"It's been– what, five hundred years since you last visited?"
"I apologize if my absence upset you, I was in the east at the time. The Azuna Desert is beautiful, but dry."
"And what were you doing there, chasing some lost spirit perhaps?"
"I was searching the history of the Eastmans' Immortal Cult before its fall."
"Searching for answers, no doubt."
Inflections betrayed Ramnicus' disapproval.
His voice was final, "Nathranír is not your consequence."
Trenewynn grasped his staff firm, "he was my charge– I his guardian. I had sworn it."
Ramnicus turned from the city view, "Vaelor, the empire is in peril. Oaths are broken and promises deceived each year you're absent. The emperor is moving armies to the eastern borders– he's resolved to claim immortality. Yet here you are in black and white rags, chasing after a vow that no one even remembers anymore."
The white mage looked Trenewynn up and down– unimpressed.
"Even the gods have forgotten you– and how could anyone blame them? You're still trapped in the past, unwilling to confront the future– afraid of your own shadow. For how long will you remain in exile?"
There was silence– and then, a whisper of resolve, "until my oath is fulfilled."
"…You are still so stubborn. But nevermind, you came here seeking my counsel, did you not?"
"I have seen the empire's forces gathering, but the emperor's pursuit of immortality is new to me."
"Yes, as part of the King's Left, my ambassador was present in the royal court when rumors about the recipe for the Elixir of Immortality had begun to spread. I cannot leave Anor, and so have been unable to discern their truthfulness. But that is no matter. The Imperial Shades have already given his majesty confidence enough to believe in it."
"But I thought it was lost when Yaevnrauth fled the Black Plague into the west?"
"As did I. Yet the emperor's spies are confident in what they have found. We must assume that whatever it is will be close enough to hold his majesty's focus."
There was a long silence as Ramnicus paced from the waterfall window to a pedestal, where a complex matrix of light and mercury suspended itself in flux. This was the heart of the Eternal City's protection– the spell that maintained their invincible dome. It was also Ramnicus' soul– the main component of the array.
With a flick of Ramnicus' wrist the matrix condensed and twisted until it appeared entirely different from before. From beyond the veil, Trenewynn watched as the noon sun dipped into the nascent dusk and a tide of shadows rose from the west to strike the barrier around the city. The dark tide seemed to slither and claw at once as it spread across a span between a quarter and a third of the spherical and prismatic surface of the dome.
Then, for just a moment– after Ramnicus' adjustment, the dome expanded forcefully– appearing to repel the shadows. Those shadows then sank back into the eerie mists from whence it came, and all returned as normal.
When all of this had happened– occupying less than half a minute of time, Ramnicus spoke once more.
"The emperor will attack the Heartland Kingdom Alliance next. It will begin with Bethel, then Ram, and last will be Dire. He will subjugate them– as once the Heathcliff dynasty did long ago."
Trenewynn turned to face Ramnicus, "that can't be right! The heartlands have always been friendly with the empire. More importantly, they swore a lawful oath. The empire promised to let the heartlands retain their freedoms in exchange for a tax and open borders. It was a fairly made deal– an oath of honor and allegiance!"
Ramnicus chided, "Even your way of thinking occupies the distant past. Have you still not realized the damage your absence has done? Oaths mean nothing anymore. Promises are but empty words. Truth is rhetoric, law– a poor substitute for justice. In this age, no one honors their words anymore."
The white mage's response was swift, "the emperor has abandoned conventional wisdom entirely. He's broken with the tradition of his forebearers and named the Duke of Heathcliff as his Grand Marshal– giving the man total command of the imperial armed forces."
"Is he mad!?"
"No. Quite sane actually, but without prudence. He means to check Drakkennide's military power. The young lord of house Drakkennide already occupies the court position Chancellor of the Right, giving him power over the allocation of military budget. In tradition, the emperor would've given the title of Grand Marshal to someone from house Drakkennide. This marks the first schism between the duchy and the imperial family in about four hundred years."
