“Millennia of warfare — and for what? The Chimeras still prowl the Wildlands. Man still huddles in his cities. In the two thousands years since the Pandemic, what have the Gentes done for mankind? Enslave us! Send our children to fight in their unholy wars! They live eternally, blasphemously, though it’s appointed to man to die; yet the rest of us still die for them. Why?

“Do not put your faith in man. Put it in Adon and Yesh and in the old Words, the ones that were ancient before the Heavenfall! New Salem at last is free — ”

—Final words of an Adonist street preacher in Acerbia, 1884 CE.

----

Lellonell Palace of Governance

Tumbling Seeding 31, 1885

“My Princeps,” Markos panted as he struggled to keep up with his liege’s long strides, “would you not prefer to wait until—”

“Now, Markos,” Magus Princeps Gerart Generosus Ortus Nethress said as they turned a corner. Two aides scurried out of the way, spilling their papers to the shining wooden floor in their haste to make way.

“Very well, my Princeps,” Markos said, hurriedly flipping through his reports as he skipped every third step. “New Pullmas has fallen.”

“Known.”

“The expeditionary force was destroyed as well.”

“Blood and bile. Then we’ve truly lost the city.”

“Magus Dux Pryan is inclined toward immediate retribution, my Princeps. He lost a son and a full legion in the battle.”

“Unacceptable brashness. We have all lost family.” The Princeps slammed open the door of the Convocation Chamber. As he entered, the dozen Duxes and Ductrices seated around the mahogany chamber ceased their bickering and stood. The Princeps waved a hand, and just as quickly they seated themselves. Gerart, however, stayed standing.

“Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood,” Gerart began, looking around the room and letting his gaze settle on each and every family member as he spoke, “I have heard ill tidings.”

Poor Dux Pryan. First his wife, and now his son? Not to mention his legions.

Cool, collected Ductrix Lenaa met Gerart’s gaze impassively, reflecting his even temper back at him. She truly was his daughter. And eager, beloved Viklas, his youngest son, whose demeanor had not yet taken on the seriousness that the Magi of Gens Nethress cultivated in order to offset the unnatural youth that the Symbiont lent to its hosts.

“I know,” Gerart began, “that we have lost many beloved to us. I have lost my own loves.” How many wives had he had over the years? Seven? Eight? And yet he was unmarried again, thanks to Gens Nethress’s wicked foe. Poor Nina hadn’t even lived out a natural lifespan. “The Nxtlu beasts will pay,” he said. “I promise you that.” The oath reverberated in his bones; he felt it settle deep in his soul. “But not yet. We have too much to—”

“They killed my son.” Pryan’s words strained through his vocal chords. Here was a man on the brink.

“And we shall slaughter every last child of theirs, until their accursed blood taints no man or woman on Tellus longer. But not yet. Circumstances are dire. Markos, coffee, if you would.” Markos nodded and vanished, leaving behind his sheaf of papers. Gerart claimed them as he sat. “Our Gens treasury is reduced to three hundred twenty million carats.” All eyes turned to Dorsin, who stared impassively ahead. What a lad.

“Our Gens treasury,” the Princeps emphasized, “is reduced. Yet I assume that our branches still retain some measure of their own value, and that we all still bear some measure of sway with our peers in the other Gentes. And since my family seems to be so interested in Dux Dorsin, might I ask you, my son, to report in?”

“Finances are dire,” Dorsin admitted. “We believe that—”

“We all know your circumstances are dire,” Pryan spat.

“Hold your tongue, Pryan,” Gerart said. “Your grief is no justification for loss of control.”

“Princeps, Dorsin is the entire reason—”

“I said to hold your tongue, child.”

Pryan fell silent. Gerart looked back at Dorsin. “Your treasury is as sick as the family’s? Very well. The beggar need not tell the panhandler what it is to lack sustenance. Let us speak of other matters. Your eldest undertook her Prime Assay, Dorsin.”

“Yes, Erus.” Dux Venkas leaned forward, listening with obvious interest; unsurprising, since the mission was his idea. Dorsin pointed at the nest of vines bulging out in a half-sphere from the center of the table. “May I, Erus?”

