An ornate cabinet, older than the kingdom itself, soared across a spacious sitting room. It slammed against decorated pillars, falling into a thousand pieces to the ground. Servants and attendants scattered, fleeing First Prince Hanan’s rage. Under all his finery, he seethed. He drew ragged, growling breaths. Only the soothing words of a black robed figure brought his temper down. Because that temper was legendary among the people of Qavell.
“This is good,” the robed creature said. “All according to plan.”
“And what plan is that?” Hanan asked, spinning to glare into the impenetrable darkness of the figure’s hood. “The king is dead!”
“Long live the king,” the figure said, gesturing to the prince.
“Stow your scheming, beast.”
It didn’t matter what Hanan wanted. Karasan had fallen, foolishly pursuing his damned rival into a realm. From the start, the fool king had done nothing but put his people in danger. Starting with the war in Veosta, and ending with his inaction when the undead arrived. There was no protecting the people outside of the walls. They should have activated the city from the start. But, no. Now it all fell on his lap. The corpse of a kingdom.
“The ritual has already begun.”
Hanan wheeled, leading with a gauntleted fist that tore through the dark creature’s face. He felt nothing as it passed through, then watched as the darkness reformed around his fist.
“Damn you.”
“The pact,” the creature said.
Hanan removed his fist from the pool of shadows, turning and shaking his head. He cast his eyes over the frescos on the walls. The history of his people was a haunting reminder of hubris. Qavell now stood on the edge of a new era. Perhaps the newly formed Southland Alliance would have mercy on him. But he knew the creature wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps they were strong enough to banish it. Or perhaps he would die. The last option was the one he hoped for the most.
“Fine,” Hanan said, stomping out of the room. “Activate the sigils. Perform the ritual. You’re going to do it anyway.”
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Qavell wasn’t the most defensible city. It was open on all sides, open planes as far as the eye could see. If one were to stand on the ruins of the outer walls, they could see the curve of the planet in the distance. As the city rumbled below, the only sight was the exodus of the undead. Fields of skeletons, rotting corpses given life, and other horrors shambled westward. None inside the city knew where they were going, or why they fled, but they celebrated.
Four hundred years ago, the foundations of the mighty city were laid. Both the [Kingdom Core] and [Town Core] pulsed with power as dark Core Smiths performed their rites. Thousands of souls, destined for their godly realms or the void, were sucked into the stones of the city. The place where the magic of the seeds met with natural earth cracked. That crack quickly became a fissure, then a ravine.
Until the city rose.
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“Mighty fine weapons you have,” Bilgrob said.
After returning to the mortal plane, Theo had thrown his weight around. The administration wasn’t happy. Throk most certainly wasn’t happy. But as he stood on the towers near the piers, gazing at his new rail guns, he knew it was necessary. His magical senses were still weak, but he could feel it. Something in the distance rumbled the bedrock. Two distinct magical energies flooded through the world like a tide of untamed power.
“Indeed they are.”
“Preparing for war?” the Ogre priest asked.
“Yeah. Want a demonstration?”
The rail guns worked splendidly. Theo had to clear the team of adventurers that was manning the station so he could inspect the weapons. He loaded a plain Drogramathi Iron shell, fed it a mote, then pointed it in a random direction. The adventurers were far more skilled at operating the weapon, but this was simply a demonstration. He set the dial on the side of the gun, then smacked the firing button. The weapon filled the air with a loud cracking sound, sending the slug hurtling through the air. It slammed into a distant island, sending a plume of sand high into the air.
“Your prey must be large,” Bilgrob said, placing his massive hand on the alchemist’s shoulder.
“Airship-sized, I think. We’re working with Gronro-dir to arm them.”
“And what of that rail system I’ve heard so much about?”
“Throk is working on it. He’s taken an artificing apprentice, so hopefully that goes faster.”
The biggest problem with the rail line was the toughness of the carriage compared to its weight. Copper was too brittle, Iron and Drogramathi Iron were too heavy. But Tworgnothi Copper? The old Marshling had determined that it was incredibly strong and light. Similar to aluminum on Earth, but with more impressive structural properties. There was already a prototype outside of his workshop, something that dragged in crowds of people. The metal also provided bonuses for all artifices constructed with it.
“Spit doesn’t take sides,” Bilgrob said, leaning against the wall’s edge. “He heals and provides chaos. Nothing more.”
“I’ve heard about your Ogre magic. That’s what caused the rat infestation.”
