Khahar’s calculations were correct. Well, mostly correct. The flow of time in the heavenly realms was strange, but no more strange than back on the mortal plane. With his absurd attributes he’d experienced time as a collage of events, rather than a linear progression. At least here he could count one moment passing after the other. One thought coming, then going.
The throne room of Khahak was massive. Perhaps the size of his old capital back in the Khahari desert. His followers rushed around the massive space, fading in and out of existence. A shimmering portal appeared before him at his command, allowing him to view the mortal plane. But he could also view the other realms, crowded as they were. The Prime Pantheon was scrambling, but the Demonic Pantheon seemed calm. All except for Zagmon’s cursed realm.
“Sire, we’ve repelled the first attack,” the high-priest said.
“From Zagmon?” Khahar asked, enjoying the way his thoughts flowed.
“Yes, sire.”
“Prepare for a counter-offensive,” Khahar said, a smile spreading across his face. “You have a century to ready the troops.”
“Yes, sire. And a visitor. He only needs your consent to enter,” the high-priest said.
“Who?”
“Glantheir.”
Khahar’s smile broadened. “Allow him in.”
Reality parted before the throne. A stately Elf appeared, clad in pure white robes with flowing hair to match. He held a staff with the symbol of his realm. Intertwined laurels made of gold, working their way down the staff to the floor. The god took a knee.
“We beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, Arbiter,” Glantheir said. “My aim has only ever been to serve the mortal world.”
“So it has been noted,” Khahar said. “Yet you share a Pantheon with the Eye. With Fan’glir.”
“I’ve come to give introductions, not excuses, Yuri,” the Elven God said. “None of the gods alone can challenge you, but they’re questioning your authority as a collective.”
“Is that so?” Khahar asked, rising from his seat and crossing the wide space between them. “Arbitration doesn’t mean pacifism. I am the arbiter. The collective judge of you. Whomever I say is guilty is. The authority is thus.”
“Of course,” Glantheir said, bowing his head lower. “We look to your wisdom. And I beg for your mercy on the mortal world.”
“My interest has only ever been in protecting the mortals. I will not poke my head in their affairs. Neither will any of the other Pantheons.”
“Just so.”
Glantheir departed. It might have been a moment later, or a few years. But then the century flashed by in a blink, and Khahar found himself on the bone-strewn fields of Zagmon’s realm. The Dronon forces of war crumpled beneath the ascended Khahari. Continents were raised, castles destroyed, and the Arbiter climbed the steps of the demonic god’s citadel. Casualties were a strange thing in the heavens. Souls didn’t just die, they went back to their realm. So long as their patron was alive.
“I suppose you think you’re quite clever,” Zagmon said.
The Demon god sat atop a throne of bones and blood, peering down with fearful eyes. The citadel of Zagmon overlooked pools of blood, fields of corpses, and other unpleasant things. He’d fashioned himself a world of death and torture. How no one in the expanded pantheons of the universe had done away with this monster was beyond Khahar. Arbitration was necessary.
“Quite clever.”
“I hope this isn’t personal, Arbiter,” Zagmon said.
Khahar studied the Demon for a while. He appeared like the other Dronon of the world. Swooping horns with skin tinged the color of their nature. The Zagmon Dronon were all red, a deep shade like the devils of Earth’s lore. But he was more muscular than those depictions, with a belt of skulls, a heavy glaive by his side, and a thick plate of oozing armor covering his body.
“Because your agents attempted to kill my friend?” Khahar asked. That was certainly one reason Zagmon would die first.
“Your friend? Your Herald,” Zagmon said, laughing wryly.
Khahar stood for a long moment, still finding his new thought process to be difficult. Then he joined the Demon God in laughing, crossing the distance between them before wrapping his hands around the creature’s throat. He squeezed.
“You’ve been one step behind this entire time, Zagmon,” Khahar said. “Let the truth be heard by those in this room, and them alone. Theo Spencer was never meant to be the Herald. As I ascended the throne of Arbiter so will my agent ascend the throne of Herald.”
Khahar leaned in, whispering the name of his agent into Zagmon’s ear. The Demon God’s eyes went wide before godly life faded. Before the realm of the dread Dronon God of War crumbled around them, turning to ash.
