Aelityr Tyridon Noriloch, Highest of his Name of House Noriloch, Sovereign of Lannitar, Emperor of the Endless Domain of Lancor by Her Divine Grace, was a sufficiently easygoing fellow that when he found himself playing the role of a common servant, lugging heavy objects around with no one having told him what was going on or why, he found the whole thing rather amusing. Part of it was his own fault, anyway; the priests had offered to carry the chest. But since it contained an appreciable percent of the Empire’s miracle fund and he didn’t know what was going on, the Emperor declined to let it out of his grasp until both it and he reached their destination and he was satisfied that none of this turned out to be as silly as he was starting to suspect it might be.
Of course, all of the priests were circumspect enough to studiously not notice that their Emperor was slightly out of breath by the end of their journey through the Temple of Crystalline Gold. Aelityr himself had found some cause to regret his assumption that he could easily haul a box the size of his torso filled with coins, though fortunately he was in better shape than many who worked in the realm of politics. One didn’t become, much less remain, an Emperor by shying away from difficult tasks, even if the difficulty was somewhat less…intellectual than he was accustomed to.
“You now walk in the most hallowed of Her halls, your Most August Excellency,” intoned Divinus Heminoch as the most recent set of heavy doors was shut behind them and an arched corridor stretched forward to the next and hopefully final set. It had certainly not escaped his notice that they’d shed the last of the Temple paladins escorting them, the Goddess’s holy warriors having stayed behind to shut that last door. There were none left in the party now but elves: the Emperor, the Divinus, and another priestess whom Aelityr did not know and who apparently had not yet merited an introduction.
Aelityr nodded with the most solemn expression he could manage with his mouth open; breathing through his nose at this moment tended to produce a most undignified whistling sound.
The corridor, clearly designed for visual effect with its pointed arched supports with the sourceless crystalline lights for which Lannitar was famous embedded right into them, was blessedly not that long. They crossed it in a dozen or so strides, whereupon the unnamed priestess ducked forward to open the door for them with a diffident bow.
To Aelityr’s surprise, Heminoch graciously gestured him to be first through the door. Nearly everyone yielded the right of way to the Emperor, of course, but here in the Temple of all places the Divinus was entitled to that prerogative. Still, he wasn’t shy about the opportunity to put down the box.
Inside was a most curious shrine. The door opened directly onto a small foyer area cut to the same dimensions as the hall behind it, which itself opened directly into an octagonal dome supported by the same pointed arches, rising to a sharp peak into which was set one of the crystal lamps. Shelves packed with books and scrolls lined the walls of the foyer, while a variety of artifacts were displayed along the periphery of the domed area, but the Emperor was too distracted to pay them much notice. Both by his increasingly strained arms, and the central contents of the shrine itself.
In its center stood a Spirit altar. This was a most unusual place to find a Spirit; there were no others within Lannitar itself. Prior to this moment, Aelityr would have said there were none in the city at all.
“Your Excellency?” the priestess prompted softly, gesturing toward an empty stand along the right wall of the foyer. Technically not the proper full address of one of her rank to the Emperor, but Aelityr wasn’t inclined to stand on ceremony when she was clearly helping him out. On a matching stand on the other side of the foyer was a similar akorshil chest, this one opened to reveal the neatly stacked coins within, obviously the Radiant Temple’s contribution to the miracle fund.
He carefully set his burden down in the indicated spot, and carefully did not breathe a sigh of relief or flex his lower back.
“Her Temple is grateful for your forbearance, your Most August Excellency,” Divinus Heminoch said with far greater pomp, as if to compensate for her shortcomings. “These events must be most puzzling. I appreciate the grace with which your Excellency has met Her Temple’s requests.”
“I do only what I must to further Her will,” Aelityr demurred, pleased to find his voice even and his breath not noticeably labored. “One not ought receive praise merely for serving the Goddess, but scorn for failing to do so.”
“Her will be done,” the priestess murmured.
