057

Erick stepped from the twilight of Spur onto a dark, grassy hill, lit by stars, the moons, and a far off glow on another high hill, and another, and another. All around Erick, every hill on the surrounding endless prairie was topped with stone towers, some small and singular atop their hill, some large and crowded, with peaks and raised porches, every one of them looking like organized piles of legos, or stone trees. Sunlightwards glowed in the air around the bases of those towers and on streets of muddy dirt that connected one hill to the next. Men and women in armor poked up here and there among the crenelations, like birds in stone trees, each of them holding spears, watching the night. Several of them watched Yetta and Erick and their whole party as they arrived on the grassland.

Erick would never have seen any of that without [Ultrasight]; he needed to level all of that up to [Hunter’s Instincts] as soon as possible.

A cold wind blew across his small party, snaking into Erick’s loose desert attire, bringing with it the smell of freshly tilled dirt, and the whispering night. People in those stone trees were up and awake; some talking about war, some talking about food. Erick would have listened more, but Yetta, dressed in nicer yellow leather armor than what Erick remembered, and Jane, in her midnight [Conjure Armor], were both looking at Ophiel on Erick’s shoulder.

Yetta tore her eyes away from the winged, eyed creature, saying, “Welcome to Odaali-in-Exile, Archmage Flatt.” Her voice was strong. “We will be having a small get together with the appropriate people, like I explained, if you do not mind.”

“I’m good for anything,” Erick said.

Yetta nodded, saying, “Thank you.” Yetta glanced at Erick’s clothing. She said nothing. “If you would follow me.” She began walking down the hill.

Erick tugged at his clothes. What was wrong with them? Sure, they weren’t the nicest things he owned, but they weren’t farm-clothes. Who was he meeting, anyway? Army people? They shouldn’t care.

Yetta began walking down the hill.

Erick followed Yetta down the hill to a dirt road nestled between the grasses of the prairie, casually surrounded by Teressa, Poi, and Rats; they were forming a perimeter around him. Erick felt a bit nervous at needing to be surrounded by guards, but Jane walked at his side, and that made him feel better. When they got to the dirt road, Yetta turned on her [Cleanse Aura], turning tiny bits of the land here and there into thick air. Now why was she doing that? Erick felt a bit more nervous than before, guessing that Yetta was protecting them from stray killing clouds of dead air; this must be why all the buildings were on top of hills, on top of towers.

Erick quietly asked Jane, “How’s it been?”

Jane sent, ‘We’re being watched.’

‘Well duh. How bad is it?’

‘Not that bad. I’ve already caught people testing my ability to find them sneaking into my rooms; [Greater Shadowalk] has a lot of new applications; I’m still learning. I don’t think the spies are a problem, but they are annoying. And what the hell is that thing on your shoulder?’

Eyes had blinked open everywhere across Ophiel’s tiny body; the little guy was taking in sights from everywhere. He watched as Yetta’s thick air played in the wind flowing across the grassland. He extended his wings, feeling the sky move around his little place in the world.

Erick sent her an image of Ophiel’s blue box, sending, ‘I made my [Familiar].’

Jane read the spell description, sending, ‘You made a damned angel, Dad. What the hell!’

‘Veirdly angels are people, Jane. Ophiel won’t be mistaken for an angel here, at all.’

‘You know what I mean!’

‘Yes, I do.’

Erick smiled as their group reached a stretch of the dirt road that was different than what came before, it was slightly darker. Yetta’s [Cleanse Aura] billowed thick wind everywhere. What had just happened?

Erick didn’t have much time to ponder that, though. No one seemed nervous except for him, and Ophiel tittered; kneading Erick’s shoulder with its wings, touching Erick with a tendril of [Telepathy], asking a wordless question about flying.

Erick sent back, ‘No. You have to stay here with me. You can go flying later.’

Ophiel seemed to focus on their surroundings, his wings folding down against his sides. Maybe he had picked up on Erick’s nervousness. Ah. That wasn’t good. Erick wanted a strong [Familiar]; he tried to put on a stronger persona, standing up straighter. Ophiel seemed to stand taller on his shoulder, following Erick’s example.

Jane sent, ‘It’s not a real angel, is it?’

‘It’s not a real anything; just a mana construct. That was Sizzi’s opinion, anyway, and I’m starting to think so, too. It’s starting to pick up small mannerisms, but they’re only the mannerisms I expect it to have.’

