It was during one of these same conquests, that Legosia met the scholar Tereves, the knowing one. While other learned men whimpered under the bindings Legosia’s army carried them in, Tereves enjoyed conversation with the men.

He would repeat disturbing information, such that not a single soldier spent more than one day with the man.

Their journey back home in those days was long. Which left Legosia in the role of supervising Tereves one night.

-From the 8th Chapter of “The Remont of Elneshe”

The carriage ride to the Armon’s stronghold was usually a pleasant affair. It made Dolish better appreciate his Afterburners. The sky soothed him, clearing his mind of all worldly thoughts as he glided towards the building.

But this day was different. On his sides sat his honour guard, and beside them were the Armon’s own men. Bladeborn picked specifically to keep an eye on him. The old general grunted in their presence, hating the waste of resources.

They were the best trained men he had, and he was using them here? To guard a General who had voluntarily accepted his own detainment? All trust between His Sharpness and Dolish seemed to have corroded.

And yet he was still invited to come to tonight’s meeting. He popped out of the carriage onto an empty roof. A quick pop of his Commander aura showed that most of the occupants were inside. Though the flash of his powers still concerned the guards.

“Please refrain from using your hallowmancy near the Armon, General,” they asked him ever so politely, while clutching their blades in white knuckled hands. He scoffed, moving ahead with his honour guard.

At the entrance to the building, more guards stood than Dolish thought necessary.

“Passcode?” the first guard asked. The guards around Dolish whispered the words into their ear, and they were let go inside.

“His Sharpness isn’t having you executed, is he?” Alef asked out of the blue. Dolish gave him a flat glare, embarrassing the boy.

“Right, sorry.”

“The Armon is not a tyrant,” Dolish told him forcefully. “He simply wishes for all of his generals to be present while he decides our next move.”

They crossed the stairs leading down into the stronghold, opening up into a sparse hallway. It was still befitting the Armon’s station, but the sights around him looked… shallower than before. It was almost a mockery of its own style. A parody covering every wall and room.

No stains of the battle remained, yet echoes showed in chipped wood and cracked walls. Dolish’s guards spread out everywhere, but one of them always floated close by. A looser grip, but a grip nonetheless.

“Saeda, keep an eye on anyone suspicious,” Dolish ordered her. A Planar would react much faster than he could.

“For what?” Alef asked.

“People what have powers like you,” Borne told him. He hadn’t his usual jovial tone, and it seemed only Bark had noticed. He eyed his twin surreptitiously, wrinkling his brow.

There were no drinks, no foods being served by servants or maids in the hall. There were only tightly knit groups of ministers and soldiers, discussing in harsh but quiet tones. At the end of the hallway lay another set of double doors emblazoned with the Ravenishtani elephants. And in front of it stood more guards. Hallowed guards, by the look of their bands.

Dolish searched Amarna out, having not seen the woman in some time. She still had a bandage wrapped around her left arm, but seemed to be in good spirits. And had good spirits, by the look of her glass.

“Drinking before a meeting?” Dolish asked.

“Oh, you shut up. It’s the only thing that dulls this aching arm,” Amarna smiled, waving her hand in front of her. She eyed the group around him, noting the new faces.

“Those two are Jerre and Raisha’a replacements? A bit young…”

“But talented. I only pick qualified Bladeborn,” Dolish told her. Alef puffed up a little at the compliment, and so did Saeda.

“That you do. Did His Sharpness finally let you off your leash?” she asked. Dolish eyed the guard staring at them, and Amarna nodded.

“So, a longer leash,” she noted.

“How long have you been here, Amarna?” Dolish asked her.

“Earliest one. Nothing much else they give me to do these days. Maybe I should just retire,” she joked, grunting at the sip of her glass. Dolish had no doubt she’d put the strongest liquor she could find in there.

“Where is he, then?” Dolish asked him. Amarna’s expression tightened.

“You’re still trying to go after him?”

“Yes.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I am. Did you see him?” Dolish reiterated.

“Yennel’s been quiet. He is around, but he’s not talking to anyone.”

“Like he’s preparing for something,” Dolish guessed.

“Maybe he is. But the Armon can’t be bothered to investigate it. His Sharpness is inside the war room right now. I haven’t seen him come out to greet anyone,” Amarna said.

The doors to the room opened that moment, signalling for them to gather. Some of them hesitated to enter such a cramped space again. Dolish walked unflinchingly into the room, set up in the same concentric manner as before.

He took a seat near the edge of the circle, not wanting to distract the Armon.

The remaining chairs were taken up by the ministers, generals and brigadiers that remained. The number seemed awfully low to Dolish, and he wondered how many had chosen not to come at all. Or how many the Armon had even invited.

