Chapter 53

Duty never ends

Silksuntecks, Slaine Theocracy

"Once again today, we thank the Gods for being gathered here, alive."

Opening the discussion was the Pontifex Maximus, taking his seat only when he was sure that each of his colleagues had preceded him. The invocation was repeated in turn by each Cardinal.

Aeneas kept his gaze fixed on the floor, waiting to be addressed. The climate was kept at a perfect watertight temperature. Compared to the last remnants of winter still making their presence felt outside, could be perceived even a hint of warmth.

"You may rise, Captain Vicente. There is no need for you to humble yourself for us." Cardinal Lauransan's voice was quiet and faint, with a slight hint of affection that his position dictated he suppress.

The Black Scripture captain knew every step of that dance; they had both performed that show too many times now, never achieving a different result.

He raised his head, quickly scanning the seven people seated at the table in front of him. His attention, however, was not directed towards them, but on the arch on which the symbols of the Six Great Gods were depicted above them.

"If you do not mind, I prefer to remain in this position," Aeneas replied, pressing his kneeling leg even further against the ground.

He was certain that, even moving from that uncomfortable position, neither the Six Cardinals nor the Pontifex Maximus would change their opinion of him one iota.

Therefore, the young captain felt obliged to press more forcefully.

"If that is what you wish, we will not waste ourselves in any more unnecessary pleasantries," the Cardinal's face remained firm and composed, his lips slightly pursed in a grimace. Raymond had not succeeded in convincing him this time either, and perhaps he was persuading himself that the next attempt would be the fateful one. "I have already arranged for your reports to be given to all those present here today. There is no need for me to make a secret of it: you have done the Theocracy a great service by your actions, my dear child. The war with the Diarchy was a resounding success, and the saving of lives, in such dark times as we face in these unpredictable days, is without a doubt worthy of celebration."

A chorus of assent rose up; everyone present shared Cardinal Lauransan's optimistic and pride-filled tone.

"I only did my duty."

Aeneas went back to staring at the floor, which was so clean he could glimpse his own reflection. He knew which humble hands had laboriously cleaned that room, deliberately ignoring the use and convenience of magic, in an act of extreme devotion and atonement.

He wondered if his soul too would be as clean as that floor one day. As clean as the others souls there were.

"Just as error must be punished and understood, so that it may be avoided for the future, success is worthy of proper recognition, in order that it may be replicated hereafter," as the only woman present, it was easy to distinguish Cardinal Santini in the small group. Aeneas did not need to look at her face to know she was giving him an affectionate smile. It had been her habit since Aeneas was a child, until persisting in the present, when the Black Scripture captain child was no more. "So, if there is anything you wish, we beseech you to make us aware of it."

His heart skipped a beat, daring to provoke an unfamiliar -not unwelcomed- happiness at hearing the praise. After suppressing it with one breath, he cleared his throat, daring to ask: "A couple of days' rest, to recover my energy and give my greetings to my loved ones. Only if this does not cause an inconvenience for the designs of the Theocracy, of course."

The proven fault at the request was not slight, but he judged that remaining dismissive of such generosity might be misunderstood by the Cardinals, and by the Gods, of whom they were the spokesmen.

Satisfying his more selfish side was necessary to let his more self-sacrificing side shine.

"There will be no problem. It is a more than adequate request." Raymond scratched his bristly chin. No words needed to convey his satisfaction. 'I am proud of you'. Aeneas only longed to hear this.

A second murmur of assent arose. This time, however, not everyone was in agreement.

"There is, nevertheless, one thing our captain must explain to this council. Please stand up, Captain Vincente."

This time it was not an offer, but an order. Aeneas did not let it be repeated twice, finding himself face to face with his interlocutor. The mass of his hair - which had so far touched the ground - a wild, unruly hair behind him. The young Black Scripture captain felt the eyes of all the holy men present stinging.

Accustomed to that inquisitiveness, he did not flinch, nor did his inner being experience the slightest disturbance.

"I am at your complete disposal, Your Holiness Partouche."

The Wind Cardinal had a stern expression, but not without sympathy. Guided by a desire for clarification, and not by the mere rush of accusation, he spoke to Aeneas with as much kindness as he could muster.

"I thank you, Captain. I would like to make it clear that mine is not intended as a show of displeasure," Dominic Irhe Partouche showed the signs of a life spent in the Scriptures in the austerity of his body, tempered by one crusade after another, and in his straightforward, orthodox, no-nonsense methods. Every word he spoke was worthy of attention and admiration, imbued with a passion for the cause that had the extraordinary. "Like everyone here, the gratitude I feel for your actions and your person is not quantifiable. So I dare to have the pretense of addressing you as a father might address a son."

Aeneas' father was dead, long buried.

"I am aware of that. Please ask me anything you wish."

Aeneas already had an idea of what the subject of the question would be, and part of him was relieved.

In case of guilt, he would have a hand ready to guide him to redemption. In case of acquittal, the doubts that whispered in his soul would cease.

The Cardinal nodded, confirming Aeneas' hunch. "An order had been given to assassinate the young princess El-Aziz of Tel-Hoorusan if she did not prove friendly to our cause." The man sorted through the series of papers piled on his side of the table, in support of his arguments. "And, judging from the report of our young captain, General Bulgari and the other operatives who have had the pleasure of meeting her, the princess, as well as being a pleasantly attractive woman with a strong and firm personality, shares her predecessors' project of coexistence between races."

There was a slight note of disappointment in those last words. As if the Cardinal had been betrayed by someone close to him. Aeneas assumed that for Dominic Irhe Partouche every man and woman was brother and sister, and to witness a kinsman siding with the enemy made one's blood justifiably boil with rage.

