, "Sir Gargle, would you please summarize our current wyvern problem for our guests?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the general stood and picked up a pointer as long as the table was wide. "Two years ago, one red wyvern moved into the Blazroggle district which is located in the mountain range marking our westernmost extent of settlements. The district contains 12 villages and two towns with light garrisons. The villages specialize in cattle raising, timber harvesting and planting, and local dairy. One town specializes in cheese production and the other specializes in lumber production.

"The garrisons are oriented toward search and rescue, and adverse weather events response such as road clearing, emergency housing, flood rescue, blizzard rescue, livestock rescue, and wildfire response. The two garrisons also perform dangerous wildlife and monster removal.

"The garrison out of Wiffleblatt responded to the arrival of the red wyvern two years ago during calving season. Losses included 15 full-grown cattle and seven calves, twelve trained herding dogs, thirty-seven villagers, and one hundred and eighteen troops. Death of the wyvern was achieved 112 days after deployment through the use of a freshly-killed poisoned steer carcass loaded with fifty pounds of white arsenic.

"The garrisons' response included the development of new tactics to preserve villager lives but only at the sacrifice of livestock. Life-preservation tactics that actually work involve the deployment of five-yard lances and shields from phalanx formations at a ratio of seven hobgoblins to one wrangler or shepherd.

"Last year, a breeding pair of red wyverns moved into the same district. We hypothesize that the wyvern from the year before left a usable nest behind. We did not succeed in removing those two wyverns from the district. They bred three young. If those three survived the winter, which we do not know yet, then there may be two full-grown and three adolescent wyverns this year. Our level of losses is not sustainable, hence the request sent to neighboring kingdoms to specialists with experience with wyverns.

"The breeding pair was sighted four days ago and have started hunting activities. Losses last year included 137 cattle, 43 calves, 17 trained herding dogs, 56 villagers, and 204 hobgoblin troops. Only the breeding pair participated in attacks.

"We evacuated the three villages closest to the nest over the winter and are currently evacuating five more. The evacuation includes flocks. The current effort will be completed eight days from today. We have chosen evacuation routes that leave the shortest good paved route into the area open and unimpeded for the hunting specialists.

"Fully half of the army is deployed right now for the protection of the villages and their livestock. We will leave two phalanx brigades for the protection of the two hunting parties. A company is currently camped just past the northwest outer-wall gate to safely escort the two hunting parties to the impacted area. They need four hours warning before they can be on the road.

"I believe that I have covered the pertinent points," the generalissimo concluded.

"Where are the evacuated villages and the ones you're evacuating now?" Duke Sven asked.

"Ah! Excellent question," the general landed the pointer right in front of me. "Her Majesty is seated at the north of the regional map, and the Princess is seated at the south. Kizdangengar on the east edge of the map is in front of the Prince. The evacuated villages are here, here, and here," he tapped on three villages to the left of my nose, in an area of two narrow east-west valleys separated by mountain ranges. The current evacuation involves these villages," he tapped on five villages immediately to the east of the first three. All were in the same two valleys.

"Do you know where the nest is located?" the prince asked.

"We do not know where it is," the generalissimo stated. "It is beyond the ridge beyond which are the Wilds where no one lives nor can live safely."

"You have not explored beyond that ridge?" the Bishop asked accusingly.

"The ridge cannot be breached from either valley. It is capped year-round with ice and snow and bad weather," the generalissimo answered calmly with a pleasant expression.

* Is the ridge above the heights of death? * I asked because it needed to be asked.

"Yes, my lady, it is," the generalissimo nodded with a knowing smile at me. "Many lives have been lost trying to map that area. We no longer make any official attempts, though there are a few brave idiots every few decades, those who believe all mountains must be climbed for the sake of bragging about it. In the past, these have been mostly elven youths adventuring, who sadly make the effort and never return."

"Which is why by a treaty in force for six decades now," Wren interjected, "any elves who appear in western Gorgurak looking like they want to climb mountains about the heights of death are arrested and returned in chains to elven lands and the judgment of the elven king. Please pardon me for interrupting you, generalissimo."

"No offense taken, your Highness," the trim and buff soldier gave her a polite bow.

"At this juncture," the Queen addressed the table, "neither hunting party has committed to traveling to our afflicted province. I would like to hear exactly what the two parties have to offer in terms of capacity to address a wyvern threat. Prince Willam?"

"I have a hunting party of thirty men," the prince answered, "with three wagon-mounted ballistae designed to fire nets that can envelop a wyvern. My party's men have taken down three wyverns to date in Nordweg, all of them last year in our southern reaches. We took down and then killed the first in early summer. We took down a breeding pair together five weeks later in an area to the west of the first wyvern sighting. It took ten spearmen and several minutes to kill each wyvern. They are difficult to kill. You must use a spear to penetrate the upper palate in the mouth and reach the brain, or to break through the skull through an ear."

Wren was nodding in agreement. The prince noticed and addressed her, "you agree, royal cousin?"

"There is a third way," Wren nodded solemnly. "It is possible to penetrate the anus with a long spear that can reach the heart for an instant kill, though jamming in a spear to perforate the intestines and stomachs will kill one within a few hours, assuming anyone is left alive to witness the demise." I was amazed Wren did that with a straight face. I noted that the Queen was earnestly biting her lip and Magrat was just a bit bug-eyed. For the record, I was biting my tail. I must note that the bishop looked outraged.

