In the king’s privy chamber his majesty’s state chair sat on the north wall, centered between two shelves stuffed full of books. On the east wall a long, blue couch with a coffee table before it could hold up to eight people. Across from the couch, on the west wall sat a sturdy wooden table with six solid chairs. The heavy wooden door inlaid with brass occupied the south wall.

The rectangular chamber stretched forty feet from north to south and a massive rug covered most of that space. Masterfully stitched and embroidered onto this rug was a depiction of the battle for Drigzton’s Archway, the legendary clash between the Guth warlord Jeshord who fought for the Turg King Hegmezon II, and a combined force of dwarves, ogres, and trolls over the rights to the vast plateau and its many resources.

The stitchwork showed Jeshord and his enchanted axe Zolzigrob splitting the skull of an ogre chieftain as swarms of Guth warriors in leather armor and wielding Galzbrecher – Gutherian Great Swords – poured through a gap in the line where the ogre began to fall.

The door opened. Through it walked a stout man in his late forties with a square face and beard. His dress was relaxed but expensive; a fine, gray leather doublet with brass buckled-straps on the chest, a wool tunic with an eagle embroidered upon the sleeves, and flowing blue cape of silk that nearly touched the ground, with rings on every finger and a hierarchy of platinum, gold, and silver chains and necklaces across his chest. His eyes were weary and wise, and menacing all at once.

Behind him, in a military manner walked a man tall and straight, with good girth and clad in a comfortable, sleeveless tunic with loose breeches and sturdy boots. A stout belt adorned his hip and hung there a Fzaltin skirmishing blade; similar to the Guth short sword, but heavier and with a signle cutting edge. Called an Iomna, the short sword was capable of both cutting attacks and penetrating thrusts. Three heavy throwing knives lined the backside of the belt, and on the man’s left hand he wore an ornate yet heavy set of brass knuckles. The warrior’s hair was top-knotted and his beard trimmed very close to his jawline.

Behind this man strode a much older man, wrinkled and with only a few whisps of white hair upon his scalp, yet straight-backed and firm in presence. He wore a heavy black-crimson robe and walked with an ornate, polished staff of hawthorn inlaid with seven obsidian discs arranged upwards from smallest to largest near the topmost end.

The door closed of its own accord once the third man passed the threshold.

The stout man in the cape reached the north wall, turned to face the south and then lighted upon the state chair with practiced form and regal style. The second man took up a position to the left of the state chair. This traditional position allowed the protector to use his right hand to cross in front of his charge to address a threat from the right, or to turn outward and shield the one he protected should a threat emerge from the left. The third man stood before the man in the chair, holding the staff with both hands and using it to support most of his weight.

“Let me get this quite straight, Hemphasticus.” said the king in his state chair. “You are advising me in an uncharacteristically roundabout way to refrain from this invasion?”

“No, your majesty.” the sorcerer replied. “I am only pointing out the surplus of time you enjoy and suggesting there is no need for a rushed campaign.”

“There’s no such thing as a surplus of time. Whatever power I may wield my time is nonetheless consumed by ravenous vultures disguised as court officials and matters of state, to say nothing of the unending formalities and obligatory events I must suffer.”

“Yes. Your majesty is ever engaged, but I speak to time on the longer view.”

“As do I. The days vanish out from under me with a quickness that seemingly spirals ever faster because of the sea of tedium and pomp I endure. I’ve half the mind to abolish most of it by decree and have executed the objecting heralds and chamberlain.”

The sorcerer waited patiently without a word.

The king sighed and said: “Explain yourself once more. You’ll have my attention.” The monarch folded his arms across his chest and settled his gaze on nothing in particular off to the sorcerer’s left.

“Your majesty is now how old? Eighty plus years? Yet you look no older than forty-five. The magic I have placed in thy frame, with regular treatments, shall easily sustain you another century. What then, is the urgency of this invasion to the extent of moving without proper forces and preparations?”

