Sphera hadn’t spoken much with Princess Ado, for one crucial reason. She was a cunt.

  A while ago the girl had approached her, tried to discuss imagined commonality between them as women in a man’s space. It’d almost made Sphera laugh. She had nothing in common with a noble, let alone a Princess, and the fact that her ally had failed to even realise that was a perfect demonstration of why.

  Powerful men were bitter, jealous, oppressive tyrants. Powerful women, though, were almost worse. Powerful men at least did not see nearly so great a threat in Sphera, nor feel inclined to crush her with anything close to as much vigour. For all Princess Ado’s claims of solidarity, she’d undercut Sphera in a thousand ways after the fact and carefully drawn all eyes to herself.

  Of course she had. The very presence of a proper woman- an aristocratic woman- made other women less womanly by association. Femininity was a thing to be earned, and being in the presence of a wealthy woman made its price all the greater. It was just how the fact was seen.

  But Sphera kept all of that from her face, unlike Princess Ado she couldn’t afford to run around hurling insults at whoever offended her. Tantruming was a rich woman’s luxury.

  “I understand that you’re eager to keep a hold of your new territory,” She began, using honey and reason rather than the innate fear most had for a Necromancer, “But you must understand I’m suggesting what’s best for Staliga. You’re simply not a powerful enough caster to guarantee its safety, not alone and certainly not measured against my own abilities. I’m a Hero, and I can call on hordes of the undead as needed.”

  Indeed, Sphera fancied that in any other era she’d have been the most feared user of magic alive. Not the most powerful, not yet, but her talent combined with a Necromancer’s proclivities was a rare generation. It was just her ill fortune that had seen the only two Necromancers to exceed her in half a hundred years emerging just as she did.

  “We’ll do fine.” Was all the Princess said, a smug, knowing smile on her face. Sphera imagined how the woman might look as a reanimate, mindlessly drooling and shambling ahead to get torn apart fighting her enemies. She imagined that image vividly while pressing her with a question.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Staliga will be just fine under my rule.” The Princess beamed. “I happen to have secured a new King, and his abilities in combat may surprise yo-”

  “-It’s Baird.” Sphera guessed, the woman’s surprise was utterly pitiable. Had she actually believed other people were missing the looks they’d given each other? If nothing else, the crumbling of Shaiagrazni’s Empire had released that infernal tension coiling around them.

  But then, it had done so much more. Not all of it good, much of it disastrous. And it would do the rest no matter how Sphera fought to keep it together. Shaiagrazni’s Empire was crumbling, and she simply lacked the strength to hold it as one piece.

  The Princess left in a huff, irritated, but not beaten. Sphera had found no victory today. The world would soon be without her master’s legacy.

  ***

  It had not been so long since Galukar last set foot in Arbite, but it felt like years. Decades, even a century. Time had been stretched out by his journeys with Shaiagrazni, days turned into months by the changes to himself and the challenges to his suppositions of life. Galukar felt slivers of his former self returning as he gazed upon the adoring faces of his people, and the smile he answered their venerations with came naturally and easily.

  Here, at least, he knew his role, his duty, his work. Protector, ruler. King. As he had been for a hundred years, and as he would remain when the Godblade’s life-preserving magics finally exhausted themselves upon his ageing form.

  The festivities were exhaustive, as they always were upon one of Galukar’s returns. This time it felt wrong. Only twice before had he been bested in a quest, not counting the Dark Lord. And this marked the first time his power had been outmatched by a fellow human. The Godblade seemed to hum at his back for a moment, as if feeling his doubts and regrets. Galukar sighed.

  It seemed a human’s strength had its limits after all, and when he died they would be that much smaller for however long it took a new wielder of the Godblade to emerge. What would they do with it? He’d never given the question much thought before, the answer had always seemed obvious, but now…

  There were more nuances to power and its usage than Galukar had known, his latest journey had expanded his mind. Unpleasantly so.

  He received word of the guest just as he entered his palace. An empty place, now, cold and lonely. Galukar felt the loss of his sons as he moved through to his throne room. There were no words for the sensation of moving through a world in which one’s children were buried. He didn’t bother trying to find one.

  And soon, he was too distracted to have concentrated on the deed even if he’d been inclined. Within his throne room was a stranger. Tall, muscled like a warrior and with a bald head exposing black skin. His eyes were small, and focused on Galukar like needle-points.

  “I am Archmagus Mafari.” The stranger declared. “King Galukar, I have heard much about you.”

  “I know.” Galukar replied. The man seemed surprised for a moment, he elaborated. “I know you’re Archmagus Mafari. We met when I was a boy, sixteen or seventeen I believe. It was the year before you disappeared into the mountains.”

  Recognition dawned in the magus’ eyes.

  “Ahh, yes I recall now. Apologies King Galukar, it has been so very long.”

