“It is marvellous, is it not?” The voice echoed through Anders’ Skull. The sheer weight of it made him stumble on the uneven ground upon which he strode. He reached out an hand, resting it upon the unyielding stone of the cavern’s wall.
The visions were flooding his mind. He stood in a temple, the air filled with the scent of incense. A mild breeze made the leaves of the palms outside the windows rustle softly.
Before him was the face of a dead man.
Not really dead, but worse. Undead. The Lich, his creation, gazed upon him with unbridled awe.
“Yes, your grace, it is marvellous indeed.” The lich responded, raising a mirror up to look upon itself. “You have conquered death itself.”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling baritone. “Do not misunderstand, Bakari. I have not conquered death, merely postponed it. Possibly indefinitely, but not necessarily. You live as long as my father doesn’t oppose. Your soul is his, ultimately. Now and forever. But while you yet walk this land, you serve me.”
The Lich’s pale visage faded from Anders’ mind, together with the vision.
The memories were coming more frequently, now. Triggered by words.
The Elf had seen him for what he was. Or had he? Was Anders a Lich? He did not yet know, but it seemed possible. He had all the makings of one, except… Phylactery?
Vessel of the soul, in the form of a box or bottle, anchor to the material plane
He dismissed the thought, and attempted to focus his mind, but it was still reeling from the vision, and the shock.
He was a monster, of that there was no doubt. But he didn’t wish to become one in deed.
He needed to focus. To recover. He needed to protect his… friends?
Was that something he could consider them? Were they his friends?
A darkness wells up from deep below, like icy fingers slipping through the stuff of his soul.
Or did they fear him? Were they just putting up with him because he was useful, for the time being? Would they turn on him the moment he-
“They do not fear you.”
Anders spins around, tripping on the fabric of his robe as he staggers back from the voice.
A pale man, dressed in the unremarkable garb of a traveller, now stood before him.
The man is familiar, but his face is thoroughly unremarkable to what was almost an eerie degree, and Anders takes a moment to place where he has seen this person before.
The man who held the grimoire.
“Ah, forgive me if I startled you. I didn’t intend to pry… much. Here, let me help you up.”
The man offers Anders one of his hands.
For a moment, Anders just stares at it, dumbfounded.
The man cocks an eyebrow, looking almost… playful?
“Please, we don’t have all day. There are things you still need to do.”
As to punctuate his words, the din of battle in the distance becomes clearer.
“And soon.”
Cautiously Anders reaches out, taking a hold of the man’s hand, and the stranger’s fingers close firmly around Anders’ bony appendage, apparently completely unsurprised with the lack of flesh beneath the glove.
As if a veil was dragged away from Anders’ mind, his thoughts gain an immediate clarity. Once more, he can feel the spider web of magic that forms his undead minions. And their sensations flood into his mind once more. He feels where they have fallen, or stopped. Once more he gets a feeling of the battlefield, and how bad it had turned in the minutes he had been incapacitated. He urges those undead that remain to cover the retreat of the living, throwing their bodies at the Drow reinforcements that threaten to encircle parts of the expedition.
He sees Uther, as he struggles to drag an unconscious Freidrich back behind friendly lines, how he is bogged down by pursuers, and nearly overrun.
Anders finds his dragon, now no longer carrying Lyssia, sending it to protect the champion of Ashenvale in his retreat.
“There, much better.” The stranger says, casually wiping dust from Anders’ shoulder.
“I believe it is time for us to have a talk, wouldn’t you agree?”
Astore spun the rabbit over the sheltered fireplace. The meat had started to take on a delicious golden-brown hue.
His gear was laid out, carefully, on a blanket by the fire. The mithral of his helmet reflected the amber glow softly.
“Hey Giousué, are you certain we shouldn’t at least put up a glamour? We’re awfully exposed, here.”
The mage didn’t even look up, instead only licking the tip of his thumb before turning over a leaf in his book. “That would probably not be a good idea at this point. We want them to see us before we get there, after all. Stumbling into town without prior notice is an excellent way to end up dead.”