But there was also something else in the Cardinal's tone. A curiosity dictated by the particular circumstances involving that situation. Aeneas was aware of the role played by the Wind Cardinal. As first inquisitor, he was subjecting him to an informal quaestio, with the other Cardinals acting as his witnesses.

There were no distinctions dictated by social rank in the Slaine Theocracy. Each of the Cardinals there had to answer to the supreme council as the humblest of peasants. The greatness of their nation was underpinned by an equity that did not admit of preferential treatment.

"Now, did I understand correctly in reading that you considered the circumstances unfavorable to her assassination? Here you speak of a possible tumult that could cause her loss, providing examples of possible unfavorable events for us that could cause her departure."

Before Aeneas could proffer, someone rose to his defense.

"Come on, Dominic. Captain Vincente had a guess that, given the elements at his disposal, should not be without foundation," Raymond passed his gaze first to his peer, firmly and decisively, and then directed it to the young captain, nodding his head slowly, seeking his corroboration. "On one of the thrones of the Diarchy sits a child, whose guardian is a particularly famous and cunning djinn, who certainly has no great fondness for us. Formally, their kingdom has passed under our protection, but both parties are aware that it is a circumstantial arrangement, dictated by necessity. If we light a fuse, we should not then be surprised at the explosion."

Aeneas, who had replayed that speech many times in his mind, found himself in agreement with his superior. "Princess El-Aziz was aware of our intentions," he explained, measuring the words carefully. "To create a dynastic crisis at a time when there are many factions hostile to us would only have been a detriment to our plans, and would have brought that precarious balance crashing down in an instant. Shaimaaa... Princess EL-Aziz sees the lesser evil in us, and assures us of her cooperation with modest concessions."

Although his skills of persuasion were certainly not exceptional, the young captain felt he had broken through to the Cardinals. Perhaps because, after all, they all agreed with his assessments from the start.

"Very well," commented Cardinal Partouche, granting Aeneas, if not a smile, a tilt of the lips that came very close to it. Probably -no, Aenaes was sure- that sort of interrogation was proceeding as planned. "Not because I want to doubt our greatest champion, you understand? I was once young myself, and I have not forgotten the ardors of age, especially as regards impulses that... are not always easy to control."

"Of course, your holiness," normally, such a speech would have been a source of embarrassment. A normal boy would have portrayed himself annoyed by that allusion. Aeneas could not afford to be a normal boy, so he replied with as much coldness as he had in his body. "If you fear that there has been tenderness between me and Princess El-Aziz, I can assure you that these fears are absolutely unfounded. My judgment has not been clouded by unnecessary feelings."

"Of course, of course," muttered the Wind Cardinal.

"However, Captain, you understand our need to make sure that there have been no... complications," intruding on the discussion was Cardinal Delacroix, whose facial contours were illuminated more than anyone by the dim lights of the room. "When it comes to the seed of the Gods, we cannot afford the slightest uncertainty of where it was planted," he said, adjusting the monocle he wore over his right eye. "Especially when that seed has not yet found a suitable partner, despite our best recommendations."

The main purpose of the conversation had unsheathed its blade. The first part was just a scratch, the second was planned as the final lunge. Whether it had been an orchestrated plan from the outset to exert certain pressures, or a simple coordination done to artful effect as the discussion unfolded was unclear.

"There was no such connection. Besides, clear proof of that can be had in a couple of months, don't you think, Your Holiness?"

The smell of incense, so strong it covered any other, dimmed for a moment, and the only thing Aeneas could smell was the disgust that kneaded his mouth. The suggestion took on the taste of vomit. A putrescent miasma flooded his nostrils.

"That emboldens us. The awakened blood grows fainter every day, and to preserve it is our duty. Our sacred obligation. Our mission," Cardinal Lauransan emphasized that last word with particular emphasis: Our.

Raymond never appeared so distant from the captain's gaze. Aeneas recalled a time when a hero he had idolized sat with him and his father in front of a crackling fireplace, telling stories and events that could only make a child's imagination more vivid.

The chimney was now turned off.

Those memories, foggy and fragmented, were now castles of cards that collapsed with the passing wind. Imaginary realms beyond the clouds that had existed only in his head.

"I understand perfectly."

Aeneas wished he had a blade, so he could cut the vein where the sacred liquid flowed. That way, the abundance of red would not fail for long and everyone would be able to bathe in it.

That thought, obscene and blasphemous, was vigorously suppressed by the reason that resumed possession of his mind, driving out the foul demon that had suggested such corruption, giving birth to a sin of imagination carried out right in front of those whom, most of all, he esteemed and adored.

"I comprehend the concerns of your holinesses, and indeed I share them," as he spoke, repeating to himself the psalms of light and darkness, Aeneas recalled the passages of the Ways of Darkness and the Silence of the Light, exegesis among the most valued, finding comfort in them.

'Man's path is strewn with doubts and uncertainties', they said. 'The shape of the soul can only be observed through meditation and prayer. The hope to which we cling is dim and distant,' they stated. 'Man suffers, because suffering brings him closer to the Gods.'

Aeneas could still suffer, and that still made him a man.

"As you are aware, this very evening I have a meeting with the beloved niece of our Pontifex. I am confident that it will be successful."

In his vision, the Six took shape, and superimposed themselves on those who voiced them. It was not a dazzle of madness, Aeneas was certain, nor a trick of fatigue. It was merely a reward for his faith.

With that moment of beauty gone, the young captain noticed that Pontifex Maximus, first among equals, slowly rose from his seat, heading towards him.

The mask of wrinkles that was his face strained to show affection. He was old, even older than Aeneas remembered, but still fuelled by a flame that stubbornly would not fade.

