“Iv, can you hear me?”

Striding as he was through the streets of the Deephold, Ivaldi’s mind had been mulling over many things, when all of a sudden his Skidbladnir received a transmission.

“Reginn?” he asked, confused. “Where are you?”

Supernatural communication between Skidbladnir required proximity – the resonance of mana within the crystals utilized could be detected and reproduced, but the range depended on the power. A single Skidbladnir couldn’t transmit more than a few hundred yards; less if there were walls or other structures in the way.

“Close, but don’t try to find me. Just act natural, Iv, like nothing happened. Keep walking.”

He knew his friend well enough to pick up on the strained tone of voice. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”

“I’m fine, but we need to talk. Somewhere we won’t stand out, away from public eyes and prying ears. Just do what I say.”

~~~

Reginn’s behavior was totally abnormal, especially for the commander of the Pharyes military. There was no reason for such secrecy when they had gathered that same wheel at the council meeting. Yet Reginn wouldn’t go this far out of paranoia or for some joke – and that set Ivaldi’s mind whirring.

Trying to control his imagination and keep his growing anxiety from leaking into his Skidbladnir’s gait, he followed the directions the general had given.

Ivaldi made his way through the Pharyes city, travelling down into the lower levels, the districts belonging to the nobility, with none of the uneasy open air of the upper common spaces.

The streets he trod were spacious despite the need to hew them from the solid rock, board enough for ten Skidbladnir to walk abreast. The tunnels were rounded and smooth, the vaulted ceiling inlaid with rows of glowing gems that bathed all in a ‘refined’ green glow all wheel round, never minding the waste of energy.

Eternally lit in that pale aura were the rounded arches and grand facades of the entrance gates to noble warrens. The interior of each home was hidden away, a mesh of chambers and tunnels suspended in the stone, so to show the size and expense to which they had gone, and hence demonstrate the power and wealth of the noble family in question, it was the entrance that would be enhanced.

That made passing down the street a tour through the architectural history and achievements of the Pharyes. Ivaldi passed forests of pillars, imposing statuary and magnificent reliefs. Most included towering doors of engraved stone, too large and imposing to ever be moved by hand; the elegance of the engineering that operated them was another way to demonstrate power.

These doors opened onto a flat tunnel floor, one broad road for the Skidbladnir that the high nobles would pilot in lieu of walking. Lesser nobles had to make other arrangements, but they too hated to walk, so self-propelled litters were popular.

There was no space at the sides for pedestrians, be they servants or the common folk – such types were barred from using the main entrances to noble warrens. Instead they would travel via the service tunnels, cramped spaces just high enough to stand upright, granting staff and laborers access to their lords’ estates without troubling those lords to see them come and go.

That didn’t mean the streets were quiet however. On the route he took, Ivaldi passed a number of litters. He always took a certain pleasure in striding past them, but this wheel he wished them away – each was another set of eyes on him.

The litters moved on four legs, one at each corner, driven by similar technology to the basic golem footsoldiers that made up the bulk of the Pharyes army. But they were slow and clumsy compared to a work of high aulogemscis like his Skidbladnir, Idi, more like walking crates than elegant vehicles.

Most were going to the same place; the opus. Ivaldi would be joining them, but he went not for the exquisite throatsong of the Braga or the games of social politics the nobles would play between recitations. He had never troubled himself with either.

The theater he was heading to, the Opum Ese, was a gargantuan rounded chamber, purpose built, with a stage at the base, tiered seating ringing it on three sides, with box seats higher up. Behind were rooms for the guests to mingle between performances, together as large again as the theater’s main chamber; they served the greater purpose of the place, a venue for the nobility to gather and socialize, all in the finest luxury of course. But even with all the space that had been created, there wasn’t room for the nobles to ride their personal Skidbladnir.