The chairs filled up quickly, but the chatter never died down. Dolish’s honour guard stuck back, and Amarna took a seat beside him as always. She’d snuck a bottle into the room with her, but Dolish glared her down from taking the drink.

Bewllan lit the room well enough, but it also showed that the Armon himself wasn’t present. Guards stood at the edges of the rooms, tens of them. They shuffled awkwardly, awaiting His Sharpness.

Yennel arrived as well, surrounding himself with other influential figures. Minister Malan cozied up to the Lieutenant General, but Fersh kept his distance. He was one of the only ministers Dolish respected anymore, even if he had insisted on asking for a rather dangerous favour.

Merin’s wife, Isarde, had decided not to show. She was in grieving.

Finally, the Armon arrived at the scene. But the usual aura around him was absent. His gait was quick, and an Archdevoted trailed behind him. He took his station near the middle of the room, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Let’s get started immediately.”

His robes were just slightly off in colour, and wrinkled in areas. The bags under his eyes were visible, even from Dolish’s position. And finally, the way he spoke was resigned, rather than resplendent.

His Sharpness rubbed his eyes as he spoke, addressing the room in a random order. Dolish would’ve been in awe a few months ago, had he known what he was seeing.

The Armon had come into the war room drunk.

“We’ll… We’ll shunt the talk of food to the end of the meeting. Right now, we’ve a more pressing matter,” the Armon said, ignoring the pleas of some of the ministers. It didn’t make them any more amicable towards him, and some muttered harsh words under their breath.

“Your Sharpness, if I may?” Minister Fersh spoke up. It was the first time Dolish had seen him intercede. His portly frame was covered in a tight vest.

“What is it, minister?” the Armon asked him.

“We can’t just ignore our depleting resources that easily. The people are starving, most ministers are here, and therefore unable to manage their own territories!” Fersh told them. the Armon scowled, but not towards Fersh. His grey eyes looked dull and unfocused.

“And the treasury too,” minister Malan joined in. “We’re haemorrhaging funds, Your Sharpness. With winter coming, the odds aren’t in our favour,” he told the Armon.

“Did I not say we would talk of this later?” the Armon asked them. Malan shrank, sitting back in his chair.

“Do not interrupt me again, unless and until the meeting is done and I have not addressed your concerns. Understood?” that one word reminded Dolish of the old Armon. Before Merin’s death. Authority personified.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Yes, Your Sharpness,” Fersh took the blow for both his and Malan’s sakes, receding into his seat as the Armon took a deep breath.

“Lieutenant General Yennel, if you would please,” the Armon asked him.

Yennel stood up from his chair and picked up a plotting rod from beside the table.

“Phasgoria has been attacking our supply chain consistently for the past two weeks. They’re trying to starve and force us away from Latren stronghold, judging by the location of these skirmishes,” he said, moving their pieces away from Sanasira.

“With Latren as their foothold, we cannot spare the forces needed to retake it,” the Armon said.

Yennel nodded along with His Sharpness.

“And they can explore the city unabated. We know they’ve done it once before, when General Venastian had taken an expedition. It’s only a matter of time before they find the Spear of Arneshal,” Yennel said.

“We need plans, strategies to either slow down or halt their exploration of the city. I offer the room to anyone willing to present those plans,” The Armon finished, stepping off the podium. He glanced in Dolish’s direction once, with warning eyes. He wouldn’t accept any dissenting opinions.

Dolish examined the board once more, closely this time. Their entire operation, the point of it was to keep Ravenishtan at bay. How many resources were they wasting in that endeavour?

A concentrated piercing attack of Bladeborn could break into the city, but could they bring the Spear out with them? he thought to himself.

They’d need to disguise themselves. Devourers were the obvious choice, but none were as talented as Alef in other people’s minds. The boy had a knack for it, despite his lack of confidence.

“Your Sharpness, if I may?” Yennel asked.

“Yes, Yennel?”

“They’re already going into Sanasira, are they not? We could send troops through the city easily. The entrances to the Elneshi capital are small, and don’t allow many to enter at once, making it impossible for them to overwhelm us. The traps themselves are difficult to avoid, let alone opposing Bladeborn,” Yennel told him.

“Do we have the Bladeborn to spare?” the Armon asked.

“I do. A robust number of them are still well and able, Your Sharpness,” Yennel told him.

Of course they were. They were Dolish’s troops, after all. Yennel had only stolen them from him.

“But, Your Sharpness, what of the opposition? How does Yennel intend to bring his entire section of the army into the city?” Amarna shouted a rebuttal.

“Yennel?” Armon Mortici asked.

