What seemed like an eternity later, Matt sat on the throne. He’d decided that even though a conference room or his study would be sufficient for meetings with the Low Folk, something a bit more formal was called for when he was going to be talking to someone who would be searching him for signs of weakness. Just to make sure that his message came across well, he was resting one hand on the handle of his mace, the flanged head grounded on the floor at his feet.

The door at the far end of the throne room opened, and two guards led Lord Melren inside. Matt thought he recognized one of them as a soldier of the Eighth Spears, though it wasn’t Nikles. He nodded to them, and they stepped away, leaving their prisoner alone in the throne room with him.

Well, not quite alone. His faithful bodyguards still stood in the corners of the room, ready to respond if the High Imp made any threatening moves. Given the lack of arms or armor, Matt doubted there was any chance of that. He’d even forced the lord to wear magebinding cuffs as well, so there wouldn’t be any magic tricks involved either.

Melren appeared far more confident than Tek ever had, however. Where the former High Imp chieftain had been bowed with age and gnarled with hatred, this lord stood up straight and met Matt’s eyes with a firm look. Matt studied him a moment, seeing his military bearing and the lack of hostility in his expression. There was a hint of defiance, but he thought it might be more that the High Imp was refusing to give into despair than he was trying to put on any show of rebellion.

After a long moment of silence, Matt gestured for the High Imp to approach. Melren nodded, marching quickly into the space before the throne. He bowed deeply from the hip before straightening up and looking Matt in the eye. “My liege, I am grateful that you have chosen to hear my petition.”

“It is my responsibility as King to determine who is and who is not a threat to my Kingdom, Lord Melren. This interview is to decide whether you stand among our enemies or among my friends. Do you understand?”

Melren nodded, his jaw working for a moment. “I understand, my liege. The reasons for your mistrust are not unfounded.”

“I know.” Matt let the statement hang in the air for a pair of heartbeats before he continued. “After all, testimony from both your fellow captains and the traitor Tek indicates that you knew about the plan to destroy both me and the banners that were with me. If I had not anticipated that betrayal, then this Kingdom would be in dire straits, with both Itrelia’s rebels and the Noble Races poised for our destruction.”

Matt leaned forward, his eyes intent on the nobleman. “Explain, then, why I should ignore that fact and accept you into my service again.”

The High Imp did not respond immediately. Instead, Melren spent a few heartbeats swallowing and looking away. When he looked up again, his expression had grown determined. “My liege, what I would encourage you to remember is the timeline of these events. While yes, I did know of the plot, I did not find out about it until over a full day after your departure. Any attempt to warn you would certainly have arrived late. I had no chance to fulfill my oaths of allegiance to you.”

Matt tilted his head to one side. “Yet you could have chosen to avenge me. Even if I had been taken or killed, you could have exposed or killed the traitor whose actions led to my death.”

“My liege, I commanded only a single banner. If I had attempted to act against Lord Tek alone, I would not have had much of a chance to succeed.” Melren looked down. “Even if I had been able to do so, I did not know what the situation would be to our east. If you had been killed, and the enemy was at our gates…”

Melren seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Then he sighed a little, and met Matt’s eyes again. This time, there was defiance in his stare. “For the safety of my people, it would have been my responsibility to back the usurper. The just reward for his actions would have needed to wait until the threat had been dealt with.”

Matt waited for the nobleman to continue, but Melren appeared to have finished his defense. “You say this, knowing that Tek would have been responsible for that situation?”

“I do, my liege.” Melren shook his head. “It would not have sat well with me, but not all of the choices we make in this world are pleasant ones. If a bastard like Tek had taken the throne with treachery, he would not have been the first to do so—and if I had killed him, who would have led the defense of Redspire? I doubt I would have survived to do so. Not with one banner against two.”

The nobleman fell silent again, his shoulders slumping slightly. He turned away, facing the red stained windows that dominated the throne room wall. “I will not say that my actions were the right ones, my liege. I know that they were not perfect, but I feel I did the best I could in a poor situation. If you will hold me accountable for those choices, I will not protest. I only ask that you spare my men and accept them into your service. You will need them in the coming days, and…they deserve the chance to defend their homeland. Please do not send them away.”

Matt watched him a moment longer, seeing the regret and resignation on Melren’s face. He could feel the lifeguards watching as well. They were weighing the conversation, and he knew the details would eventually filter their way back to not just the nobles, but the soldiers as well. If he spared the nobleman, would the soldiers view it as a favor to them, or a favor given to a spoiled lordling? Would the nobility see it as a weakness, or a sign of mercy? If he executed Melren, would the people see it as needless cruelty, or simple justice?

The questions chased themselves around in his head for a moment longer. He eventually dismissed them. It wouldn’t be entirely possible to know ahead of time how others would judge his actions, and counting on people to react in a particular way was a swift road to tragedy. Better, then, to ask himself what he wanted from this situation. What legacy did he hope to instill in his reign?