Hence the Opum Ese had an expansive dock outside where they could be left, and it was there that Ivaldi left the safety of his war machine, Idi, to venture into the dangerous territory of the social gathering, where he would be totally exposed.

The chief aulogemscire was expected to engage with such events from time to time naturally, when there was some official purpose or celebration in order; however appearance was seldom enforced past the opening minutes. He’d certainly never gone alone to such a show outside of his official duties, or stayed to watch the Braga.

As a result, even Ivaldi was aware of his conspicuous conduct, looking around like a lost child as he entered the buffet room, feeling underdressed and out of place despite being in his formal council garb.

Everyone was dressed in full finery and showing the greatest refinement. A clumsy attempt to ‘act natural’ could only draw more attention.

The mushroom leather felt uncomfortably hot, sweat sticking it to him and beading on his skin. A young noblewoman near the door grinned at him – doubtless amused by his discomfort. He hurried from her sight before she grew suspicious, moving through the crowd, skirting around the islands of conversation that formed as nobles rubbed shoulders.

Wandering over to the long table where the food was served he hovered, uncertain if he should take any – no-one else seemed to be.

The smart thing to do would be to start up a conversation with someone, but looking about at the candidates Ivaldi was quite sure that was impossible. Even if he could push his way into one of the conversations, he’d have no idea what to say.

It was Ingeborg who saved him, as ever it had been.

“Brother!” She gave a green grin, clapping his shoulder painfully hard. “What a pleasant surprise! I never thought I’d run into you here! Have you finally taken my advice, to see the wonder of the Braga for yourself?!”

“S-sister! I didn’t know you were coming!” His voice was too high, too loud, his surprise too forced and artificial.

“Of course, I’m here for the premiere just like you,” she replied, her own performance much more impressive, leaving Ivaldi to resent his own inability. Even as a child Ingeborg had lied with ease.

She took his hand, pulling him towards the stairs with a wink. “Well then we’ll watch the show together. Come, it’s time we went to our seats anyway.”

The place she led him was her private box, high above the stage, where Reginn was already waiting for them.

With the trio gathered Ivaldi wanted to demand answers, but Reginn put a finger to his lips before he could speak. The aulogemscire’s cheeks burned at the commanding touch, but the moment lasted only a second before Reginn ushered them inside.

“Fancy meeting you two.” The dashing young soldier beamed with his glittering citrine grin. For a moment Ivaldi forgot to be anxious. “Sorry to steal your box, Ing, I still had the key from last time we came. And Iv, you’re here too? What miracle is this?!”

“I, um, I just thought I’d… see what the fuss is all over?” Ivaldi managed unconvincingly.

“About time too!” Reginn beamed, patting his shoulder as he pulled the aulogemscire into a hug.

As their chests pressed together Reginn whispered a warning, but Ivaldi’s mind was on the feeling of his breath against his ear, the strength of his arm around him, the scent of his hair…. What had the general said? Something about there being ears everywhere?

Pulling back Reginn went on as if nothing had happened. “I didn’t see you at the party earlier; I must have arrived just before you.”

As they talked Reginn led him to a padded seat and poured him a glass of wine from the cooled compartment, the casual conversation going on while the hall was slowly filling for the performance.

The Opum Ese was a marvel of masonry, a theater of towering overlapping chambers, complex geometry creating the perfect space to draw out and amplify the overtones the Braga produced, all lit with a blue glow from countless gemstones.

At the confluence of the flowing stone the space reached its greatest height, and there descended the Ese organ, Gjallarhorn, the largest ever built, named in honor of the mythical horn that had sounded the birth of the Pharyes.

This Gjallarhorn was wrought with grandeur enough not to shame its namesake. It descended like a forest of stalactites from the domed roof, each formed by clusters of metal pipes, bound in gold and engraved by the finest metalworkers and artists.

