Unbound

Evie stood atop the waterfall, looking back over what had once been a riverbank before Felix had gotten his hands on it. Now a castle soared upward in the early morning light, all of it built of that dark stone of his. There was a crenelated wall, at least thirty strides high, and inside that was a large hexagonal building, three stories tall and fitted with small arrow-slit windows. The whole thing was built around the Spirit Tree, which sprouted from the very center.

I should be used to this big plant by now, but… She looked up and up, all the way to the dark canopy of leaves, emerald despite the icy winds. Hanging fruit glowed up there, small as pinprick stars and just as bright. “How long has this castle-thing been here?” Evie asked.

“A few weeks,” Vess said. She was not nearly as distracted by the castle’s appearance as some others. Instead, her attention was held by the gaggle of new folks. “Felix said they arrived last night, seeking asylum.”

Chanters. Evie liked Zara well enough, but Isla gave her the creeps, especially after she heard what went on down underwater. “I thought they were supposed to help us.”

“The reason for their flight is what concerns me,” Yintarion said from Vess’ shoulder. The blighted lizard was always there. Lurking.

“The Autarch said they mentioned Neer, which is far to the south of us, and one of the few local powers that have kept the Hierocracy at bay. Now the Klaven Cliffs have fallen too, or will soon.” Vess drummed her fingers on her enameled breastplate. “I feel equally under and overdressed.”

“What, you wanna get all gussied up for them?” Evie nodded at Vess’ back, where her spear floated in a weave of air. “And give up your weapon in a pit of vipers? Nah. That seems stupid.”

“They swore and Oath, Evie. We have nothing to fear from them.”

“Mhm. Oaths are well and good, but why did Felix have to force them into one? Says a lot about how trustworthy he finds ‘em.”

“That is a good point. The urchin speaks with uncommon wisdom.” Yintarion slithered out of her collar, floating on his back. Evie frowned at the lizard.He flicked his forked tongue at her. “Uncommon for her, at least.”

“Ooh I’m going to step on your tail, you limp noodle—!”

“Evie! Yin! Enough.” Vess glared at both of them. “We have a meeting to attend.” She strode off, heading for the gates of the big, Fiendstone castle.

Yintarion stared after his Companion for a beat or two, then followed.

“Let’s go inside, I guess,” Evie muttered to herself.

“Why am I nervous?” Felix asked.

Pit stopped nibbling on his forepaw. “Dunno. Why?”

“I faced them on the beach, made them swear an Oath. Even Isla. This should be anticlimactic. Right?”

“Right,” Pit said, beak working on his other leg now.

“Right,” Felix echoed, chewing at his lip.

They both stood within a sparsely furnished antechamber, just on the other side of a delicately crafted wooden door. The Henaari and Risi had a hand in building the small fortress, each of them contributing something to its construction. The door was Henaari-make, fabricated by their incredible Skills to show a sun rising over a set of fog-shrouded mountains. Centered in the door was a depiction of his Spirit Tree. Above him, a branching sculpture of ice hovered, and it radiated a cool blue light that mingled well with the smaller yellow-gold magelights. Similar sculptures were all over his little fortress, providing a bounty of illumination to every chamber, hall, and corridor.

His part of the construction had only taken a few days, owing to his considerable store of Mana, but Felix had remained too busy to see much of the finished product. He ran his hands over the door’s carvings, frankly astounded at the level of detail in the Henaari’s work. At the base of the Spirit Tree, where it met the waterfall, there was even a tiny little castle.

The Bastion of Atlantes. It was a good name, in Felix’s opinion. It took inspiration from his own Bastion of Will, and of course the Spirit Tree it encircled. The walls provided extra security for the powerful entity in addition to being a cool place for a castle. The gaping hole in the roof of his Temple was now protected from above and below, which had become a considerable security risk now that more people were around.

No one had dared to sneak into the rooms far below, but a few had thought to climb the Spirit Tree. Their intentions were innocent enough—new residents, eager to see the Spirit Fruit with their own eyes. It was soon clear that the Atlantes Anima could defend itself. The would-be sight-seers had later claimed that it felt like a deep, abiding terror had struck them, forcing their breath to quicken and their hands to shake. It only increased as they climbed, until all they could do was curl up on the stone-wrought steps and weep for it to be over.

When the Henaari caught wind of that story it had spread across Elderthrone within the day.

Not a single soul had attempted to ascend the trunk since. Felix figured the Bastion would help deter that even further.

Felix and Karys had designed the Bastion to be a more public place to speak to and hear out his people’s grievances. It had only started out as an audience chamber, like in old medieval castles, but had grown as they’d considered more and more uses for the space. Karys had patterned a lot of it on the fortresses he had been stationed in his youth, back when the old man had fought in the war. As such, most of the rooms were labeled in interesting ways; the Outer Chords for the defensive walls, and the Inner Harmonies for what Felix knew as the inner bailey. Felix let the man name them as he wished, even if he wasn’t comfortable with how fancy they sounded.

He pressed his ear to the intricately carved door, but heard nothing beyond it. Felix was so used to his Perception’s reach that it was a little unnerving; like going suddenly deaf. A lot of sensory wards wrapped the Bastion, but nowhere quite as completely as the room just beyond the door. He had wanted whatever meetings that happened to be private, after all. Unless he wanted to eat several layers of wards, what happened inside the Hall of Songs was beyond his senses.

At his waist, his Inheritor’s Will buzzed to life. “My Lord? Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, Karys.” Felix squared his shoulders. Behind him, Pit stood up, his armor clanking slightly. “Showtime.”

The doors before him opened, and at the same time Karys’ voice reached his ears. “All rise! All rise for the Autarch of Nagast, King of Ahkestria and the Leviathan Depths, Returned God of Thunderflame, the Blue Eyed Fiend, Felix Nevarre.”

