Prologue: Ubersreik

'What do you think, cousin?' the raven-haired young woman asked.

'I'm not certain,' Mari-Natalya Leibmann admitted. 'Give me a few minutes to gather my thoughts, Bert.'

Abandoning the huge pile of documents she had been asked to examine, Mari-Natalya turned away from the desk. Four steps took her from the untidy third-floor room's shadowy corner to its central point.

Turning to face the only window, a bay central on one of the shorter walls, Mari-Natalya undertook a rapid examination of her cousin's lodgings. Left of the window was an open chest, it appeared to contain undergarments. To its right was the cluttered desk, and a three-legged stool. An unmade double bed was on the left wall. Behind her, the door burst open. Mari-Natalya turned.

'Who is she? What's she doing? Did you let her see my research?' the blonde, who'd just walked into the room, demanded.

Mari-Natalya's cousin, Berthylda "Bert" Bacher, was a hazel-eyed young woman with masses of curly raven-black hair. Her newly arrived companion's eyes were the palest of blue, her blonde hair was almost white, and cropped boyishly short. Bert was round-faced and curvaceous; her companion was thin-faced, skinny, and angular. Bert was a calm centre in the blonde's storm of hostility.

Deciding she could leave Bert to deal with the blonde, Mari lifted her hands to her temples and swept her fingers though her own, red-blonde, hair. As she pushed the tumbling mass over her shoulders she dropped, rather inelegantly, into a cross legged position on the floor. Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind. What did it all mean?

Interlocking her fingers, Mari placed her hands on her lap, palms uppermost, and closed her eyes. Ignoring the two women, who were beginning to bicker, she slowed her breathing and began her meditation exercises. As she relaxed, she tried to make sense of the research she had just read, and the dream that had brought her to her cousin's door.

Her attempt to order her thoughts was interrupted after only a few minutes.

'Mari?' The altercation had ended, but Bert was impatient for an answer.

Mari lifted her hands from her lap, steepled her fingers, and placed them under her chin. Bert emitted a loud and dramatic sigh. Knowing she would get no peace until she replied, Mari opened her eyes and stood. Bert and her friend sat side by side on the wooden bench in front of the fireplace.

Mari did not address her reply to Bert, instead she looked into the blonde's ice blue eyes. 'You are?'

'Ynga Gluck.' The annoyance still apparent on the blonde's face was losing its fight with the woman's curiosity.

'There's a lot of very good research here, Ynga. Evidence is excellent, and I have no doubt that your conclusion is correct. The Black Stones of Grausee almost certainly mark the location of a Fimir Matriarch's burial site. You know that the Fimir buried their matriarchs with grave goods. This is a fine piece of scholarship. However!' Turning away from the blonde, Mari addressed finally her cousin directly. 'The Black Stones have been there for more than two millennia, Bert. The chances of you finding buried treasure is... Well I won't say none, but...'

Ynga stood, fists clenched and teeth bared. Mari raised her hands in the palms outward gesture of peace, and a worried-looking Bert reached out her hand to Ynga. 'Darling, please.'

'A passionate belief in your abilities is a good thing,' Mari spoke softly. 'And I see that's not the only passion you share with Bert. Rhya's blessings to you both.'

Mari watched Ynga carefully. The blessing had the desired effect. Bert kept Ynga's hand in her own, and the blonde slowly relaxed. She sat.

'Cousin... cousins!' Mari continued calmly. 'Little more than an hour ago, I arrived unannounced on your doorstep. You showed me the research and asked for my advice, Bert. I have yet to give it, and I have yet to tell you why I am here. You have been very patient, please hear me out.' She turned her attention back to the blonde. 'It seems my cousin has told you a little about me, Ynga.'

The blonde was thinking, piecing the clues together. 'You're the cousin who went to Unterturm to become a priestess of Rhya.'

'I am,' Mari admitted. 'Though, while I have been initiated into the Cult of The Earth Mother, I am no priestess. For several weeks I have believed it was time to move on from the seminary. Three days ago, I had a dream. In that dream I was struggling through misty marshland. I was not alone.' She looked at Bert. 'You were there too, Bert, I saw you clearly. But there were others with us, too. That vision is why I came here.' Turning her attention back to Ynga, she continued. 'I did not know about your researches, Ynga. I didn't even know of your existence until I arrived here, but I believe you were one of the mist-shadowed figures in that swamp.'

'Perhaps Rhya wants us to go to the Grausee,' Ynga's excitement was obvious.

