Chapter 31

Delegates and Intrigue

Princess Ezma Loren of Piran was tall, powerful, and above all possessed a power not seen on the continent in over one thousand years. While other countries had their Seers and Oracles, Piran had the ultimate evolution of such a Class. The Diviners of Prophecy, a Class so unique that only one who was dragon bonded could sustain the power needed to keep the Class active within their veins.

The same day the great Smet was vanquished was the day an eleven-year-old Ezma forced a spirit bond with her dragon. Even before her bonding, she had prophetic dreams that would keep her awake at night. Dreams that would tear her from the very depths of reality. Dreams that were so vivid, depicting war and atrocities so great that she would avoid everyone for days.

After her bonding, the visions only got worse. The world was going to war. That much was apparent. Too many people let jealousy rule their minds while they looked to Sidhertha, the wheel of the continent, and their seemingly relentless rise to prominence. While many would try to rise up, most would be struck down with ruthless proficiency.

Counters within counters, feints within feints these were the words used to describe the Sidherthan government, at least from the view of Piran. Every view of a way forward was met with a counter. Every time a possible war would start, a feint of power would be observed so great that it would momentarily blind a seer.

Thus when the Azani struck the academy, the original ploy was meant to be a war on two fronts. Piran from the North West and Azani from the South East were meant to pincer together. The Azani would destroy the Academy, then when retaliatory forces were sent to the Azani border, Piran was to strike at their backs. The only problem was the strike on the Academy, the lifeblood of hope for the Kingdom, was a flop at best. Stopped by a few students who noticed something was wrong. Still, Ezma told her more was at play here than met the eye.

Using her class, she tried to glean glimpses of the future, only to see a bright golden light here at the academy. A secret weapon, something so formidable that it could easily squash an elite Azani death squad.

Ezma knew the power of the death squad. She had witnessed their prowess first hand in her visions. In six years' time, that same force would have been able to move on and conquer most of Sidhertha. The only problem was the Azani grew impatient. Six years of training was far too long to wait. So the Azani acted early, knowing that early success would draw in the forces of Piran to help almost immediately. Yet it never came to pass.

Then the unthinkable happened.

As a display of might, the leaders of Sidhertha invited everyone from the neighboring Kingdoms to the Winter Formal, a celebration of their Kingdom’s history and humble beginnings. This in and of itself was nothing new. The leaders of Sidhertha always invited everyone to attend their grand celebration of independence.

What made this act so great was that they did so right at the very heart of the attack. As if to say that the attack that should have sent the nation into war was nothing more than a minor irritation. Many were enraged by such an act, the Azani especially. Though the Azani could do nothing more than grit their teeth in embarrassment at such a gesture. Kids at a school beat an elite troop of soldiers, then the country parades those very kids around at a dance.

Such a disgrace.

Worse, it was clear that the act was meant as a way to see who had sided with the Azani. Now any that would not come would be counted amongst the possible traitors to watch out for in the future. Thus Ezma was sent as a peace offering. She was not alone. Multiple other countries, for the first time since receiving the summons, sent sons and daughters to the grand event as well. Both in solidarity for Sidhertha and as a way to prove they held no allegiance to the Azani.

Feints within feints, Ezma thought as she realized the power play performed quite masterfully by the Sidherthan royalty.

There was something odd about the whole meeting. The closer she got, the more she could not determine the future of what would happen at the Winter Formal. The same golden bubble of protection that had sat over the country of Sidhertha, stopping all invasions for six years, was there. She could almost see it, like a great golden dome that first covered the entire capital as she flew in.

Yet there was a scaling effect to the bubble. The closer she got to the capital, the smaller the sphere of effect grew. The sphere was still there but compact. She could see and predict minor events that were around the capital now. For instance, she could see that delegates from the Belkins would soon be making their arrival at the festival. Then later more delegates would show up fashionably late to the party. But any activity that happened once they entered the golden dome of protection went missing.

It was like viewing a painting, where only one spot was missing. Everyone in the painting would be staring at the same focal point, but the focal point was not there for the audience to view. Instead, the audience of the painting was left wondering, what are they looking at?

These were the questions that began to fill Ezma’s mind as she made her way to the capital. Rather than circling around thrice, as courtesy often dictates, she rode her dragon forward to the landing field. Once she landed, she turned to find that the golden dome was little more than a giant orb in the grand banquet hall where the Winter Formal for the Kingdom was to be held.

“Princess?” Tyleon Ulkin, her escort and head bodyguard, called out to Ezma.

