Chapter 6: Intrigue in the Noxus Court

In his domain, Quintus settled leisurely onto a white divan, propping his head up with a cushion that lay resting against an arm. The divan was exquisite to Quintus, and with a free hand he caressed the silken red tassels hanging on the sides of the divan. His other hand was busy cupping a book’s spine.

The book was titled A History of the Noxus, white cursive letters on leather-bound covers, and in its most recent pages, they held portraits of Zane’s grandparents, great grandparents, and other such persons.

“Ah, simply divine,” Quintus mused, grabbing a fistful of the tassels. The white divan he rested upon was located at the center of his domain. Surrounded by chaotic bookshelves filled with tomes, manuscripts, sheets of texts, and various other writings, only Quintus himself could have identified the chaos of his domain.

“It seems Great Aunt Sheera has quite a history on her brief twenty-seven years of life.” Who Quintus spoke to, no one but he himself knew. Qunitus had a penchant for musing to himself. A conversation between selves, he liked to call it.

“Twenty-seven years of life! And half of them spent fornicating with her ever changing little man-whores!” Quintus laughed to himself. The book had put the information in a less impertinent way, and much more subtly. But a slut was a slut. You could hide it under subtle facades and extravagant words, but in the end, when all was said and done—it was the same inherency.

Quintus frowned. “It’s quite strange though. Her cause of death is from a Surge Fever. But how is that possible? A Surge Fever destroys the Magus Domain itself, including all its Surges. She couldn’t have become a lich then.”

Quintus hummed at that. “It seems something strange is conspiring to happen. Something foul and rancid like a lich that hasn’t bathe in years. Something deep. Much deeper than the dungeons. Perhaps in our Royal Tombs, where none except Father may enter.”

For a long time, nestled in the body of the white divan, Quintus kept on in his conversation between selves. And when all was “a-mused,” he slammed shut A History of the Noxus with a deft hand.

Humming a nursery rhyme, Quintus snapped his fingers and the book, A History of the Noxus, disappeared leaving not even a single trace behind. It simply vanished. And in his hands, a new book had appeared.

In his domain, Quintus was all powerful. He could create any books he had read and store anything he had perceived with his senses. He could not, however, destroy the knowledge. And neither was Quintus willing to even if he had the power.

To Quintus, knowledge was power. And woe betide to whoever remains in ignorance, though Quintus could forgive those who were left without any choices.

Of course, there were limits to his knowledge. Quintus could not remember every single little bits and pieces of knowledge. He could store the knowledge, but most of them took time to slowly integrate into his memories, then into Omnus’ memories. It was why he was such a profuse reader, spending his free time reading and rereading the books in his maze of libraries.

Quintus held much interest in theories regarding the soul and meditation.

Quintus knew that, to a Magus, meditation was one of the most important tools available in strengthening or replenishing the Surges. Of course, even without absorbing the Essences, the Surges can naturally recover on their own. The only drawback was that it would take more time.

The stronger the soul, the longer one could meditate. It had already been proven that each rank a Magus gains for his Surge, the Magus can meditate for a minute longer, give or take a few seconds. One had to take such things with a grain of salt, particularly because of the many bloodlines and souls which could directly affect innate talent, including meditation.

On the topic of strengthening the soul, there have been multiple theories that have come about in the past centuries. Many of them rejected and few ever having been accepted generally by the masses, scholars, and Magus.

The accepted theory proven by many Magus, scholars, and experimenters was that the older a being, the stronger and more experienced the soul becomes. The scaling of strength for each soul is naturally different, for each person has a unique soul.

Another theory was the Physique and Soul. The bigger the body, the bigger the soul. It was similar to how a bigger house could be occupied by many more people.

Plausible, Quintus supposed. There had been some effects on the soul that came with a bigger physique. In the journals Tutor Beldin had brought with him, there were actually examples of people who believed and practiced the theory.

Far to the north, more than ten kingdoms away, there were a few lands that worshipped the fattest Magus they could find. Oh, and what an intriguing life the Magus had. He or she would become royalty!