'Perhaps, but in my dream, we were five, not three. Also, I was frightened. When I woke, I knew that I'd dreamt of danger, death, destiny, and sharp claws. I did not dream of treasure.'

'Who were the others?' Bert asked. Mari's talk of danger, death and sharp claws had not given her cousin the slightest pause. Bert had always been impetuous, and stubborn and any attempt to dissuade her from this foolish journey was doomed to fail.

Mari answered honestly. 'Their faces were shrouded in mist, but I believe both were women, and I believe I will recognise them. Perhaps...' Mari paused. 'If we're to head off on this treasure hunt, we should hire a guard, or two. Female guards?' Mari pondered. 'It's thirty miles to the Black Stones, and the lands beyond Grausee village are wild and likely dangerous. Marshland is no place for a clerk, a student, and an acolyte. We could be going to our deaths.'

'We have our brains,' said Ynga stubbornly. 'The marsh can't be any more dangerous than the back streets of Ubersreik.'

'Here in the city, you know which streets to avoid, Ynga,' Mari observed. 'However, I can see that you are both set on this little adventure. Because of my dream, I believe I must accompany you, and that we must find the others I dreamt of. Will your employer allow you to leave, Bert?'

'I no longer have an employer,' Bert admitted. She shook her head sadly. 'I shouldn't have told Gutefrau Pfeifenmacher.'

'Tomas Pfeifenmacher is a lecherous old git!' Ynga announced. 'Telling his wife what he suggested was right!'

'And now I'm out of work, darling,' Bert observed. 'The old bastard is telling everyone around Marktpatz I'm a troublemaker! Our rent is paid up to the end of the month, Mari, but after that...' She shrugged. 'Even if this expedition comes to nothing, it's an adventure. If we don't find any treasure, I'll simply look for work in the Merchant Quarter, or one of the noble houses, when we return.'

'You've never been further than five miles outside the city walls, Bert,' Mari reminded her cousin.

'I know! But you've been in the wilds, and Ynga is from Stimmingen!' Bert replied. Her eyes shone with excitement.

Teubrücke, the bustling docks of Ubersreik, was a confusion of wharves, warehouses, inns, guildhouses, and only Sigmar knew what else. Burly stevedores hauled cargo and cursed while their foremen blew strange signals on their whistles. Merchants yelled, fishermen hawked their wares, and riverwardens watched over the chaos.

Bewildered by the bedlam, Zyra tried to think. She'd been foolish. Her friend Anya had found work, and offered to speak to the merchant on her behalf. Stubborn pride had made her refuse, now she was uncertain what to do or where to go. With only four shillings and tenpence to her name, finding work was a priority.

Despite everything Zyra had been told about Ubersreik, finding work in the big city was not easy. She had asked around on the docks, but most manual work was restricted to stevedores. The city folk dealt with each other, not peasants.

In truth, Zyra ruefully reminded herself, finding work was easy, provided you had no morals.

She had received two offers, neither of which had required her to do anything other than go to a room and lie on her back. She had cursed and sworn at the men who'd made those offers. When a third approached, she put her hand on her sword. The moment he asked, "How much, darlin'?" she growled, and started to draw it. As the man retreated, three young women approached her. Wary, she kept her hand on the hilt of her part-drawn sword.

'He didn't give you much trouble,' the tallest of the three, a buxom redhead, observed. 'Are you looking for work?'

'Aye.' As Zyra nodded, she noticed a carved wooden acorn dangling from the leather thong around the woman's neck. She looked more closely at the redhead. The neckline of her robes was embroidered with stylised wheat heads. 'Mother help me,' she added.

The redhead smiled. 'My name is Mari-Natalya Leibmann. I am no mother, merely a child of summer skies. Call me Mari, please'

Zyra understood the response. The redhead had identified herself as an acolyte of Rhya. She allowed her sword to drop back into its scabbard.

'Are you any good with that sword?' That question came from the blonde.

'Try me!' Zyra grumbled.

'You've fought.' The acolyte stated.

'I have, Mari summer child,' Zyra nodded again.

'Rhya brought us to you,' the buxom acolyte spoke softly. 'I believe we have found one of the two, Bert. What is your name, swordwoman?'

'Zyra Hastdenteufel.'

'We should talk, Zyra,' the black-haired member of the trio spoke for the first time. 'We're looking for a sword.' She turned to the blonde, and smiled, 'Be a darling, Ynga. Go to the Marktplatz and buy a flask of ale and some pastries. Mari and I will take Zyra to our room.'