Melanie, a native of Relize, technical royal auditor for the crown of Vasquer, but definite sword-for-hire walked beneath a fortified archway. The building was wedged firmly in the valley road leading to the newly-born capital of Vasquer named Blackgard. Her long red hair whipped against her neck as her head turned from place to place, taking in the sight. When she left from the southern side of the mountains enclosing Blackgard, this archway hadn’t been here. It hadn’t even been in construction. Now, she suspected it could hold up against a siege of thousands for months.

But Melanie wasn’t alone in coming here. She pulled a handcart carrying a chest, holding the bar in front of her as she trudged along. She had been prepared for a difficult road, but it had been smoothed for wheels and dozens of people with luggage walked alongside her in the advance to this new place. She came near a group, listening in to see what this influx of people might be about.

“Look at this stone. Thick, black, hard. No matter how long you bang against it, it won’t budge. I don’t care if all the dead in the world rise,” an older woman said to a middle-aged man. “If we aren’t safe here, where will we be safe?”

“Dirracha. Mateth. Anywhere, mother,” the man shot back.

“And what, fall on our knees at the gates, live in some hastily-constructed slum outside their walls? The king’s men advised all come here,” the elderly woman rebuked him. “Besides, your brother already came here. Would you split this family up?”

“All I’m saying…” the man trailed off. “We shouldn’t get our hopes up.”

Melanie had heard enough, and so walked alone once more as she thought. Refugees, she thought. Admittedly, this place was extremely defensible… but as for food? It had a small port for fishing, but none of the ground had been farmed whatsoever. She didn’t know much of farming, but land near a river… generally, it was only left untilled if it didn’t grow crops well. Perhaps Argrave intended to sustain the place as Relize had been sustained—importing crops from further along the river. The mountains would make that troublesome.

After a long and tiresome walk, the valley came to an end, closing off into a tight point. There was a large office waiting them, and a man outside loudly directed people inside for processing. Here, people clumped together as they were received group-by-group. Despite the bulk of people, it was quite orderly—Melanie smelled Elenore’s influence here. The princess had always been good at making order out of chaos.

Before long, Melanie was admitted into the office through a wide and tall doorway, still hauling her handcart. There, a tired-looking bureaucrat stood behind a desk. He might’ve seemed a pushover if not for the eight plate-armored guards blocking the other exit.

Melanie came to the desk, and the man said, “Before I can let you in… name, profession, and purpose of visit.”

“Melanie. Royal auditor and parliamentary seat. Business,” she answered each question respectively, retrieving a badge from her pocket.

The man glanced at the badge and straightened his back. “There’s only one check for you, then, ma’am. Please step close to this man, and hold your eyes wide open.”

Melanie was perplexed, but obeyed. The man scrutinized her eyes closely. “They’re green, but not quite blue. It doesn’t match with the color of the shapeshifter. And she has no magic,” he said.

“Go right through, then. No need to hold up a seat in the parliament,” the man behind the desk said loudly, gesturing for the guards to move aside. “But… I’m afraid you’ve missed the parliamentary session scheduled for today, my lady.”

“That’s fine,” Melanie said, hastening. She was eager to see what more had changed. She stepped out of the office, entering Blackgard proper.

The lush wildflower paradise had been fading when Melanie left, but now it near entirely gone. An untouched field of flowers persisted only at the far back of the valley where the mountains met the plain. Once, the parliamentary hall had been the only evidence of new construction here. That space had transformed into a huge complex sprawling out across the valley, and further marked the end of the newly built network of roads.

Farmland spread for miles in either direction. They were divided into neat, though not uniform, plots that already had an elaborate irrigation system funneling water from the rivers. Sprouts grew in several plots, and where nothing was growing, people worked to put seeds in the ground that they might do so in the future. Strangely, each plot of farmland had a unique-looking tree at its center.

