Chapter 13: The Archon’s Offer
What was it like to be a god?
Since the first recorded worship of deities the question had often rose to plague those of a higher class of contemplation. Scholars, historians and Arcanists of every field would throw in their words on the matter, but the Archon was convinced he was the closest to truly understanding what it was like to be a true God.
For him, it meant forgetting the limitations of mortality. Recognizing the sheer scale of his enhanced perception, and utilizing it fully through his numerous hosts.
Though he was looking down upon a Nurl in the heart of a mountain, he was also much farther north urging on a horde of Dreamers to race along Melka's Tear. The dirt roads along that river were the fastest way out of the Melkish Heartland, and the quickest way south to the plains.
The host he had leading them was encouraging the numerous undead soldiers forwards with a jaunty whistle. The entirety of the Dreamers bounded along rocks and grass whilst singing happily to his tune, those with mauled faces just grunted or slammed weapons against their own armor to keep the beat.
But the Archon knew it was futile. Even at peak speeds such as theirs the horde would still take nearly a day to even reach the Trade Fair let alone the Nurl thief in the mountain. He'd had to draw them from several different tribal towns around the Melkish Heartlands, all because he'd miscalculated how many Union soldiers he could pull from the South.
That single miscalculation had cost him plenty in the race to claim Bullminth's Blade. The Dreamers he already had in the area were pitiful compared to a locale of actual importance, the plains usually only served as a place for herds of Beetles to graze at.
But no, apparently the Eelish had left one of their prized relics buried under a mountain there. It hadn't surprised the Archon too much, as the Eelish had quite the nasty habit of making problems despite being extinct.
A random quake had revealed the Relic's location, and the Archon was stuck with frankly pitiful forces in the area to work with.
But why?
That's what he was attempting to find out at that exact same time in the most southern point of Altez. It was there that the capital of the Union, a grand city known as Olmerra, rose high enough to be seen over miles of dense woodlands. It was in that capital where the Archon had the luxury of overseeing yet another assembly of the Olmerran Union's representatives.
Though the city was vast compared to the majority of places in Altez, his focus was in the heart of the great keep that the rest of the city spread out from. In there he had yet another host sitting at the head of a large, ring-shaped table that was supposed to symbolize the unity of the Representatives around it.
But the Archon could find little unity at that moment.
“I’m just saying," a bony old man in a worn clerk's suit waved a finger around before pointing "if you’d kept your forces in the west, this entire scenario would’ve been solved by now.”
“Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you, you old troglodyte!" a finely dressed young man with a pencil moustache stood from his chair "Just have me split my forces and leave me open to those goons you’ve got in your pocket!”
"To raise a voice against an elder so brashly..." said a woman wearing a tribal Yalkbur dress and shawl obscuring her face "Poor display, Byron."
The young man in question turned his glare at her, but went silent as he noticed the gazes he was receiving. All around the table were over three dozen dukes, governors and tribal chieftains. They were the representatives of territories joined to the Olmerran Union, and though many of them held their tongues, all eyes were locked on Duke Byron.
Going still for a moment, he turned slowly and looked towards the Archon's host: a man bearing the torn purple dress of a Tax-taker. The Archon met the Duke's gaze, the eye focusing on him as the silence grew deafening.
The Host bit down on his own tongue, muffling his chuckles as the Archon gave a low hum.
“Duke Byron,” he searched those wide silver eyes “I will not tolerate responses that distract from solution. The Melkish have given fine reason for their allowance of the Trade Fair’s presence in the plains, Yalna's people have kept watch of the northern routes, but you have yet to explain why I cannot rely on your forces to supplant my own in the region.”
Duke Byron swallowed dryly, a leather glove vanishing into the pocket of his finely sewn Spider-silk coat before pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his forehead.
“They… the search for the Remnants had become difficult.” he responded “The filthy troglodytes were buried too deep, I wanted to commit myself, sir! I’ve had my off-duty forces aiding in the search effort!”