There were even a few Magus whose gargantuan bodies had to be carried around by more than ten people on the royal stretcher. Oh yes, a royal stretcher completed with a luxurious bed. In those lands, the fattest Magus won the prize. And unbelievably, the flocks of women! Or men! Quintus held doubts as to whether the Magus could even endure such strenuous…exercises. Perhaps the flocks simply danced atop the bodies of the royalties.

In his mental list, Quintus had made a goal to visit those lands. Of course, also dragging Tutor Beldin alongside him. It would be the easiest conquering of a kingdom. He need only fatten Tutor Beldin and make a show of offering him to the kingdom. Instant royalty.

A third theory was the Gods theory. Another fanatical theory such as the one made by the fat-loving cultists. In this theory, the Gods and the Three Fates gave the Magus a certain limit his or her soul could never overcome. And that the Good Gods manipulated and strengthened the soul based on good deeds, whereas the Evil Gods did so on evil deeds.

This, Quintus rejected for he didn’t believe in Gods and if so, he had never seen such divine interventions. Everything and everyone could be destroyed. Nothing could survive time’s Executioner’s axe. Sure, there were the Fae Realm, the Netherals, the Elemental Realm, and the Invitum Realm of the Summoners, but they weren’t immortal—Quintus was certain of that. Neither had he seen or heard of any Gods or Goddesses living inside those realms.

There were other theories that revolved around destinies, fate, beliefs, emotions, and other such and such. They all held possibilities.

“Sextus should be almost over with his meditation,” Quintus said, making to move toward the center of the Magus Domain. He stood up and started stretching, giving out a big yawn. Then he made his way across.

A few minutes of walking through the swirls and turns of the bookcases, of which many of its shelves lay empty, Quintus arrived at the edge of his domain. Or rather, the edge of all five lands in the Magus domain. This was where the five Surges lay in each of their own circles. All of them were revolving slowly, a sign that they were opened. As for the Foci that orbited around the Surges, they were being filled with Essences.

When a Foci was filled to the brim with less effective Neutral Essences or the Essences its Surge specify for, a Magus can then create a new Foci. When there are ten Foci, the Surge can devour the ten Foci, increasing in size and Rank.

Fire, Water, Light, Nature, Earth, Wind, Blood, Darkness, Life, Neutral, and Death. These were the most common Essences in the Essence Realm.

Dream and Illusion. Lightning. Void. Music. These were some of the rarer Essences.

On the other hand, Surges and affinities brought entirely new aspects and conditions to a Magus. Even if Death Essences were common—there were plenty of wars and graveyards to go around in HavenFall—Magus that could use Death Essences were rare and few in between.

Quintus found the Magus who had Life and Nature Surges quite amusing. They went around calling themselves Druids. And for the “Musically inclined,” they called themselves Balladists. There were many other such distinctions, but in the end, they were all Magus.

In HavenFall, the Magus certainly far outnumbered those who could use a form of magic without Surges. And although these empaths, shapeshifters, and other such creatures were rare, a Magus could defeat them given time and skill.

Quintus went to sit down in a lotus position at one of the circles.

Making sure he was comfortable in his lotus position, Quintus closed his eyes, willing himself into a dimly lit black space where he found himself on a marbled white floor. In that black space, Secondus, Tertius, and Quartus stood with their eyes closed. Following their examples, Quintus closed his eyes, seeing the outside world through Zane’s eyes.

Sextus was currently controlling Zane at the moment by his lone self. He had all five of the Surges opened and was meditating in a pool of blood knee-deep.

A few minutes passed by quietly and when the meditation was over, Quintus exited the black space which Omnus called the “Outer Domain.” There were four domains Omnus could travel around. Outer, Inner, Magus, and Chaotic Domains. And it was in the Chaotic Domain that Omnus had sealed Primus and Septimus in the Orbicular Room.

“Welcome back, Sextus,” Quintus said with a lazy smile.

Sextus nodded. “I am back, Omnus.”

“How was it?” Secondus asked.

Sextus shook his head. “Still the same.”

