Vol 6, Chapter 16

◆ Bunker, Archmage Wind O'Conol's POV. ◆


The palace woven from smoke wavered and dissolved, making the Archmage scowl. He drew on the mouthpiece and exhaled a smoke ring. With a few gestures, the ring unraveled midair and merged into the palace, stabilizing its form.

But only for a moment.

The sweet smoke turned bitter on his lips, and the palace melted away into a cloud despite his efforts to hold it together.

The door to the rune hall swung open, and a gust of wind finished off the creation the Archmage had been using to refine his control. O'Conol turned, intent on punishing whoever dared interrupt his meditation, but the angry words froze in his throat.

People entered the hall. One after another. All different in clothing and station, from wealthy shopkeepers to filthy beggars in reeking rags. Women and men, elders and youths. Only one thing united them: blood trickling down from slashed forearms, staining the floor. Its smell drowned out the incense and herbs.

His fears were confirmed when, silently, the Inquisitor followed them in. His massive armor made no clank, no rattle. Perfectly fitted, lacquered crimson, without a single gap. To the unknowing, he might seem a rich knight. Even those familiar with the Inquisition would be confused.

For church servants did not wear armor.

The greatest weapon of a theocrat was always readiness to sacrifice blood and life for the cause. Every inquisitor bore not only a hammer but a sanctified blade for that purpose. Armor was worse than excess—it could hinder them in the moment of duty.

Only those who had seen High Inquisitors before would instantly recognize these plate.

Plate reserved for the most seasoned and exalted inquisitors. Plate that granted the privilege of valuing their own blood, and demanded that others shed theirs in the inquisitor's stead.

"This is a mistake! You have no right—I have a royal contract!" the Archmage shrieked, preemptively realizing his fate.

"If you had such a contract, you'd be fulfilling it," came a voice from the back rows.

Wind craned his neck and easily recognized the bothersome lord, and beside him—his former student. A pack of traitors.

"The Commonwealth will not let this stand!"

"Enough," the Inquisitor said thickly, turning to the lord. "By protocol I must ask: is this man in your service?"

"First time I've seen him. Just some charlatan," the lord shrugged with feigned innocence.

"Not funny," Wind's voice cracked with fear, but he steadied himself and went on almost calmly. "The King will expose your lie instantly—then what? And you, Inquisitor? Do you wish to ruin relations with the Kingdom?"

"Burn him already; he talks too much," the lord waved dismissively.

"Ahem. Regrettably, we cannot. If he truly is in royal service, it would be a direct breach of treaty…" the Inquisitor began deliberately, and the Archmage smiled triumphantly.

But the smile vanished as the Inquisitor continued:

"… But we must escort him to the Theocracy to verify the identity of this… pretender. Rest assured, should it prove he truly serves the crown, we will return him whole—and better. He will return a changed man. In the House of Justice he will confront his sins, cleanse his mind, and embrace the true faith…"

"Never!" Wind leapt from his cushions, reaching for his Source.

A brilliant flash lit the chamber. Inquisition agents paled. The blood-stained steps scrubbed themselves clean. The spot where the Inquisitor had stood was empty—he was already beside the Archmage, fist raised. Wind hurled a blade of air, but it dispersed uselessly, not even scratching the crimson enamel.

Impact!

The Archmage rolled across the floor as his pupils shrank back in panic.

"However, if the sorcerer resists, killing him on the spot does not violate the treaty between our nations," the Inquisitor finished, flexing his hand.

His gaze lingered on his bloodied fist. For several long seconds he watched drops of the mage's blood fall from his gauntlet to the floor, then turned and held out his hand. An agent bowed reverently and wiped the glove clean with his own clothes.

"All right… all right. I understand. You want me to finish building everything here?" the Archmage groaned, dragging himself up.

"Not anymore," came the lord's reply. "The chance was lost when you refused the gold. I am a ritualist, but I harbor no illusions about spotting a trap in your work. And I harbor no illusions that you wouldn't leave one—were I you, I certainly would, to avenge myself. So, farewell."

