Bow low, ye noble Lord. An Archmage has been born on thy lands, and she has expressed interest in your title.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Vistus hummed, carefully holding up one glass and then the other. Contrary to what most thought, he didn't actually create all of his own food. Alright, he did, but not always. As was the occasion now, where the Empress had found two bottles of wine. Wine he'd never drunk before.
Izzolma knew just how to pamper him.
The poor thing wasn't having nearly as much luck with his young friend. Or, dare he say it, friends. Marcus and Elly stood an island unto themselves, quietly talking in the expansive banquet room. So far, only two had dared to approach them, both of whom had been intercepted by their succubus, Vess.
The Empress was holding court further up ahead, speaking with all six Great House representatives at the same time. Seeing as all current Archmages were in attendance, that meant their respective patriarchs and matriarchs themselves were too. Experienced old men, sharp eyed women, it was a whole thing.
Not something he envied. It was almost funny, though, seeing six copies of Izzolma. Even he couldn't tell which one was real, and he'd tried. It was what one could generously call a game between them.
Either way, she was talking with the Great Houses, Horzo was shielded from politics by the Merchant Princes, Marcus and Elly might as well have not attended for all the political opportunities they created, and Vistus himself had Clarissa to burn any irritants to ash.
It left a whole mess of nobles, who had come here for the express purpose of networking, rather listless.
Right, he was getting distracted. Wine. White and red, both easily over a hundred years old, and served with a small platter of cheeses. Vistus rubbed his hands together, uncaring of who was watching.
He so rarely got to try new things, these days.
"Have you decided yet?" a voice asked. Vistus didn't look away, though he knew who it belonged to. The Empress, or at least a very convincing copy of her, materialized next to him. "I tried the red myself some days ago with Brandon. He cared little for it, as the young often do, but I thought—"
Vistus waved his hand at her. "Don't spoil my fun. And your son isn't too young, Izzolma, as much as he is wholly incapable of drinking anything other than water. I've seen him get lightheaded from a single sip of beer."
"You exaggerate," the Empress replied lightly. He really hadn't. "But if you do not wish to hear my recommendation, tell me how to draw those two away from each other."
She waved vaguely in Marcus' direction, making him snort. "You'll have more luck convincing pigs to fly. The combination of young love, self sufficiency and friendship forged under rather extreme stress. Truly a balm on my old soul. If the world wasn't ending, those two wouldn't need anything we could offer. They barely do even now."
"You're right, of course." Izzolma sighed. "I did what I could after the invasion, but time was short. You have made a favorable impression, I hope?"
Vistus shrugged. "I extended a hand of friendship, if that is what you mean. I would heartily suggest you go no further than that. Vess might be relatively inexperienced, but she has the instincts to go far, and Elenoir already dislikes us. Considering what I've personally seen her do…"
"Indeed," the Empress agreed. "If only we had our newest Archmage two years ago, we might have been able to save Parna. Or evacuate it, at the least."
He turned to her, surprised. "It's unlike you to reminisce on the past."
"The Empire is dying," she replied, her expression mild. "Five major cities are dead, fifteen percent of our territory lies in ruins, millions of our people have been consumed and the next Dungeon Break promises to be just as deadly, if not worse. Which is ignoring the refugee crisis, economic instability and other such secondary concerns. Several hundred of me are stretched thin keeping it all together, so you'll have to forgive my melancholy."
Vistus hummed at that, managing to not flinch at her summarization. He'd personally seen—and helped mend—quite a bit of that damage over the last two weeks, and though the Gates were a marvel, they sure kept him occupied. No more travel sounded nice, until he fully experienced the fact that time was instead filled with work. Boring, monotonous work.
But that wasn't the problem. No, something had happened, and Izzolma only became like this for one reason. His eyes flickered to the Crown Prince, who was talking to a group of young nobles.
"You're authorizing it," he realized, more surprised than he probably should have been. "You know my opinion of that plan."
The Empress glanced at him, taking a sip from her drink. Or pretending to, anyway. "I'm aware, but we're out of options. With Horzo's fleet and Marcus' Gates the odds are good. Better than we could have hoped for. I'm announcing it tonight."
