I took one final look at the commotion around my tower before I departed. Pyl had arrived and was assigned, with the help of the two witches, to resolving the growing numbers of the undead. In his typical fashion, he was thrilled at the opportunity to research more types of naturally occurring undead. I could only tip my hat in understanding the thrill that came with exploring new magics.

While I could have easily destroyed the monsters, I didn’t necessarily feel the need to do so if they could be contained. I even allowed him to recruit Jax and Philipe to create rooms within my cellar to trap and contain the undead he brought back down for further research. He was especially excited about a skeletal fish he had found, and I found myself also interested in seeing his analysis of the monster.

Kine and Rhela were busy leading assorted villagers and a few of my guards in rounding up the refugees scattered throughout the forest. Even a couple of the dwarves assisted in the matter, much to my surprise. I was a little concerned at the lengths they went to in order to find them though, spreading out and searching through the woods. I would have simply used an illusionary beacon and waited for them to arrive, but his thoroughness was one of the things I appreciated about my former assistant.

Satisfied that they had it well in hand, I took to the air towards Eiston. It seemed that I had been there not long ago, and the route was more than familiar to me. I saw no further evidence of goblin attacks along the way, though the burnt husk of the Farmwell’s former home hadn’t been touched.

I didn’t stop at the gates to the city this time. Rather, I flew over it and directly towards the gates to the Eiston castle. The castle loomed over the town, a large hay-colored stone building that had seen better days. It was less expansive than one would imagine for a city of this size, as if built before a growth in population. That I estimated was a hundred years or more before the population boom from war refugees. Refugees who I saw sitting in alleys and street corners looking for work or begging for food.

There were two newer towers of a different construction on the right side, a reminder of the damage done when the first Pestilence struck here. Long, thin cracks, too thin for anything more than insects or perhaps a small rat could be seen creeping up from the foundation.

Guards, well armed and armored patrolled the keep. Six stood guard in front of the main gate and diverted foot traffic away. I made it in a timely fashion, so it was still early afternoon, and I didn’t envy those guards wearing heavy armor in the heat. They must have expected me as well, given that they didn’t draw weapons or fire arrows as I floated down before them. Rather, one guard left through a small doorway to the sides of the main gate while their leader, a woman wearing a cloak on top of her heavy armor and a plumed helmet stepped forward.

“State your name and business,” she said in a loud neutral tone. No emotion crossed her face as she spoke, either, and I felt it a mildly impressive display of discipline. It also made me wonder how often they had dealt with wizards dropping in from the sky. Was it a common occurrence here? If so, I would plan to arrange a more stunning entrance.

“Wizard Nemon Fargus, answering the Duchess’s summons,” I said with a contained smile.

Some emotion flashed across her brown eyes, though I wasn’t certain what it was. Her face hadn’t moved and it was gone so quickly I thought nothing more of it. Perhaps a dawning of recognition or something to that effect. Regardless, she motioned to a guard beside her who saluted.

“[Guard] Diter will guide you. Pleasant day,” she said, and immediately returned to her station and rigid stance.

I glanced at the guard, though it was difficult to make out the difference between him and the others when only their faces were displayed. In fact, if it weren’t for his thin yellow mustache and the fact he was motioning for me to follow, I wasn’t sure I could tell any of them apart.

The small doorway led directly to the inner bailey, with more soldiers training for battle in loud clashes of sword against shield. Some fools shouted their skills before using them, as if announcing a skill gave it more power, but my guide didn’t slow at all as we walked towards the main doors. Not that I would have corrected them if he had. In fact, he seemed to walk faster through the courtyard.

I followed with steady and dignified steps, much to his annoyance. I had already flown here faster than a horse could ride, and I wasn’t about to be rushed by a simple gate guard unless an attack was underway.

Inside the keep presented entirely different than the outside, and immediately felt cooler and quieter. The entrance room was a long hall with two guards. A chandelier with cut emeralds sparkled among sunlight that came from a stained-glass rooftop window. The window seemed an affectation of the king’s castle, though the stained glass was in simple patterns and not as fanciful as the mural there. The walls were painted in a light blue color that went very well with the thin columns covered in nacre on either side. The floor was the same hay-colored stone as the rest for the keep, but a long white and blue carpet was placed along the center.

Paintings and sculptures hung on the walls in between each column, but my guide did not see fit to allow me to stop and view them. Instead, his armor clanked and jangled as he hurried across the entry hall. We walked through no less than three other rooms, including an enormous dining hall, before arriving at the Duchess’ seat. The smell of death that hung in the air as we grew closer made for a distinct impression.