Not that he wasn’t immensely curious. Rarely during his reign had Aelityr been called upon to execute one of the Sealed Precepts, but here they were. The Precept had been validated by his stewards and viziers, unusual as the request was, and so he had reported here as summoned with a portion of the Empire’s miracle fund. The priests had of course treated him with all due respect and courtesy, not that he had expected otherwise. There was no chance of this being any kind of scheme against him; this was Lannitar, and in particular the Temple of Crystalline Gold. Such things were not done. Aelityr might be occasionally irritated by the existence of Sealed Precepts as a concept, but even an Emperor must answer to higher powers, and his refusal to obey one would have triggered a crisis that likely culminated in his violent removal from the throne.
As if he needed such impetus to obey. An Emperor served the people and the Goddess. It might rankle, having to subject himself to arbitrary demands which invoked the power of ancient scrolls he wasn’t allowed to have read beforehand, but that was the test. A person who considered himself answerable to no one must not be permitted to hold an Emperor’s power.
“Now that we are securely within the shrine, your Excellency, I may reveal all,” the Divinus said, stepping forward and indicating the Spirit with one outstretched hand. “When the Goddess executed the miracle at your most revered ancestor’s behest which created this great city, along with the Ethereal Palace and the Temple of Crystalline Gold, this Spirit was found within, at this shrine built to house, protect, and conceal it. Rarely have new Spirits been brought forth within the memory of the living. Few indeed are they which do not date from the Goddess’s creation of Ephemera.”
“And what is the Spirit’s nature?” the Emperor asked, as the Divinus expected him to. There was a rhythm to these things.
“The price it demands is in the coin of the Goddess and Her Dark Sister,” Heminoch explained. “My predecessors have found that, as with the purchase of miracles, it accepts Viryan coin as well, though obviously we prefer not to have such things within this Temple. The price is less than that of miracles by far, but it is still…not small, your Excellency. By ancient pact as recorded in the Sealed Precepts, the Empire and the Temple have agreed to pool resources when it is agreed that the Spirit must be consulted. And by the same pact, such agreement is necessary,” he emphasized, regarding Aelityr solemnly. “Should your Most August Excellency, upon hearing the full explanation of these events, not concur that an invocation of the Spirit is called for, you shall return to the Palace with the Empire’s coin untouched, bearing no ill will from the Temple.”
“I hardly suspect that your Reverence would have invoked the Precept were the need not real, Divinus,” Aelityr replied, inclining his head courteously, “but of course I must learn the full truth before I can make a judgment.”
“Of course, your Excellency,” Heminoch said, nodding to precisely the same degree. “Once its price is paid, the Spirit’s gift… It calls forth the memories, or perhaps the souls, it is not clear, of past Heroes. They will exist for only a short time, but they may be spoken with, asked questions, as if the living Heroes stood here in the flesh.”
“I see,” the Emperor murmured, still withholding judgment. Obviously, that was a thing of tremendous value to historians and the like, but it did not begin to explain why the Temple and Empire had agreed it important enough to create a Sealed Precept. So far, he hadn’t even heard a good enough justification for dipping into the miracle fund.
“Of key import is the Spirit’s inherent limitation,” Divinus Heminoch continued. “Its summoned memories of long-dead Heroes are empowered, or activated, or in some manner influenced by the existence of the currently living Hero. The Spirit is only active and able to be used when a Hero walks the isles of Ephemera.”
Despite his years of political training, Aelityr’s breath caught. He looked at the Spirit altar, seeing the soft glow of its engravings indicating that it stood ready to be approached.
There was a Hero. Now, within his lifetime—within his reign. And if there was a living Hero…
“Then a Dark Lord has risen, as well,” he said aloud.
Elves did not tend to get lined faces with age, but the Divinus’s expression drew taught, his brow wrinkling with worry. “The timing…is not always precise, your Excellency. The two overlap by necessity of their nature, but their summoning is not necessarily simultaneous.”