“I thank you for your good works on this matter, sorcerer, but I cannot be lax. For one thing, these ‘treatments’ have always, only been a temporary measure until something more permanent could be settled on. They become more difficult to conceal each time, suspicion grows within the clergy and whispers circulate among the peerage.”

“You are concerned the nobles and priests will look into the missing youths? That your rite will be uncovered? I genuinely doubt this much.”

“How in the hells can you doubt, man? One child a month was difficult to cover up, now we require two, and soon enough it will be three. Attempts to excuse or cover-up so many children gone missing or else dying suddenly — on a schedule no less – will be called spurious, at best.”

“Perhaps.” The sorcerer half-agreed. “If your deeds were discovered in whole this moment, what do you suppose the consequences might be? Gossip and rumors most likely, but no real punishment for who would punish you?”

“That is where you fail to understand the gravity of the temple’s influence. Chastus has more political power than Duke Karlitos and his followers in the Shining Father’s service would more readily obey him than they would submit to my authority. I could be skewered and skinned the same as any common blasphemer.”

“I will let no such thing happen to you, my king.”

“My loyal servant and most powerful magician, does it escape you that you will be implicated immediately as the true culprit? Chastus will easily paint you as the dark sorcerer, in cahoots with his dark gods and devils, who did corrupt our king to the drinking of children’s blood that he might control the sovereign’s mind. You’ll be quite busy seeing to your own defense.”

“Does his majesty truly believe that? A glorified friar and his militia will be a match for true magic, wielded by an arch magi and his conclave of wizards and sorcerers?”

“I believe you underestimate your counterpart. There is genuine power in the hands of these clerics. The Shining Children are no mockery or church of charlatans.”

“I must take you at your word. I cannot see their power for I am contractually obligated to deny it. To do otherwise would undermine my own power and the pacts I have made with shadowy things and black intelligences.”

The pair let the silence reconcile their opposing views for a moment.

“I can prepare a new ritual for my king to infuse greater vital force into his bones and exempt him from excessive need for the blood of a child. You should then be able to sustain on but one youth per month for some time thereafter.”

“See to it.” The king waved his hand authoritatively.

“Yes my king. Surely now we can pause on our quest to unseat the usurper.” The sorcerer fortified his argument on the strength of the impending ritual. “All know already that you are the true king of that island, as evidenced by the fact Isanbul is called ‘the usurper’.”

“Well played sorcerer.” the king acknowledged his advisor’s ongoing effort. “The new ritual changes nothing about the timeline of my campaign for Myrrha’s throne, mind you, but it is something that needs to be done regardless.”

“It will be done.” The sorcerer affirmed. “I regret your position on the invasion remains intact. Is it some deep, overwhelming desire to wreck your grand army and scuttle the royal navy so you may challenge yourself with the need to make a fresh start in rebuilding each?”

“I may tolerate your lack of cordiality and the absence of proper titles when you address me. Alternatively, I am willing to allow my closest advisor to proffer counsel of a sarcastic nature if he deems doing so would be constructive.”

“However I shall not bear both, Hemphasticus. Either call me ‘majesty’ or abandon the wise-ass rhetoric.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Silence again. This time the two most powerful men in the kingdom of Gutheria locked eyes. In one’s gaze lived menacing unquenchable ambition to rule every corner of the known maps and command even the beasts that roamed those lands. In the glare of the other burned the hollow flame of a dark soul obsessed with timeless secrets and the power they lent at an awful price. Neither would avert their gaze.

Both men laughed, each sure the other had done so first. The humor was authentic despite the severity of the moment.

“Why not simply have Isanbul killed as I suggested at the High Table a few nights ago? She has no successor. Her court would fall into chaos. She is the symbol of the childishly naïve philosophies that underpin the Myrrhan society, and her death would crush the will and morale of the people we mean to conquer. I could task a capable assassin by midnight.” The sorcerer offered.

