by Eric Ugland
It was a short walk from the front waiting area, up the stairs, and down a grand hallway to a giant room that the Viceroy said was his office. It could have fit at least one basketball court and one side of bleachers. And about as tall. There was a massive table in the middle, and one wall was just a map of the Empire. My jaw dropped at the level of detail, and the sheer scale of everything. The Empire was a damn big place. Despite having traversed the northern width of the nation, I’d barely covered any of it. It was much bigger north to south than east to west.
The Viceroy’s escorts stopped at the door. There was a loud noise as they slammed their polearms into the ground.
“I hate when they do that,” the Viceroy said, walking us over to his desk.
He gestured at the two chairs in front, and Cleeve sat down. I started to pull my pack off, but then Ragnar hopped up into the chair, so I stopped.
The Viceroy smiled.
“Lord Coggeshall,” the Viceroy said, “what is it that I may do for you on this fine day?”
“I come bearing something from the Emperor, Lord Viceroy.”
“Benedict, must you be so formal?”
“I take it you two know each other?” I asked.
“He was my commander in the Legion,” the Viceroy said. “Before I got this stupid job.”
“That was ages ago,” Cleeve/Benedict interjected. “And this job is a big honor.”
“If my cousin had told me that my primary responsibility would be holding the hands of desperate nobles and dealing with the uppity Osterstadt well-to-do, I would never have accepted the position.”
“Of course you would have. The Emperor asked you to do it.”
“Well, I would definitely have told him off at his next nameday. Which, and I do not want to sound rude, but do you think he will have another nameday?”
“I do not. He is not well, and I fear his end is upon us.”
“Well shit.”
“Agreed.”
“Now, business for just a moment,” the Viceroy said.
“I have a decree from his roya—”
“From my cousin,” the Viceroy interrupted. “And who are these ruffians you are with?”
“Ah, this is my heir, Montana Coggeshall, and his two hirðmen, Ragnar and Skeld.”
“Your heir?” The Viceroy asked, eyebrows going a bit high. “And he has hirð already?”
“Yes,” I said, “your honor.”
The Viceroy laughed at me, which, you know, I felt was justified. “Please, I am just a humble servant of the Empire. You may call me Léon.”
“Do not listen to him,” Cleeve/Benedict interjected. “He is Léon Glaton, member of the Imperial Family and Viceroy of Osterstadt.”
Léon waved his hand. “That is all nonsense.”
“It is not,” Cleeve/Benedict said. “Montana, to you it may seem like flippery and finery not useful anywhere but the confines of court. But there are plenty of those in this world who will judge you poorly should you not give them the respect they feel they are due. Léon, by virtue of who his cousin is, may be more relaxed with the rigid rules of conduct by which the nobility of Glaton must abide.”
While Cleeve talked, Léon walked around the desk and stood by Ragnar and Skeld.
“I apologize,” Léon said, “but I have yet to encounter ones such as you. May I know of you?”
They looked to me.
I shrugged.
“We are Lutra,” Skeld said.
“Lutra,” Léon said. “From the Empire?”
“We live in the Empire, yes,” Skeld said. “We were of the RiverMaster tribe.”
“I would very much like to visit your tribe at some point.”
“If we were of that tribe still, I would be more than honored at your visit. But now we are beholden to Master Coggeshall.”
“I hesitate to push,” Cleeve/Benedict interrupted, “but time is of the essence here.”
“Yes, well,” Léon said, walking back to the desk and dropping into the seat, “give me what you have, and let us get this nastiness out of the way.”
Cleeve nodded, and he reached deep into a pocket inside his coat. He pulled out a thick jeweled disc and set it on the desk. Léon gasped, just a little.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Cleeve replied.
Léon pushed the ruby at the center, and the gold disc opened like a flower. There was a letter inside, as well as a small golden thimble. Léon read the letter, laughing a little bit here and there. Then he folded the letter up and slid it into his pocket.
“Perhaps congratulations are in order here,” Léon said.
“Perhaps,” Cleeve replied.
Léon got to his feet and walked over to the large table dominating the room.
“Fetch Aquinas,” Léon shouted.
One of the guards saluted, then dashed off.
Leon pulled a few rolls of parchment out of a chest under the table, and then started spreading out maps of the area.
“Over here,” Léon said.
Cleeve got out of his chair and walked over to the table. The rest of us followed.
“Duke Coggeshall, if I may be so bold,” Léon started, gesturing widely at the maps, “it is time to select your dukedom. Do you have any ideas to what you would like?”
Cleeve leaned over and started at the maps.
“As his heir,” I said, “might I ask a technical question?”
“Certainly,” Léon replied.
“Could he pick it all?”
“The short answer is no.”
“The long answer?”
“Noooooooooo.”
There were a few laughs.
“I know little of you, or of what you know of our Empire,” Léon said.
“He knows nothing,” Cleeve interjected. “He is clueless to all things Glaton.”
“Brilliant choice for an heir, Benedict.”
Benedict just shrugged. He had a small notebook out and was checking coordinates in the book against those on the map.
