The formidable second layer of walls stood mightily in front of Magus. Just like the entrance of the city its gate was wide open, as if welcoming them to enter. In front of the large open doors, a drawbridge rested over a ditch, where drains rid the castle of sludge and rainwater. Beyond, the ashen keep stood mightily, somehow managing to remain unique in its boring style.

Although built to last and defend, it still possessed weird things only a mansion would have. Frozen fountains, paths, wilted flowers and hedges paved way between buildings, while other pest-like greenery crawled the ancient walls in hope of softening its roughness.

Naturally, armed men patrolled the surroundings, but they differed from the previous city guards. Covered in full plate they walked around willy-nilly, not expecting to do any work any time soon. Only their servants, the humans they somehow tamed, ran around, carrying heavy objects, tending to their needs or training with a weapon. All of that in hopes of gaining their attention and, even better, a few lessons.

One such boy stood by and guarded the entrance, fighting his own helmet which tried to constantly tilt to the side. Seeing Maeloc and his state the boy panicked.

“What happened, Sir Pasco?!” He ran up, rattling like a pouch of silver, eyes in such shock he missed the others.

Afraid of touching the mangled limb the boy was in utter dread of what to do. Even though it didn’t bleed, the skin was shredded like that of a gutted fish and cauterized by intense heat of the molten mail.

“Calm down, squire.” The rough left arm landed on the boy’s shoulder, stopping him in place. “I need you to send a message.” Maeloc bent forwards and whispered something into the boy’s ear. “Quickly.”

And just like that he ran off, leaving Magus to wait once more. But for an undead, waiting was not a problem. Hours sometimes passed in but a few moments for him, meanwhile Maeloc’s crooked hand already struck a decade judging from its lazy swaying in the wind.

Looking down the hill he watched the fiery flames of the city, its black smoke rising higher and higher for all to see kilometers away. Mostly due to the cold winter’s breeze many of them had begun to die down and only few chunks of the dingier streets have burned to a crisp. Unfortunately, the overall presence of the living did not change.

Magus thought that maybe that was for the best, more test subjects so to say. Experimenting on living creatures was something he was eager to try after all. Even just watching was fruitful on its own towards their understanding.

Even now he watched as humans ran around the alleys and streets, those pathways forming into some kind of intricate mazes over the decades, or centuries, of building, rebuilding and spreading of houses. Yet, it caused no trouble for the inhabitants. All of them moved as if already seeing a few corners ahead, as if the mess did not exist in their planning.

It all weirdly reminded him of an anthill, albeit not underground, but the same in its concept. Though they were not quite on the level of the arthropods. As even after separating jobs, and increasing the efficiency by teaching the skills only to those with the talent for it, the humans still lacked that unity of ants.

Just a small fire and all had gone to chaos, people showed their true colors. Obsessed by their human nature they prioritized themselves and fed their greed. Only shiny gold and silver bound and forced them together as they hid it behind the shroud they called morals. This was no different from shoving two animals into a pen, really. They either kill one another or learn to coexist.

As Magus pondered all of this, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Iphis.

“Let’s go.” She said, making him finally notice the messenger boy who came back at some point. All the living presences around him seemed to have made it harder to differentiate individual people. “Please, just don’t cause any more trouble.”

“Yes, yes.” He waved it off as usual. It was the humans who started the fight in the first place. “If you mess up I’ll burn everything down, starting with you.”

She only gulped in response, being reminded that her life was on the line as well.

Continuing on through the gate they were met by the attention of the people of the castle. The soldiers snickered at the view of beautiful Iphis, undressing her with their eyes, while the servant women chattered at the sight of a mysterious masked man as they cleaned clothes by a well. Few actually cared about Maeloc and his state, and were only interested in hearsay, hoping to bring life to their dulled lifestyle.

With no point in staying outside, they rushed to cross the empty space that was the courtyard and quickly reached the double doors that led into the keep. As it opened, a steamy whiff of food, drink and other unknown smells came over Magus.

It was a large rectangular room with a very high ceiling. The few, but large windows gave light to the people who sat around a grand U formed table. Knights and other, probably important, people occupied these seats, stuffing themselves with chicken, wine, mead and other variety of dishes. Servants and cooks ran around, almost as frantic as those people outside trying to quench the flames, switching out empty plates with full ones.

