Anyone with a passing knowledge of history, of past battles, or the stories surrounding our people would understand that we are remnants, mere shadows of what was. Nothing proves this more so than our enemies, the demons. I have seen their blessings, as they call them, and compared those to the ones of the past. They are fading, weakening. Their ferocity a farce. So sure of this, I spoke to His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, assuring him victory would be ours within the span of a few years.
Even as our armies clashed with no clear outcome, I truly believed that… until I saw her.
- Zharmund Faulke, Letter to Successor, former Imperial General of the Right.
Following the news of the royal family’s assassination, The Council of Nine and Overlords immediately called for an emergency meeting, causing hundreds of nobles from all over to swarm the capitol. The talks had lasted for days arguing over the kingdom’s next course of action. Many called for retaliation, the long years of fighting a defensive war weighing heavily on their pride and dulling their chance for glory, while others took an approach some would call cowardice.
“We should prioritize regaining our head,” One noble said.
As one of the two survivors of the royal family, all eyes turned to Hansgath. He had remained silent the entire time, sitting atop the throne where his father used to be. In the event of the ruler’s death, the next in line would be his children and they would act as temporary king if they were of age.
Hansgath watched as they continued to spout their opinions, going back and forth with no substantial shift. The king’s power in The Council by law was limited as it was intended to please the four non-ruling clans. However, his father, and the kings before him, had great sway. That would not extend to him. He was a temporary king, not even the crowned prince, so his words would do little in shifting the minds of The Council and the nobles.
“How could you suggest we give those conniving, vile beings a chance to rest? A king has not been assassinated in over three hundred years!”
“We are not cowards,” another added.
Though The Council of Nine and Overlords had been quiet for quite some time, gauging the opinions of the court, Overlord Kallistos Yathomar joined in, leaning toward a more aggressive stance in the war. Overlord Kaal’un scoffed, silencing the chamber. He was both the oldest and most war scarred of the Overlords. “You advocate for war when the people of your territory are the furthest away and least affected. How laughable.”
“The people of my territory have sacrificed much for those in yours, leaving their homes to join a fight happening much too far away. They fight for their country, for their belief in the blessed, for their fellow countrymen. And here you are, mocking their hardships,” Overlord Kallistos snapped. Akeron, Hansgath’s younger brother, though not of the Yathmarra territory, was likely in the Overlord’s thoughts as he spoke. He’d seen them training once, and it seemed as if the Overlord placed great pride in his brother.
“I do not mock the fallen nor do I mock our warriors, Kallistos. I am merely pointing out a fact. If this war were to continue with how fractured we are, with how little support there is from our own, the people of my territory will suffer most,” Kaal’un retorted. “The only course of action is to install a new, proper king and unite against our enemies. Or are you suggesting we throw our people to their deaths so we can attempt to ‘avenge’ our king?”
Only the thinnest veil separated their hostilities and kept their fangs and claws at bay. All were listening, especially the nobles who lived in their territories, as they took great care in choosing which banner to fall under. Though each noble in the chamber exerted enough influence to sway thousands of men and block laws and policy, with the volatile state of the kingdom, they had to take great care.
“Has the last Bloodletting affected your judgment so much you believe they will accept our request for a temporary peace? As the one who has fought them the longest, I expected a more reasonable response,” said Overlord Zwei Maidak. As the Overlord of the southern Maidah Territory, he was the second most likely to push for immediate retaliation since his land was safe. Of the four, Overlord Zwei was the one who interested him most.
Hansgath looked at him with Essence coated eyes, though he could only see the top of his head which was split cleanly in two, one side nearly bald while the over was overflowing with hair. As expected of an Overlord, even with Hansgath’s skill in Raah, he had difficulty seeing his Essence.
There.
He caught the slightest glimpse. The discrepancy in the Maidak’s Flow. Within the near, clear blue coating his form, there was a tinge of yellow that had momentarily seeped out from his right side. A vaear Blessed. If he could tap into that Flow, which Hansgath had every reason to believe he could, he’d be an immensely valuable asset in war.
Opinion in the chamber shifted. Instead of the nobles of Rathladan and Yathmarra throwing their voices around, the ones from Maidah had joined in. At the current rate, it would be impossible for Kaal’un’s side to win.
“It is the most reasonable response he could have given,” said the last Overlord, Belmund Banescythe. Belmund’s territory, Tectoka, was the northmost and suffered from the theocracy’s attacks, so Hansgath had correctly predicted he’d lean toward peace. They had planned various strategies and repelled many advances together.
“Are you implying that since our territories aren’t under constant threat our view is wrong? We provide soldiers as the kingdom demands, more even,” snapped Overlord Zwei.
Belmund shook his head and from atop the king’s throne, Hansgath saw his Mark of Brotherhood. It had been hidden behind his loose fitted black robe and obstructed by stray unruly strands of hair. The Mark extended from the back of his neck and curled up over his right ear, a scar accepted and given by someone as close as blood.
“You do,” Belmund affirmed. “Your contributions are not the issue. I have seen the Rohet Theocracy’s capacity for war. Should our defenses falter, their zealots will raze every village and town they manage their crazed hands on. Reiktharr Mountain and our mines there could fall to their hands if leadership is weak. Prince Hansgath is more than fit to rule. Having him in the position of temporary king will only weaken us. He must ascend.”
“You-” started Overlord Kallistos before he was interrupted.
“If you are opposed to the idea of giving the enemy rest, let us forego this farce and hold the Bloodletting before the month ends?” asked Kaal’un.