"You're ambushing them with it?" Vistus asked, incredulous. He turned to her more fully. "You don't often have me questioning your decisions, Izzolma, but that is foolish. The risk that one of them, or even both, publicly challenges you on it is non-zero. And if you think they won't dare, let me put that belief to rest. Neither Marcus nor Horzo are easily cowed."
She raised an eyebrow, the ghost of annoyance dancing over her features. "How… forthright of you. And I am not so much as ambushing the Archmages as I am ambushing the Great Houses. As we speak, House Forrest is pushing for more exploitation of the Dungeon, Bearon and Percux right behind them. The economic problems that led them to that ill-fated plot on Queen Elenoir's life have only worsened, which means they won't want to finance it in the first place. Here I can plan on their pride and reputation. Not so much behind closed doors."
"Ah yes, that." Vistus sighed. "You already know this, but I'll say it because it needs to be said. If, by some divine miracle, that plot is hatched and actually succeeds, it'll be war. The Great Houses see Marcus as me, or perhaps Horzo. Independently powerful, but with limited influence. The invasion has made them think that Mirrania is weak, or unwilling to risk Imperial disfavor. Neither could be further from the truth."
The Empress shook her head. "You think I don't know this? The Six Great Houses are the cornerstone of this Empire, Vistus. I can't just execute them for a plan that didn't even survive its conception. But if, if, they push forward, they will fail, and I will use it to break House Forrest."
Vistus wanted to shake his head, but he used his vast willpower to resist the urge. Izzolma was a good woman who wanted her people to flourish, but these days she had to settle for survival. It was making her increasingly ruthless, though only against the Great Houses. So far.
"Come," he declared, striding towards his young friends. The Empress was stuck between joining him or looking like she had been abandoned, which meant she joined him. Marcus and Elly dropped whatever subject they'd been talking about, offering him a reserved nod and polite smile respectively. Vistus cleared his throat. "You two are being antisocial."
Marcus rolled his eyes, though it was Elly that answered. "It's good for the continued survival of the Empire's nobles. Empress."
"Elenoir," the woman replied, half turning so that everyone was included in the conversation. "Marcus. Ignore the old man. He's annoyed that I interrupted his game of wine guessing."
Marcus' lips twitched, though there was no grin to be had. Vistus was pretty sure Marcus would rather stand in an actual field of corpses rather than be here. "Of course, Empress."
"Exquisite," Vess interjected smoothly, vaguely indicating the Empress' dress. "You simply must tell me where you got this fabric. I've been trying a blend of silk and linen, but it never comes out quite how I want it too."
The Empress hummed lightly, though Vistus knew she was far too socially adept to be distracted like that, succubus or not. Still, she seemed to be playing along. "I employ a number of tailors for personal use. I'll introduce you, see if they can't fit in a custom request."
Vess smiled in delighted surprise, and Vistus put those two out of his mind. That was quickly turning into the kind of lying he cared nothing for, and there was a damn good reason he never cared to acquire political power.
It was also far too tempting to turn nobles into foul smelling cheese. Most of them, anyway.
"So," he began, gaining Marcus' attention. His young friend had zoned out pretty much the moment Vess had distracted the Empress. "How do you enjoy being the man of the hour? Or receiving your titles? The Killer of Keylen. The Archmage of Unending Reach. How many do you have, these days?"
Elly spoke before Marcus could, a grin in her tone. "Allow me. Ahem; The King of Mirrania, Archmage of the Empire, Steward of the Ninth Province, the Last Archmage, The Killer of Keylen and The Archmage of Unending Reach. We killed Keylen together, by the way, and there's too much Archmage in there. Archmage this, Archmage that. It's like people don't know he also does… what else do you do, dear?"
"I throw people off balconies?" he offered, glancing at one nearby. "No, wait, that's what I was planning to do. I'm sure it won't be that hard. Oh, I'm pretty good at ignoring my wife."
She hummed. "The Great Misogynist. I'll speak to the Scribes, see if we can't have that amended to your titles."