"Drakkennide, why make an enemy of them?"
"The house of Drakkennide is one that has always been loyal to the emperor, true. But they're also a household that clings to dying chivalry. Their stubborn adherence to the honor code makes them a less… efficient force of war."
"You sound disapproving."
Ramnicus laughed briefly, "we've had this conversation before, Vaelor. But yes, asserting dominance over the enemy is the best way to wage war."
A spark of flame– like a candle, lit upon the white wizard's finger.
"Fire magic…"
"You know it well, Vaelor. You've seen it before during the War of Choice, over five thousand years ago. The new military under Duke Avlad Heathcliff will be using this magic readily in battle– unlike those stubborn Drakkennides that clung to an absent honor."
Fire magic was one of the most feared and rejected practices across the lands of Jania. Pragmatic and terrible. Effective– and frightening. In the practice of Mágëa– the school of deception, fire magic is amplified to terrify.
That is no better epitomized than through the most well known fire magic spell– Fireball. A giant orb of bellowing fire that crashes against city walls or castles and sets entire spans aflame.
The Fireball spell was designed to intimidate and demoralize moreso than damage enemies. It was deadly enough to the careless. But its flames were significantly thinned by its own size– making it quite possible for the well prepared to survive its impact.
But to imagine dozens, or even hundreds of these fireballs could fly towards a city or army– each large enough to appear like a little sun arcing down to earth. No matter how brave one might seem, any man would be terrified to face such a sight and therein lies the strength of fire magic.
Fear, surprise, and intimidation. There is nothing deadlier in battle.
Fire magic was first used by the primordial demons during the War of Choice, but those days were quite over now. What remained of the primordial demons had thinned into nothing or hidden themselves underground. But the memories of a world set aflame were fresh wounds to those that endured those times.
Trenewynn rebuked the white mage, "fire magic is a dangerous weapon Ramnicus, we cannot be sure that it won't burn you too."
Ramnicus flicked away the candleflame, "the point is that Drakkennide has fallen out of favor, and its young lord is all but indisposed politically speaking."
"Indisposed!?"
"You heard me clearly, Vaelor. He has little to no political influence now, as if absent from the stage. No doubt you noticed the duke's younger brother down below?"
"The one called Artorius Drakkennide?"
"Yes, it was not Duke Drakkennide that sent him here. It was the edict of his uncle, count Eclester of the Matu'Alakos county inside of the duchy. He is an elder of the Drakkennide family and a popular one. The duke and the elders of the dynasty disagree about how to proceed in the current political climate.
The elders want to support the emperor– as they have done traditionally. The duke wishes to distance their family from imperial affairs. Young Artorius was sent here under the objective of the former. It is a message by the elders to the imperial family."
Trenewynn guessed at once, "they mean to say, 'look at us, sending our spare heir to the dangerous southern front to defend the empire's most important border.' They seek the emperor's attention…"
"Exactly so, the elders wish to acquire the promised land and riches that contributors to the emperor's war chest are due to receive. But the costs may be greater still in the long term."
"So you've been gathering your own forces here, but to what end? What are you planning to do, Ramnicus— old friend?"
The white mage seemed at once, exhausted, "I will do what I must do to defend the people of Sumelo– my home. When war with Bethel is formally declared, I will secede along with duke Camory of Apollicos and we will work with the heartland kingdoms to resist. We already have a naval connection to Dire via the port city of Argentum."
"Is that why the third prince sent his forces to this territory?"
"The third prince knows not what we plan, he sent his men here to prevent a secession. But it will not stop me. My mind is already made."
"You can't! Once you secede you'll be surrounded on all sides by enemies– the Dark Mists in the west, Kar'kasha to the south, and Helios in the north, you would be overwhelmed notwithstanding your internal enemies too!"
"What would you have me do!? The emperor sends more and more men and money to the east– the south is being neglected. We've bled more than anyone for this empire, yet we receive no aid when we call for it!"
