Erron and Melle had not quite known what to expect upon entering Nase, the capital of Seyona. Granted, the approach to the city was a long slow descent from a hilltop, straight as an arrow, and so they had seen the city for a while now. The posted guards were obvious, and it was clear from how many were mustered in odd places that they were not merely normal guards.

Indeed, they could tell from a thousand yards away that a contingent of the King’s Own was waiting for them. They were not really arranged for war, nor even for peacekeeping; many were dismounted from their horses, and some were clearly idle, practicing with weapons and magic, or talking in groups of two to five. But, as they approached, the King’s Own slowly stopped simply waiting and started waiting for them. Mounted, armed, and on horseback.

Erron whistled as they approached. “Look at that. No signal, no magic that I can see, but they all move like it was planned. They knew when we’d be here, an’ were told just how to intimidate us.”

Melle didn’t comment. After a moment of reflection, she realized that the fact that she was intimidated was clear, and probably enough of an answer to his comment.

“Wish we were that well organized. I hope you know, better’n me, what we’re doing here.”

“I do.” Melle, with her limited knowledge of mind magic, made a strenuous effort not to surface any thoughts about exactly what this trip was about. He would find out anyway, soon enough.

“Aye, well, I’ll protect you, best I can anyhow. So long as they don’t actually use those blades on us, we’ll be fine.”

Melle answered Erron’s nervous grin with her own false smile, and waited impatiently for the carriage to approach the King’s guardsmen. As she did, she ran through the script in her mind, over and over. When Erron finally pulled the carriage to a stop, everyone waited. The guards, apparently, also had a script, and were content to let her make the first move.

“We are here today to represent the Yunian Order, and seek immediate conference with His Majesty, King Horace sa Seyona.” She paused. Under other circumstances, she would introduce the two of them, but the guards didn’t need to know their names. If they asked, it might even be considered an offense against the Order.

But the Captain--Commander, perhaps, from the color of his emblems--of the King’s Own simply nodded and gestured, and a path opened through the body of guards. Two, those closest to the capital, rode off to secure an open path. As Erron let the carriage continue on, half the guards went before, and half behind.

Again, all without verbal order or apparent use of magic. Erron seemed impressed, but Melle could only feel smaller and smaller. Given all the preparation that had been done, if they both dropped mysteriously dead between any two given breaths, it would hardly surprise her.

The castle of Nase was second in height only to the Great Earth Temple, where the Order had its base. However, where the Temple was a solemn obelisk of tan stone reaching into the sky, the castle was a fort, with an outer wall, an inner keep, and numerous stone turrets, each high enough to see from well beyond the valley.

In her mind, Melle compared it more to the mountaintop palace of Cino. But where Cino was built upwards to symbolize their connection with the sky, this keep was a symbol of domination and mastery of the various magics. Around the keep, orbs were suspended from metal shafts that reached from the keep all the way out to the wall’s outer turrets; the position and color of the orbs conformed to the standard model of the Elements, making them effectively a massive art piece that any trained mage would recognize. Neither were these orbs mere decoration; powerful magics were stored in them, magics that both served specific purposes for the capital city, and which also insulated the inner chamber from outside magic.

A necessary precaution, since the magic was very thick here. The look on Erron’s face said he was coming to seriously regret being sent on this mission, and he repeatedly shifted his obese body back and forth in the seat, unable to sit still.

A glance around her told Melle that the locals had adapted. She didn’t quite have--or need--enough of a Void sense to tell a person’s internal energy balance, but it was clear that the people out and about either were strong mages in their own right, or had simply absorbed a great amount of energy by being this close to the keep. The King’s Own, she could sense clearly, were all mages of one type or another.

And probably martial artists, which was a danger neither of them could do the slightest thing about.

When they reached the outer wall for the castle, the oppressive feel of magic energy lessened by quite a bit, and as they entered the enormous courtyard that it contained, they started to feel comfortable for the first time since they had entered the valley. Even Erron gave Melle a smile when she cast a look his direction, as if to say Yes, I’m better. That told her that there was some kind of massive barrier that held energy out, and that it wasn’t a matter of illusion or tricks that lessened the sense of oppression. Nevertheless, the faces of the servants, as they moved around the courtyard, seemed strained.

The majority of the King’s Own immediately marched their horses off to the stable immediately upon arrival, while the rest took up positions at the castle gate. Only the Commander of the King’s Own dismounted, and crossing his arms behind him, addressed them for the first time.