“No need, my prized advisor.” the king assured his arch mage. “You made well your point at the High Table. After adjournment I set Amnerim on the task.”

“Amnerim? You sent Amnerim to kill Isanbul?” the sorcerer sounded incredulous.

“Of course not, though I wager he could complete the task if sent.” the king clarified. “His place is near to me, but an agent he did send, who at this moment is likely already close to the usurper, appraising her movements and calculating his opportunity.”

“I see.” Hemphasticus saw. “I’m sure he chose as deft and capable a killer as I would have sent.”

“The man has a network with every sort of thug, criminal, and monster one might imagine.” the king pointed out.

“I would have sent a black elf.” The sorcerer muttered, almost under his breath.

“I dare say Amnerim chose well for this assignment.” the king assured the sorcerer.

“I doubt he sent a black elf.” Hemphasticus remarked.

“I doubt he knows any black elves, were I to guess.” the king shrugged.

“Oh, I dare say not.” the sorcerer concurred. “Perhaps he equipped his criminal friend with a magical dagger; of course he may not have had one handy but if asked I do happen to have one laying around.”

“Is that a fact?” the king asked.

“Actually it’s not just laying around I prepared it myself. I bought a Scintilian dagger from an Izradite merchant.”

“Oh Scintilian, nice!” the king affirmed. Long thin blade.”

“Very long.” The sorcerer verified.

“With the little upcurved finger guard that can double as a flesh hook.” the monarch went on.

“Nasty device. Perfect for murder.” the sorcerer observed. “I placed a black charm upon the very steel thereof, that it’s cut will deliver the equivalent of a dozen scorpions.”

“A dozen?” the kind challenged.

“Absolutely.” Hemphasticus stood his ground.

“You jest!” the king pressed again.

“Absolutely not!” the sorcerer insisted.

“A black elf with a magically poisoned dagger.” the king looked past the sorcerer as if staring into the distance.

“Only the best for my king. You know, a dark elf is a very magical creature.”

“So I have heard.” the king noted.

“She might have…” the sorcerer began.

“She? Oh a female black… you said dark elf that time?” the king observed.

“Oh yes. The females are even more wicked, more cunning than the males, and often more magical as well. Dark elf is but another way to reference the Nokturum T’kris your majesty.”

“I have heard the females are nastier even than their male counterparts.” the king recalled. “So dark elf, black elf, either way is fine?”

“Indeed, one term is as good as the other.” the sorcerer answered before continuing: “As I was saying, your majesty, she might have slipped into the usurper’s bedchamber disguised as a shadow. Perhaps weaved a spell to plague the bitch with nightmares of her most apprehended terrors before killing her.”

“Sounds incredible.” the king applauded the sorcerer’s idea.

“Too bad we didn’t go that route, I suppose.” The sorcerer lamented. “Oh well. I’m sure Amnerim’s criminal will get the job done. At least I hope so.”

“As do I.” echoed the king. “He sent a Velbrathi.”

“He what?” the sorcerer half-shouted then quickly lowered his voice. “A Velbrathi.” He cleared his throat. “Well, good for Amnerim. Who would have known he even knows where to find one of the hollowkind?”

The sorcerer faked a laugh and said, “How splendid.” His mouth curled into an involuntary sneer. “I trust the task will be satisfactorily completed after all.”

“Hemphasticus, it occurs me just now as I sit here, you are jealous of Amnerim!” the king pointed out.

“Jealous? Of that gambling addicted chiseler? I think not.”

“My prized advisor, you have naught to covet. Amnerim is of some use to be sure, but his value pales next to yours.” the king assured.

“Kind of you to say, my king.” the sorcerer acknowledged.

“I’m sure it’s only some sort of odd luck that he, and not you, would know of a shadowborn agent.” The king consoled his advisor.

“I never said I didn’t know…” the sorcerer began to protest.

“Of course! Of course. forgive me.” the king self-corrected. “I only assumed since you mentioned the black elf, no I think I like dark elf better. I assumed since you mentioned the dark elf you mustn’t know of any hollowkind.”