“Sometimes Heroes are called only once a Dark Lord has gained power,” Aelityr said, nodding. “Your knowledge of the history and lore doubtless vastly exceeds my own, Divinus. Has there ever been a case of a Hero rising before a Dark Lord has appeared?”
Heminoch closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them to meet the Emperor’s gaze when he answered. “Never within our records, your Excellency.”
“Then the Dark Crusade has begun,” Aelityr whispered. “May She shelter and guide us all. There must be more, Divinus?”
“Indeed,” Heminoch agreed, “this alone is a warning, but would not justify the cost of invoking the Spirit. Its true value is that the summoned shades of Heroes past find themselves influenced by the Hero present. When they tell us of their lives, details of their currently living counterpart slip in by seeming mistake. This provides us a way to learn about the Hero. In the past—and perhaps the future—this can be used to reveal things about the Hero’s intentions or methods, should they not choose to cooperate with the Goddess’s faithful. Some…have not. But its greatest and most immediate use is now, at the very beginning, when these little slips may provide us with hints that can be followed to learn who and where the Hero is. He or she must be found, and brought to Lannitar. Only here can the Hero receive the necessary support and training to fulfill their destiny.”
“Then truly, I see the need for this,” the Emperor said, himself now frowning in thought. Heminoch’s statement was true on the face of it—Heroes needed support, and early on in particular they benefited greatly from proper training and resources. What the Divinus left unsaid was that the Lancor Empire was far from the only Sanorite nation of note which would consider itself the proper polity to provide this. Nor was it unlikely that some others had comparable methods of early notice that a Hero had risen. Lancor and its Radiant Temple were now in competition with an unknowable number of powerful rivals to be the nation which found and adopted the next Champion of Sanora.
Why did this have to happen within his lifetime? It had been such a peaceful era so far…
The Divinus nodded gravely, then gestured to the priestess, who had stood silently by while they spoke. “This is Ilvirene Iliod Nimunon, a Sister of the Radiant Order. She is the Temple’s currently foremost expert on the histories of the Heroes. The knowledge of this Spirit must be restricted as much as possible, your Excellency, but her expertise is necessary for our purpose. If anyone can spot the historical discrepancies in anything said to us by the Heroes of the past, it is she. And it is those discrepancies on which we must rely to find the Hero of the present.”
“We are pleased to have the benefit of your invaluable aid, Lady Sister,” Aelityr said courteously. So, she was a noblewoman, then. House Nimunon’s base of power was way off in one of the Empire’s most remote southern provinces, but that was still a respectable bloodline. Looking at her more closely now, he noted a metal-bound magnifying lens hanging on a chain next to her Temple amulet. And, he observed with amusement, ink stains on her fingernails.
“Your Most August Excellency honors me far too much,” Sister Ilvirene said, bowing deeply. “It is no less than my privilege to serve the Goddess and the Empire.”
“The Empire thanks you for bringing this to our attention, Divinus,” Aelityr said to Heminoch in the formal inflection that momentous occasions required, even when they spoke under a veil of secrecy with an audience of only one. These things must be done in the proper way. “We concur with your assessment that the Spirit must be consulted. Obviously this is a matter of great urgency. The Hero must be found.”
“Your Most August Excellency continues your line’s revered tradition of faithful service to the Goddess,” the Divinus replied in the same cadence. “We are blessed by Her will, that so able a servant of Sanora sits the throne when these times have come upon us again.”
Proprieties were important, but Aelityr still found himself grateful that there wasn’t a lot more to it than that. They were, after all, alone. It was Sister Ilvirene who counted out an equal measure of coins from both chests. Star coins, every one. The Emperor and the Divinus stepped forward to the edge of the shrine, but it was the priestess who carefully laid each stack of coins in a row along the Spirit’s base.
Clearly she’d been told the correct amount beforehand; once the last stack had been placed, they immediately began to glow. Only for a second, and then the coins lifted slowly into the air, each outlined by light. It faded quickly, and when the light went, so did the money. An entire fortune, vanishing into nothing.
