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Chapter 11: New Frontiers

I watched you sleep. Easing the anxiety from your dreams, like a ship lost at sea. But, my sweet Ilgor, I cannot touch you. I cannot heal from you, I see now that Balance was right. Your magic, your soul isn't what I thought. Familiar, yet distant, a lighthouse on foreign shores. Though I see the resemblance, I see the history behind the work, I see you are still one of my own. Like a statue that has weathered in time, I am unrecognizable to you now.

Year of Wrath 1232, Season of life D.2 Ryhs the Burned

   He stumbled his way out of the mists into the clearing before the causeway, the only bridge into the Shrine. The slick stone threatening to drop him off the edges into the swirling clouds below. Neaves' whisper grew louder, this suicidal man paying it no attention. "Stop, fool! Turn back, we would spare you this fate."

   The human in the heavy sweat drenched leather spun to see Pyria holding a spear above his head, a few dozen feet skyward. Erlin, his bow quivering from the strength to keep it drawn for so long, stood just outside the fog, letting himself be seen by the glint of the fires in the Shrine flashing into his eyes. Neaves' wings glowed an eerie blood red in the murk, putting on a show for the man, her eyes bright points of light. Shifting with the mist, like willow-o-wisps in the fog.

   "You people killed my father, I want my vengeance!" He bellowed back at her, knuckles white on the claymore in his hands. Small pistol still holstered on his hip, seemingly forgotten. I could see now the metal in his leather armor, too many pockets and pouches for a real fight. That sack holding his belongings, still tied to his shoulders, a sleeping roll hanging lifelessly to beat him against the back.

   "Your Father was a thief and a trespasser, never allowed he was to set foot in the village." Neaves spoke as the flames in her hands grew brighter.

   "Shut it, Bitch." He turned finally, noticing me. His face went pale; they all did. Few ever made it to the bridge of the Shrine, and fewer still lived to tell the tale. My blade had been oiled in the blood of fools, revenge seekers, and dissidents too many times than I cared to count. Watching the others of the Shrine Guard slink back into the fog as my warsword left its scabbard. Lightning arcing down its length as the fire in my torn wings changed what that inferno could do. 

   "Do you believe in the gods, Child?" I asked, as I rose from my prayer. The ash from my torn wing sloughing off my shoulders from the movement. My fire was uncontrollable. Mother Afjie had always tried to teach me to quell the inferno in my wings, yet every prayer, sermon, and meditation did nothing. They burned the air and anything else they touched; ash was just a constant. I tried to give everyone the chance, run. My oath to Afjie and her beliefs wouldn't allow me to give anyone passage to the Shrine that wasn't one of our people. 

   "What does that matter?" He questioned, brow furrowing as he raised into a high guard. A pointless gesture, he wouldn't be able to keep his footing for long. Neaves was boiling the pool below the bridge as I heard Erlin string his trip wires. The stone was beading with water with each passing second, while my faithless wings burned it away.

   "My duty is not to judge the dead. I will send you to meet those who will." I said quietly, my own warsword feeling like an extension of myself. Effortlessly swinging it as I lunged forward, the fire in my bones propelled me faster than the human should have been able to react. He was much smaller than me, most humans were. Most of the Mistwalkers were, for that matter, still. I watched the shock in his eyes as I closed the distance.

He skillfully deflected my first strike with the flat of his blade. Though my wings were torn, the heat from them still made his skin blister. "I am sorry, I cannot control it like my siblings," I spoke, devoid of emotion as my elbow caught him in the ribs. We were trained to suppress those things. My second swing, he parried but threw himself off balance. My breathing was slow and controlled as this was nothing; the most I would feel was the recoil shivering down my blade.

His eyes went wide; the light of my wings reflected in them. The light of the damned, as Erlin liked to call it. My third swing, he tried to deflect, though he blocked poorly, sending his blade careening off the side of the causeway. "Will you not leave? Will you still maintain this mortal trial?" My sparring partners always hated that I showed mercy, but I always ended bouts in less than four movements. They hated me even more for that, having earned my scars from their wounded honor.