“I figured so,” Quintus said. “Judging from our observations and at the pace and limits we can meditate, it looks as if we can only fill one Foci a month for our Noxus Surge. It is also taking us two months to fill one Foci for our other Surges.” A hand ruffled at his hair. “Simple calculations tell us that we will be disadvantaged personally as a Magus when the invasion begins.”

Quartus folded his arms, tapping a foot repeatedly against the ground. He looked impatient. “That means that we will only be a Fourth Rank Magus of the Fourth Foci on our sixteenth nameday.”

“That is, if we are lucky,” Tertius continued, practicing a smile on his face. “Progress is difficult. More so the further you tread the paths. Thankfully, we have the talent to catch up to Father. We are five times stronger than the average Magus with a lesser bloodline. We can meditate five times longer than a Magus with only one Surge. Our meditation limit is close to fifteen minutes.”

Quartus snorted a laughter. “Catch up to Father at this pace? Why not just wait until Father is old and grey then? Let Death in his bony arms carry him off to the Netherals. Like a princess being carried by her knight.”

Quintus chuckled at that. “Your humor impresses me more and more each day, Quartus. I doubt Father will let himself be carried off by Death so easily. Most likely, he will become a lich. Then we will have to wait more than a century for his soul to disperse.”

“So it will become a matter of who outlives who? Who will rot first to their deaths? Undoubtedly,” Secondus said, “we will win that game. I am determined to survive until the bitter end, my soul clinging on every precious second.”

“Now, now, Brother Quintus. No need to assert your determination with us,” Quintus said. “The Three Fates alone probably has weaved a black thread for you in their tapestries.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Quintus grinned. “Black is a colour that is quite difficult to stain with dirt, burdens, troubles, and such and such, you know?” He twirled a strand of silvery white hair around a finger. “Unlike our features which are oh so easily stained.”

“Enough talk,” Tertius interrupted. “I do not fancy our body standing knee-deep in a pool of blood down in the crypts. Since we have finished our meditation, we should leave. We will let Sextus rest for a while. Quintus and I shall be in control.” He gave a little look toward Quintus. “I do not fancy trusting Quintus in sole control of our body. Knowing his peculiarities, he will most likely run around bloodily naked without a bath first. And the stink of the crypts on him.”

“You harm me so, Tertius.” Quintus eyes then turned sharp, his voice becoming unusually serious. “Omnus, have you noticed? We seem to be rubbing off on each other. Our personalities that is.” He grinned. “Not that I don’t mind rubbing each other. We are one and the same after all.”

“Indeed. We all have noticed little changes among ourselves. Perhaps we are getting closer and closer to our full integration. And perhaps in a few more years or so, we can attempt a four-bodies merging.” Tertius frowned then. “Still. Your crude humor leaves much wanting, Quintus. I can’t believe you would even jape about us playing catch the rabbit.”

“Very well, Omnus.” Quintus raised his brows. “Still? Your euphemism—playing catch the rabbit?”

Zane’s eyes opened, catching the sights inside the underground crypts of Castle Noxus. But the smell came first before the sight. The smell of the dead, of corpses who knew not to take away their pungent smells even though they had long died.

Stepping out of the pool of blood, Zane released a small sigh. Meditation always left him exhausted physically and mentally. Opening his Surges and his True Sight were an arduous process. The True Sight allowed Zane to see the Essence Realm situated on top of this normal sight. It was a realm of various blinding colors of Essences.

Each place, depending on the makeup of the world would have a different assortment of Essences. To the True Sight, the Essences were little glowing globes the size of a fingernail floating and hovering around the makeup of the world.

And if a Magus opened his True Sight to them longer than he could withstand, his eyes would become blinded and insanity could capture his mind. His Surges along with the Foci could also implode from the feedback if they were opened too long to the Essence Realm.

Only after the Essences are absorbed into the Surges would they become safe to look at and to be used.

Most of Castle Noxus had been built underground solely for the reason of obtaining a copious amount of Darkness Essences. The catacombs, crypts, tombs, and dead bodies buried in the underground were to gather Death Essences for its many necromancers.

