Low-Fantasy Occultist

The sanctuary was quiet, save for the low hum of the life-support runes carved into the enchanted chair. Rosmaria Elpen folded her pale, thin hands in her lap, her amber eyes flicking between her grandchildren and the young man who had followed them in.

"Ephor is an arrogant monster, but he is thorough," Rosmaria rasped. "I have not spent the last three weeks simply hiding in the dirt, waiting for rescue. I have been listening. The wind carries the whispers of this city if you know how to listen, and not everyone is so afraid of his shadow that they do not speak the truth.”

Nick leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms. “You already knew he was preparing for the summoning.”

"I know everything he does, from how he breaks his fast to his darkest vices,” she replied, a hard, cold edge creeping into her voice. “But yes, I am aware that he needs a breach in the fabric of reality to pull his patron through. My plan was to let him work. I intended to wait until the veil tore and the abyssal energy flooded the chamber.”

Rhea frowned, taking a wizened hand in hers. "Grandmother, the residual corruption alone would kill you.”

Given that her soul was bound to the Forge, that was a very likely possibility. Even if they couldn’t harness the Grand Artifact’s full power, the mere presence of such a corrupting influence would do her great harm.

"I already have a foot in the grave, child," Rosmaria said flatly. "The moment Ephor brought the demon through, I was going to hijack the tether through the Forge. I planned to use the demon's own power to fuel the machinery, trap Ephor’s soul in the mechanism, and weld him to the bedrock for eternity. Let him scream in the dark while the abyss tears him apart.”

The sheer malice in the old woman’s voice sent a chill through the room, and Nick looked at her with newfound respect. This was a predator, patiently waiting in a trap of her own making. Though she was diminished from the heights of what she’d once been, her bite was still very much lethal.

"Your plan is bolder and could help me greatly," Rosmaria conceded, nodding at Nick. "Using the Black Hounds to break through the outer wards saves me a great deal of trouble. But if we are to strike tomorrow night, we have loose ends to tie up. Toneburg’s nobility is a nest of vipers, and several of them will be poised to strike at the mercenaries' flanks once the siege begins. As I said, Ephor is no fool. He’ll know something is coming and will be prepared.”

She tapped a series of runes on her armrest, and a panel in the console slid open, revealing a stack of ledgers and several wax-sealed missives.

"House Brant and the Duke’s men will stand aside, waiting until the last moment to swoop in,” Rosmaria explained, demonstrating an understanding of the city’s politics that had taken Nick considerable pain to develop. "But House Tor and House Cinder owe Ephor too much to stay neutral. He bought their debts when the dwarven front stalled. If Varg attacks the estate, Tor and Cinder will march their retinues into the mercenaries' rear.”

Gaelen picked up the missives, scanning the seals. “I see Dautorious’ marks and the insignia of the Iron Guild.”

"The loyalists may have been scattered, but they are not powerless, and they remember their friends,” Rosmaria said. "You two will deliver these. Rally the old retainers, the guild masters who lost their shops to Ephor’s taxes, and even the smugglers who want the trade routes reopened. Gather them at the western canal, and when the red dome cracks, you will lead them into battle.”

Rhea carefully tucked the missives into her belt. “Will it be enough to handle all the noble houses?”

It was a reasonable question. Nick had seen firsthand the level of quality the nobility demanded of their men, and while no one had been powerful enough to trouble him so far, having them all come together would form a mighty front. Even the Black Hounds would have trouble facing them.

To answer that, Rosmaria looked directly at Nick. "They need to lose their heads before tomorrow's sun rises.”

Executing an unsentenced noble was high treason, a direct violation of the King's Laws that invited execution by the Crown's Shadows. Nick held the old woman's gaze for a long moment, seeing that she was fully aware of what she was asking of him.

He also recalled the Shadow in the plaza, the silent agreement sealed over the bleeding corpses. The Crown was already conducting a purge, after all, and wasn’t that its own sentencing? Nick would simply add a few names to that number.

"Consider them dealt with," he said at last, drawing a bloodthirsty grin. They split up an hour later.

The siblings slipped into the labyrinth of the lower rings to gather the remaining allies of House Elpen, while Nick took to the rooftops, wrapped in the veil of [Mire] and even donned the [Ring of Unknowningness].

It would mean losing his sight, but his trick with his owl figurine still worked, and he’d long since transcended the limitations of the flesh. Keeping anyone from spotting him was more important than seeing color.

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He had less than twenty hours to dismantle two noble houses, including their military retainers.

Once, it would have been unthinkable, both because of the power requirements and the slaughter it would entail, but Nick hardened his heart. The stakes were far too high, and he was sure the lives he was about to take were already slated for culling, given that they were Ultimer’s allies.

He would just take them sooner than the Shadows would.

His first target was Baron Tor's estate, perched on a hill overlooking the merchant district. As Nick drew closer, passing minor nobility and landed knights, the toll of the dwarven war on Toneburg became glaringly apparent. Many iron gates were rusted, and decorative pikes had been melted down for scrap. He even saw several guards patrolling the garden, wearing mismatched plate armor and wielding spears with pitted steel tips.

Given Toneburg’s wealth, that shouldn’t have happened, but the city had been in lockdown for a long time, and most of the resources that did get in were funneled to House Ultimer.

To ensure the Royal Army didn’t feel compelled to turn back and march on the city, its nobles had drained their resources, sending their finest steel and grain to the northern front as an offering to forestall accusations of betrayal.

Ephor Ultimer, he knew, had capitalized on the desperation, offering predatory loans to the struggling nobility. His target, Baron Tor, likely wouldn’t defend Ephor out of loyalty, but had become too entwined in the old Artificer’s business to avoid answering to his call.

Fortunately, the wards around the estate were relatively weak, and he only had to play with them for a bit before he slipped through, not even needing to bring out his [Territory].

How foolish. But then again, this is no Great House. While its wealth is enough to hire a few mages, its true power lies in its Knights.

Silently, Nick dropped onto the roof of House Tor’s guard barracks. Two knights stood near the chimney, huddled around a small brazier, complaining that the quality of their meals had suffered.

It was such a mundane thing to worry about that it momentarily threw him. Soon, however, he gathered his mana and crafted two spikes of [Stream of Consciousness].

Invisible pressure spiked through their brains, severing the connection between soul and body. They slumped against the brickwork, dead before their knees hit the shingles.