----------------------------------------
As hard as it was to convince himself to take a break, Theo forced himself. Each citizen seemed to have sworn an oath to keep him on his ass for as long as possible. Sitting on a rocking chair outside of Xam’s tavern, he watched people move around and work. Alise had already returned from Gronro-dir with the contract signed. A Khahari trade ship had arrived in the harbor, remaining there until they worked out a deal, and all seemed well.
Alex chirped somewhere under his chair. She managed to deftly avoid the rise and fall of the rocking chair, turning it into a game. But boredom was getting to Theo. He crumpled up another sheet of paper and tossed it to the side, retrieving a fresh one from his inventory and starting again. Several lines into his journal and someone approached, disturbing his concentration.
“Roads going well,” Ziz said.
Theo looked up and smiled. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m bored.”
“Ah, well,” Ziz said. “I don’t think you should go out so soon. Tresk would skewer me.”
“We’ll just walk the wall,” Theo said, dragging his old friend along.
“That… Yeah, that should be fine.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Theo and Ziz ascended the battlements, Alex following closely behind. She had trouble with the steps, but the pair waited for her at the top. Looking out to the swamp to the west, they spotted golems moving around and adventurers doing their thing. House Wavecrest had integrated well enough, but there were too many things left hanging. The alchemist leaned against a crenelation.
“Ral still doesn’t have a leg,” Theo said, letting out a sigh.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it,” Ziz said. “Are you trying to solve that one with alchemy?”
“Of course I am,” Theo said, snorting a laugh. “That’s all I ever do. Fix stuff with alchemy.”
The alchemist removed the [Toru’aun Mage’s Core] from his inventory and stared at it for a long while. The book she’d given him was impossible to understand. Xol’sa was trying to figure that one out, but he’d made little progress. Theo suspected the point was only he could understand it, but he didn’t have the heart to deny the mage. Those skills for planar magic would become more useful in the coming times, but for now it was just time to restore.
“So, what was the Bridge like?” Ziz asked.
Theo shrugged. “Dark. Lots of shades moving in the distance.”
“Not as glamorous as I expected,” Ziz said. “Any word from Fenian?”
Theo placed the core back into his inventory, shaking his head. It couldn’t be helped. That was only yesterday. How much progress could the Elf had made in that little time. And what was his plan? That was a fact beyond everyone. Just a mystery lingering in the air forever. Like a foul smell in a cramped room. The group began walking the perimeter of the town, heading north to the quarry first.
Ziz had made progress with the quarry, designating his workers to handle most of the daily operation. He had more than one pit now, and had figured out the best way to drain the constantly regenerating stone. Like most in Broken Tusk, they were taking a break. They stood there for a long time, looking down on both the operation and the town.
“Sure is hot,” Ziz said.
“At least it isn’t muggy,” Theo said.
“Yeah… Hey, what is Tresk doing, anyway?” Ziz asked.
It was hard not to notice. The Marshling wasn’t relaxing like everyone else. Despite her shouting orders for everyone to chill, especially Theo, she was out scouting for more Zagmon Dronon. Once she learned who their master was, she was on the hunt. It made sense that adventurers couldn’t take breaks, though. Not when so much had happened in such a short time. He explained the situation to Ziz, who simply shrugged.
“That’s Tresk for ya,” he said, grinning. “So, how are you feeling about being attacked?”
Theo took a long time to think about that question. He felt little, if he was honest with the Half-Ogre. He could have been mad at Fenian for not coming to the rescue sooner, but that was all part of the plan. Maybe it was a coincidence, but he suspected the Elf knew the [Tara’hek Dreampassage] skill would evolve. So he needed to experience that fear of his life ending to get something much better. A bit of hardship for a new, overpowered skill was worth it.
“I’m fine. Did you know skills can evolve?” Theo asked.
“Can they?” Ziz asked. “Not sure if I’ve heard about that.”
“Well, I got a skill evolution out of it,” Theo said. “All part of Fenian’s plan, I think.”
“There’s a thought,” Ziz said, clapping a hand over Theo’s shoulder.
“Did they force you to talk to me?” Theo asked.
“Nah. Just saw you in front of Xam’s. All sad.”
“I’m not sad.”
“Melancholy?”
“Hmmm… Not sure about that one.”
“Wistful.”
