Orion wandered through this unending black desert, lost once again. Though he had known he wanted to come here, now that he was here… he was once again adrift, utterly lost to his next direction. All he did was walk towards the distant white palace he saw, half-thinking it a mirage.

The prince had come to the south to speak with the Margrave of Parbon, Reinhardt. Once he arrived, Orion realized things would not be so dreamy and simple. At the time, the Margrave had actually been away—war was a busy time, and as things neared their beginning, the castle became a last resort rather than a constant home.

With his size and recognizable features, Orion was not confident of remaining long enough in Parbon territory for the Margrave to return… nor was he confident in tracking the man down without hostilities erupting. And so, instead of persisting as the crown prince in the midst of enemy territory… with a heavy heart, Orion abandoned the idea.

Instead, Orion passed over the mountain in the middle of the night, and as he crested their peak, a scene of two skies spread out before him—one in the sky, and one on the ground. It took a moment for him to realize that he saw sand—black sand. It was a land of beauty that he had never devoted his time to study… and a land in which the gods of Vasquer were foes, not friends.

Now, Orion wandered that black sand. The sun beat gently on his skin. It was neither boring nor harrowing—indeed, as the voices constantly whispering in his mind grew lesser and lesser, there was a strange tinge of the foreign that both terrified and excited Orion. The blessings were within him—he could not be parted from them—but it seemed that things were as the gods claimed, and the lands beyond Vasquer were truly untouched by their presence.

Before Orion realized it, he walked upon caked black clay, and the palace of whiteness before him was no mirage. Orion saw two men garbed in strange, foreign clothing, standing guard at the gate. He walked towards them. He saw the all-too-familiar sight of fear within their eyes… and they held their spears to block him.

“Stop right there. No outsiders allowed,” one of the men informed him.

Orion regarded them coolly, feeling a strange calmness. They had skin a different color than his—a different color than most in Vasquer. It was darker, tanner. Beyond, he saw a great assemblage of people walking, talking. Their manner of dress was foreign, and their appearances were unlike any had seen before.

“Why?” Orion asked.

“An outsider wreaked havoc in the distant south. Our mistress has forbidden us from allowing any outsiders to pay for food or water in fear of such a thing happening once again,” the spearman informed him curtly. “Now, step away. The Vessels of Fellhorn protect Delphasium. You shall join His eternal rain if you dare try anything,” he threatened.

Orion felt his wrath stir, yet without the whispers of the gods to spur him he was able to calm himself. He stepped away from the spearman, mind whirling with the new information conveyed to him. This outsider—based on all Durran had told him of their journeys, he knew it had to be Argrave. And then, Orion spotted another.

The man, who sat cross-legged beneath a tarp beside the pearly white walls, was in such poor health as to appear dead. He was more skeleton than flesh. And yet… as he watched, Orion saw he had golden eyes. It reminded him of the tribal from this land that he had taken under his wing. Orion stepped up to this man.

Kneeling, Orion asked quietly, “Are you an outsider, too?”

The man regarded him with his eyes but seemed to offer no answer.

“I can give you water if—” Orion paused. He was about to ask the man to convert. “Do you want water?” he instead asked.

The man’s golden eyes swam, appraising Orion more thoroughly. “You’re one of them?” he asked, voice a clicking rasp.

Orion looked to the side where the spearmen watched them. “No,” he answered.

“I’ll not… take charity,” the man told him with a bitter snarl that brought life back into his face. “I’d sooner die… than take it. Like the others… gone southward… empty promises.”

Orion blinked, trying to think of what the man might mean. “What happened in the south?”

“Lords… dead,” the man said. “A new hope. A new city. A false… hope, I say. Fellhorn… all gods… eat man.”

Orion rose to his feet. He looked back to the spearman, deliberating on whether or not to ask them more questions. He considered forcing his way past those men, or climbing the walls, or any number of things… yet at the end, this talk of lords enticed him. He still remembered well the tales that Durran had told him.

“Which way is south?” Orion asked the man.

“Just… leave,” the man said, his dry mouth failing even now. “This place is lost. Eaten by the sun, like a man collapsed in the desert.”

“I just want to learn,” Orion said neutrally.

“Learn?” A dry laugh escaped the man’s cracked lips.

“Learn where I looked towards,” Orion explained, looking down at the man once again.

The tribal looked up at him, eyes like golden rings against the light of the suns. “Opposite wall,” the man responded finally, lowering his head. “Road… a partial one.”

Orion nodded and walked away, leaving nothing behind.

#####

Elenore remained distant for a day. She was unapproachable, quite literally—Argrave didn’t know where she was for the whole day, but he didn’t see her. He might’ve sent Anneliese and her Starsparrow scouting but felt such a thing might be rude—Elenore must’ve merely wished to be alone with her grief. He could see plainly that she was working, for her people came and went and messages were sent and received. Argrave and his companions, well used to sleeping outside, did so. In truth, Argrave was glad to be resting.