"Just like your predecessor," with calloused hands, he gripped his shoulders in a vigorous squeeze. The young captain could reflect himself in the shining eyes of the Theocracy's highest authority, before bowing his head in respect. "If this has seemed like a warning, or a punishment, I ask you to forgive us." A whisper that knew how to still be as mighty as the raging storm.

The other Cardinals nodded at what was said by the man who was first among equals, seventh among six.

"There is nothing to forgive," Aeneas heartened. More his own spirit, than that of others. "He who is in charge of the big picture must also be vigilant about the smallest matters."

And, to tell the truth, that was not an unimportant detail, but a fundamental stone in the construction of their future.

"Having ascertained this matter, we may proceed with something else," His Holiness Elohim resumed his position at the table. "Captain, everyone here knows that the victory over the Diarchy, though fundamental to our purposes, is but a preamble," the formalities, which had been put away for a moment, returned with even more force.

They were no longer a young citizen of the Theocracy and old guard preparing to pass on the baton, acquaintances since childhood of the former; they were the highest authority and the now undisputed champion of that same country, loved and revered, of which they were the supporting pillars.

"The Masakan Desert is but a small part of a larger whole. In addition to the various city states, the nomadic harsaffs, the khumat lizardmen tribes, and the pabislags of the poison tails are just a few of the cultures we have identified from this vast region. Yet, even all of this falls into the background when compared to the secrets hidden in the Flying City, the gem of the world that was."

"Whoever manages to amass the power stored in Eryuentiu will be able to upset the balance that holds this world so adrift. Not only would the great non-human nations at the center of the continent no longer pose a great threat, but the Eight Kings of Greed may have left their guarded secrets to bring down even the last dragons, masters of ancestral magic."

"What if it were us, Zinedine? The supremacy of the human race would no longer be an empty letter, a mere union of intent, a norm devoid of efficacy. Ahhh, but we all know that is impossible..."

"...The Platinum Dragon Lord."

At the mention of that name, everyone fell silent. There was, however, an awareness, the Black Scripture captain believed, of comfort. As long as Eryuentiu would be inaccessible to the Theocracy, any others intent on claiming that alluring legacy would see their aspirations rejected in the same way.

It was Cardinal Lagier who broke that silence, bringing the attention of his peers back to Aeneas. Thick glass spectacles reflected a relentless curiosity, edged with stern concern.

"This infamous Golden King, what idea did you get during your time in the south?"

"Nothing concrete," Just rumors and scattered comments. Merchants and refugees fleeing to safer lands, foreboding disaster. "Astrologer tried to start mapping the region to give us a clearer idea of the enemy forces, but it will take time. For now, it seems that his army is divided into several forces, each a mixture of various races and cultures. He is a conqueror who was able to impose himself on the region in a short time, but nothing about his past or background is known. Certainly we speak of a dangerous enemy, but whether he is comparable to the late Elf King is difficult to determine."

Cardinal Guelfi coughed, before opening his mouth. The scars of late age were evident, but unlike his body, his mind was still lively and quick.

"The late king of the Elves had been a danger because of his abilities that transcended common rationality. But he was a single threat, lacking adequate support. Even if the Golden King had been an inferior opponent, surrounded by capable subordinates he could match him."

Raymond agreed. "Various races mean various weaknesses and resistances to be taken into account. I will arrange a team with Astrologer and the Clearwater to provide the army with as extensive a list as possible. Negotiations with the elves are proceeding slowly, and we still don't have a proper programme for training new rangers, unfortunately. We should get organized with the new recruits, it could be an opportunity for them to gain experience in the field."

The outbreak of a new conflict was not desirable, but it had to be taken into consideration. In that case, better to be prepared.

"Good note is that, with any luck, we should not even have to face him."

"Please explain yourself captain," Cardinal Santini urged him, now with a grave expression on her face.

"The Diarchy feared that the Golden King would attack it to bolster his own forces, gaining a quick and painless victory. But now that news of our alliance has reached his ears, for it has certainly reached him, the wanna be conqueror may see his plans change and head straight for his main target."

"And at that point, he would be the one who would have to suffer the wrath of Tsaindorcus Vaision," the woman concluded, not holding back a hint of satisfaction.

The good mood was not shared by everyone, however, including Aeneas. And Raymond, his old master, understood what this could mean.

"But would he really suffer the wrath of it? Let's think for a moment; I find it hard to imagine anyone not being aware of the flying city's protector. And it is not only one of the most dangerous dragons in the world that needs to be taken into account, but also the guardians placed by the Eight Kings themselves who defend the city. There is a reason why the capital of the eight conquerors has over time become the capital of peace. Only a fool would try to challenge its defenses. Are we facing a madman?"

No one answered. The answer was foregone.

"You're not suggesting what we all think, are you, Raymond?"

The Cardinal of Earth crinkled his fingers, producing a gravelly sound. "That's right, Dominic. This Golden King must have some secret weapon, something that surpasses even our most precious relics to make him see such a feat as possible. Or..."

"...Or he knows something we ignore. Perhaps our suspicions over the years were not without foundation. The Extra Seat has been on the loose for some time now. And, as far as Windflower and ClearWater Scripture report to us, she has not yet had any complications in her 'vacation period'."

It seemed to Aeneas that all the Cardinals had suddenly aged. Those who were the indissoluble foundations of the wall that defended humanity from the most unspeakable horrors were showing the inexorable and wearing passage of time and toil. The Captain of the Black Scriptures despised himself for not being able to bring them relief by his mere presence alone.

"The Platinum Dragon Lord has indeed disappeared..."