“That’ll do,” Theo said, pushing off from the wall and making his way east. Both Ziz and Alex followed.
The group moved along the defensive wall, spotting the bridge to the east when they turned to walk southward. Over the eastern gate, then coming to rest over the harbor. The single Khahari ship docked there sat high in the water, as though it was never meant to cross the sea. But it was long, with two tall masts that gave the bridge-gates little room to breathe. Theo had to wonder how quickly Khahar could have returned to his desert continent. In an instant, he realized, but maybe the ceremony of his people would have dragged the process out.
There might be effects on the mortal plane, but that was hard to say. With only a short trip to his own realm, the alchemist wasn’t certain of much. The Dreamwalk itself had evolved. When he visited the realm at night, it was the familiar landscape. Anything he could dream up would appear, but that was just a mirror image of the minds of those within the Tara’hek. When he visited it in person, it was the floating island with the creek and the cottage. Withdrawing a stalk of [Wheat] from his inventory, he contemplated how strange that was.
Things conjured in the Dreamwalk were left there, no more substantial than dreams themselves. But traveling to Tero’gal was different. Those things were real. He could bring them back to the mortal plane, although he hadn’t tested doing it the other way around. These uncertain rules left him feeling uneasy. He wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers. There was no point in that. He needed to do everything he could to press his advantage.
“We need to name the war with the undead,” Ziz said, watching the dockhands work below. “Gotta be something flashy.”
“Do you have anything in mind?”
Ziz offered a weak shrug. “How to get boned in 44 simple steps?”
Theo narrowed his eyes. “Have you been talking to Tresk?”
“Maybe.”
That matter did fall to the Southlands Alliance to sort out. Whatever Tarantham and Veosta wanted to call the war was up to them. Theo had no doubts they had a name for their ongoing conflict, but he wondered what they were fighting for. If the reports from Gronro-dir were accurate, the land they left behind was tainted. A state that the [Hallow Ground] potions reversed.
The alchemist withdrew the enchanted box that Khahar gave him, running his fingers over the sigils. It seemed like people were setting him up for success. Perhaps that was putting it too generously out of the alchemist’s favor. As though it was diminishing the hard work they’d done here so far. A helping hand didn’t remove the value of what they’d done. No matter how short of a time they’d been at it.
“I’ve got some plans cooking in my head,” Theo said, nodding to himself. “Once things calm down in the north.”
“Calm down, eh?” Ziz asked, chuckling. “You mean when our kingdom is destroyed. When we’re cut off from the capital and left to fester.”
“Feeling a sudden wave of wistfulness?” Theo asked, playfully punching his friend in the arm.
“Fear, more like,” Ziz said with a nod.
“Half-Ogres fear nothing,” Theo said.
“If only that were true,” Ziz sighed. “Hey, what’s your box doing?”
Theo looked down, spotting the light coming from the ornately decorated box. It hadn’t changed otherwise.
The wall beneath their feet rumbled. A wave of power washed from the north and shouts rose from the harbor below. A few jostling moments later and everything was calm. Tresk appeared at Theo’s side in an instant—likely using their new ability.
“Bad news!” Tresk shouted, breathing hard. “I felt that in Tero’gal! Holy moly!”
“What?” Theo asked. “What happened?”
“I think… Oop! Yep! There it is!” Tresk shouted.
A series of messages flashed into Theo’s vision.
[Connection Severed]
Your connection between [Broken Tusk] and [The Kingdom of Qavell] has been destroyed.
Connection destroyed through core chain…
Drybrook (Core Destroyed)…
Stonesbed…
Heartpass…
Barrowsdeep…
Gronro-dir…
Rivers and Daub…
…
[Broken Tusk], [Gronro-Dir], [Rivers and Daub] have been placed in one-day state of suspension.
Calculating…
[Southlands Alliance] temporarily formed.
Your towns will share power generating resources (motes, coins, etc) until one town gains a [Kingdom Core].
Please contact the owner of your civilization’s [Kingdom Core] if you have further questions.
Theo read through the notification several times, his heart thumping hard in his ears. Then he heard a snap and a creak. Looking down, he saw Khahar’s enchanted box opening. He saw the cage of metal, white light pulsing steadily inside. He saw what Yuri had left him. A gift fit for a king.
A smile spread across the alchemist’s face.