People behind desks made phone calls to councilmen, updating them on the progress of negotiations. Others spoke with the Yunnish Peace Treaty Committee, far away in Yuna. Ground officers were stationed at every watchtower, surveying the surrounding area with practiced vigilance.

  This was Camp Major, situated in the heart of the Midder-Lands.

  Hands clasped behind her back, Schemel looked out the window, staring into the abyss. Red. Brown. Hot. Dry. A wasteland. Almost as bad as the UCL.

  There wasn’t much to see. That was a lie. There was plenty to see.

  She opened her hand, and a subordinate dropped a pair of binoculars into it. Not long ago, she had acquired a megalithic murder machine known as the Octopus. It had eight appendages; each loaded with automated rifles. The Octopus weighed close to a thousand tons and had crushed countless Sexites beneath its massive limbs.

  And then there were the Testicles—two giant spike balls moved by marker-ascension. It was always a thrill to drop them onto the battlefield and watch them shred the enemy.

  Good times.

  Unfortunately, they were all manufactured by Yuna, and crap from Yuna did not last long. The Assembly refused to spend more money to repair them.

  Beyond the abandoned weapons, a gleaming metal disc reflected sunlight into her eyes. A Ring, suspended in the middle of nowhere. Unlike the others on the mainland, this Ring required no pillars—it floated on its own, held aloft by marker-ascension. Powerful ascension. Incredible ascension. Rarely had she seen ascension this potent on the mainland.

  Within the Ring, a portal to Yuna opened, transporting Yunnish officials to the Midder-Lands. Schemel would meet them in Tardis, a city near Camp Major and close to the portal.

  “It’s finally happening,” Jay said from behind her, approaching the window. “After all this time, we’ve got him. Calimer will be turning in his grave in a few hours.”

  “You’re not coming with me,” Schemel said.

  “What?”

  “There’s something wrong with your head,” she said. “We can’t risk this treaty going awry. And you’re everything peace and reason are not.”

  “You need me,” Jay countered. “We might never get a better chance to strike Calimer.”

  “Calimer wants to end this war as much as I do. Why would I jeopardize that?”

  Jay relaxed, choosing his words. “It wouldn’t hurt to have me by your side,” he said. “It could be a trap.”

  “Why didn’t Votress take you along?” she groaned. “You could be home by now, relaxing.”

  An announcement from the watchtower heralded the arrival of a vehicle. A military vehicle—but not one of hers—rolled into the courtyard. Two rear doors opened, and men in flowing robes stepped out.

  The diplomats—Treshim—from Yuna had arrived. About eight in all, each fair-skinned with straw-coloured hair. The leading Treshim, a short man exuding authority, directed the others toward the office building. Ruckus followed their ascent up the stairs until they reached Schemel’s floor. Upon entering, the Treshim bowed, scanning the room as they approached the High Commander.

  “Renna Sorel, High Commander of the Henrikian Army,” said the short man. “We are honoured to be here.”

  “We thank you for taking it upon yourselves to help resolve our longstanding conflict with Sexton,” Schemel replied.

  The short man introduced himself. “My name is Lari, High Treshim for your treaty. I am here to oversee your Binding, just as I did with Calimer and his Gaverian.”

  “So, the arrangement remains unchanged,” Schemel confirmed. “Only one other Gaverian may accompany me into Tardis.” Rather than Jay, she chose Erisa. Erisa may not have been as powerful as the lightning crafter, but she was dependable, discreet when needed, and capable of following orders—traits Schemel required for a mission like this.

  Schemel and Erisa settled into chairs while the two Treshim faced them, preparing their ink kits. The Treshim lifted their left hands and dipped brushes into bottles of black dye. Stroke by stroke, they drew a symbol on the backs of their hands—a symbol Schemel wished she didn’t recognize: two overlapping triangles bisected by a single line.

  “Until you leave Tardis, I forbid you from casting any spells,” the Treshim declared, pointing to the mark on Schemel’s hand.

  “And what happens if we don’t comply?” Erisa asked.

  “Well, Ms. Zeal, you die,” said Lari.

  The Treshim began a series of incantations over Schemel’s hand. Her skin throbbed, tightening painfully beneath the symbol.

  “May I ask something that has always bothered me, Renna?” Lari inquired.

  “You may,” Schemel replied.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Why do you refuse to reinstate Shaphet’s Law in your country?”

  “The people are content as they are,” Schemel said.

  “How can they sleep at night, never knowing if an ascender might burn their house down with a snap of their fingers?”

  “You realize you’re trying to convince an ascender to regulate ascension use,” Schemel said, wondering if Lari’s blank face could grasp the irony. “Our people sleep soundly because they have nothing to fear. We don’t need outsiders telling us how to run our government.” She waved the topic aside. “May I know which Gaverian will accompany Calimer to Tardis?”

  “You will find out when you arrive,” said Lari. “Shall we proceed?”

  “Good luck, Renna!” a secretary cried once the company took its leave. “We are all with you!”

  “Henrikia!” another voice called out. Schemel turned around and blew her employees a kiss.

  In no time, they were on the road, following the Treshim to Tardis. First, they passed through Galla, a place Schemel preferred not to remember. The region suffered from a time-halting spell. Dark clouds remained frozen in the sky above Galla. Lightning, frozen in time, struck trees, while remnants of buildings and furniture hung suspended in the air. The spell had trapped the villagers in perpetual agony as they moved in slow motion, crawling along the ground.