Astore fidgeted. “And you still believe the plan-”
Giousué sighed, annoyance obvious both in the language of his body and the sigh itself. “You’ve asked this same question every time we’ve struck camp. I don’t. I think this is foolish, desperate, and likely to get us all killed, but we have been given an order by the Duchess. Are you going to go home empty handed with a ‘we tried’ excuse? We’d be disgraced, or worse.”
“Worse?” Astore interjected.
“Worse.” the mage repeated, now looking the soldier straight in the eye.
“Oh.” Astore didn’t press the question, instead poking the fire with a stick.
“And how fares the dinner? Not burned this time, I hope?”
Astore glares at his compatriot. “Just because you don’t like my cooking doesn’t mean that it’s burned, you ass.”
This time, the other elf responds with a laugh. “It does if it’s actually burned, you incompetent sod.”
Astore laughs. “Hey, Massima doesn’t complain about the food I cook.”
Giousué nods sagely. “Indeed. She’s far too polite. She’d eat charcoal if it saved her from making someone lose face. Even if that some one’s an oaf.”
“Get off my case, Gio. Also, it’s done.” He lifts the rabbit off of the fire, and removes the small pot in which a thick, nutritious, but entirely unappetising porridge had been simmering.
“Joy. Start serving, and I’ll tell the looko-”
Giousué had started rising up from his seated position, but stops mid-motion.
As a reflex, Astore drops what he was doing, and dives for his weapon.
“Stop, you fool!” Giousué snarls, slowly raising his hands above his head, as Astore stops, the very tips of his fingers touching the hilt of his blade as a bolt lodged itself firmly in between his index and ring fingers, missing his hand by fraction of an inch.
“We come in peace. Please, we wish to parlay.” The mage’s voice is calm, and collected. If Astore hadn’t known his friend a very long time, he wouldn’t have noticed the stress carried in his voice.
Astore slowly withdraws his hand from his sword, and raise them above his head, before turning around slowly.
Behind him are people, dressed in earthen colors, nearly indistinguishable from the mostly-charred forest that surrounds them. The people are mostly heavily built, their shoulders wide, and looking almost stocky to Astore’s eyes. And they hold the weapons he had been informed of by the commanders before he set off on this mission. The crossbow. The legionkiller. The weapon that had rendered bronze armor redundant in a single breath.
And one was pointed squarely at his heart. He attempted to swallow, but found his throat dry.
“Very well. Speak, Imperial.” one of the Humans said, his low elven surprisingly eloquent and soft.
No one had been shot yet, so that was a good sign.
Giousué takes a deep breath. “I am Giousué of house Harvein, chosen emissary of Lady Venere, Duchess of the isle of Naves. We, uh, me and my bodyguard here, and our guide. Have been sent with a message for the, err, free men of this land. My Lady wishes to open diplomatic contact with your people, noble sir. May we please petition whomever may be in charge?” Giousué looks around, scanning the strangers. “And I hope that our guide is well?”
The man that had spoken seems to relax slightly, and chuckles. “Very well. We will take you to the Regent.” He motions for a couple of his companions. “We’ll relieve you of your weapons, and you will be searched. I’ll warn you to not try anything, or you will be shot. Repeatedly. And your scout is safe. Just a bit… tied up at the moment.” He nods to what Astore believes to be an elf, dressed in the same camouflaged clothes as the rest of the locals.
“Bring her over. You can untie her legs. The rest of her, too, as soon as she’s understood the situation.” The elf nods, and seemingly vanishes into the shadows.
The man smiles at them as his companions relieve Astore and Giousué of everything that may be used as even an improvised weapon. “Well then, lads. Welcome to Ashenvale.”
Freidrich felt unnaturally warm, as if his whole body was wracked with a terrible fever. His mind rolled, and he felt as if he was completely without bearing. He did not know if he was facing upwards, downwards, left or right. Indeed, it felt as if he was stuck in a barrel, falling down an infinite waterfall. Weightless, yet falling all the same.