O'Conol glared hatefully at the crowd and held out his hands for the shackles.

"The Commonwealth will not let this stand!"

"Come up with something new," came the mocking voice of the former student.

"Little shit…" the Archmage muttered under his breath.

The shackles clamped shut, and the Archmage was led from the hall to Stern's mocking applause.

I hadn't even needed to lift a finger.

"And what about these?" I asked loudly, gesturing toward the Archmage's students.

The Inquisitor's eyes swept over them hungrily. The nearest pupil swallowed hard and blurted:

"We serve the Lord. Yes, yes!"

Other voices quickly echoed his, merging into a chorus of oaths of loyalty. I was sure most of them would run to the Commonwealth at the first chance, but perhaps some could be persuaded to stay?

The Inquisitor's gaze returned to me.

"Yes. They are my people," I assured him.

"So be it. Small fry." He agreed, gently setting his hammer on the rune-carved floor. "I wish to thank you... and warn you."

"I'm listening."

"At present it is unclear who will become Pontiff. Such a catch as a repentant Archmage could greatly aid one of the bishops in his struggle for the Holy Seat, and he will be grateful to you... But not the others. When the consequences of your actions reach you, the Theocracy will offer no support."

"I don't need it."

"Good. Then I hope we do not meet again." The Inquisitor dipped his head in the faintest nod and departed with his agents.

"Albert von Stern," I called to the mage.

"Yes!"

"If you take command of this rabble, could you finish the barrier over the city?"

He shook his head uneasily.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Alright. Then we'll shut everything down here. Perhaps someday another specialist will appear…" I muttered, though I didn't believe it myself.

Still, the core could be put to other use. In the worst case—we'd bind it with dynamite and drop it on someone's head. The blast would rival a nuclear bomb, and leave magical contamination besides. Granted, we'd need a balloon of enormous size… or even an airplane. Well, no matter—we'd find a use.

As for the mages:

"See that they don't slip away to the Commonwealth. Provide good conditions. I'll ask Tamilla to examine them when she has a free moment. The uncompromising ones—we'll send to the Commonwealth; But those wavering—we'll persuade to work. With gold, with homes, and with the fact that the Theocracy is not so far away."

"What kind of work?" Stern asked, his eyes devouring the Archmage's female pupils.

"Trust me, mages will always find work… And yes, when Tamilla arrives, I'll ask her to question you as well. If it turns out you threatened or abused your position for pleasure rather than duty—you'll follow your former master."

"I'd never!" the mage exclaimed in feigned outrage.

"Mm-hm. Of course. Better think about whether it's better to simply inherit your teacher's harem—or to become head of a newly founded mages' guild. Small for now, but I won't spare gold for its growth."

"Mmm… Could I order them to call me teacher?" Stern asked dreamily.

"I think the head of the Guild has that right. But remember there will be inspections."

"Understood. Don't worry—they won't resist my charm!" the mage assured me.

Sighing, I curtly wished him luck and went upstairs. Fine. If he botched it, I could always appoint Meister Orin instead. He might be too weak to keep mages in line, but at least he didn't chase every skirt. If necessary, I'd make him Asha's deputy and…

I frowned. More than a month had passed, and still no word from her. I needed to send someone to the ports of the Fourth Duke to ask if Espluar had arrived.

Why "someone"? I had a very specific person in mind for this task.

With these thoughts I emerged aboveground. We had prepared an entire bunker beneath the city square for installing the core, but now I'd need to find another use for it. The bright sun stung after the subterranean gloom, but my ears instantly caught the crack of a shot. Squinting, I looked skyward. The watch balloon was shrouded in smoke, signaling down with flags. The gun crew hurriedly tore off the covers and opened the crate of precious shells.

Peering upward, I saw a brown griffon, something white bandaged on its wing.

"Hold fire!" I shouted to the gunners. "It's Laura!"

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"You're holding the knife wrong," my grandfather remarked.

