Fortunately, despite the size of Abaritan, there was only so much distance that needed traversing. Silenos found no more than a half hour gone by before they finally reached their destination, the castle- or fortress- that made itself the city’s crux and towered above every other structure, save the outer walls themselves.

There must, Silenos thought, have been some reason for the city to be guarded by such high stretches of stone. Perhaps to impede enemies of such a size as to otherwise scale more conventionally sized ones.

Anything else would simply make it infeasible, he didn’t believe that even savages of this world’s stupidity would waste resources on vanity alone, and the relative scale of their castle confirmed to him that such scale was far from a casual investment.

It was efficiently shaped to turn away impacts greater than the mundane technologies of its world could muster, and as Silenos was escorted past the gates he found the walls so thick that it almost felt like moving through a tunnel. Within the place was cold, frigid even, its exterior enforcing an unbroken stagnancy on the air inside that left his skin chilled enough that it might have shivered were any hand but his own responsible for crafting it.

Guards moved around the inside like ants inside a hill, chainmail clinking with every motion, spears held tight in strong grips. Silenos recognised more than a few magicians among them, casters of mixed, generally inferior power, all of which could have attacked him at once without causing an inconvenience. The real display came when they were taken to the office.

Behind a large, ebonwood desk there was a man. Seated, scratching away with quill and parchment, hooked nose housing a pair of delicate spectacles, dark hair neatly combed and maintained as it receded trigonometrically from his brow. His skin was darker than the people of Ensharia’s lands, perhaps closer in tone to Silenos’ own, and his eyes a beady green. He looked up at them with neither friendliness, nor hostility. A simple, weighing gaze that might be found upon an appraiser handed unspecified volumes of gold. Silenos could appreciate it, having donned it himself more than once.

“Greetings.” He said, impassively. “I am Eloran Khazh, the King’s Hand. I am aware that your letter of introduction specified a meeting with King Galukar in its request for an audience, however I am afraid that I will have to satisfy it in his place. My King, you see, is rather indisposed at the moment.”

Silenos glanced at Ensharia, who in turn seemed entirely lost. Evidently it was not a mere lapse on his part, as outsider to the world, that the King’s absence would be found surprising.

“May I ask why?” She asked, letting her confusion show without guarding it. The Hand studied her.

“I had assumed you were aware already.” He replied. “King Galukar is too busy to be meeting with even ambassadors of your calibre, and has been for some weeks now.”

“Busy how?” She demanded, and he shook his head.

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Not for a woman sent on behalf of Elkatin?” She pressed, and again he shook his head.

“Not even, you must forgive me, but-”

Silenos felt the precise instant his patience ran out, speaking over the man, letting it show.

“I have just spent weeks travelling across a thousand miles of countryside with the most irritating creature currently walking this world and the very type of human which most consistently activates him, I will not be denied my reason for doing so without cause.”

The Hand’s eyes were like daggers.

“You are the Saviour, then.” He noted. “I had expected one of a more heroic disposition.”

“And if you continue to defy me you will find you expected a hero of a less homicidal disposition, too.” Silenos answered. “What is your King busy with?”

The Hand’s fingers drummed upon his desk; once, twice, three times. Just before Silenos was considering castration as a means of encouragement, he spoke.

“Very well.” The Hand growled. “You, and only you three, may see King Galukar. But your meeting with him is to be held as the tightest of secrets, understand?”

“Of course.” Silenos snapped.

“Thank you.” Ensharia hastily added, nerves frayed almost past their limits. “Please, lead the way.”

It was a longer walk to the King than Silenos might have expected, and that was, perhaps, a mark in the favour of his nation. House Shaiagrazni, and any league of casters, could appreciate the inherent dangers of ambush and assassination, and so the twists and turns totalling almost a quarter-mile did not strike Silenos as particularly inappropriate.

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They followed the Hand further into the fortress, along corridors that angled deeper gradually enough to almost escape notice. Silenos estimated that, by the time they came to the final door, they were already underground.

During their long walk, he had time to press his companions for information.

“You seemed shocked at the prospect of Galukar being unavailable.” He noted, to Ensharia, “Why is that?”

She kept her eyes ahead as she answered, but her worry was palpable.

“Galukar is said to be one of the finest warriors who ever lived.” She said after a moment. “And the source of his strength is…His sword. It’s a thing of…Not magic, of miracle. A holy relic forged from a sliver of God’s bone, harder than any steel- magic or otherwise- and able to imbue its wielder with a body mighty enough for most weapons to break upon him.

Each of the precious few wielders have carved their names into history using its power, and Galukar is greater even than most of them. As I’ve heard, he’s killed more of the Dark Lord’s minions than anyone else.”

It was an impressive summation, but did not answer his question.

“So why were you worried?” Silenos pressed. She swallowed before continuing.

