Fortress Al-Mir

Thousands dead. People he had been charged with leading into a new, more peaceful age. Sons and fathers who would never return home.

The aftermath of Gleeful had been bad enough. Now this?

Sule, head bowed and hands clasped together, listened to the listeners as they mumbled over their bowls of water. Each word, translated by Grand Vizier Zarkov, added a weight to Sule’s back. He had never been one to concern himself with legacy, not while the people of Evestani were suffering. Yet, he couldn’t help but think now that he would undoubtedly go down in the annals of history as the most vile sultan Evestani had ever seen.

The irony was not lost on him. Back when he had been a mere civil administrator during Evestani’s internal war, he had come into power thanks to his dreams of reform and ideals of a better, brighter future. As his influence grew and more and more villages, men, and resources came his way after fleeing the warring generals, he had envisioned a kingdom where the arts flourished, where scholars from all over the world would gather to share knowledge, and where the markets would never be without food, clothing, and even luxuries.

As Zarkov continued to translate, Sule’s thoughts wandered to the faces of the men he had sent into battle. Young faces, full of hope and determination, believing in a cause Sule had championed on behalf of the Golden Order. A divine edict to sweep Evestani’s prosperity across the land, blessed by the Golden Good.

It had all been a farce. He had known that. Yet, upon witnessing the fissure in the sky, his enthusiasm jumped. Just knowing that there was an actual reason for the war more than the madness of the Golden Order’s Most Blessed had him thinking that maybe, just maybe, they were in the right. Few could turn down a divine crusade to save the world.

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with grief and unspoken accusations. Sule could feel the eyes of his court on him, their gazes heavy with expectation and disappointment. Word was confined to this room for now, but that wouldn’t last. A vizier or general offhandedly speaking in front of a servant would see the word spread throughout the city like wildfire. Sule wouldn’t be surprised to find a mob forming outside the palace by the week’s end. They had managed to downplay their losses at Gleeful, but this?

Sule placed a hand on his forehead, covering his vision. He hadn’t heard word of his daughters in weeks. There had been rumors of his eldest being spotted out in one of the villages near the southern border between Evestani and the Tetrarchy… Against his better judgment, he had his spymaster send one of his agents out to investigate. Nothing had come of it, however. Which was probably for the best. He didn’t need to give the Golden Order any further hold over him.

Were they doing well? Had they abandoned their names to better distance themselves from him? He could only hope so.

“Sultan?”

Sule opened his eyes to find Zarkov standing a few paces away, fingers twisting the tip of his long beard. “Yes?”

“Your… orders, sire?”

Sule pursed his lips. He looked around the room, casting his gaze over the tops of the listeners’ heads to meet the eyes of his generals and military advisors. Even General Kala, by far the biggest proponent of the war, stood uncharacteristically still.

“Where is His Holiness?” Sule asked, looking back to Zarkov.

Zarkov grimaced. The vizier did not like even mentioning their golden-eyed compatriot. To be fair, neither did Sule. For all that the Golden Order and His Holiness stood against evils like that fissure in the sky, Sule couldn’t help but feel like they planned on discarding and replacing him the moment he failed to live up to their standards.

With recent events, Sule wondered if that moment was coming sooner rather than later.

“He has yet to emerge from his private chambers.”

Sule closed his eyes. The Most Blessed had vanished into his quarters days ago, back when they first received word of that building that walked and its aim toward Elmshadow.

Well, if they were going to be abandoned now, the Golden Order could hardly complain about them taking matters into their own hands.

“Pull all forces back to the border. Moonshine Burg is still under our control, is it not?”

“It is.”

Sule nodded. “Good. Retreat there. Ensure there are ample supplies ready to comfort those who make it. If that tower begins walking toward Moonshine… pull back immediately. Do not try to defend further.”

Kala took a step forward. Her black and gold dress, militaristic in its cut, felt too gaudy for the situation. Nevertheless, she swept her hand around in a grandiose manner. “Retreat? And let that tower into our lands?”

“And how do you propose we stop it?” Sule snapped, standing. “Even if it didn’t march on the city itself, that tower provided a base from which to launch attacks, magical support the likes of which we don’t understand, and those tunnels. His Holiness even failed to—”

Sule didn’t get to continue. His words, borderline blasphemy, sparked an outcry among his advisers and generals. It was a muddle of noise with nobody managing to to make clear words. The sensitive listeners in the room began showing signs of distress, scrunching up their faces and twisting in discomfort. Zarkov noticed the listeners and quickly began moving around, trying to keep them calm.

