Near a hundred flying beasts in the sky darkened the earth of Vasquer with their wide shadows in the early dawn. Just as Argrave’s royal procession with his army had been impossible to avoid noticing, so too was the so-called King of the Scorched Sand’s. The wyverns flew over the vast kingdom, trivializing the size of the land of green summer that was enduring the beginnings of the bitter struggle against Gerechtigkeit.
Their wyverns had been armored in southron elf illusion magic, and so their fleet of wyverns seemed to be uncountable. At once, rumors spread of the new faction in Vasquer. Some reported that one thousand wyverns had flown past the Lionsun Castle. The number was seldom kept within reason, and though it spread fear, it spread hope in equal measure—hope that their king would seek a peaceful alliance, as he had promised.
In time, they passed over Elbraille and then Jast, finally reaching Blackgard itself. The wyverns took their place atop the mountaintops, adorning the black mountains around the city as jewels might adorn a crown. The army waited here, returned from their journey into the Low Way of the Rose. The soldiers were briefly distracted from their drilling by these new arrivals. Indeed, all took note of the return of their king, his new ally in tow.
In even only the short time gone, the burgeoning city of Blackgard had expanded further yet. Refugees were not abated by the efforts of the nobles—instead, they seemed to be all the greater as the undead attacks continued, and as rumors of lesser gods appearing spread throughout the land. And in turn, the fields sprouted with crops, rudimentary stone buildings sprouted up where makeshift tents had once been, and the new docks overlooking the ocean welcomed the arrival of true trade ships.
Argrave and the rest of his party alighted near the parliamentary hall, and moved there already while discussing things urgently.
“So—we go in there, act like we’re negotiating, and then spread word of an alliance with the Burnt Desert sealed by marriage,” Argrave summarized as they walked.
“I have laid the groundwork. From here, I’ll requisition sufficient goods to begin trading with the Burnt Desert,” Elenore agreed, keeping up with Argrave’s brisk pace.
“Alright. Durran—I assigned Melanie to get some dwarven constructs from the abandoned dwarven cities beneath the ground. When she returns, you have a very difficult duty.” He gestured toward the man. “You’re going to slay any hostile lesser gods, and capture their spirits in these devices.”
“You’re going to make me a Godslayer?” Durran touched his chest. “Listen to yourself. Are you serious? Fighting Vessels is a step away from fighting gods. Didn’t you say they were one hundred feet tall?”
“I’m very serious. But note that I said lesser gods,” Argrave said, tempering his expectations. “Onychinusa will help me identify suitable targets. I’ll prepare what’s necessary for a brutal slaughter, and then you’ll enact it. I’d like it if you stuck to the plans Anneliese and I devise, but I trust you to work independently. The most important thing is gathering spirits. I will need an abundance to deal with Mozzahr. The imperial spells made by Balzat are costly.”
“Who’s Onychinusa?” Durran narrowed his eyes, lost.
“I’ll tell you all that once we get inside.” He looked behind him, then beckoned Orion forth. The man came. “I want you to get everything prepared for the journey to Felipe’s grave. We should bring the body here, for ease of access,” he said, trying to hide the grimness on his tone. Valeria, fortunately, had been moved to a wing in the parliamentary hall in Blackgard a long time ago so that Orion might visit her and check on her more often. He would not need to mention retrieving her.
“At once, Your Majesty,” Orion pounded his chest.
“Alright. And once all this is set in motion…” he looked at Elenore. “We can talk about our plans for Mozzahr. And I hope you can make sense of the notion of visiting him.”
“I hope so,” Elenore nodded.
#####
After about three hours, the marriage between Durran and Elenore was pronounced—but more importantly to the general public, it also marked an alliance with the master of the wyverns. After the show with the giant beasts, it received widespread acclaim. And at midday, Argrave departed to Vasquer aback a wyvern, where they might retrieve Felipe’s body.
They landed a fair distance away from the city, largely to avoid spooking people. The duke and duchess of Dirracha—Hegazar and Vera—were at the Dragon Palace, but he didn’t feel it best to involve them unduly. And a large part of that was because they still thought him some sort of mastermind who had predicted that Dirracha would suffer damage from the Shadowlander attack.
Fortunately, the place that Orion had buried his father was secluded. Specifically, it was a lake house. Argrave had some memories of it, but none of them were exceptional. Orion, however, filled in the blanks as their small but potent entourage made to it.
“This was the vacation home of the royal family,” Orion explained. “When my mother’s mind failed after my birth… she was taken here, that she might have peace, quiet, and diligent care. Father visited very frequently, checking on her, despairing… he was a different man than as you knew him. And I saw him change week by week, until he simply stopped visiting.” He shook his head, perhaps unable to look at Argrave. “It was me and mother, then, with servants. When his visits ceased, she grew only worse.”
Orion clenched his fist tightly. “Despite all that, this was the only place I might call us a family. For all her troubles, my mother was never cruel to me. She was never cruel to anyone beside herself. And one day, my father called me away to Dirracha. For education.”
Argrave said nothing, quietly following along with Orion as they made their way to the lake house. It was a tall and imposing mansion, but made of wood and quaintly decorated. It was far removed from the gaudy splendor that was the Dragon Palace. It had docks that held simple rowing boats. There were beautiful trees all along the lake, shielding it from sight at a distance, but up close they served as framing for the serene lake beyond them.
Orion walked near the doors of the lake house, stopping at the steps. He looked at the cold iron door handles for a moment as though he wished to enter, and then turned away. “There are some islands in the center of the lake. I’ll row us there.”
