King Galukar’s mood was foul as they walked. It was a growing commonality of all the man’s moods that they would be some variety of low quality, but this one was perhaps among the worst Silenos had seen. His shoulders were hunched, neck driven slightly forwards, fingers twitching. It was all the same bodily shifts that tended to emerge as the King prepared himself to kill.

His history with Governor Baird had not been lost on Silenos, of course, but he’d not been yet able to wheedle any of it out from him. The man seemed far less open to answering his questions than Ensharia, and he’d not yet gotten the chance to try directing them at Arion. It was irritating in the way sulphuric acid upon subdermal tissue was irritating. Harsh enough that a lesser creature might have deemed it pain.

Kaltan’s streets had been well explored by the time of their summons, and Silenos found no new sights awaiting his gaze on this latest trek through them. It was, however, refreshing to be moving through in the knowledge that something of guaranteed worth awaited him at the end of his journey. Almost enough to distract from the scent of manure.

Ahead of him Baird walked with a back that remained straight and a gait that remained loping, despite his captivity. Silenos rather approved of that, always finding appreciation for a being able to remember itself regardless of circumstance. Were he not a sense-dead moron incapable of even trivial magic, he might have made a Shaiagrazni. Alarming numbers of this world seemed to fit that bill.

Beneath his feet, mud turned to cobbles, to smooth tiles. They came to the wealthier, central parts of Kaltan.

Silenos had continued his typical habit of gleaning information about the place during his habitation of it, if only for the non-zero chance that such data would prove useful. It was for this reason that he knew, already, the noble quarter of the city was not actually a Noble’s quarter. Years ago its revolution had seen such function obsolete, as most of those who might occupy it lost either head, property or inclination to remain within the settlement.

These days, it was rather more militarised.

A tale as old as time, he had found. Social revolutions were not uncommon, nor even were they uncommonly successful. Almost invariably, however, the ones that actually triumphed were forwarded or directed by the military.

Soldiers. He could feel his lip curling at the very thought.

House Shaiagrazni ensured that all of its citizens fulfilled their purposes. Indeed, one of Silenos’ jobs when he was younger had been to scan the bodies and brains of people to ascertain what roles their genetic and environmental products made them most suited to. Soldiers were the lowliest of all these assigned positions.

To be a mathematician, one needed patience and dedication. To be an engineer, spatial reasoning and working memory. A tactician needed predictive power and logical skill, a navigator accurate memory and inductive reasoning.

Soldiers were not so demanding of their recruits. To truly excel in that field required only a trifecta of traits. Strength, courage and a generous helping of violent savagery. They were not a stock which Silenos imagined his people would have bothered sustaining, were they not beset by enemies from other nations.

Finlay Baird had been a soldier, which was why his revolution had succeeded. Might did not make right, of course, but neither did right make might. In a primitive society, it was violence and power that declared the ruler of a land.

Around them, walls rose only to moderate heights of a half dozen or so metres, but frequently demonstrated ridiculous thickness. Men marched and patrolled in armour Silenos would not have expected to be common among their culture and technological peers. Quilted fabrics woven thick and tough, or even strips of steel shaped to make the spine of boiled leather slabs. It was all impressive for mere foot soldiers, and it was not so uncommon to see men marching among the grunts clad in suits of full steel plate.

“Not a bad arrangement.” Galukar grunted, clearly observing just what Silenos had. “Must cost a lot to keep men outfitted like this.”

“We save money on training.” The Ranger, Collin Baird, replied. “That, and the city in general saved a lot of money. Our former Earl used to hoard a lot of the product of taxation, then disperse much more amongst his nobility. With them gone it’s all being cycled back into the city itself, some infrastructure but, given the state of things…Mostly it’s into the military. Nice fountains and water pipes wouldn’t mean much if the Dark Lord took it all.”

Galukar smiled at that, and Silenos wasn’t surprised to hear his choice of focal point.

“Cheaping on training.” He sighed. “You’ll regret that, when they see battle-”

“We don’t cheap out on anything.” The boy cut in, harshly. “We just found a better way of doing it. We offer promotion through performance and assessed expertise, and rank all the men in each squad during sessions. Those who over-perform in any given week compared to their usual earn additional rations or ale, those who under-perform compared to previous abilities get nothing. It incentivises them to keep working, sometimes even in their own time. Speeds things up a lot and lets us do more with less.”

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His tone was insolent beyond the capacity for any Shaiagrazni to tolerate, but seeing it aimed at Galukar made the entire thing rather amusing to behold. Silenos smiled as he saw the King’s face tighten. He expected to hear an argument, but did not. Instead they just kept moving.

Kaltan Castle was as creatively named as so many other features of the New World, and Silenos found himself so inured to the awful monikers that he barely even winced upon hearing it. It was a thing to stand in opposition to the constructions around it. Tall, thin at parts, sprawling out in networks of spires and additional wings resting upon great stony pillars.