“And now, I am left with what?” the Archon asked “A handful of Dreamers and some sympathetic civilians to recover a relic that could be the end of all we’ve worked for?”
“Exactly!” the old man cackled happily before leaning forward in his chair and pointing a bony finger towards Byron “Should’ve kept at least a pittance ready to move, to aid the good Archon’s efforts.”
“I don’t require emphasis, Governor.” The Archon stated, turning his attention to the almost skeletal official “I would reconsider when interruptions are acceptable, a man of your experience should show it.”
It mattered little, the true nature of the Duke's odd use of military force would be uncovered in due time. The Archon was leading the investigation personally after all.
South of the plains in a forest near Westhaven was a fortress that housed forces for several nearby communities. Usually it had a thousand soldiers minimum ready to bear their arms and respond to sudden incidents.
Much like the discovery of dangerous relics.
But when the Archon had sent a Host to the fortress to rally forces to march on the plains, he found only a skeleton crew of men and women.
Luckily the fortress Guard Master was there, telling stories of odd orders being passed down from their Duke. The Guard Master had shown nothing less than full support for the Archon's investigation into the matter, riding out with the host to question officers and review the orders they received.
Duke Byron could say whatever he wanted in an assembly several weeks travel from the problem in question, but the Archon would discover the truth behind the matter in no time at all.
But such discovery would do little to alleviate the big problem such an incident had left for the Archon: Bullminth's Blade. The relic had been taken from the Armory of Bullmintha and had been locked to its thief via some form of arcane defense, no doubt.
The destruction of the first Host he'd hastily sent had been a setback too aggravating for words, but the new host had managed to draw the Thief into negotiations. The Eye hadn't been strong enough for the Archon to take the reigns of discussion himself, but the Host had explained that the thief and him were fairly close. Lovers, in fact.
Add on to that the discovery that the thief's mother was part of the Dream already, and the Archon was dubiously hopeful they could convince her that submission was the only viable option.
Instead he had to simply watch as this thief's confusion over the Dream made her doubt every word they spoke.
A Union assembly, investigation in the southwestern farmlands, leading a horde of Dreamers and overseeing negotiations with the thief. For some it may have been overwhelming, but it was merely a fraction of the work the Archon did every single day. He had nearly two hundred hosts in play, his eyes covered numerous parts of the land, all acting under the unified will that bound them.
For the limitations of perception were known only to mortals, while his was ever-growing. He led dozens of Dreamer mobs to wage battle against the natural foes of his subjects, oversaw legislature in subservient regions from shore to shore, and interacting with the thief was nothing compared to the seventy-six other chats he maintained at that very moment.
Exhaustion did not exist to him, his oversight was nigh absolute, and hesitation had died with his first body.
So when he felt it, the Eye before the thief preparing for its next stage of evolution, he was more than willing to take the reins of conversation from the host.
The host, Maltop of the Burybiters, was more than willing to seal his lips together the moment the Archon merely thought of it. Going so far as to help pry his head open further so the enlarged Eye could fit more comfortably in his cranium.
But the thief didn't respond to his first words, instead trembling with that confused look in her eyes the moment his voice had emerged from what was left of her lover.
"You do wish to understand right?" he asked, prompting her to flinch out of whatever stupor she'd been in.
“Big Eye… Archon?” she asked, stepping closer to the Eye “Big ‘nuff for chat?”
“Listen to me very carefully, Razzda.” The Archon had the host point towards the sword “Because you have every reason and more to accept my offer.”
“She… she want to!” Razzda clutched at the sword “She.. she feel wrong though. Like big mistake happen!”
“The mistake is leaving a weapon like that under anyone’s supervision besides the leading Arcanist of the land.” The Archon had Maltop point towards his Eye “You will be doing yourself and many others a service by delivering it to me. I have impressive resources, and an accumulation of gold in my citadel that I’m fine with you sitting on for several decades.”
“Better than deserved, runt!” the other Dreamer, Nagsda, snickered again.
The Archon turned his eye on her, and immediately she reached for her mouth and pinched her lips closed.