Beyond that… there was construction work at the docks, Melanie could see that much. There was temporary housing near as far as the eye could see—tents, makeshift shacks, all the like. But with the roads in place, it seemed like the framework for something very grand. There were markets, too. This place was already blossoming as a hub of trade. Indeed, if Melanie were to describe Blackgard as it was… it was the foundation for a city, with all the resources one needed to build it from bottom to top. But whether it would become the envy of the world, or another failed project of an overpromising monarch…

Well, she supposed all of that would rest on the shoulders of King Argrave.

#####

Princess Elenore sat in a cushioned chair at a wide, heavy desk of dark wood, wearing a humble silken green dress. She held her long black hair back while her gray eyes scanned through thousands of papers. It seemed a rather comfortable place to work… but given that it stood at the head of Vasquer’s parliament, with royalty watching from behind and the seats of parliament ahead, one could never rest easy in that chair.

King Argrave stared at his sister, tapping one foot against the ground in absent nervousness. His movements left behind echoes of maroon, making even his act of blatant impatience seem elegant and measured. The nobles looked upon the king nervously, perhaps viewing this act as a message. In reality, the king was nervous as votes were tallied, and had a rare lapse in thought before them all.

When pale fingers settled atop his hand, the king turned his stony gaze away and stopped bouncing his foot. Beside him, Queen Anneliese sat with her long white hair kept in a half-crown braid. Her amber eyes seemed to silently implore him to be patient, and he returned her grip and settled back to look at the rows and rows of seats in this hall.

Vasquer’s parliament had grown a great deal. Where once it had been perhaps a few dozen, now it was well into the hundreds. Representatives from all across the kingdom gathered to act in the interest of their city, of their noble house, of their magical practice, of their merchant empire… though imposing, Argrave felt some sense of pride while looking upon it. Not quite a republic—more an oligarchy—but it was a start.

When Elenore cleared her throat loudly everyone came to focus upon her, sitting straighter and leaning forward.

“The motion for the establishment of the Hall of Enchantment passed,” Elenore declared, gathering papers up. “Artur will assume the role of the tentatively named Hall Director as soon as he is able. Passing alongside this motion is the formal decriminalization of magic practice outside of the Order of the Gray Owl. A tally of votes will be made and distributed to any interested in precise figures.”

Faint yet present muttering spread throughout the hall as people both celebrated and cursed the establishment of the Hall of Enchantment and the abolishment of formal Order magic monopoly. Already, Argrave felt the parliament was showing its use. If this had been a decree passed by him alone, it would sow discontent. If it was fairly voted, however, not even the Magisters could protest. They had their say, after all.

“This session is over.” Elenore said. Even she was unable to prevent some satisfaction from leaking into her voice. “We shall meet again next moon. Aid that was promised in wake of devastation wrought will be delivered shortly, but in the meantime, Blackgard will receive any and all refugees sent its way.”

The parliamentary seats began to filter out of the hall, heading into the wider parliament complex where more politicking surely awaited. Argrave rose from his spot and walked down the stairs, coming to sit atop Elenore’s desk. People showed their respect to him as king as they walked near, then counted the ballots on their own… but the figure was indisputable.

“You ready?” Argrave asked Elenore quietly when no one else was nearby. Anneliese listened intently.

The princess looked up at him. “That’s a question for you. I talked to the architects from Relize, personally—their strike won’t end easily.”

“I’m a union-buster extraordinaire. Worry not, sis,” he finished, rubbing her head.

She frowned at him and fixed her hair while slapping his hand away. “I hope so. This strike is delaying construction. The population is getting ridiculous. I have the city plans, but laying the bricks without magic would take years, not months. They are needed.”

“I’ll get it done. Might make more concessions than you’re happy with, but they’ll be working hard once again,” Argrave nodded. “And after that?”

“It’s the first day of army training. My men tell me your Veidimen officers seem eager.” Elenore looked at him squarely. “I’ve arranged for you to see that.”

“Good. Great.” Argrave nodded slowly.

Elenore tapped her finger on the table. “Then, you have a meeting with those Magisters.”

“…but after?” Argrave pressed hopefully.

