Argrave hefted a crown in his hand—it had a black metal band, chicken egg-sized gemstones at several points, and gold decorating it gaudily. Everything seemed to be in order with it, so he looked up and said, “Thanks for bringing this, Leopold.”
“Hmm,” the wizened old man grunted. “Let’s not forget I provided even more manpower for those forts you took. Some of them had only seven loyal men inside. You really overextended to seize this place.” He wore black clothes in Relizean style, with a wide-brimmed black tellerbarret with a golden feather. He had Argrave’s snake sunburst on his doublet. “I don’t intend on being a paper tiger at this summit, Your Majesty. The people of Relize expect me to represent their interests, regardless of our alliance.”
“Be as papery or fleshy a tiger as you want,” Argrave nodded.
Leopold sized him up. As he did, two more footsteps echoed across the battered Dragon Palace, and Argrave turned his head. Hirnala and Anneliese walked side-by-side, catching up.
“I promised to show Hirnala the city. She almost made me write it down,” Leopold said quietly. “That one wants so many agreements in writing. It’s astounding.” The aged patrician sighed. “I should go do that. The road was long, there is time yet before the last arrive, and we can talk about how to approach this summit tomorrow. With your leave, Your Majesty.”
“Sure. Go.” Argrave waved him away.
The man walked away, speaking to the three of them while Argrave awkwardly held the crown. He didn’t want to wear the thing, but he didn’t have a place for it, either. Eventually, Anneliese broke off from the two of them and joined Argrave as they departed to see the city.
“Hirnala is fun. She says what she thinks, always,” Anneliese reflected. “I think… with the architects working on freeing Vasquer, we have all we wanted.”
Argrave nodded intently. “And Rovostar?”
Anneliese’s amber eyes darkened somewhat. “…no news, I fear. Elenore and I can only attest that discontent has settled there once the letters were sent.”
Argrave took one hand off the crown and rubbed his temple. “I had hoped to have Duke Enrico present for this…”
He left out his worry about the potential of Nikoletta’s loss. It bothered him to leave a matter unfinished for so long. Last time something bothered him this much, he’d gone to the north disguised as a snow elf. He didn’t think that particular solution would work this time.
“Oh,” Argrave said, drawn from his haze. “I got something for you.”
He handed the crown off to Galamon, who received it wordlessly. Then, he reached into his pocket and retrieved what appeared to be a wooden box. Upon further inspection, there were some intricacies to it. He held it out to Anneliese.
“Here,” he said.
Anneliese tilted her head, taking it in hand. She fiddled with it, quickly grasping what it was. It had moving parts that rearranged.
“Some vendor was selling it,” Argrave explained. “A testament to people’s resiliency if they’re trading even now, I guess. It’s not exactly like the one you described, but you said something about a puzzle box a long time ago that stuck with me. I—”
As she fiddled with it, it clicked, and the puzzle was complete. The top of it came open.
“Ah…” Argrave scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Maybe… I should have gotten a more complex puzzle. I enchanted it with an active ward, so it should be quite durable.”
“You remembered.” When Anneliese lifted her head up, she was beaming. “I love it.”
Argrave smiled in kind, then quickly diminished her praise, saying, “Probably should’ve actually put something inside there…”
“I think it better you did not. I want to fill it,” she decided.
“Then it all works out,” he held his arms out. “Wish I could do simple things like this more often, but it’s not to be. We have to meet the music.”
Anneliese nodded. “And the music comes louder every day.”
#####
Castro laid eyes upon Dirracha, perhaps four miles away. Despite the distance, the city was tall enough to be seen above the horizon. Their party of Magisters travelled by foot or horse, largely, to preserve their magic for this summit. Even this far, certain details were distinguishable. Argrave’s banner, with its black flag and golden snake sunburst, hung from the walls to demonstrate its holder. Yet another gold shone even brighter: the scales of the giant feathered serpent curled about the city.
The tower master had always thought the mountain in that city too-large, yet the snake curled around it many times with her miles-long body. Despite the size of the rock she seemed hard pressed to fit, winding upwards in a great spiral that coiled around the mountain and the palace both. Her proud head stood tall at the apex of the building, gazing about the land as though to see all as her great mane of golden feathers moved with the wind.
“It would seem that the rumors spread were not all false,” Artur, the Magister with dwarfism, noted. Castro had never seen him walk—instead, his mantle carried him off the ground, supporting his body as though the fabric was a solid thing. “That must be the royal family’s ancestral serpent, Vasquer. I never thought to lay eyes upon it. Then again, I never thought it was real.”
