Vallis reddened and look away. “I’m still thinking. Last time was hot, but, uh, I’m pretty busy with all the viceroy stuff. But I’m happy for Maria. She’s been glowing lately. Makes me a little jealous.”
There was an easy resolution to that jealousy, but Rys let it lie. The path he had in mind for Vallis didn’t involve bending her to his will because he felt like it.
She needed to choose her path. While he didn’t intend to let her slip away, good things came to those who waited.
And Rys had plenty of time to wait.
He had power to regain. A military to recruit. Nations to learn about and rulers to understand. At the apex of all of that was his plans to control the archipelago, and return to his full strength.
That was his long-term goal. Perhaps it would take years. Or decades, even.
Then, and only then, would he turn his eyes to the continents.
That left him plenty of time to relax. He was in no rush. Vallis, Fara, and the others could grow and stretch out around him. They had grown accustomed to him. More time could only improve things.
But, as always, Rys’s mind ticked away. He focused on his next objectives. What he wanted sooner, rather than later.
Orthrus had been eager to explore the Labyrinth again, and Rys agreed with his fellow prisoner. The key to Rys’s lost power lay within the twisting confines beneath the castle. There was also that undead dragon to defeat and power slates to claim.
The sooner Rys dealt with that obstacle, the sooner Orthrus could locate the next power conduit. Despite the dangers of the Labyrinth, Rys wanted his strength back. He hated constantly worrying about attracting attention, when he should be more powerful than everybody else in this tiny archipelago.
“Grigor, focus your training efforts on a Labyrinth dive,” Rys ordered. “Bring Alsia and her best Kinadain into it. Only her very, very best. You saw them fight and can judge them.”
Grigor flexed his muscles and grunted. “You are taking back your power, Rys?”
“Soon. Once Fara is back. A lot of things can wait,” Rys said, his eyes focused on a specific part of the map. “But whatever I want to do, I need to be stronger. I need to be able to remind people who I am. And I need to recover my memories.”
He stabbed a finger at Gorgria. “If Orthrus is right, the Labyrinth can lead us here. There is another power conduit here. We’ll need to defeat that undead dragon to get there.”
And then, after that, Rys would ensure the Kingdom of Kavolara really was the only kingdom on Kavolara.
His eyes stared at Avolar. The village of foxes was there. As was a collection of dains.
Rys’s conquests had ceased for now.
But they never truly ended. His hunger for more power was never sated.
Chapter 42
Mave
Deep within the Malus League, sparks flew inside a brightly lit chamber. The sound of hammering echoed off stone walls. Magic lamps glowed unwaveringly on stands, casting cool light over everything inside the room.
A woman hunched over an anvil, a hammer and chisel in her grasp. Her strikes were rhythmic and practiced. She beat the chisel into a dark steel breastplate, slowly carving out a rune. Angry red runes flared on the chisel with every blow.
Pots full of powdered magical catalysts sat beside her. Crystals, plants, metals, and even rare animals were contained within those powders. Every few strikes, she reached down and scooped one of the catalysts up, then sprinkled it over the rune she was working on.
She was slim, and her rusty blonde hair was tied behind her head in a bun to keep it out of the way of her delicate work. Her face held an unearthly beauty, but her eyes were like ice crystals. She wore heavy plate armor. A black tabard hid most of her armor, although chain mail could be seen beneath. Almost every inch of her body was covered in either armor or cloth, save her head.
A helmet sat on a nearby table. Countless tools, weapons, pieces of armor, and assorted magical artifacts covered the tables that lined one side of the room. The other side contained large bins. Ingots, ores, crystals, and even more strange powders and catalysts filled those bins.
The far end held a forge, which was unlit. More tools hung near it. Char marks covered the floor and walls.
A low noise came from the door. She paused mid-strike, then lowered her tools. She looked at the room’s entrance.