He balled his hand up into a fist, and felt the iron-clad tips of his fingers push in on the leather that made up the palm of his gauntlet. He was awake. At least… he believed he was. He groaned, and attempted to open his eyes, but his vision was blurry, unfocused. He saw lights pass him by.
“Are you awake?”
Uther. His voice was unmistakable. “W-what…” Freidrich’s voice came out as a croak, his lips feeling as if caked with dried mud, cracking as he attempted to move his mouth.
“I have you, brother. I have you.” As Uther spoke, Freidrich’s vision regained some measure of clarity. Around him, he saw the shape of the armored warriors of Ashenvale. “We’re almost safe.”
The world around him grew more clear still, and his mind stopped spinning. He was being pulled by Uther, away from the battlefield.
“What happened-” He raised his hand, running his palm over his mouth to try and wipe away the filth caked over his face. The leather of his glove felt deformed, almost like it had partially melted while on his hand, and when he looked at his hand, he saw that it was smeared with what seemed to be burned blood. “What happened to those… warriors?”
“You exploded.” Uther said bluntly, as a volley of crossbow bolts flew past them, forcing some Drow pursuers to hunker down behind heavy shields. “Some were caught in the explosion, and they all fell back.”
Freidrich blinked. “I see…” He felt the flame in his heart now. Urging him to violence and rage, but it was contained for now.
“I-” He hesitated. How would he explain what he had just seen? What had he even seen? That hellish landscape, and the beautifully grotesque being that had spoken to him? How does one put those things into words? “I fear something terrible has happened.”
Uther’s face looks solemn, even as he doesn’t lower his gaze to look at Freidrich. “Please, calm yourself. We can try and figure out what happened later, once you’ve had a chance to recover.” He pauses as they reach a cart, and he lifts Freidrich up and places him down among the cargo, and he turns away.
“We withdraw! Recover the wounded!” Uther’s voice had raised to a bellow as he commands his force, and immediately the warriors reacted, disengaging from the front as they were covered in their retreat by a relentless hail of crossbow fire.
Freidrich allows his body to relax, even as he can in the periphery of his vision see the grand stature of Carl as he heaves a barrel above his head. The giant of a man throws the barrel out of Freidrich’s line of sight, but a moment later, the entire cavern rocks with a truly enormous explosion that sends Freidrich’s ears ringing.
Freidrich struggles up onto his elbows to try and tell what just happened, and is greeted with a vista of devastation. The section of the city that the battle was taken place was ruined. Buildings were shattered and burning, something which was a most impressive feat due to the lack of wood in the general vicinity. He could see a large cloud obscuring a good section of the now-plaza in front of them. He could hear coughing and wailing from within the cloud.
Carl laughs. “Fireballs. Hah.” as he dusts off his apron. “Load lightened, commander! Let’s move!”
Uther nods, and slaps the rear of the donkey tied to the front of the cart.
“Uther!” Freidrich sagged back down on the wagon as it started moving, but he could easily make out the voice of Yvonne.
Freidrich closed his eyes, but kept listening.
“Yes, what’s wrong?” Uther asked
“Anders is gone, and I can’t find him.” The elf said, grave concern audible on her voice.
“Wait, what do you mean Gone? His undead are right here. And what do you mean you-” Uther sounded surprised, and concerned.
“The elf- the one that was with Lyssia, spoke to Anders. He called him a Lich, and Anders fled into the Underdark. I can’t… I can’t contact him. It’s as if something’s blocking me.” The elf sounded as if she was on the verge of hysterics, but Freidrich found it difficult to be concerned. All around him, the waking world was fading again. He still felt so warm, as if almost smothered beneath a hundred blankets. Then irritation flared in his chest.
This was no time for rest!
His people were fighting!
Their most powerful mage was missing!
He forced his eyes back open, and tried to struggle into a seated position.
“Blocking you? Is that even possible? And what in the hells is a Lich?” Uther sounded more confused than anything.
“Yes, it’s- It’s not important right now! I’ll explain later! Right now we need to find him!”
Freidrich failed, falling back down onto the moving cart with a thud. Was he really this weak? Was he so fragile that he’d let something like this whole damn situation render him impotent?