“You may leave your carriage here, for the moment. The King will be ready to see you shortly. We will move to…” he glanced at Erron and his enormous gut, “...the lower audience hall, where you may address him.

“Your concern is appreciated,” admitted Erron with a dark chuckle. “Though, if need be, I am prepared to climb up to whatever floor the King wishes to meet me on.” Nevertheless, a bit of sweat appeared on his brow just from the effort of dismounting, and he wiped it away nervously.

“Of course. Follow me, please.” The commander waited only a moment for Melle to dismount, then strode in through the wide double doors of the keep, which were kept open just a crack to allow people in and out. If fully opened, at least four carriages like theirs could have been laid end to end in the doorway, let alone ride abreast.

Melle didn’t need to wonder what the large door was for, however. A large apparatus faced the entrance, but not one that radiated magical power. If power had been put into it, she suspected, a large beam of destructive energy would have shot forth, straight through the door, out the front gate, and maybe all the way through the city.

Belatedly, Melle realized the road leading into the city had indeed been straight as an arrow, and as wide as the gates to the castle. The thoroughfare had a number of stalls along the sides, and the presence of the guards had distracted her from thinking about the road. Here, at the very threshold of the doorway, she could look back and see just how straight it truly was. If an army had marched straight down that road, one strike from this magical weapon might have ended them all.

Maybe that had already happened. Melle’s specialty was definitely not history.

The commander cleared his throat gently, and they began to ascend a long but gentle ramp. It was circular and wide, with the center open to the entryway below. No more than a floor or so above, Melle felt them pass a barrier of motion magic, probably one that would catch anyone falling. A couple stories later, they passed another. And another.

Finally, a good six floors up, the commander finally turned left off the ramp, and Melle and Erron found themselves immediately before a giant door, in a narrow hallway that stretched off to the left and right, far enough that neither could make out details at the far ends. Without pausing, the Commander knocked twice on the doors, then swung them open immediately.

Before Melle or Erron could protest, they were before the King.

King Horace sa Seyona was a tall man of around fifty years, blond hair thinned by time and exposure to magic. He didn’t bother to sit up or look alert, and in fact, both Melle and Erron were somewhat shocked to discover that the lower audience hall did not end with a throne, but rather a desk. On that desk were a messy assortment of papers, a thick book, and a pair of crystals each atop a slim box laid flat.

Without looking at them, Horace gestured impatiently for them to enter, and continued writing.

As they approached, Erron grasped Melle’s hand almost immediately, and she felt his presence in her mind. There are mind mages here, of the Light element mostly. You can see them--no, don’t look--but they are by the crystals that light this room. There are slots in the wall, there. Unless you say otherwise, I will keep them out of your head, both to stop them reading you, and to stop them… affecting you.

Melle fumbled mentally trying to put together a thank you, and felt a pulse from him when he understood what she meant. Erron removed his hand, but she still felt his presence, and realized belatedly that to be actively casting in front of people who could sense what he was doing, he must be seriously concerned that they would try something.

Perhaps they had done so in the past. Again, Melle was no historian.

When they reached a respectable distance in front of the King, they stopped, waiting for him to address them. He finished his writing, inserted the paper into one of the jeweled boxes, fed just a trickle of power into the gem, then turned to address them.

“I am told my messenger met with you on the road. You know, then, that we are already prepared to move against Amon Egrethore and his people.” He straightened a bit, and looked from Erron to Melle and back again. “I appreciate that we have a reputation as being hostile people, but there’s no need for shields here. Neither, of course, will we punish you for the effort. I do confess to being a bit insulted, however.”

Erron made a swallow, but kept concentrating at his task.

“As I am sure you understand, Lord Horace, we can only do as we are bid.” Melle did her best to remain dignified, although she felt increasingly at a loss. Erron’s efforts felt more in keeping with the attitude of the King’s Own and the structure of the capital; if anything, it was Horace himself who seemed out of place.

“Of course. Well, pass on my concerns to Master Marion when you make your report, then.” He shifted his attention solely to Melle, then frowned. “You… I do recall seeing you before. An expert on the Veins and the Order’s travel network, as I recall.”

“Yes, Lord. I am Mellenia, of the Azacan wanderers. I was recognized by the Order for my… extensive efforts to catalogue the spatial nodes attached to the network.”

The chill that fell upon the room instantly was palpable, even before Horace spoke again, his voice much sharper, now.

