-Arcona, Formerly Lucent-

  -Maran Monolith-

  Borlor the Dixit looked out over Westerweald from the Maran castle balcony. He took in the cool, crisp air and felt the late afternoon breeze assail his twitchy nose. He had to admit, there was something to this ‘fresh air’. He could get used to it.

  Though he’d be a lot happier without the barking going on behind him.

  Cormyr was tap tapping away on the round table where the Council discussions were held, reading off reports from their outlying territories:

  “Banditry spreading in the Northern reaches,” he was saying. “The local Triant militia have the situation under control, but these extra-judicial slayings on the Archon’s roads have to stop. Yes, brigands are a good source of EXP, but we have the perception of unity to think about.”

  “They are thossse who have chossen not to join usss,” Fraxx muttered across from him, his ratman ears folded down as if to reject the voice of his fellow councilman completely. “They have made their bedsss. Let them lie in them.”

  Borlor spared a look back to the ‘situation room’ – the name he’d affectionately decided to give the interior of the previous palace throne chamber. Nowadays, the throne sat busted and empty, waiting for the day when the Archon would return to take his rightful seat there once more.

  If he ever decided to come back, that was.

  “The Lamphran Mandate dictates that we expel dissidents,” Cormyr stated. “Lord Ethan is not interested in ruling over a nation of corpses.”

  “Accidentsss are known to happen on the roadsss,” Fraxx replied, tongue flecking out mischievously.

  “You would go against the word of the Archon, Fraxx?” Cormyr blustered. Borlor had never seen such an intense Minxit in his life. “The Mandate –“

  “Is a guiding statement, not a rigid set of rules.”

  Malak – the human druid – finally spoke up from the other end of the table. Still dressed in the same grubby, leaf-covered robes of his Fifth Pillar organization, he faced Cormyr unashamedly, countering the Minxit’s fury with the calmness and serenity of an oak tree weathering the wind.

  “The Archon has reminded us of this time and time again,” he continued. “The Mandate is a powerful tool of persuasion. But the hearts and minds of living beings will not be changed overnight just because a dream says so. We must be adaptable in how we apply the teachings.”

  “Here, here!” Borlor decided to break in (much to Cormyr’s chagrin). “Ethan doesn’t want us to mindlessly obey the Mandate, lads. That goes against the spirit of the thing itself.”

  Fraxx shot him a look. It was patently obvious to everyone that the normally gruff blacksmith of Sanctum had been trying on a more regal air recently as befitted his position. But the gravel-like timbre of his voice would never go away entirely.

  “But Cormyr’s right,” he said. “We can’t just overlook bandit huntin’ on the roads. So, here’s a compromise: we offer a reward for any proven dissidents that are captured and brought before our underground courts. We’ll put them ta work in the mines – and that’ll knock some sense inta them. Our hunters get their EXP and a few spare coins. We get cheap labor. Everybody wins.”

  The Council absorbed this thought and, as so often happened when they came to an agreement, everyone simply gave a silent nod. For someone like Cormyr, that was the best you were getting.

  “Alright,” Borlor said as he came to sit among them again. “Anything else?”

  “Education centers near the Ashfalls report success,” Cormyr said, fingering another long-winded report. “Human children seem receptive to their lessons. A combination of structured play and proper instruction seems to be working to bring them into our fold. Their parents – not so much.”

  “Forget about them,” Malak said. “It is not they who shall carry the light of the future.”

  “Even so, we should increase security on the school premises,” Borlor said. “Think you can get some of the Geos down there this evening, Cormyr?”

  The Dixit noted the Minxit Councilman’s little twitch of excitement. Building defenses was where his heart truly was. And Borlor knew it.

  “I’ll head down myself after the meeting adjourns,” he said, moving swiftly along. “Next item: Shipmaster Dagna of Griffon’s Watch requests permission to ease the Eastmarch blockade. She wants to pull her ships back in case of Greycloak counterattack.”

  “Ssshe’s ssseen sssignss?”

  “Nothing concrete. But with the fall of the capital, it’s only a matter of time before the remaining forces of Caer Weiburn grow desperate enough to try their luck. A cornered mouse, and all that…”

  At Fraxx’s low growl, Cormyr snickered.

  “No offense meant, naturally.”

  “What’s the word on the grapevine?” Borlor asked Malak before those two were at each others’ throats again.

  “The Fifth Pillar Grove of Eastmarch reports the Archon’s success,” the druid replied. “Camoran is now under the command of the Archon’s compliant priest. The Council of Cardinals has been disbanded. Caer Weiburn – abandoned.”

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  They all breathed a collective sigh of relief. They’d heard whispers – Mara’s little birds had told them conflicting reports of the capital’s fall. To have it finally confirmed set their hearts at ease.

  “Then – then its Mistborne Isle next, isn’t it?”

  “Our scouts report that Lord Ethan takes the Southern winds,” Malak replied quietly. “Where he is bound, they cannot say.”

  “You’d think he’d at least give us a heads up by now…”

  Fraxx shot the Minxit a dirty look. Borlor decided to step in again.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Tell Dagna she can pull back. Whatever the Archon’s plans, he needs us ready to hold down the homefront. And can someone grab the little lass?”

  “Ssshe ssshould jussst be finissshed ssschool.”

  “I once again must protest that we allow one of our youngest citizens to participate in future conflicts. We may be doing that girl more harm than good.”

  A few murmurs went down the table. It might have been the most salient protest Cormyr had made.

  “…and yet we are still at war. And her abilities defy even our most experienced Magi.”

  Malak said this in a hushed tone, keeping his eyes off Cormyr as the Minxit stared daggers at him.

  “Is it our Magi already?”