Impressive, he supposed, for its scope. But it would make a poor position in defence, that much was clear at a glance.

Baird spat. The gesture did not surprise Silenos, though it drew a questioning glance from Falls which prompted an explanation.

“Built by the old Lords.” The Ranger explained, with venom in his eyes and poison on his tongue. “You can tell, because it’s a gaudy, impractical sack of shit.”

Silenos did loathe soldiers, for reasons too numerous to easily list. But even he found that one amusing.

A portcullis lifted as they approached the castle, guarded by two men in more of the leather-clad steel and armed with coiled, steel-limbed arbalests. Once inside they were followed at all times by no less than three men in plate, polearms seeming perpetually ready to bite into flesh. By the looks of their wielders, they might even have managed to break the skin of Galukar. The outermost layer, at least.

Silenos was more concerned with the surroundings than that, though, and he found much of note. Namely, he found absences.

“This is a portrait hall.” He observed. “With walls bleached by light, save for in rectangular patches.”

Baird smiled at that, seeming proud.

“We’ve been selling off the old art, redistributing the funds. Actually putting them to use, you know.”

“A Godless use.” King Galukar piped up, clearly unamused. But not nearly as much so as Baird, who rounded on him quickly.

“Your God can eat my shit and hair.” He told the King, speaking so quickly and acidically that it actually stunned the giant monarch into silence. Silenos found himself wrestling back a cackle.

Troubling how much harder that felt. But almost worth it for the joy of seeing Galukar’s stunned expression.

“We’re almost there.” Baird told them, as they came to a final corridor. “Do you all know how to address the Governor?”

Galukar spat at his feet, which seemed to Silenos as eloquent a reply as the King was likely to give. Falls frowned questioningly, and he himself shook his head.

“Different to a king, I would imagine.” He dared to guess.

“Couldn’t be more different. Don’t bow, don’t refer to him by any particular title, and don’t scrape at the ground. Just treat him like a man with an army at his back.”

That sounded rather similar to how Silenos tended to treat kings in general, but he supposed the boy couldn’t be expected to know that. Nodding, he waited for them to enter the hall.

It was true enough that the place differed from other throne rooms Silenos had been shown so far. Mainly in its total lack of a throne, but the decor in general was less extravagant and more mundane than seemed to be the preference of kings. He saw no gilded carpets or hung portraits, no marble statues or displayed weapons. Only a single plaque bearing a single item of note. A crown, dented and buckled, allowed to rust at the edges. He could imagine whose it had been.

Beneath it a desk rested, not particularly modest, nor indulgent. Sitting behind that was a man Silenos guessed was Finlay Baird. He had a strong face, though tired, with matted hair and sharp eyes. His nose was hooked and his lips thin and tight.

When the man got to his feet, Silenos saw two things. The first was a pair of long daggers hooked at his waist, and the second was his height. He seemed no larger than most of the peasants in other cities, smaller even than those of his own.

“Thank you for coming.” The man grunted, and Silenos realised his accent was more similar to the peasantry of Kaltan than the more common aristocratic pattern he’d grown familiar with. Curious. “I take it you are the men responsible for freeing my son, Collin, from the Dark Lord’s prisons?”

“I am.” Silenos replied, before Galukar could speak, and thus convert their situation into a disaster. “My companion here provided aid, however, and your son aided us in fighting our way out when enemy reinforcements arrived.”

“I wounded a Fomori.” The boy added, grinning broadly as if it were an accomplishment of some kind. Finlay Baird eyed him for a second, but quickly moved his gaze to other people and other matters.

“We need to talk about the attack on my people.” He said, after a moment. King Galukar moved to reply before Silenos could, and he did so with drawn iron.

The Godblade practically flew upwards to rest an inch from the Governor’s nose, not even quivering as it was held aloft. Its edge halted just shy of drawing blood, and Silenos felt the magic bunching in Galukar’s muscles as he aimed it, saw the lightning in his eyes.

“It seems to me that I’m standing before the one responsible.” He spat. “Or do they not count as people when they’re of noble birth?”

To his credit, Finlay Baird did not flinch. Even while his son aimed his own bow at Galukar, and the present guards readied themselves to strike. The man might have been staring down a breadstick for all his worry.

“They count as people, they just needed to die.”

His face was steady as ever, arms not even twitching towards the knives at his side. Baird either knew he would not get the chance to draw them, or knew they would do nothing to Galukar even if he did. The king growled.

“There were good people among the men and women you butchered.” He hissed. “And-”

“-No there weren’t.” Baird replied. “Every single one of them was a parasitic animal. They couldn’t be reasoned with, because you can’t reason with people who think they’re simply better than you. They couldn’t be negotiated with, because people who already have everything stand only to lose from compromise. The only logical way to deal with them was to remove them from power, and kill the ones most likely to reclaim it. I don’t regret anything I did, I’m not sorry, and I’ll do it to every other city in the continent if I ever have the chance.”