Jane looked at Ophiel, sending, ‘I hope it helps keep you out of danger.’

‘We’re all in danger, all the time, Jane. Ophiel here will help me survive it.’

Jane smiled a little, as she looked out into the night.

Erick changed the subject by asking Yetta, “Why the [Cleanse Aura]? Are we that close to the front lines?”

Yetta said, “There’s no sewer system here; all of this went up three weeks ago, and it’s constantly being expanded.”

“… Oh.” Erick looked at the brown dirt path. “Want me to [Stoneshape] this path to raised stone?”

“No. I want this place to be as temporary as possible. I would have preferred huts.” Yetta said, “But some people have different ideas of what is necessary.” She pointed to a hill two hills away, to a taller tower than most crowded with a small, ornate palace on top. White stone shimmered under brilliant light orbs; warm lights pouring up and out of an interior courtyard, coloring the night sunlight-yellow. A mishmash of towers ringed the central, unseen courtyard. “Duchess Wilhelmina Dominair and Duke Cyril Odaali are waiting for us in the Temporary Palace, along with several other important people, as I explained.” She glanced back. “I have to ask: What is that thing on your shoulder?”

“A [Familiar].” Erick said, “I made him six hours ago, so he’s still learning.”

Erick suddenly remembered that he still had learning to do, too; he had gotten quite a few points from leveling off of the yellow wyrm. He allocated 10 points into Willpower, in preparation for an expensive battle to come.

 

 

As his mana ticked up and his two All-Stat rings remained at 8 and 6, a gentle feeling of expansion sunk into his soul. The night seemed a bit brighter; a bit warmer. Like something inside of him had ticked one more measure toward balance. Erick smiled as he touched Ophiel’s wings. The little guy wasn’t quite as stiff as the last time Erick petted him; he pushed into Erick’s touch, like a dog enjoying a pat.

Erick asked Yetta, “Will I be expected to speak?”

Yetta answered without turning, “A little. I suspect most people are sticking around this late just to get a glimpse of you, or maybe to talk, and then they’ll start heading home.”

Erick suddenly said, “I’m sorry, Yetta. I did not think that Ar’Kendrithyst would be that dangerous.”

Yetta kept her face forward. She walked in silence for a little while, but eventually said, “I know you didn’t think it would.” She sighed, then said, “But you’re here now, and we will take back my home.”

Erick said, “Of course. It will be done, and it will be done swiftly.”

Yetta stared forward, saying, “I hope so.”

Erick sent to Poi, ‘How are we doing?’

‘Good so far.’ Poi walked beside Erick, sending, ‘People are watching and there’s at least two invisible people around us, trailing our path, but they don’t seem to be hostile.’

Erick kept a straight face, and sent, ‘See? I can keep a straight face.’

‘Very good, sir,’ Poi sent, a hint of amusement to his thoughts.

As they approached the white tower, the gentle sounds of music carried on the wind. Ophiel perked up; Erick told him to settle down. The sounds of violins, cellos, flutes, and smaller voices carried on the air, growing stronger as Erick walked up to the white stone-tree tower palace.

Yetta led the way to a three-meter wide staircase that wound around the base of the tower. Two men in white armor stood at the base; they stood straighter as Yetta stepped up the dirt path, coming toward them, and the palace. Yetta paid no attention to the guards; she started right up the curving, white staircase.

Erick, Jane, Poi, Rats, and Teressa, followed; dirt knocking off of their boots as they ascended behind Yetta. The path circled the tower, flowing up into the center, past murder holes and through open stone gates, into a space of stone and light; a castle courtyard a hundred feet in the air, complete with small fountains, gentle voices, and a get-together already waiting for Erick and his people.

A small band played to the left of the staircase, scattering music into the air. Ophiel hugged onto Erick’s shoulder, seemingly excited at the music and at everyone, a dozen eyes fully open and flipping around to stare at everything and every person. Erick felt like his inner child was sitting upon his shoulder; he too, felt excited at the prospect of visiting kings and queens. It didn’t really matter that an assassin who tried to kill him was linked to these people; Erick felt nervous and giddy all at once.

