Maura smiled in amusement and gave a small bow. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Majesty.”
The king’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the gathering of unfamiliar faces. “Where’s the Burai boy,” he demanded, the edge of panic settling into his voice.
“He will be joining us soon, Father,” Nahzarro said, holding up a hand so as to calm his father’s train of thought. “There’s a lot I have to explain.”
Maura stood affixed in place while Nahzarro launched into the tale, detailing everything that had happened from the time they embarked toward Kahntran to now. Matias took it all in with grim stoicism, a slight nod of his head the only periodic movement. To his credit, Nahzarro did a wonderful job of recreating the events that led to this moment, giving her credit for saving his life on the Northern Continent and even praising the efforts of the Duzels.
“And that is where we stand, Father,” Nahzarro said, holding his arms out as though he had just dropped a heavy load at the king’s feet.
“So…” Matias said, stroking his beard with one hand, “once more, Grassan falls under attack.” He reached to the side of his throne, his thick fingers wrapping around the pommel of a massive Grassani-made battle-axe designed to channel the user’s magic through the blade. The king leapt to his feet and raised his axe into the air with a speed that Maura did not think the chubby man capable of. “Let them come. Let them break themselves against the magical might of Grassan! Let these demons try and take that which we have created over centuries and defended with our dying breaths! Let them see what it means to fear in the face of a superior opponent!” He looked positively wild with energy.
Maura was taken aback by the king’s outburst, but in her heart, she felt a rushing enthusiasm at his words and confidence.
“You all”—Matias pointed past Nahzarro, toward the assembled team—“can I count on you and your mechanical airship to aid Grassan in its hour of need? Can I count on the cunning of your brilliant minds and the strength of your arms as we carve through our mutual foe together?”
Maura looked to her side and saw that the king’s infectious enthusiasm was spreading throughout her comrades.
“Your Majesty,” Mitchell said, stepping forward, tugging nervously at the corner of his shirt, “it would be my sincerest honor to put my creation to use for a kingdom that truly deserves it.”
A murmur of agreement spread throughout the room, and Maura noticed Deana and Michael also smiling and nodding. Nevick, however, remained a mask of still, stoic nothingness, his massive arms folded along his broad chest. Maura’s brow furrowed in confusion. What was the big man’s problem? Had Matias said something that upset the former protector of Casid?
Either the king had not noticed this chilly reception or he did not mind it. He bore a feral smile, the shine of his teeth visible beneath the cover of his bushy beard.
“Well, by thunder, you’ve all had a journey.” He set the massive axe down and clapped his hands twice, the sound of his meaty palms slapping into one another echoed through the sparse chamber. Attendants flooded in through various doors, standing at attention to heed their king’s orders. “See our guests to their quarters,” he said to them before turning back to Maura. “Girl, I was hoping you could join my son and me as we prepare for the defense of this city.”
Maura’s eyes bulged, and she pointed at her own chest in disbelief. “Me?”
“Yes, sodding you,” he replied with teasing annoyance in his voice. “A king has offered you a great honor, girl. It’s bad luck to reject such a thing.” Nahzarro looked back at her, smiling under the torn brow of his hat, almost invisibly. Maura, despite herself, felt the corners of her mouth turn up at his gaze.
“I’d be glad to!”
Moving back into Matias’s private office, Maura settled alongside Nahzarro into one of the simple chairs before the king’s plain, empty desk. Matias moved around the room, gathering parchment from several shelves, moving with a bounce in his step that Maura had not seen previously. She found it odd that a king would be so giddy at the prospect of war when his home and very way of life would be threatened.
“You seem awful chipper about this,” Maura said, nodding in the king’s direction and feeling comfortable enough with the man that he would not chide her for this lapse in formality.
“Indeed, Father,” Nahzarro said. “What has you in such a fine mood?”