“Sir, truth be told, we haven’t the personnel to spare. I fear that our next battle may very well be our last,” Yennel told him.

A finalizing statement. It was a heavy truth that Yennel laid out before the men. One that no one protested. Renolt may have, Dolish reminisced. He had never liked his fellow general, but looking back to the past framed things in a kinder light. Renolt was at least committed to the Armon completely.

“You are right, Lieutenant General,” the Armon admitted.

“We’ve learned all we can about Sanasira. I will bring a smaller group with me into the city, to avoid the aforementioned traps, that somehow refresh themselves on every visit. Someone doesn’t want us inside,” Yennel told them. “A confirmation of our efforts, isn’t it?”

The Armon nodded.

“So, your intent is to outnumber the enemy, hidden as they may be, and find the weapon? While we face off against the greatest threat to our nation?” the Armon asked him.

“Our troops need only stall the Phasgorians, sir. Once I have the Spear, I shall turn it against them.”

“How confident are you in your ability to discover it?”

Yennel paused for a moment. Dolish saw warring emotions on his face, shifting between doubt and confidence. What a talented actor he’d turned out to be. If they still had a king, he would’ve made a fine court jester.

“I would lay down my life for it,” Yennel told the room. That seemed to convince the room, and even Amarna stayed silent. The Armon nodded once, then turned to face the audience.

“The plan is sound. Does anyone else have any oppositions to Yennel’s proposition?” The Armon once again gave them the opportunity to respond, yet no one did.

“All in favour of Yennel’s plan?” the Armon asked.

Hands rose into the air, all except a few. Thankfully, Amarna was one of those few.

But Dolish sneered at the rest of them. Were they really so enraptured by the man’s plan? There were several logistical issues, the problem of detection, and contingencies that Yennel hadn’t accounted for. And yet no one dared to oppose him?

It was then that Dolish realized that all eyes were squarely on him. They expected him to say something in response. The Armon gave him a peculiar look, and Dolish had to choose his words carefully. In the end, he realized, this was one battle he had to give up.

“No, Your Sharpness, it is sound,” Dolish said, and the Armon nodded. The room erupted into conversation afterwards. The remaining lieutenant generals and brigadiers planned with Yennel on how best to place their troops.

Yennel himself never confronted Dolish for his advice, tacitly ignoring him at every turn. Troops were split up, formed into divisions. Placed in and around Latren, the centrepiece of the entire battle. Dolish sighed, the building would be demolished by the end of the fight.

Elephants were placed near the rear, only to be brought out later, once they’d eliminated Latren. Afterburners would lead the front, distracting the enemy while the troops took over the stronghold.

Intense hours of argument finally completed the plan. Dolish hated the engagement in the first place, but he offered his expertise to mitigate the senseless loss of life. The Armon stared intensely at the map in front of him, clenching the wood of the table in his hands.

Dolish knew the reason for his interest. This was the last chance he had to avenge his son.

“I accept this,” the Armon told them. It was the closest thing to gratitude he’d ever seen the Armon publicly display. The generals moved away from the table at his command, back to their seats.

“Before moving on, I have one more announcement. Lieutenant General, if you would,” the Armon raised himself up to the podium again, near his Archdevoted.

Yennel walked over to him and bowed his head slightly. Servants appeared in the room, carrying an emerald cushion in their hands. And on top of the cushion was a medal.

“For your services to Ravenishtan and its people, I would like to crown you our newest general,” he said, placing the medal around the man’s neck as he bowed.

“You may rise.”

Yennel straightened his back and smiled in a knowing way. Like he’d expected the turn of events.

“Fastest to reach general in the military now, isn’t he?”

“Something done quick is often not done well,” Dolish repeated an idiom Vartel had once taught him.

“I’ll honour the others of my station who have fallen before me, Your Sharpness,” Yennel proclaimed.

“I’m sure you will,” Dolish finally spoke, startling him a bit. He smiled at the new general, causing his smile to falter. Yennel only had the position over the bodies of those more deserving. Renolt may have been the epitome of Ravenishtani pride, but at least he held it in earnest.

“W-well, yes.”

Dolish began to clap for the man, followed by the rest of the room. The Armon simply stood, hands wrapped behind his back, watching with no particular interest.

This was yet another obstacle that Dolish would have to face. It would undoubtedly make the lieutenant general a greater threat, now that he stood on the same level as him.

Yennel walked back to his seat while the Armon continued, moving onto other affairs. Dolish watched as the lieutenant general glanced in his direction, an arrogant scowl plastered across his face.

****

Dolish hadn’t the time to linger. Once the meeting was done, guards appeared at his table almost immediately.

“General Venastian, we’re here to take you back to your offices,” they told him.

