Big things were happening in Arvharest when I finally woke up. Or, rather, bigger things than normal, and that really is saying something let me tell you now. I was given a rare reprieve to become ready at my own pace, at first, but it naturally didn’t last more than the barest span. Word soon came summoning me to a meeting, this one rather more private and, hopefully, rather less volatile than the damned party from the other day. Vara was not invited, and less surprisingly neither was Gruin.

  Morlo was of course, which did precisely nothing to comfort me as I readied myself to depart.

  The meeting took place at Arvharest’s university, deep within the building in one of its largest rooms. Presumably it had been a lecture hall of some sorts, but King Hengrys’ word had been sufficient to have even the proud scholars rearrange their furnishings and turn it into a chamber suitable for conferences. Perhaps one tenth of the vast space was actually seeing use, the rest wasted by the mere score or so people attending.

  By the time I arrived the room already looked mostly full, and I saw all twenty heads turn my way as I entered. I didn’t flinch back, though something about the distilled power of these nobles, scholars and officers had a weight that the crowd of thousands from yesterday somehow lacked.

  Still, pride kept me from betraying as much.

  “Ah good, we’re all here,” King Hengrys smiled as he acknowledged me with a slight dip of his head, and I saw a palpable wave roll through the rest of the room as, like people always did when a King said anything, everyone present drew several hundred conclusions and inferences from the wording, tone and, for all I knew, anal dilation of their monarch at the time of his speaking.

  But I didn’t really understand that at the time. The only way I could’ve been more out of my depth is if everyone had spontaneously switched from speaking Anglysh to Catic. Fortunately the powers gathered here had more important concerns than inconveniencing me in specific, save perhaps Duke Leibricht who sat shooting the occasional dart of hatred my way from above the rims of his wire spectacles.

  “We were just discussing certain matters pertaining to what exactly drove this orcish horde our way,” Morlo informed me, seeming not to give a toss that he was delaying the procession of things by doing so. Another mysterious instance of him carrying more weight in high society than I’d have expected.

  I nodded at his words and made an attempt at showing myself off as already having a few ideas on the matter, not wanting to appear completely ignorant which, of course, I was.

  But then the issue with feigning expertise, and being respected, is that people tend to believe you. When they do that they ask all sorts of inconvenient questions like;

  “What are your thoughts, Kyvaine?”

  It was the King, of course, so I had no choice at all but to answer.

  “Something drove them this way,” I blurted out, not recalling exactly where I’d heard that theory in the heat of the moment. It had been from Morlo though, and quite fortunately Morlo had just spent the last half-hour convincing everyone present of its merits.

  This meant that, entirely undeservedly, I earned a good few impressed and approving looks as I made the guess.

  “We were just discussing that same notion,” Hengrys informed me, “your teacher here suspects that the orcs were on the run from the source of some strange, necromantic activity we’ve been hearing reports of in the East Country.”

  East Country was right where Sheppleberry was, of course, but I managed to keep the alarmed squeak from escaping me outright as I heard that. Almost.

  “What’s going on there?” I snapped at the room, a touch of urgency in my voice. This was very good for me, because everyone present misconstrued my general fear of the undead I’d encountered there with concern for the idiots I’d shared a town with. Another mild notch was added to my Heroic belt without me even trying to put it there.

  “Watch your tone, boy,” snarled Duke Leibricht as he slammed a fist down on the table. He seemed the precise mirror image to the King; wiry where he was broad, more refined and withdrawn. There was a dull intelligence shining in his eyes that made me think of petty cunning and cruelty. This snap judgement was entirely correct on my part, but you shouldn’t make a habit of trusting such things.

  “There has been another spike of activity in particular parts of the region,” King Hengrys cut in, speaking with an edge to his voice that I guessed was made to challenge Leibricht. The Duke did not meet that challenge, allowing his King to continue without further incident. “We’re not sure what’s causing it, not sure what it will lead to. It is, to be frank, an unknown. I don’t like unknowns. Unknowns get my men killed, my citizens displaced, my country ruined. I did not fight my idiot cousins for a generation just for that.”

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  As a matter of fact, he’d done pretty much everything he just complained about in the process of winning his throne during that fight with his idiot cousins. I hadn’t known that at the time, though, and even if I had I’d certainly have known better than to point it out.

  “I say it’s a waste of time,” one of the men present blurted out, “we have tangible use for our soldiers in securing Arvharest.” It was not so surprising to see that the man was among the city’s scholars, but even knowing their unspoken station in the world I was surprised to see him drawing in the focus of everyone present.