The king laid several rolls of weathered parchment down upon the desk, rubbing his hands together in delight. “There’s nothing that gets a man’s blood up faster and with more fervor than an upcoming battle. By thunder, I haven’t had a good row in ages.” He reached down and lifted his broad axe once more, spinning the heavy instrument with ease in the controlled manner that only hundreds of hours of training could produce.
“You’re not concerned?” Maura asked, one eyebrow raised in question, hoping that the king had something up his sleeve.
“Concerned?” The king scoffed. “I'm sodding terrified, girl!”
“What?” Maura demanded.
“Father?”
“You heard me,” he replied, unrolling several large scrolls and looking over their contents as he scratched at his head. “We’re being attacked by an unknown foe using the most powerful magic the world has ever known with a single-minded determination to bring us down. My people are in danger; my home is in danger.” His eyes settled on Nahzarro, and he sighed. “My family is in danger.”
“Then why are you so…excited?” Maura asked, head tilted in confusion.
“Because I know what I’m fighting for, girl. Because I know what happens to my people, my home, and my family if I give this threat less than one hundred percent of my heart, mind, and arm. Moping about isn’t going to win this war. Beating the tar out of some demons will though, and I’m excited to do so to protect the people and places I love!”
Maura nodded, the mentality suddenly dawning on her. Battle inspired Matias not because he enjoyed bloodshed, as she initially feared, but because he had a passion for his people and this place that they all called home.
“Now,” the king said, quickly turning his attention to the desk, “I’ve got a number of maps detailing Grassan and the immediate region surrounding it. We’re going to need to see them all together to formulate a plan.” He motioned toward Nahzarro. “If you would, son.”
“At once, Father,” he replied with an elaborate flourish of his right hand. The scrolls leapt up from the desk and converged upon the wall, flattening themselves out and adhering to the surface as they formed a massive circular map of the city they were set to defend.
“Now,” the king said with a hunger born of a passion to protect, “let’s formulate a plan!”
Nevick paced along the posh carpet of the fancy room to which he and Deana had been assigned. The level of finery in the immaculately decorated chamber was unsettling to him. The room was decked out in flourishes of red, brown, and gold. On the walls, there hung tapestries and large paintings. A pleasant smell reminiscent of apples and cinnamon wafted into his nose, adding to the relaxing atmosphere. At the center of it all sat an enormous bed, which would not have fit in any home once found in Casid. It was massive and soft, covered with maroon and gold blankets and more pillows than one or two people could possibly need. It was all so…different.
Deana sat upon the bed, legs out in front of her as she relaxed upon the mountain of soft pillows. “Seriously, Nevick, you have to feel how soft this is,” she remarked to him, breaking through the silent musing of his angst. “Nevick,” she called out to him again, trying to shake him from what she likely perceived to be distraction. But Nevick was alert and had heard her perfectly. He was busy scanning the room, looking for anything potentially harmful. Finally, he turned to her.
“I’ll take your word for it, Dea,” he grumbled.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just not sure I trust this place yet,” he replied, sauntering over to the window at the far end of the ro
om. Moving the curtain aside with two fingers, Nevick gazed out at the unfamiliar metropolitan landscape of Grassan. Their room was high up in one of the many towers that surrounded the royal monument, and from such a height, he could see most of the city spread out before him. Nevick had never seen anything like it—the way the ground far below seemed alive with movement as thousands of people bustled about. Then there were the huge airships that soared majestically overhead, coupled with the smaller canoe-sized vessels, which passed below his window, maneuvering through the crowded cityscape at incredible speeds. They were so quick and so quiet.
The Heart of Casid was fast and powerful, but it was also noisy. A great many gears and rattling machines could be heard as it cut through the sky. These ships though, it was as though they literally sailed through the air.
“What’s there not to be sure of?” Deana scoffed at him.
“Kings and large cities like this…I just don’t like them.”
“Because you’re comparing them to Karminia.”