“Well, I mean… I simply thought…” the sorcerer stammered.

“No matter! The important thing is action has been put to your insightful suggestion. Let us move on.” the king closed the matter for further comment.

“Nemed, where were we?” the monarch called upon his stoic guard.

“Your majesty, forgive me.” the guard replied. “Where were we when?”

“Yes! Nevermind I now recall.” The king took a deep breath and continued. “We were addressing the issue of the invasion of Myrrha. You want me to wait. I do not wish to do so. Your concerns are ongoing.”

“Yes, your ma…” the sorcerer attempted to respond to his king.

“To which I say:” the king held up the index finger of his right hand as if to momentarily shush his advisor.

“We stand to take heavy losses. Myrrha boasts a large military; truly the number of Fzalts, Umbriges, and Guths packed together on that island is a bewilderment to me. What do you suppose it is, Hemphasticus?”

“What do I suppose what is your majesty?” the sorcerer asked, unsure of the question being posed.

“That drives so many people to want to live on that damn island?” the king clarified. “True, it’s the only real home the Fzalts have, relatively few of them having migrated to the mainland, but the Umbriges had Maer Dane and Ziliador, hells I even allowed their kind to roost here in Gutheria without much prejudice, and look how many have flocked to Myrrha in the past century alone? Even our own people dwell there by the thousands! Why?”

“To be fair my king Umbriges have always been prone to relocation; at least that’s true of the common ilk. Always moving to another city or even to the next realm over believing work to be more abundant or crops to be faring better.” The arch mage reasoned.

“You attempt to spare my feelings or my pride. Neither need your charity. Answer my damned question.” the king insisted.

“Very well.” the sorcerer conceded. “To a degree it is likely the natural beauty of the place. The mountains are stunning, not as tall as the Amplus Vuori but shaped exquisitely. The meadows of the heartland, the Four Lakes, all unique landscapes…”

“Yes the scenery, of course.” The king interrupted. “It has nothing to do with the thriving and complex economy that hosts a three-tiered labor class, nor that damned Julian Charter that provides legal standing and rights to rural workers, effectively ending true peasantry. Am I right, sorcerer?”

“Well…” the sorcerer began.

“Don’t deny it Hemphasticus. It says all this and more in Malmud’s Guide to Governments and Economies, Third Edition!” the king declared righteously. “Who but the Shining Father himself could dissent from the opines of Malmud the Maven?”

“Indeed.” Hemphasticus said in an almost sleepy tone. “These are factors to be sure my king, along with a general sort of liberty enjoyed by the population at large. The somewhat misguided, egalitarian ideology of the usurper and her predecessors for generations does appeal to the unwashed, to those with no sense of historical identity, and to the selfish who are incapable of making a commitment to the greater good.”

“Ah! Well spoken man!” the King roared.

“Such folk of weak character have poured onto that island for many generations.” The king rephrased his previous observation. “Somehow the underpinning of Fzaltin heritage manages to make capable warriors of them nonetheless. I freely admit this: Myrrha boasts a military with numbers close to matching our own, and with their militias and mercenary houses likely even outnumber my available forces. Furthermore the usurper’s warriors are fierce with a high degree of training. I am no fool monarch who cannot see the challenges of an enemy’s strengths!”

“This is true; your majesty is wise and objective.” The sorcerer acknowledged. “Seeing that your immediately available army may be matched in number, why not at least await another twenty-thousand to be recalled from Daverium and have the viceroy send an additional forty-thousand from the Old Seat?”

“It would take weeks to have those troops here and at the ready,” the king replied.

“Time well spent,” the sorcerer pointed out.

The king shook his head.

“Despite their numbers the Myrrhan forces lack the strategic experience of our generals, who have been at war their entire careers. Dealing with feudal insurrections, goblin uprisings, creatures from the wild regions has kept them sharp. The final stages of the conquests of Maer Dane and Ziliador were a mere sixty years ago; these were major campaigns the likes of which Myrrha has not fought for centuries or longer.”