  After Galla, their vehicles made it through Porcedia. She seethed. Also, not their greatest moment. At least the savages that lived here had been put out of their misery long ago. Porcedia was nothing but a sea of ashes that stretched a long, long way. “All this for what?” Lari muttered to himself. “I hope you’re satisfied with your campaign, Commander.”

  “These people were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “They were born here. How can it ever be the wrong place?”

  “Well, now they’re dead,” she said. “So it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  The city of Tardis. A high wall bordered the city upon which militia patrolled. They had their mouths and noses covered with rags, and as the wind blew, so did their distasteful red hair. Mercenaries waved at the convoy as it passed through the open gates.

  Hissssssssssss, came the steam from a sizzling river. It divided the city into two. Water should not be green, but the one in the river was. Schemel took out her handkerchief and pressed it against her mouth.

  Their convoy travelled on one side of the river, following a narrow brick road. With so much dust in the air, the city had been painted red. Stacks of ruined buildings stretched along the city walls. And from within the rubble were watching eyes. People crept out of holes and into the day. Dirty, dirty people. Some were already on the sidewalk with plastic bowls in front of them, begging for what? Money? Funny.

  Children played beside the green waters, soaking their feet and enjoying the sun. One with a growth on the side of his head. One with a rotten nose, another with foggy ears, another with a lopsided mouth. Ugly things.

  The scent of Calimer’s ascension filled her head. He was waiting in the palace ahead. The palace towered above them, with a massive dome and multiple floors. They had to park their cars in the middle of the road. Schemel barged into the palace, interrupting Lari’s introductory speech. In the middle of the ballroom sat a single table, and at the far end was the man she had come to mildly despise—Ren Calimer.

  Calimer was very dark-skinned. He kept long black braids, tied with colourful ribbons. Rings decorated his fingers, contrasting with the drab beige uniform of the Sexite Army.

  “Schemel Sorel,” Calimer greeted. “How long has it been since we last met like this?”

  “Too long,” Schemel replied.

  He motioned for Schemel to take a seat at the opposite end of the table. Three empty chairs remained on each side. Six Treshim pulled out the chairs and joined the two Commanders. They placed leather-bound notebooks on the table, clicked their pens, and waited.

  “Ren Calimer, Renna Sorel, there’s no need to introduce yourselves,” Lari stated. “We encourage civil language during this discussion. Everything you say will be recorded. Afterwards, certified copies will be sent to your respective institutions. May the negotiations begin.”

  “I don’t particularly like you, Calimer,” Schemel began. “They asked us to bring a Gaverian, and you showed up alone. What are you trying to imply? That you’re superior to me? That you don’t need protection?”

  “I would never insult your dignity,” Calimer said. “My Gaverian is merely… delayed.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “You will know the moment he arrives.”

  Schemel rolled her eyes. “I heard you’ve listed terms for the agreement. May I read them?”

  Calimer opened a folder in front of him and passed a piece of paper to Lari, who then handed it to Schemel.

  “Ten per cent of all levithium mined in the Midder-Lands goes to Sexton… ten per cent of all ziricanium…” She skimmed a few lines. “Ten per cent of all earthen children born between the years three hundred and twenty to three hundred and twenty-five are to be handed over to Sexton?”

  “Sexton owning slaves isn’t such a bad idea after all,” said Calimer.

  “The working class,” Schemel corrected. “We’re capitalist, Calimer, not savages.”

  “The names make little difference to me.”

  “You realise I could kill all the earthen infants born between the timeframe you listed?” she said. “Ten per cent of zero is zero.” The note-takers stopped writing and took a careful look at Schemel.

  “Let’s move to the bottom of the list,” Calimer said. “That’s what will make or break this deal.”

  “Ten per cent of all astaphite mined from the Midder-Lands goes to Sexton,” Schemel snorted. “No way.”

  “You’re amassing an army unlike anything anyone has ever seen. I’m not the only one concerned,” said Calimer. “Astaphite is the only thing I can guarantee will keep my people safe in the coming years.”

  “Considering what else Ren Calimer is willing to give up, this offer is more than generous,” Lari put in. “I would advise the High Commander to consider it. If you need more time, that can be arranged.”

  “No,” said Schemel. “I think I can improve my position.”

  “And what will it be, then?” Calimer asked.

  “No astaphite ore mined in the Midder-Lands goes to Sexton,” she said. “You don’t deserve any more.”

  “I reject your offer.”

  “Then it seems we’ll be here for a very, very long time. We could return to the way things were. I don’t mind. I have a thousand ascenders awaiting my command. At my word, they would wash the Midder-Lands with Sexite—”

  Dear God. Pariston was here.

  Pariston walked past, circling the table. He stopped to give a slow bow to the Treshim. She wasn’t going to look up. She wouldn’t let him see her face. Jay should have come. He would have protected her.

  “Renna,” Erisa whispered. “Do you want to leave?”

  Schemel wasn’t allowed to speak in Pariston’s presence. But Helen had told her to forget the past. She was strong. She was powerful. Far more powerful than Pariston. Okay, she would look at him on the count of three. One… two… three. She couldn’t.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Pariston apologised. “I had an issue with the locals.”

  “Take a seat,” Calimer offered. “Sorel was just about to threaten us with her new earthen army.”

  The symbol on the back of her hand throbbed.

  “Ren Lloyd is bound by Shaphet’s Law,” Lari stated. “Renna Sorel, there’s no need to panic.”

  “No need at all,” Calimer added. “Please, tell us about how you would wash the Midder-Lands with Sexite blood.”

  “I have to go,” she muttered, struggling to her feet. She nearly fell, saved only by Erisa. Schemel made her way back to her parked vehicle and slumped into the seat.