Aelitry barely managed not to wince. He was no miser, but those coins were drawn from taxes and tithes. The labor of his people, all their diligence to country and faith, vanished like a sunset.
This had better be worth it.
The Spirit pulsed to light, as Sister Ilvirene scurried back to grab a notebook and pen, watching with an avid expression and clearly preparing to take notes. A historian through and through, this one. Aelityr and Heminoch simply stood with the dignity of their stations, watching as a figure solidified in the air above the Spirit’s altar.
It was a glowing, translucent figure shaded in blue, like the other Spirits he had seen. They tended to have stylized, doll-like features, though, and were shown only from the head up. This was an entire man, hovering above the altar. He was human; the color of his skin was obscured by the shade of his glowing projection, but he had black hair of a coarse texture and angular dark eyes in a face with overall flattish features. He wore a robe of layered design with a wide cloth sash, through which was thrust a peculiar sword: quite slim, almost like a Fflyr rapier, but slightly curved and with a very long handle wrapped in a crisscrossing pattern.
“Hajimemashite.” The long-dead Hero bowed deeply; his voice had the same peculiar, resonant effect as every Spirit Aelityr had ever encountered. “I am Ito Ryotaro, Champion of Sanora.”
“We greet you with honor, Hero,” Heminoch replied. “I am Divinus Heminoch of the Radiant Temple, a humble servant of the Goddess. I have the honor of presenting his Most August Excellency Aelityr Tyridon Noriloch, Emperor of Lancor.”
“An Emperor?” He bowed again. “An honor indeed. How may this humble warrior be of service?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Aelityr was forced to conceal his surprise. This was Ryotaro the Berserker? The man who had, mostly with his bare hands, crushed the greatest Viryan kingdom of the northern isles to ruin from which it had never recovered? A man famed in legend for not only his power, but the bestial savagery with which he wielded it? But he was so…well-groomed, and polite.
“We hoped that you would grace us with the story of your victorious campaign against the Dark Lord, Champion,” Heminoch requested.
For some reason, Ryotaro’s spectral shoulders slumped. “Victorious? I suppose it was. The northern kingdoms were rough places even before they were united into the Black Empire. I had thought—hoped that I could dissuade the worst of their cruelties through reason. I sought out my counterpart, the Dark Lord Hiroshi, thinking I could persuade him to rein in the worst tendencies Viryan worship had wrought.”
The ancient Hero hesitated, then continued with a bitter expression.
“I was naive. Over the years, I came to know many people of Viryan faith—dark elves, goblins, humans, orcs, harpies. They were like anyone, seeking only to get through their lives as decently and honorably as a person could. It was their leaders whose twisted perversions forced misery upon them. And to the great shame of our shared heritage, it was Hiroshi who was the worst of all. When we finally met, I found almost nothing in him of the country from which we both hailed. His cruelty was…psychotic. Absurd. The man could not seem to live without inflicting suffering upon others. Even his kings and generals, even the priests of Virya grew sick of his viciousness, attempting to throw him off, but he crushed them all, consolidated their countries under his nation of misery. His reign covered the whole of the north by the time I journeyed from Ilmindr to plead with him.
“The Dark Lord… He inflicted…” Ryotaro paused, closing his eyes, his face creased with remembered pain. “I suffered indignities at his hands. Tortures. The price of my foolish belief in his good nature. But in that way, he undid us both. My suffering unlocked features of my Blessing of Wisdom, traits which turned my anger and grief and pain into unstoppable power. In me, Hiroshi unleashed a monster that even he could not control. My rampage left nothing but ruins all across the north.”
“We mourn your sacrifice, Hero,” Aelityr said, bowing. “It may be cold comfort, but you defeated evil in the end.”