Vistus cleared his throat before that could get out of hand, being more than familiar with their bickering. One time it had actually lasted for hours, until it had devolved into a demented game of tag. It was good to see them both being young, but this was far from the place and time.
Before another subject could be breached, the Crown Prince closed the distance, as uncaring about social etiquette as usual. The Armor of Aversion was gone, replaced by a decorative set, but the man looked like a warrior regardless.
"Marcus, my friend!" the Prince greeted, his voice booming through the hall. Marcus extended a hand, which Vistus found very polite of him, and the Prince promptly took that as an invitation for a brotherly hug. "I simply must hear how you killed a Horde Calamity!"
Vistus suppressed a flinch when his young friend was pulled into the embrace, three things happening in very quick succession. Marcus' stance shifted, instinct resisting the hug, but Brandon was strong. He wasn't quite pulled over, but it was close.
Next, Elly's hand flicked downwards, to where Vistus knew she kept a knife. Oh dear. She probably wouldn't stab the Crown Prince of the Empire in his own capital, but that woman could be rather protective.
Lastly, Vess intervened. The demon stepped halfway in front of her Queen, stopping any would-be stabbings, while simultaneously drawing the Prince's attention. The man released Marcus after a slap on the back, courteously offering a bow.
Vistus saw the Empress suppress a flinch at the sheer stone-faced expression on Marcus' face, which meant his young friend was politely smiling and pretending nothing was wrong. It wasn't a great mask, not by a long shot, and when Elly saw it, her own expression tightened further.
Right then. Damage control time.
"Brandon, that was impolite," Vistus scolded, slapping the Prince over the head. Ah, to be an Archmage. "You don't force people to reciprocate affection, and especially not your honored guests. Apologize."
The Prince flinched, more so at the words than the light slap. "I did? Sorry about that. I get a little excited sometimes, and with what we'll be doing soon, it got the better of me. No touching, understood."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, confused, and Brandon half turned to his mother. The Prince grew confused himself before it cleared, because the boy was actually pretty smart.
"You haven't told them yet, have you?" Brandon sighed. "What I wouldn't do to be a Temporal Archmage. I might not stick my foot in my mouth quite so often."
Vistus relaxed when Marcus suppressed a small grin, because it made Elly relax too. The Empress hummed lightly. "I had not, but it appears I have little choice now. Did you at least finish greeting the delegation from Merchant Princes?"
"Of course, of course," the man assured, already regaining his lost energy. His thick beard seemed to almost vibrate with excitement. "Now, mom will be telling everyone soon, but we'll be invading the Dungeon! 'Looking for a solution', technically speaking, but an invasion! Like Balthazar of old!"
Marcus' expression closed off again, though this time that wasn't the Prince's fault. Few knew about his time in the School of Life, and in some circles, Balthazar was still remembered with a low reverence.
Considering that the Prince wore the man's armor, it wasn't surprising he was one of them.
To Vistus' mild and continued surprise, it was Elly who spoke up first. "You expect the Mirranian army to assist, don't you?"
"I would request as such," the Empress confirmed, lightly inclining her head. "Unlike the Legions, their numbers have not taken a significant hit during the Dungeon Break. That is not to say I expect you to go without support. Vistus himself will be accompanying you, both for his fighting prowess and to assist in the creation of Gates. Unlike every attempt before now, this time the army descending into its supposedly endless depths will not be cut off from the surface. Mages, soldiers, supplies and more are already being marshalled."
Brandon nodded rapidly. "That and we'll be taking Horzo's airships. Only one was brought down during the Dungeon Break, which turned out to be user error, so there's plenty left. So not only will we be connected to the Empire, we won't technically have to set foot on the Stairway."
"The what?"
"It's an old name," the Prince explained, coughing to hide a flash of nerves. Vistus didn't blame the kid. Marcus' full attention could be rather… piercing. "It's how the Hounds get up to the surface. The Dungeon is so big that ridges, terraces and ledges make a kind of stairway up to the surface, some of which are big enough to house small cities. Either way, we won't have to use them, and as such don't have to fight the Hounds there either."
