“Drýmann Hewelin Guntard, your Grace,” announced the Chamberlin. The room was as ostentatious as its occupant, Duke Helȝas Engram. Eight great stone pillars, each one an amalgamation of four smaller pillars in an extruded cloverleaf shape, supported the vaulted, mural-painted ceiling.

The pillars were engraved with a fish scale pattern and covered with gleaming copper. The walls were home to large tanks, made from a myriad of tiny glass panes, and filled with live fish, as well as all manner of aquatic plants and exotic sea creatures.

“It’s Dolwillen’s resident cockroach. Is there any particular reason why you are bothering me right now?” said Duke Engram. He lounged on a wide, padded, high backed chair and wore a loose fitting, red linen bliaut and a wool pelisse, making him look like an overly plump sheep.

“His Grace, the most honourable Duke Dolwillen Mánfeld, wishes to send his condolences at the loss of Brimtún Sandhliþ,” said Hewelin. “His Grace hopes to reach an understanding with you.”

“I want no part in that bi-blow’s schemes.”

“A shame. His Grace insists on your cooperation.”

The fat Duke laughed, “Really? Is that why he sent you to annoy me? I said no to him at the ball and I used his last letter for my ablutions.”

“Most efficient of you, your Grace.” Hewelin fiddled with the wide cuffs of his black wool bliaut, “Perhaps you can use Duke Mánfeld’s next gift to aid your indigestion.”

Duke Engram glared at him, “What does Dolwillen want this time? Troops, supplies, concessions? His scheme only benefits him. I have no reason to comply. If you threaten me with magic, I will kill you.”

“You are welcome to try,” said Hewelin. “After your repeated refusals for assistance, his Grace has a new proposal and a gift to sweeten the deal.”

“Go on.”

“His Grace humbly requests you form an army and march with him to the capital.”

“As I said before, you beslubbering dewberry, I like the King. He doesn’t cause a fuss and I am rich because of it. His competition might be ridiculous, but all I have to do is win it. I see no reason to support someone who is so incompetent they not only managed to rile the old man, but be disqualified altogether. Watching Dolwillen dangle from the chandelier was a delightful act.”

“I couldn’t agree more, your Grace. That’s why I’ve prepared a little incentive.” Hewelin waved at a pair of ushers, who disappeared for a moment then returned with a wrapped object, six feet long, four feet high, and two inches thick. They placed it before Duke Engram and held it upright.

“Would you like to do the honours, your Grace?”

“Do I look like a servant to you? Unwrap it yourself.”

Hewelin took a small silver knife from his belt and cut the strings holding the grey canvas in place. The heavy cloth slipped from the frame and folded onto the floor revealing an incredible painting.

A small village perched on a sandy cliff, facing the sea. Every detail from the smallest ladybird on a stalk of rough grass, to the glistening eyes of fresh caught fish, were present. A small moment of time which captured the village and its inhabitants enjoying their lives.

“Brimtún Sandhliþ,” said Duke Engram.

“Yes, your Grace. Once again, I would like to pass on Duke Mánfeld’s sorrow at the mysterious disappearance of such a beautiful village.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, your Grace.”

Duke Engram snorted, “Very well, I will play along for now.” He examined the painting, “I keep thinking the people will move. Every time I glance between different spots and back again, I can’t help but feel something has changed. It’s quite remarkable.”

“I’m flattered, your Grace. I finished this last week, a moment before the village disappeared. Any longer and I would’ve missed it.”

“You did this?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“What happened?” He still sounded cautious.

“The sea seems to have swallowed the village, but the new cliff is smooth, there’s none of the scree at its base as you might expect, almost as if the cliff was removed.”

Duke Engram placed his chubby palm on the painting’s surface. He shivered, his jowls jiggled in sync with his belly.

“What is this?” said Duke Engram.

“The surface is covered with Feorhhord Gimcynn, your Grace. A precious stone made by condensing magic to its very limit. The end result is remarkable. Unlike other forms of magic, it not only holds its shape without degradation, but can be used to imprint spell forms and activate them to a much greater intensity than is possible through metal or stone.

“Its only downside is its scarcity as it does not form naturally and is incredibly difficult to manufacture, requiring a vast amount of magic over a prolonged period of time. However, I am something of an expert on its production. I can assure you there is no greater gift than this.”

“And you painted my village on such a surface? What have you done?” Duke Engram began to hyperventilate, like an angry boar, “Where is my village?”

“Right before you, your Grace. It will be much easier to admire it now than before. You won’t even have to step out of your own home. I know you were fond of it.”

“Right before me? Explain.”

“Must you insist I degrade my art with words?”

A rancid bead of sweat trickled down Duke Engram’s greasy cheek.

“Very well, your Grace. I will keep it simple. Brimtún Sandhliþ is the painting. Your village hasn’t disappeared. It’s right here. Isn’t it beautiful?”

The broken veins in Duke Engram’s drink-ruptured nose matched the rest of his face as he turned a remarkable shade of red.

“Where would you like me to hang it?” said Hewelin.

Duke Engram grabbed Hewelin’s shirt and pulled him close, “I…will…kill…you!” His breath was awful. A mix of foetid cabbage and fermenting cream.

“Forgive me, your Grace, I almost forgot to tell you. Your wife arrived at her cousin’s country house a few days ago. It’s in Hwite Mylen isn’t it? I do believe it’s only a few miles from the Mánfeld esta-”

Hewelin yelped as Duke Engram swung him sideways.

Duke Engram clamped the back of Hewelin’s head with his other hand. With a roar, he smashed Hewelin’s face into the painting. There was a deafening crack.

Hewelin’s eyes watered and his vision swam. Duke Engram had broken his nose.

Duke Engram continued to pound Hewelin’s head into the hard surface of the painting. Out of the corner of his eye, Hewelin observed the ushers struggling to keep the painting upright as blood splattered everywhere.

Hewelin came to, his face pressed against the cool sandstone floor. Duke Engram was screaming something about threats, dishonour, and other such nonsense. Hewelin stood and brushed himself off. He felt his face twist as his nose reset itself with a click. It tickled a little so he raised his hand and rubbed his nostrils with his index finger. Duke Engram turned white.

“How are you even alive? That’s-”

“Impossible?” said Hewelin. “Such an absurd concept!”

“Why do you even serve Dolwillen?” said Duke Engram. He wrapped his wool pelisse around himself. It barely covered his body.

Hewelin scowled, “A moment of thievery and a lifetime of cowardice.” He cleared his throat, “Will you follow Duke Mánfeld or not?”

Duke Engram nodded.

“I will inform his Grace of your acceptance. I shall look forward to seeing you on a more regular basis, Duke Engram. For now, may I be excused? I would like to change my clothes and prepare a little something for you to sign.”

“You may go.”

“Most kind, your Grace.”