Normally, the rout of the closest enemy should have brought jubilation and exaltation. The ghostly, graveyard-like atmosphere that followed, however, was not unexpected.

"That changes everything... What will the other survivors among the dragon lords do once the situation is ascertained? Will they continue to be indifferent to this part of the continent, or will they find it right to intervene? Dragons are indifferent to the fate of their fellows, but they are not stupid. The disappearance of the greatest among them may prompt their investigation."

Interference from the old masters of the world would bring disaster. Even with the help of Antilene -and his- Aeneas, as well as the Cardinals, knew that at best the Theocracy would find itself destroyed in the crossfire. A precarious balance and a shaky peace were preferable to an open war that they knew they could not win. Not without paying an immeasurable price.

"Maybe it's just the dragon's plan -a way to draw out an elusive target."

That of Cardinal Delacroix was certainly a plausible option, but without evidence to back them up, all they could do was camp up hypotheses lacking any real persuasive force.

"If I may suggest," Aeneas raised his voice just enough to distract them from their thoughts. "Let us use the Diarchy to observe the situation, and prepare appropriate countermeasures based on the Golden King's movements. Whether he decides to attack our allies or the Flying Fortress, my men and I can take advantage of the confusion to assassinate him. Or, in this case, use the holy relic."

It was also time to find a suitable replacement for Kaine before it was too late. He would have put that question to Raymond in private.

The Cardinal of Earth approved his proposal. "Very well," the shadow of concern had not yet disappeared from his expression, but, and perhaps it was just a game of deception caused by the candlelight, it had partly dissipated. "We will follow your proposal, my dear boy. As always, we are grateful for your help. And with us all our beloved nation."

Stolen novel; please report.

The young captain's chest flamed more than it should at the praise. "I only do what I must. My contribution to the cause is not even comparable to yours. There is no need to show me gratitude for that."

The Pontifex Maximus turned towards the effigies of the serving Gods. "Perhaps they are just useless pleasantries, but they remind us to take nothing for granted," at his words, everyone present pointed their eyes towards those symbols imbued with sacredness. "You may go now," he enunciated after a few seconds of contemplation. "We do not intend to bore you any more than we have to with matters beyond your expertise. Enjoy your well-deserved rest."

The Captain of the Black Scripture lowered his head once more, pronouncing the necessary rites for his dismissal. As he left, he closed the door behind him, avoiding making the slightest noise.

----------------------------------------

Once outside Aeneas captured some talk about the current situation in Re-Estize, the Empire, the Hills, the Holy Kingdom and more. Soon, those words became only an echo that blurred in his mind.

The young captain adjusted his hair, which fell in no particular order over his shoulders, into a ponytail held steady by a blue spring. When he had finished, he pressed his finger on his right wrist, activating the device he had placed there. Numbers began to materialize in front of him, indicating precisely the hour of the day.

'It is still late morning.'

Normally, he would have taken the opportunity to review battle plans, prepare the inventory of magic items, create new formations with his comrades, and countless other chores that would be useful for his next missions.

But this time was different. Aeneas couldn't even remember the last occasion he had been granted a small leave of absence. He would have devoted it to his interests, if a sudden realization had not struck him.

'I have nothing I'm passionate about outside of work, have I?'

There was little bitterness in that finding. More like the contraction of the stomach after a long period of fasting.

The Black Scripture captain walked down the corridors of the Cathedral, choosing his own rooms as the destination, to make a decision. He could not help but ponder what his companions would do.

'Elena is a fan of music and theatrical performances. Quaiesse takes care of his magical beasts. Samson is a connoisseur of wine and beer. Cassandra has a vast assortment of board games. Clementine... I don't even want to know'

None of that could impress him. Aeneas finally decided that he would use his leave of absence to prepare for that evening's meeting and go over some of the catchphrases his sisters had suggested. A good presentation was essential to make an impression.

Try as he might, in previous marriage meetings he had never been a brilliant conversationalist, to say the least. Of course, no one expected him to be. Not even the girls specially chosen for the task. Aeneas knew that in those unions love was definitely in the background. He had seen that feeling totally absent between his father and his wives, and part of him hoped not to repeat the actions of his old man.

Marriage to a Godkin was a prison sentence. As far as possible, the young captain wanted to choose someone who had the strength of spirit to renounce the light of the outside world.

'If she saw me now, Shaimaaa would mock me until the end of time.' Thinking back to the princess of the Diarchy unexpectedly brought him into a good mood. 'We didn't have time to say goodbye, but I hope she's alright.'

After his victory over the Sword Saint, he and the other members of the Black Scriptures had stayed just to complete their return preparations. The opportunities to see the girl had been few.

'If we were to meet again, I should offer my apologies.'

It was only good manners. As far as possible, it was best to maintain a courteous tone with everyone he met.

Overthinking, the young captain came to a fork in the road he knew well. Until recently he would have been ready to be greeted by a girl not much shorter than him, intent on passing the time with some strange devilry fished out of the treasure room. If they ever found themselves in those circumstances, it was almost certain that his concerns would be different and his appearance changed. She, on the other hand, would have remained the same.

'It was reassuring to see her here, every time, in her place.'

This time, of course, there was no one waiting for him.

No.

Someone was there.

Moved by instinct, the first thing the Black Scripture captain did was to draw his spear. Realizing who it was, he lowered it just as quickly, but without putting it away completely.

"Is this the way to greet a comrade you have not seen in a long time? I feel my heart weep for the offense."

"Windstride. What are you doing here?"

The woman, who was sticking her head out to better observe the inside of the treasury of the Gods, brought her index finger to her chin, certain she wanted to give the impression that she was thinking carefully before giving an answer. It was so exaggerated that not even a child could have fallen for it.

