Argrave took his place at the podium in the parliamentary hall. All of the guests looked at him with tired eyes. Even in their exhaustion, his reputation had grown to the point that no one would ignore him, not even Magisters. Ganbaatar came as a guest, representing the elven nations. But more than him, they’d called every parliamentary seat from all across the kingdom. Most had made it, fortunately, feeling grand things were afoot.
“I understand that most of you have come a very long way. Rest assured, then, that this first session will be brief—less than thirty minutes,” Argrave gave them the good news, reinvigorating the tired that they might focus better. “It serves to introduce the key issues that made me call this meeting ahead of our scheduled session.”
Argrave’s gaze wandered the parliamentary seats. All waited for his words expectantly.
“Firstly… southern tribals persist on the border to the Burnt Desert. There is a horde of wyverns, many of whom are spellcasters, roaming the sand dunes and mountains near the Lionsun Castle. Margrave Reinhardt can attest he’s never seen one of such size.” Argrave pointed toward the margrave. Though he lacked an official parliamentary seat, Reinhardt had attended at Argrave’s request. “Though these tribals levied threats, they’ve yet to do anything else. I thought that was because they had something in mind other than combat. On my visit to the site recently, I discovered that to be true.”
Argrave shifted on his feet as people, especially those on the southern side of the kingdom, seemed to grow uneased.
“More than that… we have other threats at a different border. A geographical border.” Argrave turned his head, where Orion stepped forward and handed him the masked helm of the Ebon Cult. He set it on the podium. “This piece of armor comes from a group known as the Ebon Cult. This cult is a religious state beneath the earth, occupying the old dwarven cities. Perhaps you think me mad… but then, behold this man.”
The true dwarf Anestis was escorted into the room, and all stared at him with curiosity or confusion. Artur in particular seemed utterly baffled, not knowing whether he should be indignant or surprised or joyful.
“He is a true dwarf. And because of him, we have some paths into the dwarven cities underground, long thought myth alone.” Argrave clenched his right hand into a fist and then slammed it down on the helmet of purple metal. “But Anestis’ arrival heralds a huge threat. As such… let me tell you of Mozzahr, the Castellan of the Empty, and his aspirations for godhood. Let me tell you of the dwarven metals they hoard, and of the secrets to shamanic magic they guard. This will not be as my father’s reign of aggression. Because Mozzahr… he’s a conqueror. A practiced one. And we must defend, lest we be wiped out.”
#####
Mial, daughter of Mozzahr, stepped into a room with a large congregation. The building these worshippers resided in once belonged to the dwarves—this had been the house for their senate, where they carried out the democratic functions of their government. Now, it had been repurposed into the primary cathedral of the Ebon Cult.
Two others followed behind her as she walked past all the devout kneeled in prayer. She walked to the head of the hall, and then took her place at a raised platform where the dwarven speakers of the past would come forth to stand and speak.
“Loyal worshippers,” Mial’s voice rang out crisp and clear even through her metal mask. The two that had been following her took their place behind her. “Though I loathe to interrupt worship, there are things that you must hear. I will not be long—thirty minutes at the longest. Forgive me, but we are seldom concentrated so densely as when we pray. I thought this place best.”
Despite her apology, the worshippers seemed more than amenable to her request. They clearly heeded her words, masked faces staring firmly forward without wandering in distraction.
“I bring with me today the first of those on the surface to enter into my father’s sphere. Her name is Georgina… and she was brought before Mozzahr as in a dream.”
Georgina, one of the two that followed behind Mial in her entry, stepped forward. The woman had donned a mask of purple metal like all of those prostrated before them. Hers was fashioned in the shape of a rabbit. Mial put her hands on her shoulders.
“Her arrival heralds the advent of many more devotees. When we come to the surface, and when we bring my father’s absolute truth to the ignorant denizens of that land… the people will weep with joy. I am sure many of you have been wondering why it is we linger at the edge of the land of the two suns. The truth is… though Mozzahr’s dreams led Georgina to join us, it also foretold an enemy more formidable than the ones faced before.”
The congregation came to rapt attention at once, their zealous spirit flaring.
“Our arrival to the surface heralds a huge threat,” Mial looked out across them, her owl mask moving with her head. “As such… let me tell you of Argrave, King of Vasquer, and the depth of the knowledge he already holds over us. He is the catspaw of a devil incarnate. We can only assume that he knows all… but when he stands between us and the green, rich lands of the surface, we must fight. For our Castellan, my father, and our only hope for the future, we must fight!”
#####
“Is Erlebnis truly the devil incarnate?” Georgina asked Mial as they walked back to Mozzahr’s palace.
“He must be,” Mial answered. “And if he is not so now, he will become so in the future. Mozzahr’s fate is heavy. He has been given great boons, but equally great tests. The universe itself forged him to take his place as Castellan of the Empty.” She turned back, seizing Georgina’s shoulder and pulling her aside. “But let us not talk of that. Let us talk of the man you brought.”
“I didn’t bring him,” Georgina defended herself. “We associated once before. He followed me—stalked me, even, and made demands of me.”
Mial inhaled deeply. “Mozzahr was going to kill him. But after their talk… he suddenly changed his mind. Now, the man is a member of the cult. Father even had me introduce him to the congregation. But father does not administrate our people—tell me, what do you know of this man? Is he capable?”