   "Not until I have found who killed my Father." He grunted, trying to reach for his pistol. I already knew a nasty bruise was forming where his claymore had thudded into his side before it skittered away from him. One hand reaching for his side, the other down too far. He should have belted his pistol to his chest, shorter distance.

   Not fast enough, the arcing electricity weaved its way down my blade, an afterimage of the motion. His hand fell to the ground, bloodless. Cauterized the moment of contact, just as Mother taught. He was a threat; he needed to be dealt with. I wouldn't allow this human to return to his world with a horror story of our people. My fifth strike took his head, lifeless, his body fell from the bridge, into the clouds below.

   Neaves' voice echoed out from the murk again, "We would have spared him this fate."

   "I dislike my duty as much as you. Sister." I spoke softly, uttering a prayer for the human. He didn't need to die here; he could have listened to the Shrine Guard's warnings and left. He chose this fate, a fate I, too, would have wished to spare him from.

   I was ripped out of the memory as she reached for my hands again. Pulling me toward the mouth of the Valley, where the storm clouds rolled out into the open plains. Like an offering from our Ascendant Butterfly to the world, where her tears watered the world. The sight of the city in the west filled the horizon like unkept promises, the world she wished to travel in search of the woman in her visions. 

   "So why don't you come with me? Why?" Neaves rested her head on my chest, jumping slightly as I wrapped an arm around her. "I haven't seen you smile in ages. I know you're just as unhappy as I am here." She had a point; none of us Embers were happy here, but I couldn't abandon our people.

   Silent as the heartbeats passed in the place of years, merely enjoying the moment of feeling wanted. Voice as devoid of emotion as the others, years of training etching its way into anything us Embers did. "I waited for you at the mouth of the Valley, didn't I? But, I can't. Neaves, we grew up together, but I will not abandon Mother Afjie." My honor wouldn't allow me to abandon everything to follow my sister into the unknown; she had the blessings of our goddess, whereas I?

   "Then why even bother? Why wait for me? Break the Order from the Hierophant to speak to me. I am an outcast now. I can't return after today." She pouted, though mixed with genuine anger. Afjie had officially exiled her so that she may pursue the object of her visions, though behind closed doors, she would always be protected by her and the Shrine Guard if she returned. I valued her over my pride should it come to that.

   "You are no outcast, you wanted to leave. Mother made that happen, I can't blame you. I do want to join you; I want to feel like you do. But, I can't." I said, feeling my throat grow tight as my voice wavered. Like the parents of those who tore their children's wings, she would never be allowed to enter the Shrine again. She, too, would be hunted by us. The Hierophant would see to that, though, while she collected her belongings, there wasn't a single one of our people who didn't feel uneasy about her leaving, despite our treatment at their hands.

   "You didn't answer the question, Ryhs." She said flatly, her hand gripping the back of my sash a little tighter.

   "Because I am going to miss you, not-sister of mine. I didn't want the others to see me cry." I spoke softly, wrapping my other arm around her. She felt my hot tears drip on her shoulder as mine began to shake.

   She wrapped her arms around me a little more. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to feel something. The grief, that constant in the life of the Guard would not be gone. If what she told us was true, we might see her again, but in life, there is never certainty. Questions swirled through my mind. Why did she need to leave? Why was this woman in the West so important? How could she stop a war from burning its way through the valley? Who would take her place by our sides? 

   Sucking down the feeling, feeling every bit of the pain from shoving it back into the corners of my mind as it did to let it free. Pulling myself away from her, I handed her the extra bag of rations I had brought with me. "Ryhs." 

   "I managed to grab a few extra things for you, a compass, a map that Oseiros had hidden away in his house. An extra change of clothes, enough food to keep you going for a month." I spoke quickly, holding the bag out to her. 

   She reached up and wiped away the tears from my face. "Back to the blank-faced man that I'm familiar with." Her eyes darted between mine. "You really should let yourself feel more often." She said as she took the bag from me, slinging it up over her shoulder and between her wings along with the other one. 