A small crystal in the center of the door glowed red, as did a bar of glass above it. The woman clicked her tongue. She stood up and swiftly put her helmet on.
“Enter,” she said, her entire body now completely obscured by their armor and clothes. Her voice had a strange lilting tone to it and sounded artificial and faintly masculine.
It was also projected a good foot in front of her face. The woman wasn’t speaking. Rather, she was using magic to project words.
Unless one already knew, an observer couldn’t know that the room’s occupant was a woman.
The crystal in the door turned blue, then green right before it opened. The door split open and slid apart with a fwish.
A young woman entered wearing a black robe. She wrung her hands in front of her, eyes wide as she stared at the room’s occupant.
“Chief Enforcer Mave, it is an honor to be in your presence and—” the young mage began to say.
“You’re new here. Dispense with the formalities. I defend the tower. You don’t need to treat me like the other magisters,” Mave said. She waved a gloved hand. “You have a message for me, I assume?”
The mage nodded.
Several moments passed in silence.
“Well?” Mave asked.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I—” the mage cut herself off and steadied herself. “Grand Magister Harpersmith requests your presence in the atrium. He didn’t say why, but—”
“Were you sent to fetch any other magisters?”
“No, just you, Chief Enforcer.” The mage gulped and her eyes widened. Perhaps she thought she had said too much, given she was supposed to keep orders from the Grand Magister a secret.
“If you were telling that to anybody else, that would be a mistake. But I am the Chief Enforcer. I am responsible for the tower’s security, even more so than the Grand Magister himself,” Mave said, attempting to quell the mage’s concerns. “If there is ever something you cannot tell me, think very carefully about what you are doing. Because it may be the last thing you ever do.”
A pair of white eyes glowed within Mave’s visor. The mage nodded her head several times.
“Good. Then return to your duties. I will see what Graem wants,” Mave said.
She ushered the mage out of her forge, then locked it. The crystal in the center of the door turned red again. After a few minutes, she’d tidied everything up.
Normally, keeping the grand magister of the tower waiting was foolish. Grand Magister Graem Harpersmith had ultimate authority over everything that took place in this mage tower. He was the most powerful, experienced, and trusted mage in the Tower of Black Cognition. Mave worked for him, but the two were far from equals.
But that was why Mave kept him waiting. Graem was trustworthy, at least to her. Whatever needed her attention in the atrium could wait a few minutes. If it was that important, then Graem had alternate means to contact Mave. Sendings were blocked by magical wards within her forge, but the tower had emergency communication systems.
Plus, Graem was a mage. He knew what it was like to be interrupted in the middle of research or work. If there was anything a mage hated, it was losing his train of thought. Mave might not be half the mage that the other magisters of the tower were, but she felt a sense of camaraderie.
Once finished, she stepped out of her forge and locked it. This level of the tower was empty. A circular corridor ran around the central support pillar of the tower. Red lights glowed on the other doors on this level, although one was open and empty.
The other magisters were either busy or absent.
Mave approached the smaller of the two elevato
rs built into the central pillar. A pair of crystals flashed blue when she approached, then green. Several seconds later, the door opened, allowing her to walk onto a circular platform.
The express elevator was only for use by magisters. Naturally, it spent most of its time idling on one of the levels that contained their ateliers.
“Ground,” Mave said upon entering.
The doors closed. A moment later, a slight falling sensation struck her as the platform began to descend to the ground. Lights flickered past on the interior walls and she could see all the way to the very top of the forty-nine-story tower.
Mages loved magic numbers. Seven was the number for the Tower of Black Cognition, for reasons that escaped Mave.
Forty-nine stories. Forty-nine magisters. Seven magisters were part of the inner circle, including Mave and Graem. The number of rooms on each floor was also a multiple of seven, which caused problems sometimes. Even the number of mages that were officially part of the tower was a multiple of seven.
Mave was certain that Graem was fudging that last number. Mages disappeared for all sorts of reasons and replacing them required intensive interviews or years of training. This tower didn’t accept apprentices, unlike many elsewhere in the Malus League.