Castro looked back towards the city. He felt, then, that this kingdom had woken up from his slumber. “I think you will be more surprised just how many of the rumors were true in totality.”
“Is it just me, or…” Vera began, trailing off. “The palace looks a bit…”
“Damaged?” Hegazar finished, concern on his voice.
“They did have a battle with a demon,” Castro reminded them. “I’m told this so-called Shadowlander devastated the place.”
Hegazar and Vera exchanged a glance of restrained terror. Hegazar suggested, “Perhaps we can… move a little faster? Even much faster?”
“No,” Castro refused bluntly. “Margrave Reinhardt and his forces are moving past. It’ll only be a hassle if we rush to arrive at the same time they do.”
The couple looked greatly disconcerted, and Vera even muttered beneath her breath, “…that bastard.”
#####
As Margrave Reinhardt and his trusted council rode at the head of their forces, a man followed by a dozen golden-armored troops stepped out of the capital. For a brief moment, Reinhardt swore he saw Felipe, and his hands tightened around the reins of his Redsnow. But as the person came closer… he realized it was Prince Orion.
His grip slackened slightly when he realized the man wore fine clothes instead of armor. “Let’s meet him,” the margrave decided, looking to Delbraun, Elias, and Marauch.
They gave words of confirmation, then followed behind as he rode forth. Slowly, their two parties converged. Standing, Orion was perhaps a foot lower than Reinhardt’s height on horseback. He had a dominating presence.
“Greetings, Margrave Reinhardt,” Prince Orion greeted, pounding his fist against his chest. “His Majesty Argrave sent me out to retrieve you and the other guests. You’re welcome to bring a sizable escort, but the host must remain outside the walls.”
The margrave stared sternly, though inside he was surprised that the infamous Orion was acting so docile. His eyes wandered to the golden-armored knights behind him. They had the dreaded waxpox, he realized. He spared a glance to his son, then looked back to Orion.
“Let us get things in place,” the margrave nodded.
“Of course,” Orion nodded. “I will wait.”
The margrave cast a glance at the Dragon Palace far above where the great serpent Vasquer waited. It was his time to enter this ancient city once again, it seemed.
#####
Elias looked across the city of Dirracha with his one good eye as they traversed the mountainous Royal Road leading to the Dragon Palace, following Orion. Their party consisted of all Reinhardt’s close council, and those sworn to Duke Enrico coming to speak in his absence. The devastation in the city was far beyond what he had been expecting. Helmuth, the margravate’s wizard, seemed tense, and his dancing purple eyes jumped from patrol to patrol.
“Margrave Reinhardt…” the wizard stepped ahead and said quietly. “We should not be here. There are enough high-ranking mages to wipe us out without a thought,” he finished with urgency. “Not to mention… Sumner’s men are here, too.”
Margrave Reinhardt did pause at that. “Sumner…?” he paused. “Could he have… worked with Argrave, ambushed us?”
They did stop at the road, but a new voice speaking caused them all to look ahead.
“Welcome, Margrave Reinhardt,” a woman greeted. Elias stared at her. He thought she resembled Nikoletta a little, but the more he stared the further the similarity faded. She had stony gray eyes and a cool, calm demeanor.
“Princess Elenore?” the margrave said in hardened disbelief, stepping forth.
“I see your sight is as good as mine,” she said dryly. “That used to be an insult, but not so anymore. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
Recognition dawned on Elias, and his eyes widened in shock. Elenore was rumored to be blind and maimed, yet here she stood. His breath quickened.
“You… recovered?” Count Delbraun of Jast asked cautiously.
“I wish I could claim that, but no. I was healed,” she shook her head. “And before you ask… it was by His Majesty, obviously. He is rather glad you’ve come here today. The summit will be held in the throne room—until then, you might rest in some prepared chambers. I am to host you until that time comes if it pleases.”
As hope blossomed within Elias—hope that Argrave did not mislead, and that Rose truly could be treated—he made up his mind to press on, no matter Helmuth’s caution. And looking to his father, he saw the same answer writ there.
“Lead on,” Margrave Reinhardt said evenly.
#####
In due time, the Magisters of the Order of the Gray Owl were similarly received and brought to a separate room where Vasilisa hosted. They offered rich, if simple, meals, and gave the guests the opportunity to rest from the long road. Elenore dealt with reintroducing Duke Sumner to the southern nobles, and attempting to both gather information and mend the rift of mistrust that might’ve formed.