“And what, exactly, would the Order’s expert in spatial nodes have to say? Or will you claim that you were chosen for this mission, this specific mission, for anything other than to interfere with our claim over the nodes in our territory?”

Melle felt an odd calm, which she assumed was Erron supporting her through the mental pressure of the situation. “I am under specific orders from Master Marion herself to offer the following demand: if, during the course of our investigation, it should become clear that a spatial node has been used in the commission of the crimes we are investigating, it shall be our responsibility, and our privilege, to investigate that node to the fullest extent, without interruption or guidance from the nation of Seyona.”

Melle felt, suddenly, that Erron had just successfully deflected an attack. However, she was prevented from thinking about it, as the King responded almost immediately.

“I am well aware that the Order has every right to investigate those spaces connected to their network,” said Horace, his voice very hard, “as that matter has been settled firmly by previous kings. However, if it should be or become clear that said node is not connected to the network, then the Order must, necessarily, cede that it belongs to the nation of Seyona and is not under their purview.”

Two more attacks, each coinciding with specific words in the King’s speech--Melle thought they came with the word not, underscoring his own verbal emphasis. That meant, Melle assumed, that the magic was supposed to enhance the power of the King’s decree by “pushing” or “pulling” on her emotions, to force her into an emotional state. Erron, however, was keeping her very grounded, and so she felt no inclination to yield to the veiled emotional violence of the King’s argument.

“We are not here investigating the network, King Horace sa Seyona.” Melle straightened to the best of her ability. “You were notified months ago that Melthius Cantar would be arriving to investigate high crimes suspected to have been committed by Amon Egrethore. When you permitted his presence in the nation, you accepted that the severity of these crimes warranted an investigation by the Order. Since then, Melthius was killed--an act which gives us every reason to suspect that the crimes are as bad, or worse, than we had suspected.

“Make no mistake, my Lord Horace,” Melle flinched when she realized that was an improper way to address him, but carried on quickly, “that at the end of this investigation, Order will return control over any such node to you, even if it was used in the commission of crimes, as the Order suspects. However, until that time, there is to be no effort to guide or interfere with the investigation, no matter how long the investigation is to take.”

Melle got the impression, through Erron, that a number of mind-magic “daggers” were levelled at her throat. Although she didn’t understand the thought exactly, the image was very clear: the King, or his hidden mages, was threatening to end their minds and sanity if she said the wrong thing.

But Horace simply tapped his finger on the desk a few times, in contemplation, then stood up.

“That sounds reasonable,” he said, looking tired but accepting. “I will demand that a full report be given--no, additionally, if the investigation takes longer than, say, six months, I will demand a report for every six months of the investigation. If it is found that the reports are incomplete or manipulated, we will penalize the Order accordingly. Agreed?”

Melle found herself at a loss. Nevertheless, after a moment, she could only nod. “On behalf of the Order, I accept those terms. We will report every six months until the end of the investigation, with a final report at that time.”

“Very good. You do not, of course, object to our investigators being present and overseeing your work at the Egrethore Estate?” Melle felt another spike at Erron’s shields, but she continued as if nothing had happened.

“I have every confidence,” proclaimed Melle in a voice that she hoped was full of confidence, “that Investigator Wilke d’Matria can handle any interruptions that might be caused by your oversight.” As she had hoped, Erron pushed back a bit at the room, giving her word just enough edge to have a bit of an emotional impact.

King Horace froze in place, but not because of the emotional push. “Investigator... Wilke, you say.”

“To my knowledge, he is currently at the estate, and will remain there for the duration. It is, after all, his duty.”

Horace sat still for a long moment, before plastering a pleasant look on his face. “Ah… we have no intention of causing any interruptions, of course. But we will be overseeing the investigation. I will be putting together a group ...soon.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Melle bowed slightly, to signal that she was done. “Unless there is anything else?”

“No… ah, one last thing. Master Erron, my handler wished to convey her deepest appreciation for your abilities. I do apologize, she has a tendency to be very… protective of me. I am sure you understand.” Along with the word, Melle could clearly “hear” an image of a guillotine hanging over both of their heads, an image blunted and slightly blurred by Erron.

Erron, sweating profusely, smiled at the king and bowed, but did not respond.

“Then with that, our business is concluded.” Melle bowed, and when Erron did not immediately respond, gently led him out of the room by his arm. Not until the doors closed behind them did he dare take a deep, shaky breath.