Anestis was a very, very long way from home. He had travelled miles upward through the earth, seeking his people’s secrets they had abandoned in the cities of old. His journey had taken him far beyond the abandoned cities, though, breaching even the surface. The sunlight from the suns was harsh enough to make him nauseous, and things were loud and fast and unpleasant.

The small mercy of his presence here was that he was a curiosity soon forgotten. When he had come upon the giant elf named Galamon, the man had been curious for no more than a day before he simply used Anestis’ knowledge of dwarven technology and then left him to his people, called the Veidimen. They were a people as barbaric as their land… and even when this human king had come, whisking him to his home of Vasquer, the humans were not so different. Though better organized with a hierarchy of nobility, their structure was still that of arbitrary status and hereditary nonsense. Their brutish size was indicative of their inferior morality and intellect, just as the dwarves described.

Anestis was far from home, indeed. But in the past few days, he’d felt that some of his home had come to this strange land.

This parliament… Anestis was used as a showpiece to validate the king’s proposal. Nonetheless, he had managed to learn this institution was the king’s doing. And seeing their debates, their discussions, and the relative equality of all the seats regardless of their stature brought back memories of the Dwarven Senate back home. It was a fledgling institution and a shadow of dwarven intellectualism, that much was obvious. But Anestis’ father was a senator, and so he had seen firsthand the government of his people at work.

King Argrave, despite his size indicating his great inferiority, had the spirit of the dwarves in him.

It was oxymoronic, almost, that their king should be the foremost representative of democratic principles. But through the days, rather than employ authority, he employed a silver tongue and a sharp mind to ruthlessly dismantle factions. His words were both traps and executioners, leading people thrice his age into fumbling their words or making promises they had not intended to make.

The nobles? On the first day they broached their proposal eagerly. They sought to restrain the serfs. They had formed a small faction within the parliament, and Anestis thought it clear they had legitimate momentum. After deftly ignoring the issue with misdirection, Argrave and his sister, Elenore, proposed naming a Viceroy of Atrus. They listed candidates for this position, isolating influential members from the rest, sewing distrust… and by the end of the first day, this infant faction had been long forgotten. They became nothing more than hyenas, currying favor with or slandering those that had been allies hours before.

The king’s sister, too, had a dwarven mind. The spellcasters sitting in on the parliament seemed to be prepared to remain unified. They had some experience with factional disputes, seeing as their organization functioned as an oligarchy similar to this one, if smaller in scope. Still, Elenore hardly gave them a chance to voice their thoughts before she pulled the rug out from beneath them. She promised a new source of revenue, providing hard numbers to back this up. The valiant protestors became weak in the knees and salivated over the golden guarantee.

And then there was the third dwarfish mind, the queen. Anestis had not seen it the first three days, but she might’ve been the shrewdest of them all. She did not speak to the parliament often, but the king spoke to her frequently, seeking counsel. And on the third day, when tempers were hot, and it seemed inevitable some conflict might arrive… she intermediated, soothing tempers with calm, kind words and a pleasant voice. She endeared herself to them as the good queen Anneliese, securing public support for herself, her family, and their policies.

‘Concessions’ were made, each and all in favor of the royal family. These factions had come here prepared to make demands, to resist a strong central government… and they left whipped and broken, bowing to him more than ever before. The government was centralized further yet with the implementation of a Viceroy of Atrus, and they made a new source of revenue out of thin air by giving spellcasters rights to spells they’d created. After all, the crown would make just as much money from their spells as they did.

And all of it… the king’s doing, of course.

The Dwarven Senate feared silver-tongued despots like Argrave, and rightly so. The king had a magnetism to him, both in appearance and in voice, that few others could stand up to. He had a voice that made one listen, had a strange elegance brought about by his magic, and had a way with words best suited for scammers or politicians. Then again, in dwarven culture, the two were often one in the same.

But Anestis did not forget what the king fought for. The blue-bloods had been dissatisfied their serfs would dare seek more freedoms, and Argrave had defended them. He’d ensured stability for his country in doing so, keeping swords pointed toward the enemy. Tyranny was an easy and effective tool, but the dwarves knew that it was foolish to turn laborers into warriors—society’s progress stalled. And the king exemplified that virtue.

The royal family consisted of big, and therefore supposedly inferior, people. The king and queen were cursed to stand taller than some doorways. Even the smallest of them, Elenore, seemed larger than most human women. But Anestis saw they had an undeniable dwarfishness to them, and so questioned the judgment of his forefathers. And perhaps, just perhaps… if the Ebon Cult could truly be dealt with, there was a way to connect the surface with the underground.

Anestis was rather pleased with the idea of these people debating his father. Perhaps that insufferable senator might finally concede a loss.

#####

Argrave and Anneliese laid in their bed, staring up at the ceiling. The enchantments keeping the room secured faintly twinkled in the night light—not enough to rouse anyone, but enough to be seen. They both had contended smiles on their faces. Perhaps it was from the day’s hard work at parliament, or perhaps it was something else.

