Samuel, Earl of the Black Pastures, shifted his weight as he sat on his hovering chair.

More than once he had heard it whispered after long meetings, how others envied that he sat through such gatherings, while they had to stand, their legs cramping and fatigue hanging heavy on their shoulders.

A younger Samuel had resented these mutterings – and perhaps even now there was still some resentment – but the fury had dulled and it had allowed him to ruminate on such people. There was a tendency for most to consider only the present, thinking nothing of the future or the past; they wanted convenience in the moment, thinking nothing of the hardships that came before and those to come.

Or perhaps they are all idiots, the more resentful part of him thought. Thinking I have an advantage when they could easily petition for chairs.

It was more irritating because most did not consider how tiring sitting in the hovering chair could be. Samuel had gotten it padded with soft cushions, but the work had been delicate and he had feared all through it the chair would lose some of its functionality.

The thought he might lose his chair was harrowing.

Samuel thought back to being wheeled everywhere, his life had been at the whims of others, and — though it was often unsaid — the expressions of restrained irritation at having to care for him in certain circumstances.

With a breath out, he let the emotions leave him.

At either of Samuel’s sides were his kinsmen. Austin, the Earl of Ashfield, rocky lands which were largely infertile, but held a wealth of coal yields; and Oswald, Earl of the Green Pastures, fertile lands which, because of their distance from a celestial river, had little in the way of predatory dire beasts.

The pair were big and strong men as was custom for their lands. They were people who toiled, hard workers who only slightly partook of the conveniences offered by celestial gems and their magic.

Though such customs are becoming harder to retain, Samuel thought heavily.

The Black Pastures, unlike its neighbours, had both fertile ground and coal deposits, something which had made them the more prosperous earldom in the Pastures; but of late it had become harder to mine coal, their stores becoming depleted.

Which was the reason he was forced, now more than ever, to pay mind to the political landscape of the kingdom.

King Orpheus’ fingers snapped and temporal magic fell from the central column, running into the ground and tracing the diagram carved there, laying on the effects of the spell. The Champion, a tall and gawky fellow with skin matching a few pirates Samuel had met in his youth, slowed to a crawl.

“Friends,” King Orpheus intoned. “There is a grievous matter that I have been thinking on more heavily of late, and no doubt you will have heard if you have not been affected by it.”

“The Spatial Order,” said Duke Barnabas of Odessa.

Four duchies had their borders against Washerton: Odessa, a land gifted with the largest store of electricity gems in Althor — the most dangerous of the elements, they were used heavily in the kingdom Araknas which only had one celestial river running through it and thus had taken to prizing industry; Harrengrove, ruled by Duke Owain the Senior, colloquially called the Elemental Line — for each of the five elements could be mined there; Bloomington, ruled by Duke Nolan, a land with a combinations of large plains and a low number of dire predators, and was thus good for tending livestock; and Redding, supervised by Count Roland, a man who was not in attendance for he served only under the king’s discretion.

King Orpheus nodded shortly. “No doubt many of you have heard of their treason,” he said.

“Heard, yes,” said King Maybelle, a dark-haired woman, slight in build and wearing the garb of men; long grey pants over which was a light purple tunic so long it nearly touched the ground. “But rumours have a propensity towards exaggeration.”

The words were said with a particular glance at Duke Owain the Senior, no doubt alluding to the Champion’s words; Owain’s eyebrows — as large as caterpillars and dominating his upper face — wriggled as his nose twitched. High Chief Ran, adorned in a helmet with the ostentatious goat horns, laughed heartily to dig the insult in deeper.

Samuel kept his expression neutral, but internally relief ran through him. Before the disappearance of Prince Matthaeus, he had thought his oldest daughter, Margaret, would marry the man and become queen, thus increasing the relationship between his earldom and the Mandaron line; but the boy had gone off to gods knew where, and asking Maggie if she knew anything yielded nothing.

Allycea was set to become queen and every noble with a son of similar age were fervently hoping the woman would match with them. Before Rowan had become a threat, Owain and his family had been the furthest from a royal match — the formation of the Elemental Line had been unwanted by the Mandarons and they still held grievance — but now, with allegiances so important, things had changed.

