The Mother of Monsters

The Archduke regarded the capital through the window, his eyes lingering on the pristine beauty of the minarets that crowned the various towers scattered throughout the vista. He glanced down yet again at the glass of wine that had been poured for him during his visit, he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on it. He had neither the time nor the energy for playing the thrush any longer, regardless of how much he craved the decadent drink. Wine had been an easy way to soothe himself. A tool of self placation in order to render down the sting of perpetual boredom and the indignation of a position so far beneath his capabilities.

Now he stood in the King’s chambers.

The old man behind him shifted a little in his bed but remained blessedly silent. His weakening body and heart were barely keeping him alive at this point. It was Bertrands own sensibilities and loyalty to the ideal of the crown that kept him from just killing the man right then and there and taking the throne for himself. No, he had allowed things to come to him thusfar, and while he had pushed the situation into his favor on more than one occasion, he had no interest in completely forcing the issue. Everything had to happen naturally.

Or it had to seem to, anyway, he thought coolly as the door to the chambers opened and his young nephew entered.

The youngest ascendant amongst all of humanity and his beloved nephew, the only human on this gods forsaken planet that he felt any sense of mutual respect and kinship for. He turned and met the too-blue eyes of the young man who reached up and brushed a lock of hair out from his face. Prince Markiv of Katal’s distant sister, Harav, straightened the white cape hanging from his shoulder before raising a hand to his heart and bowing. “Archduke.”

“Nephew,” The Archduke said, glancing over the young man’s shoulder at the guards outside.

Markiv walked in and glanced at the old man in the bed as the doors shut behind him, “He yet breathes.”

“He does,” Bertrand rumbled thoughtfully before looking back out the window, “How was your tour of Guild Street?”

“Most of the heroes are as you described them, barely any more potent than the average trained knight. Certainly useful but not in any way someone worth fostering to ascension,” Markiv said without reservation. He stopped next to the glass of wine left untouched near Bertrand and examined it. He looked up to Bertrand’s face, “You’re cutting back?”

“Stopping all together if I can, it addles my mind more than I would like and I need it now more than ever. My… partner does not appreciate my company when I am in the throes of lush either,” Bertrand admitted, his hands tightening a little behind his back.

Markiv scoffed, “You show strange affection for an elf slave.”

“We all have our eccentricities,” Bertrand said and turned slowly to examine his young nephew’s face, “Or does the prince no longer hold love for his harem of widows and frustrated wives?” The Archduke countered with a raised eyebrow.

Prince Markiv scoffed and grinned at his uncle, “I prefer you sober, Uncle, you are far more fun.”

“The ranking heroes, Markiv,” Bertrand pressed, already tiring of the banter.

“Significantly more interesting, especially those who have taken to the Guildmaster’s inner circle. He may be a bit depraved but he demonstrates a thoughtful caution. He picks those he finds appealing and full of potential. There are a few I see as candidates to guide to ascension, though not without more thorough vetting.”

“I get the feeling that vetting them may not be an option for much longer,” Bertrand said with a frown, “While we have held the guild at arms length and given titles to the Guildmaster and a few of his own, we may be put into a position to show them more favor soon.”

“How so?” Markiv asked, curious, “I just recently met the man and-”

The world around them seemed to slow, the air growing thick for a heartbeat as time lurched and the world stumbled over itself. Reality slid against itself, broken for a half-moment before the universe brought itself back into sync with time and space. Markiv stumbled and had to catch himself on the windowsill next to his uncle, his eyes wide as he stared out into the city towards the rising trails of smoke that marked the various smithies and craft-works of Guild Street.

“On his own?” Markiv breathed.

“Mm,” Bertrand hummed, “All he truly needed was to meet a powerful ascendant face to face for the truth to become clear to him. That man truly has frightful insight.”

The young prince whipped his head in his uncle’s direction, “You used me to test and see if he could do it on his own? We cannot bargain with him if-”

“He’s still only one man,” Bertrand said with a shake of his head, “And while his insight is remarkable, I doubt he can truly share what he has learned from meeting you with his peers. You may have to readjust exactly what angle you take in bending him to your will, though.”

The prince looked thoughtful for a moment, “How long will you groom me to succeed you before you say it to my face?” The young man asked, taking up the wine glass that his uncle had left alone and sipping at it. “Why do you not just-”

“The mission,” Bertrand said stiffly.

“Uncle, what mission? What could possibly be more important than ascending to the throne? The toddering old imbecile is right there, practically dying. You own the guards, you own the court, you yet still have your boot on the neck of the heroes, what more do you want?” The Prince insisted, “I can see the movements of your plans, I understand your patient schemes, but I do not understand your goal beyond destroying Osan.”

Bertrand’s expression darkened, light flickering angrily in his eyes as he looked down at his nephew. The words rumbled from deep inside his chest and outside his head even as his mouth moved along with them, “There is nothing more important than destroying Osan. The Cycle must be set right,” He declared, his momentary fury blanketing the room in a static that even sent the young man’s hair on end. Nearby, the wretched king groaned in his bed.

The young man looked up at his uncle with genuine wonder in his eyes, “Uncle… you-”

“I have made my pact, as has the Great Demon Lord,” Bertrand said, his lip twitching as his hand jerked and spasmed behind his back. The momentary oneness still left him physically rattled even as he grew more and more used to the connection. “Teyva Akura is bending the laws of our world in order to fatten up the heroes like pigs for the slaughter. She is aware that she will find fewer and fewer beasts and inhuman foes to challenge in order to continue her rapid growth from before. I imagine her armies will soon be ready to march into Orcish lands.”

Bertrand’s eyes narrowed, “As her warriors spread her dominion, she will turn her eyes on the Guildmaster in order to devour him until there is nothing left to sate her insatiable need for power.”

The prince opened his mouth and then looked thoughtful, he sipped the wine again and set it down, moving to stand properly next to his uncle as he thought. The Archduke remained silent while the young man considered his words, the wheels turning in his head. He cast a glance up at the Archduke before back out at Guild Street. “She very well may come here to check on her prize cattle, inspect what she has fostered before returning home to make adjustments.”

The prince rubbed his chin, “If her armies are nearly ready to march then her time fortifying has come to an end. Her visit will be soon,” He tilted his head, “She will not make a spectacle of herself, though, not as the Great Demon Lord. She knows most of Katal has grown complacent in her silence despite the skirmishes in the Green Sea. She will come…” He trailed off and narrowed his eyes. “...she is from their world, yes?”

“I assume so,” Bertrand nodded.

“She will stay for a time, then,” Markiv confirmed, “She may have become something more than a mere mortal, a true ascendant with a mind beyond others. She is still one of them, though, she did not get to experience the life of a Katali hero and curiosity will draw her in.”

“It won’t be easy to find her,” Bertrand warned, “Heroes arrive in Orum every month as some fail and run out of chances to return to life in the dungeons and hunting grounds. She will arrive with a fresh batch, her power concealed.”

The prince grinned, “I will find her, Uncle, and I will expose her before all of Katal.”

The Archduke nodded, “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”