Suggested Listening

 Lemia tried her best not to stare at Engewal's fortified entrance, but she had never witnessed such splendor before. Save, perhaps, the city-in-the-branches of Sonhome. What did they use to make white walls for a city this size? It couldn't be direct magic, such an expenditure of power to cover a city this size would be detectable from the other side of the planet. A pity Ketak stayed behind, she should have more expertise on the subject. Or was it racist to assume that because she was a dwarf, she'd know about stone construction?

 "The stone is from the ash of Emperor Enge, coupled with sand and limestone," their guide said. "Crafted through techniques taught to our ancestors. Then, as now, our god provided for us."

 Lemia offered a lopsided smile at the woman dressed in the finery of a royal guard. Her blue hair was short, kept in the style of a military commander, which reminded Lemia to some day ask Cali why she kept her hair long. "Was I that obvious?"

 "I can tell you're the scholarly type, if that's what you mean," she said. As usual, she was brusque, and bordered on the impolite. "However, it is part of my duty to tell all guests of the city about our blessed walls."

 Lemia chose to bite her tongue; there was nothing that could be gained in asking one of the highest ranking officials in the empire why she had such an attitude problem. Instead, she turned her attention to Elruin. "Ell? You're doing it again."

 The black energy of Elruin's magic leaked from her eyes like fire as she watched the walls. "Sorry." Elruin blinked, her eyes returned to their new normal. It seemed the whites of her eyes were now black to stay. "I can see why Claron was afraid to attack Engewal directly."

 "Assuming the claims that this pretender to the throne was, indeed, Lord Claron. You haven't provided much evidence."

 Again with this insistence that he was a pretender? Lemia bit her tongue, for there was no right approach. Of a greater concern than the conversation was the fact that there were multiple soldiers with them, some of the best Engewal had to offer, and all of them were nervous about the child necromancer with black eyes. It struck her as unlikely that they were a match for even one of them without special preparations.

 "Ylasa, sister, I feel you should add context." The male lead of their honor guard interjected. He bore a strong resemblance to his sister, a strong, tall man with somewhat effeminate features which Lemia found more attractive than she wanted to admit.

 He addressed his sibling in order to question their guests, maintaining the standards of polite society. "They cannot know the disruption caused when we heard the rumors that our half-brother, or an impostor claiming to be him, lead the Ghosts of Sorvel. Nor could they have realized that we were sent to identify the body, and mayhap we could have been spared some suspense if we were informed he was maimed to unrecognizability in a zone of distorted magic. I'm sure the lost Eye of Enge weighs heavy on your mind as well."

 "What Weran said." Ylasa didn't so much as look at them.

 Lemia could tell there was significantly more beneath the surface there. "If it is any consolation, the artifact wasn't one created by Enge. At best, it was a tribute. At worst, a forgery. Either way, no true treasure of the Emperor."

 "Oh?" Ylasa still looked forward, but she appeared to relax. "What makes you believe that?"

 "The fact that we're standing here," Lemia said. "We suspected from the beginning, when the dryad of Arila defied him, and none of the priests received the divine message of a Chosen having arrived. But the proof is that we, a handful of mortals, could overwhelm the pretender. Our traps and the warped magic zone did most of the work, but it could never have been enough to defeat Enge's power. So I must believe our victory is proof that Enge was not aiding the pretender."

 "So it would seem, on the surface," Ylasa said. "But there is much that doesn't make sense. That the pretender died to the hand of the very child he claimed he wanted to slay in Enge's name."

 "I'm no theologian," Lemia said. "Nor a military scholar. I claim little knowledge of the inner thoughts of generals, and would not dare question the mind of a god."

 "Sister, please, you cannot expect they would have answers even Lady Nalet na Enge could not provide? We will have to rely on our exorcists and inquisitors to take the information from the pretender's remains."

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 "They will fail," Elruin said. Then she realized she was looking at Weran instead of Ylasa. "Sorry." She looked down with hands clasped together, as demure and quiet as possible. She would have to mind her manners better after her adventures in the woods.

 "How can you know that?" Ylasa asked. She chose to take advantage of the child's improper behavior to interrogate her some.

 "We used a lot of magic to attack him," she said. "When I killed him, it was with the strongest necromancy I could use, then I kept using it on him even after he died, to be certain he could never be brought back again. There is nothing left for an exorcist to find." It was true, even if she left out that the one who did most of the heavy lifting was Scratch.