  “None are necessary.” A year ago Galukar might have pondered the man’s sudden appearance at least, but there was no doubting he was the real Mafari. Even ignoring that he’d not aged a day, his power was the same. Galukar was just arcane enough to sense the arcane, and it pressed against his wits now like a shadow of the Dark Lord himself.

  It was a rare feeling, indeed, for Galukar to stand in a room with only one other man, and know himself to not be the most potent being present. Mafari seemed to take no delight in inducing it.

  “I will be frank, your grace.” He began. “I have looked into your recent actions with some…Displeasure. Aiding the New Dark Lord, even if to oppose the original, is something I would have considered unthinkable for you.”

  Perhaps Galukar would have agreed with him, certainly if Shaiagrazni had not made such concessions early on he’d have refused to accompany him out of hand. The shame was still there.

  How did he explain himself? What he’d seen in the man, the glimmers of humanity? He couldn’t. Not when even he himself didn’t know what to make of them.

  “What I do is no concern of yours, Archmagus.” He replied, keeping himself polite, yet injecting some regal sternness into the words.

  “Oh, no, it is.” Mafari’s voice was a thing of iron as he responded. Any Archmagus was the equal of most, if not all, Kings. This was a known fact. Not officially as much as politically, Kingdoms who offended the ruler of Magira tended to wither as they found the precious magi needed to sustain a modern nation denied them. For Mafari, there was a more primal cause to be wary. The air hummed with his power. “You wield the Godblade, King Galukar. You are, by my estimate, the second most potent human alive after myself. What you do with that power is so very much my concern.”

  Galukar remained silent, resisted his body’s urges towards muscular twitching and explosive motion. Mafari was standing close, three paces away. A normal man would not have reacted in the time Galukar took to move even double or triple that distance. But a magus’ nerves were quickened by touching the arcane, and Mafari’s casting was infamously quick.

  “You are to sever all ties with the New Dark Lord.” The Archmagus began, “And you will then dedicate your resources to aiding me in putting him down.”

  “Why?” Galukar asked. The Archmagus seemed stunned.

  “He is a Necromancer, a Fleshcrafter- an art almost lost here yet still very much outlawed- and, if rumours are to be believed, a Demonologist. He seems to have gone down the list of our most illegal magics and practiced them in order.” The Archmagus spoke with no great passion, only a finality. “His powers are dangerous, and they will drive him mad. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. He needs to be killed for the good of all.”

  Galukar had expected some religious appeal, but he had been a fool to do so. This was a magus, not a paladin. The casters of Magira were beings of practicality and rationality, mostly. Of course he would be lectured on the pragmatics of the deed.

  “And you wish me to aid you in killing him on this basis?”

  Mafari’s eye twitched, irritably.

  “If it proves necessary, yes, though I have no doubt I can best some petty hedge-caster. Wielder of dark magics or not, he did not train in Magira as I did. This house Shaiagrazni of his is doubtless some petty caster’s lineage, whatever sort of prodigy Shaiagrazni is to be wielding more than one magic, he is no match for a true magus.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Galukar decided not to argue, if Mafari was wrong then he would find out himself.

  “No,” The Archmagus pressed, “What I am asking you first is mere…Indolence. Remain as you are, and do not lift a finger while I address the rest of Silenos Shaiagrazni’s allies.”

  His blood boiled quickly, and Galukar affixed the magus with a glare.

  “Address them how?”

  Mafari shook his head softly. “That is no concern of yours, King Galukar. You have my full respect, but this is a matter of the arcane, and there is none more qualified than the Archmagus of Magira to reside over it. Rest assured they will all be given a fair chance to repent and redeem themselves.”

  Galukar thought to the several among Shaiagrazni’s subordinates who would sooner die than do that. He would be lying if he claimed to have any great fondness for most of them- though Princess Ado’s loyalty to Shaiagrazni had grown to considerable lengths- but the long months of trekking around and working together had instilled some semblance of…Familiarity. The thought of seeing them perish gave him upset, left him unnerved.

  He dully wondered what was happening to him, even as he growled out an answer.

  “If I don’t like what you’re doing,” Galukar replied, slowlya

  As far as coronations went, Ado had to admit she was far from pleased with the state of her own. But then there were other concerns which might be raised. Indeed, she’d raised them. Money was among the foremost- much of the royal coffers had been emptied in infrastructural development intended to yield greater returns in the long run. The consequence of this was that they had become reliant on Shaiagrazni’s Empire sustaining them through the short term, something that would prove rather more difficult now that the damned thing had stopped existing.

  So she had to improvise, find the money to hold her nation together. Somehow.