“Rat-like creatures,” Bilgrob corrected. “I’ve heard you don’t build weapons of war.”
“I don’t sell weapons of war. I only build them for defensive purposes.”
“Hmm. How different are those paths?”
Theo shrugged. He didn’t care how different those paths were, because he knew how important these weapons were. He was certain there would be an attack from the air. It was only a matter of where that attack came from. What Bilgrob was suggesting was to lay back and let them attack, which was insanity.
“Never confuse defensive capabilities with a willingness to defend. Within these walls, it’s all sunshine and roses. Out there? You need to face the reality of that, Bilgrob.”
The Ogre gave a massive shrug. Ogre culture had two sides. Abject brutality, and infinite compassion. It was weird.
“I don’t disagree. So, the rail. What’s the completion time on that?”
“Ziz and the gang already laid the foundation. Raised stonework next to the road they built. All white marble, of course. Throk and his guys just need to go through and lay the rail, and the power relays. We don’t want to have stations where people feed motes into the track, so he made an automated system.”
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“Then I heard a plan to go south. To the islands.”
“Yeah, that’s more challenging.” Theo laughed at his own ambition. The rail to the lizard-folk’s islands was going to be a nightmare to build.
“We have one fact on our side. The waters between here and there are mostly shallow.”
“But what is ‘mostly shallow?’” Theo asked. “A hundred halms?”
“Something like that.”
“May as well just freeze the entire ocean at that point.”
The logistics of any long-distance road over water was a nightmare. The best idea Theo had was to create pylons that went down into the seabed. They would stretch lengths of Drogramathi Iron between them for support, as it was the strongest material they had. Ziz and Nira gave him some early estimates on the span they could achieve that way, and the alchemist wasn’t happy. It was still a worthwhile pursuit, but there were other things they could do with their time.
Airships were something Theo was interested in from the start. Throk refused to build one, due to safety concerns, but there was a middle ground. If he could make an artifice that provided force to a vehicle, he could make speedboats. Not like the ones on old Earth, but artifice-powered sailing ships. Then there was the latest notification in his administration window. The alchemist pushed off against the wall, punching Bilgrob playfully in the arm.
“I have a meeting.”
“Spit watch over you.”
There was an all-hands meeting for all members of the Southlands Alliance. Both Grotgrog Stormfist and Trevas Parn were attending remotely, representing Gronro-Dir and Rivers and Daub respectively. Theo made his way to the town hall, stopping only to shield his eyes from the sun and look up to the sky. Alex flew overhead somewhere, honking with excitement as she patrolled the skies. The moment Aarok discovered she could fly, he put her on patrol duty.
As expected, the meeting room was crammed with people. Theo found his seat at the head of the table, nodding to everyone as they drummed their fingers on the table. Perhaps he had kept them waiting for too long.
Alise cleared her throat. “Right. We’ve had a development.”
“A big development,” Gwyn said, clapping excitedly.
“The undead are moving off,” Aarok said, spoiling the administration team’s surprise.
“Moving off? Why?” Theo asked. His thoughts twitched, and a Wisdom of the Soul message appeared. He didn’t want to read it.
“I’m collecting information on that,” Alran said.
Theo fell back into his chair, letting out a long whistle. He read the message, then shook his head. It was certain that they were moving off because Balkor was alive again. Being the God of Undeath must have meant he had command over those creatures. The group chattered with ideas, none of which hit the mark.
“So, Balkor is back,” Theo said, cutting through the chatter with so few words.
“What?” Aarok asked.
Theo rubbed his hands together, letting his thoughts gather for a moment. Mercifully, everyone remained silent as he thought. “Karasan is dead. Fenian killed him in Balkor’s dead realm. The soul of an ascendant being, and a holder of a throne, fed the demon god.”
“Uh… is that good?” Gael asked nervously.
“The undead are moving off, aren’t they?” Theo said, running his fingers through his hair.
A junior administrator spoke up. “Yup. But what they’re leaving behind is horrible.”
It took Theo a few seconds to realize that the administrator was speaking for Grot. They were using the message system to relay information.
“They already cleared out from the gates?” Theo asked, leaning in over the table.
“Uh… he says… Yep! They’re gone. But the ground is corrupted. No one can walk on it without getting sick.”
This was within Theo’s expected outcomes. That much necromantic energy in one spot would lead to some horrific consequences. The land around Qavell would be tainted for years to come.