When we finally arrive at the hall, the doors were already propped open, and the hall was full. To either side stood several nobles and powerful figures from across Eistoni. The Duchess sat on one of two chairs at the end of the hall, wearing an elaborate frilly yellow dress. The other chair was empty, but on a table before her lay the corpse of her husband. The body still wore a duke’s enchanted armor, and from the multiple rends in it that displayed the gory mess beneath, the odor of death arose.

Around the hall, the other attendees stood awkwardly, with men and women holding scented cloths to their noses to disguise the odor. Two guards in full plate armor and holding halberds, stood like statues at the end of each table. I stopped at the entryway to be announced, and subtlely cast an enchantment against the smell as I stroked my beard.

“Presenting Wizard Nemon Fargus, Alderman of Lark,” a shrill voice called from somewhere inside the room but near the entryway. I forced a smile as I walked forward towards the duchess. While her mournful gaze had been stuck on the corpse of her fallen husband, her eyes widened when they caught sight of me.

To the duchess’s left stood three different priests, one for each of the major temples within Sena. To her right stood several military men, high ranking by the uniforms they wore. All of their eyes followed me in silence as I walked forward in measured steps.

Indeed, many of the others throughout the room began to whisper amongst themselves. I almost grimaced when I realized that I hadn’t recast my illusion over myself, and stood before them in my true form. I was dressed in a very fashionable white robe, enchanted to shimmer when struck directly by sunlight, and an orange sash with a matching cylinder-shaped hat. I knew I was particularly dashing today, as the sash and hat were intentionally chosen to match my eyes.

When I finally reached as far as was reasonably possible to attend the duchess given the table in the way, I stopped to give her a bow appropriate to her station. It was an odd thing, this, as it meant that I had to bend my shoulders and head in a manner that left me looking directly at the corpse of her husband.

While I had no thoughts of replicating the corpse-laden table, it did bring to mind that perhaps I should leave a design or message on the floor of my tower's entrance. Something to consider later, alongside how I could obtain a shipment of nacre.

When I rose, I noticed the Duchess was studying me intently as were the others throughout the room. I recognized only a few faces. Baroness Nix was present, though she had painted her face in the way of noblewomen and stood silently. Baron Wilchrest, from House Shielding, also stood in the crowd, his sandy hair oiled down, and his brown eyes distant. Even his upturned nose was now level with the floor as he held his head downcast.

“Alderman Fargus, your appearance today is different than when I saw you report to the king. I wonder if this is a mask or your true face?” The duchess spoke with a raw, scratchy voice. Despite her soft tones, the words echoed across the room.

Rather than answer her, I just smiled and studied the woman in return. She held a matronly figure, often the case when a woman births a child. She did have several noble features that displayed a heightened station, the upturned nose, the unibrow, a cleft chin. When I had seen her in the king’s court she had worn a significant amount of powder on her face, but here I only saw the traces of that powder, traces which stained tracks along where her tears had trailed.

Clearly, she grieved the loss of her husband. I just hoped that the intensity I saw in her eyes was a sign of her passion or anger and not a sign of spiraling into madness. That would be an unfortunate occurrence for these dark times.

She snorted and looked down towards her fallen husband then back up at me, “What say you for your part in my husband’s death?”

The accusation silenced an already quiet court. The members seemed as if they were holding their breaths. Though, I paid them little regard. Instead, I was surprised at the accusation itself, and my eyebrows raised to reflect that. With no small confusion, I asked, “My part in his death?”

She pointed a single finger directly at me, with little regard to feminine graces, “Yes, his death. You refused the king. The king withdrew his forces. My husband fell. The lines are clear.”

I pinched my lips together rather than immediately retort. The claim she made was so fallacious that I was surprised her servants hadn’t already talked her out of it. I thought it through and was certain if I had been more prepared for the accusation I could have voiced my response with more consideration, “Duchess Eiston, we are both aware that the only ones at fault for your husband’s death are Mirktallean. If you have a request of me, I implore you to simply ask.”

Her expression changed in response to my words. From one of determined self-righteous anger to a frown of outrage. Then she grimaced and I saw real pain in her eyes, a pain that I certainly sympathized with. She returned to a more controlled expression quickly, with a small frown of disdain and a lifted chin.

“Master Fargus, I do have a request. I would like you to lead the remaining forces in defense of the duchy. I would like you to kill every single Mirktallean that sets foot over the border and then set fire to their entire country.” I saw the military leaders nearby stiffen in response to her words, and they didn’t look happy.

That didn’t stop her from continuing to speak, “What boon can I offer you that would sway your mind? Title and authority? I would name you Count of the western baronies. Riches? I will empty my coffers. In the King’s court, you requested couches. I have sixteen and you can have them all.”

She paused to take a deep breath and leaned forward to give me a meaningful look, “I will pay any price for justice.”