Directly beneath the organ was the stage, from which the Braga’s song would resound, reaching all the way up to their instrument far above.

Ivaldi had to admit that the Opum Ese was quite the spectacle.

The boxes at the Opum Ese were equal to their placement. Each was the height of luxury, reserved for those noble families who could afford the fees, they offered spacious and comfortable balcony rooms with seating for as many as ten overlooking the stage below and the tiered benches where lesser nobles gathered. A perfect status symbol, they were complete with excellent soundproofing to deaden any noise that might disturb the performance, be it from the corridors outside or the audience around and below.

But that soundproofing required power; the gemstones would be depleted in just a few weeks if they were active all day long, so the system was only started when a performance was in session.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Soon the show was beginning, the soundproofing smothering the murmurs of the crowd outside along with the dimming of the lights.

Far below a tiny figure stepped forward, alone on the grand stage. The gemstone choker at her throat gleamed with essence as a single low note filled the chamber from floor to ceiling, a powerful drone welling up, resonating off the many walls, clear as crystal and deep as the roots of the mountains.

One tone became two, then three, the solitary voice expanding to fill every facet of the Opum Ese, unfolding an orchestral vision to which the organ responded. Highs soared up from the ocean of guttural harmony, sparkling diamonds and sapphires of blinding intensity bursting into being.

The music swelled, the haunting beauty growing overpowering, and in response the stalactites above thrummed to life, awoken not by players, but by the voice, the supernatural song of the opus. With her voice the singer would weave a whole world of sound, and the organ would populate her realm.

The roots had grown mountains, the ocean a storming swell. With Gjallarhorn she sung into being the Skidbladnir, the original and first of its kind. Not armor to wear, but the golden ship of myth. The vessel on which the Pharyes had came to Arcadia, riding now upon an ocean no Pharyes living had ever seen, against a tempestuous sky few could even imagine.

Why had Ivaldi never come here before?

“They say that the Braga must have even finer control of their mana than the Varangians.” Ingeborg spoke softly despite the soundproofing, as if afraid to break the spell. “It’s a terrible balancing act, to harness so much power without letting it become a blunt instrument.”

“It’s… impressive,” Ivaldi confessed, refusing to allow her or Reginn see him wipe a tear from his eye. In that moment he longed to keep listening and watching, to lose himself in the story for a while, to let the flaring colors sung together carry him away. But he knew he couldn’t

“It’s been a long time since we heard the Braga perform, Ing.” Reginn commented. “And this must be your first time, right Iv? You can always tell.”

“Yes… but, well, that’s not why you needed me to come here, is it?”

Reginn shook his head, but it was Ingeborg who spoke.

“Were you paying attention to my report this wheel, brother?”

The dreary subject felt almost absurd against the magnificence of the opus.

“About Vitrgraf mine? Of course I was, it was part of the council meeting.”

Reginn smiled at his hurt tone. “You can’t blame her for checking, it’s you after all, Iv. You’re not exactly attentive to your duties.”

Ivaldi shot him a look of betrayal and Reginn gave him a playful shrug, but Ingeborg ignored them both.

“Anyway, it was the Justicar who assigned me to investigate the mine disaster, so that was just what I did, but the more I looked into it the less I understood.”

“Yeah, the Justicar wasn’t happy about that, was he?” Ivaldi said, sympathizing after his own experiences with disappointing the irascible Hreidmar.

“You’re rotten at reading people, Iv,” Reginn remarked. “Hreidmar looked angry, but he didn’t actually do anything, did he?”

“What do you mean?”

Ingeborg sighed, patting her brother on the shoulder. “Ivaldi. I turned in a report where I concluded that we had no idea what happened or why the largest and most costly mining disaster in history destroyed our most crucial mining operation. Vitrgraf was supposed to save us from starvation, but now it lies under a lake of magma – along with hundreds of our finest miners and engineers – and I told the Justicar we just don’t know what happened.”