“So there is the Emperor, my cousin,” Léon said. “He is at the top of the pile. Under him is a list of people a mile long, all equally desperate for more power. Archdukes are in charge of regions. Below archdukes are dukes, who control multiple counties. Counts control a single county, barons a single holding, and, at the bottom, knights control a single estate. More or less. It is all a little more fluid than that, and there are plenty of odd variables which have cropped up in the thousand-odd years of the Empire’s existence. Like the marquises, who control border provinces and receive additional military support from the Emperor. They have, in a sense, a military position. Or cities like Osterstadt, who report directly to the Emperor, with no baron, count, or duke above them. Here, they report to me, and I report to the Emperor. But given the amount of time it would require to get answers back and forth, I am here as the Emperor. I function, more or less, as his voice here. Quite silly, but likely the only way to keep something this size operational over the long-term. But all that is to say that a dukedom has a maximum size, smaller than an arch-dukedom. But, your, well, father, is unique in that he will be a duke, but a duke who reports directly to the Emperor. An imperial duke or a grand duke. As far as I know, your father, and you, will be the only ones of those. There are imperial knights, soldiers of incredible bravery who are given estates and then only report to the Emperor. But those are not hereditary titles — their children either become regular knights reporting to a Baron, or the title just disappears into the ravages of time.”
“That’s a lot to take in,” I said, trying to process the info-dump he’d just laid on me.
“’Tis not even the half of it. There are other Viceroys than just me. And military orders who swear allegiance to the Emperor, and are answerable to none but him.”
“Like the Thingmen.”
“Like them, and also those different than him. They generally don’t follow orders in quite the same way or with the same severity. And they
tend to focus on a single method of combat. The Order of the Lance, riding their ponies. Order of the Tooth who like to tame and breed monsters as pets.”
“Where does magic fall into this?”
“Magic? Tell me you are not of the magical bent.”
“Uh,” I started.
“Does he practice magic?” Léon asked.
Cleeve/Benedict didn’t look up from the map, but nodded slowly.
“I suspect you will be wanting an Imperial Prerogative for him.”
“I was planning on buttering you up a little before asking, but yes.”
Léon looked me up and down, and tapped at his clean-shaven chin, then smiled and slapped Cleeve lightly on the shoulder. “Of course. Though, if you are going to take so long with the map, perhaps I will do the Imperial Prerogative first.”
“Not to be rude, but what is an Imperial Prerogative?” I asked.
“Follow,” Léon said, walking back towards his desk. He reached into the top drawer, and he pulled out a small box, something like a ring box. He popped it open, and retrieved a little gold thimble. “Give me your wrist.”
I did so. He turned it over so the inside faced up to him.
“Do you swear to use your magic for the good of the Emperor?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Do you swear to never use your magic to harm the Emperor?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Lovely.”
He jammed the thimble against my wrist. I felt an excruciating pain for a moment, then Léon let go. He popped the thimble back in the box, and I looked down at my wrist.
There was a small black mark, the Imperial Bearded Vulture inside a square inside a circle inside a star.
You have received the Indicium of Imperial Prerogative: Magic.
“You can now practice magic in the Empire,” Léon said.
“Uh, great?”
“Indeed. Benedict, are you through yet?”
“Yes,” Cleeve answered. “I have the land chosen.”
“Finally,” Léon sighed, walking back to the giant table.
I rubbed at the mark, trying to get the residual pain to go away, and the two men talked over the proposed dukedom. Léon pointed out where the boundaries of claimed property were when Cleeve pointed to the area he wanted, and Cleeve agreed to certain restrictions, as well as various terms and conditions. Finally, Léon and Cleeve shook hands.
A man was escorted into the room. He had a wooden box under one arm, about the size of a tackle-box.
“Aquinas,” Léon said, “so lovely of you to join us. We have some markings to do.”
Aquinas nodded, and set his box on the table. He opened it up, revealing it was full of art supplies. Very fine brushes, bottles of inks, small nibs on polished wood.
Léon ran his finger along the map, pointing out the boundaries to Aquinas. This time I watched, realizing that this was to be my domain at some point in the near future.
Osterstadt sat at the western edge of this particular map, and then there was a great wash of green, the Emerald Sea. The lake we’d hiked across was a ways to the east. Léon marked out a ton of the mountains, butting up to the lake and going until they were reasonably near the edge of Osterstadt, from the northern edge to the southern edge. Then, there were a few bump outs as well. Like the river I swam in, there was a wide semi-circle around it, going deep into one of the forests then following the river all the way down to the Imperial road. There was also a large chunk that went into the plains area, and some small parcels in the heavy forests. Basically, it was in the shape of a key. A bulbous bit at one end, nearer Osterstadt, and the straight bit up at the top with the rough bit at the bottom. It was a huge amount land.
“That’s more than we discussed,” Cleeve said, as Aquinas finished drawing.
“As Viceroy, I am the arbiter of the land, yes?”
“Yes, though—”
“Also, you should know that your dukedom also qualifies as a march. As you abut the edge of the Empire, and that means as much land as you are able to hold, you are able to keep.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Gentlemen,” he swept his hands over the map, “I present to you, the, oh, what is the name of your dukedom?”
