The flames of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the ornate walls of Dorian Amberborn’s study. Shelves lined one wall, full of collectible tomes. Their ancient leather shone, carefully maintained as a visible demonstration of his influence and power. Dorian stood by a large oak table in the center of the large space. Maps and reports laid strewn across the entire surface where Dorian scanned the latest information and dispatches from the front.
Quarrybrook. The name lingered in his mind like a bitter taste. As the first city to fall to the rebels, its loss was a blow the empire had not expected. The insignificant outskirt town had rocketed to prominence when Vitur had informed every empire citizen of its role in the start of the first war in living memory.
Dorian traced the lines of the map with his fingers, noting the other minor cities close to Quarrybrook that had also fallen to the rebel rabble. He sighed at the futile hopes the rebellion had ignited amongst the lowest citizens in the empire.
Instead of accepting their roles, the lower classes were now dreaming of power and advantages above their stations. It was going to be a mess to clean up and reestablish order again once they finished trouncing the upstarts.
If only the Amberborn family leaders had listened to him. Everyone, with any sense, knew that an overwhelming and immediate response of force was the best way to nip something like this in the bud.
But their current leaders had severely underestimated the combined strength of the rebels, together with the Quarrybrook citizens, who were bitter about being abandoned by the empire. The empire’s response had been pitifully inadequate. The generals had bickered over control and barely assembled a reasonable, but still not overwhelming, force.
The empire’s force, once they arrived to retake Quarrybrook, had been more than humbled. In retrospect, it was obvious that their typical experience of holding walls against waves of beasts was inadequate when they had to assume the role of the beasts and attack a fortified position.
The rebels, bolstered by the defiant citizens, had not only rebuffed the entire empire force, but chased them down afterward and wiped them out or taken them prisoner to a person. Dorian strode to look at his intricately carved Hexrune board, taking some time to move a few of the pieces around. The pieces he moved were small ones without many connective runes. They represented the lost troops and which faction the empire’s defeat at Quarrybrook had weakened.
Dorian rubbed at the buttery wood of each flat tile as he moved them, letting his fingers trace over the familiar rune patterns that gave each their power in the game. No one suspected he used his board to represent the world around him and his strategies for advancing in it. He even had the hated regent assigned as the central piece of power on the board, the Runestone.
The other powerful pieces represented the various families and those at the top of each power structure. He chose tiles with powerful runes that best represented the lines of real-world influence.
Pride filled him as he scanned over his vast board. He simply loved the game. The logic of Hexrune mirrored life, a complicated dance of power, influence and strategy. The game helped him immensely to develop a logical strategy for each of his moves in real life.
Dorian positioned his pieces with care for how the runes would influence the pieces nearby. Now he needed to adapt all his plans for this new situation that had dropped into his lap. He let out a rueful laugh and smiled eagerly as he wondered how many others were as excited about this war as he was.
Mind full of new possibilities, Dorian moved back to his desk and sat in his custom leather chair, the weight of his ambitions pressing heavily upon him. He let his gaze drift to the wide windows on his left where the early morning sun glinted off the expansive gardens of the Amberborn complex. In the distance, he could see the mansion of the current regent, Thorne Amberborn.
A jealous and familiar rage twisted in his gut, but he forced himself not to look away. The bootlicking flick had stolen what should have been Dorian’s ultimate triumph, ruling over the entire empire for a full term. Back when the Amberborns had proposed their initial candidates, Dorian had taken a calculated risk. He’d openly opposed Thorne in a bid to prove to the family that he was the better choice.
But Thorne had somehow beaten Dorian, making more backroom deals and eking out enough power to snatch away the victory. Thorne must have promised away almost all of his power to win.
But win he had. And Thorne’s first order of business had been to use his new powers to steal or crush every asset of Dorian’s he could get his hands on. He’d been surprisingly competent at it.
Dorian’s jaw flexed even harder, making his teeth ache. He commanded his jaw to relax as he forced himself to keep looking at the extravagant exterior of the regent’s home, or more accurately, palace. One day it would be his. If not, he’d still ensure it wouldn’t be Thorne’s for a second longer than necessary.
Dorian hated to think about how many years had to pass by before the other four families finished with their turns holding the regent spot. Still, the Amberborn’s turn would eventually come around again. Dorian just had to accumulate enough power before then to ensure he was the only one strong enough to grab the prize.
He wrenched his thoughts away from the distant future and forced himself to consider the present. There was not only the war to consider. In another four months, the Lancasters would begin proposing their own regent candidates and by December of this year, Thorne would lose a significant chunk of his power when the Lancaster choice replaced him as regent.
That put Dorian on a tight schedule. He needed to play his tiles correctly to accumulate more power. He needed to hit Thorne hard when he lost the power of being regent. Only then could Dorian begin his own climb to the top of the family again. The chaos afforded by this minor war would be the perfect vehicle to help him achieve his goals.
Dorian decided he’d tortured himself long enough and let his gaze fall from the hated building across the estate. He turned in his chair, his hand reaching into his pocket for his ornate pocket watch. Without thinking, he flicked it open and closed, the motion soothing him as he pondered his next move.
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The first step was clear: he needed to propose a more aggressive strategy to the Amberborns in top military positions he could influence. The rebels’ success at Quarrybrook was because of the empire underestimating the rebellion.
