The young messenger from the duchess stayed with me at the tower for two days, waiting for me to pen my response to the duchess-turned-queen. An amenable lad, though he had a penchant for going to the additional cell I created for the King’s messenger and taunting him. Apparently, they’d all waited beneath the plateau for three contentious days, and he’d had to take grave insults from the man and the four knights over the wait.

I would have put a stop to the needling in other circumstances. Yet, the fact that the King’s messenger had bet his life’s savings hiring the four knights to kill me did a lot to smother any mercy I might have felt. That he bragged about it while waiting alongside the Queen's messenger, taunting him the whole while didn't garner any sympathy either. I was tempted to slay him as well, but I withheld that decision because I was still considering sending a response to the king.

Jax had arrived last evening riding atop a fourth-tier wyvern, an event that startled the locals and my guards—all of whom reacted as though he were the frontrunner of a beast wave. The beast was an enormous green thing of such a grotesque appearance that I had difficulty not frowning when I looked upon it.

That Jax requested permission to build an aviary in the side of the plateau, a request that came from the Wyvern Lord himself, made me shudder. I politely declined. Seeing one up close was more than enough, I felt no need to see such things every day. I did hint that after his new task of raising as many Mirktallean towns and villages as he could, that he could then go on to raise a plateau for them as well. Jax only stayed one night for rest and then half the next morning so that he could transcribe the requirements of his new class [Beast Magus] for my library.

Duchess Eiston’s missive was a long, convoluted mess of historical references, treaties, pacts, and overly pretentious poetic ramblings that I spent nearly two hours trying to parse. In summary, King Sena demanded she execute me, and she refused. She then declared the Duchy of Eiston separate from the Kingdom of Sena and formed the Eistoni Monarchy. She used her new title to appoint me a Count and overseer of all magic within the Kingdom—a title and authority I wish she had inquired with me about before granting. She mentioned that the whole of Eistoni, with the exception of the Barony of Broole, was united behind her ascension to Queen. King Sena had not responded well to the news, and a declaration of war was issued.

I was as equally uninterested in the ongoing politics as I was annoyed at the new title. I had no wish for further responsibilities beyond those I chose to take for myself, least of all taking part in any rebellion. It took my two days to formulate as tactful a response as I could, an equally flowery message that could be summarized as stating I would be pursuing magical endeavors of the highest calling and that I wished her whatever fate would provide.

So, it was to my surprise, that I saw another messenger arrive as the first departed, this one carrying simple news: King Sena was dead. He had thrown himself off a balcony, and his son would be crowned in the coming weeks. This new messenger had been received at the bottom of the plateau where Pyl stood by, dutifully opening and closing the entrance as needed. An older, wiry man this time, who held a mean smile as he shared the news aloud for all to hear as if it were the duchess’s victory. I simply thanked him for the news and bid him return – there was no sense in postponing my plans any longer.

What had been a warm afternoon quickly changed to storm clouds as I traveled eastward. The dark clouds provided a thick cover of darkness, and the heavy rainfall dampened my mood even if the rain didn’t pass through my wards. The pants I had chosen for this travel stretched uncomfortably around my legs, even though they had been a looser fit when I tried them on. The fabric was rougher as well, and I could only sigh as I realized that it wasn’t any of the other things that had held back my plans of travel. It was my aversion to pants.

I quickly made my way through the central part of the kingdom, stopping only briefly to raise a monastery or a hidden village I had missed during previous trips—though I circled around Sena City from a good distance. I didn’t know the temperament of the King’s heir, and the fear of ancient artifacts taken from vaults still had me wary. I was more than certain the kingdom’s vaults had weapons from previous wars, especially now that I had seen the powers held within the Tervan jungles. If they didn’t, then the country would never have survived.

It was half a day after I passed the capital when I first heard the sounds, a rattling of chains from the north that pierced the winds to crawl around in my head. I sensed holy magics in play, a sensation I was more familiar with now that I had seen the Tervan snake-god up close. I could also feel a shift in the air, that followed behind the echoing sounds. For a moment I felt that shackles and direction from another would provide me a sense of safety from the threats of the world, but my wards against mind magic flickered to life, and it was gone just as quickly. I paused in my flight to choke back the urge to vomit, as such insidious magics would no doubt enrapture weaker minds.