"I might have a solution for that, actually," Marcus offered. He shrugged at the questioning looks he got. "It's still a theory, but assuming that we're not leaving within the month, I might be able to set it up. It's a large-scale, non-magical area of effect technique. Not directly magical, I mean."
Well, now he really was curious, though Vistus had long since learned patience. By the look the Prince was giving his young friend, Brandon had not.
"It will not be within the month," the Empress assured, a curious glint in her own eye. "And any assistance will be appreciated. Not to be terribly blunt about things, but the Empire will not survive the next Dungeon Break intact, if we do at all. This has to succeed."
Vess seemed to latch on to that, somehow managing to segue the conversation into trade treaties and resource allocation. By the lightest flash of annoyance on Izzolma's face, it was too skillful to be ignored.
Vistus shrugged, appreciating how Brandon was bullying his way through the almost awkward silence that followed. The kid was latching onto Elly, though thankfully for everyone involved, not literally, and bombarding her with both compliments and questions about Life Enforcement.
With his own minor skill at the art, that was expected. And Marcus, funnily enough, didn't seem to care in the slightest. Some men would get nervous when their wives were getting attention from someone so important, but not him. No, Marcus had his faults, but jealousy wasn't it.
"I've been thinking about the demon invasion," Marcus said. Yeah, definitely not jealous. Almost too not jealous. Was there a word for that? Probably. "Any word from the… what were they called? The warlock people."
Vistus hummed. "The Warlocks of Don. And yes, they've kept me in the loop. There's no armies marshalling to invade, thank the Silent Gods, but that's only because their attention is taken up by something. The King they spoke to wasn't sure about the details, but they're looking into it."
"Good, good. At least we don't have to worry about that."
Marcus must have seen something on his face, because the man frowned. Vistus sighed. "Alright, look, there's no good way to say this, but apparently, there are some number of resistance fighters left on Parna. They have been using summons, which in turn have told us that the undead are building boats."
"They are doing what?!" Elly demanded, overriding whatever Brandon had been saying. The Prince actually flinched away from the sheer venom in her tone, though he recovered quickly. "When was this?"
Vistus held up a placating hand. It didn't appear to be very effective. "A few weeks ago, but I only learned of it the day before yesterday. They're failing, to be clear, and drowning themselves by the thousands, but it appears to be a coordinated effort. Frankly, the Dungeon is the greater priority."
Elly remained silent for a long moment, some of her tension dissipating when Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. Neither the Prince nor the Empress interrupted, which was for the best. Vistus doubted that Elly had forgotten about how Izzolma had decided not to render aid to her homeland.
It had been the logical call at the time, Vistus could appreciate that, but neither was it his home that had been destroyed. Elly slowly unclenched her fist. "Let them drown. We stabilize the Dungeon first, then I can deal with the undead. I doubt they can navigate, anyway. The resistance, where are they from?"
"The Holy Sect of Asham evidently fared somewhat better than most," Vistus offered. "Its people are scattered, but enough remain to form an organized group. We have confirmed survivors from Ainsbruck, Velmaria and Drevanya among them. Nothing from Caldir, though considering you managed to lead your people across the sea, that's not surprising."
Elly actually smiled at that, though it was a small smile. "Some actual good news. How… unexpected."
She glanced at the Empress, though nothing more. And from there the conversation moved on, with introductions being made with the Mirranian heir—Mitzi didn't seem any more comfortable in her role, the poor thing—alongside the official declaration that the Empire was invading the Dungeon.
Izzolma, as usual, had been right, and the Great Houses supported it wholeheartedly. Or pretended to, anyway, but with this many people watching them they couldn't back out. Vistus was sure it was going to be a whole thing, with scheming nobles, backroom deals, and maybe even a few spots of assassination.
Vistus returned to his cheese instead, lifting both glasses of wine and ignoring a grumbling Clarissa. Something about human hands being annoying to shape. Anyway, he carefully held up one glass and then the other.
Now, red or white?
Afterword
And that's the proper end of book two. Thank you all for reading, and I'll hopefully see you in book three! Which will probably start without a delay, unless I'm lying. You probably know better than me.
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