Prologue

The First Day of the First Moon, 874 AD.

Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

Thrytas looked out over the sea of faces in the banquet hall, seeing those of his sons amongst them.

So, he was no longer a king. Well, it could have been worse. He'd at least been able to negotiate the way by which he left his crown behind, had been able to become one of the most powerful men in this newly-forged realm, so he was quite content. One look at the despondent face of the once-King of Owkrestos, Aleksandar Wyldlarch, and at the lack of any form of crown about his head, told him all he needed to know as to whether or not he'd made the right choice.

His boys, the Angels bless them both, had been more understanding than he'd thought they'd be even given his high estimations of both of them; they'd seemed to all but immediately understand his reasons, understand the potential for profit, and assuaged any doubts that may have remained as to his choice to swear fealty to the then-King of Teleytaios and Owkrestos.

That Teleytaian was now the King of Triarios instead of Thrytas as well, but the charming man wasn't concerned. 'Grand Duke' was a good enough title for him, and if it came with a slew of monopolies and trading charters for his family industries then it meant that they would be making more money as vassals than they ever had as kings and princes.

Of course, not everyone was pleased with his decision. Most of his lords, most of his old vassals, had seen his deal as a betrayal. It was, as they had so eloquently put it, "A deal with a daemon". Quite frankly, he didn't care. Most of his southern lords had been away from their holdfasts with their men launching seasonal raids into the northern Tildan peninsula, and the rest hadn't had the time to gather their forces together before his sons, with the forces of the family, had put down their petty rebellions.

The vassal-houses of Triarios had found their rebellion choked in its cradle, never to rise as a threat to the newly-minted Grand Duke of Stratiotheros. His new title had been so named for the core lands of his reaffirmed domain, that being the city of Stratiopolis and the rich hills surrounding the urban centre, but in reality he now held control over the fertile fields and ore-plains of the Arthaxan Plateau as well. The rest, those lands that were little more than forests and shepherd's hills? Those now belonged to his new king.

Oh, there was profit to be made from those lands as well of course, he knew that, but the richest and most fertile lands he had been sure to secure for himself. For his family. The rest was a sacrificial lamb to ensure the young King did not find the deal too equal and fair for his liking.

Thrytas knew from his own men in Anaria that if there was one thing King Lykourgos, then Prince Lykourgos, was known for amongst the courts and commoners of Teleytaios then it was that he despised the nobility, and despised working with them even more. A deal to turn Thrytas into a lord beneath Lykourgos was always going to need a little grease to make sure things went smoothly.

But of course, matters of state weren't the only thing on his mind right now. Neither were matters of war or business, come to that. No, the other thing on his mind right now was faith.

Thrytas was not a faithful man. He wouldn't particularly call himself impious, but he had claimed to follow either the Old-Church or the Cult of Anawroth so many times and had gone back and forth between those churches for so long that he was certain that there was bound to be some sort of punishment awaiting him in the world beyond this one. Still, he wasn't impious. He believed the stories of the First Saint, of the carpenter's son, he believed in the divinity of the seven Angels that had aided the greatest man to have ever lived in the war against the Silence, and he believed in the divine right to rule given to kings and lords.

What he did not believe, could not believe, was that the man who stood at the King's side was an Angel. He'd heard the rumours, had seen the wide-eyed looks of his spies and agents in the capital as they reported to him with all they knew, but he could not believe them. He couldn't.

Because if Hydran was still alive then Anawroth was still alive as well, and that thought frightened him to no end.

Thrytas was a soldier, a general, and a businessman. He did not fear dying ignobly on the battlefield, nor did he fear the assassin's blade finding him in the dark. He did not fear death. What he feared was the thought that out there, somewhere, walking amongst men, was war incarnate. He did not wish to think on the destruction such a being could bring about, the evils their powers could be used for in the wrong hands.

This figure by the King could not be Hydran. He could not be. There was too much at stake for him to be a true Angel, no matter the words of his agents.

Anawroth was said not to be like the other Angels: according to the priests of his cult there had been some sort of grudge that had grown between him and the other Angels, or multiple grudges according to some people.

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To some it was the Angel of the Wilds, Arnka, besting him in an archery contest. To others it was when the Angel of Death, Aenethar, refused to let him keep the souls of those felled in war as keepsakes. Some even claim the grudge began when the Angel of the Seas, Hydran, proved to the Angel of War that the turbulent waves of the oceans contained a rage greater than any that a mere man, that a warrior, could possibly possess. It didn't matter what or who you believed, for all that mattered in the end was the consensus that Anawroth did not mix with the other Angels as he should of.

If this figure really was Hydran, and Anawroth was truly out there, then he feared that the world might be rent asunder by their meeting.

"Father, you really must stop worrying so much."

He turned to look at his son, Kyrian, and smiled a little.