Outside the box, the performance of the Braga grew grim, the colors dark and cold, the harmonics anxious. Strange shapes fell from the skies, fluttering crystals that danced with the music.

“And for all his complaints the Justicar accepted that report. He didn’t demand I continue the investigation or find answers – instead he declared the matter closed. After I found nothing.”

The chill of the music spread through Ivaldi’s chest as he listened. “Sister… are you saying that he… wanted you to find nothing?”

“You’re the one who got us thinking about this, Iv,” Reginn spoke up, the usual humor of his eyes missing. “Remember that wheel when we were drinking together? It was your suspicions that made us look closer.”

“You’re involved too?” Ivaldi asked, confused.

“My investigations were stonewalled at every turn,” Ingeborg explained. “Witnesses were unavailable, records were lost, or woefully incomplete, physical evidence was all destroyed by the accident, or sealed away for thousands of years in a lake of magma. It was only after we talked that I realized it wasn’t just bad luck, or lazy overseers, or incompetent engineers. It was intentional. Someone was covering something up. A few days after my vassals interviewed him the chief engineer on the project was found dead in her warren… suicide the investigators say. Too convenient I say. She knew something she couldn’t tell me.”

“But anyone who could do all that would have to be as powerful as a council member. More powerful even. The relief effort was under the direct supervision of the… Justicar….”

“That’s where I came in,” Reginn said simply. “If the Justicar was responsible for burying the truth then any investigation Ingeborg made into him or his vassals would be exposed immediately. But the military? We may answer to the Justicar and the King, but we have the autonomy to carry out a quiet investigation or two – without getting either of you involved.”

Reginn lent back in his seat, staring out as the panorama shifted, glowing reds bubbling up as the notes grew heated, themes clashing in the song with fiery passion as the heroic first Pharyes led his people into the depths of the mountain to rescue the queen, Ydun.

“The chief engineer might be dead, but she had assistants. The first assistant was missing, but the third I found – alive and well and looking for a new line of work. We arranged for him to have an interview with us.”

“What did he tell you?”

“The same official story a dozen other survivors told. But then I tried his husband. Some of my people tracked him down – they’re estranged now. Shame, but good for us. They were newlyweds when the accident happened, and you know how couples talk. That interview was totally off the record, just one of Ing’s people in a tavern one wheel and a little green feldspar in his drink.”

Ivaldi choked on his wine at the words. “Feldspar?!” he hissed, whispering despite the soundproofing. “That’s a crime, Ingeborg! Even councilors can’t have people drugged!”

Ingeborg spoke up with a grim tone. “There were worse crimes committed than drugging, Ivaldi. The husband told us what he’d heard. The official testimonies say there were problems with the construction after unusual geological activity; magma penetrated the region and the Justicar’s vassals were brought in to evacuate, but too late.”

She continued the account. “The story the husband heard from the third assistant contained nothing about construction problems or magma. The aulogemscires detected an anomaly during the construction phase, but it wasn’t volcanic activity. Vitrgraf was entering depths no-one has ever explored before. They were well prepared to deal with heat and magma. The walls had a cooling system that could have repelled a whole lake of molten rock, almost indefinitely.”

“I always thought it was strange that the walls would fail.” Ivaldi said, mind struggling to put together all the information. It was like trying to solve a riddle missing most of its clues. “But then what was the anomaly? How did the mine flood?”

“I don’t think anyone left alive knows that for certain, Iv,” Reginn answered. “But there was another person I investigated; the head foreman. It was risky sending someone to meet with him in his cell, but we had to know more, and how much blame was pinned on him, he was happy to talk.”