“Capable? More than capable, yes,” Georgina nodded. “But I don’t care about any of that. I can tell you this with certainty: Traugott is insane.”
#####
Argrave sat down with all of his closest advisors, save Durran—the man still waited with his wyvern riders, perhaps occupying himself with liberating yet more villages from Vessel tyranny. It did them no good to have him here yet, but his time would come soon enough. There were two new faces among them: Nikoletta of Monticci and Melanie, the mercenary. They had both earned their spots at the private table, Argrave felt—Nikoletta had an unbreakable loyalty to Argrave.
As for Melanie… the red-haired mercenary of Relize had proven herself by managing the expeditionary parties heading out across the land, retrieving artifacts for Artur’s Hall of Enchantment. With the civil war over and done, he didn’t fear Melanie changing employers as he once had. She had valuable management skills: Ruleo was a protagonist of Heroes of Berendar, and beyond that he’d given her capable people. According to her, Ruleo was enjoying the work, even if he was technically performing penal labor.
And unlike Galamon, who would swear devotion only to Veid, or Orion, who was quite difficult to get a handle on… Argrave was confident he could get Melanie to accept any blessings he wanted to give her. He needed another warrior by his side beyond Orion and Galamon—one that could gain blessings commensurate with the stronger foes they’d be fighting. In terms of personality, her mercenary attitude fit Argrave’s modus operandi perfectly.
Still… it seemed to come out of left field for her.
“So, uhh, Your Majesty…” Melanie looked between everyone present, green eyes darting from place to place. “Am I needed for something? I can’t imagine you’d invite me for fine dining.”
“You managed the expedition party well,” Argrave said, looking at her plainly. “Artur is overwhelmed with things to look at, isn’t that right?”
Melanie relaxed a little when she was praised. “Sure. Could’ve buried the man in what we brought back. Little easier, given his stature, but still.”
“Jokes like that in the wrong ear might get you killed, you know,” Argrave answered back without laughing. “Anyway, that stuff with the Stonepetal Sentinels—you were paying attention?”
“Sure,” Melanie nodded, narrowing her eyes. The scars on her face made her look quite fierce. “You praise me, you mention a new organization… is this what I think?”
“The willing horse gets whipped,” Anneliese said with a smile. “I think you will be satisfied with the increase in salary.”
Melanie smiled and laughed quietly. “Well, I’ll be damned… thank you, Your Highness, Your Majesty,” she said, removing the wide-brimmed tellerbarret and dipping her head until her red hair covered her face.
“You mentioned that you wanted to get closer with the king,” Elenore said.
“In a business sense alone,” Melanie clarified, looking at Anneliese as she fixed her hair and put her tellerbarret back on.
“She’d probably get closer in other ways if it helped her career, but that’s another point,” Argrave quipped, and Melanie swallowed in fear before she realized Argrave was joking.
“Reasoning aside,” Elenore cleared her throat and continued. “The king has decided there is a use for your talents. You now work for him directly. You will likely assume the role of organizer for the expedition against the Ebon Cult.”
Melanie whistled. “Wow. Inner circle, huh? This is it, isn’t it?”
“So long as you don’t disappoint me, I might even call you a friend,” Argrave held his hand out.
“I’m pretty good at what I do,” Melanie shook his hand, accepting the offer. “As you’ve noticed, it seems.”
Galamon looked down at her and said, “The skill is secondary to the moral reasoning behind it. His Majesty offers you a chance to be more than what you were.”
Melanie looked up at Galamon, then looked away just as quick. Argrave could tell it would take some time for her to integrate with the group—Argrave didn’t mind the mercenary mentality, but it seemed to clash with the others he’d brought with him. But there was good in Melanie, he knew. He just needed to make them see it, and make her embrace it.
“Regardless, there are important matters to deal with.” Argrave leaned up against the table. “There are two things that we need to secure from the dwarven cities, regardless of whether or not the Ebon Cult is invading. We need dwarven metalsmithing, and we need a certain dwarven technology than can help us catch spirits. Orion, if you would,” Argrave looked back, holding out his hand.
The prince deposited a paper into his hand. Argrave spread it out across the table, reading it again.
“One of the parliamentary seats brought this issue before us. The first evidence of divinity has reared its head,” Argrave noted. “It’s a local god to a very small village—nothing special, and peaceful. I think we can leave it alone. It’ll likely aid in protecting the local area, even. But the things soon to come won’t be as peaceful. Durran has been preparing, in part, for Fellhorn. But Durran is going to become much more than that, I think. His wyverns give the opportunity for a massive collection of resources. As such—Melanie.”
“Yes?” she raised her head, clearly lost by his rapid-fire explanation.
“Once we get this through the parliament, speed is of the essence. Mozzahr is a monstrous master of shamanic magic, and unlike us, he and his men already have spirits in abundance. We need to stem the tide—and to do that, we have to scavenge the dwarven cities well. We have, in essence, a technological disadvantage. Until we curb that, we fight a losing battle.”
“There’s, uh… no transition period for this job, is there?”
“Well, you won’t be going alone,” Argrave shrugged. “Mozzahr has something we need. And given how ridiculous that man could be, power-wise… well, it is what it is.”