   With one mighty beat from her wings, she was airborne. Waving back down to me as she only grew smaller in that vast open sky. Only now those same skies felt far more distant than they had ever been before.

Year of Wrath 1232, Season of life D.2 Ilgor

   We rode in on those boars again, my fancy dress, as I had taken to calling it, itched as it rubbed against my fresh cuts on my legs. The beginnings of my first Ryth'yi were closing up nicely, though Gjorn and Halgier were at first horrified to learn that the word meant "scar marking". But, they quickly saw the value in our clan's version of these "tattoos", the spells already active as I cut the words into my skin. Words to increase my hearing, blessings to increase my endurance, and prayers to give me strength. Though much to my annoyance, as I wanted to keep them as traditional as possible, Gjorn wanted me to change more than a few words. Stripping any mention of the Father from them, replacing them with something far more neutral. 

   He told me I would thank him later as time went on. But, even as I thought about it as the gates of Glaion closed in around us, he turned to me, a question on his lips. "How many times do you need to maim your skin for this ritual to be complete. I know you had the help of the older men and women, but..." He trailed off. 

   "A few more times, Majestet," I told him softly, knowing that Halgier was also listening. He was the one with a much more violent reaction to seeing me with the obsidian blade in my hands. He pulled his blunderbuss out from his belt and demanded to know what was happening. "Why was I invited to this war council? I was under the impression that Galus and I were not on good terms." 

   "For one, we need more practice for you in the courts. Still rough around the edges, so to speak. Besides, this will also be a much more public event than your first encounter; much of the nobility and the elites of the city will be in attendance. Additionally," he liked to speak with hands, I was noticing that more. "The public will be there. A demand I had made to sway a few things in our favor.”

   They had told me of the information they had seeded throughout the city in the aftermath of the Skirmish. Igniting outrage at King Berthelot for his heavy-handed use of the Arelion, as well as appearing at the doorstep of the village with a legitimate army. They saw it as an abuse of his authority to threaten a race of people with extinction if they didn't comply with his demands. Both my kings leveraged the tolerant ideology of the city to their needs. 

   "I still don't see why I was invited. Granted, I am joyful at the opportunity, but it just strikes me as odd." I responded, feeling one of the scars catch on a tight stitch. I would later dye them in actual ink, while the scaring was noticeable in their patterns, I would prefer to embellish them to a degree.  

   "Governor Ilgor!" A voice called from the crowd. The Dwarven honor guard was already tightening their formation around us, hands on their weapons, as a man I had never seen before pushed his way through the crowd. "I have a letter for you! From Mistress Odeza." 

   "Let him through the line," Gjorn ordered the soldiers.

   The man ran up to my boar and held the letter up to me. A seal of wax, bound in copper wire, heavy as papers go. "Who are you?" He quickly turned away to head back into the crowd, only to pause as I asked. 

   The small look of shock, I didn't understand why this grey-robed man had it plastered on his face, "I am Acolyte Jenson, your Grace. I am just a runner for the guild, I am no one important."

   "I will have to give you a full introduction to the Guild another time, Governor," Gjorn said, tossing the man a gold coin. A grateful look overtook him as he thanked him. This messenger took off as the guards let him pass once more. "Well, open it and tell us what it says. If it's from Odeza, this should be interesting." He spoke gruffly, as if he had already made up his mind about it. 

   Undoing the wire while the boar's hooves clomped against the cobblestones, the heavy armor of the guard jangled loudly. It was distracting enough being inside the city, let alone all this extra noise every time we came here. Humming softly to myself, ceasing the noise, I broke the seal on the letter. 

   "You are a person of particular interest to our Queen. You will not be left unattended from here on out. Consider this a gift." A small rune was etched into the paper, though its diminutive size did nothing to hide its sheer complexity. I had never seen Caleb make anything close to it, not even the markings on the armor in my dress were that grand. Fractals within fractals, runes within runes, overlapping and interlinking with increasing sophistication. 

   While I stared at the rune, able to read some of it, Gjorn coughed to get my attention. "Well?" Halgier's eyes were on me, as well as several of the guards. Though I thought this strange at first, until Halgier had told me that his Generals were his personal guard as well. They all knew far more than they let on, privy to every piece of information the Kings had about the world. 