"But it's obvious, isn't it? Now that our beloved companion is enjoying her well-earned holiday, I trust our greatest treasures are properly guarded. We would not want some intruder to decide to take advantage of them, would we?" From the way she spoke, one could get the idea that she had dipped her tongue in honey for hours before making it so sweet.

'Poisoned honey,' Aeneas considered, before correcting himself. Clementine had a... difficult nature. But she was not the only one within the Black Scriptures. It was up to him to guide her well.

"And what is your conclusion?" He tried to appear as authoritative as possible, well aware of how strange, under all circumstances, it was that the ninth seat was in that place, right now.

She approached. Far too close for Aeneas's liking. He felt her intense perfume envelop him. A scent they both knew well, and which was impossible to get rid of.

"That I would really like to see someone try to break in here. To see so many beautiful, seemingly unattended treasures, just begging to be grabbed. And then... to find him standing in front of it." Clementine closed her thumb and forefinger in a small circle, which she jokingly used as a monolocus to better bring her gaze towards him. "Our darkest secret; you place your eye on the doorframe and then death follows you out. Place your eye outside, and death accompanies you beyond. What is beyond? Nobody knows." She almost sang that nursery rhyme, a macabre litany that uttered by her had so much the gaiety of childish games.

Aeneas did not share that hilarity. "No one should be able to sneak in here. Unless we're talking about a ... traitor."

More unique than rare, Windstride lost that sly air that had accompanied her ever since he had met her. It was short-lived. "Nono, what does our beloved captain think? A traitor? In the sacred Theocracy of Slaine? It. Is. Impossible." She shook out a strand of golden hair that covered her ear, sticking out her tongue at him in a mocking and carefree attitude. "You should be punished for even suggesting something like that. But don't fret, you are forgiven."

"I am very glad." He tried to appear as sincere as possible, with not the best of results.

She laughed. "Then there is some sarcasm in that body, all fanfare and duty. And here I thought if I cut you I would find passages of holy scripture instead of blood."

Aeneas pointed at his neck. "'Want to try?" Windstride was armed, he noted. Clementine had not yet stowed the sacred panoply in the armory. He was curious if she would unleash them against him. A test of loyalty, so to speak.

"Don't tease me, naughty boy," Clementine ran her nails over his skin. They were cold. "Killing the kin of a God. How exciting that would be. I could not be given a finer gift. Torturing you for hours on end, affecting you in the slightest. A toy that would last an eternity. How long would it take for me to get bored of you?" She filled her cheeks, then pouted. It was like watching a spoiled cat being denied something futile. "But we know you'd never let me, don't we?"

"You guessed it."

"You're noooo fun," but her reaction indicated otherwise. Aeneas took it as a small victory. "In any case, I know you returned from a mission, and my brother was with you. How did it go?"

Under normal circumstances, the young captain would have been thrilled to see Windstride so interested in the vicissitudes of their comrades, but part of him had an impression -in fact, a certainty- that she was just curious about possible events she could use against her twin.

"Everything went well," Aeneas saw the disappointment peep out of the woman's expression. He was almost amused by it. "Quaiesse behaved properly."

Clementine performed the most fake smile possible in human history. And it was no exaggeration. "I'm delighted about that," she absolutely was not. "Next time, though, you should make my brother slog much, much harder. Make him live up to his epithet. There must be some army you can point him towards, no? Maybe even two or three."

"I'll think about it," in any case, the bestowal of such an assignment would not have been a punishment for the fifth seat. Far from it. Just as the opportunity to interrogate prisoners conferred on Windstride would not have been unwelcome. The two Quintia siblings were more alike than they could admit. Woe betide, however, if one pointed this out to them. "You are also returning from a mission, if I am not mistaken. I haven't had time to take a look at your report yet. I've heard some not comforting rumors, though."

"You have been misreported. It was a walk in the park. A park infested with wolves and the hungriest beasts, full of bugs and filthy mud. Park that I was forced to walk through several times. Back and forth. To the right and to the left. But I had fun, nevertheless, at least until the end…"

"Is the situation in the Draconic Kingdom so catastrophic?" As far as he could grasp, the Sunlight Scriptures had stayed for longer than the normal duration of their operation, before being withdrawn. And the help of an assassination specialist like Windstride in the open field was definitely out of protocol. More evidence of how under-staffed they were.

"A little apocalypse here, a little end of the world there. An ignoramus like me doesn't need to explain to you how the appearance of a Night Lich is an omen of doom."

"A Night Lich!?" Aeneas could not contain his surprise.

Clementine was enraptured by the reaction. "But then you were telling the truth! To think that our perfect captain knew nothing about it," having such an advantage was exhilarating for Windstride. If Aeneas had offered her the best pie in Silksuntecks it would not have had the same effect. "I guess the Cardinals haven't had time yet either. After all, I returned just a few hours ago and only then did I hand in the report. A small oversight."

She winked at him, as a sign of complicity. Aeneas overlooked it, justifying it as simple stress arising from the situation.

"Now what are you going to do?"

"For the moment, I'm going to put these back where they belong," she pointed to the equipment of the Gods she was wearing. "After that... I have no idea. Some rest to devote to my interests, for sure. Re-Estize is full of corrupt nobles, as I understand. And the Holy Kingdom has many powerful people opposing that lovely queen. I'll see if I can get assigned some missions more my style. For the good of humanity, of course."

"Of course."

"Good to see we think alike!" She exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. Definitely uncharacteristic. "What will our beloved and magnificent captain do instead?"

Aeneas replied without giving it too much thought. "I have a marriage meeting in the evening." Perhaps Windstride was not the best person to share that information with, but he had no a chance to regret it.