Ryotaro shook his head. “Mine is a cautionary tale, Emperor of Lancor. I failed, bitterly. As much death and suffering stains my hands as those of the Dark Lord. True victory would have come through honorable means, not this…unrelenting destruction. Do not seek to emulate me. The Goddess deserves better service. I beg you, surpass me in all ways.”
The ancient Hero bowed deeply, and with that, his pale image faded to nothing. The gleaming intensity of the lights on the Spirit altar dimmed to their softer luminescence, waiting to be activated again.
Aelityr had to bite down several competing emotions. “And that…was it? That much of the Goddess’s coin bought us…”
Sister Ilvirene cleared her throat diffidently, still scribbling in her book. “Your Excellency, among the notes left by our predecessors who have performed this task, the most common sentiment is that the process of gleaning pertinent information from the Spirit is…frustrating.”
Heminoch sighed softly. “Indeed. Sister, have you any observations?”
“He mentioned the north,” she mused, frowning and still writing. “Several times. That struck me as odd.”
“But Ryotaro’s campaign was in the Shattered Kingdoms,” said the Emperor. “That’s as far north as one can go on the great archipelago.”
“Yes, that’s—ah, I mean, yes, your Excellency. But the thing is, Ryotaro never left the Shattered Kingdoms. His entire time on Ephemera was spent there. It wasn’t the north to him. Starting from Ilmindr, most of it was to the south.”
The Divinus gave her a look of patrician disapproval, which she didn’t notice, being fully engrossed in her notes. Aelityr, for his part, was not put off by the lack of proper formality. Propriety was important and all, but in his position he rarely got to speak with anyone outside his immediate family who dared to say what they actually thought in his presence. Rarely, and the others were all absent-minded academic types. He never failed to find them refreshing.
“It seems a slender thread, Sister,” Heminoch said.
“Yes, Divinus,” she said, nodding and finally looking up, her pen having stilled. “I will transcribe my shorthand so that we can both study it in more detail. Perhaps more will reveal itself to us under scrutiny. For now…that was all that jumped out at me. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be,” Aelityr assured her before the Divinus could reply. “I gather that the hints we seek will, by nature, be somewhat vague, and resistant to observation.”
“I fear your Excellency is quite correct,” Heminoch answered with a sigh. “Very well, then. For a first attempt, it could have gone worse. Does your Excellency agree to try again?”
Ah, so his approval was needed for every attempt? Good to know. “It seems too early to give up,” the Emperor agreed, even as he inwardly cringed at the cost.
Ilvirene doled out more coins to the Spirit, then retreated behind the other two elves to take up her pen and book again.
This time, the image which coalesced above the altar was much more familiar. The man wore robes of a distinctly classical Lancoral style; there was plenty of historical painting and statuary around Lannitar dressed that way. More to the point, some of that artwork recognizably depicted this man in particular.
“Lord Hara,” the Emperor said in surprise.
“Hara Satoshi at your service,” proclaimed the Hero’s shade, executing a formal bow in a style which was still used in the Imperial court. This man had walked there less than fifteen decades ago; he was, unless another Dark Crusade had since occurred on another archipelago with which they had no contact, the most recent Champion of Sanora. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, lady and gentlemen. What can I do for you?”
“My Lord Hara, this is an unexpected honor,” said Heminoch with a warm smile. “We thought to speak with the shade of an ancient Hero, but not necessarily one so beloved by our nation.”
“Why, I recognize this,” said Hara’s ghost, looking around the shrine. “Hah, it’s quite strange to be on the other end of it. The Temple was good enough to let me learn from my predecessors here. Then you must be the Divinus, and his Excellency the Emperor? I’m glad to see that Lancor still stands. How fares the Empire?”
“Prosperous still, thanks in no small part to your labors, Lord Hara,” Aelityr assured him.
“I only did my small part,” the Hero said, waving a hand modestly, “as must we all. Since you’ve gone to the trouble of summoning me, and I see only elves and no one from Japan, the new Hero must just have been summoned. Gentlemen, I wish you the Goddess’s favor in finding him first! I prospered mightily by Lancor’s patronage. Surely no other nation could serve Sanora’s will nearly so well.”