   "She told me I'm important, and that I wouldn't be left unattended." Gjorn raised his eyebrows while Halgier finally turned in his saddle. "She gave me a gift, a rune. I can read some of it, 'Words uttered in silence... Distances between realms..." 

   "Ilgor, stop reading that rune out loud." Gjorn hushed me, slowing his boar to walk beside mine. He reached over. Holding his hand out for me to hand the letter to him. "I didn't think you'd be able to... how were you able to read this at all? You haven't been told the information by her." He said hurriedly as he read the paper.

   "Who is ‘her’?" I asked, confused as to why he seemed suddenly on edge. The Palace gatehouse closed around us, as were once more led into the same courtyard as before. Only this time, it was filled with thousands of citizens who had come to listen to the war council. 

    "I will explain later; it is pertinent to you anyway. However, I'm going to teach you something new very quickly." He said in a hushed voice as we dismounted the boars. Only this time, Chancellor Michéle held a hand up for me to catch on the way down. 

   "Good morning, Chancellor." Trying to sound pleasant this time around, taking his hand for support. Landing gracefully this time, keeping my feet out of the stirrups, my dress untangled from the reins. 

   "Good morning to you as well, Governor. This way, please." He said with a bow, an outstretched arm toward the main palace chambers. Several other people I didn't know walked up to our group, each one wearing far nicer clothing than I had ever seen before. Gold thread, rubies studded in ornate jewelry at their hands and neck.

   "For the Queen's sake." I heard Gjorn huff as a spell washed over the small group. Walking over to me, the world moved slowly around us, everything in slow motion as Gjorn's eyes glowed an odd color. "I just need a moment, your Grace. Please, place a finger on the rune and channel a laughable small amount of power into it."

   Cocking a brow at him, giving him a skeptical look, I did as he asked. My finger sank through the rune as a small snap sounded off. I snatched my finger away as quickly as it happened. "The hell was that!" I barked at him. 

   "A portal. A secure one, one that shouldn't be read out loud. Does that ring fit?" He asked, handing the letter back to me.

   Looking down at my hand, a copper ring was twisted around my index finger. A series of four gems studded along its surface. One like snow, one like a dusky sky, one cerulean like a still ocean, and finally, one crimson like a rising sun. "What is it?" 

   "Something she had made special, for you specifically." He answered cryptically. The voice around us went silent as his magic ceased working, and the group of what I presumed were nobles walking in real time once more.  

   "You must be Governor Ilgor!" The tallest of the group strode forward, with a formal bow as the others followed suit. Returning the strange gesture to the group, the man spoke again. An odd lilt to his voice, like he was sounding sure of himself, but an odd caution. "We are awfully curious. Would you be open to allowing humanity to visit the settlement? We understand your standing mandate bars any from Galus from setting foot inside the territory." 

   Gjorn and Halgier eyed me, the warning plain in them. Was this some game again? These humans were far too fond of this sort of thing. "Curiosity is welcomed; however, the settlement is not currently in a presentable form." Halgier's shoulders eased with my answer; Gjorn looked decidedly less so. "When our projects have been completed, I would humor the idea." Just vague enough not to actually answer the question. 

   Gjorn voiced his thoughts on the matter, "Her Grace would prefer not to have such a public engagement. Shall we head inside? Vhedinstal is the name of the settlement; the Goblins never had a need for a name for their city." That was new; there was never a discussion with me about a name for the village.

   "Yes, quite. It is rather noisy out here, isn't it?" The man said, "My name is Count Denixost Bain. I oversee the Artists Quarter of the City. Have you had the pleasure?" Denixost turned his full attention to me again. 

   The now small crowd around me began moving toward the Palace doors, "I can't say I've ever had the full experience. I have been through that section of the city, but I have never had the opportunity to appreciate it for all its worth." Something told me I should humor this human, let him speak more than me. 