The embers at his heart flared up. He felt the rage start to boil in his heart. The heat of his body became unbearable, but not painful.
“Gods! What the hell?!” Carl’s voice betrayed surprise, and not a small degree of panic. “Watch the damn powder!”
All of a sudden, he was there. Looming over Freidrich as he ripped a barrel away, and threw it away, back in the direction from which they came. Moments later, an explosion ripped the cavern apart, as dust and stone fragments washed over them.
His ears were ringing again. Freidrich hoped he wouldn’t suffer hearing damage after this.
“What the hell was that, Carl?!” Uther’s voice was angry now. “I thought you said that stuff was stable?!”
Freidrich sat up, unhindered now, as if the fatigue and trauma was fading from his body.
“It is, but Freidrich is on fucking fire!”
Freidrich looked at the bigger man, silent. He was on fire. His hair had somehow caught flame, but it wasn’t burning away. He could see the wood of the wagon smoke where it was in contact with his armor. He felt the leather of his gloves and boots melt even as what was left of his gambeson was burning away.
“Yvonne. What’s happening?” Uther asked, hesitantly.
The elf looked at Freidrich with the eyes of a startled deer. “I- I don’t know.”
She reaches a hand out, without touching the scalding form of Freidrich with a look of concentration on her face. A second later, she staggers back. “Ah!” She clutches the formerly outstretched hand close to her chest, as if burnt. “It… There’s something in there with him. And it doesn’t want me to touch him.”
Freidrich slides off the wagon, a bit unsteady.
Something was in here with him.
The visage of the entity from before flashed through his mind. A reflection of what he had seen.
“Anders… what direction did he go?”
Yvonne points down one of the side passages. “That way, I think, but-”
Uther looks at him. Seemingly studying him.
What could he look like to that man? It had to be unsettling.
“You… are you sure…” Uther cleared his throat. “You two, go with Freidrich to find Anders.” He points out two of the armored warriors. “Be careful.” he says, now looking into Freidrich’s eyes.
Freidrich nods. “Thank you.”
Anders felt great relief as he saw the cave collapse, separating the expedition from their pursuers.
“Alright, with that over.” The stranger sat down at a conveniently located rock. “As you’ve already figured out, in a former life you were Rashaken, the king of the eastern lands.”
Anders looked straight at the stranger. He wasn’t sure he was surprised or not that the stranger knew.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to tell anyone your secrets. I hope you found my gift useful? I figured your old grimoire could come in handy. Ah, I feel I should mention that I am able to tell what you think, just so we have those cards on the table.”
Of course he could.
Who are you?
The stranger smiled. “A friend. And I’m just here to help. I figured with your current… predicament you needed it. Let me show you something. This might be uncomfortable, but please bear with me.”
Anders’ mind was flooded with images. Not the vivid explosions that signalled his memories overtaking his conscious mind, but pictures, as if drawn on the canvas of his mind.
He saw himself- Well, Rashaken. His former self. He saw the Tyrant’s rise to power. His birth, to a priestess. His young life, sheltered from assassins sent by a jealous god by rituals and deceit. He saw himself become the new messiah to what was at the time a small, unassuming people. He saw his empire expand, as much by diplomacy as by sword and overwhelming magic. And… he saw that the peasants had it good. He saw them flourish. Law. Order. Stability. Safety.
It… clashed with the sociopath he had seen in his memories.
“You did many despicable things when you were Rashaken, but they are not all you did. You were a tyrant, and a monster, but you were not evil to the core. A piece of what you are now was present then, only warped by your circumstance.”
The stranger’s images faded from his mind.
“Now, don’t take this as an endorsement of what you were. I felt the need to ensure that you knew that even when you were at your darkest point, you still had some measure of good in you.”
The stranger rose up from his seated position. “Remember yourself, and learn from what you see in your visions, and you’ll never be him again.” He patted Anders on the shoulder. “I believe in you.”
You believe in me? Why? Who are you? What do you want?
“I do. And because I know you can achieve greatness.” Anders noted that the stranger didn’t answer his latter two questions.
