B2 – Chapter 16: The Archon’s past

The usual morning routine came and went, and Tristan met Obadai along with the fairy dragons responsible for their horses in front of the Queen’s Wood.

The Matriarch walked over in her tall, Elfanoid form. “Lord Tristan, a moment, if you would please.”

Tristan nodded, “As much time as you need.”

She smiled and looked over at Obadai, “Master Grimtome. I thank you for revealing to me the nature of the device on the top boughs. I believe, though, you left it calibrated to a different Realm than our own. I would ask you to return it to glimpsing at the skies of the Fey Realm, as I can use those in my own divination spells to assist in safeguarding the Realm.”

Obadai blushed in embarrassment – something that Tristan did not expect to see from the middle-aged man – and then chuckled. “My mistake. I apologize. It will not happen again.”

The Matriarch nodded and glanced down at Felicity atop Tristan’s head. “Daughter, if you happen to come across something the Mortal Realm calls whiskey, please bring it back. I have a craving for the liquor.”

Felicity nodded, “I’ve had it before! I’ll make sure I get some.”

The Matriarch stepped away, “Safe travels.”

Tristan spun his essence crucible, pushed the essence through his channels, and then, focused it into the ring on his finger. The trio vanished as the spell activated, and they along with their mounts arrived where they had departed from. Mounting up on their steeds, the trio began traveling south toward Jewel’s Point.

“Tell me about your homeland,” Tristan said as the sun began to crest past noon.

Obadai glanced over at Tristan, “The Empire?” Tristan nodded, and Obadai cracked a smile. “The Empire of Dorcelli rules the whole continent of Dorcel.” He pointed to the west, “If you go directly west from here, you will arrive at Klaktol – that large, central continent. Keep going, and you hit the islands called the Verdant Archipelago, ruled by the merchant state of Trimarchy and their vassal states. Then, you would arrive at the two west-most continents on a traditional, flat map – Forsol to the south, and Dorcel to the north. Keep going, and eventually you would cross over the farthest ocean called The Deep, and arrive back on Gvand,” he pointed to the east, “Behind us. But that journey from Dorcel to Gvand going east is perilous and takes Seasons.”

“Thanks for the geography lesson,” Felicity muttered as she lay flat atop Tristan’s head, her tail swishing back and forth behind him and tickling against the nape of his neck. “But he asked about your homeland, not where it is.”

Obadai scoffed, “Young people, no respect for their elders.”

“Damn right. Up yours,” Felicity said with a smirk.

Obadai ignored her and focused his gaze on Tristan, and once more he was struck by the Archon’s odd eyes – blue and gold in one, black and red in the other. “The Empire is ruled by our empress, Naomi. The Empire has been around for as long as I’ve been alive and persisted for longer than Bhant has been around. Albeit it was a series of independent city-states until the past…ten years, or so?”

“You’re telling me that a single woman united the city-states of a disparate region into an empire, in ten years, and now wants to expand to cover the whole world?”

Obadai smiled, “Yes. She is a woman of ambition and had all the right connections. She was the descendant of several generations of careful, selective breeding – just like me. But instead of trying to obtain powerful bloodlines for their offspring, her ancestors were intermarried across the ruling families of those city-states. She is bound by lineage to every one of the places that swore fealty to her vision of a unified Dorcel.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “There are rumors that the very gods themselves favor her plans. But those assholes have never done anything that I’ve seen directly.”

Tristan nodded as he recalled his few lessons on the gods. His grandfather was a more pragmatic man who thought that faith was useless, especially when Realm Protectors existed which were godlike. But his mother was religious, and the prevalent belief was that the gods were the Mortal Realm’s protectors. They were worshipped for their various roles and domains they supposedly had rule over.

Traft the justiciar, Vil the provider of provenance, Wesker who toils in waves, Albert the gentle, Pila the boisterous, Monu of the far reach, and Froyr, he who awaits the end. Tristan never gave them much notice outside of feast days and the few religious festivals that his mother dragged him to in the temples all seven shared.

Obadai continued speaking, “I was raised in a place where essence-weavers were prominent. A now-merged into The Empire city-state called Faldorn. I was raised learning essence-weaving from the minute I could walk. That, combined with book-learning, took up most of my youth. As a young man, I was sent to work several simple trades to understand the plights of the common people under my family’s auspices. A bunch of odd jobs – farming, sailing, fishing – a lot of fishing thanks to our position on the coast.”

Felicity yawned and rolled over so her belly was facing up, and she made dramatic snoring noises. Tristan shook his head gently and spoke, “Please, continue. Felicity is just being an ass.”

Obadai cracked a smile and kept going, “I was an only child, but I had a lot of cousins. Once I became an adult, I traveled to Yustat, and joined The Citadel of Essence.”

“That’s the essence-weaver school, correct?”

“Yes. Once I had learned all I felt I needed to, I returned home and administered spells to the masses – mostly being called in to resurrect those who died of unfortunate accidents. Revival is an essence-intensive spell type, though, and it has time limitations that I’ve mentioned before. I could not, say, be summoned to travel for Seasons to resurrect a dead noble. But a farmer who experienced a freak accident while I was near? That was doable.”

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His face turned from a smile into a grimace, “And then war came. A small bit of war, but I was called upon to raise the corpses of the dead using necromancy. The corpses of our own, and our enemies – used against our foes. That is where I earned my surname. Grimtome.” He glanced to Tristan, “Surnames and family lineages exist there, but one may build a reputation enough that instead of using a title, they adopt that distinction as who they are. Then, our empress rose to power, and she recruited me to her court. I helped her unite the city states.”

“And then you were sent to spy,” Tristan finished. “And destabilize the kingdom of Bhant for expansion.”

“Right you are. I was six years into my assignment before events unraveled.”

Tristan leaned forward and rubbed Onyx’s neck. “What do you think revealed it?”

Obadai sighed and filled up his pipe, “It was a mix of circumstances, I fear. Political maneuvering, mostly, which I was never too skilled at.” He chuckled and glanced at Tristan with a sideways eye, “That sister of yours, though. My, she worked her wonders. Insinuated that somehow I was allied with you and involved in the affairs at your estate, because of our two conversations. Crafty, she is. Perhaps making a play for the throne. If the king were to die, and his cousin Richter, also died, then there would be no blood heir, and the noble houses would vote on a successor.”

Tristan looked ahead and frowned, “Gisele is smart. Natural swordswoman. Cunning. She was…kind when I was younger. But once my heritage became apparent, she grew distant like everyone else.”

Obadai clicked his tongue, “Shame, that. Well, like I said, if working for The Empire ever interests you, the empress is strictly against discrimination based upon heritage. She believes in…what’s the word…ah! Meritocracy. Only the most proficient may work in her court as advisors.”

Tristan felt slightly uncomfortable at hearing that, “So you are telling me that a simple village apothecary, with enough experience and mastery, could demonstrate their skills and rise through the ranks of nobility?”

“Indeed. Prowess over lineage.”