“Your—Lady Silk!” Avathene was the first to recover from Silk’s surprising appearance and spoke quickly. “We are in the midst of an import—”
Silk held up a resolute hand. That the Clanmistress stopped speaking immediately was all anyone else in the vicinity needed to understand that she wasn’t just some random young woman who had appeared in their midst. They might not know that she was the Emperor’s heir, one of the very bastards that the spokesperson had mentioned, but they didn’t need to. The aura of Silk’s presence made it clear enough.
“My lady.” Unlike Avathene, Gorint Malloh had clearly not recovered yet. “I am sorry, but who even are you?”
Silk turned her smile to the Avatar, who had gone still at her appearance. “Who am I? Why don’t we ask our friendly Avatar here?”
Everyone turned to look at the Avatar. The woman with the Ceramic Mask had frozen, but it wasn’t in the stance of a deer caught in the sight of a predator. No, this was a jungle cat a second before launching itself at its prey.
Amalyse’s heartbeat thundered in her chest as she recognized the imminent disaster. The Avatar was about to attack. Eyes widening and with her breaths quickening, she opened her mouth to yell out a warning, but then stopped herself. Something strange was going on. Something she didn’t understand at all.
The Avatar was still frozen, but it was different this time. Her posture was changing. No, being forced to change. The little twitches rocking her body looked very involuntary. Instead of appearing on the verge of attacking Silk, she had turned calm. Almost… submissive.
Amalyse swallowed. What in the world was going on?
“Tell us who I am,” Silk said to the Avatar, striding forward so that she was in the centre of the gathering. “Tell us all.”
The Avatar bowed her head. “You are the one and only Empress-to-be of the Elderlands.”
Amalyse stared. Of course, she had known about it. Silk had told her before. But she had never imagined that she would dare reveal something so vital, so volatile, to what amounted to the entire world. Not now. Not yet.
Why?
She wasn’t the only one staring. Though, for most of the rest of the crowd, it was simply staring in shock and surprise. Even Avathene, who supposedly knew, had her eyes widening. Whatever plans the Clanmistress had for this meeting were clearly in danger of being upended thanks to Silk using it as a stage for her earth-shattering announcement.
While Amalyse herself was at least uneasy with the turn of events, Rollo was grinning broadly. He had stayed at the edge of the gathering, content to watch proceedings passively.
Until now. Rollo had forced himself closer to the centre.
Amalyse wondered what idiocy was going through his head this time. The longer she knew him, the more inscrutable he seemed than before at times.
“Preposterous,” the spokesperson said, though his voice was quiet and hushed. “You—you’re just—a—”
His voice faltered as Silk raised a hand, pointing it at the Avatar. Deep green vines with the texture of wood snaked around her arm, sprouting leaves the colour of dusk. It turned into a strange gauntlet covering her entire forearm and hand. Then the leaves began glowing.
“Since our friend Gorint Malloh is so reluctant to speak the truth,” she said. “Why don’t you admit it, Avatar? Speak. Tell us the story behind the story of the Shatterlands.”
The Avatar didn’t hesitate for a second. “The spokesperson is correct. The manipulations of the former Clanmasters and their scions were orchestrated by some prominent members of the imperial court, with the help of the Banishedborn and the Gravemark Puppeteer, of course.”
Immediate shock and outrage broke out in the gathered crowd. Several called for the Avatar’s head, while many looked at Gorint Malloh with undisguised anger and disgust. Curiously, not many turned their ire onto Avathene herself, despite the spokesperson trying to direct their resentment against her. She had a strong hold on many here.
Amalyse swallowed. Before, she’d at least had a grasp of what Avathene intended and was in favour of it. Now she was no longer certain. The control of this gathering had clearly shifted to Silk’s grasp, but Amalyse had no idea what her goals were.
Gorint Malloh’s initial groan turned into a sigh. “The Avatar is correct. I found evidence of her interaction with the Banishedborn at the tavern.”
“There you have it,” Silk said loudly, raising her voice over that of the others. They were all looking at her now, hanging on her every word. Silk had them all wrapped around her finger. “Proof that the Avatar was an instrument being used against the Shatterlands.” She turned to face Avathene with a stern glare. “Proof that even the wisest of us can falter and make mistakes.”
Amalyse’s heart rate spiked. Silk wasn’t going to…
“Lady Silk,” Clanmistress Avathene said, trying to regain control of the situation. Tiny hints of desperation were slipping into her cadence. She bowed her head. “Your Highness. I was not aware of this truth. Forgive me, I have erred.”