“Of course.”

Dorsin leaned over the table and placed his hand in the center of the nest. It was a magnificent gesture, reminding the rest of the family of his physical stature; where they would have to have leaned so far that their feet would have left the ground, Dorsin’s immense height meant that no such demeaning display was necessary.

Any respect Dorsin’s height might have garnered, however, disappeared when a deep male voice pulsed from the vocal units around the table, announcing, “Error. Unexpected genetic signature. Security breach. Now logging—”

Gerart pushed his finger into the wolf’s-head repository carved into the table at his seat. The Archon Tool noted his presence and immediately announced, “Greeting, Magus Princeps Gerart Generosus Ortus Nethress. I live to serve. I recorded a possible security breach approximately six point four—”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Ignore it.”

“Yes, Erus.”

“On second thought, record that DNA signature as my son Magus Dux Dorsin Generosus Ortus Nethress.”

“Yes, Erus.”

“Father even bails him out with the Tools,” Pryan whispered to Viklas.

Gerart asked, “Pryan, do you have something to share? No? Then please be silent. I will remind you, this is the third time I have requested silence from you. Please, Dorsin.” He gestured toward his son.

“Archon Tool,” Dorsin said, “present data regarding Maga Senrii Generosus Ortus Nethress’s Prime Assay.”

“Validation required,” the Tool said.

Gerart rolled his eyes. “That is Dux Dorsin’s voice. Validate him and log it.”

“Very good, Erus. Voice logged.” The vines in the center of the table began to unfurl, lifting between them a sheer membrane. Veins of light began to appear on the screen, and in moments, the report had formed in full. During the delay, Gerart took the opportunity to acquire a cup of steaming coffee from Markos.

“You see, Erus, my brothers and sisters,” Dorsin began, “Senrii achieved her primary objective, acquiring the targeted data from our laboratories.”

“You mean their laboratories, dear brother,” Lenaa said.

“Nxtlu’s squatting does not make our lands theirs.”

“Possession is nine tenths of the law, my brother.”

“Regardless,” Dorsin continued, “she acquired the data, but we are without a means to encrypt it. However—”

“She did not achieve capture of a Key, then,” Venkas said.

“No. Not capture of a Key. But—”

Venkas leaned back in his seat. “Then what good is the data?”

“Listen closely. Senrii failed to achieve the secondary objective, which would have been an impossibility for any of us in any case—”

“It was not an impossibility during your Prime Assay, Dorsin,” Gerart observed. Dorsin fell silent. “But no matter. Primary is primary, and secondary is secondary. You have more to tell us.”

“Yes, Erus. Senrii discovered something else entirely. Archon Tool, highlight paragraphs 9-11 and relevant section of the map.”

“At once, Dux Dorsin.”

Even Gerart drew in a deep breath when the Tool did as he commanded, though the sound of it was drowned out by the gasps through the rest of the room. “A Last Era Libraratory?” “But that’s impossible!” “Right under our noses!”

And Pryan’s response, during which the room fell silent, so that the words echoed through the chamber: “This might just make up for your thinking with your cock!”

Gerart was on his feet in an instant. “I commanded thrice for you to hold your tongue!” he roared. “Out! Out!” Pryan gulped and hastily stood.

“Erus—” Dorsin said.

“Out!”

“Erus, let him stay,” Dorsin repeated. “If this is the worst that Pryan can do to his family in his grief, then we ought to count it a blessing.”

Pryan looked back and forth between his father and his brother. Was Dorsin right? Was Gerart being too hasty?

“Three times,” Gerart growled. “Out, Dux Pryan.”

Pryan left. Gerart sat down and took a sip of the rich, delicious coffee.

“Pryan is right,” Lenaa observed. All eyes turned toward her. “Dux Dorsin, this is a magnificent find, and if we could exploit it, it might go a long way toward healing the rifts in our family.” By which, all knew, she meant, which you caused. “However, such Libraratories are usually packed with booby traps and dangerous machinery, all locked with ancient Keys.”

“And now it will be swarming with Nxtlu,” Viklas added hopefully.