Maintaining a multiple of seven for total mages was impossible. Adepts were remarkably talented at getting themselves killed or maimed. Just last week, one forgot to include the protection inscription in their knowledge devil summoning ritual. Mave had been forced to battle an irritatingly powerful knowledge devil in the middle of a warded atelier. Four adepts had died.
To the best of her knowledge, she hadn’t then executed three other mages for the sake of a magic number. The worst part was that she knew that happened in other towers.
When she stepped out into the Atrium, Mave noted that nobody else was here. Not a single one of the other magisters was present, including the other members of the inner circle. Reception was empty—as always. A dozen steel giants loomed over the gargantuan atrium, pretending that they weren’t magical golems ready to defend the tower at a moment’s notice.
“Ah, Mave, you’re here,” Graem greeted. He raised a hand.
Mave returned the greeting as she approached.
Graem looked as old and impressive as any young child probably thought amazing old mages should look. A thick mane of shaggy white hair, full beard and mustache, craggy face that showed the weight of his years, and an eyepatch over one eye. Scars ran across almost every inch of his face. His one visible eye glowed bright blue.
Of course, mages didn’t normally look this impressive. A mage as talented as Graem learned to halt their aging sometime in their thirties or forties. Sometimes earlier. Graem was eighty, and he looked that old. Those scars ran deep along Graem’s body, and Mave knew there were countless more beneath his massive robe and gloved hands.
Mave didn’t ask any questions, but her silence spoke volumes.
“Maliah wants us. He’s called a bunch of grand magisters together,” Graem grunted out. His eye narrowed, and a grimace crossed his face. “Normally, I’d go alone, but…”
“It’s Maliah. You took me in, Graem, after Torfunburg. I get it.” Mave’s voice was soft.
Graem’s eyes turned distant. “Aye. I did. Bloody Elias. You would have liked him. None of us ever agreed to Maliah’s insane plan to invade Gorgria, but—”
“Graem.” Mave’s voice switched tracks, and turned as stern as possible, given its artificial nature. “We don’t need to repeat this.”
“Maybe. But I fear we’re stumbling back into the same mess as last time.” Graem grimaced, then gestured to the exit.
The two gargantuan stone doors began to open. Each stood several stories tall, and the grinding they made as they opened filled the entire tower. Just outside, a single magitech carriage waited on the city streets. They were in the capital of the Malus League, and the streets outside bustled.
Dozens of passersby tried to peek into the tower. A magical field kept them from getting too close, and most didn’t bother to slow down. The rest were disappointed, as illusions prevented them from seeing or hearing anything.
“Not using the portal?” Mave asked.
“Don’t joke about that.” Graem chuckled despite his words. “It’s too temperamental to risk us both. Plus, Maliah’s raised security across New Ahm. Front entrances only, with increased security checks.”
“Shit,” she cursed. “He’s that terrified of this King Talarys?”
The two of them stepped into the carriage. Behind them, the entrance to the tower ground shut.
Carriages trundled past in the streets. People went about their day. Most were mages, the rest merchants or wealthy customers searching for expensive magical goods. They were in the center of New Ahm. Only two types of people came here.
Mages, and those wealthy and heartless enough to benefit from them.
“I don’t know if he’s terrified, but he’s definitely wary,” Graem said. “Forai was wiped out the moment he got close, and our entire operation with Compagnon erased within months. The stories we’re hearing from our agents suggest this Talarys uses infernals, but he has popular support from other nations and the Kinadain.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Mave replied.
“And I couldn’t believe it when you joined us after Torfunburg.” The old man chuckled. “Life’s strange. But Maliah is spooked. Whatever this meeting is about, I’m certain it’s about war. That’s why I want you along.”
“Because you don’t trust Maliah?”
