The audience chamber of Clarion Keep was modest, as the needs of a Baron were modest in comparison with a king, or even an earl.

There were no windows, and but one entrance. It was just stone walls, a vaulted ceiling, and a dais that was only four steps above the main floor.

Varsus stood at the bottom of that dais, anger rushing through him, fists clenched and teeth gritted.

He was not used to standing in this place in his own keep. Any other time, he would be the one up on the dais and in the chair, hearing the concerns of his subjects.

Beside him, Master Multon spoke to him out of the side of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the Earl.

“Keep calm, my lord,” Multon’s words came out in a low hiss.

Varsus took a deep breath and tried to force the anger away. He looked around the room just to put his eyes anywhere but on the Earl.

The room was not large, and so Varsus berated himself for not noticing the eight armed guards at attention along the side walls and to either side of the door.

Clermont armed guards. None of his own people were in sight.

His attention now returned to Earl Ragenald, a man with whom he had a contentious relationship, to say the least.

The Earl stood then, stretching as if he had just woken up from a nap.

“My Lord of Varsus,” the Earl proclaimed, his voice resonant. “We must discuss your lax stewardship of this region.”

Varsus ground his teeth together so hard he thought they might crack and fall out of his mouth.

“Imagine my surprise when we caught sight of your men heading south through my province, trampling and devouring all resources in sight.”

Varsus took a step forward, intending to speak, but Ragenald’s hand shot up, forestalling him.

“With so many of your forces moving south,” continued Ragenald, “We had fear the pirates who so plague this land would sense weakness and strike.”

Varsus had no choice but to listen to the older man, so he only hoped the Earl would keep his ramblings short this time.

“And so We come in the spirit of friendship, to protect our neighbors. We will now hear your words of gratitude.”

Multon gave a soft grunt, but other than that, silence filled the room.

Varsus, now a bit more calm, managed a slight bow of deference.

“My lord, we of Varsus Province appreciate your concern and support, especially since you defied a royal summons to muster at Wademount in order to provide it.”

The Earl’s full head of gray hair matched his short beard in color, and when he kept his mouth closed, the pink of his face appeared even more striking, especially when it was flushed with anger.

But before he spoke, the anger on his face disappeared as if it had never been there.

“Ahhh, yes. Clermont sent a small force to deal with the situation, but We felt We were needed here.”

Varsus did not openly scoff at this statement, but he was sure the look on his face told the Earl exactly what he thought of it.

“After all,” Earl Ragenald continued, “this small province was once a part of Clermont, ruled over by Our ancestors since shortly after The Arrival.”

Varsus knew all about The Arrival. That time close to five-hundred years past when the peoples of Maeraland came here from… somewhere. A place now lost to history.

Most of the people, in any case. Varsus knew, and had been reminded his entire life, that his own ancestors had not come here until much later, and certainly not from wherever most of Maeraland originated from.

“We would hate for all the hard work my forebears invested into this place to go to waste because of… poor management.”

Now Varsus was trying not to show his amusement, despite the situation.

First, Ragenald’s insistence on using the Royal ‘We’ that he had no right to, and second, any conversation with this man inevitably found its way to the subject of the Earl’s ancestors.

It was true that hundreds of years ago, what was now the Varsus Province was then the northernmost part of Clermont. That changed after a particularly vile pirate attack, and the actions of his own ancestor, Varsus the First, saved the life of the King.

As a reward, Varsus I, then a slave, had been granted not only his freedom, but a small piece of land carved out from both Clermont and neighboring Oldmaer to the east.

The ducal line of Oldmaer did not much care about losing the small piece of land, but for Clermont, this had removed their coastal access, and landlocked their province.

As recompense, Clermont had a trade agreement that gave them far more favorable terms of trade with Varsus Province than any other in the kingdom, but it had never been enough for the Earl or his forebears.

“Indeed,” said Varsus, unwilling to take the bait for an argument.

“My lord Earl,” he said, “I did not see any of my own people in the keep. Where might they be?”

The question was light, or at least Varsus had meant it to be, but it came out with a bit of steel behind it.

The Earl waved his hand in dismissal.