For a normal person this would probably have caused hunger, especially if it was a peasant who rarely saw such intricate foods, but the undead barely felt anything, perhaps a tiny bit of displeasure at most. What they did was nothing more than corpse eating after all.

The humans did not even notice them this time, likely too invested in the consumption and petty discussion.

Ignoring the main event, Maeloc dismissed the boy squire and guided them along the right wall of the room. Keen on avoiding any stares he kept himself low, seemingly sticking to the cold wall, from time to time grunting out in pain as he accidentally touched something with his ruined arm.

Before Magus could have a better look at some fool flinging pieces of fire through the air, they reached a detached table that was raised on top of a dais, overlooking the humans below. It was empty, but food was readily placed and replaced whenever it got cold.

They walked past it and entered a dark and claustrophobic pathway that was covered by a curtain which bore a discreet emblem of a bear. Eventually arriving at a T junction, they turned to the right, up a pair of steep stairs. Reaching what was probably the upper floor, the view changed into a slightly wider hallway as the shouting and stuffing of mouths dwindled greatly. Barely any torches were lit here, leaving it not only dim but also incredibly cold. Only a problem for humans as far as Magus was concerned.

Maeloc turned towards him. “They,” he pointed at the two undead guards that followed closely behind. All this time they shambled like some shadows on a leash. “Stay here.”

“If you’re worried about the duke, then don’t be.” For the plan to work he needed the Duke alive after all. “I won’t cause problems if you don’t do anything rash.”

“Not acceptable.”

Magus raised his hand as a flame formed on the index finger, giving light to his mask and producing a frightful gleam.

“Then you die.”

The lightness of those words shook Maeloc to the core. What kind of being had to reside under that mask to be so…? In the back of his mind even came the thought that he was perhaps not even human, but a demon.

He did not want to believe it; one should never judge a man by his looks after all. Behavior on the other hand…

“Kill me then,” his brow furrowed unconsciously. “And get cut to pieces by the men below.”

“Hmm…” Magus did not want to waste any more time on a meaningless quarrel and the guards were not needed, they were supposed to stay at the carriage in the first place, but doing whatever a human ordered also greatly annoyed him.

“It’ll be whatever my Mistress decides.” He said, seeing that no route will ever satisfy him.

“We’ll leave one.” An immediate answer came from her.

Did she predict this or did risking her life made her up her game?

“It’s only fair to leave a guard for a mage.” She added.

Her logic made sense and Maeloc couldn’t dismiss it, just one more man in the room wouldn’t be any riskier than the actual mage after all.

“Fine. Let’s go.” He said, squinting at the ever increasing pain of his arm.

***

At the end of a long room sat a plump, round man. The throne on which he rested was slightly raised and made of gold and ivory. Candle flames reflected off its material, bringing out the light and magnificence of the piece worthy of a monarch.

Above his head rested an enormous crimson canopy, seemingly protecting his brown top from dust and cobwebs, or perhaps the ever-present danger that closely followed him day after day.

He was looking at the gem-filled piece of gold in his hand, seemingly mesmerized by the small, distorted figure of himself.

“M… l….iege.”

A voice called over to him, muffled by the ever coming of thoughts and considerations. The Duke raised his head for but a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner, but once more got lost. On the black chest plate a reflection of his own met him once again.

A tired, fat, exhausted and old man. The once-distinct brown flowed down his stretched out cheeks, already withering against the flow of time, losing its sheen and slowly, but surely, transforming into everlasting greyness.

“My Liege!” the rough voice finally reached the old man’s head. It was none other but his own constable, Julius Sehne, a man of his prime, one who won his race against time.

“Yes, yes. I can hear you, Julius. Sit do-” he realized there was nowhere to sit in this long throne room. “What is it?”

The middle-aged man kneeled and passed him a sword. Its handle was covered in diamonds and the pommel shone brighter than silver itself. On the white handguard intricate engravings of his ancestors’ watched him, calling to fulfill his duty.

His trembling hand moved on its own and grasped the handle, judging the weight, which once again seemed to have grown.

Once more the man looked over the blade, from the sharp, pointy tip up to the shining handle in his own wrinkly hand. His cerulean eyes rose, overlooking the subjects who held the utmost respect for him.