I don’t trust you.
At this, the stranger laughed. A long, hearty laugh. “You don’t need to. Now, you should head back. The others miss you.”
Anders was starting to feel a bit frustrated now. This guy was some sort of cryptic asshole, not answering perfectly sensible questions. Apparently knowing him, or about him, back before. And now here he was with half-answers and visions of his past life, handing out damned grimoires of cursed magic like hand-me-down clothes.
Anders was about to lash out at the stranger in a unspoken chastisement, but then he noticed that the bastard had vanished.
He just stood there, staring at where the stranger had been, just a second ago.
Anders! Yvonne’s voice exploded into his mind, as if she was yelling straight into his ear.
Yes! Why are you yelling?! Anders projected the thoughts away towards the elf.
I haven’t been able to reach you, are you unhurt? What happened?
Anders was unsure how to explain what had just happened to her, and decided it was better to just show her the situation in its’ entirety.
I see. Yvonne’s projection became quiet, and completive. That is… concerning. But please come back to us. We’re pulling back. Freidrich and a couple of others are out looking for you. I’ll guide them in your direction, so please meet up with them.
Anders expressed his understanding with a thought.
Today has been… weird.
Uther pushes up to the front of the procession, quickly picking out the shape of Lyssia and walking up to meet with her. As he gets close, she turns her face to see him, and a vexed expression immediately softens and brightens like the first rays of dawn cresting over a hill.
“Uther.” she says, his name soft on her lips.
He finds himself smiling back at her. “Lyssia.”
“What happened to Freidrich?” she asks, looking back behind him, as if looking for his lieutenant.
“He… He is well, I think. He’s… well. He’s acquired a penchant for being on fire, it seems. It’s… mildly concerning. But I healed his physical wounds, so he’ll live, I believe.”
She reaches out a hand, seeking his out, but pulls back as her fingers brush the metal of his gauntlet.
In an almost dismissive action, Uther pulls the armored glove off, and fastens it to his belt, before seizing her hand with his now-bare one. A slight frown fades from her brow.
“And pursuers?” She doesn’t seem too concerned with the idea, though.
“Unlikely. The whole cave entrance collapsed. It’ll take a while for them to open the path up, if they even want to.” He reassures her, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. She feels so soft in his grip. So warm.
“Good.” She squeezes his hand. “There are more people down here. Slaves. We’ll have to return.”
“Later. We don’t have enough soldiers right now. This was all we could muster in such short time.” He says. Besides, the most important objective had already been accomplished. The world could wait another day. “Are you well?”
She nods. “Yes. I, we’re both well. They fed me, and besides being… cold, they weren’t physical with me. They wouldn’t dare to invoke the wrath of Freya by causing…” She let the words trail off, and Uther squeezed her hand just a slight bit harder. “Well, important part is that we’re here, now. Togeth-”
“Commander.” Her words were interrupted by one of the soldiers, who had approached from behind as the two of them had been preoccupied with each other.
Uther turned his head to look at the man. “Yes?” Trying to not let his voice betray his irritation at the interruption. He had endured many sleepless nights, and ceaseless worry, and he couldn’t even have a few minutes alone with the mother of his child?
“It’s the prisoners,” Oh. Right. The prisoners. Uther had forgotten about them. “They request to speak to you, sir.”
“Speak to me?”
“Yes, sir. They’re quite insistent.”
“Very well.” he sighs, looking back to Lyssia “I should attend to this. I won’t-”
She silences him with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll come along.”
Uther momentarily considered protesting. But decides against it. After all she had endured in the time they had been parted, this couldn’t be too dangerous in comparison.
“Well then. I’ll speak to them.” Uther stops walking, allowing the rest of the troops pass by until the prisoners and their guards caught up with them.
“Hold.” He motions to the guards, and they stop. “I’ve been told you wished to speak to me?” he looks at the Drow soldiers, one after another. The prisoners share a glance before one of them steps forwards.
“Are you the leader of this force?” The woman asks, her voice trembling slightly.
“Yes. I am Uther. And you are Jeanna, yes?”