Past the landing at the top of the stairs began an open-air veranda-courtyard, filled with sunlight orbs. It was a space large enough for a hundred people, and there were at least that many in attendance. Humans filled the space, from pale to dark, blond to black, they were all dressed in fine suits or fine dresses. Jewelry sparkled in the light. Some wore polished armors with dress swords or maybe real swords at their hips. Wine glasses abounded; some were drinking dark red, others drinking a pale sparkling yellow. People spoke under arches to the side of the courtyard, or around standing tables here and there. The music did not stop at Yetta’s entrance, but several people turned Yetta’s way, to look at Erick and his entourage.

A guard— No. A butler, in black and white, just to the side of the entrance, asked, “Your bags?”

Teressa said, “We can do that ourselves; just point the way.” She turned to Erick, whispering, “I’ll take yours and Poi’s.”

Poi was already handing Teressa his pack. Erick did the same. People at the party were glancing at him, while some openly stared. Teressa and Rats vacated down a side hallway, away from the party, Rats giving one last glance toward Erick that seemed full of ‘I’m glad I’m not going into that’.

And just like that, Erick’s party was down to just Jane and Poi. Yetta was already stepping into the party, but she stopped short, seven feet from Erick. Cyril, decked out in white and gold clothes more expensive-looking than usual, was standing up from a table nearby, set up at the top of a tier of the slightly stepped courtyard. He walked toward Yetta. At his side at the table had been a woman similarly expensively attired, but done up in green. Emeralds and gold lined her brown hair and her thick-fabric regency dress. She looked twice Cyril’s age; maybe even older than Erick. The woman strolled alongside Cyril, toward Yetta and Erick.

The music ceased, as Cyril and the woman stepped to what was probably an appropriate distance from Yetta. The entire gathering was looking their way.

Yetta announced to the rapt audience, “Presenting Archmage Erick Flatt, planar human, here to assist in the assault on the devils inhabiting our homes; to kill those who created the abominable Daydropper.”

Yetta yielded the floor to Erick as all eyes turned on him.

Erick was still processing if Yetta had just roped him into killing people, as he said, “[Withering] will not work through a [Weather Ward]. If someone has set up [Weather Ward]s, someone else will need to pop them. The spell will target anyone and anything with a rad inside, so if you have intestinal rads you should not be a part of the assault. If there is no 10 mana rad inside of a person, or a monster, then the spell does nothing.” He added, “I hope rebuilding after this tragedy goes well for everyone.”

Several small claps passed around the late-evening party.

The music started up again, and with a bit of [Perfect Hearing], Erick heard some of the conversations that resumed; they were about him. But the woman in green and Cyril were stepping closer, and he could not listen to the wagging tongues of others any longer. Poi was at Erick’s back, Jane was at his side, and that was a good enough security blanket as he was going to get in this strange land.

In a speaking voice, Yetta personally introduced, “Crown Prince Cyril Odaali, and his grandmother, Duchess Wilhelmina Dominair, Lady of the High Court, eighth cousin of the Viridian King, his Majesty Drundi Raivo.” She remained where she stood.

Cyril said, “Welcome to the Greensoil Republic, Archmage Erick Flatt.”

Erick sent to Poi, ‘Is it proper to bow, here?’

‘I would never bow to these people.’

Wow! Okay, Poi. Erick wasn’t going to get any help from him, so he just said, “Thank you for having me.”

Yetta put forth, “I would like to discuss the battle plan for tomorrow. Now.” She added, “Where is Captain Denarth?”

“Yetta.” Cyril tried, “The battle isn’t starting until the day after tomorrow.”

“Cyril.” Yetta countered, “We could start right now, in the middle of this night, if we wanted. Do you think we need the whole of the armies, now that we have the ability to desiccate the Queen Vine out from the center of Odaali? We do not.”

Erick said, “I would like to know exactly what I’m facing, please. But yes; if everyone is ready, we could go now. Fly in and drop [Withering Slime]s on the city.”

Yetta’s face went from motionless-anger, to a righteous smirk.

Cyril said, “I wish it were that simple.”

Yetta countered, “We worked hard for this, Cyril. It might be.”

Wilhelmina ignored Yetta, and spoke to Erick, her voice husky, “We have all seen the validity of your power, dear Archmage, via our ever-patriotic Viscount Helix of Frontier, but if power was all that was needed, then we would have been able to oust the interlopers from Odaali ourselves.” She explained, “Undead of all kinds have infested Odaali from tunnels to towers, while the rank and file of the Halls of the Dead maintain and [Grow] the Queen Vine with the bodies of our own former citizens, binding ever more souls and ever more power to the Queen Vine itself. The Queen Vine started displaying spellcasting ability days after the destruction of our people, and it has only grown in power since then.”