Nevertheless, the next day, the wheel for the cart was finally repaired. It had merely been an excuse to stop, but now it quite literally did stop their advance. Not too long after that, Elenore reemerged. She walked up to Argrave beside Melanie as though nothing had occurred between them at all.

“Good morning,” Elenore greeted. Her voice was somewhat hoarse.

“Sister,” Argrave greeted. The word felt unnatural on his tongue, but he was forcing himself to use it.

Melanie raised a brow when he said so. She held her zweihander in one hand, its blade leaning against her shoulder while its point stood towards the sky. “You’re…”

Argrave looked at her. “Probably who you think, yes,” he nodded. “Saw you at Mateth. You were working for my cousin, then. Or maybe you were still under Elenore.”

“The Duke Enrico,” Melanie corrected. “Well… well, well.” The red-haired mercenary took a deep breath, then adjusted her wide-brimmed tellerbarret. “Suppose I should have guessed, looking at how big you are and all. Don’t remember seeing you at Mateth. Just never thought… hah. You were in Dirracha while the funeral of the crown prince you murdered was happening. What a spectacle.”

“We have a plan for entry into Relize,” Elenore explained, brushing past their introduction. “Melanie…”

“Right,” the mercenary nodded. “My family are patricians in Relize. I’d call them failed businessmen. They’re trustworthy, though, and this cart is marked by them. The biggest problem might be other patrician families trying to rob us… but Elenore has plenty of men.” Melanie scratched at her chin. “Relize is… have you ever been?”

“Coupled hundred times,” Argrave nodded.

Melanie smiled. “Suppose that saves me some trouble.”

“Things should be simple,” Elenore continued. “Her family owns a warehouse. Once we’re inside, we’ll have to lay low. While Relize may not be hostile to us, as soon as our existence in common knowledge, we’ll be the target of every family within the city—their ambitions, their hostility… this is still the north, after all. On that note, I think it’s past time you caught me up to speed on what you wanted to do there.”

“Sure,” Argrave nodded, his gaze lingering on Melanie.

Elenore caught his signal. “Melanie, go and make sure everyone is ready to depart.”

Melanie laughed—she wasn’t slow-witted and knew why she had to go and make sure. “Alright. I get it. High-level talks, not fit for lowly ears.”

She turned, the thin chains on her wrists dangling as she did so. Once she was gone, Argrave cast a ward and walked closer to Elenore.

“You’re really alright, sister?” Argrave asked her at once.

“Can’t afford not to be,” she nodded. “Just had to… reframe things in my mind.”

“Perhaps you ought to take a few more days before you jump back in,” Anneliese cut in.

Argrave pointed to Anneliese. “She’s rarely wrong about these things.”

Elenore crossed her arms. “I’ll have time. The road is long. For now, I wish to have something to occupy my mind, plan for the future. I won’t forget what Levin is done. I need to reflect how this might’ve happened, avoid him outsmarting me as he did once again.”

Argrave shrugged, admitting she had some point. “Alright. Well… you know about the Rescindment of Profligacy and Corruption?”

Elenore lowered her head for a moment, lost in thought. Just as Argrave was about to explain, she lifted her head back up and said, “It was a mandate passed down by Relize’s Grand Council. It barred people from buying the status of a patrician for their family.”

“Correct,” Argrave nodded. “Now, no matter how much money you have… there won’t ever be any new patrician families in Relize. If you aren’t a part of a patrician family, you can’t participate in District Councils, nor can you be voted into a seat on the Grand Council.”

Elenore nodded. “It was passed eighty years ago, as I recall.”

“You really are a genius,” Argrave marveled.

Elenore frowned. “You remember this just as well as I do.”

“I didn’t have a life,” Argrave said to dismiss her point. “Back on subject, though… ordinarily, you’d think a measure to prevent corruption would be a good thing. But Relize—trade is its lifeblood, and meritocracy is its lifeblood. This Rescindment strips away a part of what makes Relize powerful as a self-governing city. There’ve been eighty years of stellar merchants who remain second-class citizens because of this Rescindment. Ambitious, wealthy people… who want the best for their families and want to participate in local politics.”

“It’s stagnating,” Elenore nodded. “It’s certainly a compelling theory… but what, you hope to overthrow the Grand Council with this merchant class?”

Argrave wagged his finger. “Not a chance. You know the Dandalan family? Its family head isn’t blind to the city losing its edge. I think he’d be amenable to an alliance. We help him gain power, revoke this Rescindment of Profligacy and Corruption … he’s got a powerful base of newly made, extremely wealthy patricians indebted to him. He’s indebted to us.” Argrave held his arms out. “All of the military and economic might of the wealthiest city in Vasquer is at our fingertips. And we get it all bloodlessly.”

Elenore stood there for a moment, contemplating silently. “Much depends on this Dandalan family head. I’ll need to look into him.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Argrave wrung his hands together.