The monarch passed for effect, then continued.

My officers and lords are battle-hardened and sharpened by steel and flame in equal measure to the commanders of old who waged those epic campaigns of legend.” the king declared.

“I take your points and concur majesty. However, losses will be heavy, as you pointed out, leaving our forces weakened for what lies ahead. The darkness is coming per the child’s prophecy and with it the orcs will pour off the Spine, tearing through the fierce Nar in short order by virtue of insurmountable numbers. The crown’s territories will be their next object of desire, whether here or on Myrrha. It might even behoove us to allow the orcs to crush Myrrha on your behalf and then take it from them.”

“By the Shining Father man, have you any idea t’all what my heart desires?” the king asked incredulously. “No other may conquer that isle before me! My destiny is non-negotiable on that point.”

“Of course. Forgive me majesty. Foolish words did I loose regarding the orcs taking the isle for you. I still say delay a little longer until at least more foreign troops can be amassed. I can have tens of thousands of skirmishers from Sarda or Izrad in short order.”

“We won’t need more skirmishers, we already have the Nar and the grassland savages pressing on both or flanks while we assault the capital.” the monarch continued. “What’s more, the precise integration of your battle mages with the infantry establishes on-demand magic for commanders at the company level. Isanbul will have no answer for such brilliant lethality!”

“We shall not linger.” the king said with finality.

“Very well. What of the Shard from the Gemini Stone then?” Hemphasticus replied. “This, I fear, will be the answer of the usurper to our savage allies and my battle mages. I cannot protect you from the shard’s power.”

“When has this been a true threat? Not when I first invaded the island it is proposed to protect.”

“The Sovereign Sister had her reasons for staying her hand and the power of the shard.” The sorcerer advised.

“Really?” the king tested.

“Indeed.” Hemphasticus insisted.

“Neither did she bring the power she claims to bear when Queen Ishtan sought to eject me from her seat.” the king countered.

“Neither did she need to your majesty, as we were ejected. Forgive my candor, master of mine, but it is true and the Sister in Solitude is hesitant to use the terrible power inherent in that shard. She likely saw by virtue of its gift of sight that she did not need to act.” the court magician spoke with an urgency, the subtlest ring of fear evident in his voice.

“I think the Shard may be a ruse.”

“Your majesty it is no ruse I promise. When has my promise been insufficient to convince you of the truth? When?”

The king considered that question for a moment. “It has not been insufficient, nor will it ever be. Fair enough, the shard is real.”

King Jeslinan III slapped his right knee with his right hand and feigned a look of surprise. ”Why, is this truth not decidedly most convenient for us?”

“I’m afraid your majesty has lost me.” the sorcerer admitted. “What is decidedly most convenient?”

“The existence of the shard of course!” the king laughed. “Now that I know with a certainty it is real, it also occurs to me that within it, the power of the Gemini Stone yet pulses and lives, does it not?”

“Without a doubt.” the sorcerer agreed.

“Well then, all the more reason to make haste.” the monarch spoke with palpable enthusiasm. “As I recall the stories of the Gemini Stone speak of an immortality or, to use the poetic terms of the bards, a ‘deathless march of vast time’ the artifact bestowed upon certain of its keepers. Do you remember that line?”

“Indeed I do.” The sorcerer’s tone conveyed a weariness of the games his monarch never tired of playing. Clearly, the king had not doubted the shard’s existence at all. In fact that relic, Hemphasticus now realized, was likely a new inspiration for what would be this crown’s second invasion of the island queendom. 

“Yes, with the shard in hand there will be no further need for the aforementioned treatments, nor for any cumbersome rituals.” the king raised his hands, palms outward towards his court magician. “Do not fret, however, mighty Hemphasticus, for this does not mean your king will have diminished need for your services.”