His answer came echoing back to him, and Matt smiled a little. He pushed himself up and out of his throne, bringing his mace up to swing lightly from his hand. “Lord Melren, the troops you commanded were primarily users of magic, correct?”

Melren turned from the window to look back at Matt. His eyes caught the sight of the mace in Matt’s hand, and his expression grew dark and unhappy. He still answered, however, in the voice of someone that already seemed to be expecting the worst. “Yes, my liege. They specialize in fighting enemy mages, especially Knights or Wizards. They are capable mages themselves, and among our best.”

“It would be a shame to lose their loyalty, then.” Matt nodded to himself as he walked up beside the captain, joining him in his study of the window. He could almost sense the guards growing tense, as if they were expecting Melren to make a move. Given that the High Imp was bound and disarmed, Matt didn’t think it was likely, but he respected their diligence.

He looked out the window for a few moments, and then turned to Melren. “I believe you are sincere, Lord Melren. You were presented with as foul a situation as anyone ever could face, but you acted as you saw fit in defense of the people.”

Melren looked back at him. Some of the tension went out of the High Imp’s shoulders, and he bowed slightly. “Thank you, sire.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot allow anyone to challenge my rule. Not while I reign, and not for even what they believe are good reasons.” Matt turned back to the window. “I cannot allow a peer of the realm to betray me, even by mistake, without suffering for it.”

This time, Melren’s answer took longer to arrive. “I…understand, my liege. I am ready for your judgement.”

“Are you?” Matt glanced at him. “To try you, I would need to bring you before the Grand Council. Doing so will cause some dissension there, for they will see, as I do, that you are a good man. That despite your flaws, you deserve some measure of clemency. Clemency that I cannot give.”

Matt turned away and walked back towards the center of the room. He gestured casually with the mace in his hand. “At the same time, I need unity within the Council. We have trials ahead that we still need to face, and I am reluctant to divide them now. Especially since I will have need of your men.”

He stopped in the middle of the room, turning back to Melren with the mace pointing at him. “So I will offer you a choice, Lord Melren, and allow you to decide where your honor lies. You can accept the judgement of the Grand Council, and likely be condemned to death for your actions. In doing so, you will stain not only your own honor, but you will endanger the people that you risked yourself to protect.”

Then he lowered the mace. “Your other choice is to abandon your titles. To stop being Lord Melren and choose to swear yourself to my service as a freeholder. You will surrender your command of the High Guard, and become an advisor rather than a commander. Your family will come here to live, the majority of your property will be sold, and any serfs that owe you their service will become your equals as freeholders. In this way, you can continue to serve the Kingdom, and at the cost of your title, you can redeem your honor.”

Melren stared at him, obviously stricken. Matt smiled in sympathy and shrugged. “What is your decision, Lord Melren?”

The High Imp did not answer immediately. In fact, it took nearly a minute of silence before the struggling nobleman managed to respond. “It is…not an easy thing you ask, my liege. To give up the titles my family have earned, that have defined us…”

“What is lost can be regained. So long as there is life, there is hope.” Matt gestured with his mace again, as if to take in the entire city beyond the windows. “And what good are titles if honor does not accompany them?”

Melren turned and stared back out the windows. He seemed entranced by the sight of Redspire below them, even tinted by the stained glass. “You really believe you can save them, sire? That our Kingdom can be preserved?”

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“I do.” Matt kept his voice firm. There was no room for quibbling, not now. “All they need is the chance, and good men and women to lead them.”

The nobleman bowed his head. “Then I will accept my liege. I commit myself to your service for the rest of my life.”

Matt nodded. “Then I will publish the decree immediately. I welcome you to my retinue, Melren. Let us work for the good of the Kingdom, for the rest of my reign.”

Melren’s shoulders slumped again. He recognized a measure of grief in that stance, as well as a fair amount of relief. Given that the High Imp had to have expected death for his mistakes, it must have been baffling to see the change in his life’s course. Then he turned and dropped to one knee. “I live to serve, my liege. What is your command?”

“Well, first I’ll need to summon my steward to handle the details. After that, however…” Matt smiled. “I think it is time someone started to teach me about magic.”

Matt fell into his bed with a quiet groan.

He’d have thought that things would be less exhausting in his capital than they had been riding around in enemy territory, but he had been incredibly mistaken. A part of him was actually longing for the chance to ride out again, if only to avoid the parade of meetings, interviews, and decisions that he’d had to go through in just a single day.

Of course, part of it was his fault for leaving the capital for so long to begin with. A lot of the things he’d needed to care for had been decisions which had piled up in his absence. He probably wouldn’t need to execute a traitor in the middle of the Grand Council every day, for example, but that didn’t mean that the Kingdom wasn’t going to come up with some new way to torment him as the days wore on.