So much easier than asking for silence.
But the words had already been said, and Razzda grumbled before looking to the host.
“Want believe… but Maltop say same, and Maltop weird.” She looked up to the Archon's Eye “Dream make him weird! Want to know! Not be confused!”
An explanation of the Dream was not something he could thoroughly do, especially for those not familiar with Arcanism. It required a particular mind that the vast majority of peoples just couldn't cultivate. Both Maltop and Nagsda seemed fully convinced that Razzda was not involved with that school of thought.
It made her connection with the sword even more mind-numbing to consider. Understanding how it worked could be invaluable for dealing with other Eelish relics. Secrets and opportunities that were as potentially beneficial as they could be dangerous.
Nevertheless, he had given simplified explanations of the Dream to those without Arcane-leanings before.
“Very well.” He said, having the Host reach out and guide Razzda to the edge of the rock mound before waving a hand towards the water “I would like you to picture this water as the beyond.”
“Beyond?” she gave a confused glance over the water around the mound.
“Death, though I suppose most know it as the afterlife.” he said “And if you were to be killed, your essence sinks into it, right?”
He had Maltop kick a pebble into the water, with both watching it sink until Razzda grunted.
“Razzda not do much thought on after dead.” She admitted
“Well now you can learn, since I need you to picture a fishing net floating on its surface now.” He had Maltop point out towards the water “That net is the Dream. It keeps the essence of those who succumb to it from sinking, are you following?”
“But not explain!” she declared before poking Maltop “Maltop different, net stuff not explain that!”
“Well, its a very comfortable net.” He continued “A net so nice, so pleasant to be in, that it changes those who fall in it. Could you imagine, if you would, something shinier than gold?”
“No!” her response was instant “Nothing shinier!”
“And that’s it, Razzda, you’re not capable of imagining the Dream.” He looked to her mother “Only those who have fallen in could know how good being part of it is, but I’d prefer if you didn’t join them. The Dream does things to other forms of Arcanism, we might never know why the blade chose you if you join your lover and mother.”
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“Not want join!” Razzda took a step back “Razzda love shiny Gold! Not want that changed!”
“I understand, Razzda.” The Archon said as his host floated around her “Believe me when I say that I understand the reverence you Nurl have for your Hoards. I like to think I have one myself.”
“Really?” she asked “Men types not say that often!”
“Oh, most are too prideful to admit it, but the idea of hoarding is not exclusive to you Nurl.” He explained as the host floated over the water “As for me?”
Turning the host around, the Archon had him gesture towards the deep grooves in the chamber wall across from the mound. Holding out a hand towards the small amount of sunlight able to stream through.
“Altez is my hoard, Razzda.” He explained “Out there, the lands you’ve wandered? I didn’t conquer them for something as petty as power or finance, I conquered them because I knew they could be better. More efficient, more glorious, a haven of productivity and progress."
He could see it, all over Altez through his plethora of eyes.
Great fields laden with food, workshops churning out tools and trinkets, caravans of heavily guarded merchants establishing a healthy line of trade. He could see all of it taking place before him, unequalled proof that Altez was being made to thrive under his guidance.
"Just like a pile of gold or gems," he continued "I want Altez bigger, better and to glimmer more than any civilization past or present."
Turning back to Razzda, the Archon gave a pleased sigh before having Maltop wave a hand around.
“I’ve brought the people of this land closer together than they’ve been in centuries, streamlined productivity and communication whilst culling the beasts and savages that threatened them before. I will bring Altez into a new golden age.” He had Maltop gesture towards her “And I would be more than happy to have you aid these efforts, Razzda.”
It was only a fraction of the speeches he usually had to give in order to garner support, but it felt like more than enough for a Nurl as disconnected from major events as Razzda was. God knows it was refreshing not having to launch into a spiel about economics and market value.
If anything, his offer was more than generous. He could grant a fancy title like Appointed Overseer of Citadel Finance. The more cooperative Nurl usually loved fancy titles.