“Pfahhhh!” he said. “We sent all the small folk and functionaries home, or wherever it is they go to. Some, however, were more stubborn than others and needed… convincing. You should train your people to behave more wisely with regard to respect for their betters.”

Varsus, now angered at the thought of his people being mistreated, stepped forward and put his foot on the first step of the dais.

He immediately found himself restrained by a tight grip on his arm from Master Multon, who Varsus was forced to admit was still quite strong, despite his age.

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The guards along the walls all moved at once, also stepping forward, though not drawing weapons.

Earl Ragenald did not move. He stood and waited, his face now showing a condescending smirk.

Varsus was glad Multon had stopped him. Were he to strike a superior, that would be all the Earl would need to take to the Royal Court. It would give him something real to give the Crown, something to start them reconsidering the position they had granted his family generations earlier.

Lowering his head, Varsus removed his foot from the bottom step of the dais and stepped back. The guards relaxed as well, resuming their places along the walls.

“There it is,” the Earl said, “the Varsus fierceness. Still not entirely bred out of you, is it? We all know the tales of how your forebears fought for the Realm with such savage bravery. I wonder if all your people have that ferocity within them?”

That question was not directed at Varsus, but as if the Earl was just thinking aloud.

Varsus decided it was best to bring this matter to a close as quickly as possible.

“My lord,” he began, keeping his eyes downcast, “I thank you for your assistance during this time of trouble, but as I have returned, you and your brave men may depart for Clermont. Again, you have my gratitude.”

It pained him greatly to say those words, but Varsus knew what this man wanted. Still, he had watched his father endure much worse, so he thought his dignity could bear it as well.

However, Earl Ragenald was not yet finished.

“We appreciate this, Baron, but there is still the matter of recompense for the resources your men consumed while traveling through Clermont.”

Varsus snapped his head up, his demure affectation gone in an instant.

“My lord, it was a royal command! We were to respond at once, and we did not have time to pack ample supplies. Sometimes we had to forage what we needed through the provinces we marched through.”

The Earl’s grin became a sneer of joy.

“Baron, if your men behaved poorly in other provinces, We hope you would make proper recompense with them. Alas, We do not rule those regions. Only good Clermont. Therefore, We can only insist on what is fair for our own people.”

Blood pounding in his head told Varsus that he was close to saying something he might regret. He swallowed his anger until he nearly choked on it, but managed to gain control of himself.

This demand for recompense was outrageous. Over the last month, for the good of the realm, massive amounts of men marched across Maeraland to reach Wademount. Varsus was certain that no others were being charged for hunting and foraging as they needed to.

“We have no choice, my lord,” Multon said in his harsh whisper.

Varsus knew he was right. There was no choice. Dragging this out would only make it more painful, and cost much more.

“Of… course… my lord,” Varsus said, almost choking on each word. “Of course we will pay for those resources we used.”

“Stole,” said the Earl quickly. His voice was flat, and his smug expression was gone, replaced by a look of icy stone.

“My lord…?” Varsus asked.

“The food and wood and water and shelter and all else you took from Clermont was stolen, and will remain considered as such until we receive payment for it.”

Now Master Multon exploded, unable to follow his own advice.

“Now you see here—!”

“No, YOU see!” the Earl barked, snapping his fingers at the same time.

All the guards in the room sprang forward, drawing their weapons. They fell in behind both Varsus and Multon, who now found themselves on the wrong end of pointed steel.

“This is what We can expect from Varsus, nothing but thievery and disrespect! And why not? Thievery and disrespect is how this province was founded!

“But hear Us, the day is coming when the Crown will see what a vile mistake was made those many years ago. What was done can be undone! Do not doubt it!”

Varsus was awash in fury. Fists clenched painfully, teeth gnashed, and it took all of his strength to stop himself from drawing his own blade. The blood was pounding in his head so loudly it was beginning to sound like bells.

Then he realized with a start that it was bells he was hearing. Multiple tones, ringing with furious cadence.

The Clarion! he thought. But what he said aloud was…

“PIRATES!”

At once, all in the room but Varsus, Multon and the Earl broke out in chaotic murmuring.