"Leave me alone, I'll hold it how I like. Besides, this is my castle now, isn't it?"

"Tsk!" the former Count clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Sir Falcon had brought not only my disgruntled grandfather, but news as well.

As expected, the King was dead, and the Queen had vanished without a trace. But it was not the Second Duke who became King, as I had assumed—it was the Third Prince. Which was, frankly, very bad news. The Commonwealth had utterly botched it. Instead of sending the full Lodge to steamroll the Capital, they made a petty mess and fled, unwilling to risk their precious high-magic hides. The Second Duke, who had advanced so boldly toward the capital—retreated just as boldly, tail between his legs.

"Well, now do you understand why I didn't want to take part in your escapade? How's Count Nerd, by the way?"

"Under house arrest. The King can't strip him yet, since the Count swore fealty to the Third Duke. The old man is in terrible shape—he can't even hold a quill anymore… even if he managed to remember what it is and how to use it, tch."

"Alive—that's already something," I summed up, cutting myself a piece of cheese.

"For how long? Something must be done… but I don't know what," grandfather sighed, taking some cheese himself.

"And you, I take it, didn't come here by order of the King?" I turned to Falcon, who sat nearby. He nodded.

"To put it plainly—I stole a griffon. And now I'm looking for shelter for myself and my family. I have a feeling I won't be handed over to the new king here."

I raised my gaze. On the griffon, Falcon had brought only my grandfather.

"And your family…?"

"In a safe place. The Count… hm, Karl I met by chance."

"Fine. I'll provide housing and pay, but one question: did something happen? I didn't expect you to abandon service."

His expression darkened.

"Something did. The claim that nothing hindered the Second Duke's march to the Capital isn't quite true. Our patrols tried to oppose him as best they could, but the mages simply struck down anyone who got close. Griffon riders are always few—we don't just know each other, we trust each other. In the sky, there's no other way… And the new King acted as if none of it happened. No apologies, no compensation for the deaths of my comrades. The Second Duke left as if nothing had occurred, and everyone pretended that was normal! I can call that nothing but betrayal. So I chose to leave… but I couldn't leave without Laura. Many will call me a traitor, but I was betrayed first."

"I won't. I don't recognize the Third Prince's rule, and you were loyal to the late King until the end. But Karl must've chewed your ear off by now, right?" I smiled.

To my surprise, grandfather silently chewed his cheese.

"What, you won't judge him? Seriously?" I asked in disbelief.

The former Count shook his head.

"I don't know. I know nothing anymore. Robert warned me about Dastan, but… he prevented a great war between the houses. Even the Commonwealth left empty-handed. I don't know. The late King warned that something terrible would happen if the third son took the throne, but he never gave details. I truly don't know what to do, or how to view this. What I see speaks well of the Prince... But I can't disregard Robert's words either. Perhaps I should simply retire? I'm no longer a Count, just an ordinary man. Must I still bear the weight of this country, or am I freed from it now?"

"Well, you've gone all soft, grandpa, tch," I clicked my tongue, mimicking him. "And what about your wife?"

"She'll likely break the union, if she hasn't already. What use for her is a husband without title or power?"

"Alright, want me to give you the title of baron? Say, you could take Clemen's former lands?"

"That's royal domain. A baron must be approved by the King. You still haven't learned the laws, grandson."

"Fine, but what about baronet?"

"You can, but you'll need to send the records to the archive so they write it into the book of minor houses. Also, the King can strike out anyone from it at any moment by his authority, though usually they don't."

"Alright, alright, I get it. At least I can still grant knighthood, right?"

"For now—you can. But do you think the Third Prince will leave you as Count for long? All your lands are royal domain, which means under his power. What's more, all he has to do is stop trying to reconcile you with Marquis Laslo, and with his father's support Laslo will do the rest."

"Mmmm…" I muttered thoughtfully. "I suppose the news hasn't spread yet. The Marquis is dead."

"How?"