To hear that Allycea was rebuking Owain the Younger’s advances brought a measure of relief that the Owain’s power and influence would not eclipse any other noble family.

“When the Champion was summoned,” said King Orpheus, “I was not impressed by him. I thought him lacking, but the mages had other ideas. They candidly spoke against me, and when challenged, unaided, they sent me off into a cell.”

“Unaided?” Minister Daeshim of the moon court asked. The man was on the shorter side, round in the middle and with full cheeks; his robes were of fine silk, their sleeves large and billowing, and as he stood he rested his hands within the folds of his sleeves.

The Sunward Empire was strange in that though there were remnants of the cultures which had existed before the proliferation of Champions — the existence of the sun and moon courts, and the hailing of the fire goddess, Mara — their structures were different from most in the Commonality. Though the land had lords and noble families, there were no dukes, earls or barons; instead it was kings who received direct instruction from their emperor when it came to policy.

Ministers Daeshim and Luke served in the court of King Hyun Ki, the central province was their home. Minister Daeshim was of the moon court and Minister Luke of the sun; as Samuel understood it, in all forms of policy they were set to be opponents, so that their king would always have a balanced understanding in the matters being discussed.

If Minister Daeshim were to propose that the central province stand with Althor in the fight against Rowan, then it would be Minister Luke’s duty to stand for the opposing viewpoint. Samuel thought it only a waste of time, but it was not his duty to fix the governance of the Sunward Empire.

“Unaided,” King Orpheus returned.

“How is that possible?” King Maybelle asked. “A spatial gem powerful and complex enough to transport people is, at minimum, ten stories tall. How could a mage do that without the aid of an artefact?”

“Because we have allowed the mages too much power and they have used that to occlude their true abilities,” said King Orpheus.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said Duke Quickwit, sitting on his hind limbs, head craned up so he could see the faces of the men around him. “But you speak as though it is all mages who have kept such secrets from you.”

“Forgive me in turn, Your Grace, but should I not expect that to be the truth?” the king asked. “For the same systems which have allowed the spatial mages to commit their treason apply to you too.” He turned to the rest of the lords in attendance. “We have given them too much autonomy. Their grand counsels exist without the purview of any lord, king or emperor; they require all nobles who learn within their halls to stay until such a time as their education is complete and one of two things happen: either the noble chooses to shuck off their titles, or they are not long for a mage school and have to rely on artefacts instead of true magic.”

“You likely speak of Odysseus,” said Duke Quickwit. “He—”

“Is not who I speak of and it would do you well not to interrupt me,” said King Orpheus, his words hard and his gaze harder. Duke Quickwit shrunk. “Think on it, all of you, and tell me that this is not true for your own populace?”

Samuel did not have to think on it long to know that it was true. The mage schools usually only took the young, and they stayed within its halls so long that the values of their homes left them. It was often the case that those who had other duties, who had to return to their homes frequently, were left using staves or other artefacts.

When he had been in the gravitational mage school and his younger brothers had died, his father had then chosen to make him heir; Samuel had seen how challenging it had become to keep up with the work, until he had decided to give up.

He had never thought it might be intentional.

“What is your suggestion?” Minster Luke of the sun court asked.

“That as the Commonality we stand together to reform the functions of the mage schools,” said King Orpheus. “It is something I have been doing my best to accomplish after the execution of the treasonous Grand Mages, but all I have done to wrest control of the spatial mage school has seen a lessening of efficacy in our hub.”

“Reports of that have been that they are because of reshuffling of duties,” Samuel said.

In the days of yore the movement of coal had been done through trains, but since the Pastures had become a part of Althor they had begun to use spatial gems in the transport of goods. The processes were usually smooth and efficient, but that had changed as of late, with many transporter repairs taking weeks where it would usually be a matter of days.

“That is the lie they tell,” said King Orpheus. “In truth it is the doing of the Council of Technicians. They know I seek reform and those who have not run, subtly refuse me. If I were to guess, I think they might have contingencies that would see them still have power if I were to use more overt means.”