His next step would be to gather as many resources as possible. He needed to control as many important assets in this coming war as possible. And not just the usual ones like military weapons and supplies, assignments for incoming troops or the logistics schedules. He needed creative thinking. He’d put his people to work, pursuing all rumors of new assets circulating through the empire. A junior member of his family had been pretty vocal about the value of beasts fighting alongside their troops. It was time to take a little closer look at that and other possibilities.
Once he gathered enough power, decisive and overwhelming strikes would allow him to lead the efforts to reclaim the lost cities and crush the uprising. Dorian was confident he could pull more allies to his side who would agree, particularly within the military.
A sly smile spread across his face. The loot regulations would only help his case. The property of anyone with even a minor association with the rebellion would be forfeit. And everyone knew that the first empire troops on the scene could take a hefty portion of the seized goods as recompense for the work of winning the battles.
The promise of loot from multiple cities would not only fill his own coffers but also sway key leaders to his side with promises of power and glory. The empire needed a powerful hand to guide it through this turmoil, and Dorian intended to be that hand.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter.” Dorian projected his voice just enough to make it through the thick mahogany of the ornate door.
“Master Amberborn.” His assistant, a tall, wiry man with a perpetually anxious expression, stepped into the room with a sealed parchment in hand. “A shipment has arrived for you. Your specialty spices and new body scents, as requested. I also have an urgent message that just arrived.” He held up the message.
Dorian’s smile widened. “Excellent timing. Bring the cases in.”
His assistant tried to hand him the message, but Dorian shook his head. “The spices first. I’ve been waiting for this delivery for a while and don’t want to ruin it with whatever drama I find in that message.”
The assistant knew better than to argue and left the room briefly to retrieve the deliveries. He placed a wide but shallow wooden box on the accent table in front of the fireplace. When he moved to lift the lid and unpack the contents, Dorian motioned for him to stop.
“Let me.”
The assistant took a hurried step back and moved out of the way into the shadows of a nook next to the fireplace.
With a smile of pure pleasure, Dorian sat down on the comfortable sofa in front of the table and slowly removed the lid of the expensive wooden chest. Inside, the packing shavings covered and protected all the expensive contents.
Drawing out the pleasure, Dorian reached in and pulled out the various containers one by one. Soon, he had set out neat rows of fancy glass vials filled with shimmering liquids and small silk pouches containing rare spices, each one meticulously labeled.
A heady aroma filled the air from just the small bit of fragrance that had escaped through the seals and pouches. The intoxicating scent made Dorian inhale deeply and luxuriate in the delightful sensation.
He didn’t feel bad about delaying the message. The new exotic spices and scents were more than just personal indulgences; they were tools of influence. Each unique scent left a lasting impression when others were in his presence.
Each spice his chef added to a proffered dish shared was a subtle reminder to others of his refined taste and superior status. In a world where power was often measured by the senses, these items were invaluable.
He lifted a dark blue vial, one that had cost more than almost everything else in the box. He’d been waiting two months to get the order. Apparently, the ingredients had to be sourced from specific plants that only grew in the chaotic mana lands past the Tower Ring.
He tipped the cork open, just enough to let a whiff of the fragrance into the air. The scent was intoxicating—an intricate blend of dark florals and rare spices that evoked both mystery and power. He planned to wear it at the upcoming council meeting, a subtle reminder of his dominance and his future ambitions.
Unable to resist, he dabbed the smallest drop on his inner wrist before closing the vial and spreading a hint of the scent to the other wrist and then up to his neck.
He couldn’t delay any longer. Dorian sighed before waving an impatient hand at this assistant. “Now, the message.”
With a few quick steps, the assistant moved across the room and held it out to Dorian.
Now feeling curious, Dorian broke the seal on the message and scanned the contents, reading silently to himself.
Master Amberborn, urgent news from the front. Your spies have uncovered two rumors that we considered important enough to forward to you, despite the lack of more specific details.
First, the rebels are preparing to simultaneously attack two outskirt cities. They’ve kept the names of the cities on a need-to-know basis and our spies have yet to discover them.
Second, your spies uncovered a rumor of a large training base or headquarters that is planned or currently being built at an unknown location in the Wilds.
We apologize for the lack of details and will forward more information as soon as we acquire it.
Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he folded the message, stood and tossed it into the fire. The news was unexpected, but not unwelcome. A new front in the war meant new opportunities to exploit, new ways to weaken his rivals and fortify his own position.
“Very well,” he said, a new plan forming in his mind. “Prepare my carriage. I will address the council at today’s meeting instead of waiting.”
As the assistant turned to leave, another important move occurred to Dorian. “Wait. We’re going to need one of our Inquisitors on board for this.”
His assistant couldn’t quite disguise the flicker of fear and disgust before nodding his head and waiting for further orders.
“Hmm.” Dorian tapped his chin, running through the candidates and who would be the best fit for what was coming. “How about Lilith? Yes. Inquisitor Lilith Graves.”
“Right away, Master.” His assistant’s face paled, but he didn’t object. Without another word, the man turned and hurried away.
A malicious grin settled on Dorian’s face. The rebels were going to regret challenging their betters and Dorian would gain enough power to finally accomplish his plans.
As the door shut behind his assistant, Dorian glanced once more at his Hexrune board. The game had changed, but his objectives remained the same. With a final, determined look at the small town of Quarrybrook on his wall map, he rose from his chair, the scent of power clinging to him like an invisible cloak. The rebellion was not just a threat; it was a gift, one he intended to use to its fullest potential.
And as he strode from the room, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: this war would be his stepping stone to ultimate power.