  But then that’s money for you. Arvharest’s scholars didn’t have noble titles, indeed the nobility hated them, but they made the guns that Anglyn used to fight its wars. There’s a level of pull that comes from being useful that no amount of prestige can really match. Up to a point.

  “They are not our soldiers,” King Hengrys replied coolly, meeting the scholar’s eyes with a stare that I could only imagine men usually saw when the King was about to skewer them on the battlefield. To his credit, the scholar weathered that terrible glare. For all of five seconds.

  “Of course, your grace,” he nodded, “but nonetheless Arvharest is in need of protection and reinforcement. The people have been thrown into chaos following those orcish attacks, and though the siege is lifted it will take a great amount of effort to restore order to the place. Until that happens, I’m afraid our productivity will be…essentially nothing.”

  I was seeing enough subtext to realise what was happening here. The scholars of Arvharest did not want to go so far as saying ‘help restore order and repair Arvharest, or we’ll stop selling you guns’ to their King, not when he had his army right outside their city. At the same time, they knew their worth to Anglyn. King Hengrys had been given the opportunity to surrender without losing too much face, and I watched him do it.

  “So what would you request of me, then?” the King asked, carefully hedging the motion in terms of favours asked and granted still, doing however much that did to let him retain control over the situation and come out of the exchange looking as victorious as a defeated man could.

  “Not a lot, your grace, we need only, say, ten thousand men to keep watch over the city while we rebuild. The orcs were driven off, but not crushed. Our people will be easier to settle back into their routines if we can assure them that a return-stroke from the enemy would be crushed by stout defence.”

  Hengrys’ fist smashed down onto the table, and I was treated to a demonstration of what Morlo had told me about seemingly mundane men’s bodies growing strong with mild Thaumaturgical enhancement over years of unconscious use. The heavy wood was dented slightly where his knuckles struck it.

  “And my army will be locked up in Arvharest babysitting your city of fools for, what, weeks?”

  The scholar shrank back, but it seemed more a show than anything else. His eyes remained steady as he answered the King. “More likely months, your grace, it is a great deal of civil unrest we are needing to deal with.”

  King Hengrys looked like he was trying to either swallow or spit out his own tongue, ending up on the compromise of tying it into a knot. Almost a full minute passed with no sound at all but the grinding of his teeth against each other and his knuckles against the wooden table, then he finally raised his head and spoke.

  “You will have the army here until such time as I am satisfied that order has been restored,” he said. There was cold steel in his voice, but I heard a note of smugness too and quickly saw why. The scholar was alarmed at what he’d said, clearly thinking fast to try and find an acceptable way to contradict it.

  “That isn’t necessary, your grace, we require only assistance from a few thousand—”

  —”and you will have tens of thousands, with me at their head,” Hengrys cut in, “which means that the rebuilding will happen all the faster. You can dip into siege stores to feed my men for the first few weeks, I’ll work to have food imported and refill the granaries over the next few weeks. It will not be the only thing I attend to here.”

  The room went quiet again, which left me to marvel at the absolute cuntishness I’d just witnessed. There were very few benefits to King Hengrys’ staying here, as far as I could reckon in my inexperienced mind, but I’d seen enough of the dynamics here to realise that he was punishing Arvharest for trying to strong-arm him.

  Maybe that was the benefit, make them think twice before trying to throw their economic weight around again. By the look on that scholar’s face I reckoned it was working already.

  “You are too kind, your majesty,” the man croaked at last. Hengrys leaned back with a victorious smirk upon his face and I found myself feeling a shade more respect for the King. He still didn’t seem so bright, but at the very least he knew how to do his job. Best not to get on his bad side no matter how much political protection I thought I had.

  “If we’re done with the political pissing match,” Morlo cut in to a cacophony of shocked gasps and a wall of sharp glares, “I would like to move onto our other concern. The actual source of what was driving these orcs this way, the troubles in the East.” His rudeness seemed somehow to galvanize the room, for even if the meeting was suddenly displeased they were certainly paying him attention.

  “What would you suggest, Thaumaturge?” King Hengrys asked, with no small note of irritation in his voice. I’d learn the particulars of that later, but for the time being I was much too concerned with trying not to have a panic attack remembering what I’d seen in that fucking dungeon.

  “Well, ordinarily I’d have liked an army to head over there. Apparently yours is going to be busy,” he sent a glare at the scholar but moved on before the man could even wither before it, “instead I would suggest a small company of chosen men travel to investigate the ongoings. Say a dozen. This fellowship must be well picked and capable, and they cannot number too greatly without sacrificing speed in travel.”

  “So who is to be its first member?” the King asked.

  All eyes turned slowly, horribly to me.

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