“We’re experiencing something similar,” the administrator representing Rivers said. “A slight corruption of the land.”
“Does the alchemist’s potions have an effect?” Alise asked.
“Minimal,” Grot said through his proxy.
“Is it possible to bring me samples of the corrupted soil?” Theo asked.
“En route.”
The administration from all towns took the opportunity to hijack the meeting. They shifted to mundane topics, but it was necessary. Theo was left with a feeling of unease and excitement. The undead had been a buffer, but it was good they were moving on. Once Qavell was dealt with, they would have free reign of the lands to the north. So long as Tarantham or Veosta didn’t come to claim them. Both Rivers and Gronro offered to support the rail initiative, which brought some much needed cash flow to the project.
Next, they covered the standing trade agreements and general flow of cash. Broken Tusk had not recovered after their access was cut off from the rest of the continent, but it was improving. Drogramathi Iron seemed to be the biggest draw from foreign parties. Theo let the admins go wild. It was easy to target them as problem children of his growing alliance, but they were just doing their job. Without them, the day-to-day problems encountered by citizens would have been a grind.
Trevas, the new leader of Rivers, was doing well. Unlike Alran, he had an altruistic nature. He gave a few reports about his town and how things were improving. But that was part of his agreement with the Southlands Alliance. While they still didn’t have formal laws, most agreed that trade guilds were nonsense that did nothing to help the average person. It wasn’t as though capitalism was outlawed but trade guilds always fixed prices and made things worse for everyone.
The meeting concluded around dusk on the twenty-second day of the Season of Fire. Theo met with Sarisa, Salire, Rowan, Tresk, and Alex at Xam’s tavern. Instead of eating in the manor, they all planned to eat at the Marsh Wolf then hit the baths.
“Steak? Tresk asked, scooting into the booth. It was awkward to fit everyone inside, but they didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, please.”
“I’m just happy we got most of the rats,” Rowan said, stretching.
Theo withdrew a notebook and created a table listing all the reagents that might help restore the land. Practiced understanding told him that there was a solution already. He just needed to find it.
“What was it like?” Salire asked, leaning in over the table with dreamy eyes. She stared at Tresk. “Sending Fenian through the realms, that is.”
“Oh, it was easy,” Tresk said. “Just… boop! Tossed him over. Turns out, I can’t use it on anyone. All the conditions are hidden from me. Go figure.”
“It’s better that way,” Theo mumbled, scribbling a plan out.
“You could try not working for five minutes,” Tresk said, elbowing the alchemist.
Theo snapped his notebook shut, then smiled. She was right. The undead were leaving. It didn’t matter why they were going, just that they were gone. “What’s the next holiday in the southlands?”
“Embers,” Sarisa answered with a nod. “We make a big fire, write our dreams on a sheet of paper, then burn it.”
“I always hated Embers,” Rowan grumbled. “Why start a fire when it’s already too hot?”
“I thought most Half-Ogres ran a fire in their house all the time,” Theo said, chuckling.
“Yeah, but a big one is different!” Tresk shouted.
“I think we should do a mid-season celebration!” Salire bounced in her seat.
Tresk sighed. “That would be awesome.”
Once the train was built, everyone could travel from both Gronro and Broken Tusk to Rivers in a matter of an hour. Assuming Throk could get the thing running at break-neck speeds safely. “I like that idea,” Theo said, nodding with approval. “We could tie it into the opening of the train system.”
“Nothing better to show your wealth than a big party,” Sarisa laughed.
The sun set over Broken Tusk the way it often did. Her citizens were safe behind her walls bristling with defensive weapons. Night watchmen patrolled the walls, investigating disturbances and responding as needed. None behind the safety of that place knew that the dawn of a new age had fallen over the mortal plane. Fenian had taken the first step to right a broken system. The world he dreamed of was one where destruction wasn’t part of the cycle.
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Two stars brightened in the sky above the Span. The place that segmented the continent into two pieces, Veosta and Qavell, had been a bastion against the constant attacks from undeath. The defenders there didn’t know the meaning of the new stars. One for the new Herald, and the other for the Demon God of Undeath. Unseeable by their eyes were the two new stars that had formed. Ancient gates were unlocked. The monitor system was made more whole.
As the thrones of the Dreamer and the Dreamwalker gained metaphysical materialism, the monitor system shivered with recognition. It was closer to its true form. Two down. Two to go.