Lemia put her hand on Elruin's shoulder. "Maybe we should save this conversation for when we meet with the queen's advisors." These people were nervous enough as it was, and each one was amongst Engewal's strongest. Worse still, the more Elruin talked, the more they might learn about her abilities, which could be a disaster. "We have a lot to tell."

"Very well."

Suggested Listening

Lemia could not have been more wrong. They were led to the palace, as expected, but instead of their 'honor' guard leading them to some isolated corner of the mansion where they would be interrogated for hours, they were greeted by the queen herself.

"Your majesty!" Lemia knelt, doing her best to imitate what Calenda did before, but she dropped to hard. The tingling sensation in her knee on down would have to be ignored for the moment.

"Please, stand. No need for formalities, call me Queen Amiris." She then smiled. "Well, I suppose there's some need for formalities. I would do away with them if I could, but even queens have their limits."

"Yes, Queen Amiris." Lemia stood slowly, trying her best to hide the newly created weakness in her leg. The regenerative sarite would help her along.

The queen looked at the young woman and child who helped deal the crippling blows to the rebellion. "You're the one who killed Lord Claron?"

"Mother, is it appropriate to..." Ylasa started to interrupt.

"Your father's not here," Queen Amiris said. "He may want to deny it, but everyone else in the kingdom knows the truth. Right now, he'll be with the body. Here's hoping he doesn't try something so foolish as resurrecting him. Such sentimentality is unbecoming of a king."

Whatever opinions they may have had on the subject, nobody present was willing to contradict the queen. Ylasa did speak on another matter. "The necromancer claims it won't be possible to resurrect him, and indeed all attempts to reach his soul will fail."

"Is that so?" Queen Amiris smiled when Elruin nodded. She would need to consult with her Archmage to determine how probable it was that a child would have power enough to block resurrection magic, but that was a task for later. "If true, you have done a greater service to the empire than you realize."

"M... Queen Amiris, if I may?" Lemia waited for confirmation. "Is there any danger that the king might retaliate against us?"

Amiris kept smiling. "You needn't worry, it simply means we'll need to maintain the official fiction that the pretender was impersonating Lord Claron. Perhaps he made use of illusion or shapechanging magic. Did you detect any such magic? Do you have means to do so?"

"We have some means to deal with certain illusions." Sensing traps in all conceivable directions, Lemia chose her words knowing there was a real chance that everyone in this hall other than Elruin and herself were Truthsayers. "However, I don't believe anyone in our team ever witnessed the official Lord Claron with our own eyes. How could we spot a fake if we never saw the original? I can swear with certainty we fought a tall, male, forge mage with blue hair and normal copper skin like most of ours. Elruin, did you notice anything that could sort him from anyone else?"

"No," she said. Remembering Scratch and the words he spoke, she elaborated. "I think I could tell if he was using magic to change his shape, so I don't think he was. Lady Calenda said I have a talent for sensing magic."

"Even without illusions, what you say describes thousands within the empire." Queen Amiris didn't try to hide the approval in her voice. "Forge mages are the most common bloodline we have."

"And if I'm honest, I can't swear he was even a forge mage." If the queen wanted plausible deniability, Lemia was willing to give it her best. Anything to keep an irate king from ordering their executions. "In the confusion of battle, it was impossible to determine where the man's power ended, and the artifact's began. It was more powerful than any artifact I have ever seen."

"Which means thousands could be millions" The queen looked at those few escorts entrusted to be at this meeting. None of them showed an expression, but that was the sign that was given if the truth was being spoken. "That is an interesting theory, I shall pass it along post haste. For now, let us get you into dresses for the ball."

"A ball?" Lemia hesitated; the idea of Elruin in a social situation was hilariously bad. She latched on to what Calenda said of rejecting bribes and extracting charity for the victims of the war. "Are you sure it's appropriate to celebrate while there is a war going on?"

"You would be correct, but the war is over," the queen said. "Your Priestess Esra delivered the news to Arila, and the Ghosts were routed within the hour. Lyra's new keeper is far more proactive than the former. Once Arila fell and it became clear their pretender wasn't going to come to save them, the counter-rebellions were merciless and thorough. Those that did not flee are either dead or in our custody. It was a crushing victory. Now come along, people are desperate to meet the heroes of the hour."

 So much for talking our way out of it. "When you put it that way, how could we refuse?"