Sule just sank back down into his seat. Joining in on the shouting now would only disturb the listeners further. It wasn’t like their orders mattered. After Gleeful and now Elmshadow, he would be amazed if anyone in that army even stopped at Moonshine. They would probably flee back to central Evestani without pause.

A large portion of the army had been captured at Elmshadow. Not killed. Not yet, at least.

Sule wondered if they could be saved, somehow. If he could get them back, that would be a small bright mark on the charred remains of his legacy. What would it take?

Military force was out of the question. They had seen that for themselves.

Diplomacy? Could he even try to be diplomatic with the heathens across the border?

And what of His Holiness? Surely he wouldn’t support any diplomatic actions. Not unless Sule phrased it right. If he managed to argue that recovering their captured soldiers would help in carrying out the war, His Holiness might agree.

Whether or not they could continue the war didn’t matter in the short term. If his men remained in the hands of their enemy, they would die. Getting them back was the priority. Everything else could come after.

“Zarkov,” Sule said, voice soft. “Fetch me a messenger harpy. One of the ones accustomed to long-distance travel.”

“Now?” he asked, turning back to the mess of the strategy room. None of the listeners were actively listening anymore. They just sat, some askew and even drooling, leaning back away from the bowls of water. There wouldn’t be any further information coming in through them until the room calmed.

The arguing among his advisors was still going on, now shifted to the topic of that battle tower and how they might stop it—or build one for themselves. Lavis Harren, the court wizard, was trying to discuss some of the previously unseen magic the listeners had mentioned. Most notably the sudden teleportations of various members of the enemy forces, taking them out of danger and even, at certain points, teleporting them straight behind attacking opponents. Sule suspected he wanted to discuss that massive ritual spell that had taken out swaths of the army—the one featuring shards of the night—but he had so far kept his mouth shut. Likely to avoid accusations of heresy.

Sule was well aware that Evestani, under the watchful eye of the Golden Order, was woefully inadequate in terms of magical knowledge compared to the likes of Chernlock. Their neighboring kingdom’s religious order almost seemed to revel in heretical magics, even making use of such things in their inquisitorial forces. It was little surprise that their various magical academies outpaced those of Evestani. Even more so given the disruption to the nation in the civil war following the previous war.

Regardless, such things were out of his hands. Sule was no spellcaster. He was no researcher. He was hardly even a pious of the Golden Order, attending various sermons but avoiding anything delving into the magics the Order’s pious used.

Sule was no warlord or general either. Nor was he a strategist or tactician.

He was a civil servant who had been granted far too much power.

It was best to use this time away from His Holiness to focus on what he was good at.

Diplomacy.

“We have a problem.”

“It is under control.”

“Oh, is that what you call the situation?” A loud laugh echoed through the wide pool of silvery liquid.

“We have a problem.”

“It is under control.” A shimmering, golden light burned at the bottom of the pool. “Why have you called me here? I have a war to run.”

“Yes. Run it into the ground.” The laugh coursed through the ripples once again. “That is what you are best at, isn’t it? You did the same a few decades ago, didn’t you?”

The gold pulsed, violent and angry. “If you have summoned me for nothing more than insults, I will be leaving.” The gold faded but didn’t fully vanish. Lingering, it waited, perhaps hoping that someone would have something to add beyond insults.

A deep, feminine voice shook the bowl. “We have a problem.”

“Yes, yes. We heard you the first two times. Or… Oh dear. The avatar of the Alwhiny Glory is stuck in a loop again.” Laughter echoed like hollow chimes in a gentle wind. “Hello! Glory! If you can hear me, try striking your avatar’s face as hard as you can!” The joyful tone turned harsh and vicious. “Maybe you’ll break her neck and rid us of your influence for the next century.”

A faint, curious glow of gold lit the pool. “You seem woefully unconcerned with the situation.”

“Weren’t you just saying that there wasn’t a situation?”

“He is in your lands.”

“But he’s focused on you. If he wants to crusade across the land to take your head, who am I to stand in his way? You kill him or he kills you. Either way, neither of you will be in a position to fight further. I win.”

“You would stand aside, watching as he works to undo everything we have worked for?”

“We?” Saccharine sarcasm dripped from the word. “Don’t think your true motives went unnoticed, Golden Boy. You were fully prepared to use him as an excuse to wipe me from the face of the world up until our little friend proved hardier than you expected. Then you, what was it again? Oh yes, you came groveling to me, begging for an alliance.” A sharp, piercing laughter made the silvery liquid stand in tall spikes before it splashed back down.