After a suitable amount of time passed, they were all led into the throne room of the Dragon Palace. To say the least, it was not as most remembered it.
The majority of the ceiling was simply missing, having collapsed. And the cause of that was plainly on display, suspended on the sole standing pillar in the room. The Shadowlander hung, crucified. Its giant purple eye had been kept forced open, and it seemed to peer across all who entered ominously. People viewed it with equal parts curiosity and revulsion. There were no seats or tables, only the still-standing throne in the back of the room, empty.
As everyone gathered, they divided into distinct groups: the southern nobility and the Magisters of the Order. Some mutterings about being forced to wait echoed in the groups, but the leaders—namely, Reinhardt and Castro—seemed patiently optimistic. Then, at the front, Elenore rang a bell.
“His Majesty Argrave enters with his betrothed, Anneliese.” she declared.
Everyone looked towards the two identical entrances behind the throne expectantly for movement. Then, they turned their heads upwards as shadows danced across the room from the wide-open ceiling. People stepped away, alarmed, as something gargantuan entered inside.
The great serpent Vasquer’s head lowered into the room, coming to hover above the throne. Her golden eyes watched them all. King Argrave sat atop her head, bearing a resplendent crown and kingly black mantle. The one introduced as Anneliese stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder.
When people were adapting to the new change, others started to emerge from the rooms behind the throne. On the left came a towering knight armored in dark gray steel, leading an entourage of steel-armored knights that bore daggers of what appeared to be obsidian on their belts. On the right came Prince Orion, leading his golden-armored royal knights. Both groups took disciplined positions slightly ahead and beside the snake Vasquer’s head, waiting and guarding.
Argrave’s gray eyes surveyed the room. “Welcome,” he said. “You’ve come a long way, largely for the purpose of putting an end to this war. My hope is that this is productive for all present, and for all the people of Vasquer.”
People shifted on their feet uneasily at the new king’s grandiose appearance and unabashed confidence. He continued unaffected, saying, “Today, we have Magister Vasilisa here, representing the interests of the Archduchess of the North, Diana of Quadreign,” he pointed. “We have Leopold Dandalan, representing those of Relize and Atrus. There is Margrave Reinhardt, representing the south. And Tower Master Castro, representing the Order of the Gray Owl. And… myself, representing all the people of Vasquer as king. If there are any corrections to be made, it’d be best to make them now. I want this to be orderly and efficient,” he dictated domineeringly.
Time passed, but none made any protest. Eventually, Margrave Reinhardt asked, “Then… we can begin?”
“Not yet,” Argrave held his hand out to stop him. “The last party hasn’t arrived yet,” he noted, looking up towards the ceiling.
People followed the king’s gaze, not understanding what he looked for. Then, they started to hear calls of alarm outside from the distant city. People shifted about in confusion. Then, with no warning at all, something filled the empty spot in the ceiling, colliding with the Dragon Palace and setting the whole building shaking.
People panicked once again, and this time their alarm was not so quick to fade. Two titanic scaled hands clutched onto the partially destroyed ceiling, claws holding tight to keep itself up. Where open sky had once been, a snow-white dragon filled the void, hanging onto the palace wall and craning its neck so that its head fit within.
“There we go,” Argrave nodded contently, crossing one leg over the other as its wingspan hid the sky. “I was wondering how we might plug that hole in the roof. Very considerate.” The serpent Vasquer moved her neck just as the dragon lowered its, the two coming to meet. Argrave held his hand out and greeted, “Patriarch Dras. So nice of you to come. You too, Rowe.”
A bald snow elf grasped Argrave’s hand, shaking it as a bridge between the two reptiles. Dras had resplendent ceremonial armor on, and all of the nobles of the south regarded him cautiously. The Magisters of the Order, however, kept their eyes firmly fixed on the old snow elf behind the patriarch, seemingly awed and afraid of his presence simultaneously.
“We are allied, after all,” Dras said with a grin. “Of course I would come.”
Vasquer and the dragon both pulled away, coming to their previous spots in the room. From afar, the scene seemed like a painting of old; the king and queen in the position of prominence, the gray-robed Magisters on one side, the nobles of the south on the other, the distant and foreign patriarch watching from above, each and all gathered for an event to be recorded in history.
Argrave explained, “Patriarch Dras is the master of Veiden, and my ally. He invaded Vasquer some time ago, but we… resolved that misunderstanding,” he said simply. “With that, everyone is here,” Argrave nodded serenely.
Elenore walked before Vasquer, placing her hand on the serpent’s head. “The summit can begin,” she declared loudly.
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