The woman nods. “Ah, you are our captor. I… humans are hard to tell apart. I am sorry.”
Uther chuckles slightly. “Ah. I see that no one’s tended to your wounds, yet.”
He could see that the women were still wounded, their injuries still dripping slowly.
He releases Lyssia’s hand, and reaches forwards towards Jeanna, at which the woman starts flinching back, before visibly steeling herself. His fingers gently brush over a gash on her arm, and he feels a tingling sensation as the healing energies flow into her.
The Drow gasps, and he can see her get goosebumps as her eyes open wide, staring at him.
“You are…” She begins, before looking at him, speechlessly.
“I’ve been gifted by the grace of Leto.” he says as he moves his bare hand to touch the second, and then the third and the fourth wounded Drow. They all stare at him with dumbfounded awe. “Now, you wanted to speak to me?” he repeats.
“Ah.” He sees Jeanna, the apparent officer of the four, straighten up into a more military posture.
“We wished to know what would become of us, sir!” She says with the forthrightness of a true soldier. “We’re your prisoners, and by the law of war, we’re yours to do with as you please. Are we to be slav-”
Uther’s face gathered into the beginnings of a sneer at the direction that the question was going. “No. You are prisoners, for now. Once we have made our leave of this place, we will set you free.”
The woman seems surprised. “Sir? You… you’re going to free us? Not even demand ransom?”
Uther nods.
“Slavery isn’t our way, and besides, you’re soldiers. I don’t think your ransom would be especially impressive.” Lyssia interjects. Uther throws her a look.
“…not that we were considering to extort one, either way.” She adds.
“As she says. It’s not our way. The reason we fight is to gain freedom, not to create new oppression. Once we’re safely away, you go free. You may then return home, if you wish.”
The Drow soldier looks as if a massive burden has been removed from her shoulders. “We… thank you, sir- your holiness. We’re in your debt.” The woman bows, deep, in front of Uther.
He had assumed she’d be grateful, but Uther felt that was a bit much. And your holiness? It was… strange, but he understood why they had applied the title to him.
“Don’t try to run away prematurely, and I guarantee your timely release.” He shifts his gaze to the guards, who seem somewhat amused by the conversation.
“Move out. We won’t get home standing around here.”
Astore looked around himself. The city was strange, to say the least. Ancient heartwood structures, that had made up the architecture of the ancient capital, stood grand but scorched all around him. While on the ground level had sprung up a city of hovels.
He reconsidered, hovels wasn’t the correct wording. The city was made up of sturdy, yet simple houses that now stood in neatly organized rows on ancient parade grounds and plazas. Ancient sites of slave markets had been reorganized as housing to those who had once upon a time been traded upon them.
And he saw more signs of fire wherever he looked, no matter if he looked about the city buildings, the ancient tree-houses, or the people itself. Perhaps the reports that the rebels had been attacked by a dragon recently was accurate? But if so, they had rebuilt quickly, and surely it couldn’t have happened more than once.
What had happened to the holy beast?
The people of the city looked to be a strange sort. He could see humans and elves were seemingly equals here, and seemed to get along in harmony. At least that was how he saw it.
He could tell that their presence wasn’t trusted. Where they walked, the mothers brought their children aside, away from them. But, he considered, they were far more civil than the peasants of his home would have been should the roles be reversed.
They were approaching the ancient castle.
The life-tree, the truly most magnificent of all the sacred trees that made up the capital, was also scorched. But he could see that new sprouts were covering the branches far above.
It still endured. It was truly an awe-inspiring sight. Last time he was here, when he was still a squire, it had been in full bloom. He was thankful that it hadn’t been violated by the rebels, more than what seemed to be an initial burning.
Giousué walked in front of him, and he could tell that his old friend was very tense. Hells, he wasn’t too comfortable, himself. But everything from this point on hinged on Gio’s political skills, and he definitely knew it.
Meanwhile, Massima seemed far more at ease than either of them. She was now chattering with the elven girl that had been sent to fetch her. From what he could overhear of the conversation, the other woman had become embroiled with picking Massima’s brain over the latest news from the empire.
