“He didn’t…” Magnus gasped, seeing the damage for the first time. Torinus was divided down two lines outside the smoldering crater that used to be the Qingrenese consulate; on one side, Magister Gallienus and a small group of nobles stood, clinging to the line of uneasy looking guards keeping the crowd at bay, and on the other side was the Imperial Army of Qingren.
A row of Jaoren stood in red robes, elegant, curving armor made of silver, with plumed helmets and enchanted glaives sparking with lightning, their weapons primed against the Torinusian guards. They were flanked on either side by fearsome Tsuriin, clad in lacquered leather armor as dark as their black skin, armed with shortbows and throwing spears.
“Is this the invasion?” Matthias asked.
“If it is,” Magnus muttered. “Cyril will have gotten exactly what he deserved.”
Both men were approached by a hooded figure, who urgently tugged on their arms. He pulled back his hood to reveal the face of Bai Feng. “My friends—quickly, follow me.”
“What’s going on?” Matthias demanded.
Bai Feng shook his head. “I have no time to explain. Just follow my lead.”
A cry arose from the crowd, as mothers grabbed their children and dismayed citizens pointed to the sky as more Tsuriin flew in. Bai Feng tugged on Matthias and Magnus, pulling them through the crowd to get to the front as quickly as possible. The Tsuriin landed, a group of five wearing far more ornate armor than their compatriots, lined with gold and silver, and horned helmets that covered their faces. At their hips, Matthias recognized the hilts of swords. The lone Tsuriin in the center, however, appeared the most impressive. He towered over the humans before him, and he wore a helmet crowned with a golden disk, framed by two silver crescents. His face was obscured by a red mask in the shape of a demonic entity, with distorted features and long, pointed tusks. His armor was matched with flowing silver robes, and at his side were two of the curved swords the Qingrenese favored.
Two Jaoren with shaved heads stepped forward, wearing elegant robes of red. They vocalized a short chant before announcing in a grandiose voice. “All pay homage to His Most Divine Serenity, He Who Knows All Mysteries of Heaven, Most Revered Champion of the Moons, Lord and Master of the Teeming Multitudes of Qingren, Hegemon Kazan!”
The Jaoren and Tsuriin standing behind the Hegemon immediately fell to their knees, kowtowing and touching their heads against the floor. Bai Feng managed to fight his way to the front, and, faced with the intimidating visage of Kazan, likewise fell to his knees, tugging on Magnus and Matthias to do the same. Magnus slowly conceded, but Matthias lingered, glaring beyond the mask into the Hegemon’s silver eyes before bowing.
“H-Hegemon Kazan,” Magister Gallienus cleared his throat, his overfed body quivering under his robes. “We are honored by your presence in Torinus,” he declared, bowing quickly.
The Hegemon was quiet, the grinning demon mask enough to cow Gallienus. He slowly looked over to the crater where his consulate once stood and withdrew one of his elegant curved blades, the steel sparking with magical lightning as he pointed to the ruins. “What happened here, Magister?” he asked, his voice refined and oddly soft.
“It…” Gallienus shook. “I-it was A-Archon Cyril who—”
“Archon? Has that dog, acting as if he were a wolf, claimed a new title?” Kazan turned his attention to Bai Feng, “Why were we not informed about this development, Ambassador?”
The Jaoren raised his head, but kept his eyes averted. “Most Serene Highness, it is a very recent development. I have not had time to alert you.”
“And who are these two?” The Hegemon demanded, gesturing with his sword to Magnus and Matthias.
“Slaves, my lord Hegemon. I took the liberty of choosing these two for myself,” Bai Feng explained.
“We thought you held great disdain for the institution, Feng. We are disappointed. A man should stand by his principles, even in the face of his lord’s commands.” The Hegemon tilted his head back to the consulate. “Tell us what happened here.”
“Most Revered Kazan, King Cyril grew agitated with your demands and made an alliance with Torinus. They performed an ancient Altun ritual, and Cyril’s powers over the arcane were greatly augmented. He declared himself Archon, ruler over both Fosporia and the three remaining cities of Altun, and the Magisters swore fealty to him. To cement his power, he…” Bai Feng cleared his throat. “He destroyed the consulate single-handedly. He unleashed unstable magic that created this crater, and killed everyone inside.”