Yetta said, “This is why we should gather our forces now and strike while the Queen Vine sleeps, while they’re still expecting us to attack in two days.”

Wilhelmina shook her head, saying, “Champion Yetta is a force of nature, and you might be too, Archmage Flatt, but we are fighting a force of nature, and caution is better than discarded chances for surprise.” She said, “Yetta and we have two other archmages bargained for the battle, each with great magic of their own. I do not fear, but I do certainly know, that it will take every one of you and all of our armies combined to take down this creature and the people feeding her.”

Yetta sighed, then looked to the sky, right before blipping away in yellow light.

Wilhelmina frowned at the empty space, but turned toward Erick with a smile, saying, “A pleasure to meet you, Archmage.” She gestured to the rest of the people on the veranda, saying, “I would love to introduce you to some of the other guests, if you are willing?”

Erick looked out at the people at the party, and an echo of the party he threw a few weeks ago came back to him; he could ask these people about trades for gems, or services, or try to entice them to come to Spur to kill more Shades… But. Erick had never expected the Champion to run into any trouble at all. Honestly, he should have expected deaths. He was shortsighted and naive, and Melemizargo was beyond anything Erick could ever hope to do, or at least anything Erick could hope to do right now.

He would have to leave politicking for the deaths of Shades for another day; one where Odaali was firmly on its feet, and able to be a tight friend to Spur.

Erick said, “Thank you, but I must decline. I would much rather know who you are, who Cyril is, and what the Greensoil Republic actually is. I have read up some, but there’s just so much to learn, you know.” Erick joked, “Just a month ago, I got out from under the impression that monsters could be reasoned with.”

Wilhelmina smirked, and there was no doubt in Erick’s mind that her smirk was the calculated visage of a very powerful woman. Wilhelmina gracefully gestured to the high table, where she and Cyril had been sitting. “Then please join Cyril and I, where we may speak about our Great Republic.”

She walked to her chair; Erick walked with her, “Yetta said that this whole place is only a few weeks old? It looks rather well made for that.”

“It is well made; formed by the expertise and power of many Stone Mages.” Wilhelmina touched a chair next to her own, before sitting down. “With all the carrion eaters circling the corpse of my homeland, one must bribe them off with a show of power and goodwill, lest one be eaten alive by one’s own countrymen.”

Erick suddenly paused, but he sat down in his chair anyway, as Wilhelmina twirled a hand through the air. Two servers in butler-black rapidly and perfectly delivered one wineglass to Erick, as well as refilled Wilhelmina’s glass with a sparkling red wine, then filled Erick’s glass with the same.

Erick smiled. He liked this openess of Wilhelmina’s, even if it was a calculated manner.

Erick said, “I truly do hope that rebuilding goes well for your people, but I would be remiss to blindly hope for the success of people who have tried to have me killed.”

Wilhelmina held up her glass, smiling to say, “Then, a toast: To reconciliation.”

Erick raised his own glass, repeating, “To reconciliation.”

She sipped hers first, and only then, did Erick drink. It tasted like wine.

Wilhelmina said, “I have been made aware of the events surrounding your run in with the Green Circle, and the Viridian King apologizes for the overzealous actions of his people. There’s no excuse but that we thought you were a threat. A while has passed since then, though, and it appears you were telling the truth about who you are as a person.” She added, “If you are willing to leave the past in the past, then we would be grateful for such forgiveness.”

Erick smiled softly. He changed the topic, “I’ve just gone on my first wyrm hunt, and that was an eye opener, as well. How do you prevent wyrm attacks in your Republic? I’ve heard it’s much more densely populated than the Crystal Forest.”

Wilhelmina smiled, gesturing to Cyril who had sat down beside her, saying, “Adventurers like my grandson here are the ones responsible for keeping the northern barriers intact. Odaali has had a long history of supplying men and women and sustenance for the frontlines. All that has stopped, for now. The Greensoil Republic must survive without us, and likely for a decade or more. This destruction by the Halls of the Dead will have heavy, longstanding problems, that we won’t know are coming until they are upon us.”

