“I didn’t write the book on war, but I made sure it was preserved, and I think that should give me some legitimacy in your eyes, General.”

* Oreanen Vainen, the Emerald Sage, speaking to Lieutenant General Crowley of the Nokian Windriders Battalion

The meeting was at midday four days later, on a long, bustling street called Balvellen Way. They arrived a quarter hour early, grabbing steaming hot kebabs from a street corner bodega, and ate the food peaceably while admiring the busy and varied surroundings.

The street was lined with tall buildings, four or five stories being typical. The buildings looked old, though many of them were made primarily of the same old brown brick. People in sharp business attire strode briskly from place to place, everyone carrying sheaves of paperwork and bulky briefcases. There was a bank, numerous law offices, accounting firms, three public relations agencies, a post office, and numerous other white collar medium-sized businesses inhabiting the imperious buildings.

It was at noon precisely, the hour’s bell ringing in the air, that the large wooden double doors they had been hanging around in the vicinity of opened promptly, without a squeak or scuff.

They were met with a solemn gray-haired butler standing at prim attention. Surveying them, then leaning his head back and raising his voice so it would carry, he said: “Master Leaden, your twelve o’clock is here to see you.”

They heard rustling in a back room, and up walked a towering, well over six foot tall man, flesh milky in color and head seeming too large for the man’s thin frame.

The man extended a hand to Bim. He couldn’t quite reach, and his arm seemed to stretch, becoming longer and slightly thinner, in order to grasp the young man’s hand. His handshake was firm and had a businesslike, practiced air to it. “Greetings, travelers four. I am Quailen Leaden, of the Gold Star Mercantilists’ Coalition. Please, come in and divest yourself of your footwear forthwith, Children of Archons.” As he spoke, his words seemed to not follow the movements of his lips, one trailing after the other.

The four awkwardly stepped inside the house, taking off their shoes near the door, and were led by Quailen deeper into the house, down a hallway carpeted with some kind of plush, deliciously soft brownish-red fur. They were led to a windowless back room, perhaps thirty square feet, and were sat around a square stone table on tall wooden chairs that weren’t particularly comfortable.

“So, who are you? And how’d you know where to find us? And what’s up with how you talk?” Helena immediately started asking questions.

Quailen’s eyes widened in an exaggerated-seeming approximation of confusion, exposing two different-colored irises, one a pale green, the outer one a midnight blue. “I do not understand your third question, Helena of Drumlin, but I am capable of answering the first and second. I am, as I introduced myself, Quailen Leaden of the Gold Star Mercantilist’s Coalition.” He was silent for a moment, then blinked very slowly, before continuing. “I can surmise from your expression that you require more information for your mind to be satiated, so I will also reveal that I am one-hundred-and-four years old.” Quailen was silent for several moments, at which point Zara noticed he hadn’t been breathing this entire time, and everyone else was quietly processing every new odd revelation about the man before them.

He continued on after a long pause to carefully survey each of their expressions. “As for your second question, I found you via utilizing the Coalition’s network of amateur .”

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“I hadn’t noticed any people tracking us.” Zara noted.

“It would defeat the point if they were seen.” Quailen stated plainly. “As to why I have invited you here: the Coalition, in addition to being a profit-seeking organization, has several ulterior goals we hope to accomplish. One of those goals is the collection of the objects known to you as ‘Spellbreakers’. We understand that one is in the possession of the of this settlement, and wish to acquire it as expediently as is possible. Bim Selkis,” Quailen nodded to Bim, “you were in contact up until two weeks previous with a Coalition infiltrator working as a double agent under the known as Devolion. They have informed us of your plans, though they were obligated to cease contact with both you and the Coalition when they were discovered and were forced to recede from their profession for a time.”

Bim snapped his fingers. “So that's why I couldn’t get a hold of my contact!” He suddenly turned grimmer. “Is she alright? She got out okay, yeah?”

Quailen nodded once, face unchanged. “Our agent simply utilized a dimensional susurration in order to return to another Coalition foothold.” As Quailen opened their mouth to continue, Greg broke in. “Wait, a dimensional susurration? You mean a portal? You have spies that can make portals? Why do you even need us?”

Quailen stared at the for three full seconds before speaking. “The dimensional susurration utilized was naturally occurring in nature, child. Creation of artificial ‘portals’, as you call them, is beyond the capabilities of any of our agents. While several of our agents do know how to travel through such abnormalities, they are not geographically precise mechanisms of travel. Additionally, the residence is secured by some form of defensive Neutral Power Manifestation, and as such could not be entered externally by use of ‘portals’, even if that was within the capacities of the Coalition, by any human except for the Manifester, a man identifying as Andrium.”

“The prig has warded the Palace, just say that.” Helena snapped. “Don’t use words I don’t know just to sound intelligent.”

Bim gave Helena a look. “Obviously the man has some kind of condition, Helena. Let him speak in his own way.” He turned to Quailen. “I’m sorry, sir, please continue.”

“The reason I have requested your aid instead of utilizing my own agents is because the four of you are profoundly capable and driven individuals. The Mercantilists, in partnership with the Resistance movement, will supply you with any necessary tools and/or materials, and in turn your quartet will retrieve the ‘Spellbreaker Blade’ from the possession, utilize it to slay the one known as Andrium, and afterwards return it to our possession, where it will be collected and placed far from any troublesome individuals. Do we have an accord?”

Bim looked at the others, then nodded. “We’ll have to iron out a few details, but I think we have a deal. I just have one question.”

Quailen was expressionless. “If your query fits certain foundational requisites, I will answer it to the best of my abilities.”

“What are you?” Bim asked, eyes burning with curiosity.

Quailen stared at him for yet another drawn out handful of seconds. “If you do not know that already, Bim Selkis, then I am not allowed to inform you.” He brought his hands together slowly so that they met as if he meant to clap, then brought them slowly back apart and put his arms by his sides like they had been before without making a noise. “You will each leave here at random intervals of between five and twenty-seven minutes, heading in various different directions, to lower the percentage chance of a nearby human noticing anything out of the ordinary. If you are questioned about the nature of our meeting, state that it was for purposes of clarifying your wills. You,” He pointed to Greg. “Leave now and head towards the Westside Bank. Write a list of necessary items and have it delivered through an intermediary within three days. And attempt not to die.”

And one by one, they left, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, trailing off into the night.