“Forgive my candour,” said King Maybelle, “but without spatial magic Althor would not have the bargaining power it has now. I could see the mages alighting with all their work to another kingdom and leaving your kingdom in the dark ages.”

King Orpheus hummed. “I have considered that to be a possibility,” he said. “Which is why a greater unity might be required within the Commonality.”

“Ah, unity,” said Minister Luke of the sun court. “I remember the northern province requiring such a unity when its forces were beleaguered by blights. There was no aid from our neighbours.”

“But unity is important for the continued existence of the Commonality,” said Minister Daeshim of the moon court. “Would it not be our neighbourly duty to Althor, serving in ensuring the stability of the greater Commonality?”

“The men and women of the Sunward Empire have so recently lost people in the fight against the blights; they are tired and wish to rest. It would destabilise our own empire if we took part in matters that many of our common folk would not understand.”

“Is that a no, then?” King Orpheus asked. “Will the Sunward Empire not stand with Althor in bringing the mage schools to heel?”

“That is for the kings and emperor to decide, not us,” said Minister Luke.

“But we will be gracious and bring your plea to him,” said Minister Daeshim.

“Again, I ask,” said Duke Quickwit, “will all of this apply to all the mage schools? Even the temporal school which has done nothing treasonous?”

“Large scale reform is required in one form or another,” said King Orpheus. “I hoped to speak to each of the leaders of the schools individually, so we might discuss how these reforms will present, but since I had the great lords of the neighbouring kingdoms here today, I thought I would mention the matter so that it would be given consideration.”

Duke Quickwit snorted in irritation but had no words to say.

Dangerous that you would do this when you should be worried about your alliances, Samuel thought. But then the king now held a Champion and many of the smarter nobles would wait to see if the man would amount to anything before deciding which course to take.

Samuel’s eyes moved to Duke Owain whose keen eyes watched the proceedings. He was the second most powerful man in the kingdom and if he turned to Rowan’s side, he would give others courage to do the same; but that did not mean every other duke was to be overlooked – there was no longer memory than that of the Urocy.

“I will need to speak to the other kings of Connelly,” said King Maybelle. “See how they feel about the matter before we commit to anything. Expect word from us.”

“Expect the very same from us,” said Minister Luke of the sun court; Minister Daeshim of the moon court nodded his agreement.

“Let’s see how well you clean your own house, Althorean king, before you tell me mine is filthy,” High Chief Ran said with a shrug.

King Orpheus was silent for a long moment before he snapped his fingers. The blue of temporal magic disappeared and time resumed; the door into the room shut with a hollow thud as the Champion reached the atrium beyond.

“Wait for me before our return home,” said Samuel to Austin and Oswald; with a nod they attended to their own business, Austin going to speak to Owain which was always worrying — the two had become friends of a sort after a drought a year ago.

One by one the nobles started to leave. Samuel took a breath and focused on the energy that filled his body; he started to move it with his mind, shifting it so it formed a shape, then moved the shape slightly so it pointed in a direction. The hover chair moved forward, controlling gravitational forces so it could glide towards the shorter of the Urocy.

“Earl Black,” said Duke Surefoot, looking up.

“Climb, friend,” said Samuel, “I wish for us to speak.”

Duke Surefoot leapt, his fur taking on a pinkish hue as he glided through the air; Samuel had to move his arm so the Urocy could land on one of the armrests. The Earl of the Green Pastures started them on their journey to the elevators, moving slower so the kings and ministers could reach them first.

“Have you given thought to my proposal, then?” Duke Surefoot asked.

Samuel sighed. “Now more than ever I have had to give it the most thought,” he said. “Our yields grow sparser by the day.”

“My kind has a great understanding of matters of the earth,” he said. “Though it is not a certainty, I am sure if our surveyors went to study your lands, we might be able to find any yield that might be deeper.”

“In return for a Memory Sphere,” said Samuel. The Urocy had lived in their lands once upon a time, not a great many, but enough that they had received a few of the objects as spoils of war. Many had been lost or broken with age, but Samuel’s family still had three of the things, souvenirs more than devices of true utility.