  “Alright,” Borlor said. “Your point is made, Corm. We’ll make Revok and our cavalry the main vanguard of our defense. With any luck, the little lass could stay out of it. Even so, keep her up here where she’s safest for the time being.”

  Cormyr seemed as placated as he could be with that. So Borlor dared to ask:

  “Any further matters?”

  The Minxit shifted in his seat.

  “There is a small issue in the ruins of Caer Krea.”

  Fraxx’s ears perked up.

  “Greycloak ssstragglersss? But the Archon ssslew them all when he burned that vile place down.”

  “Not Greycloak. At least - our reports don’t suggest as much.”

  “What then?”

  “A woman.”

  The Council leaned forward, waiting for the punchline.

  “A human woman,” the Minxit finished. “A folk singer.”

  “Lovely. We should hire her to brighten this place up a bit.”

  Borlor was about ready to adjourn the meeting when Cormyr coughed and continued.

  “You’d have some trouble there. She vehemently refuses to assimilate or accept exile. She says the ruins are her home.”

  “Comfortable sssetting. A little dusssty maybe, but I’ve had worsse.”

  “She resists even against our soldiers,” Cormyr stated sharply. “And according to the Mandate, we are loathe to slay a noncombatant – even one as obstinate as her.”

  Borlor massaged his massive forehead.

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying she needs to be dealt with. We can’t have someone choosing to cling to the old ways. It might inspire more dissidents.”

  “We also can’t forcibly evict her without going against the Mandate.”

  “Could be a Greycloak sssspie in disssguise.”

  “The Greys aren’t known for their subtlety. I think she’s just an individual who doesn’t want to change her Path.”

  “Killing her would send the wrong message to the people. If word got around Westerweald that we’d slain a peaceful human singer in cold blood…”

  “Well then, she’ll just have to be convinced to leave or assimilate, won’t she?”

  “Who’ss going to do it, Cormyr? You? Have you been putting pointsss into your Persssuasssion Ssskill after all thisss time?

  While this debate was going on, one member of council had sat in quiet contemplation. Now that the conversation seemed to be devolving into an argument again, he took his chance:

  “I’ll go.”

  The eyes all turned on Malak as he spoke.

  “I will speak with her.”

  “Human to human, hmmm,” Borlor said, scratching his chin.

  “Are you sure you can keep a level-head? You won’t go turning her into another tree-person?”

  Cormyr’s comment was meant to provoke. But Malak did not take the bait.

  “I will bring her into the fold even if it takes me months,” the druid said. “This, I promise you.”

  The Councilmen didn’t quite know what prompted his sudden interest. But if they were being honest, they wouldn’t miss their human counterpart if he was gone for a while.

  Cormyr might actually crack a smile for once, Borlor thought.

  “All in favor?” he asked.

  Fraxx raised his hand. He raised his own. And then, incredibly, Cormyr slowly joined them.

  “Then we’re in agreement. Malak will see to this human in the ruins of Crea. But take a small detachment with you just in case. Meeting adjourned.”

  The Councilmen filed out of the room one by one, none of them particularly wishing to rub shoulders with the other. Borlor, meanwhile, remained in the throne room, staring up at the cracked chair that had once caressed the arse of Lysandus and his bastard cousins.

  “We could use you here with us, Ethan,” he said aloud. “Even though – yeah – you wanna see how we do on our own.”

  Archon forgive him for thinking so, but if he was being honest, he really wouldn’t mind another little war. It would be easier than politics.

  ***

  Mara ran till her throbbing head was replaced by drowsiness.

  Her feet began to twitch with the exertion. She’d pushed her body to its limits as she tried to scurry away from the site of her woe – the sight of Rory’s hand coated in blood. She couldn’t understand why she’d suddenly felt so afraid of him. She’d been more afraid of him than she’d been of anything in her entire life.

  She looked behind to make sure she hadn’t been pursued. Sure enough, all she could see were the barks of the Triant forest oaks and pines surrounding her. She wiped her wet face, pushed through a slew of bushes, and tried to at least get her bearings.

  It turned out that she’d run much farther than she’d intended. When she poked her head out of the brush and bracken, she realized that she was at the very edge of the forest. Stars dotted the skies above Westerweald, and to the right she could see the sparkling tower named after her in the capital city. She gave a wet sniff as she emerged, trying to stop herself from shaking, into the night.

  And that’s when she realized where she really was.

  She’d entered a rocky expanse that ran the very perimeter of Westerweald itself, its edges spilling into the oceans below. Before her were a collection of strange dark shapes – some rectangular, some conal, some busted beyond recognition. It was like a bunch of building blocks had been strewn across the ground, ready to be picked up and played with by a giant. As she walked, Mara felt a piece of wrought iron prick at her foot, and with a little yelp she jumped away from the object that had caused her pain – the collapsed form of a once great gate that heralded the entrance to this once revered place.

  Now, Mara was beginning to see that the large cylindrical structures throughout this place had actually once been columns keeping up the roof that now lay broken and charred across the ground. She touched them as she walked, her fear quickly being overtaken by childish curiosity. Along their faces she felt etchings, and looked to see images of blue-eyed men and woman holding longswords, each one of them staring at her like she didn’t belong here.

  She recoiled from their gazes, then heard something crunch beneath her feet. She looked down and saw a skull that she’d just stepped on from between two fallen columns.

  “Ah!”

  She fell against one cracked column, ignoring the bump in favor of staring down the eyeless remains of the dead. Even as a young Magi she knew that you could never be sure that bones wouldn’t start moving of their own accord in Argwyll.

  Her mind was beginning to put the pieces together. This was somewhere the Grey men had been before. This might have even been their home…

  She wanted to run. Yet this time, her energy failed her. She crawled away from the skull towards a large room at the center of the ruin – a big hall where the light of the rising moon shone through a series of broken rafters.

  And beneath these rafters, someone was moving.