Erick felt a pang of loss as he looked out over the crowds, while Wilhelmina spoke. The people in the crowds were not dressed in perfect finery; Wilhelmina was, for sure, but there were little things among the crowd that gave away the truth of this gathering. Jewelry on one woman was not matched to the man she was with, or the clothes she was wearing. The sword on one man’s hip had an ornate jeweled grip, but the sheath was bare wood. And most telling, everyone seemed to be wearing more clothes than they likely needed; all the people were all exceedingly skinny. A great deal of them looked as skinny as Cyril, and Erick knew what Cyril had gone through.

He looked upon the tables, at the plates holding tiny finger foods that had been dispersed throughout the event; many of them were empty. The waiters in butler-black were not replacing them fast enough, or maybe they couldn’t.

Erick whispered, “Do you all have enough food?”

Wilhelmina asked, “Would you like to sample some of the local delicacies?”

“No. I mean—” Erick paused. He said, “Everyone here is rather skinny, and you just said that you supplied sustenance to the front lines. Was Odaali a breadbasket of the area?”

Wilhelmina said, “We are not destitute, Archmage. Yes, there have been hard times, but we will survive.”

“I apologize. Forget I mentioned it.” Erick sipped his wine. “This is a lovely vintage.”

Wilhelmina frowned a fraction, then schooled her expression to neutral as she looked at Erick, silent and thinking.

Erick was fully aware that she expected him to offer assistance on his own, but if she wasn’t willing to ask for it, Erick wasn’t willing to offer it for free. To do otherwise would start a dangerous precedent when it came to people in power; people like Wilhelmina.

Erick sipped his wine, looking across the party, [Perfect Hearing] telling him many small tales. Of scattered battles with the Halls off the Dead. Of burned fields, seeded with daydroppers and undead. Of a new spell developed by the Halls of the Dead, that corrupts the land and inhibits the growth of any other plants at all. Of disastrous food shortages.

Erick asked, “What’s this spell that corrupts the land do, exactly?”

Cyril answered, “It doesn’t corrupt; it picks up the topsoil in a large area and [Teleport]s it to a location.”

“Ooh.” Erick said, “That’s devious.”

Cyril asked, “And to answer your previous question: We do not have enough food—”

Wilhelmina shot her grandson a pointed look.

“—and would appreciate your assistance in this matter, once the city has been retaken and the Halls of the Dead have been delivered to their makers.” Cyril continued, “Personally, I would like to have you start the rain right now, if you are able. We already have a starter field tilled and prepared, hoping that you would see our plight and step up to the cause.” He added, “I am glad that it only took seeing our best, to see that we are actually very deep in the shit.”

“Cyril.” Wilhelmina whispered, “You are making mountains out of hills. Odaali is not that poor, nor are we weak enough to need handouts. We have bargained for our successes; we are not beggars.”

Cyril turned away to look at the party, saying, “As you say, Grandmother.”

“I still want to help,” Erick said, “Let’s go see those fields.”

Cyril stood right up. “I would love to.”

Erick stood up, smiling.

Wilhelmina brushed a hand through the air, saying, “Then I suppose tonight is over.” She stood up, saying, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Archmage.”

Cyril was already walking away from the party.

Erick said, “A pleasure to meet you as well, Duchess.”

Erick got out of there as fast as he could, but not fast enough to get away before people could start talking about him, and dissecting his manners. Apparently, he was a ‘certifiable bumpkin’, and ‘not fit for court’, but also ‘that’s how those adventuring types are; completely unwilling to play the game’. Poi and Jane followed Erick, following Cyril, Jane giggling ever so slightly, as they walked down a white stone hallway, away from the party.

 

– – – –

 

Dozens of spotlights filled the sky, turning night into day, illuminating a vast field of tilled, dark soil, waterways, roads, and storage sheds, all around Erick and the people who brought him out here.

Yetta had come back from wherever she had gone and now stood by Cyril, who stood by the farmers at the edge of the field. Everyone, and even Yetta a little, was skinny, like they hadn’t gotten enough food for a while. Erick felt bad about this whole situation, now that he saw the problem laid out before him like this. Even if they were a part of some conspiracy, if people chose to appear before him in pain, Erick would help.

… Erick was not paranoid; he was simply open-eyed. There’s no way that they made these fields in the five minutes it took to get here.