The most trustworthy of knights saluted him and stood proudly by the walls draped in his family’s colors and insignia. A pair of nobles trembled in the shadows, watching as their son stepped forwards and kneeled before the throne.

The golden crown took seat on his head.

“I, Allan Gram,” the nobles’ son put his hand on his chest. “Swear in name of the Goddess, that I will forevermore stay loyal and true to my Lord, never stray from the path of chivalry and keep my word and honor as to not tarnish His name. I will defend those who cannot do so on their own and stay brave, kind and forgiving until the breath of life leaves me.”

The throne creaked as soon as the man finished. Everyone silenced and lowered their heads. The Duke’s steps echoed down the cold hall.

He stepped down the few steps, dragging his majestic cape along the red carpet. Having heard the oath, the stern face told that he was not impressed, but it was not the young squire’s fault. He simply has heard so many of such promises that they no longer left an impact on him. Nonetheless, he respected the will of the young one; and even if the words brought doubts, this was nothing more but an elevation of his power.

Wielding the lustrous sword, he tapped the man’s shoulder with the flat part of the blade and extended his free hand. A shiny emerald ring awaited on the finger.

Swiftly, the young man kissed the gem and the Duke proclaimed.

“Stand up as a knight, Sir Gram, in the name of God and his miracles. May your oath burn into your soul and lead your life hereafter.”

After a polite nod the newly-appointed knight bowed together with his family and left through the wide door. A religious rite awaited him, followed by a celebration and drinking.

The Duke gave back the ornamental sword to the constable in black armor and returned to his throne. Relieved that no more ceremonies will be held today, he finally had the chance to rule his domain. Many problems arose daily and needed his wisdom.

“Julius, give me a run down.” He said, fetching a servant woman to bring him wine.

“Yes, my Liege,” Julius bowed down and then ordered one of his squires to bring a table.

“Now that I think about it. How is my son doing?” The Duke asked, seeing that the preparations might take a while.

“Count Anworth…” Julius pondered, remembering the young man.

He had no… notable, talents; not even in the matter of the sword. Had he not been pampered by the richness of his father he could’ve probably been a good diplomat though, or so thought Julius. The man could distinguish lies from truth, but that was all.

“He’s doing well. His swordsmanship is only at the amateur-level, but I believe with a bit of experience he’ll get better.” He answered.

Finally, the large table was brought to the room, and the drinks quickly came as well. Large maps were placed on it, showing points of interests, movements of the army and even trade routes. Various wooden blocks representing different parties were placed as well, a bear belonging to the Duke.

“As you can see, my Liege,” he pushed the wooden bear to the border of the map, where an eagle, a lion and an elephant were put. “The Herculean Cavalry and the 1st Froset Regiment have reached Rie and are expected to soon be at Troe.”

“Tell me something new.” The Duke already knew how his army moved and where. What mattered was the enemy and the allies whom he had to rely on. While the regiment was expendable, losing his cavalry would cripple him for decades to come. “What are the royals planning?”

Julius pulled out a different map and unfurled it. “I believe they plan for an early spring push to the north.” The finger swiped along the paper which marked rivers and hills. “This was why they graciously sent five hundred men to garrison Bargor as it gets repaired. If any stragglers enter your domain, they’ll be taken care of.”

“Graciousness…” He took a sip from the silver goblet, tasting it for an overwhelmingly long time, and then spat it out. A servant immediately ran up to begin cleaning it. While it did taste good, the circumstances begged for something else. “They just want to increase their authority. Spies are probably being installed as we speak.”

“However it is, it’d seem they’re trying to avoid bordering Luca.”

“Are they potential enemies?”

“I don’t know. But, should the campaign be successful, we will undoubtedly become a thorn in their side.”

“What a pain…” He took a glance at the woman below his feet. She was relatively young, probably the daughter of some servant. “Well, do let us pray for His Highness’s success.”

As he said this, an elderly man came to him from the sidelines. Dressed in a tight noble attire he skipped along the floor and soon reached the Duke, whom didn’t spare him a look. The elder bent down and whispered something in his ear.

“What?!” The Duke jumped up.

“What is it, my Liege?” Asked Julius, stopping the further expanse of his paper world.

The Duke ground his teeth in anger, but soon calmed down.

“Everyone but Julius, leave! Bring them and that useless fool here!”