At the same time, there were several bonuses to sleeping in the palace rather than in the mud in the wilderness somewhere. For one, he had an actual bed to fall into, with a mattress and pillows and everything. So there was that.

Matt rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. He’d already survived for well over a month at this point, but he wondered how things were going to go in the near future. Winter was coming, and he had no doubt that it would bring its own problems, but he also knew it would give him time to plan. To prepare for the storm he knew would come in the spring. If he could manage to survive past that…

His plans and the problems that went along with them were still whirling through his head when sleep took him.

The next day dawned far too early, with a diffident knock at Matt’s door.

He jerked awake with sudden panic, expecting a howling warband of Knights, Elves, and Wizards to burst through the door and drag him from his bed. When nothing greeted him but a dim autumn morning, he half-fell back into the bed with a groan. The knock at the door repeated, slightly louder, and Matt put a hand over his eyes. “One moment. I’ll be right there.”

Struggling to get out of his bed, Matt grabbed at a robe and belted it on. He staggered over to the door, the stiffness of sleep robbing him of his dexterity. When he reached the door, he took a moment to check for his mace, which he had left leaning up against the wall. It wasn’t the best defensive weapon, but it would give him something to swing at least.

He opened the door carefully, trying to stand in a way that would limit anyone trying to stab at him through the opening. “Yes?”

Gorfeld stood outside the door, already dressed and almost offensively alert. He bowed slightly. “Good morning to you, sire. Are you ready to begin your day?”

The steward glanced slightly behind him, and Matt followed the hint. He saw a small band of Goblins, Imps, and Orcs waiting. They wore servants’ uniforms, and were wielding a terrifying amount of clothing, brushes, and other implements. It appeared the palace staff was done with allowing him to care for himself.

He weighed trying to refuse for a moment. After all, they were servants; he didn’t need to worry about their feelings and opinions. At the same time, more kings died to supposedly unimportant people who happened to have access to their food and bedchambers than history liked to admit. Was that risk worth the chance to dress and groom himself?

Matt sighed. “Give me a moment. I’ll be right out.”

He tried not to notice Gorfeld’s smirk as he closed the door. One day, he was going to ‘reward’ his steward with something unpleasant. Not now, but soon.

“Magic is a difficult discipline to master, but the rewards are well worth the cost.”

Matt struggled to focus. His body already ached in a dozen different places. Now that he had returned to the city, Gorfeld had encouraged him to resume his training with Sergeant Nikles and the others, which had resulted in an early morning ride over to the barracks. While he’d been happy to see that the Orc had survived the chaos in Redspire, Nikles had been just as happy to pummel him half-senseless. The bruises and soreness were terribly familiar, but having been in actual combat, Matt knew it would keep him alive just that much longer.

After that, he’d met again with the Low Folk Assembly, as well as making the announcement of Melren’s conditional pardon to the Grand Council. The noblemen had received the news of the demotion of one of their peers with some uneasiness, but Lord Torth had led the chamber in applauding the move. There had been a few other matters of business while he’d overseen them, just appointments for various positions as magistrates and officers, but nothing that he thought had been very concerning.

Now, though, he’d finally reserved an hour or two for his newest area of concern. Unfortunately, his fatigue was making it hard to pay attention to whatever academic nonsense that Melren was saying. They’d met in a small classroom of sorts, with a handful of writing desks and a slate chalkboard that Melren was using to scribble some arcane diagrams with unfamiliar notation. It might as well have been actual Greek to Matt, for all he could understand it.

The disgraced High Imp paused mid-sketch, as if sensing a problem. He glanced at Gorfeld, who was watching the proceedings with interest. “Is there some problem, my liege? If this would be better heard at another time…”

“No, no, I apologize.” Matt sighed. “There are just a lot of things on my mind. Let’s continue.”

Melren nodded uncertainly, glancing at Gorfeld again. The steward made an encouraging gesture, and the former lord nodded. “Perhaps it would be best to focus on fundamentals. As you know, the source of your magic is just as important as your skill. If you draw from a—”

Matt’s eyes suddenly narrowed. He gestured for Melren to pause. “One second. Where does the magic come from?”

Melren blinked. “Your pardon, my liege?”

“I come from a world where magic doesn’t exist, Melren. At least, not in any important way.” Matt grimaced. “If the source of magic is important, then I guess knowing a bit more about how it all works would be a good point to start.”

“I…see.” Melren passed for a few moments, his head bowed in concentration. When he looked up again, there was a bit of humor in his expression. “Now it makes sense why you didn’t understand earlier, my liege. I apologize for not realizing the issue.”