"Lucky the chosen one. To become the companion of a great hero. Having a husband like you must be interesting for sure. For sure." She focused far too much on that last sentence.

Aeneas nodded. He was about to ask her if she too had plans of that kind, before desisting. He doubted there was a man -or woman- capable of attracting Clementine's attention. Not as long as they still had their bowels in place, at least.

"I salute you, Windstride. Do not inconvenience the Guardian Deity too much."

"I could never," the prospect certainly titillated her, but not even someone as capable of causing discomfort to the undead as Clementine could have hoped for such an outcome. "Although... Don't look at me like that. You're driving me to death with fright! I was only joking! Just... joking!"

Aeneas sighed and resumed his walk. He was aware that Windstride had been watching him as long as he was visible. But the only thing occupying his mind was the inescapable appointment of the evening.

Interlude part 1: a king in the plains

There was a particularly strong breeze that morning. Hooves trampled the wood of the ship, while Darius enjoyed the coolness. His gaze was turned towards his large fleet, and the grandeur it projected over the ocean.

Only a falsehood, of course. Since he had risen to power on the Great Plains, establishing a navy worthy of the name had been one of his priorities. With very little result.

The ships were in great numbers, and in appearance solid and sturdy. But that was not enough. Few druids in his service knew spells for strengthening ships and controlling the tides. At most, they could calculate and briefly direct the winds to make navigation more peaceful.

On the side of the quality of the sailors, the situation was no more comforting. Most of the races that had sworn allegiance to him preferred to keep their feet firmly on the ground, without the risk of unwanted bathing. At best, he had found a few sailors who were little more than mediocre. But almost the entire fleet was made up of those incapable of withstanding a battle on water.

None of this mattered.

"That is the coastline overlooked by the city of Orcneas, Great Heaven," Darius recognised the voice. It was his brother's. Not of blood. Their bond of brotherhood had been forged by more significant experiences than having shared the same womb.

"Bessus, I have intimated to you too many times not to call me by that name. I am your emperor, not your god."

After the conquest, the clergy had been quick to attempt to deify his image. Only a deity could be capable of subduing so many valiant heroes and leaders in such a short time, some had claimed. A way to make his rule more legitimate, some of the more cynical might have thought. Darius had a good idea who had started all this, but he could not resent his childhood friend.

"As satrap, it is my strict obligation to address my ruler in the way the people see fit, otherwise someone might question your authority," the centaur, much smaller than Darius, pointed to the blue, cloudless sky. "Besides, is it not true? Who, if not a God, would prepare to perform the prodigy we are about to see?"

Darius looked ahead. Orcenas' fleet had gathered rapidly in front of the city, and was preparing to send an emissary to greet them. "I am but a link, an emissary of Heaven," a small vessel approached the flagship of the Plains Fleet, towering a symbol of peace. Darius gave the order for it to approach. "I've been telling you since we were children. When will I be able to convince you?"

"When you will provide me with reason to doubt," Bessus held back a laugh. "But I don't think it will be today, my Heaven."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the emperor ignored that moniker, once reserved for intimacy, now shared by almost every one of his subjects. "Show our guests in."

The satrap commanded some members of his guard to head towards the newcomers, so that they could be thoroughly checked before being admitted for a colloquium with the emperor.

Darius continued to look ahead as he waited, establishing the overwhelming difference between his ships and those of the Union. Small and swift, the latter knew how to move in a confined space, and were certainly led by seasoned veterans, accustomed both to navigating the waters and repelling the assaults of pirates further east.

That was a fight lost at the start.

"Announcing the magistrate Mussel, representative of the city of Orcenas of the Union of the city-states of Karnasus, come to pay homage to Darius the first, first in his name, Shah of the Great Plains and Emperor under Heaven!"

The howl of the imperial guard broke the placid silence of that morning. Some birds had begun to caw from above, taking it as a personal challenge, an outrageous affront to the religious tranquility of the sea.

"Your imperial majesty," what stood before Darius was an elf, judging by the particularly pointed ears, but different from those he had been able to observe trading on those rare occasions that other races entered his kingdom.

The skin was a dark blue, to begin with, and on the sides of his cheeks he had growths that resembled gills. His hair, cut short, was a muddy worm, reminiscent of seaweed.

The bizarre elf wore a simple robe, with just a cloak slung over his shoulders to protect him from the cold. On his chest, the emblem of his city -a fierce-looking sea serpent- towered with deep pride. A saber at his side, without tip and sharpening. More a symbol than a weapon. His hands held out, locked in a firm grip that was meant to demonstrate goodwill.

"Raise your head, magister," Mussel had lowered his head after turning it three times to the sky with slow, measured movements, as was the custom in Darius' imperial court. The elf's eyes betrayed no emotion except for a slight anxiety, which leaked through an irregular flutter of his eyelashes. "You may wonder why we have come to your territories... unexpectedly. We are very, very regretful that this has happened."

Darius kept himself cordial, without flaunting weakness. It was imperative that from the outset he showed himself master of every smallest detail. For someone who abhorred conflict as he did, unnecessary bloodshed would only be a disgraceful sorrow.

"We have not come to bring ruin or destruction, if that is what you fear. In truth, we have come here only to dispense justice, and to right a wrong that has been done us," the pluralis maiestatis -which the emperor so disliked and tried to avoid as much as possible- emphasized from the outset the difference in rank that existed between an Emperor, son of Heaven, conductor of peoples, and the commendable, but still lowly, representative of a rebellious city. "Since our demands for the return of our trusted friend, the satrap Tiribazus, have gone unheeded, we have found it necessary to continue to act by asserting our authority, for even if the Union pretends to forget it, this has always been Imperial territory, and the latest rebellions -suppressed with unfortunate violence- have done nothing but reaffirm our right to these lands. Move your fleet, then, and let us pass with our army, so that we may restore order where it is required."