Both Heminoch and Aelityr preened slightly in spite of themselves. Ilvirene furiously scribbled her notes.
“Let’s see, I believe I remember how this goes,” Hara mused. “Then you’ll be wanting to hear my story.”
“If you would kindly indulge us, Lord Hara,” said the Divinus.
“It would be my pleasure,” replied the Hero with a beneficent smile. “Of course, I was just one humble soul chosen by the Goddess, and did my best to serve her honorably…”
The Hero trailed off, a peculiar expression falling over his face.
“My Lord Hara?” the Emperor prompted after a moment.
Hara shook his head, and then smirked. “Well. You know what? I’m dead, after all, and dissembling to you gentlemen probably won’t help you. That might mess up the Spirit, in fact. What does a ghost have to fear from anyone’s disapproval?”
Lancor’s greatest Hero spread his arms and grinned, a dark expression that sent an unpleasant tingle down the Emperor’s spine.
“Being the Hero was the sweetest gig imaginable. I lived as well as any nobleman in the Empire—probably better than anyone but the Emperor himself, and hey, nobody can say I was too ambitious! It was plenty comfortable for me, I didn’t aspire to take his place. I quite liked the old man, in fact. Sure, the training was rough, but it’s all worth it when you begin to see the strength, the power gained from your efforts. And the women! Mm, the finest in all the Empire, and let me tell you, there was nothing they wouldn’t let a Hero do. I didn’t even have to Enamor most of them.”
Heminoch looked slightly queasy; Aelityr hoped his face wasn’t the same.
“Ah, but then Yomiko had to go and ruin it all. The Dark Lord invaded, I went north to face her… I had plans, you understand? Especially once I actually saw her. Elves are succulent, it’s true, but there’s no beating a classic Japanese beauty like that. Never mind all this goddess versus goddess nonsense; it was nothing but a game those two play anyway. Good and Evil, my ass. Can you imagine what a Hero and Dark Lord united could achieve? Why, with Yomiko as my queen, Lancor would only have been the start of our dominion!”
By that point, even the scratching of Ilvirene’s pen had paused.
Hara let out an irritated huff, folding his arms. “She didn’t want to, was the only problem. Stubborn bitch. That didn’t necessarily have to be a deal-breaker; I had ways. The Blessing of Magic was my specialty; spell amplification was my unique gift from the Goddess. Enamor was my favorite spell to begin with, but the Dark Lord Yomiko was the only woman I ever had to amplify it on. I’m pretty sure that would have made it last well beyond bedding her. But no sooner did I get her alone than the crazy twat killed herself! I’m kind of impressed she was still lucid enough to realize she’d been bespelled; she was clearly trying to take us both out, along with most of the castle. I barely survived. Can you believe that? I would have made her queen of all Ephemera, and that was her response? What an ingrate. Never trust a woman, lads; they’re all crazy.”
Sister Ilvirene had begun writing again. For a moment, her pen was the only sound in the shrine was her impartial pen. Neither Emperor nor Divinus could find anything to say.
“Well, I think I feel the pull of oblivion,” said Hara after a momentary pause. He grinned, winked, and gave them an old-style military salute. “I hope that helps, gentlemen. Do me a favor and keep it to yourselves; I worked hard on the ‘official’ account of defeating the Dark Lord, and let’s face it, besmirching your Hero’s reputation won’t help Lancor any. The Empire eternally!”
He faded from view, and there was silence.
“Well, that was disappointing,” Ilvirene muttered.
Neither man bothered to object to her improper interjection.
“N-no one can…” Heminoch trailed off, cleared his throat, and tried again. “He was right. No one must learn of this. Lord Hara is too important to our nation. His…legend is clearly of more use to the Empire than…that…individual.”
