‘Smoke billowed into the sky today, inside the capital city, Citadel. Tension sparked, and it struck like lightning into a dry field, setting everything nearby aflame. Two men among the Battle Magi division of the Ascensionist Researchers fought in the streets. Their onslaught wrecked from the inner city, all the way into the industrial district, leaving the city damaged in their wake.’

‘The worst of their destruction was stopped by the Channeler’s instruments which formed forcefields to block the attacks. Yet the defence it provided could not prevent numerous casualties among the unarmed Delish civilians that were unfortunate enough to be caught among its crossfires.’

‘So far, in the Council’s view, this has been a show of wastage. It has haemorrhaged their finances as they’re losing money from the temporary halt in manufacturing from the damage wrought upon the industrial district. Repairs have begun, however, and considering how vital it is to the Delish economy, and its merchant’s wealth, they should be finished in the coming days.’

‘Still, it frustrates the Council as their already thinned financed will have to be distributed among repairing the industrial district as well as the buildings in the inner city.’ - Excerpt from a letter Toran Rhosyn sent to Lucien Blodyn informing him of the conditions of Citadel, January 1263.

———

Floral scrolls the colours of spring grew like sprawling trees across the wallpaper in Lucien’s office. There was a particular intensity about the vibrant colours that attracted the eyes of most who first entered the room over the gold leaves that encrusted the frames of the map and bill. Possibly it was due to the cream background that they were imprinted on, but that could only emphasise the colours so much.

An ash cloud was puffed into the air above them, but it slowly dissipated into the colourless air. Instead, its acrid stench remained, lingering in the noses of the two men. The one who was smoking the cigar, Gwyth, breathed it back in readily, whereas the other, Lucien, wrinkled his nose in displeasure.

Gwyth shuddered slightly as he felt the effects of the cigar setting in, his shoulders relaxing along with his scalp. There was only so much he could, and would, tolerate. Therefore, it necessary for him to pause the conversation so that he could have a smoke to offset the growing headache that had already begun to hammer his brain due to the absurd complexity of their work.

His weight slumped into the back of the chair, but he did not care. He never intended to have perfect posture, and nor did Lucien demand it of him. He wasn’t certain he would give it even if he were asked. His hand rested lazily above an ash tray, propped up, by the chair’s arm, the brief flickers of ember burning the paper and tabac.

Inversely, Lucien sat in his chair with back rigid and straight, maintaining formal posture. His arms had settled down against the chair’s arms, his fingers wrapped gently around the sides. His head was level, and neck straight, as he looked forwards ahead of himself.

Though if one looked into his eyes, they’d say two things about them. They appeared to be as deep as the oceans, and that they never seemed to be looking at any one thing. Instead, it was as if they peered into the depths of the mind.

That might be true, though Lucien never considered it as such. His eyes were fixed into empty space as he was attempting to slow his mind down for a brief moment. Rather than smoke as a relaxant, like Gwyth, he chose another path. From his reading of the Ashokans, they had their own form of relaxant which they described could calm the mind and bring it into a form of stillness.

He had never undergone their teachings to reach this state of mind, though he would like to, but still he tried to get there by learning it himself through reading. He knew his method was rudimentary and incomplete, but it satisfied him enough that he could stay off the tabac. Enough so that he could use it intermittently, like now for instance, to take breaks from the work at hand. Though, they would eventually resume in a short while.

Finally, after feeling his mind drift to the work once more, he broke the silence, starting from his practice.

“When is the earliest time the Hands say they can meet?” Lucien asked.

“I have had responses back from all, though Gryfder Honnen is still making it difficult. I believe that a meeting will be arranged next week, but for when the Hands can gather, it might not be for a while longer. Certainly, by next month, however.” Gwyth responded.

“That damned fool,” Lucien shook his head in anger. “What’s the old man’s excuse this time?”

“It is legitimate, this time,” Gwyth gave a wry smirk, “Gryfder has come back from Praeteritum after hunting beasts. When his son Rupert left at the head of their levied army, for the Frontier, he bestowed upon him his longsword, Marwolaeth, which left him without a Channeler’s weapon. He is currently smithing a new one with help from the family artisans. You wouldn’t be able to get away with starting the meeting without him this time, like the previous when he was tending his goats in his plantation.”

“Damnation,” Lucien clenched down his teeth. “Keep sending letters to his House so he recognises the severity of this issue. He can make his weapon at any other time he wants, but we’re already running short as we are without him delaying us any further.”

“As you will, Lord Lucien,” Gwyth nodded. “Will you require these letters to be spoken aloud to their recipients as well?”

“It will do as is,” Lucien shook his head. “We do not want to upset him more than necessary. As frustrating as it may be, if he perceives this as a legitimate reason for delay, he will dig his heels in if we pester him too much. He can be stubborn when he wants to be, and now is not the right time to make him so.”

“That is true.” Gwyth replied.

“Let the other members know that this is an emergency as well,” Lucien nodded to himself as he spoke. “Make sure that they understand that this meeting could be called at any time, and it will require their presence. That it would be in their best interests to clear their schedules quickly so that they will not be caught on the wrong foot when I call on them once again.”