In that darkness, Zane steadily groped his way out of the training rooms of the crypts which were only lit by the infrequent torches embedded in the walls. Even having frequented this layer of the crypts, Zane often became lost in its many turns on his way back.

When he finally arrived at the first floor of the castle, Zane figured he must have wasted more than half an hour escaping from the crypts. As soon as he took to a corridor, Zane could see servants, maids, and many others rushing about.

The four Great Houses always arrived with the flair and always four days before court would convene. Their timing was impeccable as was expected of the four Great Houses.

House Obscus of which the new queen previously belonged to. She was a Noxus now though. House Kolvar. House Sontarus. And House Malarion. Each head of the four great Houses arrived with their families in tow along with more than a hundred retainers, which only added to the scrambling chaos of Castle Noxus.

Zane escaped their paths, taking to the secret corridors of the castles, its dark, desolated paths, its twists and turns that could befuddle even a bloodhound’s sense of direction. Zane didn’t want to meet the nobles that were arriving, especially when he wasn’t in his court clothes. Rumors would reach his Father’s ears of the Prince walking around the castle with cobwebs, dust, and blood in his hair.

Luckily, the servants of Castle Noxus were tight-lipped. It made sense too. Zane wouldn’t have envied the ones who would arouse his father’s freezing wrath. Having climbed all the way to the fourth floor, Zane arrived at his bedchambers in the southern wing. He entered the doors where a few maids and servants were already waiting by.

“Prince Zane,” they said respectfully, their heads lowered into a half bow.

They were all experienced servants and maids. King Balan wouldn’t have accepted anything less serving the Noxus royalty. As soon as Zane neared his bedchambers, the doors were opened all quick and smooth.

Royalty at its best. Zane didn’t even need to open doors with his own hands.

The bedchambers were extravagant, the bed enough to fit a family of seven, including their cousins. Zane twisted a smile at that. Well, the bed was useful for one thing at the very least. Lina had plenty of space to sleep away from him.

Traditions, traditions, traditions. The Noxus family and all the necromancers of the great Houses slept with their liches. And if Zane ever wanted an orgy with a few dead things, a few liches, including his Great Aunt, the bed would certainly come in handy.

Zane sniffed in distaste at the sight as he caught his reflection in the high-back wall mirror. In his short breeches and a simple white shirt, Zane could see the cobwebs, dust, and blood—all of which felt like tiny spiders crawling over his body.

Noxus royalty at its best indeed. Zane didn’t look anything like the Crown Prince of a kingdom of more than two million people. The only recognizable feature would perhaps be his silvery white hair, proof of his heritage.

He needed a bath.

A knocking from the door of his room. Just in time like usual, Zane thought. “Permission to come in, Prince Zane?” came the muffled voice.

“Granted,” Zane said. The door opened to reveal a few servants and maids carrying a large tub filled with hot water. Quickly and efficiently, they set it down in the middle of his bedchambers, on top of its marbled floor.

Stripping off his white shirt and his short breeches, Zane entered the bath without a care about being seen naked by the servants. He leaned against the tub which was big enough to stretch his legs out entirely. It was big enough to act even as his coffin.

One of the Noxus’ axioms.

Who gives a Netheral about being naked? Especially in front of nameless servants?

And Zane didn’t have the grace to be embarrassed about his nudity. It was the least of his problems after he had screwed a lich, killed his mother, and killed his sister. His childhood was anything but a castle-load of fun.

Zane heard and felt the rustling as strands of his hair were smoothed out with the fine bristles of an oaken brush by a young maid.

Four days left till the Noxus Court would convene, Zane thought, silently wondering to himself at what would occur. Would Father explain of his invasion?

Zane could only wait and see.

=======

“The Duke Cyrius Obscus!” the herald’s voice shouted out, practiced and almost expansive as the Throne-Room.

Sitting on the Crown Prince’s chair, Zane watched as Duke Cyirus Obscus entered through the great oaken double doors. A tall man with broad shoulders, and the father of Queen Edea Obscus. He walked with an air of arrogance that could only belong to a noble of one of the four great Houses, and as the father of the current queen, he took his position closest to the right side of the dais.