Dorsin smiled gently. “It is true that the mapping schematics are only an approximation, but—”

A scent from the coffee tickled Gerart’s nose. A violence built up within his lungs, and he burst out in a powerful sneeze.

“To your wishes, Erus,” the family said in unison.

“—But,” Dorsin continued, “Senrii did access the Libraratory grounds.”

“What of it?” Lenaa asked.

“Despite the fact that the doors were Keyed.”

There was silence in the room. “Our bloodline is the Key, then?” Viklas said. “What a stroke of luck!”

Dorsin shook his head. “That is why we have Tutelae, Viklas. To link a Tool to our bloodline proper would be terribly dangerous for all of us. But in any case, no. Senrii found a boy-Key— a whole family of Keys, in fact. Thanks to this child Tvorh, she was able to extract some of the data from the Libraratory and unlock it. It is written in High Exarchian techspeak, of course, so we will need a translation.”

“We lost those capabilities with Acerbia,” Lenaa said.

“But they are still there, in the Archives.”

“This Libraratory may not be trapped, but we know beyond a doubt that the Archives grounds are.”

“The external grounds. Not the internal.”

Lenaa rolled her eyes. “To get inside, we must go through the grounds.”

“As it happens, this boy-Key also knows a path into the Archives beneath the Table.” Before anyone could object, Dorsin added, “Senrii says he swears it on his life, and she believes him. She has reason to. He showed her the Libraratory in the first place.”

Gerart nodded. “Then it’s decided.”

“I had hoped you would agree, Erus.”

“Of course I agree. Dux Dorsin. As soon as you are home, initiate an iniltration into Acerbia. Send your girl and this boy-Key back in. A Nxtlu Key for the Nxtlu data can wait; the Last Era vials take precedence.”

“Thank you, Erus.”

“Very good. Now let us hear from the others.”

The Duxes and Ductrices reported in, one by one, and the news— financial, military, social— was almost uniformly negative. Dorsin’s report was the only unassailable bright spot in the whole meeting. It stood to reason, then, that when, with a heavy heart, Gerart dismissed his family, Dorsin remained standing until the rest had departed. Only Markos remained behind, standing over his Princeps’ shoulder and awaiting orders.

“Erus,” Dorsin said.

“Yes, Dux?”

“What of my daughter, Dux? We never addressed her… state.”

“She shall remain on the path to the Comitatus,” Gerart said, turning to his notes.

“But— Erus—”

“I know, Dorsin. But I have too few resources chasing too many titles. I simply cannot afford to raise her to the rank of Comes, with all that entails. Her own fiefdom? Her own holdings? We are losing holdings by the day as it is.”

“She succeeded at her Prime Assay, Erus.”

“And admirably so, at that. But the Prime Assay was never a guarantee of rising to the Comitatus. That impression, unfortunately, was a luxury in better days, and with it we grew lazy and paid the price.”

“Erus, I told her—”

“Dorsin,” Gerart said, glancing up at his son, “if Nethress continues on its current path, it will be better for Senrii never to have been publicly associated with this family in the first place.”

Dorsin nodded slowly. “Yes. Of course, Erus.”

“Is there anything else, my son?”

“There is, father. A matter of which I feel I must inform you.”

“I am listening.”

“This boy-child, Tvorh, the Key? His mother is a subsidiary processing unit for a Tool within the Libraratory.”

Gerart put down his pen and looked at Dorsin.

“There is a chance that if the boy perceives danger to his mother, he may act rashly.”

“Any of us would, Dorsin. What of it? The mother found her way in. The boy will find a way out for her.”

“Then I am authorized to have her extracted as well, if necessary?”

“Of course.”

“Even if by doing so, we lose access to the Libraratory?”

Gerart leaned back in his chair and thought a moment. “Dorsin,” he said at last, “you are wise beyond your years.”

“Father?”

“You are wise behind your years. So use your hard won wisdom, and do what is necessary.”

“I wish I knew what that was, Father.”

Gerart gave him a long look. “Would you sacrifice our whole family for one common boy?”

“Never, Father.”

“Then do what is necessary.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I am glad we are understood. You are dismissed, Dorsin.”

As his son left the room, Gerart let out another violent sneeze. Two in one day? That was a record for him.