“And what makes you think you can do that so easily, soldier?” Dolish asked.

“We… It was the Armon’s command, sir.”

“His Sharpness told you to do this?”

“After the meeting was concluded, yes,” the guard replied.

“But His Sharpness didn’t mention the time, did he?” Dolish asked.

“…. No, he did not, sir.”

“Then I will tell you when I’m ready to leave,” Dolish told him.

He stood up with Amarna, who was holding back a slight chuckle.

“For someone so proper about rules, I never expected that from you, Dolish,” she told him.

“It’s a new trick. One Vartel tried to drill into me all those days ago,” Dolish replied.

They entered out into the main hallway once more, where he scouted out some perspective people for support. Dolish couldn’t go against Yennel alone, and he would need to prepare those he could trust instead. He didn’t expect the newly minted general to go down easily, especially once he exposed what he knew about him.

The first person he met with was Fersh himself.

“What’s wrong, Venastian?”

“Nothing. But Fersh… maybe it’s time to reconsider staying here,” Dolish told him.

“What do you mean?” the wide-built minister asked him.

“Battles are getting more dangerous. Closer. It’d be irresponsible to keep a child here, Fersh,” Dolish told him.

“The Armon needs my support, Venastian. I can’t just leave now.”

“Then at least send your boy away,” Dolish growled at him.

“Fine, I’ll… think about it,” the minister replied. His words at least had gotten through to the man, before he moved off to other people.

“Amarna?” he asked as he walked.

“Yes, Dolish?”

“Give me a list of the newly promoted lieutenant generals and ministers. We need to speak with them before Yennel can,” Dolish told her.

“Sure,” she led him towards the other ministers. Dolish did more talking in that one night than he hoped to do for a long while.

It made him want to use his field instead, but that would be cumbersome inside of the stronghold. A Commander might be powerful, but most everyone had reservations about letting one look into their soul.

He shook Brigadier Oren’s hand, the muscular boy smiling.

“I’ll be ready, General!” he said enthusiastically.

Dolish let the boy go, peeking at his guards once more. He’d made them suffer long enough, so he walked straight up to them and offered himself.

“I am ready,” Dolish told them.

They escorted him back to the rooftops, where he glanced at the railings once more. Dolish closed his eyes, trying to forget the sight he saw down there. Then he was whisked off into the skies in a carriage.

****

Dolish cycled bewl through his body again. He was hunched over a table, causing an ache in his back. But he had no time to heal it. The bewl did the trick, freeing his mind to focus on what was ahead of him.

He’d honed his sense for when a battle was coming to an end. Some whittled out, while others concluded in a bloody affair. Dolish sincerely hoped for the former, but that would only come through with his own effort.

In and around his office his honour guard stood. Vaness helped him sort through the documents, separating the important information from what felt useless.

Saeda acted as his contact with the outside world, bringing him news while he was trapped inside. She reported in every few hours to them. And Alef, Borne and Bark helped Vaness with whatever she required.

The old general rubbed his wrinkled forehead. They’d been working inside for hours at this point. His stomach growled, but Dolish ignored it.

The Armon wouldn’t launch his attack so soon, he knew that. He’d need to gather all the men, iron out the problems within their plan, scout out the enemy beforehand. It left him a chunk of time with which to counter Yennel’s plan. And that’s where the papers came in.

Everything they’d gathered from their trip into Sanasira and learned about Yennel, it was put on display.

Vaness and he looked at the board in front of them, wondering what connected them all.

A truce in Birralia, between two nations now at war.

The Weaves hidden inside of Yennel’s stronghold, that looked all too human.

The notes of the late king, scavenged from Sanasira. The Spear involved some hallowmancy, he knew that much. But nothing could bind hallowmancy permanently. It was an ability tied to the living, not bound by objects.

“Yennel could never have discovered all of this on his own. He had a benefactor,” Dolish concluded.

“Who do you think it could be, sir?” Vaness asked him.

“A treasure hunter? Perhaps a scavenger?”

When he’d visited the man before, he’d seen letters. From a friend of Yennel’s. Letters that spoke suspiciously of the ruins. And in terms that seemed too professional to Dolish.

“A… historian?” Dolish finally guessed.

Vaness looked at the board for a few moments. She was about to say something, when Saeda entered the room once again.

“It’s the Armon, general. He’s here to meet you,” Saeda said, her voice lower than usual.

“His Sharpness is here? But he never visits someone,” Borne said idly. Dolish could see a million possibilities running in Alef’s mind, so he left the room before he could voice any of them.

Near the entrance to his stronghold, stood the Armon surrounded by his men. Though he looked resplendent, he was frowning.

“General Dolish Venastian, I order you to return to Devebind.”