Perhaps he could even find an old Scholar’s Cap for her to wear somewhere in his citadel. He hadn’t really needed to move his actual body for the past week, so any excuse to go around would be a welcome change of pace from the constant oversight he gave to-
“No.”
The word was spoken in nearly a mumble, but echoed through the chamber with the potency of a roar.
It made the Archon cease his speculation, lowering Maltop’s hand before floating lower to the water.
“Excuse me?” he asked “Could you repeat that?”
“Razzda… say no.” she shook her head, only to flinch back as Maltop floated closer, practically bathing her in the green glow of the Archon's Eye “She… she not do it.”
An unexpected response, to be sure. He had figured he’d covered his bases.
“Why?”
“Archon…love hoard!” she said before patting the side of Bullminth’s Blade “This sharp one, threat to hoard. Lady lass say it eats Archon! Can’t build hoard after eaten. If Razzda in Archon shoes, she hate sword! Big threat. Not allow it to threaten! Destroy it, with holder! She destroy threat to hoard, Archon do same!”
He was able to follow her reasoning, messy as it was, but that didn't make it any less unexpected. The Archon needed a second to consider the odd loops and comparisons she'd gone through to come to her response.
“Razzda-”
“And-and Archon big thinker, yes?” she backed away from Maltop “Trick poor Razzda. What Razzda do if she big thinker!”
“But you aren’t me, Razzda.” He said “Trust me, you don’t want to continue this line of discussion. I usually find your kind too Charmingly straightforward to hate, but I don’t need an ounce of hate to make living thoroughly painful for you.”
As he spoke she just kept backing away. It was irritating, so a quick glance towards Nagsda had her step to the side just in time for Razzda to back up into her.
Razzda practically jumped away, stumbling to the center of the mound before immediately turning the sheathed blade on her mother.
“You may feel as though you’re speaking to one person, but my eyes are numerous.” He continued “All over Altez in castles, villages, and cities overseeing the construction of the Golden Age of Unimata. Leading armies, guiding councils, forming the very backbone of an age of plenty. With but a word you will have the combined forces of the Union, Melka and the Dream hunting you to the ends of the world, prosecuting all who associate with you until you have no one left to hide behind but your own ignorance..”
“The-the scary words not hurt!” Razzda stuttered, even as Maltop's shadow fell over her “Razzda not… she not-!”
The sudden war cry cut off Razzda, drawing the Archon’s gaze towards the path leading down to them. Running down it with sword in hand was some wild lunatic in a cloak screaming her head off as she came racing towards them.
“Interloper!” Nagsda was quick to rush her, but the nearby grunt was what really drew the Archon’s Eye.
Because it came from above.
Before he could even turn his gaze upwards, yet another interloper crashed into the side of the mound, almost slipping into the water if he hadn’t caught himself by the edge of the mound with one of his axes.
Another figure landed beside Maltop, standing up as the first interloper swatted Nagsda into the nearby water with her sword.
The figure was at least recognizable to the Archon.
“Almost didn’t see you, friend!” the Yisshin known as Sev giggled as she flicked some blood from one of her blades and strolled between the host and Razzda “Quite fast! But not good enough for a professional!”
“Lady Lass!” Razzda yelped as the first interloper got between her and Sev, who cracked her neck in anticipation.
“Yorm!” this ‘Lady Lass’ called to her companion “Are you able to fight?!?”
“Hmph,” was all that Yorm said as he pulled one of his fur boots from the water and grumbled “Damn Shadow-Walking little-”
He winced, reaching over to a thick gash carved down his arm. The Archon focused his gazed on him, making Yorm’s one good eye go wide before his head suddenly whipped back. Something had splashed in the water.
Yorm was quick to try pulling away, only for limbs to reach out from the water and drag him in. The water churned and thrashed with movement as he disappeared inside.
“No!” cried his cohort, but the Archon was pleased to see Sev lunge forward to intercept her. They crossed blades, with Sev shoving the interloper back.