The Hegemon stood stock still, his great, leathery wings fluttering slightly. “Is this correct, Gallienus?” His voice was level, but the enchantments on his sword intensified, sparks flying off the blade and striking the ground.
“Archon Cyril felt it necessary to—”
“Silence, Magister.” Kazan’s voice developed a distinct edge that instantly muted Gallienus. His free hand crackled with lightning as he clenched and unclenched his fist. He turned to his men, and the soldiers immediately leaped back into formation. “Sons of Qingren! Look at the arrogance of these humans; their leader brazenly struck at men of peace; not soldiers, but bureaucrats, merchants. Civilians. He has abandoned his own in our lands, simply to use them against us. We face a coward of low cunning, a madman willing to sacrifice his own for bloodlust! We do the world a favor by marching against him.”
“And Torinus, Hegemon Kazan?” Gallienus asked.
The masked Tsuriin turned back to the Magister, who wilted under his gaze. “Ambassador Bai Feng says Cyril alone destroyed the consulate and killed hundreds of our people here, though we have no doubt you and your noble brethren toasted his name after he did so. We entered Torinus under the flag of truce, so we will leave without making war. But mark this, Magister Gallienus. If you and yours aid Cyril after this act of barbarity, you will wish the sea had swallowed this wretched hive thirteen hundred years ago with the rest of Altun, rather than face our wrath. None shall be spared, Gallienus. Is that understood?”
Gallienus nodded gravely. “Of course, Hegemon.”
Kazan nodded, then turned on his heel, stretching out his great wings before he paused, turning his head back to Bai Feng. “Ambassador. You knew the men of this consulate, did you not?”
“I did, my Hegemon.”
“Very good. You will bear witness to their funeral. Mother Mei and Father Xian must receive their children into the realm of Heavenly Love tonight. We will leave a priestess with you to officiate the ceremony, then we expect you to travel and join us in Stefanurbem. Your knowledge of Fosporia will be invaluable.”
Bai Feng pressed his head against the ground. “Of course, my Hegemon.”
Without another word, Kazan and his honor guard launched into the sky, flying over the heads of the crowd before returning to the harbor. All but three of the soldiers and a Jaoren woman in red and white robes followed after the Hegemon, and soon, the guards pushed the crowd back.
Gallienus drew close. “Ambassador?” He asked quietly, as Matthias returned to his full height and glared down at the fat noble.
“What is it, Magister?”
“At your earliest convenience, I would speak with you at my palace.” He glanced nervously over to Matthias. “In confidence.”
“Why would we want to hear anything you have to say, coward?” Matthias growled.
“Please,” Gallienus urged. “I need to speak with you. I can help you get out of Torinus.”
Bai Feng interjected before Matthias could respond. “We will take it under consideration, Magister.” As the Magister and his companions left, the priestess approached Bai Feng, bowing low. She had a youthful, pretty face, with long copper hair tied in a braid.
“My lord Ambassador,” she intoned formally, glancing at Matthias for a moment before returning to Bai Feng. “I am Song Wei, Priestess of Mother Mei, Servitor of the Temple of Heavenly Love. Do you know how many perished in this tragedy?”
“My aides have a catalog of all our staff, and o
ur barracks was holding a complement of sixty guards led by Captain Sun Lang. I must notify the others, then we can attend to the dead, Priestess.”
“As you say, Ambassador,” Wei bowed, and turned her gaze to Matthias again. “What is this one’s name?”
“Matthias,” the warrior responded bluntly. “Can we move things ahead?”
“He is insolent for a slave, Ambassador,” Wei commented.
“Yes, we’re trying to work that out of him,” Bai Feng said quickly, pushing on Matthias to get him moving. “Excuse us. We will return.”
The three walked down the streets of Torinus for some time before Bai Feng exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “This is becoming a nightmare…” he muttered.
“What happened?” Matthias demanded.