Beautifully carved high-back chairs of polished midnight wood lined the sides of the five hundred feet of carpet. They were like a small army unto itself. But Duke Obscus remained standing. It would be a great slight if he sat down before the whole court convened. It would be akin to the duke spitting on the faces of every nobles.

Zane glanced around the dais. To the other side of the throne Father sat upon was the consort chair belonging to Queen Edea Obscus. It was to the left of Father, Zane noticed. It was an important distinction. If the Crown Prince’s chair had been placed to the left, it would be slighting his image. The right hand side of the throne was always the most important.

It was time to play the game as the herald continued his announcements. For more than half an hour, the game of importance was played out in the Throne-Room as the herald announced the names of the nobles from most important to least important.

When the game had been fully played out, and all the nobles lined up, King Gladius Balan Noxus stood up. At the same time the king did, Zane and Queen Edea Obscus stood up.

“The Court of King Balan Noxus convenes!” the herald called out.

With a cold elegance, King Balan sat back down with his consort and Zane following alongside. When the king fully sat down, all the nobles likewise did.

Formalities. Formalities. Zane thought to himself. It ate away at precious time which could be used to spend on necessities.

After the game of importance, next came the game of propriety, an age old game of nobility. Mocking laughter hidden behind silks, buttered knife-edge comments, honeyed barbs, caresses to the face, slaps to the face, who fucked who, who traded with who, who bastarded a son or a daughter, and buying and selling.

Servants and maids brought in trays of bite-sized delicacies along with drinks. And the nobles took them without a word of thanks.

King Balan always gave a good measure of time to ensure the game of propriety was properly played, a twist of his smile, his cold eyes watching over his subjects like a hawk.

“Say, my son,” King Balan said. “Do you know how a king breaks the news of an impending war to his subjects?”

“Does that question even have an answer, Father?” Zane asked. One king was different from another. There were no two similar kings, each ruled differently.

“You are right. There is no answer.” The usual twisted curl of his smile.

The minutes dragged on as the game was played out. Finally, Father gestured toward a servant kneeling nearby. Eyes lowered, back hunched, the servant handed King Balan a small orb, a translucent white. It was an orb with the properties of communication enhancement. It would carry a voice further and faster through the wind. Enough to carry a voice throughout the Throne-Room.

A cough from Father into the orb. The cough resounded the entirety of the room, piercing even higher than the music from the bards playing in the corners of the room. Every noble, regardless of what they were in the middle of saying to each other, froze at that.

Every single conversation stopped, the final words spoken hanging in the air for but a brief second before disappearing. Even the musicians and bards stopped playing their instruments. The nobles, quickly and silently like a mouse trying to avoid a cat, slinked back into their chairs.

And Father’s advisors, all of whom had been patiently waiting for the end of the game, went to stand at the sides of the dais. They were to be called upon when Father wished so. To the side of the advisors, there were six black-robed figures with hoods covering the entirety of their faces.

The sight of the black-robed figures with their hoods down had received many curious glances from the nobles. Who would hide their faces before the king? But the nobles didn’t say anything, for King Balan had chosen not to explain.

And at that moment, Zane knew that if he had dropped a gold coin, he could have heard it ring out in the silence of the Throne-Room.

“It has been a long time coming,” King Balan started, breaking the silence. There were already looks of confusions dotting the sea of faces. Father had betrayed his usual greeting, beginning his speech with something different.

The king stood up from his throne, walking with orb in one hand to the end of the dais. “A new beginning will soon dawn.” He stepped down from the dais. More looks of confusion cut across the sea of faces. An unprecedented situation. King Balan had never stepped off from the dais in the middle of his speech in all the courts he had held.

He moved toward Duke Kolvar and Duke Sontarus, one hand resting against each of their shoulders. They shifted around nervously in their chairs. It was never a good thing when a king visited, more so for King Balan. “Your Grace?” Duke Kolvar questioned.

At that sight, suddenly, a realization entered Zane’s mind. Impossible? Was Father insane?