“Of course.” Gwyth responded, scribbling notes into his minute book. Small shards of shrapnel remains shattered from the charcoal as he dotted the paper. He turned his head back up as he looked towards Lucien expectantly.

“Now, to the final issue of concern I have. Who is overseeing the messenger, Cennad Honnen, today?” Lucien asked.

“That would be myself, Lucien.” Gwyth smiled, reaching for his cigar balanced between the holders on the cigar tray. He tapped the cigar against the tray’s side, spraying ash into the dish.

“Has he spoke on why he was delayed as such?” Lucien responded.

“No, he has not.” Gwyth replied with a shrug.

“What do you mean, ‘no, he has not’?” Lucien demanded.

“He remains drifting in and out of a delirium, but we will soon have some clerics in to sort him out. Once they bring back his sanity, I’m sure he’ll be amenable to our questioning.” Gwyth answered.

“That’s not good enough! This should have been handled yesterday. Why has it taken until today for him to be seen to?” Lucien said with frustration.

“No one saw it necessary to. He passed hands too many times for anyone to have him long enough to recognise that he needed immediate attention. Besides, some of the agents were preoccupied with other tasks that needed prompt action, compared to a man - or work - that could be dealt with at any other time. In the end, I saw fit to take it over from Fadyn. It was not appropriate for her a new, compromised, trainee to watch over our witness.” Gwyth explained while taking a strong puff of his cigar and blowing the remnant haze over his head into the space above.

“While he might have passed between different agent’s hands, the inquisitors that I ordered to watch over him certainly haven’t changed! Why didn’t they notify each different agent to provide Cennad help if this was so serious?” Lucien’s forefinger sharply tapped his chair’s arm to emphasise his question and anger.

“They didn’t realise that he was delirious, they thought he was pretending so as to avoid questioning. From what I heard, there were numerous times they wished to put their hands on him without your permission, but our agents managed to stop them before they could. I have temporarily removed them from the room, but I ask permission to exchange the inquisitors with another set for they forget that Cennad isn’t a prisoner, but a guest.” Gwyth pushed himself out of a slouch, sitting somewhat upright, without realising it. He was taking the situation more seriously.

“I grant you permission to…” Lucien paused for a moment, then continued. “Actually, I’ll do the job myself. I have questions for the man that need to be answered, and I want to hear the details from the man himself rather than in reading. Maybe it’ll make things click, probably not.”

“Shall I lead the way?” Gwyth asked, shifting his weight so as to stand from his seat.

“You may.” Lucien nodded and both men stood up from the seats.

Gwyth stubbed the remaining cigar into the tray, which resounded with a dying hiss, before turning for the door. He led the way, and they weaved through the complicated network of rooms where some doors opened, while others refused to budge from their side, but might open from the other.

Men and women of all ages populated the building, and they greeted the two men as they walked past them to the next door. As he strode through each doorway, Lucien saw the different wallpapers that decorated the building. There were images of printed birds, fish and other natural images and they flowed from wall to wall. What also struck him was the papers, letters, and books that were strewn carelessly on the floor and tables in some rooms, while in others they were neatly stacked and carefully organised in drawers.

Lucien knew that it depended on how the person worked, really, but it fascinated him to see how his agents’ minds worked. How they computed information differently from another’s in the adjacent rooms.

It was only by collecting these incredibly hardworking and adept staff that he was able to create the preeminent intelligent service in the continent. That was something to be proud of, and he was. But he didn’t take its collective achievement as anything more than a product of effort paying off.

Finally, as the door clicked behind them, Lucien and Gwyth entered the Wild Growth Street, a couple buildings down from the main entrance. Lucien stepped out from the shadows, beneath the pitched roof, into the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Though it was dry today, unlike yesterday when it stormed, there were traces of its lingering presence. The thatched roofs that he could see from across the street were darkened as they were still damp from the rain.

Despite that, his boot connected to solid ground. Though slightly sodden, it didn’t dirty his boots too much as the surface excrement and wet mud had been cleared by gong farmers hired privately to do their work. With time, however, it would return to the conditions of before their work and then they’d be back again like clockwork.

A little further down the road were the stables that held their carriages and horses. Gwyth sped ahead, taking rapid strides, and called for the stable workers to prepare transport for the two men. Lucien could hear horses’ shoes clopping and their excited neighs as he approached.

He passed under a timbered door frame and entered into the stables where he saw young boys and girls dart across a straw strewn floor. They were carefully drawing two horses out from their stables and then attached them onto the carriage after putting on their harnesses. A pole separated the two horses from colliding as they trotted forwards, out the gates of the stables, before coming to a stop.

From across the stables, a man and woman entered bowing towards the two men. The man was dressed in a red doublet, that was embroidered with golden floral scrolls, and white breeches; and the woman wore a red bodice with golden lace and a white tabbed skirt.

They moved to follow behind Lucien and Gwyth as they made their way into the carriage, climbing up the wooden steeps that creaked beneath their weight. The servants took seat in the driver’s box and whipped the horses into motion.

The wheels of the carriage whirred as the horses’ pulled forwards at a gentle trot, moving onto the mud road. The wheels left parallel imprints in the road behind, and in between were the vague depressions of horseshoes. The destination of the two men was a holding spot just within the Drengai Dungeon premise, inside the High Walls of Reiol.