“No no!” Sev mimicked her cry before crossing her own blades in front of her “Eyes on me, you wretched little creature.”
“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about, Razzda.” The Archon turned his attention back to them as the water began to stir around them “Sev here had the ambition to aid the Future of Altez, and has foiled the plans of these destructive cretins.”
“The Blade!” the Interloper shouted to Razzda whilst backing away from Sev “Draw it, he can’t-!”
“Wouldn’t do that, runt!”
It was Nagsda, slowly rising from the water nearby on the shoulder of a hulking Dreamer. His size alone was proof of his Melkish origins, wielding a massive battle axe that was four times the Nurl’s height. Water and grime seeped from the deep crater in his face, from which the rotten remains of his brain were just barely being kept inside by the broken helmet he wore.
That didn’t make the grin on his face any less potent.
“Ignore her words, Razzda.” the Archon stated “Only the witless have denied the future I can bring, wasting everyone’s time with defiance and nonsense.”
He had Maltop gesture out towards the other figures rising from the waters.
“Many of these very Dreamers once threatened the Golden Age, refusing to see my guidance as the boon it is.” he gave a sigh as he turned his attention on her once more “Now they’re more than willing to kill and die as many times as they need to service the future.”
“You warped them, damn it!” the Interloper cried out as she dragged Razzda away from the water’s edge “He’s a madman, Razzda! Draw the damn blade!”
He could see it already. Whether she knew what she was doing, Razzda was complying with the Interloper’s words, eyes darting from one Dreamer to the other as she pulled Bullminth's Blade from its sheathe.
“It was a fate I was hoping I could avoid for you.” the Archon said, already picturing the headache of deciphering the Blade’s secrets without her “But I suppose its a loss I can live with.”
With but a thought, he ended Maltop's silence.
“Oho!” Maltop raised his hands before the Archon’s Eye and began clapping wildly “Maltop help bring Shiny eyes to Dream?!? Yes, help see! Help her see how shiny it is!”
“Yes yes, Maltop you do that.” the Archon said, "They'll feel better once part of the Dream."
Maltop cheered before going on about the wondrous bliss of being part of the Dreamer, laughing and pointing towards Razzda and the Interloper as the Dreamers began surrounding them.
Yet all the Archon could think about was how much trouble he'd had to deal with all because of some tax fraud.
Yes, his investigation of Duke Byron's actions had continued throughout the entire chat with Razzda. The Guard Master had helped him track down one of the Duke's Taxmen, attempting to flee from a pub in Westhaven.
Apparently the good Duke's odd shifting of local forces was part of a fairly complex ploy to tax locals above the regional average. The Taxman had spewed words of bribed officials and forged documents, practically begging to be spared from the Dream.
It was a plea the Archon would've given consideration had he not taken a closer look at those forged documents.
Duke Byron had used pursuit of the Remnants as a cover for his little scheme, and several of the documents the Archon had found throughout his investigation had supported this. But when the Taxmen claimed several of which had been forged, and locked up the moment the conversation had shifted to the actual hunt for the Remnants, the Archon found his mercy waning.
The Guard Master helped hold the Taxmen down as the Host ate his fingers, even going so far as to gag the Taxman with the handle of a broken lantern when he tried to bite off his own tongue.
The resistance ended once the glow of the Dream erupted from his sockets, and soon the Taxman was all too willing to reveal the true depths of Duke Byron's failure.
His lust for money had allowed a Remnant sympathizer among his ranks.
This revelation hadn't gone over well for Byron back in Olmerra. In the Union capital, the meeting had fallen silent as the Archon articulated the importance of keeping everyone up to date on movements of forces. The Union representatives had given him their undivided attention, with many trying not to stare at his host as it finished its impromptu meal.
Figuring that it had been enough, the Archon had the Host pull back, floating off the ground a bit as it hovered back to the head of the circular table . Landowners looked away, and one Duchess had to cover her mouth as the Archon’s host returned to its seat.
“Now then, if we're all of the same mind.” the Archon turned his gaze to Duke Byron “I believe you have an announcement to make?”