And he was.

King Balan opened free his Surges and dozens of small Devouring Tendrils wrapped around the two Dukes from head to toe, squirming like tiny snakes. And enshrouding the slate black Devouring Tendrils were a fine layer of black mist swarming like a hive of locusts.

A frozen moment before the screaming began. The two Dukes screamed out as the Devouring Tendrils dug into their flesh, worming its way through their veins. The Devouring Tendrils swam in the lifeblood of their veins, making their way through to their hearts, to their skulls.

As soon as the screaming of the two Dukes began, they stopped after the single second it took for the Devouring Tendrils to reach their hearts and skulls. Black flames of snakes exploded outward from their eyes, crawling out from their nostrils, from their gaping mouths, and from their ears.

A fine mist of blood exploded outward, spraying onto King Balan’s pale white face. The two Dukes had imploded from the Devouring Tendrils as they made their way out of their bodies. Chunks of flesh flung far and wide, reaching even the nobles seated ten chairs away who scrambled to get away from the rain of bloody meat.

One woman was knocked aside and she went down screaming, her face bashing against one of the chairs, then bashing against the floor again, spitting teeth and spilling the black pearls of her bracelet.

“I have never liked incompetent fools. More so fools who allowed spies to enter their Houses,” King Balan said, calmly wiping his face with the sleeves of his black robe. It only made it worse. His face was now painted a light red. He adjusted his crown, leisurely walking up onto the dais before sitting back down onto his throne. “You look beautiful today, my Queen.” He patted her hand that clenched at the arm of the consort chair, so hard that the whites of her knuckles showed.

“Th-thank you, lord husband,” Queen Edea stuttered. Her face was one that looked as if she had been slapped out of a daze.

The whole Throne-Room was silent. Not one of the nobles dared to speak out first, dared to protest against such a public execution. Most of them had paled at that execution. It was the heads of two of the four Great Houses that had been killed.

More so, they had been executed by the Devouring Tendrils. The name was not given lightly, for the magic destroyed the very souls of the victims.

“As of today, an all-out hostility shall be issued against Ascal Kingdom. For far too long has that sham of a stalemate existed. We will take back what was once rightfully ours, what was once ours before we were pushed back to these lands. It is time we put the fear and send their souls wailing to the Netherals.”

“Your Grace, are you sure this is a wise decision?” Duke Malarion protested. “What of Favron Kingdom that borders our north. Even with the Drall Mountains there, they will attack us if we are busy with Ascal Kingdom.”

“Do not presume to lecture me on wisdom, Duke Malarion,” King Balan said. “Neither should you presume to lecture me on the lands of my kingdom.”

Zane saw a nervous tic flash across the duke’s face. Father was ruthless as ever and in his growing age, he only became more so. Was this what he meant by breaking the news? If so, Zane doubted the wisdom of the method. The execution of the two Dukes would not be passed by without its fair share of troubles.

For now, Father had only stemmed the troubles with a show of force. When the court would be dismissed and the nobles had time to regain their heads, there would be more outcries and protests. And by then, not even the oaths of loyalty sworn by the very first of the Houses can stop them.

“Are you confident that we can win, my king?” a Baron asked. Zane could tell his rank from the arrangement of the seats.

King Balan smiled, twisted as a hook. He really needed to learn to smile, Zane thought. The smile was too feigned.

“Surely you know I am not a man prone to give in to whims or flimsy emotions, Baron Lamaros. There is a reason why I have started this war. I am now a Second Foci Magus of the Tenth Rank.”

Zane noticed a widening of their eyes at that. A Magus of the Tenth Rank. That was a realm which the average Magus could only dream of. But Zane knew that his Father was lying. He was probably of an even higher Foci or perhaps even rank.

Do not trust anyone’s words. Not even your own Father. It was a lesson that had been taught well and true to Zane.

King gestured a hand toward the six black-robed figures. They sauntered forward, each step of their gait leaving a lingering mist of darkness that floated lazily across the dais. “Reveal yourselves.”