“A month ago, more or less, I heard that the King met the Dark Lord himself in the field of battle. The result of the actual conflict was that Abaritan’s army won, but…”

“But you feared, upon hearing Garukar was not available to meet, that he had been killed, and his death merely covered up for morale purposes.”

She nodded, face tight.

“There hasn’t been a wielder of the Godblade in a century.” Ensharia whispered. “And it’s known that all of the King’s sons were killed in that same battle, his sons who fought alongside him as personal guards and a retinue of elites, the only ones who could do so without slowing him down. With them gone, if Galukar really is dead, then…There is likely nobody alive able to wield the Godblade.” Her voice was a thing of serrated despair. Falls chose that moment to cut in.

“And there will never be one again. Magic is advancing by the generation, any day now we’ll unwrap the secret to your stupid mysticism, and from then on the weapon will be nothing more than the relic of a bygone age. Your God can follow soon after.”

Ensharia said nothing at first, only kept her eyes on her feet.

“I do so hope you’re right.” She whispered at last.

Finally they reached a stop, standing and waiting before the most hilarious door Silenos had ever seen. It was not composed of iron, nor even mundane steel, but a curious metal he could not quite place the substance of. Its volume glowed with magic strong enough to leave little doubt of it weathering more than one shot of Silenos’ new cannon, and perhaps an assault from his combat form. Covered with locks and glowing runes, it hummed in response to the Hand’s touch, then trembled for a few moments before finally sliding open.

“The King lies beyond.” He said, redundantly, “You will treat him with the respect and reverence that is due to one of his station. Call him His Majesty, Sire or Liege, make no sudden or threatening movements and thank him for his time.” The man hesitated then, before continuing. “...He will not be as you expect, no doubt. You will have heard tales of the towering warrior-king able to spark flints against his musculature and toss twenty times his weight around like straw dolls. I am warning you now…Temper your expectations.”

A solemn, considering pause followed. Then Silenos was moving in to find the man without pause.

Past the door laid a chamber of unexpected comfort. A thick, warm carpet, a crackling fireplace, padded chairs and a crystalline decanter lying beside a ludicrously large bed. Atop that bed, there sat a man. Or what was left of him.

His face was lined, sagging and hollow. Eyes sunken, bones showing beneath loose skin. His limbs were so spindly that Silenos believed he had actually reanimated year-old corpses with more muscle, and the hair atop his trembling scalp fell down in scraggly strips.

Above it all, his newly opened senses found a bottomless sorrow in the man’s eyes. Inky black as shadestuff and infinitely dense. Silenos did not meet his gaze, finding himself suddenly disquieted to do so.

“The King has been like this ever since he met the Dark Lord in battle.” The Hand said, from behind them, closing the door as he did. “The rumours, I imagine you have gathered, are true. They truly did engage in single combat, and the day was, in the end, the Nation of Arbite’s. But there was a cost. My liege, would you…Please explain?”

For a few moments, Silenos thought the monarch might well be too far gone to do even that much. He only jerked his head around, eyes flitting about in panic and paranoid delusion, face twitching as if he were on the brink of tears. Then he spoke in a voice that sounded somehow infant-young and ancient at once.

“He…Came down upon wings of nighttime, and a dozen liches writhed at his feet. We clashed with them, my sons and I, and blood fell in sheets. Every one of us was a blade master, you understand, quicker, stronger, tougher than other men. My sons had each been trained by my personal hand, and though none had the necessary gift to wield the Godblade, any of them could have been a lesser King’s champion. We hacked the liches apart, then moved onto the Dark Lord himself. One by one, my boys were killed. Bodies broken like dolls before his mace, until only I and he remained. I fought him like I’ve fought nothing else, but in the end even I was too weak to leave more than a single crack upon his breastplate. I lost consciousness before he left, but when I awoke I…” The man’s face split apart into a sob, then, and a cry of utter agony escaped him. “My sword! He took my sword! He had no reason to, it is useless in any hands but mine, and yet he took it just to shame me!”

Silenos looked about the room, finding Ensharia’s face first. Her eyes were oceans of sympathy and warmth, beside them the Hand’s were cool with resignation. Only Falls demonstrated a contemptuous apathy.

Only Falls, including even himself. Silenos felt the nascent circuitry of his brain’s emotional centres spark at the story, flooding him with intuition, insight and…Yes. And pity.

“Thank you for sharing that, your Majesty.” Ensharia blurted out. Her eyes remained low for a moment, then rose. Silenos could see the difficulty she felt in lifting them to meet the King’s. “I understand it must have been difficult for you to revisit that, the loss of your swords, your sons, everything. You did an amazing thing by fighting against the Dark Lord, nobody else can ask anything more of you, nor could they have even asked what you’ve given already. Thank you.”

Silenos was surprised to see the King’s eyes grow wet with tears, his lips tremble as emotion took him. He didn’t say anything, just nodded tightly as the Hand stepped forwards.

“I think you had all better leave.” The man advised. None argued with him.