Argrave glanced over to see if Anneliese was still awake, and then said, “Been thinking.”

“Better than the alternative,” Anneliese responded drolly.

Argrave laughed through his nose, then continued seriously, “Mozzahr is tough. And the way his power works… he’ll be stronger than I remember him.”

Anneliese turned her head to face him. “And?”

“We have things at hand in parliament. Now, we have to go back to the Burnt Desert to seal that ‘political’ union between Elenore and the King of the Scorched Sands,” Argrave justified himself. “But… while we’re there… maybe Durran didn’t have such a bad idea, making that bet.”

At that, Anneliese leaned up, pulling the covers up with her. She peered down at Argrave. “If you respect me… please, stop thinking that.”

Argrave felt equal parts embarrassed and comforted by her reaction. His mind veered away from the idea at once, and Anneliese noticed this, for she laid her head back down, sighing in relief.

“Sorry,” Argrave apologized, running one hand through his hair. “Just… Mozzahr is unnatural. And the Alchemist already promised his aid in the battle against Gerechtigkeit. If we could visit him, maybe even bring Durran along…!”

“Garm killed himself there. You became an utter mess of pain and misery. Forgive me, but the idea does not evoke pleasant memories.” Anneliese pulled the covers tighter.

Argrave touched her bare skin with his hand. “Something good came of it.”

Anneliese looked at him. “Something tells me the Alchemist will not indulge us. He did not seem particularly romantic.”

Argrave chuckled, then defended, “I’m not saying we should go flash our wedding rings, just… we could use anything to give us an edge. We can go on godslaying journeys, collect spirits while we stall his armies, but the reality remains that Mozzahr is a monster. And he’ll be much more than what I remember. What he’ll lack in battle experience, he’ll make up for in pure power. And he isn’t brutish—he’s a natural fighter, Anne.”

Anneliese sighed once more and then let silence persist. Finally, she looked back and asked resignedly, “Could the Alchemist even kill him?”

Argrave hesitated for half a heartbeat and then said, “No. But he could help, without a doubt.”

“Why is his power so fearsome? You explained it before, but… I never realized it rattled you to this extent.” Anneliese questioned. “Why did you not pursue his A-rank ascension for yourself if it makes him so potent?”

“I couldn’t have,” Argrave defended. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t be as potent in my hands. Time is its ally.”

“Explain it to me again,” Anneliese calmly asked.

Argrave turned to her, gathering his thoughts before he began. “Mozzahr creates and controls something Heroes of Berendar named Emptiness. I don’t know how he does it, but considering it’s an A-rank ascension, it’s probably related to magic. Whatever the case may be, this Emptiness—it’s sort of a blue, ethereal light construct—it’s alive, and he can make it do so many damned things it hurts the head.

“If Mozzahr brings it inward, absorbs it, he can be as strong as Orion—hell, as strong as that Shadowlander. He can imbue other people with it, too. It can resist spells or swords. It can morph into living things and fight like that. It can resonate with magic to amplify spells beyond what should be possible. Emptiness is Mozzahr’s personal hand of god, and it lets him do whatever he wants. Not hard to see why people worship him.”

Anneliese listened patiently as Argrave droned on. When he finished, she rested her eyes in total silence.

“Could this so-called Emptiness be put in a cage, then used to defend someone?” Anneliese focused on him.

Argrave blinked. “Yeah, sure. I remember some items that did just that.”

Anneliese’s features grew tight as she said, “I remember Durran saying Georgina, the leader of that now-defunct Unhanded Coalition, used something like that. A cage, with strange claws that were blue and ethereal.”

Argrave could barely process that. He brought his hand to his forehead and caressed it, slowly sitting up. “Good lord...! How do you even remember that? And why did I never hear about it?”

“I was just curious about his trip, that’s all,” Anneliese shook her head. “As I recall, you were more concerned with dealing with Ruleo after that battle at Castle Cookpot. Prudently so.”

Argrave’s brain whirled as he absorbed this new information and considered its implications. Georgina was working with the Ebon Cult… but how, and why? And she had been endeavoring to keep the king alive… perhaps to keep things destabilized for Mozzahr’s invasion? He could make no sense of it. But still, something new sounded in his head.

“Georgina didn’t die with Duke Rovostar. She left their party, maybe long ago. And she could… she could tell them everything they need to know about Vasquer,” he stared at his hands. “Meaning we have another weakness exposed. All the more reason we need every advantage we can get.”

“If we are to visit the Alchemist once more…” Anneliese conceded slowly, and Argrave turned to look at her. “We cannot go without a solid plan. He is not one for meandering small talk.”

Argrave let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I’m aware. Then you—you’re in this?”

“So long as you promise not to be as stupid as Durran…” Anneliese closed her eyes. “Yes. We need every edge we might gain against Mozzahr.”

Argrave leaned down and kissed her, then whispered, “I promise. No funny stuff from me.”