Poi and Jane stood around Erick, watching the land and the people and the sky for threats. Erick consoled himself that a bit of paranoia was a good thing; there were people out there who wanted to kill everyone here. The Halls of the Dead were just the most prominent local threat.

Erick linked telepathically to Ophiel, still on his shoulder, who had been watching everything, and who was staring at the wind in the sky above. Erick explained to his [Familiar] what he was prepared to do, and to learn that this was going to be one of his main responsibilities.

Ophiel seemed playful, pawing at Erick’s shoulder with tiny claws hidden in his lower wings. Erick let him go and he shot off into the air with a gusting wind, guided by gentle mental nudges. One moment flashed into the next, and Ophiel expanded, two dozen wings, a hundred eyes, flying high and free, echoing the music it heard at the party, violins and flutes mixed together in some alien way, quiet but carrying on the wind.

Poi relaxed, whispering, “Thank all the gods and demons; it learned some better music.”

Erick smiled, guiding Ophiel’s flight into the sky, feeling the pure joy coming off of Ophiel, as he looked around him to check on the reactions of the others.

A small smile grew wide upon Cyril’s face, his eyes softening under the harsh lights from above, his white and gold clothes shining in the night. A few farmers behind him quickly did some strange hand sign; two fingers of their right hand pressed over their hearts.

Jane whispered to Erick, “I really hope you didn’t create some actual angel, Dad.”

“Pah! He’s not an angel, Jane.” Erick looked to the sky, at Ophiel flying and spinning through the air, expanding to his full size. “I just hope he grows right and good. He’s still developing.”

With another gentle command, Ophiel hovered above the spotlights and relaxed into the air. His wings extended all around, holding him in a fluttering hover, like some starfish in the sky. Feelings of contentment flowed back to Erick; Ophiel liked existing in the sky, and if he got to do more than that, then he was even happier.

Erick imbued mana into himself, into Ophiel’s blue box, feeling for an imbueable connection that shouldn’t need direct contact; the connection was there, in the blue box. Good. Erick grabbed hold of that connection and began flowing [Ward] into Ophiel. Ophiel took the spell and fidgeted in the sky, not sure what to do with the new magic. After he played with the spell for several seconds, Erick had Ophiel put on a [Personal Weather Ward], like a father gently stuffing his fussy child into a winter jacket.

Ophiel put on the [Personal Weather Ward] without great difficulty, but feelings of oddness flowed back to Erick through his connection.

Then, Erick imbued Ophiel with [Exalted Storm Aura].

Ophiel trilled out pure joy and immediately the air filled with mist, the spotlights above catching heavy on a rising fog. A song of violin storms rose into the sky, expanding across the night, silver glows roiling upon each other, growing and growing, until platinum rain fell upon the soil.

Erick stopped feeding the spell to Ophiel and the spell stayed active; it shouldn’t have surprised Erick, but it did. Ophiel had his own mana, so of course he could maintain the spell on his own. All he needed was a copy of the spell in the first place.

“Huh.” Erick uttered.

Jane asked, “What?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Ophiel gently spun in the sky while platinum rain fell all around.

Already, wheat, yellow and bright, was coming up from the soil, while Erick, Cyril, Yetta, and everyone else stood on the road, watching Ophiel bring succor to a nation in distress.

Erick summoned another Ophiel. There was no rip in reality that inverted into a winged and eyed creature; Ophiel simply appeared in his tiny version, exactly how Erick had intended.

Briefly, there was a flicker of confusion between the two winged [Familiar]s, but the second one was the same as the first; they were just experiencing the world from two different perspectives. The original continued to hang in the air above the farms, raining platinum upon the fields. The second flitted onto Erick’s shoulder, content and happy, and now happier that it was in the air, and also on Erick’s shoulder. Ophiel seemed to like being nestled onto Erick, according to the emotions coming off of his telepathic connection.

Platinum rain fell onto the gathered people, though a few had [Personal Weather Ward]s on; like Cyril and several farmers. Yetta stepped out onto the growing grain, her face raised to the rain, a hand touching the thickening wheat. She smiled. She laughed.

The farmers around Cyril began rapidly deploying into the fields.

