“Your Majesty won’t be attending as… well, as yourself?” Diana questioned Argrave.
Diana had donned different dress than the casual things she had been wearing the days before—now, she wore an elaborate dress of white fur. She had a large silver circlet embedded with sapphires and pearls resting atop and partially weaved into her blonde hair. She stood alone with Argrave and Anneliese in the spacious yet warm palace of Quadreign. The warmth was new—though the Flame of the Tenebrous Star projected no heat, the Quadreigns of ages past had engineered it in some way to manifest as such. That was another bizarre oddity Argrave had no answer for.
Dismissing his thoughts to answer her question, Argrave shook his head with a pleasant smile on his face. “No, I’ll be staying in the shadows for a while longer. No need to draw undue attention just yet. When we march south into the former kingdom of Atrus to converge with Elenore’s force… I can have the grand reveal then. For now, you have people to greet,” Argrave looked to the door of the castle.
Diana sighed. “Indeed. It’s been some time since such a large number have gathered in Quadreign.”
“And in the days to come, yet more will gather. Then, we head south in force,” Argrave nodded. “For now… good luck, archduchess.”
Diana nodded evenly. “I hope that my daughter Svetlana receives the same well wishes from the crown when she takes my place, and even her daughter after her.”
“I have meant to ask… why does Quadreign disqualify its males from succession?” Anneliese asked curiously.
“The only way to ensure purity of bloodline is through the female line,” Diana explained. “The woman cannot bear a child not her own, unlike a man. That is the crux of it, despite what rumors persist about the woman’s role as a life bringer engendering benevolent rulership.”
“Really? I thought…” As he spoke, Anneliese looked at him, and Argrave scratched the back of his neck. “Guess I had things wrong.”
“If only you admitted your wrongs on other accounts so easily,” Anneliese said pointedly, still ill at ease after their conversation regarding visiting Erlebnis.
Diana looked between the two of them, probably not wishing to get involved in their dispute. She prudently changed the subject, asking, “And this outing you mentioned…”
“Provided we can enlist Vera’s aid, it’ll be no more than a day,” Argrave nodded his head. “We’ll be back before nightfall.”
“Then I have nothing more to stall with,” Diana took a deep breath, then looked outside. “I should greet my… new vassals.”
The newly established archduchess walked towards the exit of the castle. Once she left, a few seconds passed before her voice rang out once again. She gave a speech to the people outside, updating them as to their new liege—namely, Argrave—and their duty in coming to the south. She promised protection under Quadreign and Vasquer both, and further the blessing of the flame of Quadreign.
Many of the assembled were the old guard of Quadreign that had been disbanded only by Vasquer’s conquest. Diana was able to work them into a fervor easily. Argrave smiled when the first cheer came.
“I forbid you to smile until your idea works,” Anneliese punched Argrave in the arm.
The punch was gentle, but Argrave feigned being injured as he retaliated, “Hey, come on now. That’s too tall an order. I’m the Smiler, or did you forget?”
“What if Erlebnis does not want the knowledge you offer?” she pressed worriedly.
“Then nothing is lost,” Argrave dropped his levity, realizing he needed to answer her worries seriously. “The larger point to this all is allowing you to be exposed to whatever Llewellen says that you need to grasp his method of A-rank ascension. It’s but a day’s detour. It’ll be fine.”
“I am not superstitious, but do not tempt fate by saying such brash things,” Anneliese grabbed her forehead and walked about aimlessly.
Another person walked in not so aimlessly—two people, to be precise. Galamon led Vera to Argrave, then dipped his head and fell in behind him.
“I don’t like being fetched… first, your man Durran brought me, and now this Galamon.” Vera bit at her lips, then surrendered, “I suppose it’s a bit different now. You’re my king. Well, what did you need me for?”
“I need to make a visit somewhere,” Argrave explained succinctly. “It’s far enough to be inconvenient, but if I can count on your help… it ceases to be troublesome. We can be back before our small army of spellcasters assembles.”
“You want me to be your coachman?” Vera’s orange eyes narrowed. “Fly you across the skies?”
“With a Magister’s pay, and some moderately influential passengers,” Argrave corrected. “I imagine it’ll make the job bearable.”
