“Roland!” a jovial smile lit Argus Los' face as he caught sight of the witch-hunter entering the small office, “You made it back in one piece!”

The Malthorian cast him a cynical smirk in his turn, sweeping his eyes across the breadth of the room and acknowledging its members. Horace, Petaine, Louis, all familiar. Old hands from the Frolingen resistance movement. The sight of councilman Garnier took him by surprise, it was curious to see a man of such repute here, at a meeting with a man as heavily wanted as himself. Perhaps that was the nature of the times.

The final figure in the room was unknown. His medallion burned. Not bright and hot the way it did when under magical attack, but enough to fill him with a sense of foreboding. The man was a wizard, the smug smile on his pallid features doing nothing to set Roland's mind at ease. A distinct smell of jasmine perfume made the Malthorians nose curl upward in disgust. As his eyes slipped lower, he couldn't help but note the strange emblem that hung across the man's breast. A silver skull, clad in a winged helm, its gaze leering at those in the surrounding room. The witch hunter stared at it blatantly, glaring intently at the grotesque iconography.

Ernheim.

Instinctively his fingers traced across the icon he had pocketed during the investigation there, caressing the metal and tracing its outline.

“Ah, I should have mentioned our other guest, Arnow, my apologies,” Los chuckled, a twinge of nervousness entering his voice, “Korvin Iru, an ally of the cause.”

“A mage,” Roland shook his head derisively, “I thought your people weren't too fond of them.”

“We need every ally we can get, Roland,” Petaine said abruptly, his nasally voice making the witch-hunter grit his teeth.

“Strange iconography, Master Korvin,” he said coolly, “Not one I recognize. Who sent you here?”

The wizard's smile grew broader, displaying a clear amusement at his unbridled suspicion.

“Ruthenian intelligence of course,” he responded, “Sent here by King Hortha, to see what aid could be offered.”

“Korvin Iru, it's not a Ruthenian name,” Roland brushed the man's answer aside, drawing a wary sigh from the others.

Argus moved to interrupt the conversation, rising from his seat and moving to stop further questioning. Korvin simply waved him down with a laugh.

“No, you're right that it is not, and I was not born in Ruthenia. I am from much farther north than that, from the little city-state of Elessa,” he said simply.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Fascinating,” Roland snorted and turned away.

“Not how I'd describe it,” the man chuckled softly, “But who am I to account for taste.”

“Please, Roland, calm yourself, we are not here to argue with you,” Argus implored him.

“Then what is it you want?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Is it true?” the man asked, “Is Orrin dead?”

The tension was palpable, the rapt attention of the small group absolute.

“Yes.”

A few solemn nods followed, exhalations of relief echoing in the small chamber, curiosity satisfied. Only Korvin seemed apathetic, the man showing no real emotion at the fact that such an important figure had been felled.

“Good. Good,” Garnier said simply.

“He won't be desecrating the dead any longer,” Argus said approvingly, “We are fortunate. You saw God's will done.”

Roland made no remark on the claim. It had been a necessary act, no more, no less.

“There was a pursuit. I was very nearly killed.”

“And yet, you live, you old dog!” Horace laughed loudly, “They're never going to put you under.”

“You're safe here,” Argus said, maintaining a more contained facade, “They have bigger problems here. Bigger concerns.”

“Clearly for good reason,” Roland grimaced, glancing over at the Ruthenian agent alongside him.

“Korvin has been a valuable asset these last few months Roland, scarcely been less busy than you, truth be told,” the old resistance leader argued, “He only just returned a few days before you did.”

“Splendid. I have no doubt it was quite an adventure.”

If the northerner had an opinion on the matter, he kept it to himself, calmly adjusting his shoulder-length black hair.

“Will you be staying long?” Argus said, un-subtly moving the conversation in an alternate direction.

“Through the winter, most likely,” Roland answered noncommittally.

“Good. I'm glad to hear.”

The man said the words quietly.

“Gives us plenty of time to come to understanding,” Korvin chuckled cynically, using a kerchief to polish the saber hilt at his side.

“No doubt.”

He had no intention of feeding into the man's childish jests.

“Understand, Roland, I have a task here. A mission. Just like you. Just like everyone here.”

The witch-hunter blinked, making no comment as the man explained himself.

“I am not here for the sake of Frolingen, I am here for the sake of others- of Ruthenia,” he said the words simply, matter of factly.

It was a simplistic honesty even the Malthorian couldn't resent.

“A strong, independent Frolingen. Controlling the passes that separate our kingdoms. That is ideal. This current situation- that is- well- that is not.” A soft, cruel chuckle escaped his lips at his own understatement, an ugly glimmer flickering through his dark eyes as he turned to face Roland, “And trust me witch-hunter. I will do what needs to be done to achieve those goals.”

“No doubt.”

The man snorted in laughter at Roland's nonchalant answer, clearly finding amusement in his sardonic attitude.

“Was there anything else you wanted to know?” he asked Argus, trying to worm his way out before any further requests were made of him.

“No. None-”

“Did you examine the body? Orrin's that is?” Petaine queried suddenly, as if worried he would get no second opportunity to ask the question.

“No. I was too busy running for my life.”

The man went silent, as if suddenly feeling incredibly stupid about the question.

Should have thought of that before asking.

“Why?” Roland asked, brow raised ever so slightly.

“Security. There are many secrets buried beneath this city,” Garnier said, inadvertently glancing at Korvin and Argus, “And he is not the only one to be searching for them.”

“What secrets? Weapons? Magic?” Roland shook his head in exasperation.

“Maybe,” Argus said with a rattling sigh, rapping his fingers against the wood table, “The king's forces hold our city. There is to be a vote next month. To officially see us annexed-” He shuddered and shook his head.

A sudden, morbid silence had settled on the room, and he could see the helpless frustration in the eyes of those around, brought to the fore by the old man's reminder.

“Roland, every day that goes by, this city dies a little more. You don't see it. This isn't your home. This isn't your land. But I see it,” he hesitated, before sweeping an outstretched palm to his countrymen, “We see it. And we are running out of options.”

“Perhaps it's a weapon. Perhaps it's magic-” he halted, licking his lips and glancing at Korvin, “But if it can help, we must try to find it. To use it. Our situation is bleak, Roland, and we need every tool we can get.”