“Well what did he say then?!”

“He said the Justicar’s vassals weren’t called in because the mine collapsed. It collapsed after they arrived.”

Ivaldi gaped. “That would mean….”

“That the Justicar caused the Vitrgraf disaster, and covered it up?”

“That can’t be true! Why would anyone do that?! The mine was… it was supposed to be our hope, a fresh supply of gemstones after the other veins ran out… he should – he needs this as much as anyone!”

I didn’t want to believe it either, Reginn sighed. “I couldn’t believe Justicar Hreidmar would do such a thing. Still don’t want to really. But… I mentioned the first assistant, he was missing. We investigated his family. It wasn’t easy to get her to talk, but his sister told us that he’d been trying to reach to someone in the official investigation team. Right before he went missing.”

Outside the box the first Pharyes were journeying through the Underworld, beset on all sides by enemies, when the traitor, Thiazi, turned upon his own in their moment of greatest peril, to carry off the beautiful Ydun, spiriting her away to the dark places beneath even the Underworld.

“The story he told her sounded crazy, even to her, but he claimed he’d heard people talking about something going on in the depths, something they couldn’t let get out. That was the wheel of the disaster.”

“Something going on? What does that mean? All they were doing down there was mining!”

Ingeborg nodded. “That’s the thing, brother, according to the final reports they weren’t just mining, they were mining with unprecedented yields. More gemstones came from Vitrgraf in a wheel than from all other mines in a month.”

“But….”

“But why would the Justicar sabotage our salvation?” she asked grimly. “The same reason he’s been replacing the King’s servants and restricting access. Power. The more dire things become and the more isolated the King gets, the more powerful the Justicar has grown. Perhaps he doesn’t mean to stay merely Justicar. There was a time when his house were part of the royal lineage.”

“That’s madness, he’d doom us all over the throne?!”

Reginn shook his head. “If we’re right, Iv, then flooding the mine was a temporary measure. He’s the one who declared the area too ‘unstable’ for anyone to return. When the Justicar is king he can declare the area safe to return to. With aulogemscires, engineers and miners back down there they can sink a new shaft and tap the veins from another angle. He’ll be the one to ‘save’ us all.”

“But the surveys showed the depths were too seismically active for anyone to…,” Ivaldi trailed off. It was the Justicar who had ordered the surveys, and the Justicar who had presented the results to the council.

“This… this is why we went to war too,” Ivaldi spoke, certainty coming to him in a sickening rush. “We could have – should have – tried to trade with the surfacers. Attacking them was stupid, cruel. Even if we had won easily, we might never have had to fight if they could be reasoned with.”

“I called you a buffoon back in the tavern, Iv, but I’m starting to think I was the buffoon.”

“It’s not too late; we can expose what the Justicar’s done, take the evidence directly to the king!”

“I want to, but all we have are rumors – or so the Justicar will say. We need proof. That’s where you came into this.”

“But I’m just an aulogemscire, I don’t know anything about… about… subterfuge!”

“True, but… it seems we overplayed our hand with the investigation so far. Someone has been tailing me for a while now. Ingeborg too. It’s hard to know how much Hreidmar’s aware of, but if we’re caught investigating him directly he could spin that into serious charges. Treason.”

“That’s why we had to meet like this, Ivaldi,” Ingeborg said, a frustrated look of guilt on her face. “I wanted to keep you out of this, but you’re the only person we can trust who isn’t under surveillance. You might be close to us, but everyone knows you don’t get involved in politics – it’s hard enough to drag you out of your lab for council meetings. Even if he suspected anything, I don’t think Hreidmar believes you have it in you.”

Ivaldi clenched his teeth. Outside the box the music was rising towards a crescendo, pressure reverberating in the air. The climax was coming and there was no time to delay or ponder his answer before the music ended and with it their shelter from prying ears.

He balled up his fists, willing his determination to hold out.

“Alright, I’ll do it! But… uh… what do I have to do?”