I turned my gaze northward trying to pinpoint the source as I wondered—did Mena and Meathead fail? They had been granted a quest to stop the Mirktals from summoning their chained god. This power I felt… was it the god announcing its presence or coming into the world? What if they were dead? I had already lost Loralie recently. I found that I couldn’t help but worry, and closed my eyes to focus on a small scrying spell I’d secreted among Mena and Tond’s equipment back when I wanted to ensure they wouldn’t return to banditry.

In my mind, I saw the five—no it was more now. Tond was laying atop the curving spiral of a Mirtallean building looking into the distance. Mena crouched next to where Meathead sat, speaking hushed tones. I couldn’t make out the words on her lips and my spell only showed me the sights. Behind them, I saw a cloaked form with the robes belonging to a Sister of Elora peeking out from underneath. Leslie was facing a new addition to their group: the fire mage Diedre. That woman had scampered off after the battle of the four—after the battle of Goldcastle without even the courtesy to say farewell.

Yet, the group didn’t seem in any danger, and I could only hope they would return alive to tell me their quest failed. I wouldn’t pit myself against the Tervan’s snake god, even if there were five of me. I certainly didn’t expect them to beat the Mirktallean god. Good luck, I wished them as I opened my eyes again.

I rested for an hour in the air afterward. I don’t normally use scrying spells. Not only is it not a spellform I enjoy constructing, but I find myself opposed to the idea of others looking in on me. What if I were using the chamberpot? No. That wouldn’t be pleasant for either one of us. I preferred not to use that kind of spell at all when I could. It was the antithesis of maintaining a reserved decorum. I would keep my privacy and so should others keep theirs.

With a nod that confirmed a new promise to myself that I wouldn’t look in on them again, I continued westward into Laxtoni and the settlements on the plains and shores of the duchy. The storm had only grown more powerful, and I could see rising funnels of water off the coastline in the distance. I had already raised most of the south of the duchy in my last travel, but I could only stay and wait out the storm—who knew if the great winds that my wards protected me from would blow a village right off a plateau?

I was slowly flying about, searching out the villages and towns I planned to raise as soon as the storm abated when, movement in the distant waters caught my attention. It was hard to see in the rain, but I could make out the enormous form of a Hydra Broodmother fighting against some monstrous sea beast. Something with a toothy maw bigger than I had ever seen. I quickly retreated back westward and away from the coast. The rocky beaches and mangroves giving way to fields of grass and bush and crevasses that—crevasses that weren’t there my last flight this way. Crevasses that looked to be formed as hydra were digging themselves up out of the earth.

I couldn’t see many, two or three at most, but now that I did see I couldn’t help but be horrified as I grasped what it meant. I launched a few lightning bolts, magic that wouldn’t be seen in the storm, and killed the hydra I could see. Yet, it meant little as more came squirming from the wet ground. This—this was not good. With a new anxious pressure on myself I turned my back from the horrors below and traveled as quickly as I could from village to village and town to town, raising plateaus even as I emptied myself of mana. I had long since disciplined myself to never use more than half if I could help it, but that discipline was gone here.

Mana fled my body like never before, and I stopped at each place only long enough to cast the spell, tie it off, and move on. I ignored the confused screams and cries of the people in those places as I went. They may never thank me for saving them, in fact they may curse me if the storm blows away their homes, but I didn’t care. Even if it wasn’t my decision to make, I thought it was better for them to die crushed in their own home than to feed the Pestilence and let it grow stronger.

The final town on my journey north was Laxtoni Bay, a city that was more harbor than buildings. The largest city in the duchy, or it was before Mirktal sacked it. I could see the damage from here, the town mostly empty. Even now, in the midst of a storm, the Mirktalleans were leading townsfolk northwest in long caravans of caged wagons. An entire city enslaved, it seemed. I flew there above them all unnoticed as I considered what I should do and let my mana come back. The wind wailed around me, and in the far distance, monsters clashed.