Iriala kept her face carefully neutral as Radast gave the count an over-embellished bow and nodded graciously to the assembled leaders of the various guilds, the temples and the military.
He was enjoying this far too much – it wasn’t appropriate considering the circumstances.
The warlock’s shadow, she noticed, was playing at being normal today, though looking closely, she could tell that it was a little too dark compared to the others in the room.
“I am honored to present important intelligence to your grace today,” the warlock began. The count would certainly have already seen the report, but it was traditional to pretend that everyone was hearing things for the first time at functions like this.
“One of my associates detained a rogue warlock belonging to the Duergar forces,” he continued, “and I’ve spent the past two days interrogating the prisoner to obtain information regarding the disposition and purpose of our adversaries.”
A well-dressed dwarf cleared his throat self-importantly. “Ahem. Alleged adversaries,” he corrected.
Right. This would be Pavrosh, the representative of the aspirationally-named Mercantile Guild. In actuality, they were a sort of overgrown Teamsters’ Union that managed trade caravans between cities.
By now, even the official reports suggested that the Duergar were seizing territory in the Depths near other Beseri cities. Even the Empire, which actually tried to maintain an underground buffer zone early in its history, had abandoned the attempt when two of its legions and several smaller garrisons had simply disappeared without a trace. While several cities had a presence underground, nobody could seriously claim to control any significant amount of the three-dimensional maze of tunnels and caverns that wormed their way underneath all of Besermark and beyond.
As far as Iriala knew, almost nobody expected the dwarves to simply back off from the current standoff. Nobody, that was, except a few delusional traders and merchants. Some probably just feared what a war might do to the country’s trade routes, but she imagined others were still hoping to open trade with the Duergar Empire.
Idiots. Sure, and maybe they just wanted to set up convenient trading posts near all of Besermark's most important urban centers. With their military, and without announcing their intentions.
“They detonated an alchemical incendiary device in the Crafters’ District,” Radast answered dryly. “And our current prisoner was apprehended with another such device beneath the Paladins’ Hall. The circumstances, considered alongside the prisoner’s testimony, should be more than enough to establish their hostile intentions.”
As he said this, he gave another gracious nod toward the small group of paladins and priests situated off to the side of the room. One of the paladins, an elderly man who wore armor that could hardly be more than symbolic at this point, gave him a good-natured nod back, accompanied by a small smile. The other paladin and both of the priests that were sitting with him glowered with barely restrained hostility. Iriala thought about figuring out what was going on there, but decided against it. Temple District politics were too confusing, even for her.
Each paladin and priest served their own gods, but they also worked together on some level. Various temples coordinated their actions mostly based on how their particular gods got along with each other, and how their respective theologies aligned on various issues. Confusingly, gods who were well-aligned philosophically might not always get along, while ones who had radically opposing ideas might work together closely at times. As a result, you could never really tell what kind of internal politics was going on in the Temple District if you didn’t fully understand both the history and the current relationships and interests of all the gods represented in the city. In short, it was a mess. Fortunately, that particular kind of mess practically never concerned her or the Mages’ Guild.
By now, the fool dwarf had stood up and puffed out his chest, getting ready to launch a rebuttal, but Narald waved him to silence before he could get a word out, annoyance plain on his face.
“Yes, yes. Get on with it solicitor.”
Radast stood up straighter and bowed once more, his shadow mirroring the motion perfectly.
“The Duergar warlock was possessed by a whisperer – a demon of the first hell. After suppressing the demon’s influence, I put it to the question, only to find that not only he, but also two of the other rogue warlocks currently in detention—.”
“Yes, yes.” Narald cut him off. “I’ve read the report, man. Just give us the intelligence, I’m a busy man. If these people want to know exactly how you got it, they can pester you about it on their own time.”
“Ah, yes, your Lordship.” Radast said, hesitating as he visibly reorganized his thoughts. “The enemy forces are being led by a Duergar noble of some kind named Nuros. What’s not entirely clear is whether Nuros is the name of the dwarf, or that of the demon that’s possessing him.”
A low murmur passed through the small crowd at that, but Radast went on. “This demon is likely a shade or other shadow demon of the fifth hell. Whatever the case, it’s safe to say that this campaign is being led or influenced heavily by it.”
The murmur grew louder, but Narald waved a hand and the room grew still again a moment later.
“Go on. What does this mean for us?”
The warlock cleared his throat. “From what I’ve learned, I would expect this Nuros to be at least a class five, more likely a class six demon." He glanced over toward the merchants, and his expression grew a touch derisive. “That’s bad, for those who can’t read between the lines. Waging a war like this is likely part of a deal it made with its host. It most likely wants to grow and evolve into a true greater demon. Demons of the fifth hell consume souls for their fear. It's most nourishing if the souls both lived and died in terror. Based on the prisoner’s words and my own expectation, Halfbridge, and perhaps the entire realm, considering recent Duergar sightings, should prepare for an extended campaign of terror to be waged against us.”
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In the silence that followed, a loud scoff rang through the room.
“Then your intelligence is wrong!” General Arice said derisively. “The dwarves have been maneuvering around out there for weeks, digging tunnels around toward the far side of the city. It’s obvious that they’re trying to set up sappers’ tunnels. If we didn’t have orders from the Crown to hold off, we would have already launched a preemptive strike by now.”
Radast shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m not here to tell you what their troops are doing right in front of your nose, general. I’m sure you have scouts and scryers for that. I’m simply telling you who’s in control of this army and what the high-level objective most likely is.”
The general rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond, but Narald shut him up with a glare. Iriala admired his technique. It took years of practice and more than a little natural charisma to silence an argumentative courtier with nothing but a look.