#####
A two-armed head jumped at Durran, an inhuman and airless shout bursting from its bleeding lips. He cast a spell of wind and then swung his glaive in a wide arc. The wyvern bone glaive caught and wreathed itself in the spell, and blade and magic both tore straight through the necromantic abomination with ease. Though it was with ease… doing it dozens of time was wearing at him, and his breath was heavy. His magic was thinner than his breath, too.
Wheeling around, Durran looked at the rest of the battlefield. These creatures were twice their party’s numbers, and though he’d never seen their like before, he recognized them at once from all of Garm’s writings. These were necromantic creatures from the Order of the Rose. They outnumbered the royal guards and Melanie two-to-one, yet almost an hour ago it had been ten-to-one. As soon as they entered a stretch of the taiga, these things started to plague them and hunt relentlessly.
Melanie had set aside her zweihander as the massive weapon tired her out. She fought with the hooked chains she concealed ably, and they whipped throughout the air tearing chunks of flesh out of her foes. She looked exhausted, and her legs were shaking. Durran didn’t feel much better himself, and he had royal-forged armor unlike her.
One of the Order of the Rose creatures got hooked onto her chains without dislodging, and it whipped throughout the air as she swung the metal around. It crawled up her chain with determination only the dead could possess, and the seasoned mercenary, battle-experienced though she was, seemed ill-prepared to deal with this.
“Swing it at me!” Durran shouted, wielding his glaive.
Melanie, though panicked, could listen to orders. She swung her chain about with the necromantic abomination attached, and when it neared, Durran used both his own power and the force of her swing to bisect the foul thing.
“Hah! Used to play this game as a kid!” she shouted, stepping back as more approached her. “Have a few more, then!”
Durran almost found it funny, yet Melanie was true to her word—she used her long chains to hook the creatures, casting them at Durran one after the other with such skill it was awe-inspiring. He’d only seen better weapon control in Galamon. To his part, he cut them down one after the other, yet resisting the force and weight of the swung abominations wore at his arm.
One of the creatures that Melanie hooked came free and flew at Durran awkwardly. The two-armed head grasped the haft of Durran’s glaive with one hand and reached to strangle his neck with the other. Durran grabbed its wrist with his left, finding his hand insufficient for the task with its missing fingers. He dropped the glaive and slammed the head down, pummeling its face with his freed right hand until its skull gave into gore.
Utterly exhausted, Durran grasped at his discarded glaive and rose to his feet. Things were winding down, and the royal guard dispatched the last of them. But then, they’d been winding down for hours—these necromantic creatures seemed to come without an end as they advanced to lure out the Unhanded Coalition.
There had been no casualties. But this was but the second day, and the numbers came more and more as they advanced behind the mountain to seek an opportunity to allow the army to advance. The royal guard were good at what they did and were well-protected by their armor and Argrave’s gift of enchanted warding rings. But things couldn’t last like this forever. Sooner or later… someone would slip up. Then another. And before long, this expedition of theirs would end in utter failure.
“Melanie!” Durran managed to shout. “Catch one alive!”
“What?” the red-haired mercenary questioned, short of breath. “They, uh… we can’t exactly interrogate them. Unless you want something to… relieve some anger on.”
Durran shook his hand free of gore. “There’s more than one way for them to talk. Argrave taught me something—rather than killing the summons, kill the summoner.” He looked at her intently. “I know some necromancy. It’s enough to learn where the bastard that’s sending these might be hiding.”
“Hah,” Melanie laughed. “Looks like there is a dark side to you, huh? Alright. I’m itching to get my sword in someone that bleeds hot blood, and better yet if it’s the corpse-wrangler behind these things.”
As Melanie went to do that, Durran looked back at the corpses of these necromantic creatures. Unlike Argrave, Anneliese, or Durran, he’d never dealt with these things before. But seeing them, they were markedly familiar—it must’ve been Garm’s soul influencing him. And moreover… something told him that these creatures weren’t newly made.
Durran’s intuition screamed they were from Order of the Rose ruins. And that meant they might be nearly unending.
“Gods be damned… wish Orion was here,” Durran muttered. “He wasn’t so bad after all…”
The only hope for their expedition rested in dispatching whoever was sending them forth.
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