The magistrate maintained a certain decorum, showing the composure and firmness of character of an experienced politician. "If I may say so," he began only when he was certain that Darius had finished, in a courteous and pleasant, but not servile, timbre of voice. "Your requests have not gone unheeded, but are still under consideration by the various representatives of the Union. Bureaucracy, even when efficient, takes its time."

As he spoke, the elf discreetly inspected his surroundings. He noticed for sure that besides Darius and Bessus there were only a couple of guards, while his escort numbered a dozen or so veterans. Even unarmed, they could have overpowered the satrap and their escort with ease.

The emperor paused. He felt a tremor caress his tail. The wind had become more intense. "Not only has our fraternal friend Tiribazus not been returned to us, but Karnasus, the city we had chosen as the control center for the restoration, has been taken from us. Three of our generals are missing. The Union asks us to wait for abstract and indefinite times, without providing guarantees and answers to our questions."

"If I may…"

"No. You cannot!" He only had to raise his voice for any possible hostility to cease. Both the magistrate and his guard stopped, losing any desire to resist that might have been sown by an incorrect assertion of circumstances. "Orcneas had proposed the cessation of all hostilities and had offered itself as an intermediary for a peaceful transition to a future marked by unity. Instead, what do we find to welcome our arrival? A fleet in battle formation obstructing our passage."

It was indifferent to Darius that no message had been delivered of their arrival. If nothing else, the emperor wanted to test what the magistrate's reaction would be to that blatant abuse. The empire he was rebuilding had no room for spineless flatterers.

The elf, unlike the soldiers accompanying him, discreetly maintained control, not letting fear obstruct his overview. Except for some strange sweat-like liquid puddling his bluish skin, and a slight tremor in his lips, he stood firmly on the platform, looking straight at the emperor, without lowering his gaze.

"Heavenly Emperor, I remind you that there was no formal agreement between Orcneas and the Great Plains. The proposals and political leanings of my esteemed colleague, Magistrate Kostocles, do not represent our city in its entirety. No vote has been held with the city assemblies as far as I am aware, which is why Orcneas still maintains the position it previously took: that of open hostility to those who claim rights to our autonomy." His tongue had turned sharp, sharper than the saber he carried as mere decoration.

Darius was impressed, and part of him longed even more to have the Union in his control. He let Mussel complete his speech before countering.

"The city of Karnasus had come under the Empire's control after a scattering, and Prince Alexander merely reclaimed the land of his ancestors in the same way it had been taken from him. Even if there are legitimate claims of the Empire to Union territories these are now impossible to prove, as far as I know. The right of conquest is certainly a stronger basis for your claims, but just as it was effective for you, it is also effective for the young prince."

"Splendid," Darius clapped his hands in sincere applause. That simple gesture must have caught Mussel off guard, for he bit his lip in an immediately suppressed spasm.

The emperor also noticed some barely imperceptible wrinkles on the elf's forehead, which, according to his information on that long-lived race, gave a plausible explanation for his experience and eloquence. "We hope that when the war is over, you will willingly come into our service. The empire needs keen and debate-ready minds like yours. Let us abandon all formalities, then."

The invitation was not accepted. "I advise you to turn back, Heavenly Emperor. The fleet of Orcneas has always been prepared for the worst. And the empire has proven that it is not invincible." That threat was not too veiled. The arrogance derived from a few insignificant victories had flourished even among the waves of that watery expanse.

"We know that your recent successes are not all your doing," Bessus spoke, accusing not only the Orcneas representative, but the entire Union. "You have provided yourselves with the help of a demon, of a daeva. You have broken the balance of heavenly harmony once again, bringing upon us the obligation to restore peace. Do not try to deny it. Our informant has been categorical."

The magistrate clicked his tongue angrily, muttering only one name, in rage: "Kostocles."

Darius let him believe that he had guessed the traitor: the seed of discord had been planted with particular ease. Division would make it easier to unite them under his banner, the propitious time having arrived.

Now, however, the hour had come to put an end to those negotiations. "Let us pass, then. Do not force us to sully this clear sea with the corpses of your people."

Mussel resumed control. His reply was a simple observation. "In the years of war, Heavenly Emperor, you have never attacked from the sea. This is because the fame of our fleet has reached even your ears. Orcneas cannot be taken from the sea!"

A statement that knew no argument against it.

"Do you really believe that, magister?"

Darius raised his arm, gesturing to his satrap to be silent. "Orcneas was not taken because we have always recognised its value and in our design we hoped to make your jewel, your pride, ours. Ours was, we are aware, unjustified arrogance. For this, you will have our apologies." Managing to surprise those who had lived for centuries was no mean feat, the emperor acknowledged. Mussel stepped back, startled, realizing that the pretensions of friendship had collapsed.

"Do not mistake our pity for weakness!" Darius continued, without raising his voice, without budging a step. To project his own wisdom onto another's, he had learned, required nothing more than the will. "The daeva you have summoned from the depths must be drawn back into the darkness from whence they came, just as the rebellious young prince must be hanged as befits traitors. And if to do so we should renounce the treasures of the Union, so be it!"

"The serpent of the sea will not fall easily," the elf had now backed up to join his men, who waited not far from their craft. "We will not give up without a fight…"

What must have been a shout of incitement came out as a half-broken gasp.