   Gjorn and Halgier both rolled their eyes as the Count began talking about the massive array of projects his favorite artists were working on. Several of the other Royals followed suit, mentioning to me that he had a habit of doing this with everyone he met for the first time. While I appreciated the gestures, this man's talking was much faster than I was used to. Though I could follow along, he used far more words that I didn't know. 

   "Ah, Louis Veritola has been working on such an amazing fresco in the temple of the Trio. He had explained to me that the process by which he made a dazzling, brilliant hue of cerulean. Using an acid to reduce Gishell shards, stripping away the calcium in them. He had crushed lime powder into the mixture to stabilize the tincture before distillation." The Count rambled on. 

   Chancellor Michéle cleared his throat, getting the Count's attention. An outstretched arm welcomed our group into the palatial chambers. The Count adopted an abashed look as we parted ways. "He seemed friendly, though something is off about him," I commented to my Kings. 

   "Then you have an eye for detail. Count Denixost Bain is a bastard. He can lie through his teeth without a hint of dishonesty. Truth be told, all those artists he spoke of are destitute. He is supporting them, if you can say that, only if they work exclusively for him. His contracts are vile; he's hunted down more than one artist who has left his service to work for another." Halgier said roughly. 

   The way the Count kept asking if I would like to join him in a tour of the Artists Quarter, well. It suddenly felt like a horrible idea; his odd inflections made his words feel like they had far different intentions in hindsight. As our small group passed through the threshold of the chamber, my ears flattened against my skull from the sheer amount of information. 

   I could hear their heartbeats, their breathing, their voices, far too overwhelming. My eyes were darting around for who was casting such a potent Silencing spell, like nothing I had ever encountered before. "Ah, I'm sorry I forgot to mention, your Grace. These meetings are observed under a few protections to protect the masses from the influences of Casters of all walks." 

   I ignored him while I cast my voice out into the room, searching for the void in the noise. He taught me to be silent, something I was getting better at. Soul after soul passing by my mind's eye, each darting beyond just as soon as they appeared. A second chord, the hole in the noise, something powerful. But, nothing I wasn't ready for, all those months with the Sorcerer would pay off. 

   Watching Gjorn raise a brow at me as he saw the look on my face. He couldn't hear what I was doing. Good. A shifting note, shattering the void in the noise. His face shifted in slow motion as he realize what I just did, the noise in the room went mute as my song overtook whoever's voice was once doing so. 

   The next moment, there was a snap in the air, audible, as a woman stepped out from nothing. Fiery hair bouncing in tight curls and a strange black robe stitched in golden thread. The image of a complex tree spanning up the sleeves and across her chest. Connecting in a single point where four gems sat at the collar of her neck. The same four stones in the strange ring I had just been given. Her piercing green eyes were like emeralds in the sunlight.

   "It has been generations since I've felt anyone that powerful." Her voice bounced like her hair, lilting and ephemeral, like she was singing her words. She also spoke in my language, feeling more like a challenge and a compliment. 

   Most of our group stumbled backward at the appearance of his woman. "You wouldn't be the first to tell me that. I've had more than a few say that I do strange things." I responded to her the same way. Nearly every head in the room turned toward our direction as I did nothing to mask the power in my voice. 

   She broke into a wide smile, reaching for my hand as her personality seemed to shift in the complete opposite direction. "My name is Odeza. It's nice to finally meet you, Governor Ilgor! My, to hear such a wonderfully complex song! It's been too long since I was home..." 

   I noticed most of the crowd that could actually see us through the throng of humanity bowed toward the woman. The name suddenly clicked, Odeza. "Thank you for the ring, it's beautiful." 

   She smiled even brighter, like a fire given a new log to burn. "Gjorn, please may I?" 

   "No." Gjorn growled, "Now is not the time, nor the place." 

   "But, I can make it both the time and place." She said sweetly, extending a hand out to me. I had assumed she wanted to see the ring on my hand, placing mine in hers. That was the wrong choice. My voice flared like a shockwave to stall the amount of power she just launched at me; every last hair on my body stood on end as this silent song tried to fill me. 