Nevick shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he was comparing Matias and Grassan to Emperor Tek’s totalitarian reign of terror. But any man or woman Nevick had ever met who wielded absolute power wound up abusing that power in some way. Whether the portly king was more secretive about it mattered not. Nevick would not give him the chance to betray them by lowering his guard.
As he opened his mouth to answer, there was a rapping at their door. He gave Deana an apologetic look and walked across the room, pulling the door open and blinking in surprise when King Matias stood in the hallway, flanked by two soldiers.
“I… What?” Nevick stammered, unsure of what the monarch would be doing outside his room.
“Easy, lad,” Matias said, holding up a hand. His other hand remained wrapped firmly around the handle of a massive axe, bulkier than most and covered in arcane runes like those that sat upon the handles of Maura’s daggers and Nahzarro’s whips. “I’ve only come for a brief word.”
Nevick saw a seriousness in the king’s eyes as his gaze returned to the weapon he brandished. Why was he armed? Was he expecting Nevick to attack him? It was all so strange. Nevick motioned for the king to enter, and Matias looked in the room to see Deana sitting up straight on the bed.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head.
“And a fine evening to you as well, Lady Deana,” he replied. “Actually, lad, I was hoping to speak with you privately.” Nevick looked back at Deana, whose eyebrows raised to him. She was so trusting, so sure that nothing bad could come of such a meeting, but Nevick was unsure. There were two armed guards and a very armed king. What if they wanted to lead him into an ambush? Looking the two men and the rotund ruler over though, Nevick realized that even should they attack, he would not be in much danger.
“Very well,” he responded. He turned and nodded to his betrothed, who smiled at him from her place amongst the comfy pillows, and turned to follow the king out into the hall. As the door to his chambers closed, Matias turned and nodded to the guards. They turned and walked off.
“Come,” Matias said, laying a thick-fingered hand upon Nevick’s shoulder and leading him down the hallway. Nevick fell into step beside him, glancing sideways and down at the bearded man. “So how are you enjoying my city?”
“It’s fine…big.”
“Ah, yes, I’d imagine from what I’ve been told about you that the sight of Grassan might be a bit unnerving.”
“And what have you been told of me?” Nevick asked, eyes narrowing.
“I know that you led a thriving community full of good people. I know you lost them to these sodding demons. And I know that you’re a warrior of honor. My son told me as much.”
“He did?” Nevick replied, taken aback by Nahzarro’s generous description of him.
“My son can be a bit of an ass,” the king replied with a chuckle, “but he’s a good kid.” Nevick resisted the urge to smile at the king’s blunt assessment of his son’s demeanor and continued to listen intently. “He’s always valued magic above all else. Despite everything I tried to ingrain in him, hoping he’d succeed me in the Collective of Light, my son has always been blinded by a never-wavering trust in magic. Until he came back to me earlier today and wove me a tale of warriors of might and martial prowess, bravely carving their way through a swath of hellish battle. I think you, the girl, and the Burai boy have changed his opinion of Shormloch.”
Nevick drew a sharp intake of breath. Nahzarro had often used that as a demoralizing term, and the burly warrior believed the king was now insulting him.
“I take it you’ve heard the term before and likely not in a nice way,” Matias continued. “It’s a common term here to define those citizens of Grassan without magic, but make no mistake, no matter how my son uses it, that is no insult.” Silence settled around them for a moment. Nevick’s nose wrinkled, not believing the king for a second. The round man took a long intake of breath and blew it out, his fierce exhalation billowing tufts of his bushy beard. “Would it surprise you to hear that I am a Shormloch?”
Nevick stopped and looked at the king in shock. The ruler of the magical city of Grassan was not a mage?
“Aye, lad,” the king continued, stopping as well to look up into Nevick’s eyes. “It wasn’t always the case, but there came a day when I had to make a decision for the future of my people, and I made a choice of which I remain proud right at this moment.”
“What choice was that?”
“My magic or my people.”
Nevick stared long and hard at the king in the wake of this revelation.