Matt waved away the apology, and Melren turned back to the slate board mounted on the wall. He reached up and scrubbed the chalk outlines from the board. When he took up the chalk again, he held it loosely for a moment. “Let’s see. Simple, fundamental…”

He reached up and sketched out a brief square on the board, anchoring the corners with four different symbols. “The first and most fundamental source of magic comes from the Wheel of Elements. They consist of Fire, Earth, Water, and Air.”

Matt nodded. So far, it seemed relatively familiar.

Melren stepped to the side, and drew a circle, with another four symbols anchoring it. “These Elements are then modified by the Seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.”

He nodded again, slower this time. The combination of Season with Element meant there were sixteen different combinations. Definitely more complicated, but not too bad. At least it wasn’t as bad as a periodic table.

Then the High Imp stepped further to the side and began a triangle. This time, there were symbols on each corner, and a fourth in the middle. “In addition, there are the four Aspects. Body, Mind, Heart, and Soul. Each of these can be used in conjunction with the Seasons and Elements in order to construct a Spell or Enchantment.”

Matt felt a dull ache start to form behind his eyes. Sixteen variations were one thing; sixty-four was quite something else. No wonder it had been confusing before.

Below the three shapes, Melren began a new sketch, drawing a triangle, then a circle around it, then a square around both. “Taken together—Element, Season, Aspect—they are then referred to as your Source. The foundation, so to speak, of your power.”

The headache was getting a little worse. “So how do you access the different Sources? Is there a trick to it?”

Melren looked back at him in surprise. “Before you can access a Source, you must first build that Source within yourself. It isn’t as simple as just reaching out and grasping the powers of the world. You must develop the part of yourself that harmonizes with them.”

He turned back to the board and scratched out a list alongside the three-shapes-in-one. “To build a Source, you must practice the mantras associated with it. Each mantra can shape the resulting Source, starting with the Element, then the Season, then the Aspect. Once you have built the Source has within you, you must maintain and fortify it. Otherwise, it may fail you when you try to use it for a Spell. Such failures are… unpleasant.”

Matt grunted. The way Melren had said that last part made it seem rather lethal. Not a good idea to rush the process, then. “So I assume that the stronger your Source, the better the Spells you can use will be?”

“Exactly.” Melren underlined the first three items of the list, then added another. “If you intend to use magic regularly, you must take care to build this foundation well. Once you construct it, however, there are a number of ways you can use it. Learning the associated Spell Chants will then allow you to have access to those skills. They also require strict memorization; altering a Spell Chant can also lead to unfortunate results.”

“I see.” Matt studied the list carefully. “Is there a way to figure out what kind of Spell Chants are available for each Source?”

“Every mage has their own list of Spell Chants. Researching new ones is a delicate and dangerous art; new Spells are often heavily guarded.” Melren grimaced. “In fact, Wizards often base their power on what Spells their Order has mastered and shared, and spreading knowledge of any but the most basic is considered treason.”

“So we’ll only have access to certain ones, then. Even then, I can imagine that many of the noble houses tend to keep their Chants secret unless they have to reveal them.” Matt glanced at Gorfeld, who nodded.

“This is true, my liege.” Melren smiled. “Of course, as the King, you have access to any Spell Chants that your subjects have available. I would encourage you to study which ones you wish to master and then build your Sources based on that.”

Matt frowned, studying the board. “How long does it take to form a Source? Is there any limit on how many you can make?”

Melren glanced at Gorfeld again, his expression suddenly unreadable. “It depends on the person, and the access that they have to the underlying Mana of the world. Most Low Folk have barely enough Mana for a single Source, if they have any at all. More noble houses tend to enjoy access to much greater amounts of Mana, and as a result have far greater abilities in Magic.”

Matt felt his frown grow deeper. Something about that statement felt wrong. “Are you sure about that, Melren? Have you experienced any reduction in Mana without your title?”

The former nobleman blinked, before frowning as well. “No, my liege, but I retain my noble lineage in my blood, at least. It would not be a surprise to find that I retain my magical abilities.”

It still seemed wrong to him. “Have there been any experiments with this theory?”

The Imps exchanged another baffled look. “Experiments, my liege?”

“Have they ever taken a member of the Low Folk and a member of the nobility, and then given them the same access to time and knowledge to see which one manages to build more Sources?”

There was a moment of silence. Melren and Gorfeld looked at one another. This time, their expressions were very different. The former nobleman looked uncertain and worried; the steward looked curiously defiant and resentful. When Melren responded this time, his obvious unhappiness was clear. “No, my liege. We have not.”

Matt sat back in his seat. For him, at least, it was fairly clear exactly how magic had ended up mostly in noble hands. He could be wrong, but he’d bet that the average serf had less time to practice the endless mantras compared to their noble masters—and it was fairly clear that likely had more to do with it than the power of noble blood. “Thank you, Melren. Please continue.”

His mind already spinning with plans, Matt settled in for the rest of his magic lesson. He still had plenty of work to do.