“You have.” Silk turned to look at the crowd. “But that leaves us all in a quandary. If those who would guide us, who would seek to lead us to better times, are themselves lacking in proper guidance, what are we all to do?”
She knew the answer. They all knew she did and every iota of attention in the whole area was waiting on Silk to deliver it. And deliver she did with a little smile full of confidence and determination.
“The only way forward is by shedding ties with those who would deceive us, who would use us and then destroy us. We cannot allow ourselves to be pawns of the Emperor and corrupt imperial court any longer. We cannot be their passive targets.” She raised her voice. “We must fight back. We must work together and stand tall.”
The crowd was nodding along, drinking in her every word. It was almost like she had a strange hypnotic power, something that was making her words seem like absolute truths that none could argue against easily.
Even Amalyse felt it. A strange sensation that made it feel like she had no recourse but to agree. The frightening thing was that she couldn’t tell if it was a form of compulsion or not because Silk’s arguments were too sound.
“Both sides who would lead you may do well,” Silk continued saying. “But only when supervised. Not only did they fall to the trickery of those who are the true enemies of the Shatterlands, they also fail to see this division between the clans is a result of the manipulation of the imperial court as well.
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“Our enemies want us divided so that we are easier to conquer. What need will they have to fight us, to force us to relinquish all they would take from us, when they can make us do it for them? We cannot have that. We must not. We must be aware at all times. Vigilant. We must present a unified front and stand together.
“But the question remains—who will provide this guidance? Who will stand against our true foes when our leaders themselves are so susceptible?”
Silk waited, letting the suspense build again. She was smiling, her eyes full of fire. Amalyse had no idea where or when or how she had learned to manipulate a crowd to such a degree, but it was undoubtedly quite effective. Everyone here was entranced by her.
She raised the wood-gauntleted hand, where the glowing leaves now twinkled like tiny stars. “Fear not. Your Empress is here to expose all corruption, to root out all evil, to extinguish all threats. Swear fealty to me, Kalvia, heir to the throne of the Elderlands and your fourth Empress!”
Another moment of heavy shock. A point where things were impossibly balanced on a knife-edge. Silk’s—no, Kalvia’s—words might have been rousing. But it was one thing to agree in mind with someone. It was entirely another to go against several centuries of tradition to outright declare rebellion against the empire.
But before the slight hesitation could destroy all the momentum Silk had so powerfully constructed, Rollo stepped forward.
Amalyse’s eyes widened. That bastard. He was still grinning like a maniac. Rollo even had the audacity to glance at her as he passed, nodding his head as if to indicate joining him. To follow his lead.
Rollo summoned a spear of light in his right hand. The technique might have seemed threatening at any other time, but there wasn’t a single iota of dangerous impression coming off him. All Rollo did was reach a few paces from Silk.
Then, with great ceremony, he stabbed the gleaming, radiant spearhead into the ground.
“I am Rollo,” he said. “Scion of the great Karlosyne clan, chief among the Archnobles of the Elderlands.” He knelt next to Kalvia, bowing his head so that his golden hair fell around his face. “And I hereby swear my eternal fealty to the Empress of the Elderlands.”
Another shocking hammer blow to all who had gathered here. Where Kalvia’s call to action had nearly begun undoing all the work she’d done to bring the crowd to her side, Rollo’s gesture of unhesitating, immediate loyalty had brought it all back.
Amalyse herself was having difficulty grounding the chain of events into her mind. One thing after another was happening too fast, but she recalled Rollo’s parting look.
No, not just a look. An invitation.
“Forgive me, mother,” she muttered, then stepped forward.
All eyes turned to her, Kalvia’s included. The Empress had a beatific look on her face, fierce and determined, yet benevolent as well. She looked nothing less than the righteous hero who had come down from the heavens to scourge all evil from the world.
Amalyse’s skin prickled at the sensation of being the centre of attention of such a large group in such circumstances. For a second, she wondered if this was how Rieren had felt so often back in Lionshard Sect, when she had been determined to protect her secret.
The sensation was horrid. It made Amalyse glad she hadn’t had anything to eat in ages. No wonder Rieren had looked paranoid at times.
Amalyse’s attention was pulled back to the present. Following Rollo’s lead, she summoned a red sword using her summoning skill. She stepped past the kneeling Avatar, took her spot on the other side of Kalvia, and knelt on the ground, stabbing the sword down beside her knees.
“I am Amalyse.” She raised her voice so all could hear, and they quieted down, letting her voice echo over the areas. “Scion of the Arraihos clan, one of the oldest and wealthiest in all of the Elderlands. I hereby swear my eternal fealty to the Empress of the Elderlands.”