   I watched as her smile shifted to shock as whatever she was expecting didn't happen. "The voice of the Great Mother..." She whispered softly. Taking her hand from mine, I cocked my head as she appeared to shift to the left slightly; the smallest snap sounded off. The same one that had happened when she first appeared, only now Gjorn had shifted the same amount as well, wondering if anyone but me could have heard that collapsing air. 

   Gjorn looked decidedly furious as this quick exchange moved us forward toward the seats at the table for the war council. Odeza had adopted her previous friendly air as she spoke again, "I am sorry for making such a disturbance. I ask for your forgiveness, your Grace. Let me introduce myself properly." She said sweetly with a flamboyant formal bow. Almost as if she thought about all these theatrics the same way I did.

   "I am the God's Eye's of the Galus Chapter of the Wayfare Guild. Emissary of the Stars. Speaker of Voices lost in the wind. Scout of the Realm." She had spoken these titles in my tongue while she eyed Gjorn, who had nodded imperceptibly. "I would like to invite you to the Guild after this council. I feel there is much we could learn from each other." I couldn't tell if she was flirting with me or not; the way she spoke made my cheeks color. 

   "What interest do I have with you, Mistress Odeza?" I asked slowly, as the crowd around us had grown bored with our, now, much quieter exchange. Several of the Generals had taken their seats at the table. 

   "All of it." She said cryptically, as she bid me farewell. A much more audible snap sounded off as she disappeared. That Silencing spell was taking over the room once more, only now I wasn't bombarded with an overload of information. 

   "You surprise me every day, your Grace," Gjorn said, while Halgier had an impressed look about him as he looked at me a little differently. "God's Eye's are not accustomed to having their magic broken like that. You'll have to tell me how you did that later." 

   Halgier waved a hand toward their seat at the council table, mobs of journalist and newspaper writers hugged the edge of the balustrades, cameras flashing with obnoxiously bright light. The Guard that I had so feared all these years, keeping the chatter to a minimum with hard looks and gestures of bravado. 

   Taking our seats, noticing more than a few cameras pointed at us, blinking with the flash of each one. The room went quiet as King Berthelot entered the chamber, his generals rising and saluting their Monarch. My Kings rose and acknowledged him; following their lead, I did the same. Our section of the table had a raised platform below our seats, and to the audience, we all appeared to be similar heights. "So they want the illusion that everyone is equal here." I thought to myself. 

   "Ladies and Gentlemen, Kinsmen and Citizens, we gather here to discuss the events that have transpired in the last few weeks. Grave news, I'm sure you have all heard." Lucas spoke normally, though his voice rang loud and clear throughout the entire chamber. Every person inside these halls was able to hear as if he were speaking to them directly. 

Strange music, it was the same as that void space I broke. So, Odeza was amplifying this. "This council will be broadcast across all the major radio networks within the Federation, as our nations come together to face an old enemy. The Caliphate has declared war on Galus, saying that they would stop at nothing to seek revenge for our supposed dishonesty." He walked the edge of the railing, separating the main chamber from the council's table. 

"Sultan Suleiman has betrayed the trust we put in him. We thought we could resolve our disagreements like civilized people. Our Monarchs and allies brought to him the culprit that had assassinated his delegation." The mere mention of that made my blood boil; the noise of the crowd had to be hushed by the guards before Lucas continued. "But, unfortunately, sometimes civility isn't enough. Galus prepares for war as we speak, with the aid of the Forgehouse, leading technological advancements our world has never seen. Our allies need our support. Huron will be first in the sights of our adversary."

He returned to the table, his arms clasped behind his back, his crown in his hand as he continued his speech. "The Empire of Mhuzelt has agreed to assist us once more. They are fortifying the Palagus seas to the west. While the struggling Kingdoms of the Northern Wastes need our assistance as well, they are a weak point for the Caliphate to exploit. This is a fact we know."

He set his hands down on the table, his crown resting before him. "I ask my citizens, will you raise your sword in the defense of our allies? Will my strong and proud men and women answer my call? Will you defend the helpless? Will you be on the side of law and order? Will you seek your glory on the fields of victory?"