And they did. And it was to the surprise of all the nobles. Six liches. All of them sporting silvery white hair. All of them Magus. All of them of the Noxus royalty. The implications were not lost.

“The previous king and queen!” a voice hissed out in sharp surprise. “They have been turned into liches? Why would they agree to such an act? Once a lich, a soul may never be able to enter the Netherals.”

“Fool. Lower your voice!”

Zane could hear the furious whispering that had started as small campfires and had grown into a raging wildfire in a matter of seconds.

“You see, Zane,” King Balan slowly said, “to break the news of war to your subjects, one must make sure there will be no dissent or spies in our midst. As such, the previous kings and queens themselves will conduct a mind search.” His eyes revolved around the room, meeting a few stares here and there. “We will truly test where your allegiance lay, each and every one of you.”

He threw the communication orb against the dais, shattering it into dozens of fine pieces. And as if a signal had been lit, through the great double doors of the Throne-Room, the royal Magus guards came rushing in. Five men by five men by five men, until a hundred of them filled the Throne-Room, auras surroundings their whole bodies plated by black armor, the Noxus insignia blazing at the chests.

Zane watched as a few nobles closest to the double doors open their Surges as they attempted to flee. Smoldering crackles filled the air as the lashes of flames, each of them more than ten feet in length, shot toward the closest royal guards.

Blades of fire and water cut into the backs of servants who had been unlucky enough to be caught in the middle of the Magus fight. More and more surges were opened as the many Magus of the Throne-Room lashed out to protect themselves.

Earthen spears, ice spikes, fireballs, wind blades, and other various spells were thrown out. A conflagration of magic had been ignited. The various elements danced, each to their own tunes. Shouts, screams, and cries only added to the chaos of the room.

None of the magic or the fighting, however, even came close to the dais. All six of Noxus liches were blocking off any attacks.

Out of all the hundreds of Magus in the Throne-Room, Duke Malarion and Duke Obscus had been the quickest to act. They protected themselves in fiery shields which harmed all others except themselves.

“What is the meaning of this, King Balan?” Duke Malarion roared out.

“A simple cleansing of spies and low blood, Duke Malarion. Not to worry, Duke Obscus agrees with me. It is time for the Houses to grow spines instead of girths. The heads of House Kolvar and House Sontarus have been also been replaced by the two of you. There is only two Great Houses in the kingdom now.”

The duke blinked once, twice, then licked his lips. “What is to say that I will not be killed?”

“Nothing, and for what is it worth, you have only my word, Duke Malarion.” The smile that could have given lessons to a weasel.

Zane almost burst into laughter. His Father’s words were worth nothing, even if they were a king’s words.

“What choice do I have anyway?” Duke Malarion asked. “I am oath-bound by blood magic.” And in the midst of the din of the explosions of magic, Duke Malarion went down on his knee. “Very well. Come whatever the troubles, I shall serve you to my fullest capacity.”

“So Zane. What lesson have you learned from this?”

That you are far more ruthless than I took you for. Zane held back those words though. “That there are spies thick in the kingdom,” he said.

“Before you can cleanse another kingdom. You must first cleanse your own,” King Balan said. “By now, I suspect most of the spies have been killed by the pawns I have put in place nearby. And the few spies that will escape can serve as a suitable warning to both the Ascallion King and the Favron King.”

The fighting had grown quiet now and a calmness had returned to the bloodstained Throne-Room. Commander Thorion Solus marched toward the dais, going down on a knee, his greatsword set point to the black carpet. “The Darkbloods are ready, Your Grace. The others…the more unruly ones, however, require your attention.”

“Two years, Zane. That is how much time you have before you will lead the vanguard army to invade Ascal Kingdom. Make sure you put them to good use. Learn as much as you can from Uncle Beldin. You would not want me to find you lacking now, son, would you?”

“Of course not, Father. I shall do my best,” Zane said, dipping his head just slightly in a respectful notion. There was no real sincerity behind it though.

“I will have a present waiting for you on your coming-of-age. Look forward to it.”

“Of course, Father. I hold no doubts in my mind that your presents are always…exciting, shall we say.”