Elenore stared at him, then finally nodded with a sigh. “Yes, you have enough free time to travel to Veiden. I’ll need you back by morning, Argrave, regardless of whether you convince Galamon to return. There are restless nobles that need direction, and a kingdom that needs its figurehead.”

Argrave crossed his arms and sighed, looking at Anneliese.

“Argrave, you told me you needed to rule—truly rule. This is what it is.” Elenore rose to her feet. “Shall we go?”

“I didn’t say anything negative,” he protested, coming to stand from her desk.

Elenore looked up at the too-tall king. “You sighed.”

“I exhaled quickly,” he rephrased.

“I think that is the definition of sighing,” Anneliese cut in, and then took Argrave’s arm. “Let us proceed, Elenore.”

Walking arm-in-arm with a quick stride, the three of them left the parliamentary hall. There, Prince Orion of Vasquer awaited to escort them with a squad of twelve human royal guards. Armored in the traditional gold of the royal knights, the prince struck as imposing as figure as he ever did. His long braid of black hair came out of the back of his helmet like a plume, and he played the role of the diligent knight-commander. In time, Argrave would relieve him, having Galamon assume the role once more… but Orion would not soon abandon the title of royal knight, as he had made clear. His presence now brought a sense of security instead of panic.

On the walk out of the parliament, Argrave and Elenore received yet more private petitions—a merchant wished for a bridge to be fixed, a city’s mayor complained of unjust taxes by a local lord… on and on the requests came. Some of them were mundane and easily dismissed, but it was important they be heard before more thorough administration could spread through Vasquer to handle these minor disputes.

Responding to each and every query with care was a mind-straining task, but Argrave and Anneliese were becoming more and more efficient at it. Argrave was good at giving political answers, while Anneliese was more suited for practical solutions. In layman’s terms, Argrave was good at saying nothing while Anneliese was good at saying something. But finally, after the wave of petitions faltered, they exited the parliamentary hall.

Blackgard waited beyond. With roads in place, the people coming en masse, the north and south entrances with fortifications more than able to resist great enemies… the foundation of their resistance had been laid. In the coming months, he needed to make this nation ready for the end times.

“Delivery for the king! Delivery for the king!” a woman shouted, and Argrave lowered his gaze to spot Melanie wheeling a cart through the complex, paying little mind to most of the other parliamentary seats that walked. She came to stand before him. “Got something for you, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” she said provocatively, flashing a white-toothed smile. “Just whaaat could it be…?”

As Melanie delivered her line, she turned back and popped open the chest in a fluid motion. Argrave immediately spotted several relics of value—relics recognizable enough to pinpoint where, exactly, she had been. Her expeditionary team travelled to a cave in the west, at the base of the mountains north of the Tower of the Gray Owl.

Argrave stepped to her cart, parsing through what she had. A lot of the enchantments that might be on these relics were not especially useful to him, but they might be useful on a grander scale—Artur would be the judge of that. As he lifted things, Argrave asked, “Happen to notice anything unusual down in that place?”

“Man-eating bats,” she said at once.

“But I knew those would be there. I mean, anything else?” Argrave scrounged through.

Melanie sounded aggrieved as she responded, “If man-eating bats aren’t unusual, what is?”

Argrave was about to answer her when he spotted something. His hand moved slowly, and then wrapped around a large helmet of unusual make. He lifted it up in the air, and bits of jewelry fell off it ungraciously. Anneliese was watching Argrave, and she grew serious as she watched his face shift in displeasure.

The helmet was made of a dark purplish metal, polished to perfection until it reflected images off its surface. It had a round cap, ear guards, and a face mask that made it resemble the famous Sutton Hoo helmet. Argrave stared down through its eyeholes.

“Where did you find this?” Argrave asked quietly.

“I don’t… on the ground, somewhere, I suppose,” Melanie said, shrugging. “Do you like it, Your Majesty? Or do you recognize it?” Melanie inquired, almost seeking praise.

“I do recognize it,” Argrave nodded slowly. “It’s the work of the Ebon Cult. It’s a helmet for their scouts.”