It worked. Amazingly, incredibly, that tipped things over the edge. Men and women in the crowd, important members of the Shatterlands’ society all, began shouting Kalvia’s name with wild admiration.
They began calling her empress.
Amalyse’s heart refused to settle down. She was hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision. After all, hadn’t she told her mother that she was here in the Shatterlands to make a difference?
Even if it meant it would cost her the freedom of her future?
“This is nothing,” the Ordorian spokesperson screeched over tumult of the crowd. He kept yelling until the crowd started paying him attention again, though almost all of them were frowning in disapproval. “Children! They’re all children. You want to trust these youths to tell you what to do? They have neither the knowledge nor the experience to do so. They’re minors.”
He said it like it was the gravest insult possible. And to be fair, there were many who would look at their apparent youth and doubt everything Kalvia had done and said just for that.
But it wasn’t as terrible a mark as he proclaimed it to be. Even if Rollo and Amalyse were “children”, even if they couldn’t directly control their clans to a great degree, they were still powerful allies. The very fact they were voluntarily turning themselves into Kalvia meant that the Empress could force the Karlosyne and Arraihos clans to do her bidding.
Unsurprisingly, even Avathene joined in on the dissent. “I have to agree, though on a different note. Regardless of anyone’s efficacy, I believe there is room for cooperation between us all here. We—”
“Why do you hesitate to swear fealty?” Kalvia asked.
“I do not, Your Highness.”
“Then kneel. And swear fealty. I am not here to tell you how to run your clans. I am not here to run your lives for you.” Kalvia looked back at the crowd, knowing full well the only ones she really had to convince were them. Smart of her. “I am your Empress. Your duty is to abide by my overarching guidance, and in return, you will earn the safety and prosperity that you deserve.”
Avathene didn’t kneel even then. Despite her proclamation that she wasn’t opposing the Empress, she was yet to swear fealty.
But that was fine. Everyone else in the crowd was doing it for her.
Men and woman stepped forward and fell to their knees, proclaiming their everlasting allegiance to the new Empress. Whatever magic Kalvia had enchanted, it had a great effect. She had all but secured her victory.
If even that wasn’t enough, an Abyss Rent popped open behind them all. it hung over the wide canyon created by the meteor shower’s impact with the Dreadflood. All of them, every single person in the gathering, turned as one to stare behind, their reactions varying from anger to shock to frightened alarm.
But all Amalyse could do was gawk as Rieren Vallorne stepped out of the portal to the Abyss.
She wasn’t the regular Rieren Amalyse had known. Her form was reminiscent of the one she had used against the Gravemark Puppeteer in the dungeon under Lionshard mountain, but even stranger now.
Her hair was far longer, tipped startlingly white at the ends. The silvery sheen of her skin had solidified into what looked little different from ivory. Small, diamond-shaped dark scales that glimmered iridescently like oil rippled up her upper arms and crowded her neck. The pools of darkness in her eyes seemed to swirl with a life of their own.
Rieren landed on the edge of the canyon thanks to her wings. Wings that were made of dozens upon dozens of swords, all glowing so bright they looked a breath away from melting.
Amalyse noticed, with the biggest jolt of surprise since her friend’s appearance, that even her robes had changed. Instead of the crimson ones of Lionshard sect, she now wore pristine white ones trimmed in gold and embroidered in black. Godly robes for a someone who looked no less than a deity.
The only thing that was the same was her blade. Her ever-present Receptor sword.
Rieren paused before the gathering. No one spoke. Most people were entirely busy just gawking at her. And possibly at the Abyss Rent behind her. Her eyes looked past them all, lingering for a second on Amalyse—who smiled at her and received a small one in return—before turning to Kalvia.
And then her smile grew wider.
Slowly, after a moment, Kalvia returned it. “Rieren Vallorne. The one who killed the Dreadflood, who stopped the assassination of the Clanmistress, who exposed the manipulation of the Banishedborn and the Gravemark Puppeteer. The saviour of the Shatterlands. What brings you here?”
Rieren stepped forward. The more she walked, the more her wings continued coming out of the Abyss Rent, extending longer and longer. They were finally out in full when Rieren reached a pace behind the still-kneeling Avatar, and once free, they spread outwards to encompass the whole meeting area, twin domes of glowing swords held over them all.
“I am Rieren Vallorne,” she said, kneeling at Kalvia’s feet. She stabbed her Receptor sword into the ground. That did it. The spokesperson and all those of the Ordorian clan began kneeling as well, as did Avathene, the Tarciel clan members, and all the rest. “I am also Arianaele, goddess of the thousand blades. And I hereby swear my eternal fealty to the Empress of the Elderlands.”