"The third prince sent you aid did he not? He seeks to gain your support– you could rally behind him an–"
"And what!? Break bread and wine with a tarnished prince and hope for a godsend? Taking the third prince's hand would be a direct challenge to the imperial lineage anyways– the only difference is in that case we would have no sympathizers."
"Is it not enough to have a prince on your side?"
Ramnicus sank back into his throne. His tone was grim.
"No, old friend. It is not enough."
Trenewynn spoke in somber notes, "two thousand years ago– in the dark ages of Anor, you and I fought side by side against the demons. What happened to the vim and passion you showed in those days?"
There was something hollow in Ramnicus' bitter laughter.
"Two thousand years ago— you say it like it was yesterday. Perhaps time means nothing to the gods. But to me– a mere mortal, time is like the ocean waves battering the coasts of Anor until its baileys crumble from the strain of their own sturdy weight. When the grey skies stretch until you cannot tell where one cloud begins or another ends, then you'll understand what it means for a mortal to live unto eternity. Then perhaps, you'll understand how thinned I truly feel."
Age could still be felt by the ageless. It was felt in the cracks of the stone and the shifts of the sea– in the passing of seasons until the land once fertile became sterile and dusted dry. All the cries of newborns that grow into men are hardened until their tears turn from pure to anguished and witnessed unflinchingly by the white mage– who sits in his tower waiting for the days to grow too long and weary to bear any longer.
Ramnicus spoke once more.
"Even in eternity, a man can still grow old and feeble."
Trenewynn's reply was slow, "I'm sorry– old friend. I did not realize the days had worn you so much. But there is still hope, Ramnicus."
The white mage shook his head, "go. Stay for however long you need, and then diminish back to whatever countryside you crawled from."
When the Trenewynn returned to the tower entrance, Aia awaited him.
"Sir Trenewynn, I didn't know your friend would be the lord of Anor. Did the duke bring any tidings as to the recent events?"
He answered with heavy heart, "yes. Bad ones. I must go to the Heartlands– I'll take the next ship leaving port."
Trenewynn paced urgently as he spoke, behind him, Aia rushed to follow.
"But sir Trenewynn! We've only just arrived, isn't it too early to leave?"
As he descended the steps, Trenewynn called out to the elf Cardëlassë, asking for a guide down to the city harbor.
Only then did he turn to Aia, "I must go to the heartlands and warn them of the impending war. The kingdoms' alliance is present in name but flimsy. They will need convincing to face this conflict properly. You have ventured grave dangers to travel with me, but you must go. The village will need you in the coming days."
"I don't understand, what's happening in Helios sir Trenewynn?"
"I would not trouble you with these things, Aia."
"But I am asking to know of them."
Trenewynn looked to the sky, "night has fallen."
With a thrum of his staff, he called upon Emeth once more. The stone steed returned uninjured– manifested again in the fresh sediments of Anor.
"Politics in the empire is about to explode, Aia. I will do what I can to mitigate the damages, but my heart tells me that something evil is behind these works. Emeth here will take me to the harbor. I'm leaving to see my friend in An'tia."
"What can I do?"
Trenewynn glanced at the young priestess kindly, "so much has happened since you left with me for Anor, yet still you would ask this? Such a remarkable heart, the village of Faelenshire is lucky to have you. Go. Return to Faelenshire– but don't travel alone. Beseech the young scion of Drakkennide perhaps. He is a man of an honorable line and noble bearing. If my quest is successful there will be no further troubles. Yet should I fail, you should seek the head of your church in the capital. I pray there is not a need for religious intercession with politics."
"How will I know whether your quest succeeds or not?"
"I intend to return to Faelenshire about five years later. If on the dawn of the Birth of Pashum– five years time, I do not return, then go and seek assistance from the church."
With his piece stated the black and white-robed wanderer turned towards the direction of the harbor.
"Come now, Emeth– to the south posthaste."
With a stern gallop the stone steed took off with Cardëlassë on horseback trailing behind.