“I should hope not.” said Hemphasticus.

“Never!” the king declared. “Never would I cease to need you by my side with your constant articulations and daily challenges of my every intention. It would require much more than an awesomely magical artifact that essentially makes me an all-powerful immortal to persuade me that I no longer need your spells and counsel.”

Hemphasticus started to reply but stopped short, uncertain of his next words. His king didn’t miss the opportunity to talk right over and through the sorcerer’s delay.

“The shard is real and of immense value to the throne. I am in your debt as always for righting my thinking hereabouts.” The monarch leaned hard into the tall back of his state chair. “As for the shard being a deterrent to my designs, the fact remains this Sister Salinaht has not used it.”

“She has not used it hence. If your generals are to bring the success you faithfully expect them to render, however, she may well take up a new policy.”

“Twice now she has done nothing. Why would the third time be different?”

The sorcerer sighed. “Why is a question for philosophers majesty, not befitting a king. The question you should answer, if I may insist, is what happens if the Sister in Solitude unleashes the power of the shard upon you?”

“I note how it was ‘we’ until the sister unleashes the shard, after which it becomes just ‘me’ bearing that wrath. Intriguing. Now what am I to make of such nuanced speech?” the king pressed.

“Make only of it what you will majesty but I assure you it is little more than my unconscious desire to not be destroyed by the shard’s undeniable power.” The sorcerer clarified his position.

“That is what lies truly at the root of your objection, is it not? It isn’t a matter of doubting the military nor of wanting a more complex scheme. Simply put, you have no answer for the magic of that artifact and for that reason would suspend the entire campaign.” The king challenged his sorcerous advisor bluntly. 

“It is exactly that indeed your majesty. Wise would be the man, knowing my power, who takes caution in the face of a magic I cannot set straight or defeat, much less seize on your behalf.” The sorcerer didn’t hesitate or apologize for his misgivings.

“You are a good and loyal advisor Hemphasticus. You do not try to hide your imperfectness, nor do you pretend my flaws do not exist. My father was a buffoon who benefited from the death of two elder brothers and then squandered or lost all he received from that fortune, but he redeemed himself wholly by appointing you his court magician. Second only to the crown itself is your value among my inheritances Lord Archmage.”

The sorcerer stood in silence a moment, then said: “Where before I was merely concerned I am now gravely so, for it tends to be after the most refined and well-delivered flattery that your majesty often presents me with his most absurd designs yet.”

The king stood up like a bolt, stiffening as his muscles tensed. His eyes burned like fire into the eyes of his court magician. Raising his fist high above his head, he then broke character and abandoned his jest with a most hysterical fit of laughter. Slowly the king slid back down into his cushiony state chair, continuing a moment in his laughter.

The sorcerer too laughed, but not as feverishly as his king. While the latter laughed still, Hemphasticus said “All right then. What is it? Tell me of your mad designs that I may object most strenuously to no avail.” Then he remembered and quickly added “Your majesty.”

“Have you ever heard the tale of the shadow shard, or as it is more formally called, the Bridge that separated from the shard which fell from the Gemini Stone?” asked the king.

“I have.” the sorcerer answered. “I have looked into the matter in fact, and believe this relic may exist, but know not where it may reside. I fear it will be of no help to your cause, my king. How came you to know of such an obscure legend?”

“One of my concubines who is quite taken with me also happens to be a seeress from the Windwood. She told me of the relic a tenday ago. Then, three nights ago told me of a vision she had undertaken on my behalf, and claims to have seen the resting place of this Bridge.”

“A whore from the Windwood? Impressive that she knows the story to be sure. Some of the nature witches from that region have a measure of talent.”

“You do not believe she has seen it then?”

“The very idea that she has located the artifact with her incense and moon dancing in the wake of a satisfactory orgasm, when my efforts of high magic whilst commanding the very spirits of the Finders who were present when the Shard separated from the Gemini Stone have failed to… Ridiculous!” the arch mage huffed his indignance.