Odeza was making his voice linger. I wondered what she had to gain from this, or if this was simply a task that she was expected to perform. Though his next words were far louder, far weightier. "Our own shores now face a risk; never has Galus faced the barrel of a loaded gun. The Dwarven Clans have laid claim to our land. Annexing our soil, without just compensation, without explanation, and has made it known to the Caliphate that this is a vulnerability to exploit." That got the crowds chattering. 

Looking at us, he addressed my Kings. "Will the Dwarves stand with us, or against us? Will your clans defend the privilege of wandering the continent undeterred, or is this a time for change?" 

   My mouth dropped open, while Gjorn shot me a side-eye with enough heat to make me shut my mouth just as fast. What a thinly veiled threat in the name of security. "Of course, we stand with the Federation," Gjorn rose to his feet, addressing every single soul in the room.

   "Huh, he didn't say Galus," I wondered. 

   "We value our freedom to wander the continent as we see fit, as our culture sees fit. Mhuzchet will support the Federation in this war. That was never a discussion that needed to be questioned. Our men and armament will certainly turn the tide of this war." Gjorn answered, and he remained standing with an expectant look on his face. "Do you question our loyalty, old friend?" 

   I saw the game he was playing, all of his teaching me political theory and history was starting to make sense. Casting my eyes out to the crowd, I saw more than a few looking concerned as they waited for Lucas to answer. 

   "No, I'm sure you'll make the proper decisions as an ally in this war. It is good news to know that you'll honor our agreements then!" His smile lit up the room like a beacon as the rest of the crowd followed suit, the tension easing from the room. 

   Halgier frowned at that, shifting my song so that it would repel the song Odeza was using to amplify the voices at the table. I whispered a question to him. "What is wrong?"

   Gjorn looked over at us. Apparently, he had interjected himself into my own spell, listening. "That agreement he spoke of, we just agreed to our old terms, from before the Skirmish," Halgier answered, eyeing Gjorn, his face like stone. 

   "Did we lay out what our forces were, or was this a carte blanche type of deal, Halgier?" Gjorn asked, his face a reflection of Halgier's. 

   "We didn't define what our forces were; it was made under the assumption that our forces included only our clans in the vicinity of the City. We were to train his Officers in ways to better the obedience of their military." 

   Something clicked in my mind, my eyes widening in frustration, like someone connecting distant points together. "So that includes us now," I said dourly. They both turned to me, then eyed each other without saying anything. 

   Our little conversation had overrun Lucas's closing remarks before turning to his full attention to his Generals. "We have until this coming winter before the Caliphate will be ready to strike; however, there will certainly be attacks before that happens. Currently, the Desert has been officially put under martial law, and has mandated that every man and woman of fighting age be drafted into their military. They are a much smaller nation in comparison to the Federation as a whole." 

   One of his Generals rose and saluted him before speaking. "The Fuhjimi Archipelago should be our focus at the moment, Sire. The islands provide much of the metals and raw materials to their ally. Driving a wedge between the islands and the mainland would forestall their militarization, slowing the industrial capabilities of the cities. Perhaps we can show the Beast-folk that the Federation offers more than the Caliphate ever could." 

   Another of his Generals rose, following the same little ritual as before. "Estile will need protection; the island is vulnerable. If the Caliphate can get its hands on it, that would mean a massive shortage in supplies and food for our forces. I suggest moving the western naval forces to the Eastern Channels." 

   Lucas answered them both. "It would seem I have beaten you both to the punch, then, I have already issued these orders. Over three hundred battleships, frigates, and surface vessels are en route to blockade the southern seas."

   Michéle rose and performed that same gesture as the other two. "My Sire, we should be backing Huron with the bulk of our land-based forces. Leave the defense of our eastern shoreline to the Dwarves, seeing as they currently have a base of operations in the territory. While the Dwarves may not have substantial naval capabilities, they certainly do have a penchant for building impenetrable fortifications. Mhuzchet has withstood the full force of the Empire for the last hundred years, for the last few dozen generations even, and they have never been able to take it."