Well, Astore saw no harm with that topic. They were here for that reason, after all. And it didn’t matter if the rebels got notice beforehand.
They reached the grand gates into the imperial palace. He could see a few heavily armored soldiers standing guard at the gates. It seemed that the rebels had set up their headquarters in the old palace after murdering the emperor. Astore felt a pang of anger over this, but betrayed nothing of this feeling to his captors.
The leader of their wardens steps up to one of the guards, and after a few hushed words, the gates open, and one of the guards heads in in advance of them.
Astore’s right palm itched. He felt naked without his blade at his side, but the rebels hadn’t just relieved him of his primary weapon, but his shield, and all his knives as well. Even his dinner knife had been seized.
He takes a deep breath, centering himself. Calm. Clear mind. Observe the situation. Watch for hostility. He mentally recites to himself before slowly and calmly releasing his breath.
They’re brought up to an antechamber, and Astore can tell that it’s the one right before the chamber of the state.
It is far less extravagant than the last time he visited it, when his father presented him to the emperor all those years ago. The fine art is gone, and all the golden decorations are missing. Probably pried away by greedy scavengers.
But the fine silken pillows and decorative couch are still untouched.
Within a minute, the chamber doors open, and the guard from earlier exits.
“Johann will see them now.”
The leader of their captors nods.
“Thank you, Briar. We’ll go take an ale later, eh?”
The guard nods. “It’ll be my pleasure. Watch yourself, now.”
The captor turns to them, and motions for the open door. “You may enter. No funny business, and be respectful to the regent.”
Giousué nods. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
They enter the room, and Astore can tell that this room, too, has been stripped of fine art and gold, giving the room a sort of frugal air that far differentiates it from the imperius look that the room had last he was here.
The imperial throne still sits proud at the back of the room, but seated in it is a human. The man looks to be in his late thirties, slender for a human, and fairly average height for his kind. But he can easily tell from the posture of the man, as well as the sword leaned towards the throne, that the man is an experienced fighter.
The man meets his gaze, and seems to quickly make the same assessment of himself, before doing the same to both of Astore’s companions.
Meanwhile, Astore spots the goal of their mission. The Imperial crown of Ymair.
The golden crown lays on a pillow on top of a pedestal to the left of the human.
The silence of the room suddenly becomes palpable to him. Looking around, he can spot that his captors are now standing behind them in a half-circle, crossbows trained at their backs well out of quick reach.
After the silence drags out another minute, the human on the throne breaks it.
“So. I am Johann, Elected regent of the free country of Ashenvale. I’ve been told you wish to treat with me on the authority of a… Duchess Venere of Naves?”
Giousué takes a cautious step forwards.
“Yes, your grace. I am Giousué of house Harvein, emissary of the Duchess, and I’ve been empowered to negotiate an alliance with your people.” Giousué bows slightly, as one would a honored lord to one who you do not owe fealty.
The human shoots up at the edge of his seat.
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘alliance’?” he sounded flabbergasted.
“Yes, my lord.” Giousué continued. “My lady has aspirations for the Imperial throne, she is willing to ally with you. We see this as a mutually beneficial agreement. Of course, we’ll recognize the sovereignty of your state as part of this agreement. But in exchange we wish to request that you gift us with the crown of Ymair. Its’ acquisition would grant our lady a great deal of legitimacy in her claim of the throne.”
Johann stands up, starting to pace back and forth in front of the throne. “So. Let’s me get this straight. You wish to ally with us, recognizing us as free people, in exchange for this crown?”
“Yes, my lord.” Giousué confirms.
Johann stops. “I’m afraid that’s… insufficient.” He turns on his heel to face Giousué. “If we are to have friendly relations with your Duchess, she will free all slaves within her realm. They are to be allowed to stay, should they wish, or be granted assistance with transportation here. And! They are to be granted a stipend to ensure that their free life will not start in abject poverty.” The human’s voice changed from surprised excitement, to a hard certainty.
“My lord-” Giousué begins.