“If I were to tell you this witch is of half-elven blood, the thirteenth child of a seventh daughter born under the first full moon of spring, would you still mock?” the king asked slyly.

The sorcerer’s eyes doubled in width. His breath briefly eluded him and his heart beat hard in his own ears. Suddenly his face soured as the ire rose up within his breast. “Your majesty wouldst not toy with me so?” he demanded.

“My word as your monarch good sorcerer. I speak the truth, and what’s more, she lacks the little finger of her left hand.” The king’s jubilation spilled out into every word, a broad smile overtook his countenance.

The arch mage fell to one knee, leaning heavily on his staff. Tears of joy broke from both eyes and he threw back his head to say “Damnation of Darkmore be justified! Praise to the unholy Gibradeth! The prophecy is fulfilled and in both of our lifetimes! Where is she? Where is this seeress I must have her at once! I swear to you my king this miracle of her revelation will be but one among so many others she brings to us!”

“I haven’t seen you in such a state in… Frankly I’ve never seen you this happy before.” the king mused. “This is good.”

“I admit majesty that I harbor the slightest jealousy that you found her. I would have preferred to bring you this news and be the one to fill you with so robust a joy.” The sorcerer smiled from ear to ear. “No matter. Where is she?”

“Forgive me my friend. I’ve had too much wine and spontaneously, quite unexpectedly to be sure, I blurted all that out in jest. There is no seeress.”

Hemphasticus almost fainted. He felt as if a dwarven warhammer had just smacked him in the chest.

“What?” The question roared from within the archmage like the thunderous voice of a Nargalith Draco. The booming call had with it a bellowing choir of other calls; the angry, tormented voices of demonkind from the deep Abyss reverberating in a hundred foul tones.

The king’s privy chamber, indeed the castle itself shook mightily. Dishes clamored off the shelves in the main kitchen. A pair of knights were thrown to the ground from the stairs leading up to the armory, where metal clanged and banged and rattled. A young prince was roughly shaken from his slumber and cried out for his nursemaid. The chamberlain shrieked as a portrait of his king fell from the hands of the servants hanging it under his watchful eye. The dogs in the queen’s day room barked and howled. Even those in the outer courtyard beyond the gate of the main keep felt the tremors and heard the devilish echoes.

Eyes burning like black and red flames Hemphasticus sneered involuntarily. He deliberately averted his gaze from his monarch, as to look upon the king in such a manner would demand the death penalty.

“Oh my.” said the king. “Now I fear I must ask your forgiveness a second time and this time genuinely dear Hemphasticus. I only jested by telling you I jested in the first place. Recall I gave my word as your monarch about the girl. She is real. I told the truth after all, and only poked fun when I said otherwise.”

The shaking of the building and grounds stopped. The fire in the sorcerer’s eyes vanished.

For the briefest of moments the archmage considered destroying the king who sat in his state chair before him. He felt the spell start to form in his mouth but swallowed it as venom. The thought passed with the moment.

“Forgive me friend.” the king said again. “The wine has made me reckless. How awkward I now feel.”

“Think nothing of the sort your majesty.” said the sorcerer with a hoarse voice. “T’was a good jest. Truly. Very funny.” he gave a half-hearted, fake laugh to back up his last claim.

“With the Bridge in our possession,” the king picked up where they’d left off as if nothing remarkable had happened. “You can counter the magic of the shard, correct?”

“So the lore says your majesty, and the reasoning provided therein is sound. Understand however, such a test has never been put, so none can be surely sure.”

“Excellent.” the king ignored his advisor’s warning to imply success alone would be acceptable.  “A second tier will be added to our planning then. Simultaneous to our military invasion of Myrrha shall be the deployment of a party capable of retrieving the Bridge from where it lay.”

“A wise plan my king. Where is that place?”:

“The ruins of Akmeron, the citadel of shadow on the Sihragon Plateau.”