“We’re not so different, you and I,” Matias continued, laying his hand on Nevick’s shoulder once more and walking with him. “Much like you, I’m the head of a thriving community. I love my people as though they were my own blood.”
“It’s a lot different,” Nevick said. “This is a vast city, and Casid was a tiny village.”
“There’s no difference between the head of a small village and the king of a huge city. The size of the land matters not. It’s more about the size of compassion in that leader’s heart. In that way, Nevick, I think we’re very much alike.”
Nevick pondered the king’s words and found himself nodding along with his logic. He began to see Matias not as a monarch who held himself above all others and imposed his rule upon the masses but as a simple man of blood and flesh, who only wanted to defend his home and his people.
“In my day, Nevick, oh I was strong and fierce and rugged and handsome. I carved bloody swaths through battlefields on every sodding continent. I was a warrior, much the same as you. I command a city of mages, some of the brightest most advanced magical minds in all of Terra, and I place more stock in a strong pair of arms than any of that.” He smacked Nevick on a massive bicep to accentuate his point.
Nevick could sense the king was beating around the bush and was anxious to see where this conversation was heading. “So, what is it you want of me?” They stopped walking, all pretenses dropped.
“I can’t fight anymore, lad. I’m old, I’m fat, and my strength was sapped by years of peace.” He held the axe carried at his side aloft in two hands. “I need someone like you, someone strong of body and spirit, kind of heart, and who understands my plight to take my place on the battlefield.” He held the weapon out to Nevick. “I need you to be the fist of Grassan, lad.” Nevick took a step back, shocked by the king’s words. “I’m giving you not a spot on the battlefield tomorrow. I’m giving you my spot.”
Nevick felt the sting of unshed tears upon his eyes as he looked into the face of this broken-down, old warrior-turned-king. His spot on the battlefield was the last thing that Matias had to give, and he was giving it to Nevick. He looked into the king’s eyes and saw not a monarch, not a ruler, not a dictator like Emperor Tek. He saw a kindred spirit, a peer, possibly even a friend.
“You barely know me,” Nevick said, his voice hardly a whisper.
“My son vouches for you, and I trust t
he boy with my life.”
Nevick gazed down at the king’s axe, on all it represented. It was more than a mere weapon. It was trust. It was Matias passing a torch from one warrior to another. It was the king trusting in his strength and ability. There was only one answer that would do.
“It would be a serious honor, sir,” Nevick replied, reaching out and taking the axe in both hands.
XV: Preparations
The pulsating power flowing into her body through the Skeletal Throne was saturated in enough chaos energy to crack the planet in two. Any other being in existence would be swallowed by it, obliterated by the raging blaze of the Goddess’s love. But Aleksandra was no mortal being, a fact that repeated itself through her mind as she closed her eyes, enjoying the rushing tingle of Ignis’s might.
This had been her seat of power since the christening of her new empire, a seat composed of the charred bones of the Rosinanti king at the end of the great war. The magic contained in this enemy corpse formed the perfect conduit for the chaos. She had been gathering power here for months, prepping for this exact moment when she would finally have enough channeled energy to fully realize the strength and usefulness of this grand floating fortress.
“The time has come then,” she heard the voice of Aurax purr before her, the excitement in his voice mirroring the rush spreading through her body.
“Indeed,” she hissed in pleasure as the tingling thrill of magic ran up her spine. “It shan't be much longer now.” This palace of power had many uses. For one, it was incredibly imposing. She loomed over the empire, over the world itself, with flesh of black stone and spikes, showing all who might challenge her rule that she was death incarnate. It was impenetrable to outside attack. The height and protective enchantments built into the stone made the castle siege proof. But the greatest gift it could bestow was contained within the massive black spike that ran directly over her central tower and extended up into the sky. Upon the creation of this fortress by her holy ancestor, the Skeletal Throne and all of the magic contained within were connected to the armament.
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