You had to say the god bit, Karys? Really? Felix strode out into the Hall of Songs, focusing on the architecture to stifle his nerves. Like his antechamber, the Hall of Songs had a piece of elaborate ice hanging from the ceiling, though this one was many times bigger. A vaulted ceiling patterned with stars was supported by large pillars, and the floor was polished until it had an almost mirror-shine. The Hall of Songs was the largest room in all the fortress, and that was to accommodate the huge circular table at its center.

It had been built according to Karys’ old memories of prior Hall of Songs. Apparently a round table was pretty common, but unlike in the old King Arthur stories, Felix’s seat was lifted up on a dais so that there was little confusion about who was in charge. It was shaped into the likeness of some sort of beast with clawed arms and a profile that looked suspiciously like Pit.

I like your chair, Pit sent. It looks…regal.

Everyone else was standing before high-backed wooden chairs festooned with carvings of vines and flowers. All thirteen of the full-fledged Chanters were there, plus Zara and Isla, though their apprentices were squirreled away in Zara’s place in the Foot. There was even a space for Yorun, that Gnome captain. As visitors, they took the traditional spot directly opposite Felix’s seat, while his left and right were filled with representatives of his peoples.

The Hall of Songs, Karys had said, is a chorus. All must have a voice.

Vess, Evie, Atar, Alister, Harn, Beef and Hallow were there—the latter two sitting in the same chair—along with Battlelord Ari, the Farwalker, A’zek, Lavix, and of course Karys. His Chancellor didn’t have a chair at the table, but stood behind and to the right of the dias. Felix mounted the steps to his seat—throne, really—as Karys kept talking. “Accompanied by his Companion, Pit of Nagast, Guardian Beast!”

Pit preened at the introduction as he sat on the left of the throne. Felix took his own place, but remained standing. “Visitors, friends, vassals of Nagast. Thank you for sitting with me this evening. Please, sit.” He sat down, and everyone else followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vess giving him a proud smile. They had rehearsed that bit. “I would like to extend a formal welcome to the Chanters of Cantus Sodalus who, as of last night, have been granted asylum to stay in Nagast.”

Mauvim bowed her head, though it only barely reached above the table. “We are pleased to be here, Lord Autarch. The journey from the Klaven Cliffs was long.”

“That brings us to our first order of business, actually,” Felix said. He leaned forward, elbows on the clawed arms of his throne. “What happened in Neer?”

Mauvim kept his gaze as if she expected this line of questioning. “Four months ago, the Hierocracy placed a blockade around the Neeran Territory. According to official reports that we acquired, this was a trade issue between the Neeran Queen and Hierophant. We suspect that was not the truth, but there was no movement from either party to end the stalemate, even as commerce within the city began to dry up. We still had fish from the sea and plentiful meat from the Domain beneath the cliffs. But tensions were running high, especially among the slums and the rest of the city.” The old woman placed a gnarled hand before her, all knuckles and skin. “If I may use a Skill?”

“Sure,” Felix said. Mauvim was very strong according to his Eye, but he doubted she’d try anything now. Even so, he felt his Hunger clench in anticipation. “Go ahead.”

Light bloomed from Mauvim’s palm, a riot of purple and green-gold that wove into a blurry image. The image sharpened, refined itself, until it was like Felix was looking through a window at a city perched high atop a set of cliffs. Elegant towers of gray-green stone rose high into the sky while an expansive slum hung from the cliffs, tacked on by rope and chains to the fractured edge. Waves crashed far below, where dark waters churned to lavender foam.

What a hole, Pit sent. People live there?

Apparently.

“Fishing the Darkwine Sea is dangerous, but it was the only method the Untempered poor had to secure their own food. Without the Queen’s largess of bread and ale each evening, a resentment began to build in the slums. The Tempered could raid the Domain, bringing back a great deal of food for their own families, but it was not enough to go around. Or perhaps they were simply unwilling to share.

“Tensions rose between everyone upon the Klaven Cliffs until it all boiled over. Fighting broke out in the streets, Untempered against Tempered, leaving only a few dead…but it was enough. Riots ran rampant, surging from the slums to the palace gates.” As they watched, the skies darkened and sleek-looking ships appeared around the city of Neer. A bombardment began, blasting through wards and the unprotected slums, igniting flames that ate their way through the distant vista. “As things reached their highest point, the Hierocracy attacked. There was no warning, no attempt at negotiation. Neer was put under siege, and it is clear the Hierophant intends to claim it as her own.”

“Why?” Vess asked. “Disrupting trade is bad enough for the region, for the Hiercracy itself if my understanding is correct. Neer forms a hub that many lesser Territories buy and sell through. Taking it over I understand, but this isn't an occupation or even a vile suppression.” Vess jabbed an armored finger at the burning illusion. In it, small white-armored figures in red cloaks had begun to flood the streets. “This is eradication.”

“Well put, Heiress of Pax’Vrell. You do your father proud,” Mauvim said. “It is exactly as you say. We do not understand the Hierophant’s design here, and were forced to flee before we could investigate further. All those practicing worship of the old gods were being put to the sword, and in Neer that is a great many people. We saved who we could, but aside from the Gnomish Makewrights we were able to do precious little.” She shook her head, and for a moment she let her Spirit unveil. Sorrow and misery clung to her words like a dirge. “We were not enough.”

“You did what you could, Lady Chanter,” Yorun said, his voice gruff with emotion. “But ah, maybe I can offer some more insight.” He cleared his throat, clearly nervous to be speaking. “The slums and a good portion of Neer proper were in an uproar already, you had that right. But it wasn’t just because of a lack of food.”

Yorun licked his lips as sweat beaded on his forehead. His Spirit rang with fear. “It was cuz of you, Lord Autarch.”

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