"How foul!" the Bishop of Tammerhof exclaimed, looking rather put out.

"Oh, yes," Wren agreed in a helpful voice, "it does smell quite foul, or so I am informed by those elders amongst my people who I know have killed wyverns." On my, Wren really was on a roll. I was working hard not to snort in laughter.

I saw the prince and the duke both trade a glance and both swallowed a laugh. The generalissimo studied the map intently. I was amazed by the perfect deadpan looks from both the queen and Magrat. What pros those two ladies were.

"Fascinating," Queen Margo remarked with perfect sincerity. "Dearest Wren, please, tell us about your party."

"Certainly, Aunt Margo," she smiled warmly at the Goblin Queen. Ouch. The look on the Bishop's face was prime entertainment. He looked like he was drinking sour milk.

Wren continued, "we are a hunting party of five including myself and Lady Fuzzy. Every non-mountain cat member is part of the extended royal family of the Green Elves. Cloud Eye is the king's cousin by how my people account for that relationship. Cat Rider and Motley Owl are both adopted sons of Storm Eagle, my father and king. Fuzzy as a divine beast requires no introduction. You know what she is.

"Four of us are capable of combat, those being Fuzzy, Wren, the king's kinsman Cloud Eye, and the king's adoptive son Motley Owl. The Elven party also has two mages, Lady Fuzzy here, and the king's adopted son, Cat Rider, who a year and a half ago, at one month before his 15th birthday, invented a spell that killed a wyvern."

"We are used to traveling and camping by ourselves," Wren added. "My brother Cat Rider is lame and weak on his left side. Fuzzy carries him when we travel. Our group is structured that Cat is never by himself. He is always protected.

"He is the most talented mage in all the elven lands. Gaining permission from my father to allow him to spend his traditional two years of adventuring was prefaced by the condition that we hunt or travel only, and not work the caravans and not work mercenary service. I agreed to meet and consider this request for two reasons. The first is our traditional friendship with the goblin kingdom. Second, he is one of four mages now that can kill a wyvern at a distance using the spell he invented."

"He really killed a wyvern?" the Bishop asked in a tone that suggested his disbelief.

"I would not put my lame and weak brother at risk of his life for anything but the best reasons, Eminence. He is dear to me. He is my brother," her tone was so cold that icicles were growing off her words. "Cat Rider killed a wyvern. I saw it happen because I was one of its combatants. So did Motley Owl, who was fighting off the snow wyvern who attacked him while he was skiing. The use of the spell is devastating and it does not fail. It can only be used once because it completely drains all the resources of the mage casting it. That means we can only fell two wyverns on any one occasion and then the mages must rest two days to recover."

"It seems to me, Highness," Magrat spoke up, "to have the best chance and the best protection in eliminating the wyvern nest, that both parties must travel and work together. What will it take to achieve that?"

"I have no conditions," Prince Willam said. "I will see that my men will be on their best behavior in the presence of foreign royalty."

"I have one condition," Wren said stiffly. "The Bishop will not come with us. We will not travel with him. He can stay here or he can go home. I also have one thing I want to make clear. I know you are sincere with what you just said, royal cousin. I do not mean to make little of your good gestures. I will note only that one's good intentions and reality are often at odds. So I make it known now," she reached into her cleavage and drew out a small bodice dagger, "I swear a blood oath here."

She rolled up the map away from her and then plunged the dagger through her hand. Holding her hand up so the blood dripped on the table, "I swear here that if any goblin or hobgoblin or human insults any of my party, especially the mage Cat Rider, we will invoke the elven rite of death duel for the redress of defaming. That is how serious I am about this. I will note that in our party is Motley Owl who is every inch his natural father's son."

"Who was his father, cousin?" Prince Willam asked in an unoffensive voice.

"He is the son of Blue Talon, the elven warrior who slew the Great Grey Worm of the Blasted Blight. Owl is devoted to his brother. He is also, at age 17, able to defeat all comers throughout elven lands. I am leaving Lady Fuzzy out of this, who incidentally, can kill with a thought. We take this seriously. We will not tolerate any of the behavior like the good bishop has demonstrated today."

"I protest!" the Bishop.

"That's nice, Eminence," Wren smiled with just a dash of condescension. "I have stated my condition. I have stated what we will and will not tolerate while traveling with a troop of human soldiers, who I note, do not have a good reputation in elven lands based on our past experiences with them. For the sake of Gorgurak and the elves' friendship with the goblins, I am willing to give Prince Willam's men a chance to prove me wrong."

"You unmannered arrogant brat," the Bishop was going red in the face, "you could start a war with that attitude."

"I doubt that, Sirrah. You are just one bishop out of Nordweg's 24 bishops. I'm not even sure why you are here since you have no official role in Nordweg's government, other than the fact that you are the regent's confidant. You are a failure as a diplomat. You have been consistently arrogant, insulting, disbelieving, and patronizing at almost everything I have had to say. I am insulted on behalf of myself and my family.

"Elves do not play the sorts of passive-aggressive word games that humans play. In our culture, once you are an adult, you are either polite to your fellow sapients or die by your insults. I do not live to fulfill your two-faced human standards, just straight-forward elven ones."