The Chancellor spoke to us now, his voice like an olive branch amid his King's threat. "I know you are still training your new forces, keeping them out of the direct line of fire from the Caliphate would offer the Goblins a much more beneficial learning experience by defending our borders." 

   Both Lucas and I looked at the Chancellor with an odd look. Why would he give me an excuse to better ingratiate my people to Galus, while snubbing his King the chance to send my raiders off to war, where he could hope we'd never return? It would seem Lucas had much of the same thoughts plain on his face as he opened his mouth to speak. 

   Halgier rose to speak, foregoing that gesture of fealty. "We would be willing to defend the borders of Galus, provided that Galus has the manufacturing capabilities to allow our engineers to begin building these fortifications. I can, and will pull the weight of Mhuzchet to the shores of Glaion. The Clan Krijic will remind the world of what we are capable of." Though he didn't need to say it, he was known as The Warlord.

   Lucas's face split with a grin, though even I could see the rage in his eyes. I feared what would happen to the Chancellor after this meeting was finished. Then again, this spared my people from being treated like cannon fodder on the frontlines under Lucas's wrath. I rose from my seat to speak, give the world an introduction to my voice, our voices. "My clan has long wished to join your people, King Berthelot. It would be our pleasure to defend the home we've always known."

   That wiped that false smile right off his face, as I put a graceful mask on for the crowd. Every camera pointed at me, listening to the pens scratch away at their papers. "That's right, Lucas, try anything now, and you look like the villain again." I thought as my smile grew wider, Gjorn set a satisfied hand on my shoulder. 

   "Well-placed piece, Illy," Halgier said, looking at me. "I am not impressed often."

Year of Wrath 1232, Season of life D.2

   "My clan has long wished to join your people, King Berthelot. It would be our pleasure to defend the home we've always known." Her voice was clear despite the static over the radio. Suleiman sat back in his throne, his own Generals and Advisors sitting before him. Stroking the small beard that graced his chin, he looked up over his shoulder as Bhal set his heavy hand on his vassal's shoulder. 

   "It would seem I have strings to pull." Bhal's voice was like a roaring fire, deep and foreboding. "See to it that you strengthen your alliance with the Beast-folk. I trust you will not lose their support, also. I have a new plan instead of attacking the walls of Huron." 

   "What do you wish, Master?" Suleiman asked, his Generals paying their full attention to their god. 

   "Strike Ithrica. Get a foothold in the Ythri River. Make the Ilroi Sea a useless waste of time and resources. March on Mistsdale and through the Valley of Mists, the difficult path will force Huron to match your strength. Take the Valley, before Huron grows wise." He answered, remembering the plan that Xelex had thought of. Azu would be furious, but then again, that Harlot wasn't worth much these days. 

   "It will be done." Suleiman's Generals kowtowed to me as he kissed my hand.

   The world around me shifted in his eyes as he stood in the empty halls of the Forge Room, the seat where the old gods had built this world. "Xelex!" He roared, the reality around him cracking from its force. 

   "My, how loud you are." That voice dripped with as much venom as it had cunning. Bhal turned to see his brother in the shape of a mass of writhing darkness. "What do you want now?" 

   "I want to know why you continue to meddle with my priestess." It wasn't a question. 

   "Yours?" Xelex's laugh was a cruel thing, cutting right down to the bone with every ounce of malice it had. "You seem to forget that you've been the one meddling with them since the day they fell. You seem to forget the one crucial thing we need!" 

   Bhal's eyes burned like two suns as Xelex shifted his form to fill the space around him. "I am simply giving them the opportunity that you have been denying them since they finished slaughtering the mistakes. I'm giving them the chance to grow! We need their voices, we need all four of the voices." Xelex reformed like smoke on the wind, that absurd silver mask hiding the eyes riddling his face. He flicked Bhal between the eyes, "You would have happily sat back and let them be slaughtered, well, it's a good thing I came along." 

   "You have always meddled." He growled. 

   "They don't call me the Gardener of Knowledge for nothing! What is the best way to learn except by experience!” Xelex's laugh grated on Bhal's ears, like dragging a nail across a file. "Did you give Suleiman the information?"