Ezma, for her part, felt impatience growing on her. Her attendants quickly threw up a changing tent, standard equipment for the dragon corps, who often spent their nights in foreign lands. Once inside the tent, her aides quickly helped her out of her riding leathers and into her silk dress that had been specifically chosen by her mother for this occasion.

“Makeup?” one attendant asked.

Normally the Princess hated makeup, she was about to deny it, but something told her this would be important. With a hesitant pause, she nodded. That was all the sign the attendants needed to get to work fixing her windswept hair and applying the slightest hint of makeup to her normally radiant skin.

Within minutes the process was over, but Ezma could already feel the power of destiny rolling past her. She felt like she was the Captain of a rowboat who was about to face down a sudden storm.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself. Then decided it was time to enter.

As she nodded to her group, her own elite set of warriors fanfare began to play. They mocked her by playing the welcoming song of Sidhertha, not her own country’s song. Still, this was better than nothing. She waited while, one by one, her escorts went in theoretically securing the area and making it so that she could get in unmolested.

By the time she had her chance to enter, the golden bubble was little more than the size of a statue but glowed with such intensity that Ezma feared she would go blind from the brightness. The artifact of power is likely on display like a grand treasure. Set right in the middle of the Winter Formal, a sign of opulence so grand that they all but beg other nations to try and steal it from them.

These were the thoughts of Ezma, for nothing else could explain why the item that had blocked her visions. The very item she was certain could take down an elite Azani assault squad was on display right now.

Then as soon as she entered, she saw a statue. Or at least that was what she could only make out by staring at the glowing spot of power. The spot that made her evolved Class and powers almost useless.

“Be careful,” the mental voice of Jhamet, her bonded dragon, called out to her as she neared the item that was causing her so much stress.

The warning caught her off guard. As she stared long enough, the glow finally faded away until she saw a single figure standing in the distance. Even still, the figure all but glowed with a golden outline. To his side was a person who was clearly a dark-skinned Elf, one of the lost tribe. As intriguing as the dark-skinned Elf was, Ezma still felt her gaze being drawn to the man who was standing next to her.

“Dragon Killer!” Jhamet roared in her mind.

Their minds were linked, and she knew that Jhamet could see and experience everything and more from their connections. Dragons had a way of seeing the destinies of people, which was why bonding to one, especially for a Seer or Oracle, was so empowering.

“Oh my, Princess, are you okay?” the tall thin man wearing the head uniform for the Academy called out. From her training, she realized this must be the Dean of the school. Dean?

“Dean Mathers, a powerful artificer,” Jhamet answered, his near-encyclopedic knowledge coming in handy as always.

Thank you. Ezma thought through their bond before finding herself walking forward toward the golden light.

The closer she got, the more fear and apprehension filled the mind of her bonded.

“He has a Spirit Blade. Even his shoes are those of the accursed High Wood Elves.”

These were the invaluable types of insight that Ezma’s bond with her dragon afforded her. She now knew that the man before her had a legendary Spirit Blade. After hearing that, the tales of him being able to strike down an Azani death squad made sense. Still, there were so many questions that surrounded him. First and foremost, who was he?

She got close to the man, though as she got closer, she realized that he was young. Likely barely sixteen summers, still he had an unmistakable presence about him that caused him to stand out from his peers. He was slender and lean, but there was a power to him that made him undeniable.

“Oh, Princess. These are our two student heroes, Telka, an Officer of the highest order. And Lykan her protectorate,” Dean Mathers said, apparently hustling over to help make introductions. He seemed to be flustered by the sudden dismissal of the Princess.

Still, something about the words the Dean said made no sense.

Power scan. Ezma thought through her bond with her dragon.

“The girl is a High Wood Elf and powerful. She is nearing the eleventh threshold,” Jhamet answered.

And the boy?

“The boy is beyond my Abilities,” Jhamet answered, a tone of resignation in his response.

Beyond you?

“Yes, as I said before. He has the mark of a hunter of my kind. Multiple marks,” Jhamet answered. Dragons knew those who had been blessed by the Gods. Just as he glowed with a golden hue to Ezma. The boy also glowed with a malevolent death aura to dragons.

Multiple?

“Yes, multiple. The girl, too, has the death aura, though hers is not as great as his. In fact, I see many with the death aura in there to some degree. But none compare to his foul stench,” Jhamet replied.

Stench? Ezma thought but decided to cut her communications off to Jhamet. She didn’t want it to be known how far her mental bond went.

“This man here is a mere protectorate?” Ezma asked, gesturing toward Lykan, who, while dressed in his professional escort uniform, still paled in comparison to the garb worn by the elites of the Academy.

