Normally, the five of them sat six across with the Patriarch, the head of the Council and the Patriarch sitting in the middle. But now the symmetry had been broken with Father’s absence, and it was the old lady who sat next to his empty chair who spoke first in a throaty and contemplative voice:

“How much of the Mist does it dispel, exactly? And what exactly does it do when in use?”

Old Lady Corona was Al’s grandmother. She was a strange old bat who mostly kept to herself, besides her regular morning walk. With eerie purple eyes and short gray hair, tied in a bun, she gave off a strange combination of severe and eccentric which wrongfooted most people.

Victor was undeterred, though, and he continued calmly:

“I will spare you the math and simply say that a stone around the size of my fist will hold back the Mist in a domelike area for around ten yards in every direction. Exposing a second stone of similar size will increase that to around 14 yards, with each new stone exposed producing diminishing returns. Exposure means exposure to sunlight while in territory the Mist would otherwise obscure. The stones will glow with a distinct robin’s egg blue when exposed, but the hard edges of the dome suggest that the Mist is not being pushed back by the light itself, given the natural diffusion of light over distance. Furthermore-”

“You said it glowed with a light blue?” Corona interrupted, going slightly pale.

“Yes.” Victor nodded mechanically, “And we believe that this exposure and glowing process diminishes the structural integrity and natural anti-Mist properties of the rock itself. In other words, exposing a Glasrock to the Mist for too long will render it unusable. It is a consumable resource.”

“hhHow long will it last?” asked a black eyed and sickly-looking man sitting to Corona’s left. Antonin Hapsburg had been an Explorer in his youth and the only thing that had really held together for him in his old age was his uncanny hearing. Physically debilitated and constantly nervous, his skinny frame shook a little like he was going to blow away with the wind. He glanced around the hall and especially at Corona when he spoke, as if asking them the question instead.

Victor shrugged, “We’re not entirely sure on that ourselves. We weren’t exactly about to waste a precious resource just to answer that question. We have enough of it that I feel it would be safe to field test. Though I hypothesize that a piece the size of my fist would last for several hours.”

“Not very long, is that?” spoke a third interlocutor, narrowing her eyes from the other side of my father’s seat. Shera Westbrook had been an accomplished duelist in her younger years, and she was nothing but severe edges and razor-sharp scowls. Her thin arms ended in long fingers that were laced under her chin, her mouth so thin it was almost invisible, and her dark eyed gaze was narrow enough to cut Victor’s throat. Even her slate gray hair was cut short as well, barely coming down to her chin.

“Could such a limited period of time and visibility really provide that much value to the village?” She continued. “If you only have ten yards, you will need to move in small teams, yes?”

“Yes, you would need to operate in small teams but with all due respect, I disagree with your value assessment.” Victor responded. “If a single team could bring back as much as they did, under difficult and unknown circumstances, then we could gather immense amounts of Glasrock on future. Even now, we could equip several small teams with enough to gather several days’ worth of resources. That would be without Manichean interference as well.”

“What about Paeric? Ambush predators would provide a heightened threat with limited visibility. And how would you keep from losing your way in the Mist if you can only see 10 yards in every direction?”. Now, a fourth Councilor jumped in from Westbrook’s left, this one an average sized man with a clear yet solemn gaze.

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Allen Jackson was the youngest of the five, only a decade older than my father, with a few noble streaks of silver in his jet-black hair and only a couple of wrinkles lining an otherwise handsome face. His eyes were cold and merciless, however, and his spectacular talent for throwing knives made him perhaps the scariest of the Councilmembers in a duel, even putting aside age differences.

Victor went on to explain various theories to get around these difficulties, mentioning his suspicion that Glasrock would ward away Paeric as well as the possible use of long chains or Mason’s drawing paths in the rock behind them to prevent from getting lost. This only prompted another round of questioning and poking from the two skeptical Councilmembers about the usefulness of our hard-won resource.

“Enough chatter.” Grumbled the final Councilman sitting at the end of the table, on Hapsburg’s left, “This is only indirectly related to the matter at hand. Such specifics are best hammered out by real scholars elsewhere. What we ought to focus on is the merit of the challenge directly.”

Omar Ignis was one of the few villagers who wasn’t pale skinned. He had tan skin and flowing white hair, a combination that was curious to behold. He was nearly the size of my father, though he had long gone to seed, a fact that could be noticed from the substantial gut poking out from under his robe. His eyes were even stranger than Corona’s, with obsidian black irises that were flecked with streaks of bright red. He turned that unsettling gaze on me, and I stared back, doing my best to look him in the eye.

“The boy is weak.”

And just like that, my determination was crushed without remorse.

“He is very skilled, and reports show that he has significantly improved physically.” Corona snaps back but Ignis is already shaking his head.

“I have heard the same reports, yet it is insufficient. Our enemies are on the move. Our Hunt was not as fruitful recently, even with this remarkable discovery. The fact is, we need our Patriarch to be a powerful military leader. Someone whose strength is unquestioned. Adrian meets that standard, to be certain. But does his son?”

This prompted a new round of outbursts and mutterings from around the room that were quieted simply by Ignis raising his hands, before continuing:

“A gift for exploring is indeed a useful thing, and, in another time, I would have voted against this challenge. But what our village needs in this turbulent time is a strong right arm at the helm, with a canny Council to guide that arm.”

Corona continued to protest and argue, with even Hapsburg chiming in to back up her argument. Westbrook merely sneered at her and offered some biting remarks while Jackson sat in calm silence. But my heart had already sunk into my stomach. The purple eyed fox was doing her best, but everyone, including her, could see where this was going. The math simply wasn’t in our favor.

My father had looked back, thunderclouds darkening his brow, at a smug David Aurelius, whose unspoken retort was as clear as day.

“Strong arms don’t win every fight.”

The irony was outright depressing.

“I think we are ready to vote.” Jackson chimed in, totally deadpan. Ignis nodded and Corona just sighed, drooping into her seat, gears clearly turning behind her sparkling eyes.

“Those in favor of granting the Rite of Challenge, say Ay.” Corona called out.

“Ay” barked the two on the leftmost side of the table and Ignis.

“The majority has an Ay. Nay vote is irrelevant.” She focused her gaze on Samuel now.

“Samuel Aurelius, by the power vested in me as head Councilor, and on behalf of the entire village of Bryn, I grant you the Rite of Challenge for the position of Patriarch. What manner of Challenge do you issue?”

“A duel. To death or surrender!” His voice boomed out confidently.

She turned to look at me, both sympathy and meaning behind her gaze, “And what type of duel does the Challenged petition for?”

Now I was on the hot seat. A duel with fists would more easily lend itself to the possibility of surrender if I could choke out a call to yield when at a disadvantage. But a duel with weapons would allow my skill to make more of an impact and improve my chances of winning.

I wasn’t going to win a duel with fists. I had already figured that out the hard way. But going for weapons would be tantamount to suicide in the eyes of most. I thought for a while, conscious of everyone’s curious gazes.

“I choose a duel with weapons.”

This started another miniature riot but even over all the clamor, I heard Corona’s voice.

“So be it. The duel will take place in four days at dawn. May the most fit to rule be decided.”

The last portion was said with more than a little sarcasm, but it didn’t matter.

None of our effort had mattered.