"I'm not particularly worried at the moment, Kyrian. A little apprehensive, but not worried."

His son raised an eyebrow at him before continuing.

"So you say, father. Your face gave you away, however."

He cursed a little under his breath.

"And I had thought I was doing so well. What was it about my face that gave me away?"

"Nothing," came the only slightly amused response from his youngest boy, "but your admission just then gave it away. What is it that bothers you? It can't be our crown industries, for myself and Kyrtos gave you the latest figures not one sennight ago and they were more than good. Nor can it be the unrest in the lands that we now control, but once belonged to our vassal houses. I know that my brother is sceptical that our new King can pacify his own new territories, but I have faith in him. You do as well, else you wouldn't have taken that deal.

"There's something else bothering you. Something harder to explain. Is it anything that Kyrtos and I can help you with?"

He smiled again at his youngest boy. Sometimes he wondered just how it was that they'd become more observant than he had ever been.

"I don't think so, son. Not with this matter. Ah, it's most likely nothing anyway. Where is your brother, anyhow? I don't think I've seen much of him since the festivities began."

Kyrian made a noise of mock dismissal at the mention of his brother. The two boys bickered endlessly, but he knew that they loved each other just as surely as any family was bound. He was proud of both of them.

"Pah, you know him. He'll likely be entertaining a few of the guests with stories of his own on the balcony. Some of them might even be true."

He chuckled to himself. Yes, that certainly sounded like the Kyrtos he knew. His eldest son was nothing if not charismatic, and if charisma required a lie or two to get people laughing then Kyrtos was certainly not averse to embellishing his tales.

"Of course, how foolish of me. I really should have checked there first. To change the subject, Kyrian, have you had the chance to speak with our eminent King yet?"

His son shook his head looking a little sheepish.

"Ah- no, father. I have not. Well, I should not say I haven't had the chance. To tell you the truth father, he... well, I will not say that he intimidates me per-se, but there's something about the way he looks at people that... well, makes me uneasy."

He stayed quiet, and gestured for his son to continue.

"Well it's just... you see it when he looks at you, surely? It's not like he's sizing you up, it's more like... ah, I'm struggling to put this into words. It's less like he's sizing you up and more like he's studying everything about you. It's as if he's seeing the people he looks at as pieces on a deicide board, and is tracking what he knows about them so he knows who to sacrifice for the greatest profit in a given situation."

Thrytas nodded in appreciation for his son's thoughts. It was good to have an outside opinion on matters such as this.

"Then in that case we shall have to ensure that we become indispensable to him, mustn't we?"

They both turned and looked to their king, who was dancing with the King of Polaeros. Both young men had fond smiles on their faces,

"I have to say, it is rather strange seeing the young man who conquered Owkrestos dancing with someone from his past. It's a little difficult to reconcile the person in front of me as being the same as the person who has fought and won through two wars now."

"Three," he replied, correcting his son without looking away from the king, "unless there's a reason as to why you're omitting the Twilight Rebellion?"

He saw his son shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

"Ah, I forgot about that one. To think, an entire war dedicated to tearing down the nobility, a perfect example to exact royal control over the second-largest kingdom in the Heptarchy, squandered in its final moments by a king too cowardly to see his victory through in totality."

Thrytas chuckled.

"The boy's father was a fool who couldn't see the talent that was in front of him all along, or else looked for talent in all the wrong places. This king isn't as weak-willed as his father, neither is he as prone to bending this way and that with the wind. He'll pick a course, and he'll stick to it. Our job, from now on, is finding a way to turn his course into our profit. Failing that, we'll have to find a way to make him change course."

"Not make him," his son interjected, "because he'd never accept that. His pride and past would never let him be swayed by nobles under his command. We'd need to convince him, and probably whilst using someone else as a proxy. There's little chance of him listening to us, despite our arrangements with him."

He nodded at his boy once more. Angels, what had he done to deserve such smart boys? Their sister was dead, may she rest evermore, but at the very least his sons were still here. He'd always clung to that since she'd passed.

"I think you may be right, son. I think you may be right. Well, that's our path forwards. Now we just need to swallow our own pride and keep our family safe."

"Of course, father. By your leave?"

He nodded, and his son left to go mingle with the other attendees. He smiled a little, despite the fact that he no longer wore a crown about his head.

It might have wounded his pride to kneel to a boy less than half his age, but he didn't fret. Anawroth was the Angel of War, and if there was one thing that his family had learned whilst leading Anawroth's kingdom then it was surely that there was no battlefield more cutthroat than the market, no army that could march without smiths and industry behind them, and nothing that could possibly be worth fighting for more than the promise of profit without end. At the end of the day, war was just business after all.

House Sigiros had come very far on the back of business. He did not intend to see them stall in their rise just yet.