“SILENCE!” shouted the Earl, and all obeyed.

Varsus stepped forward again to address the Earl.

“My lord, we must move our forces quickly to the north! If we can meet them before they land, we can keep them from—”

“No,” said Earl Ragenald.

Varsus reeled back from the word, not completely comprehending.

“My lord, what—?”

The Earl walked down the few steps of the dais and kept going. His men fell in behind him.

“You wanted Us gone, and so We are leaving. Be assured none of Our men will remain behind to hamper your response to the pirates. My steward will send the details for what We are owed for your trespass.”

Varsus stared after him, dumbfounded for a few moments before he could speak again.

“My lord, you cannot be serious! We must defend the shores of the realm!”

The Earl did not stop and did not even look back at Varsus as he replied.

“I no longer have any shores, Baron!”

With that, the Earl, his stewards, and his guards were gone. Varsus and Multon were now alone in the chamber.

Varsus wasted no more time.

“We need to re-muster the men! Now!”

***

Elsewhere on the grounds of the keep, an inhuman creature also heard the bells, but did not care.

It knew what they were, but an attack by pirates was beneath its notice.

It had traveled hundreds of leagues with these inferior creatures, searching through their minds for information and amusement. Mostly searching for those that it could use for its own purposes.

Barnaby had been one of those.

The young man had been in charge of the wagon in which it had hid for the entire journey, therefore he had been in the presence of IT for many, many dark nights.

That alone would be enough to corrupt most humans, but it had wanted to own this human’s soul, and so it searched through the mind of young Barnaby.

This human was full of unfulfilled desires, and blame for anyone not himself for his failure to attain those desires.

It had recognized this, and intensified those feelings of loss, regret and unfairness until Barnaby fully hated his sworn companions. It had watched, amused, as Barnaby isolated himself more and more from those who were his kin.

“Come, mortal, we must go,” it said, its voice both gravel and honey.

Barnaby sprang to his feet.

“Yes, master,” Barnaby said.

For weeks, Barnaby had felt as if something was wrong with him, but now after meeting his master, he realized that he had been waiting for this his entire life.

Everything made sense. He was here to serve his master. All else had no meaning.

It began walking, and Barnaby fell in behind.

As they walked, the keep was coming to life around them in the night. Urgent shouts accompanied men running to this place or that.

None of these men saw Barnaby or his master.

“Master, they do not see us?” Barnaby asked.

“Eh?” said his master in its lifeless voice. “Oh, of course not. I do not desire for us to be seen.”

They did not see, but they somehow knew.

Though there were people everywhere, not one of them collided with the unseen pair.

Whenever anyone would get close, they would veer around the two, or else make sharp turns of direction that would make no sense to anyone observing. It was an instinctive avoidance of something too horrible to comprehend.

The duo walked to the west, away from the bells and the shouting and the running.

They walked from the keep, through the town surrounding it, and finally to the edge of a vast forest.

The creature walked to the edge of the trees, then it realized that its minion was no longer following.

Turning, it snapped.

“Come, mortal fool! Time is limited!”

But Barnaby did not come.

“M-master,” Barnaby croaked, “That is the Endless Forest! We cannot go in there. ”

It stood, observing its slave. Incredibly, he seemed more afraid of the forest than he was of it.

“Why not? Speak!” it was growing impatient.

“Because… of th-the evil, because of the ELVES!” Barnaby cried.

It stood for long moments. Silent. Motionless.

Then it laughed. Ear-splitting cackling that was all the more horrifying coming from the inhuman mouth. The laughter seemed to double, then triple, as if there were three different evil voices laughing at the same time.

“Elves, indeed,” it said as it chuckled, and the rest of the laughter died out. It turned and reached out then, touching the forest with its own power.

The slave was not wrong. There was definitely a power in this forest. Again, however, there was nothing it need be concerned with.

Turning back, it walked to its minion.

“I see my mistake now,” it said, its voice back to flat, cold and lifeless. “It has been a long time since I encountered mortals, and I did not finish my work. Step forward, mortal.”

Barnaby did as his master bade him.

Then the creature tore his throat out.