Alistaira was hard at work inside the black ship, using everything at her disposal to further her own gains in regard to magic power and knowledge. She was close to a breakthrough; she was sure of it! All she needed was a few more days of work and she would-!

The door to her quarters opened and the Arch Necromancer lost her train of thought, much to both her dismay and anger.

“This had better be important.” She growled as the captain entered cautiously.

“Yes, well, I thought you should know that we… um…”

“Spit it out!” Alistaira hissed, her magical power flaring up and nearly dropping the captain of the ship to his knees.

“We have received word from the Empress that several Sultanate agents made landfall in the Sanguinocracy. While most were dealt with, a handful escaped and one of them attempted an assassination on her Highness’ life… unlife? Wait, how do we even refer to her in such a way? You don’t have any idea what she prefer-.”

“Enough!”

Alistaira rose from her seat and looked the captain dead in the eyes.

“This doesn’t change anything. Yet. We have our mission, and I will have my reward for services rendered even if I have to fuck with time itself in the process. So, less talking, more sailing. Get us to our intended destination and get us there posthaste. I picked you all for a reason, so don’t force me to use my abilities to make you do your jobs.”

The captain fidgeted a bit as he stammered out a response.

“Well, about that. We already are there.”

Alistaira took a deep breath and then let out a long, heavy sigh.

“And you didn’t think it wise to tell me?”

“Well, to be fair, you never respond well when we intrude, so we figured we’d wait until you came out on your own.”

Alistaira wanted to rebuke the sailor, but he did have a valid point or two.

“Fine. Is there anything I need to do, or can everyone execute their mission without me?”

The captain simply handed Alistaira a scroll that was bound in exquisite silk and gold thread which was sealed with an ornate metal pin. Alistaira cautiously unfastened the scroll, removed the silk wrap and opened it up, looking over the written contents. Even before she had finished reading, she was already using her free hand to rub the side of her head in a circular motion, a clear sign that this scroll contained things that she was not pleased to see.

Finishing the scroll, Alistaira used her power to pull a chair over to her. She seated herself like a puppet whose strings had been cut as she let out a noise that was a 50/50 mix of a sigh and a groan. She had half expected that the Sultanate would find out about her connection to Darksol, but she had not anticipated the response she now had to deal with.

Perhaps had she and her ship not docked in the capital of the Sultanate, things might have been different, but she had been in too much of a hurry and had made a colossal mistake. She also did not expect the Sultan himself to be so bold as to request her presence in his palace, and that he would not try and force her to go there either.

The invitation, combined with the attempt made on Alexis’ life, had just made things a lot more complicated…

…

“Are you absolutely sure that you don’t need an escort?” asked a sailor. He was a bit of a fanboy when it came to Alistaira, so he had gone out of his way to offer his assistance. He wasn’t a die-hard superfan, but he was still interested in helping the legend that was the Mage who’s rebellious awakening to darkness blew a hole in Albion and caused a fissure to form a wide river between what would become Anglond and Francus.

I appreciate the offer, but I am fine. I am not so easily slain, after all.”

The sailor nodded and accepted his idol’s decision. He wasn’t crazy enough to try and push the issue and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that even if she took someone along as an escort that they would be of much help in a fight. If anything, such people would only hold her back. She may have been more than willing to level cities to win a fight, but even a simple sailor like himself knew that she would refrain from doing so if it meant safeguarding the life of a single civilian.

Alistaira bid farewell to the ship and its crew, but before she left, she instructed them to stay on guard. Her reason for such instruction was rather simple; she fully expected that there were factions that were hostile to Darksol within the Sultanate, and therefore when she, the strongest member of this little expedition, was away on business then even an idiot would know that it would be the perfect time to sink or capture the black ship.

Storing her staff, sword and grimoire in a personal pocket dimension (an ability she had gained a while ago thanks to someone she called the ‘giant trashcan’ but who was formally known as Zero Noir, the Dungeon Master) she made her way to the palace.

…

Within the palace, the Sultan, Arcail Nivir Salomhad (otherwise known as Arcail IV) and a handful of members of his cabinet counted down the minutes until Alistaira arrived. Scouts had seen her leave the black ship and begin her trek from the harbor towards the palace itself. She could very well have taken the carriage that had been prepared for her, but instead she had chosen to act as though the vehicle was not even there. What confused both the scouts and the higher ups in the Sultanate was that she, a magic user, had no staff with her. She did not even seem to be carrying a wand, but that might be because she was hiding it under her clothes.

The Sultan himself was getting rather nervous and decided to calm his nerves by looking out over the capital. On Earth, the city would be in place of the Israeli city of Haifa, but here it was called Sal’as Shalom Naq’ivrid, or, translated from the hideously offensive hybrid bastardization of multiple languages (of which included Hindi, Arabic, Hebrew and others) made by the First Sultan into English, Heavenly Welcoming Beacon.

The sun was shining upon the city, all was well, and the people went about their day with nary a care in the world. Surely, Arcail IV thought, he could prevent conflict and keep the peace. Surely, he thought, he could keep the Sultanate alive and well for another few decades, eventually living long enough to pass down the nation to his successor. Surely, he assumed, no one would want to start a war with Darksol, as even a fool could see how costly it would be.

But there were movements that the Sultan was unaware of; movements that sought to make the Sultanate rule over the whole world; movements that would, rather unwittingly, see the Golden Age of the Arbiana Sultanate come crashing down and that would see all that they hoped to raise up as the dominant culture crumble to rubble and ruin.

…

As Alistaira walked through the streets, she kept a magical eye on the black ship and watched as her prediction came true. Three forces were about to clash near the ship, but she had faith that the sailors would earn their keep. For now, she had to keep her eyes to the front and focus on the task at hand. It was still a long way to go until she reached the palace, and she did not intend to hasten her pace.