  In a shocking turn of events, Ado found that much of her people’s wealth was now held not by the royal family but by the richer of its nobility. The ones who’d had sense enough to move afar and hoard their resources, keeping out of Shaiagrazni’s way and below his notice until such a time as the storm, Shaiagrazni, had passed. They were back now, like rats sheltering under a bonfire’s ruins as soon as the fire was gone and the rain coming down. Ado, fortunately, had gained long years of experience in hiding her contempt from such people.

  Certainly, she was better to speak with them than her new husband. There were limits to the strategy of beheading all of one’s political opponents.

  Today Ado was meeting with Lord Hemron, Balthasey and Gibgra. They were each, individually, wealthier than her. That fact stung, but it had not been so far from the truth even a year ago, before Shaiagrazni’s attack. All of them were bankers, and collectively they controlled more than half the wealth of Aoakanis. She greeted them with a smile, knowing full well how men liked it when women did that. Being liked was, unfortunately, once again among her priorities. All overnight. She hid the bitterness that festered upon the thought, and pushed past to speak.

  “Good afternoon my lords.” Ado beamed.

  One smiled back, the others didn’t. Ado continued.

  “I’m here to discuss the finances of our great nation, and, as I’m sure the both of you are aware, our coffers have been somewhat diminished by recent events.”

  That earned a derisive snort or two.

  “Because of Shaiagrazni pissing royal wealth away onto every passing fancy he thought of.” Lord Balthasey cut in. “What was it again? Seventeen thousand silver pieces on schooling, twenty-six thousand on medicine, forty thousand on domestic constructions, just off the top of my head? Surely even a woman has head enough for figures to understand why all your money has disappeared.”

  Ado did not grind her teeth, because doing so would erode the pretty smile which worked so well to get morons like these in her lane.

  “Of course.” She smiled. “You are astute to have raised the crux of our issue so quickly, and yet, tell me, what do you suppose will happen in ten, twenty years as a result of these projects?”

  The lords either snorted or growled at that, as stupid people often did when they were called upon to think. The poor dears just lacked the equipment for it, and Ado almost winced at the sound of unfamiliar exercise straining every fibre of their wits almost to the point of breaking.

  Ado was moments away from capitalising when the pigeon interrupted her. The window rattled as if it were being beaten by a woodpecker, and she whipped around- instincts still active from her dangerous time doing Shaiagrazni’s work- to find the gray bird’s beak rebounding from glass. She crossed the room, letting the thing inside before it broke anything and quickly seeing the message bound to its leg.

  The moment Ado took it off, the pigeon dropped dead. Her breath caught in her throat. Such things were heard of, of course. Pigeons could fly fast and long, covering a hundred miles each day, if not more. But sometimes a hundred miles was too little for a message’s urgency. Magus healers were able to push bodies beyond their limits, and most Kingdoms kept at least one in their court to treat the royals.

  So, when a message of particular desperation was sent, its carrier bird might cross two or even three hundred miles in a single day to bring it. But the exhaustion remained. It was an alleviation from fatigue, and the feeling of tiredness, not a change in biology. Seeing the thing drop dead of its own tiredness, Ado was reminded once again why Fleshcrafting was sought by so many.

  Then she pushed the thought aside and hastily opened the message.

  Mafari lives. Magi are coming for Shaiagrazni allies. Be wary. - G

  G, and Ado recognised that sigil at the bottom too. She scrunched the paper up and ate it instantly, earning a bark of shock from the bankers present.

  “Have you gone mad, woman!?” One cried. Ado just smiled.

  “Terribly sorry my Lord, it must be a bout of womanly hysteria.” Ado headed for the door at as brisk a pace as was possible without drawing any further delays through the alarm of others. “Please excuse me, I think I need to go and have a good cry to get my overwhelming emotions in check.”

  The bankers would have to die, she idly knew. There would be little shifting them after this, and she needed their money. But the main priority here was King Galukar’s warning. Magi, sent by Mafari…Ado was about to be attacked by a legend. That had a remarkable way of galvanizing her thoughts.

  “My Queen,” A man called from beside her, “Where are you going?”

  “I need to see my husband.” Ado replied curtly. “Where is he?”

  “But my Queen, what of the mercer’s entourage?”

  Ado was a moment away from chastising the man for ignoring her question when a sudden realisation hit her, and she froze.

  “The…Foreign mercer’s entourage?”

  “Yes.” The servant frowned. “Why-”

  The wall behind him came apart in a blasting spray of ruined stone and mortar, littering the corridor with debris, flooding it with dust. Ado stumbled back, the wits shaken from her. The mercer’s entourage had been foreigners all of them, unknown to her and her people and granted entry into the castle.

  If there was any group for a pack of magus assassins to impersonate, it would be high-class guests such as those.

  And they’d have struck the moment they heard her being addressed.