“Yes, Mr. Vita is a proud example of what a true protectorate should be.” Dean Mathers beamed.

“Talk about letting a wolf hide in sheep’s clothing,” Ezma said in her home tongue of Piran, in a tone she thought was too light to hear. This was why she was surprised by what happened next.

“That, of course, would imply that the wolf would only want the sheep,” Lykan responded in perfect Piran.

Hearing this, Ezma’s eyes widened. She had not expected her casual turn of phrase to have been captured so easily. Still, she was intrigued. The boy spoke with a calm assurance and deep resonance that drew Ezma in.

“So what does the wolf want, if not the sheep?” Ezma asked, taking one sauntering step forward.

Seeing the look in her eyes, Lykan realized this was all a test. With a smile, he tried to pass off as charming but came across more as sly he replied, “Why nothing more than a fellow wolf to share the hunt.”

Hearing this, Ezma was truly surprised. He nearly quoted verbatim the ending to the great children’s story of Piran. Better still, he had read the actual Piran ending, the one where the wolf who had bonded with a farmer met his true mate. That was when he learned what it meant to be the wolf. He and his mate came back to slaughter the farmer and his children, for the wolf only wanted someone to share the hunt with.

It was a dark tale that obviously had to be changed once it got to the other countries. Still, to hear the words from the boy, who knew that story, her favorite story, was impressive.

Badump.

Ezma’s heartbeat at the unexpected resonance to the otherwise complete stranger.

“So you know the fate of the farmer?” Ezma pressed.

“Yes, he had no world laws to rely on. So the natural forces of life went on as they always would have.”

Hearing that explanation, Ezma paused. That had been an underlying message of the story as well, though that message had long since been lost to time. The story was a rebuke of societies moving away from enacting the old world laws of dominion and the act of a shepherd. Had the farmer enacted either of those two old-world laws, he would have been saved. That, too, was a line that has since been edited out. Still, the lines make no sense, as everyone knew the old world laws were little more than a myth.

“Still, those laws are nothing more than a myth. A way to scare children into doing better for the world is now broken,” Ezma replied.

The boy just smiled coyly and stared at Ezma. It was the look of someone who knew a great secret but didn’t know if they should tell.

“He has cast two of the three old world laws,” Jhamet answered, a quiver to his mental thoughts.

Two of the three?

“Yes, I can see it now that you are close enough to him. He has the distinct musk of one who has successfully used the old world laws.”

Successfully?

“Yes, successfully. He only needs to enact the third and final old world law for the final event to be unlocked,” Jhamet answered.

Staring at the boy, she realized, he is even a wolf to me. Fear ran down her spine as she could now see why there was a golden glow around him.

“Can I ask what has you so flustered?” Dean Mathers asked. His unease at the situation was paramount.

Ezma paused for a second before realizing things from the Dean’s perspective. Here she was a Princess speaking to a lowly protectorate in a foreign language, and the Dean was wondering if he had said something to offend her.

Realizing she had been quiet for a while, Ezma smiled brightly. “Sorry, there was no offense given. It is just that your protectorate has given me much to think about,” she said protectorate as if it was something disgusting. It somehow reminded her of wearing false furs to hide amongst prey. At least, that was the current mental image that came to mind. She was about to say more when more fanfare began to first chime outside. Then the different musicians all around the ballroom echoed the notes, letting everyone know that a second delegate had arrived.

Looking to the door, it was clear that the delegation from Belkins had come. Ezma turned to look toward the door and was greeted with another warning from Jhamet.

“The witch of their delegation has the same killing aura that the High Wood Elf and others around you all possess,” Jhamet spoke out. Then he continued, “At the very least, they know each other.”

These words made no sense at first until Jhamet shared his mental map of the room and his Ability to view auras. This was draining on Ezma, which was why she didn’t do it always, but with the sight activated, she could see that a number of students all glowed with the same dark-violet aura. She turned to Lykan, but he glowed with a deep red layer, followed by multiple tiny red lines that served as the base to a great tree. Then the outer layer glowed with the same dark-violet hue as the others. Seeing the colors, it was clear that there was a link between them, but how? One even came from the Belkins? Was there a Belkins spy that informed Sidhertha? As soon as she had the thought, Ezma instantly dismissed it. There would have been no need for a spy. The boy, or wolf, was more than capable of taking down an Azani death squad. She knew that now just by looking at him.

Stop it, Ezma thought back just as she could feel the strain of so much input going through her mind.