“No. This is not negotiable. This state was founded on the ideal of freedom. If you reject this demand, you can return to your lady and inform her that eventually the host of Ashenvale will come to her gates, and free our people by violence if necessary.”
This was… unusual. Astore had expected a political game of bartering, but this human… he did not act like a politician. And even he could tell that the human would not budge from this position.
Giousué nods. “Very well. We accept your terms. Shall we negotiate the size of the stipend?”
Anders could tell that they were close now. Yvonne had kept him posted of the others’ progress, and it seemed the critters native to these caverns had elected to stay well away from the Drow city, and the battle therein.
He turned a bend, and he could see a torch up ahead, illuminating the caverns with waving, orange light. Setting a course for the light, Anders strode on. All in all, the trauma of the day was behind him, and the last of his zombies that had become stuck on the far side of the collapsed tunnel had been dispatched. He felt… calm. Somehow, recovered.
As the light approached, he noticed that it wasn’t the light of a torch. No, as they came close to one another, the ‘torch’ split in twain, and he could see how it eerily illuminated the familiar face of Freidrich.
It was… his eyebrows. On fire.
Well, his day was strange enough already. It didn’t surprise him much, and explained what Yvaine had meant when she said he was a bit ‘flame-y’.
He raises his hand in greeting to the warriors, and he sees tension leave Freidrich’s face.
“Good to see you well, Ande-” The fire in his eyebrows suddenly flicker and vanishes, leaving all four of them in pitch darkness. “Ah, damn it. Here, give me a second.”
Anders hears stone strike steel a couple of times, before he sees a spark jump, and seconds later a torch has caught fire. “Sorry about that. Still don’t know how this” Freidrich points to himself “works. Anyway, as I was saying. It’s good to see you, Anders.” The human suddenly starts looking a lot more tired. “We should get back before anything else horrible happens.”
Anders merely nods. On that, they were both on the same page.
The rest of the journey was eventless, and Anders had plenty of opportunity to study the Lieutenant.
His equipment was mostly ruined, the armor looked as if it had been bent and bruised repeatedly, and the leather was scorched black. It was… quite disconcerting. It reminded Anders of the equipment of those who had been burned by dragonfire. The memory did not help his uneasy feeling.
He had much he needed to talk to Yvonne about.
As the caravan came into view, it was a relief. And as if she had heard his wish, which she very well might have, Yvonne stood waiting for them when they exited the side passage.
“Anders.” Her warm smile was… relieving. Despite what he and she both had learned about his past, she still didn’t fear or hate him. That was probably the best thing to learn today.
*Yvonne. We need to talk.*She nods. “Yes, I think we do.” She turns to Freidrich and the two other escorts. “Thank you. And Freidrich, we should speak later, you and I.”
The lieutenant nods. “Very well. But if you don’t mind, I think I need to lie down, ma’am.”
“Of course.” She curtsies.
The three depart, and Anders joins Yvonne at the rearguard of the expedition.
“Anders, I appreciate that you were forthright with me. I’m sure it can’t have been easy, considering the… topic.”
Anders nods. It’s better this way. Secrets are poisonous.
“Yes, quite. That man, he, uh. He concerns me. Not only did he manage to find you alone down here, but he also knew more about your past than you yourself? And he gave you the book you authored in your past life? That can’t be done by mundane means.”
I agree. And I am certain he’s not human.
Yvonne remains silent for a bit.
“No. I agree. I don’t think he is, but… I wish I had access to my old library. I think I might have been able to figure out what he was, and possibly what he wants, if I had it.”
Anders remains beside her, silently.
No matter where this ends up or what happens, please don’t hate me.
“I won’t.” She says, reassuringly.
Sorry that this update to the series has been so long in the making. I’ve managed to score myself a consultancy position at a very hip tech company, and I’m working my ass off. Anyway, now that I found myself some spare time where I don’t have a hundred other things to do, I decided to write up this extra-long chapter for those of you who still follow my story.
For those who made it this far, thank you for sticking with me! Please leave a comment below, as I do thoroughly enjoy interacting with my readers! To those of you who reached out to me for more stories, this one is for you guys.