All around the whole of the farms the same scene was playing out; hungry people going out into the fields, gathering food, [Telekinesis] widely employed to pluck wheat right from the ground and place it in large covered wagons. At least that’s what a gentle use of Ophiel’s [Scry] ability was telling Erick; it also told him that Ophiel didn’t need to be moved, he was already in the center of the farms. But there was a problem; the farms here had been seeded and tilled in a space to rival Spur’s own fields; they were much larger than the space Ophiel was currently raining upon.

Ophiel, using his own mana, didn’t benefit from any of Erick’s other abilities, like Clarity, or Aurify’s area multiplier. Erick hummed. Erick tried to fix this. He tried to imbue Aurify into Ophiel.

Aurify didn’t go. It wouldn’t go.

This was a complication.

Multiplying abilities did not work that way? Just to make sure, Erick tried to imbue Scion of Focus into Ophiel. Again, nothing; except a little whine from both the large and little guy. Erick stopped trying to imbue abilities onto him. Ophiel was already benefiting from Erick’s own MP and mana regeneration, so it was probably fine to have a 3600 mana drain per hour, when Ophiel regenerated 15,000 per hour—

Wait.

No Clarity or Meditation on Ophiel. That meant that Exalted Storm Aura would cost Ophiel 3600 mana for one hour of rain and he only had 3800 mana, but he would naturally regenerate 15000 per day, which was only 600-ish per hour, so one hour of rain was about all Ophiel could do, and he had to support himself in the sky while he did it.

Erick started channeling his own mana, and his own abilities, directly through Ophiel, flashing the rains out wide, onto the rest of the farms, to farmers waiting for their own crops to start growing under the many, many spotlightwards. Ophiel relaxed, gently feeling Erick’s mana flow through him, into the sky, his own reserves left to his own devices.

Jane popped out a [Weather Ward] across herself, Erick, and Poi, saying, “That’s enough rain on me for now. But good show, Dad.”

Cyril said, “Thank you, Archmage. This will be a great help.”

Yetta called out from the fields, “Those fuckers in Wellok can choke on their inflated prices.”

Cyril called out to her, “Trade is a part of keeping the Greensoil Republic intact, Yetta.”

Yetta threw her hand in the air at Cyril in some quick, rude gesture, then returned to feeling the rain upon her skin.

Erick said, “You made the farms too big for me to support this action all night long, but if you reduce to a kilometer across, then I can see about supporting this all day and night for a while. Right now, this is only going to last an hour. I need to sleep.”

“As you wish, Archmage.” Cyril nodded to Erick, saying, “My men need to sleep as well, but they will sleep much easier knowing there is grain to thresh and grind, and bread to bake, waiting for them tomorrow. An hour of this is more than enough, for now.” He added, “But if you can go longer, it would be much appreciated.”

“… Maybe.”

Erick sent a request to Poi that they had worked out beforehand; now seemed like a good time for this next part. Poi reached into a bag at the base of his back, and took out a small cloth bag Erick had put together as another small gift. Poi handed the package to Erick.

Erick held out the bag to Cyril, saying, “Here’s some seed potatoes for diversifying your crops. Plant the eyes on the potatoes to get more of the same kind; plant the seeds from the white flowers if you wish to experiment with different breeds. Potatoes are great; just boil and eat, if you can’t do anything else like butter or salt. They won’t taste good that way, but they will provide sustenance.”

Cyril smiled as he took the bag, holding it close, saying, “Thank you, Archmage Flatt.”

“Glad to help.” Erick said, “And now, I’m ready to say ‘til tomorrow’.”

Cyril stared out at the farms, and the growing fields. “Until tomorrow.”

Erick added, “Oh. And just so you know? If there’s something here that is not a produce, it won’t grow when I have not allowed it to grow. So you shouldn’t need to worry about someone slipping Daydropper seeds into the fields.” He said, “I’d imagine that would be a problem, yes?”

Erick eyed the ‘farmers’ in the fields. Armor peeked out from under some of their tunics. They moved with eyes half gazing into the night, expecting something to leap out, or attack. Several had swords, and all of them looked capable of holding their own on a battlefield.

Cyril said, “We expect something to happen, but we are prepared. It is good to know that daydropper seeds won’t sprout, though.”

“At least not under my power.” Erick added, “I hope. I’ve never actually tried it, or been near them. What do they look like, again?”

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Yetta spoke from the yellow fields, “Like ivy with purple undersides, surrounded by purple shards.” She added, “But even if some sprout here tonight, they aren’t called ‘Daydroppers’ for nothing. They have to build up their dead air purple undersides at night, before the sun forces them to drop it during the day. [Grow] speeds this process, but it is still a process.”