“The Urayemi of an ancestor of mine,” said Duke Surefoot, his tone short. “But that is not the matter that is up for discussion now. Surely you see, friend, that matters here are delicate. Do you wish for your people to be dependent on Althor, especially in the current period?”

Do you wish to close yourself off of the possibility and independence if tides change? Samuel translated. The Urocy did not lie, but their kind could wield words well.

“The Urayemi does not serve you,” said Duke Surefoot. His expression scrunched. “To you it is only a curio.”

“Now, perhaps,” Samuel returned. “But we might yet uncover the sphere’s secrets.”

“How long has it been since the war of our two peoples?” the Urocy asked. “If you have not uncovered said secrets, what hope is there? Especially when your people suffer by the day?”

Samuel hummed. “I could very well take up Duke Owain’s offer of the same,” he said. “For the price you ask is steep.”

“Let us not jest, friend,” said Surefoot. “Duke Owain’s price is much higher than my own. It took decades but his ancestors united three duchies into the Elemental Line. What is to say they cannot manoeuvre to do the same with your earldoms?”

It was a constant fear when working with those of Harrengrove. Long before — when the duchy had been Warrengrove, Harren and Decker — the Meeches of Harren had solidified relationships with their neighbours through marriage; after a bout of luck, the Meeches had bore triplet sons, two of which had been sent as wards to the duchies of Warrengrove and Decker.

The triplet sons — such as many other twins and triplets before and after them — had been mirrors of the Fates, for Althor, Altheer and Altrine had come into the world together, one person cut into three.

The eldest child of the Duke of Decker had been a girl and she had matched with one of the triplets; the Duke of Warrengrove had declared another of the triplets his heir; and it had gone without saying that the last triple would rule his ancestral home. A marriage had finally happened between the Decker girl and one of the Meech triplets, and then the ploy had been revealed.

Three slivers of the same person, the Meeches of Harren had argued. Did it not make sense, then, that all the triplets had married the Decker girl? And if she was married to all of them, and thus she was duchess of three duchies, was it not simpler to consider them one great duchy?

The king at the time had said no, but the Faith of the Fates had argued that the logic was sound. Arguing against the Meeches of Harren had been one thing, but it was something else to argue against the Faith, and thus the gods themselves.

Thus had formed Harrengrove, and the strained relationship between two houses.

Shortly after discussions had concluded, the king had ordered into law that any and all twins, triplets or quadruplets would be children of the Faith, having no right to hold any lands or titles. It was much harder to hate kings, so all the ire of nobles who’d lost children to the church had gone to the living duke of Harrengrove.

Duke Owain took after his ancestors in that he was a keen man, and deals today could lead to large losses in the future.

“Send your surveyors,” said Samuel. “If they see that there is more coal to be mined, they can aid us in the building of the new facilities, and in turn we will grant you one of our M— of our Urayemi.”

“We will send them post haste,” said Surefoot and he shifted, standing.

“Before you are off,” said Samuel. “Tell me of the Champion. Do you think he will successfully stand against Rowan?”

“The memories I hold of past Champions is of them at the end of their path,” said Surefoot. “This is the first Champion I have seen at the beginning. I cannot tell you if his particular strengths will lead to victory.”

Samuel hummed. “He does not strike me as a warrior,” he said.

“No. He has a scholar’s mind.”

“Better a scholar in my opinion,” said Samuel. He thought of High Chief Ran, then of his younger brothers who had died in senseless border disputes. “Warriors are brutish and impatient.”

Surefoot snorted. “Do not consider him one for patience,” he said. “Prince Odysseus told me that the Champion punched him in a bid to escape; and as we have seen today, he has learnt to punch by other means.”

Samuel chuckled. “There will be repercussions for his statement,” he said.

“I will warn him. It will be interesting to see what he does,” said Surefoot. “Perhaps I might accompany the surveyors. I will see you then.”

“Good day, friend,” said Samuel. Surefoot jumped off, gliding through the air to land beside Duke Quickwit. Samuel waited until the room was empty before he took the elevators to the porting floor, all the while considering the steps that would ensure the Pastures didn’t lose their identity to Rowan or the Mandaron line.