Argrave went to deal with his agenda, but as he spoke to the architects of Relize to end their strike, and as he addressed the concerns of Magisters questioning the direction of the expeditionary parties sent out across Vasquer, his mind was elsewhere. His mind was on helmet Melanie had brought back. More specifically, he dreaded the Ebon Cult it heralded.
There was no mistaking the distinctive masked helmet of the Ebon Cult. The ones given to scouts were undetailed and light, as the masks marked their rank in the hierarchy and helped establish a sense of identity for their wearers. That it had been found meant one thing alone: the cult’s scouts had ventured where Melanie had reached. That was the bare minimum it meant—in reality, their members might have discovered a path to the surface long ago. And without Gerechtigkeit’s meddling to hinder their progress significantly… they might have a huge head start on their invasion of Vasquer.
If this had been Gerry’s plan—to have these two potent nations clash just as all the gods descended, weakening both in a major way—then it was working out.
Argrave sat on his bed with Anneliese hovering near him. They had been staying in the parliamentary complex, alongside other parliamentary seats that decided to stay in Blackgard itself. She had a writing implement and paper both prepared, but she did not write. He stared at the helmet in his hands, thinking hard.
“You feel dread.” Anneliese knelt down before him. “Do we cancel our plans to go to Veiden?”
He looked at her, using her question to put his thoughts back on rails. Apparently, half the reason Galamon was convinced to return to Veiden was because there was something related to the Ebon Cult. They might not even be the same organization, but at the same time…
“Before I became king… I had intended to head down into the abandoned dwarven cities.” Argrave set the helmet on his bed. “There, I would learn and make use of shamanic magic, upgrade my arsenal, defeat Mozzahr and his cult alone while the kingdom focused on preparing for the gods unmolested. But events transpired. I dealt with events in the Bloodwoods, not down there.” He fixed her with a gaze as steady as stone. “Now, we need Galamon’s expertise in war more than anything. I can’t fight this as I’d hoped to.”
“That is a sensible point.” Anneliese’s eyes darted back and forth as she was lost in thought. “We waste time. We may be late, already. Let us go visit the first training session of the army.”
Argrave nodded, rising to his feet. As he made for the door back to the outside, he paused, then turned and grabbed the helmet still on their bed.
#####
They travelled beneath the tunnel spanning the mountains north of Vasquer. It was a busy road, with refugees still coming in en masse, but they still made it through in decent time. Here, the great fortress erected by the Relizean architects stood strong and tall. Argrave, Anneliese, and Orion scaled the massive fortification, heading for the walls. The stairs felt as though they took an hour to climb, and once they arrived the cold winds of high altitudes battered their face.
Rows and rows of Veidimen-style tents filled the vast plains between Blackgard and Relize. But they were not built by Veidimen—they were built by the men of Argrave’s newly formed standing army. Technically, this force had been in existence for two months. Those two months, however, had been filled by back-breaking training to bring all recruits to a physical standard.
At the Veidimen’s direction, the recruits needed to train before they could learn to fight. They ran dozens of miles with heavy packs, paved the roads between Relize, Blackgard, and Dirracha, collected firewood enough to burn for weeks, and made those wondrously comfortable tents… every single day, for two months. Healing magic made pain nothing more than an inconvenience, and the elves of Veiden took full advantage of that fact.
And so, after those two months… thirty-five thousand, eight hundred and sixteen men were ready down below. That was the number of troops that were to begin proper military training. Argrave remembered the number well, because Elenore had complained countless times about paying this many salaries. Many of these people were working to support their families living within Blackgard, as they earned a generous wage in the army. Many more were without a home to return to. Some were those afflicted by the waxpox, who had been totally cured in Quadreign by the Flame of the Tenebrous Star.
In the far north, spellcasters tempered their magic supply with House Quadreign’s flame. Parliamentary seats belonging to the Order of the Gray Owl were incentivized to teach prospective talents—if they did so, they’d receive benefits from the expeditionary parties scouring ruins across the kingdom. It was causing something of a boom in the world of magic. Argrave heard nothing but positive news from Diana, Archduchess of the North. And as proof of her words, more and more B-rank mages returned from ships to receive more thorough tutelage.
But whether by magic or might, men trained to defend their home and kill their enemies down below. They practiced unit tactics, weapons, discipline… but more than discipline, they had fervor. They prepared for Gerechtigkeit, just as Argrave did. And with the Ebon Cult coming… he would be forced to ask these men to die for him.
“Do you think they joined the army because they were ignorant of what war was?” Anneliese said suddenly, and Argrave turned to her.
“Reading my mind?” Argrave raised a brow.
“I just know how you think,” she shook her head. “After all this time, I do not think I need to see your face to figure out what you think.”
“Then you’ll know I’m realizing I’m not that special,” Argrave stepped closer to the edge of the fortress, bracing against the parapets. “Thought I was a hotshot, putting my life on the line to fight Gerechtigkeit. But there’s thousands of people just like me, getting ready to be just as good as I am, if not better. They’re called soldiers.”
“Keep that connection. Do not forget it.” Anneliese stepped closer. “Feeling connected with one’s men makes a good leader.”