“You didn’t hear me the first time?” Bai Feng replied drily. “Cyril destroyed the consulate in one fell swoop, killing everyone inside. After I saw you paraded through the streets, I knew something had gone wrong. I hid with a few of my servants in a safe house for the night, just until things calmed down, but I never…” the Jaoren shuddered. “I never imagined Cyril was capable of such savage action.”
“What are we to do now, then?” Magnus asked. “Any chance of preventing war is thoroughly dashed.”
“The only thing we can do is find a way to stop Cyril. What he did to the consulate, no one man is that powerful with magic. Not even Kazan. I fear for the Hegemon’s life, and if Cyril, mad as he is, somehow manages to kill the Hegemon…” the Ambassador shook his head. “My countrymen can live for up to three hundred years. They will hold that grudge for a century at the least, and Fosporia is ill-prepared for a hundred years of ceaseless war.”
Magnus shivered at the thought. “Should we take our chances with Gallienus, then?”
Matthias snarled. “He’s one of the rats who killed my father. I watched him drive a knife into his side.”
Bai Feng grimaced. “I know of no one else who could help us. But, follow me; we will go, but we will not go unarmed.”
The Jaoren led the two men through the winding alleyways of Torinus to a back door, where a handful of Jaoren and Tsuriin clerks were huddled around a small, cramped room in the back of a tavern.
“Is it true, Lord Bai?” a young Jaoren asked, bowing his head as Bai Feng approached. “Has the Hegemon come to wreak vengeance on these humans?”
Bai Feng nodded grimly. “Hegemon Kazan, may the Heavens bless Him, is sailing for Stefanurbem with a fleet to make war with Fosporia for this affront. Gather your things and our ledgers; a priestess is waiting by the remains to count the dead. We’ll be leaving Torinus as soon as possible.”
A wave of relief washed over the Qingrenese, glad to turn their backs on their hiding hole. Bai Feng rummaged through the cluttered room, and, grunting under the weight, produced Matthias’ sword and shield. “I’m afraid we don’t have any armor your size.”
“I’ll get by,” Matthias growled, a certain satisfaction returning to him to feel the weight of his bronze blade in his hand again.
“And Hierophant, I’m afraid we don’t have any wands,” Bai Feng spread his hands.
“My pride won’t be wounded by relying on Matthias for protection,” Magnus said dryly. “But can we at least get something to eat before we move on to Gallienus? Neither of us has eaten anything since we left the consulate two days ago.”
The Ambassador nodded. “I think that can be remedied.”
The food provided was hardly a feast; some overly ripe fruit, decent bread, and a day old stew, but Matthias and Magnus ate it gladly, inhaling any morsel put between them as quickly as possible. Once properly fed, they returned to the streets and moved toward Gallienus’ sprawling estate. As soon as they came to the gates, they were quickly ushered in. Servants did not speak, but merely led them to their master. Gallienus was seated in his gardens, a lush collection of palm trees and flowering bushes, with vines wrapped around stone columns and a bubbling fountain in the center. The fat Magister was left sitting in the shade, staring out pensively at his gardens.
“Master?” spoke the servant leading Matthias and his companions. “Your guests, as requested.”
“Thank you, Diocles,” Gallienus said softly, waving him away as he turned to face his guests with a mournful face. “Please, sit.”
Matthias stood defiant. As Magnus glanced back at Matthias, he sighed. “Why did you want to speak with us, Magister?”
Gallienus drummed his fingers against a side table, where a wand sat next to a wine jug. “After the destruction of the consulate, Cyril presented the Magisters with our reward for our loyalty; wands.” He picked up the thin wooden instrument, examining it in the light. “My family traces its descent back to Archon Honorius the Wise, one of the greatest rulers of Altun. For thirteen hundred years, the House of the Remani has waited to once again feel the pull of magic in its patriarch…” Gallienus shuddered, shaking his head. “And when the moment came, I found I did not have the gift. The magic in my family died out long ago.”
“We weep for you,” Matthias grumbled in a hollow voice.
Gallienus chuckled mirthlessly. “Don’t you see? I’m not asking for your sympathy, I am filled with terror. What little good it does me, I was uneasy about partaking in the sacrifice. I was content to live in my family’s house, living off the wealth and luxury of my station. But Angelus filled our heads with visions of glory and power…” the Magister shuddered again. “Don’t you understand? This wand is useless to me. It was all for nothing. I took part in this dreadful crime. I gave my soul away, for nothing.”