“Enough!” The Chief Councilor, quiet the whole time, finally spoke after slamming his hand on the table. “Overlord Kaal’un Palewing, you are in the chamber of The Council. We shall not entertain such ideas. As the founders wished, no king will ascend until we are at peace. Discussion has lasted for too long already. We shall now vote.”
Wynnert Haze, a man in his early sixties, was among the first to receive the news. An azure crystal delivered straight to his tent in the twilight of a new day had relayed the assassination of Kheonyth Kingdom’s ruler, Kudlirk the Cruel, and his family. The channel, which connected at least six crystals, was immediately filled with chatter and questions. Wynnert kept quiet during this exchange. Their questions would be the same, so there was no need for him to ask.
“Was it The Theocracy?”
“I have contacted the Theocracy about this matter and they deny any hand in its orchestration. According to our spies, knights bearing the emblem of our empire are responsible.”
“Impossible.”
Wynnert agreed. Their skirmishes and subsequent battle against the demons had left many of their men wounded and injured, with the First and Second Armies told to be on standby for the time being. A force with an angel was sent to take over the Red Hills more than a week ago, which Wynnert opposed as he believed awaiting the Third Army would have guaranteed their success. As he predicted, the demons were able to muster up a large number of troops and retake the position.
Fortunately, the Blood Demon he’d insisted on attaching to the force managed to save the angel, avoiding a, possibly, crippling altercation with the Forge Church. Although he had no particular sense of reverence toward the angels, he was more unnerved by them, though he would never admit this, he understood their effects on troop morale and respected their prowess on the battlefield. Nearly twenty years had passed since the last angel partook in warfare but somehow, they were convinced to allow this one to the Imperial Army.
Given how he stressed the importance of keeping the angel safe, and the relative strength of their men, he was certain the knights who assassinated the demon king and his family were no detachment of theirs. The most powerful knights sent to the Red Hills were able to match up to Middle Demons at best.
“Silence,” said a gravelly voice. It belonged to Reed Faulke, the current Imperial General of the Right and head of the Faulke Family. Wynnert had met him multiple times, and although he was younger by nearly thirty years, Wynnert saw in him the same qualities possessed by his father, Zharmund. “The Grand Minister is looking into this matter. Should any of you happen to come across any information, relay it to me immediately.” There was a pause. “We have also received a message from the demons. What say you all on a temporary treaty.”
Many scoffed. Some whispered the words “cowards”.
“I expected as much. What are your thoughts, General Haze?”
“Please call me Wynnert, Lord of the Blade. Your father and I were far from strangers.”
“Of course, General Wynnert. What do you think we should do?”
Wynnert nodded, stroking his neatly trimmed, short gray beard as he considered the question. A slight chill lingered in the air, a bit unusual for the early summer. “It strikes me as odd, that is for certain. Why would the demons, who have lost their royal family due to our supposed underhanded tricks, be so eager to petition for peace? There is much more to this than it seems. Perhaps they are scrambling to… yes, that must be it. The demons’ ascension ritual.”
“Explain,” said the general of the third army, Feran. He was atypical of the imperial generals. Though he was from a noble bloodline, he belonged to a declining quasi-noble family and was a bastard who clawed his way to the top. Something which many despised him for.
“The demons undergo a “Bloodletting” each time a transfer of power occurs. During this ritual, the one to ascend the throne will take on challengers. If they succeed, they become the next king. Should the challenger win, however, they undergo the ritual until there are none left.”
“Sounds barbaric,” said someone else.
“It seems challenges are rare,” Wynnert said. “The Reyteour Clan has dominated the Demons for many generations. If I were to guess, the Bloodletting is nothing more than tradition from when they warred between themselves.”
Wynnert eyed a sack containing his books regarding the demons. “Their last Bloodletting occurred when Kudlirk the Cruel ascended forty years ago. During that time, we were similarly offered a peace treaty.”
“I see,” said Reed. “They are seeking to crown their next king.”
He nodded as the old scar on his cheek ached, “We won’t allow it.”
Hansgath sighed as he burned the empire and theocracy’s replies in his hand. He’d expected their responses but to say he hadn’t wished for a different outcome would have been a lie. The flame in his lantern flickered. “Any news of his status?”
A man draped in dark clothes with a mask covering three-fourths of his face emerged from the shadows. The flame reflected off his exposed eye, “Nothing, Your Highness. We searched through the rubble again, but could find no trace. The common portal destinations are being combed through as we speak.”
He sighed again, “I see. Continue your search and in the meantime, prepare a fake. Burn him so no one can identify him.”
“What of his Essence and gifts?”
Hansgath glared at him, “Find a Colorless. His Essence should be of shadow if possible. If not, then it doesn’t matter. Father and Mother kept him from prying eyes. No one would know even if they were as skillful with Raah as I am.”
“What of the empire and theocracy?”
“I’ll make an announcement soon. We’ll force them to accept peace.” There was a knock at the door. “Just one moment,” he said. The man sunk into the shadows as Hansgath brushed the ash off his desk. “Come in.”
It was Lyla. She cradled the half-complete doll their mother made for each of them in her hands. Her eyes were a tinge of red with faint tear streaks evident on her cheeks. Her hair was in bundles and her complexion a bit pale. “I-I tore its arm…” she said, trying to hold back her tears.
“It’s alright. Come here. I’ll see if I can fix it for you.”
She handed him the doll and he pulled out a sewing kit he’d borrowed from their mother’s quarters. Though he wasn’t skilled in sewing as he’d never been taught, Lyla refused to let anyone else touch their mother’s gift. Hansgath had been learning for the past few days the basics and worked on finishing it.
After a moment of silence she asked, “Do you miss them?”
He paused as he was angling the needle.
“I do.”