They walked around the side of the lake house. Argrave looked within through the iron and glass windows. The place looked normal, even inviting. It compelled Argrave to think of something different. He imagined a world wherein Felipe had lived without Gerechtigkeit’s influence.
True, Felipe was always a conqueror… but Argrave did not know the circumstances of that time. Argrave himself had waged war to claim a throne. Gerechtigkeit always felt impersonal, detached… but he had ruined so many lives long before his descent. The player never got insight into the calamity’s mind. Was it sick, twisted, depraved, like some god of murder? Or was it something else entirely? Something like the Alchemist—cold and impersonal, but ruthless nonetheless?
Whatever the case, they made it to the docks of the lake house. Orion solemnly rowed them across, disturbing the still lake. Eventually, they came upon an island with apple trees, and disembarked. They came upon one headstone. It merely said, ‘Father and Son.’
Orion knelt down. “I inscribed that. I thought… I thought it would be best if they were remembered like that.” He knelt in awkward silence for a few moments, then said, “I suppose there’s no point in delaying.”
Digging up the grave was short work despite how deep Orion had dug their graves. Argrave saw a rotting hand first, covered in dirt, and worked to clear away the rest with his companions. And what they discovered…
When Orion stepped back and looked between the two bodies, he said in anger and wonder, “What in the world…?”
Both bodies were laid out humbly, their hands crossed over their chest. Looking upon them, the difference between the two corpses was astronomical. Felipe’s body was only a fragile, brittle-looking skeleton with scraps of meat hanging on. Levin, however, had not decayed so thoroughly. He was still as much flesh as he was bone. Argrave was no expert on decomposition, but he knew deeply buried bodies took some time to become bare bone.
“They died at the same time, but…” Argrave looked between the revealed Felipe, and the partially buried Levin, standing in the grave.
“When we saw Felipe, his hair was graying despite being an A-rank spellcaster,” Anneliese mused from outside the grave.
She said nothing after this, but Argrave put the pieces together—A-rank spellcasters lived centuries beyond normal people, naturally. Perhaps something was making Felipe decay faster. That boded well for Gerechtigkeit still existing within him in some manner. But as Argrave considered the Alchemist had claimed Gerechtigkeit had the same sort of trace energy Argrave did… it brought him pause.
“Is it his body?” Galamon interrupted his thoughts.
Orion looked back and up. “Yes,” he nodded grimly.
“Then we waste time. We ought to leave, Your Majesty,” Galamon counseled.
Argrave sighed. “Yeah… yeah. No use fretting.” He looked outside the grave. “Is the stuff to carry him ready? We still have the journey back, and the sun is setting.”
#####
They managed to return to Blackgard before the last light of the sun faded behind the mountains. Blackgard’s night came earlier, shielded as it was, but the mountains kept the heat contained within, ensuring a pleasant temperature nonetheless.
Argrave came to join Elenore after all their affairs were in order—she’d sent someone asking to speak with him. She and Durran shared some wine. The difference in indulgence was obvious, for Durran laid on the bed asleep and she nursed a barely-emptied goblet.
“Did it go well?” she asked as they entered, making no efforts to quiet her voice as her newlywed slept.
“As well as such a thing can,” Orion shook his head. “I imagine you don’t care to discuss it.”
“True enough,” Elenore put her cup down. “Learned much while you were away, Argrave. Firstly, some of the alabaster-skinned tribals from Vysenn have left their hills. And they’re asking for you, by name, at a local castle in Atrus. They seemed to think they’d be welcomed. Your name saved their lives, so I’m told.”
“Really?” Argrave stepped deeper within, recalling that he’d told a tribal chieftain to seek him out as a refugee as their volcano was soon to erupt. “That’s an interesting bit of news. What else do you have for me?”
“Artur’s Hall of Enchantment has finished construction. Artur built it inside the mountain, but he’s asking permission to have a rather large structure built as its entrance. A grand monument,” Elenore shrugged. “They have been doing good work. I’m told that he made a breakthrough in deconstructing ancient elven artifacts. He promises to have a working prototype for a strength-enhancing enchantment soon. And he’d better, given how much of our financing he calls upon.”
Argrave nodded, then sat across from Elenore where Durran had once been sitting. “The monument… people like a fancy building. It might attract more spellcasters to join it, which benefits us rather directly. I’ll consider it only after most of the residential districts are built, though. The architects from Relize are busy enough. You agree?” he asked both Anneliese and Elenore.
Both agreed in one way or another, and then Elenore continued, “Well—enough news. Let us speak of Mozzahr’s message, and why I said before that you might wish to visit him.”
“To kill me, and usurp my throne,” Argrave said, nodding. “Very clever. You seek my crown, and so advise I go to my death.”
Elenore sighed and grabbed the goblet of wine, throwing her temperance to the wind and quaffing the whole thing. She set it down and exhaled, then said, “No. You’re more valuable as my puppet king.”
Argrave laughed, then leaned back into the chair. “Alright. Then, enlighten me.”
“If this is a trap? We find out, and avoid it. But if it’s not…then I suspect Mozzahr is attempting to manipulate us, play with us.” Elenore looked at Argrave deviously. “And if he’s arrogant enough to attempt such a thing… then it might just be we can have a true puppet king. I trust our intrigue far more than our armies. And when both are working in tandem, perhaps we can get everything we want at once.”
Argrave narrowed his eyes. “Killing Mozzahr with some scheme won’t be possible. The man could subsist solely on poison, or eat nails coated in neurotoxin by the handful, and walk out of it fine.”
Elenore nodded. “You’ve made that clear. But our concern here is the people. And that dwarf, Anestis… perhaps he can be more than a showpiece to convince our parliament of the world underground and its perils.”
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