Matthias and Magnus were silent. Bai Feng looked between them before speaking. “You seek to redeem yourself, Magister?”
Gallienus shook his head. “I killed the Creator’s own son. I am beyond redemption.”
Something in Matthias’ mind ignited like a flame. He thought back to Father Thomas, and the crushing weight of his own crimes; how the priest cursed him, refusing him his own redemption. “No. You’re not.”
Gallienus looked over to Matthias. “What?”
The warrior stepped forward, and the Magister was seized by fear as the hulking man cast him in his shadow. Matthias’ blade ignited with flame, but instead, Matthias sheathed it.
“You’re not beyond redemption.”
The Magister stared up at the warrior, gripping the edge of his seat tightly. “Am I to understand that you forgive me?”
Matthias cast him a steely look, and Gallienus immediately flinched, squirming under his gaze. “No.” He shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. Forgiveness will not bring my father back. But neither will anger. If you want redemption, it falls to you to put things right. But it can be done.”
Gallienus slowly nodded, only able to relax when Matthias stepped away. “I can only assume you’ve returned to take revenge on Cyril.”
Matthias nodded.
“Then allow me to try to make amends. I will outfit a ship for you to return to Fosporia. I have few soldiers I can spare, but you will not go unguarded.”
“What about Princess Floriana?” Matthias asked, crossing his arms. “She helped us. We should leave with her.”
Gallienus shook his head. “The princess is the lady of this city, but she is surrounded by her father’s agents. If you were to approach her, she would be put in harm’s way. That is why you must leave Torinus as quickly as possible. Cyril will send for her return to Stefanurbem soon, and until then, she’ll be watched every waking moment.”
Bai Feng rose, bowing graciously. “We thank you for your aid, Magister.”
Magnus eyed Gallienus’ wand. “If we could ask one thing more? If you have no use for that wand, I am a mage. I would like to be useful to my companions again.”
“Please,” Gallienus quickly pushed the wand into Magnus’ hands. “Take the thing. I have no business owning it.”
“Then we have an accord,” Bai Feng offered his hand, and Gallienus took it. “We thank you, Magister. This kindness will not be
forgotten by Qingren.”
“Nor by Fosporia,” Magnus added. They turned to Matthias, but the warrior had already left the room. He had nothing more to say to Gallienus.
Matthias and Magnus laid low in the Magister’s estate until nightfall, resting and recuperating as best they could. When the streets of Torinus were illuminated by the two moons, they moved back to the ruins of the consulate, where Song Wei was waiting for them.
“Ambassador,” she bowed. “The ashes have been gathered. Are you ready to begin the funeral rites?”
“Excuse me, master?” Magnus said meekly, playing the role of slave as best as he could remember. “The human captives were they inside the Consulate when it was attacked?”
Bai Feng grimaced. “They were.”
Magnus nodded solemnly. He had suspected as much, but the confirmation that Cyril had killed his own was still staggering. “May I say my own words, for my people?”
“Once we are done paying respects to Mother Mei and Father Xian, it should be acceptable,” Song Wei said. She returned to the gathered remains of the deceased, a pitiable pile of ash and bone, and began chanting a hymn, that the souls of the dead may find the loving embrace of heaven.
Matthias and Magnus stood at a respectful distance. “You surprised me, with what you said to Gallienus.” Magnus said softly. “Stefan would be proud.”
Matthias grunted. “Up until I said it, I still wanted to cave his skull in for what he did.” The warrior sighed, slumping his shoulders. “But I remembered how the priest from Springhead made me feel that same hopelessness.”
Magnus grinned, patting his friend on the back. “You’re a good man, Matthias.”
“Am I?” he scoffed. “I’ve failed to do anything good so far.” There was a pause as both men watched Song Wei create a ball of magefire and place it in a paper lantern, letting it rise into the air to complete the ritual. “Since you are to do rites of our own, does that mean you’ve reconciled with the Creator?”
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