"How do you think? I killed him."

A sharp smack rang out across the table. Grandfather sat with his face buried in his hands.

"You killed the heir of the largest Duchy in the Kingdom?"

"Well, yes."

"Oh… Now not even the One will be able to bring peace between us."

"And we don't need it," I shrugged indifferently.

"Tch. The Duke won't forgive this. I'm certain he'll even sign a temporary alliance with the Second Duchy just to unleash his full might on us."

"Let him. We're already building defensive lines in the best locations. We still have time—he's unlikely to attack before the harvest."

"No, grandson. He will attack. Count on it."

I grimaced.

"Then all the worse for him. Shortage of provisions won't let him fight for long."

"Wrong again. He'll take everything down to the last crumb from the families just to feed his army…"

"And plunge his Duchy into famine, which will weaken him even more. How will he fight once food riots break out in his rear?"

Grandfather rolled his eyes.

"No, young Count," he said, tactfully substituting a milder word. "On the contrary, he'll gain an unprecedented surge of strength. His peasants won't be hiding in the woods from recruiters—they'll flood to him in droves, because in the army they'll be fed. It'll be a living wave."

"Let it crash against our fortifications, as all others have. Have you forgotten what you saw yourself when Short tried to retake our city?"

"I remember. But you've forgotten—that the First Duke has spent decades biting off chunks of royal domain and digesting them. He's grown so fat that his lands now span nearly all the north of the Kingdom. You say you beat Short. How many fighters were there then? A thousand? Two? The Duke can send tens of thousands in wave after wave. And if food is no issue—even more. Hungry, poorly equipped, but infantry nonetheless. And besides, he has knights, cavalry on horses and on chimeras. And the First Duchy has more griffons than the rest of the Kingdom combined."

"Ahem!" Falcon coughed, drawing attention. "I should add: the First Duke not only commands the strongest aerial force in the Kingdom, but also owns a black dragon… which he handles with mastery. His talent for the sky was rivaled only by his son… He was an excellent rider. A pity he died. No offense to you, just…"

"Believe me, I understand perfectly," I replied.

It's always a pity when talent is lost. Even if they're enemies. Mastery deserves respect.

But grandfather clearly did not share that view.

"Enough mourning enemies—they won't mourn us!"

"They won't have to," I snorted. "Alright, I've heard you and I'll take measures. We'll build several more defensive lines. In the worst case, we'll fall back to the Ognevka–Goblin Forest line, where the anti-goblin fortifications remain. We'll strengthen them further, gather more laborers, raise the militia."

"Palisades won't stop an army." Grandfather shook his head. But I noticed—he was animated again; his recent gloom was gone.

"They won't be mere palisades. But we'll need to increase cement production…"

"We need to seek alliance with the Second Duke," grandfather cut me off.

"Was once not enough? He already 'helped' us with the goblins."

"Tch." Grandfather clicked his tongue in irritation. "I agree, but I see no other potential allies."

"Mmm… The Klaus's?"

"You think the Second Duke left the Capital for nothing? I'm sure he was promised the Third Duchy in return. The Klauses are desperate for allies right now."

Silence fell in the dining hall.

I didn't see the situation as hopelessly as grandfather did, but it was becoming clear it was more difficult than expected. The main problem remained the griffons. At the very least we had to sharply increase the number of balloons and aerial marksmen. I didn't even dream of airplanes, but perhaps at least a dirigible with firing platforms above… We needed more anti-aircraft guns, even crude ones.

And we'd needed them yesterday.

But on the ground, things weren't as bad. Muskets were being assembled, cannons cast, ramparts built. Powder was still plentiful, and even if a shortage arose—the second nitric acid plant wouldn't take as long to set up.

Still, with the cartridge line delays and the need to boost firepower immediately… I might have to do something I'd rather not.

"You say we have no chance?" I asked grandfather.

He shrugged.

"There are always chances, of course. But here—I don't see them."

"Then how about flying with me to Reikland and seeing for yourself?"