~~~

In the temple of Nemoi the priestess bowed her head, hands clasped in silent prayer, the only light that of the enchanted statues which shone in reverence for the Goddess. The golden glow was a welcome comfort in the depth of night, when Thessaly’s fears came to haunt her mind.

Her prayer that night was the same as it ever was. That Nemoi grant her clarity, that the Goddess reveal that path she must take and grant her the strength to follow it; the strength to save her people. No matter what it might cost her.

No matter what it might cost those she cared for.

The war was all for that purpose.

She had looked into the destinies of her cousins, of the Stormqueen and the princess, and she saw nothing. Not even the enigma of metaphoric fates, just nothingness, a severance of destiny.

Thessaly had never seen such a thing, but it scared her to the core. All beings had a fate; even if there was no grand destiny for the lesser creatures, they had some place in the world, some fated life and fated end.

It was seldom easy to decipher the meaning of the fragmentary images and shards of emotion, but she had made a long study of the task.

Yet when she looked at Aellope and Arawn, she saw nothing.

She’d thought it was the fault of the ‘human’, ‘Safkhet’, a name that could not have been a more dire insult to her great lineage, gifted so carelessly to the interloper; the intruding, barbaric creature bore none of the threads of fate.

And yet the only vision she received from the Goddess had been of that same monster.

Even now, with the ‘human’ slain, still she couldn’t understand. Nothing had changed. The darkness still reached out to claim her cousins and images of disaster still came to her unbidden.

It had begun in the depths of sleep, images bubbling up from dream yet showing her things she could never have imagined. Images of the Golden Sepulchre, details she’d never known – yet confirmed by later research.

Words came with it, too powerful to hear, resonating in her soul. They were the proclamations of the Goddess. They were words of warning. Of catastrophe.

The image shattered, the golden forms crumbling to dust, black decay and charnel spires bursting through as a figure reached out to touch the altar. The words turned to a wail, a resounding sound of woe and pain that filled her being. It was the Eyrie, capital of the Empire, reduced to a city of ruin and death. The figure was Safkhet. All about her were her victims.

The goddess was weeping for her lost daughters.

Her words became a plea for help.

Thessaly gasped as reality returned to her, swaying on her feet, catching herself against the statue that towered overhead.

The vision came to her even in her waking hours now.

She allowed herself a moment to collect herself, to wipe the blood from her mouth and eye before she withdrew her steadying hand from the form of her Goddess. The Divine Sky would understand her weakness in that moment. Hearing the divine words was a great burden as well as a gift.

The vision was the calamity she had to prevent; the destruction of the Empire and the ruin of her people. For that cause any sacrifice was worthwhile, even the Stormqueen.

“P-Priestess?”

Thessaly stiffened in horror at the small voice.

“Priestess Thessaly, are you ill?!”

She checked her hand for traces of blood, composing herself before turning to face the newcomer.

She recognized the lowborn intruder; Masika, part of the Stormqueen’s council, her trusted advisor.

~~~

“Of course not, Masika, I apologize for troubling you, I am simply a mite sleepy, shameful though it is to admit. Please forgive my impudence in laying hands on the form of the Goddess to steady myself… I would be grateful if you would neglect to mention it to anyone else.”

Masika was quick to nod.

“Priestess, I’m sorry for my intrusion, and for… coming to you with my worries when you have so many others to care for.”

Thessaly bowed her head with typical gracious elegance. “There is nothing to apologize for, it is my divinely given task to be your guide in matters of the spirit – or heart. I can imagine why you’ve come to me after today’s events. The departure of the Stormqueen has shaken us all. For one of the pillars of our society to be so suddenly absent during so dire a time; it is only natural to be troubled.”

Masika gulped, feathers bristling unhappily. She knew the Queen would not thank her for what she’d come to do, to say, but someone had to. Only she knew. “It’s… not just her leaving,” the black-scaled harpy hanging her head, her grey hair cascading down over her rounded features as if to help her hide her face.

The Priestess said nothing. Her look of understanding hurt more than words. But Masika pushed through her guilt. This was a betrayal of her Queen, and yet, had the Queen not betrayed them all?

Once she began to speak the words came pouring out with no end. She told the Priestess everything, the things Aellope had said before she left, how she had questioned the value of preserving the Empire, questioned her own duty to her people, the duty of the people to the nobility and the royal line.

Her body shuddered as she spoke, tears welling up. She couldn’t tell if it was fear for herself, for the Empire, or for the Queen. Perhaps for all three.

When she was done the Priestess placed a giant hand gently upon her shoulder, no trace of fear or anxiety on her beautiful visage.

She was pristine as the driven snow, not a feather out of place, her heart beating for all Harpies.

As Masika had always believed did Aellope’s.

Her words assigned no blame, showed no anger or betrayal, but simply sad acceptance, a determination to do what must be done, for the Harpies and for the Empire.

They were the words of the Priestess, but also the words of the Goddess, the mother to her people and the one absolute in all of the world.

She wouldn’t defy them.