“North, again,” Aelityr said softly. “Did you notice? He said he went north to face Yomiko. Her seat of power was in the north, and she invaded Lancor from that direction, but their confrontations were all in Imperial lands. In fact, the final…uh, battle took place at Cara Dorimus, which is to the southwest of Lannitar.”
“Hm.” Heminoch nodded. “Your Excellency is correct. Two small hints, suspect and of little use individually, but it is the start of a pattern. Is your Excellency in agreement that we dare not stop at only that?”
“I’m afraid I am,” Aelityr said, frowning. “It’s something, but it remains tenuous. North doesn’t tell us all that much. It seems your instincts were on point, though, Sister.”
“Your Excellency is too kind,” Ilvirene murmured, her cheeks flushing faintly as she tried to hide behind the journal.
They let her finish her notes before doling out the next share of coins. Aelityr had to suppress a grimace again. The boxes were close to half empty already. The fortunes they had already vaporized doing this… But if it meant getting the next Hero safely here, it would be worth it. It would be worth spending the Empire’s next miracle to do that, but the Goddesses had long since made it plain that miracles pertaining directly to their two Champions would not be entertained.
The Emperor had dared to assume that after Hara, nothing could be as disconcerting. He was immediately chastened by the Goddess’s will.
“Well, aren’t we fancy,” drawled the next historical Hero, folding her arms across her chest. She wore a ragged-looking sleeveless vest and a divided skirt stitched with rough leather panels, with fingerless gloves on over cloth handwraps. “The fuck do you want? I’m dead, how is that not enough to get some fucking peace and quiet already?”
Heminoch seemed even more unsettled by this than by Hara’s unfortunate revelations, but he rallied quickly. “Lady Hero? We are sorry to disturb your rest, but we hoped—”
“Huh?” the wiry-looking woman snarled, bending aggressively toward him. “You want your ass kicked? Do I look like I’m interested in listening to any fancy court speak? Start making this worth my time or I’m out.”
“Hey!” Aelityr barked, making Heminoch jump. “Like he said, we’re sorry to bother you, but it’s five minutes out of an eternal rest. You can spare it! And this is important.”
“Well, well, an elf with a pair,” she said, eyeing him up and down, then smirked. He’d been playing a hunch, but in the end, it wasn’t unlike dealing with orc diplomats. Or orc “diplomats,” as he more often thought of them. “That just might be interesting enough to pay attention to. And who’re you, then?”
“My name’s Aelityr, and I’m in charge around here.”
“Airu— Eerito— Toru—ugh!” She threw up her hands in disgust. “Nobody could pronounce that! I swear, you people and your fucking names.”
“Right,” he said, sighing. “Can you just tell us about your campaign against the Dark Lord?”
“What’s to tell?” she shrugged. “Lord Satoru was being a dickhead. Sounded like a big fat load of not my problem, but he was the only other person on this whole planet from my country, so I figured I had to stick up for Japan’s reputation. I went north, to where his orcs were kicking up trouble. I beat the shit out of them, then I beat the shit out of him. End of story. Guy died like a punk bitch, too,” she added with malicious relish. “Face down, ass up in a swamp. I was gonna plant a flagpole in his butt, just to make a point, but his carcass sank while I was looking for one. Oh, well, would’ve been funny, but what can you do.”
The Hero shrugged again, then smirked and held up a closed hand with her forefinger and middle finger extended.
“Hope that’s all you wanted, cos that’s all you’re getting. Peace out. Don’t bother me again unless it’s actually serious.”
Once more, there was quiet after the Hero faded from sight.
“It had to be Ryoka,” Sister Ilvirene sighed. “I am sorry you had to deal with that, your Excellency. But if I may say so, you handled her extremely well. Most who have summoned her shade did not get even that much out of her.”
“She was…different,” he agreed.
“I have studied the notes left by all those who performed this duty, your Excellency, and it seems that more than half of the Heroes were very much like Ryotaro. The culture they come from appears to value formality, to an extent that can seem stiff and cold to Lancor sensibilities. But, ah, many of the exceptions seem like they go out of their way to defy the stereotype.”