“And you are a good leader, Your Majesty. Rest assured you are worth fighting for.” Orion pounded his fist against his chest, metal colliding with a harsh noise.
“I don’t want people to die for me.” Argrave grabbed the parapet, leaning down as they trained. “If I could… could…”
“These are not drafted soldiers, Argrave.” Anneliese crossed her arms and told him firmly, “Just as you want to shoulder their responsibility, so do they wish to tackle it head on. Every man down there has chosen to fight under your banner. Do not disrespect that decision.”
Argrave tore his gaze away. “I’ll never be at ease with it.” He walked back towards the stairs. “But instead of moping, I’m going to do something about it before we leave for Veiden.” He paused just before descending. “Let’s visit Vasquer. I want to ask for her help with a few things. If we’re lucky, we’ll run into that other resident… but that depends on her mood.”
#####
Mountains surrounded the burgeoning city of Blackgard. This made a great natural shield against all comers, funneling would-be-invaders into the two entrances—three, if the river was to be counted. There was little life up high in the mountains. At best, there were birds, goats… but little grew on the slick black rock shielding the valley clearing.
Consequently, it was the perfect housing ground for the ancient serpent Vasquer.
Argrave, Anneliese and Orion hiked up the mountain without delay, travelling paths that Argrave knew well. Elenore travelled them somewhat frequently, asking things of their distant ancestor on a regular basis. Orion would have gone more frequently, but he took his duties as knight-commander seriously.
While keeping a brisk pace, they finally made it to something of a peak. At once, Argrave spotted the golden scales of Argrave’s ancestral serpent shining brightly further back. Vasquer crawled forward, winding around various elevated portions of the mountain with ease. Much of her mobility had been restored in her time free of the underground cavern, and in not a few seconds she was close enough to touch.
“Hey,” Argrave said quietly beneath his breath, reaching his hand out slowly.
When he touched Vasquer, their bond of blood facilitated a mental connection between the two of them. The all too familiar maternal touch of this ancient Gilderwatcher permeated his mind. It was like a calming tide of exuberance, concern, and satisfaction that wrapped around his mind and made him feel at ease. He felt like a long-lost son who’d finally found his way home.
Argrave returned Vasquer’s greeting, though likely not in as intense and earnest a fashion as she had managed. Regardless, his ancestor seemed pleased merely to contact him again. She urged him to ask Orion to come, next, that she might greet him as well. He pulled his hand away and looked back, but what he saw brought him pause for half a second.
Behind Anneliese and Orion, both of whom were utterly focused on Vasquer, black mist swirled and took shape. He saw it coalesce into the shape of a body, and slowly an elven form manifested fully. Onychinusa had long white hair and tan skin, with extremely prominent elven ears… but these were the only features of hers visible, as she wore a uniform that blended with the environment even better than a chameleon could manage. The ancient elf also carried a blanket, strangely enough. When she was finally physical in totality, she sprinted forth, and Argrave figured out what she intended.
Onychinusa tackled Anneliese from behind, and Argrave briefly intervened to stop the two of them from tumbling to the ground in a heap. The blanket was to prevent Anneliese’s A-rank ascension from sapping her magic, but it doubled as a warm embrace for their reunion. Anneliese let out a quick yelp of fear, but quickly got her balance and wits as Onychinusa stood there in silent embrace.
Argrave helped Anneliese get her footing, and she slowly twisted her body around. “Hello, Onychinusa,” she greeted, clearly holding back an exasperated sigh.
“I’m tired of this place,” Onychinusa said, voice muffled from behind the blanket. “Just black. Black, black, black. I tried to teach the snake to write, but it didn’t listen.”
“Well, I cannot stay long… but perhaps we can take some time,” Anneliese suggested gently. “How have you been?”
Onychinusa pulled her head back and looked up. “I’ve been doing that thing you needed. You said it might help, but it didn’t. Didn’t help me, at least. I’m still bored.”
Argrave came to attention. “That thing, would it be…?”
Onychinusa looked at him when he spoke, her amber eyes cold. This ancient elf loved Anneliese, tolerated Argrave, and avoided Orion… but other than that, she refused to visit with anyone, remaining as anti-social as ever. She and Vasquer were the sole residents of this mountain, and perhaps fittingly, they were the only of their race on this continent. Argrave assumed trauma yet lingered in Onychinusa’s mind, but he was pleased enough to have her as a tentative ally despite what transpired in the Bloodwoods.
“Spirits and gods… I know them well,” Onychinusa bragged. “And would you like to know what I’ve done to help you?”
“Onychinusa… let’s leave them with Vasquer,” Anneliese insisted gently, managing to extricate herself. “You can tell me all you’ve done.”
Anneliese and Onychinusa walked off to converse, while Argrave and Orion came together to speak with Vasquer. There was much to say to this ancient snake, pleasant and unpleasant… and meanwhile, Onychinusa would tell Anneliese about the presence of divinity across Berendar.
Whether against the divine, or against the Ebon Cult… what they learned would surely be the foundation of much of what was to come.