Erick said, “Good to know.”

With a hand held out to Jane and Poi, Erick blipped away in a flash of white.

Ophiel remained in the sky, continuing to anchor Erick’s [Exalted Storm Aura] across the fields, while also clinging to Erick’s shoulder, staying with the whole party as they made themselves at home in their rooms in the White Palace.

 

– – – –

 

Erick’s rooms at the White Palace were spartan, in that there was no furniture at all. This was actually perfect, considering that everyone expected to be sleeping in tents. Teressa had already conjured appropriate beds and tables and chairs, as well as wash basins and everything else any of them could have wanted.

… Erick bought [Conjure Item], and just because he could, he got [Conjure Armor], too.

 

 

 

Now was as good a time as any to power level these skills, while he met with everyone around a table, to openly discuss what was going on all around them. Erick flashed dense, complicated conjured items between his hands; ornate Faberge-type balls, with sparkling swirled carvings and layered, spinning inner structures. Each one cost several hundred mana, and granted several hundred experience.

Erick started with, “So they had that field ready to go for me. I went along with it because they looked like they needed the food, so please don’t begrudge me helping where I can help.”

Poi said, “I was going to, at first. But it is as you say: they needed it.”

“I’m glad you’re back to some of your old town council crafty self, Dad.” Jane said, “As for me? This entire day, since I got here this morning, has been people, one after the other, trying to trick information out of me.”

Erick flashed ornate, bejeweled gauntlets on his hands, with a hundred tiny eyes and four dozen tiny wings, leveling [Conjure Armor]. “As long as that’s all they’re doing.”

Jane looked at Erick’s gauntlets. “Are you powerleveling [Conjure Armor] and [Conjure Item]?”

“As well as testing these two rings.” Erick said, “They’re still going strong at six and eight.”

“Really!” Jane’s eyebrows went up. “Well okay then.”

Teressa, Poi, and Rats looked at the rings on Erick’s fingers.

Rats asked, “Those aren’t the same ones—”

“Don’t answer any of Rats’ question, sir.” Poi said, “Like Erick says, as long as they’re just trying to be friendly, I think we’re fine.”

Erick asked, “Has anyone found out if Cyril would be a good king, or if Odaali is a government that should be reinstated?”

Poi said, “They are as good as the rest of them, sir. Continuing on this path is the only way forward you have, anyway. If I were you, I would put this question out of my mind, for now.”

Erick grumbled, “It would be nice to know if I should prepare for something awful down the line.”

Jane said, “From what I’ve seen, the humans around here seem like standard humanity. Faults and horror and pain, same as anyone else. Probably a bit more cloak and dagger than Spur, back when the incani there were trying to oust us from the city. But that’s only in the extreme, and right now we’re in an extreme time. Usually, they’re just out for their own.” She added, “Which seems normal enough to me.”

Teressa sighed a little, saying, “You humans are so unnecessarily violent with each other. Come to a proper orcol town, and you’ll see exactly how fucked up humanity is.”

Erick smiled.

Jane said, “Probably true, according to everything I’ve heard and seen.”

Erick asked, “Where are the dragonkin towns?”

Rats frowned directly at Erick.

“What?” Erick asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes, sir. You did.” Poi said, “Dragonkin come from all races and ourselves; we live everywhere. To relegate us to our own civilization is backward thinking at best, and leads to the death of countless dragonkin, at worst.” He added, “There’s historical precedence that you just don’t know about, so it’s best to leave that alone, and never talk about Dragonkin being forced into reservations ever again.”

“… Sorry, Poi. Rats.” Erick said, “I did not know.”

“Think nothing of it, sir,” Poi said.

“Anyway! About you humans:” Rats explained, “It’s always something with the humans —no offense— but they’re always at war with one another, or someone else. Always with the banditry, too.” Rats said, “Ya know? That’s probably the largest problem going forward with Odaali. Even if liberated— actually, especially if liberated, this whole part of the world is gonna become a hotbed for organized crime. All these castles and towns, emptied by Daydroppers and the Halls of the Dead? Odaali is ripe for turning rotten.”

Teressa nodded, “I agree with that. They’re going to have a hard time with people getting their lives back on the road.”