  Ado thrust her arms out and upwards, solidifying the air before her into a wall of ice. Something hit it- flames. The structure came apart, steam seared her forearms and force picked her up to toss her backwards like a thrown javelin. She landed hard, tumbled back, head spinning, wits scattered, mouth full of blood and bearings thrown to the wind. Ado just barely sat up in time to see guards rushing forwards, Knights all of them. One intercepted another blast of flame at the cost of his own life, armour coming apart into a cloud of bright-orange fragments and mangled corpse dropping hard as the others closed on her attackers.

  Magi, true magi of Magira, were potent beings. Ado knew better than to try and aid her men.

  She scrambled up, turned and ran. The Knights died screaming behind her, Vigour proving less than half a match for Magiran magic and soon the hall was rumbling again as the magi prepared to destroy her. Even from afar, Ado doubted they’d miss.

  Another fireball came streaking for her, and she lanced it with a blast of ice to detonate it prematurely. Felt the sting of heat against her eyes even a dozen paces back, stepped away as more attacks came. A blast of searing acid, which Ado hadn’t the time to deflect with ice and could only watch flying forth right beside the darts of stone torn from the remnants of her castle’s corridor.

  Before any of it hit, a new projectile took to the air and smashed into the volley. Pure, white flame.

  “Queen Ado.” Rochtai roared, striding out into the hall and seeming ten times his usual height. Robes flowing, beard billowing in the unnatural winds conjured by so much magic meeting so much more, his eyes were like miniature suns, face like a thunderstorm. “Get behind me, run. I will delay them!”

  Ado could see her attackers clearly now, three of them. Two were aged men, as might be expected, but a third seemed roughly her own age and, surprisingly, was the strongest of them.

  “I can help.” She snapped, but her master silenced her with a glare. Once a student, always a student, she supposed. Ado scrambled up. “Thank you-”

  “GO!” Rochtai roared, fending off a blast of flame from the youngest magus and deflecting it into the wall beside him. An entire stretch of stone larger than a peasant’s cottage was blown outwards, obfuscating the corridor once more with aerial dust and raining fragments. Ado saw no more than that, because she was fleeing without another thought.

  Out through the window, down through the air. She slowed herself with thin platforms of ice, smashing through each one and exhausting her own momentum in the doing of it. She landed hard and sprinted, glancing back to see the castle’s wall blasting outwards.

  Her guards were still thin in number, exhausted by Shaiagrazni’s conquest and the battles with the Dark Lord. Of course these men had managed to permeate her defences so well, and of course they were past Rochtai. He had been among the hundred greatest magi alive, but each of these men was formidable and it had been three against one.

  Those formidable magi stared down at Ado now, continuing their pursuit as she stumbled into the woods.

  ***

  Collin hadn’t been in Aoakanis for even a day before someone tried to kill him. It was a bloody relief, if he’d had to deal with all of the pomp for a single hour more he’d have either killed himself, or killed several other’s selves.

  The magi had knocked on his door first, asking for him by name. Collin had given it, then watched as a blast of lightning tore the thing off its hinges, blew into the room and scattered furniture around its electrical discharge. They forced their way through, tripped the wire, and had just enough time to scream before the hundred or so steel-bound crossbows he’d lined a wall with spat out bolts at more or less equal speed to a Ranger’s own weapon. Some of the projectiles missed, either smashing fist-sized blocks of stone out of the wall or penetrating the thing entirely. Most, though, found their mark, ripping into squishy human bodies and dropping the magic users like sacks of shit.

  Collin came out from his actual desk, which he’d had placed beside a stretch of wooden planking erected and angled to disperse his voice and throw off the aim of anyone who tried to attack him through the door. Sometimes it paid to be prepared.

  “How…” One of the men, a magus Collin now saw, coughed as he spoke, blood spurting out onto his ruined robes. “How did you know?”

  Collin frowned. “Know what?” A tapping at his window drew focus to the pigeon, which looked about halfway to dying as he took its message and read through. King Galukar’s warning was brief, and clarifying. “Ah, bugger.” He looked at the group, smiling. It really did pay to be prepared sometimes. Now all the people telling him setting up basic security measures able to kill a Fomori could eat their words.

  Collin snatched up his bow and quiver, equipped his knives, stepped over the magi while they were busy convulsing and dying, and headed out into the corridor. It was madness, chaos, devastation everywhere as magi swept through the castle and laid it to waste.

  Another grin sprouted up on his face. Thank fucking god, he was damned sick of nobby politics.

  here are forces in this world beyond either of our comprehension, and I have grazed them with my mind. You are no more now than the boy you were when we first met one hundred years ago. If you push me, I will make you…Less.”

  Galukar had never been threatened so softly, and yet felt such fear, in his entire life. For one moment he wondered how much of the truth was in this man’s words. Could he match Shaiagrazni? The Dark Lord? He lacked the magical familiarity to tell.

  And by the time he could even consider finding out more, Mafari was already gone.