“That’s a different problem. Maliah is many things, but I know he won’t betray me.” Graem held a hand up to his eyepatch and the glow in his other eye dimmed momentarily. “No, I want you along because you’re the Chief Enforcer. And for another reason. If this means war, that potentially involves Gorgria.”
Mave’s blood ran cold. She looked away. “I see. My apologies for not realizing sooner.”
Graem chuckled again. “No, it’s fine. You’re new at this. A prodigy, for sure, but us old, wizened bastards have been doing this for far too long. You’ve never even seen Gauron, have you? The majesty of the real Ahm? If this ends up being too much, I want you to know that you can step away.”
“Graem—”
“Don’t say anything now,” Graem warned, his gentle tone giving way to a scolding one. “Promises quickly become regrets. Damned if I don’t know that.”
They fell silent. The ride through the glorious streets of New Ahm pained Mave, even as she stared out the illusioned windows of the carriage.
Only Graem knew her secrets. The other magisters in the tower knew nothing about her. That was the way it had to be, for many reasons.
But knowing that she might be approaching a fork in the road during her time in the Tower of Black Cognition caused a pit to open up in her stomach. She felt sick.
Knowing that she had work to do, she pushed it down.
Instead, she focused on what was outside the carriage.
New Ahm was one of the largest cities in the Tolaran Archipelago. The city center was a marvel of engineering, and dozens of massive spires reached for the clouds high above them. At night, Mave sometimes liked to watch them from a distance.
To her, New Ahm was the greatest city ever. A blazing metropolis in a boring cesspit of nothingness. The towers burned with light during the night, like pillars sending messages to the rest of the world about the grandness of the mages within. Other mage towers existed within the archipelago, but only New Ahm boasted this many, and in such close proximity to one another.
But Mave knew a deep, horrendous underbelly underpinned this glory. Mages and well-dressed individuals dragged demihumans around on chains. Scantily dressed wolfkin manned shop counters or tried to attract customers, but their rags and collars made their slavery clear to all.
They passed a slave auction just around the corner from Maliah’s tower, known as the Tower of the Black Sun. Several female draconic demihuma
ns stood on top of stands, wearing nothing more than tiny strips of cloth over their nether regions.
Several dozen people competed with each other to take the demihumans home. Bids flew fast and furious, and Mave saw magic symbols flying above countless bidders as they paid insane prices for the demihuman slaves.
“I thought they kept that to the slave pits,” Mave murmured.
“Must be good stock,” Graem said. “Given the prices I glimpsed, I’m guessing there’s something special about their magical ability. Nobody pays that much for sex, despite how they were dressed.”
Mave wasn’t so sure about that.
Eventually, they arrived at Maliah’s tower. Several spellblades patrolled outside. One approached the two of them, before turning away once Graem cast a simple spell to confirm his magical signature.
Many things could be faked with illusions, but no mage could perfectly duplicate another’s magical signature. In New Ahm, one’s magic was one’s identity.
An expensively dressed mage waited in the gargantuan atrium of the tower. He smiled at Graem and Mave.
“Ah, excellent, you’re here, Graem. And it is good to see you again, Chief Enforcer Mave,” the mage greeted them.
“We’re the last, I assume, Nick?” Graem asked, looking around.
A few mages shuffled around and two massive statues with glowing eyes loomed over them. But nobody else important appeared to be present.
Nick—Grand Magister Nicholas Yale, to be specific—nodded. “Maliah didn’t want many to come, and they’re already up there. It’s chaos, I’m afraid. You won’t like it.”
Nick was Maliah Jyarvic’s second-in-command and the mage who ran the tower in truth. As archwarlock, Maliah was too busy to run the tower at the same time as the entire Malus League.
“I already didn’t like it. This doesn’t make it better.” Graem sighed. “Let’s go.”
They had to use two separate lifts to reach the meeting chamber, as it was contained within the inner sanctum of the castle. More enforcers checked their identities at several checkpoints.
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