"Would that be the flagship? Splendid craft!" Darius, now deeming the magistrate useless, had shifted his attention to the gigantic vessel that stood in the center of the fleet, surrounded by other vessels, challenging it in size. "We have never seen wood worked so beautifully. Oak? No, it must have come from some plant unknown to us. And how many wizards are ready to raise magic shields to defend it! We have no reason to doubt that the admiral and the sailors chosen are also worthy of praise."

Some old sea wolves, after a life spent braving the waves and storms, acquired skills similar to those that generals could display on the battlefield. They made boats sturdier, faster, and rendered even the most reckless maneuvers less risky.

If the two fleets had faced each other head-on, there would have been no doubt about the winner. Especially since Darius' ships, for the most part, were almost completely empty, with only the bare minimum of crew.

"A pity... But this is the path the Union has taken. Bessus!" At his call, the satrap already knew what to do. He walked away to return soon after, accompanied by some servants carrying what the emperor had requested.

"For you, My Heaven."

His old friend handed him, one by one, all the pieces of his armor. Darius quickly stripped off the fragrant and graceful silks that covered his body, to cover himself with a radiant adamantium. "My sun, dazzling as ever."

First, however, he had to release his wings, deliberately compressed into his back and hidden by his clothes. A cascade of feathers kissed his behind.

"What?" The magistrate's expression of surprise was promptly ignored.

"Khvarenah, My Heaven," came the bow's turn. His inheritance, belonging to his father, and his father's father before him, down to his illustrious ancestor, from whom Darius had inherited form, soul, wisdom and strength.

One of the Empire's two greatest treasures. "My old friend, I ask you to give yourself to me, once more," he ran his fingers over the selfbow, made from a forgotten wood, but gleaming and glittering more than any other metal, set with two emeralds that resembled the eyes of a sleeping dragon on the verge of awakening, promising dreams of glory and aspirations of serenity to whoever held it.

The emperor's soul quivered at the vibration of the rope; his hand clutched that unbreakable thread, which no one but he could legitimately wield.

"The dragon scales, My Heaven," finally, Bessus handed him a quiver embroidered from the skins of manticores, capricorns, chimeras and other beasts won by the emperor in his youth. The arrows inside derived their appellation from the trophy Darius had won when he still rode like a wild colt across the Great Plains, when the world was simpler, when the sky seemed bluer and the wind freer.

The emperor touched their tips, surprised at how much the force of the fiery breath still lived in his weapons, how much it roared to burn the world. "It took us two days to hunt down the fire-dragon lord who haunted the mountains east of the Plains. He and his brood proved to be our greatest prey, to this day we carry the memory of that adventure in our hearts."

Mussel did not react at the musing of the emperor, nor did he ask for any clarifications. As an interlocutor he had given as much as he could. The elf looked at Darius with that mixed look of wonder and wrath with which the dragon had greeted him in his memoirs. Ancient creatures, in the emperor's opinion, shared the same weakness when faced with the unknown.

"Take care, My Heaven," there was no real concern in the satrap. Bessus had faith in his sovereign, in his heaven.

"Observe," Darius rose into the sky. The air became the steps of his ascent to the vault of paradise. He overshadowed the sun with his splendor. He humbled the wind, with the flapping of his wings. He kept the waves company with the placidity of his being.

From above, the emperor could see the turmoil of the Sea Serpent, who had now become aware of his presence. So many tiny dots moved indefinitely. The light of his figure obscured the sun that had reached noon.

Darius nocked his arrow, assuming the right position, cradled by the white clouds. The chosen one was gently laid on the rope.

Spells of various kinds crashed down upon him. The spellcasters on the flagship summoned the power of the elements; magics of lightning and fire answered an ancient call to deploy their power on a single, solitary target. That energy shattered like foam on the rocks. The splendor of the sun, of Darius, was strengthened by that welcome of evil intent. Useless attempts that did not affect his person but rather reinforced it.

Darius raised Khvarenah, stretching it. The large admiral ship immediately became the target of his aim.

The flagship and the other vessels in tow began to move. Shouts of orders pierced the ears in an indistinct cacophony. Bridges for the assault, set up by rows of ruthless warriors, were beginning to be prepared. Small groups were being coordinated with expert readiness.

As the emperor had predicted, Orcneas' fleet was on a whole other level than his own, which they would catch up with and overwhelm in little effort given the chance.

Soon, it would all be over.

"『 Fire shot 』."

Darius released the arrow, now burning by the enchantment of his martial art, relaxing the fingers of the hand that stretched the string.

There was silence.

The bullet reached the Sea Serpent. The raised magic shields shattered like the weakest of glass; crystal shards formed a rainbow bridge that carried the arrow to the ship's hull, piercing it effortlessly.

Then came the noise.

The roar of the sea rebelled against that preserved calm. The waves rose in protest against that affront. And then...

The water exploded in a fiery inferno. A blaze of hell that made no distinction between who or what was to consume, called upon by the wrath of Heaven. Nature became fire. The Sea Serpent became fire. The fleet of Orcneas became fire. The light of that force brought an unexpected sunset of fire. The screams of the sailors soon became an undefined echo, unimportant.

More than half of the enemy army had been completely annihilated before everything returned to its previous state. The few who managed to save themselves brought back what they had managed to save to the coast.

The wind swelled with thick, gray ash. The breath became unbearable from the stench of corpses and burnt wood.

Darius descended gracefully onto the deck of his ship, removing the helmet to better admire his handiwork. Part of him was disappointed that it was all over so quickly. The last extinguishing sparks brought him only one consideration. "Hopefully the daeva will entertain us more."

Mussel had thrown his saber to the ground, and prostrated himself like a worm at his feet.

Thinking back on the waste, Darius noticed that the weather had become warmer.