“Arice, calm yourself. I just invited you here to keep you apprised. I have neither the need nor the authority to order you to reposition your troops. The Mages’ Guild was ordered to send word to Teres, Yetin’s Harbor and Loamfurth yesterday. They will conduct their own investigations and report back to us with anything they find that might corroborate or refute this information.”
He swept his gaze around the room, making eye-contact with the assembled courtiers and guild representatives. “In the meantime, I want all of you to make preparations. Stockpile resources, develop wartime emergency procedures, and simply reassure your people that they’re being taken care of. If someone wants to rattle us, to stir up true terror in our city, then we need to meet them head on with preparedness, resolve, and a tangible commitment to protecting our citizens.”
–-------------
“I don’t understand it.” Torvald said, restarting a conversation that made Bernt quietly sigh under his breath. “Why wouldn’t you want to see your soul saved, protected from the ravages of the hells?”
“I can use a soulstone for that.” Josie snapped. “But I don’t expect that would work out very well. Souls are fuel, at least the parts of them that make you yourself. If gods are hoarding them, it’s not for anything good. The hells are part of the natural cycle of souls, and I’m wary of anything that would casually mess with such a fundamental system.”
“The gods are not like demons.” Torvald rebuked her patiently. “They’re fundamentally different – you can’t just assign them motives based on your experiences with dark and nefarious creatures.”
"Of course I can," Josie grunted as she heaved a bucket full of filthy debris up a ladder. “I just did.”
The two of them had been having minor variations of this discussion for days now. Josie had engaged more than a few times, discussing the theological basis of Beseri worship. Both of them seemed quite knowledgeable about each other’s ideology to the point where Bernt couldn’t follow the details himself. It didn’t matter, though. The crux of the argument was that Torvald trusted that the gods were both unknowable and good, and Josie thought that both points were insane.
Bernt, who’d checked out of the conversation the second time around – that was something like four days ago – wanted nothing so much as to call it a day and go home.
Remarkably, despite that irritating conversation, they’d actually made good progress. Josie was diligent and thorough by nature and Torvald had an unquenchable enthusiasm for doing his duty and doing it “right”, that was completely undiminished by his assignment to sewer duty. As a result, they were actually pretty close to finishing their assignment. In fact, Bernt seriously doubted that this part of the system had ever been so clean and clear of pests since it had been built.
Torvald even stopped to grease the hinges on the grates, entirely on his own initiative. Bernt had finally drawn a line when he tried to buy the grease with his own money and showed the crazy acolyte how to fill out the reimbursement forms.
“Why can’t you leave her alone?” Bernt asked him tiredly while Josie went to unload her bucket into the cart.
“Because it’s important to me,” he answered simply. “Why would someone knowingly turn up their nose at a chance for salvation? It just seems so self-destructive.”
Bernt shrugged. “You didn’t ask me, and I don’t serve any of the gods, either.”
“That’s true, yes...” Torvald admitted. “But I don’t think you have an answer.”
“And Josie does?” Bernt scoffed and shook his head. “She told you already – she just doesn’t trust them. It’s not that profound.”
“Alright, what about you?” he asked, annoyance finally creeping into his voice.
Bernt shrugged. “I don’t want to mess with any gods, but that doesn’t mean I want to dedicate my existence to becoming the extension of one’s will. I’m my own person.”
What, after all, was the point of eternity if you couldn’t make your own decisions? Wasn’t that just a different kind of death?
“The gods don’t take your will, or suborn it.” Torvald insisted. “It’s about aligning your purpose with one who resonates with you on your own.”
Bernt rolled his eyes. How was that actually any different in practice? He was about to respond when the ground all around him vibrated.
“Earthquake! Up!” he shouted, almost before he’d even registered what he was feeling. He dove for the ladder and scrambled up, Torvald a few steps behind him as he caught on.
Bernt had experienced minor earthquakes before, but they only lasted a few seconds. By the time they found Josie in the increasingly chaotic streets, almost half a minute had gone by and it was still going. It wasn’t a violent shaking so much as a steady, soft vibration accompanied by a loud, low rumble.
A trumpet sounded from a nearby wall, followed by another in the distance. The rumbling stopped, but the chaos was only just beginning. City guard patrols coalesced into larger units and streamed toward the walls as civilians hastily tried to clear the streets. The guards moved more smoothly than they had during the kobold’s assault, and more quickly, too. The Underkeepers weren’t the only ones who’d been training.
“Come on!” Josie called and ran down the street. There was a small wicket gate set into the city wall ahead of them, permanently sealed and bricked over. What was still there, though, was a narrow stairway that led up onto the wall. Without hesitating for a moment, the warlock sped up the steps.
Bernt hesitated. Civilians weren’t allowed on the city’s fortifications, but technically they weren’t civilians anymore. At the same time, they were outside of their jurisdiction, and Bernt had no idea what that meant. Still, he wanted to know what was going on, and Josie was a legal expert. Besides, the guards were going to be far too busy to worry about it.
He followed, hurrying to catch up, with Torvald hot on his heels.
Josie was waiting for them at the top, but she wasn’t looking in their direction. Toward the west, the southwestern highway had been transformed. The broad roadway was supposed to disappear behind a hill about a mile to the west, where it led down into the rocky plains that eventually gave way to the more fertile riverlands that defined southern Besermark’s geography. There it passed by Yetin’s Harbor and led down toward the coast and Teres, the realm’s capital city.
Now, the highway ended abruptly in a plain and massive stone rampart. It was cruder work than someone like Janus or Kustov would do, but what it lacked in grace it made up for in sheer mass. The entire thing was probably a mile wide and Bernt could see tiny figures scrambling across it in the distance. The duergar had come to the surface, and they’d cut off what should have been a wide swathe of passable terrain.
They were being cut off. The Duergar were putting them under siege.