Byron slammed one hand on the table to push himself out of his seat, the other shakily drawing his handkerchief again to wipe away the blood dripping down his face.
“Yes! Yes, dear Archon!” he chittered, breath labored with laughter “As of recently, I believe I might have grown unworthy of my position. What with… with all these failings!”
He looked up across from him to the bony old man, “You were so close too, to finding out where that money had been going! So who else but you to handle my territory, Governor De Lance?”
But the Governor had lost his playful attitude from earlier, his jowls hanging in a deep frown as he watched the Duke give him a bow of acknowledgement.
“I was thinking like a troglodyte!” Byron chuckled, bringing his handkerchief around to look at the strips of torn flesh he’d managed to wipe off “Not thinking about our people! Giving the filth such opportunity! Ruining everything!”
“Get to the point, Byron.” the Archon stated “We have other matters to go over.”
“Yes! Apologies sir!” the Duke raised a bloodied hand next to his head before turning his glowing eye-sockets towards the rest of the assembled representatives “I, Duke Byron, hereby renounce my territories and affiliated officials to Governor De Lance’s wizened ownership! The documents, oh yes, I can finish the documents by the morrow’s end!”
“Good.” the Archon had the host reach out toward a leaflet of papers before him as Byron sat down in his blood-splattered chair with muffled chuckles seeping through his lips “Then we can focus on the next delegates chosen to represent the Union’s interests in Melka. I’m speaking with two of their Archbishops at this very moment and the previous date is still viable.”
The Representatives hurried to flip through their own papers, already debating on who had the time and resources to make such a trip. Byron was dutifully keeping silent, fruitlessly attempting to clean his own blood from his seat with that handkerchief of his.
It was a small consolation considering how much risk such deceit had wrought, but the Archon wasn’t the type of ruler to let the failures of others distract him from the big picture. He was above such pettiness, and would sort things out one way or another.
So with the investigation successful, the Union's Assembly continuing smoothly and Maltop dealing with Razzda, the Archon did somethin he hadn't done for over a week.
On the exact opposite point of Altez from Olmerra, far into the north where lush fields and dense forests gave way to an endless sea of snow, the Archon moved his body.
At the edge of a massive basin formed in the northern tip of Altez was a keep of immense size. Its less useful wings had fallen into disrepair while the heart and body had been built into an unrivaled citadel of black ice and steel that nearly pierced the cover of dark clouds that blotted out the sun.
At the very pinnacle of that citadel was a room atop a spire, inside of which the Archon stood.
He'd left his body there for some time, with frost and icicles breaking off his form as he moved. Usually he only moved his body in response to assassination attempts or to go through his archives, but the attempts at killing him directly had practically dried up since the Alliance's failed Northern Push.
It had technically been the second time he'd died, and the first where he'd been able to truly display the uselessness of defiance. As a result, periods of time between having to move his body proper had grown wider and wider as governance of Altez took priority.
But Razzda's refusal to cooperate meant he'd have to investigate the sword without her. Even if she joined the Dream, the Archon had little hope her connection with the sword would survive. He'd have an army of Dreamer Arcanists if the Dream didn't distort their abilities so wildly.
Which meant he would have to seek answers in his archives yet again, no other place in Altez held such knowledge of Arcanism and the Eelish.
And though he lacked the sensation of most mortals, getting to move around again did feel nice.
But before he could head for the spiral staircase that would lead down into the citadel proper, he spotted the single window the room had. The ruined, tattered drapes blew in the cold wind as the Archon approached. Looking out over the empty wasteland of snow south of his citadel, he could see figures moving.
The numerous Dreamer Hiloqots of the Frozen Brood continued their endless surveillance, occasionally screeching out to communicate with their brethren as they continued wandering the land around his keep.
The Archon couldn't help but sigh at the sight, the folly of Razzda's choice sinking in. Stepping away from the window and making his way down into the citadel, he figured being forced into the Dream would be a mercy considering the alternative.