“I heard the all important word again,” said the Divinus. “I fear I am not acquainted with the tales of this…Ryoka, or Lord Satoru. Sister Ilvirene?”
“It was close to two thousand years ago, your Reverence. Records are spotty, but I do know their war was in what’s now Nomoskun. That’s…north of somewhere, I suppose, but relative to Lancor it is very far to the east and a bit south.”
“North, then,” mused the Divinus. “A theme. The new Hero must be in the north.”
“That narrows it down…somewhat,” said the Emperor. “From Lancor’s position in the archipelago, only the east has less landmass than the north.”
“History is Sister Ilvirene’s area of expertise,” said Heminoch, “but I do know that most Heroes have either started in a relatively safe place in which to learn and grow their strength before facing real battles, or were dropped directly into the depths of Viryan territory. There is…no shortage of the second to the north, I fear, and very little of the first.”
Aelityr nodded, frowning. The Shattered Kingdoms, the dominion of Vairoth…
“The Imperium is north,” he said thoughtfully. “They are Sanorite, at least nominally. Religion tends to be one of their less important considerations, however.”
“Dlemathlys is north of us,” Ilvirene said suddenly. She was still scribbling, but spoke in an absent tone while completing her notes. “That’s sort of both, isn’t it? The Fflyr are brethren of the Goddess—their church is one of the Radiant Temple’s offshoots, I believe. But the country’s also kind of a violent mess, from what I hear.”
“That is…a fair point,” Divinus Heminoch agreed after a moment, giving the Sister a dour look which she did not notice with her eyes on the page. Far from objecting to the priestess’s lack of decorum, Aelityr was actually beginning to like her quite a lot. “The Fflyr isles are plagued with banditry and civil strife. Many of the outlying islands are all wild khora and monsters. And on one, the last I heard, there is still a Viryan city the Fflyr have never organized well enough to dislodge. Still, the Radiant Convocation would give a nascent Hero their full support, were they blessed enough to find one.”
“It sounds like that would be a good testing ground for a Hero,” Ilvirene said, finally looking up from her writing. “Maybe the search is an opportunity to do some good there, your Excellency! Dlemathlys needs a touch of Lancoral civilization if anywhere does.”
“You forget your place, Sister Ilvirene,” Heminoch said icily.
She blanched, and bowed deeply to the Emperor. “I humbly apologize, your Most August Excellency.”
“Let us remain focused,” he deflected. The woman was clearly not trying to offend; if she knew what a politically divisive subject Dlemathlys was in this of all places she would not have dared utter the name. In truth, Lancor did exercise its influence, but only by sending the Gray Guard to encourage the Fflyr status quo. For the Empire to expand its borders, even by formally vassalizing Dlemathlys, would be a provocative move against the powers of the farther north. The Fflyr were simply too useful as they presently were: formally neutral but sympathetic and nominally brethren of the faith, but too disorderly and weak to pose a threat to Lancor’s border security. If any of the northern countries did manage to get past Godspire to invade, Lancor would of course send its armies to defend its sister state—and ensure the fighting happened on Fflyr rather than Imperial lands.
The Radiant Temple did not share the Palace’s priorities, nor did they approve of this handling of fellow Sanorites who were clearly in dire need of a civilizing touch. Aelityr wondered how they would like to balance a budget and secure a border when Lancor had to maintain militarized perimeters on three separate fronts already.
Clearly, though, the Divinus was not interested in raising this old debate again. “Yes, let’s. Whether or not the Hero is there, the Fflyr isles are the gateway to the north. Given the hints we have received, I suggest sending careful feelers that way, as a starting point.”
“I will begin immediately,” Aelityr promised.
“Your Most August Excellency.” Divinus Heminoch turned a grave expression on him. “Before this work can begin in earnest, you must know the additional risks inherent in what you have learned here today. I fear it will not be that simple.”
It never was, was it?