Without hesitation, Cleeve said, “Coggeshall.”
Chapter 91
Léon smiled. “Good name.”
Cleeve nodded, blushing ever so slightly. It was the first time I’d seen the man embarrassed about anything. Or, really, be emotional about anything.
“Of course, now that this is official, it is time to make it more official. You are going to be a duke,” Léon said.
“I did not—”
“Kneel.”
Cleeve knelt, promptly snatching at my shirt to pull me down with him.
Léon went to his desk and pulled out a ring of keys. He sorted through them, found what he was looking for, then walked over to a painting and pulled it off the wall. It revealed a small door with a keyhole in the middle. Léon opened the door which revealed a lever. He pulled the lever, and there was a ke-thunk of gears coming together. A section of the wall came out like a drawer. Then Léon used a different key on that. As he lifted the top of the drawer up, light bloomed out. Léon turned around holding a glowing sword.
He walked over to us, and set the sword point down in front of Cleeve. Cleeve reached out and wrapped both hands around the blade. I saw a dark drop run down as the sword cut into his hands.
“Benedict Coggeshall,” Léon said, serious for the first time, “as the physical manifestation of His Imperial Highness, Thorismund Glaton, the Emperor of Glaton, I admit you to the rank of Imperial Duke, with only his Imperial Highness between you and the Gods. Rise, Benedict Coggeshall, Duke of Coggeshall.”
Cleeve stood, a big smile on his face, and he let out a sigh. His shoulders relaxed. He’d finally accomplished what we’d set out to do. Which meant that I probably got a quest completion. Which reminded me that I hadn’t taken stock of the notifications for quite some time.
Then, Léon placed the sword in front of me. Up close, the blade was a sight to behold. The entire surface roiled with tiny runes, all glowing a light blue. The metal, too, seemed different, brighter somehow. Also, no blood remained on the blade, despite what I’d seen when Cleeve grabbed it. Maybe I’d been mistaken on the whole bleeding thing.
I reached out and grabbed the blade.
Immediately, pain blossomed out from my hands, and, as expected when grabbing a very sharp thing, blood flowed down, a bit more than with Cleeve. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to grab the blade quite so hard.
“Montana Coggeshall,” Léon said, still serious, “as the physical manifestation of His Imperial Highness, Thorismund Glaton, the Emperor of Glaton, I admit you to the rank of Imperial Ducal Heir, with only your father and His Imperial Highness between you and the Gods.”
Time seemed to slow down for a moment, to where the wings of the fly across the room looked more like those of an albatross.
“Greetings,” came a voice. Or voices. It sounded like it was a multitude speaking as one.
“Uh, hi?” I replied.
“We rarely speak with those who come to us,” the voice said, “but you are the first of your kind we have tasted.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”
“We are the line of the Imperium.”
“Might need to run that by me one more time.”
“Right now, you see us as the sword you have your hands around, but in the most simple terms, we are the blood of the Emperors and royal family collected since the beginning of the Empire.”
“That’s really, uh,” I wanted to say weird. Because it was weird. Really weird. Instead, I said, “cool.”
“We are cold?”
“I mean, kind of.”
“We ask if you will be willing to let us drink of your blood, to add it to our memories and what we might offer the next Emperor.”
“Sure.”
> There was a pause. “You do not ask anything in return?”
Shit.
“I guess not,” I said.
I felt a great suction, as if something was being pulled from my very being. And just as sudden as it had started, it stopped.
Another pause.
Bear in mind, the rest of the world seemed to have halted at this point. It was remarkably weird. The same droplet of sweat still hung off the guard’s nose, and it was killing me waiting for it to finally let go and drop.
“Fallen,” the voice said, “we have spoken, and we have decided. For your generosity, we give you Royal Blood.”
“Thanks, but—”
Intense pain wracked my body. It was as if my insides were being torn to shreds, glued back together, then ripped asunder again, only to be repaired.
One of those you-can’t-ignore-it notifications popped up.
HEAR THIS. The Imperial Line has altered your race, irrevocably. You are now ROYAL FALLEN. This will cause some to look on you with favor, and some with scorn. There are unknown benefits and penalties associated with this Racial Choice. Be warned, some of these might never be known.
You immediately receive +1 to all attributes and +10 to charisma. You gain the ability RALLYING CRY. Once per day, you may invoke Rallying Cry. Those in your party or army are given 10% more hitpoints. These hitpoints are temporary and vanish at the end of battle.
You have gained the Indicium ROYAL. Your spell Identify Object has been boosted to Level 3. You have been granted the ability STAND TALL. You can choose to hide all your wounds while in battle, though at the cost of your stamina. You have been granted the ability REGAL BEARING. Those who look upon you can feel your royal blood, and they are more likely to respect you.
“Welcome to our line,” the voice said.
Then time ripped right back up to normal speed.
“Rise, Montana Coggeshall, Heir to the Dukedom of Coggeshall.”
Chapter 92
My eyes darted around the room, but everyone else was acting normal. No one realized what had happened. I was really freaked out about the whole thing.