“I didn’t… You… That… Traitor.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“That alliance accomplished nothing. Did you even try?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest. In fact, I blinded that fat ecclesiarch and his oracles. They couldn’t decide what to do for the longest time. When the majority finally pushed for an alliance, it was a fractured and halfhearted effort. As expected of mortals fearful of an invading army.”

“Wha… Why? Whyever would you—”

“As I said, no matter the outcome, I win.”

“Irresponsible,” the deep, feminine voice graced the pool with its presence once again.

“Your light must have blinded you.” The gold pulsed in anger. “You failed to notice the Lock and Key’s interference? I personally witnessed the Cloak of Shadows’ unilluminable magics present in that recent battle. This is worse than—”

“The Cloak was present? Really?” The silver pool rippled with a light, joyful hum. “Shadows and the Light always got on well. The Light even extended an invitation to old Lady Shadows to join, you know? I wonder… A thousand years of isolation could change the mind of anyone, even a god…”

“You cannot seriously be considering—”

“What does it matter? You have it under control. Allow me my idle thoughts and I’ll allow you your absurd delusions.”

“Unacceptable.”

The silvery liquid shook in a scoff. “I’ll accept criticism from you when you sail your armies across the world, Glory. Until then, you’re as impotent as a blustering wind.”

“Your wit and mockery may amuse you,” the feminine voice said, shaking the pool in a surprising amount of words for the being behind the voice, “but they do not protect our realms.”

“Spare me the sermon of unity,” the silvery liquid gurgled with an audible gag. “You never cared about that when the Heart of Greed began forcing my influence off the continent and onto this tiny peninsula. Nor when he began his wars to try to wipe even that influence off the world.

“There is no benefit to carrying on this charade of an alliance.”

“Unacceptable. The Cloak of Shadows and the Lock and Key are interfacing with the world in ways that are not meant to be. These are not isolated incidents. They are harbingers of a deeper malaise. The Heart of Gold has proved that containment in isolation is impossible—”

“I have it under control,” the golden light snarled. “It is one lone mortal and one servant of the Stars. Both are dispatched as easily as any other mortal. I just need a moment’s opening.”

“Regretting the theatrics of taunts and banter, are we?”

“If you would have—”

“Silence. The enemy does not care for our infighting. To him, we are but obstacles to be eradicated.” The Glory emanating from the pool grew stronger, threatening to drown the gold and silver. “We need not become allies in the truest sense. Our interests are too divergent, our pasts too stained with each other’s blood. But a truce, a pact of non-aggression, could allow us all to fortify our positions. The two of you must cease your sabotage of each other.”

“And you?” The golden light shined with harsh anger. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your warships on patrol around my northern territories. Circling like a vulture…”

“Myself as well.”

“A truce,” the silvery liquid repeated, roiling around the word as if tasting it for the first time. “Temporary, of course.”

“Until our enemy’s ambitions are curtailed.”

“I’ll need some concessions from our greedy friend as well. As restitution for using the situation to try to wipe out my influence—”

“You would dare—”

“Enough. I will arbitrate these concessions after our enemy is dealt with.”

The pool simmered with anger from all three sources. That anger slowly subsided as thoughts warred and, after a long few moments, the surface of the pool reflected a momentary agreement. A rare occurrence among the avatars of three divine beings.

“If these concessions involve ceding territory and influence, you will both pay.”

“You do understand what concessions mean, don’t you, Heart of Greed? You must give up something. In return, I’ll cease my block of the oracles and ecclesiarch. Maybe even throw a vision their way implying that an alliance with the Eternal Empire is in their favor.”

“That’s it? That isn’t an alliance.”

“It is more than enough for a truce of non-aggression. They can use their renewed prescience to determine their fate. Perhaps even attempting to renew their alliance with you.”

“And if they don’t? Will you step in for once?”

“I am not in the habit of grinding my fellow worshippers of Light under the heel of my boot. Nor can I control the whims of mortal minds. I’ll show them the Light. They can choose what to do with the information.”

The glory in the pool pulsed. “If your followers fight the Heart of Gold, it will be a violation of the truce.”

The silvery liquid hung in the pool, staying still for a long moment before rippling in glee. “Then I can assure you, no true follower in good standing will act against you or yours. I will ensure it.”

The gold bubbled in barely concealed anger. “Fine. Then a truce.”

“A truce.”

“A truce.”

The gold didn’t stick around to affirm anything else. The pinprick of light faded from the pool. The radiant glory quickly diminished, leaving nothing but the mercury-like silver liquid all on its own.

It bubbled with laughter. “Fools.”

The pool went still.