Low-Fantasy Occultist

Eugene stepped back, searching Nick's face as if wanting to engrave it in his memory. He let out a slow, grounding breath and clapped Nick on the shoulder one last time before turning toward the small iron stove.

"Sit," Eugene commanded, the rough edge of the general returning to his voice. “Drink."

Nick took a seat on a wooden stool near the map table as his father poured a second measure of dark red wine. He handed the silver goblet to Nick, the metal warm from resting near the stove. The wine was spiced with blackberries and smoked oak, and it was far more palatable than the sour northern vintage he’d been forced to endure in Toneburg.

"A child not even midway through his teenage years reaching Prestige," Eugene muttered, running a hand through his graying hair as he sank onto the edge of his cot. "If Archmage Mantarys knew you existed, he’d go to war with Alluria’s Tower to get you in his clutches. The old bastard is strong, but his greed for apprentices is stronger.”

“He'll know before too long," Nick said, taking a sip. “People in Toneburg already do, and a King's Shadow has summoned me to the capital. I have three months to present myself at Court.”

Eugene’s hand paused on the rim of his goblet. His jaw tightened, the lines around his mouth deepening into a grim scowl. “Yes, the velvet noose. You already saw what I had to endure to prove myself. While they won’t have to pit you against a monster for your Quest, they will still measure your strength and prod your loyalties, all to decide whether you are a sword they can wield or a threat they must break.”

"I am aware," Nick replied smoothly. "Which is why I need to secure the North and our borders before I ride south. Toneburg will be our ally from now on, no matter who nominally holds the reins. I made sure my friend, Gaelen Elpen, was restored to his rank and had enough influence to take over much of the city’s business. The Ultimer heir is essentially his vassal.”

Then he paused, taking a moment to consider his words. His voice wouldn’t carry beyond the tent’s limits, and anti-scrying wards could be felt humming all around the army camp, yet it was never wise to speak of these matters lightly.

“We managed to win in part because of an alliance with a mercenary group called the Black Hounds. Duke Mordhau intends to hang Commander Varg at the first instance of lawbreaking and seize their treasury to pay for his own inaction, but he’s currently bound by a treaty.”

Seeing Eugene’s confused expression, Nick quickly outlined the city’s political standoff, skipping the minutiae of the battles and focusing on the precarious alliance holding Toneburg together.

“So you need a way to make the pardon stick," his father concluded, his gaze unfocused as he considered all he’d heard. "And a commission to legitimize the mercenaries and keep them from Mordhau’s clutches.”

"Can you provide it?”

Eugene set his wine aside and stood, moving to a small writing desk tucked in the pavilion's corner. He pulled out a fresh sheet of thick parchment and a pot of black ink. “I might not be the Grand Commander, but I still hold the rank of General over the western border and the assembled forces. I do have the authority to do that, if my lessons in law do not fail me. Mordhau will be angry, no doubt, but he does not possess the legal standing to countermand a General's seal.”

The scratch of the quill filled the quiet tent. Eugene wrote with sharp, decisive strokes, detailing Varg’s service in breaking a Cult stronghold and securing a royal city. He melted a stick of crimson wax over a flame, letting it spark on his fingertip, then pressed his command signet into the pool.

"A warning, son," Eugene said, rolling the parchment and holding it out. "General Nolan is a proud, ambitious man. Handing out pardons behind his back, especially to a mercenary captain who sacked a noble estate, will infuriate him when he learns of it after the army returns to the surface. He views the northern campaign as his personal triumph and won’t like anyone going behind his back.”

"Could we bring Nolan into our confidence?" Nick asked, taking the sealed tube and making it vanish into his ring. "Explain the necessity of stabilizing the city quickly?”

Eugene shook his head slowly. "He is too cunning to trust with a secret and too ambitious to share a victory. He would use the pardon as leverage against us and demand too many concessions. Give this to Varg, but tell him to prepare a substantial gift. When Nolan arrives in Toneburg, Varg must present himself as a loyal servant offering tribute to the conquering hero. Nolan’s ego won’t allow him to refuse, and once he’s done that, he won’t be able to move against him.”

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"I will relay the message," Nick promised, tucking the pardon into his coat. He took another sip of wine, and his expression turned serious. "There is another matter. The dwarven negotiations.”

Eugene leaned against the desk, cocking his head. “Have you been watching for that long? I would have thought Mantarys, at least, would have noticed you.”

“I have my ways,” Nick answered with a mysterious smile before sobering. He leaned forward, setting the goblet on the table. "I fought a Greater Demon acting through Ephor Ultimer. The Abyss is active, Father. His dying words warned that it was ever reaching and that dark times would be ahead of us. I do not have proof, but given what I sensed from them, I think the dwarves might have their own concerns about the demons and see this negotiation as a necessity to refocus on their true priorities. They aren’t as defeated as they seem because of the army’s efforts.”

Eugene opened his mouth to refuse him, then closed it with a click. “There might be some truth to that. We do not yet know the extent of their forces, given where they live. Beyond my battalion, only a couple of others have won decisively enough to inflict much damage.”

“Their sending only two Prestiges might not be because they are spent, but because they need them elsewhere. How many such warriors were watching over the First City when you took it?”

“One,” Eugene replied, and from his furrowed brow, Nick could tell he thought it was too low a number as well.

The First City was perhaps a third the size of Alluria, which should have given it at least half a dozen Prestiges. Not all of them would be combat classes, but given the dwarven propensity for mental magics, they would still have been very nasty for regular forces to face.

Instead, only one was here when it was taken. If that didn’t stink, Nick didn’t know what would.

Eugene cursed softly, a harsh sound in the quiet pavilion. He rubbed his jaw, staring at the map of the deep roads. "Nolan will not listen. He has his historic victory, which will bring dwarven gems and the surrender of an ancient enemy. If I tell him the dwarves are fleeing demons rather than any of our efforts, he will see it as a ploy to diminish his achievement and prolong a costly war. As things stand, he’s a Hero. He won’t let anything taint that.”

"Then the kingdom will be caught flat-footed when the rot spills over," Nick warned. “The dwarves might manage to push the incursion back on their own, but they haven’t done so well until now, and they will only be more spent as time passes.”

“Yes, and given how long it took us to get here, even if we survived the initial wave, we’d be spending years, if not decades, fighting through the tunnels to eliminate every demon,” Eugene said tiredly. "I will push to establish a permanent fortified watchpost in the lower levels of the First City. I will frame it as a necessary precaution to ensure the dwarves honor the treaty. If the Abyss rises this far and the dwarves appear about to lose, it will serve as an early warning system.”

"It is a fragile shield," Nick noted. If the demons had begun in the underworld’s lowest levels and gotten to the First City, they’d still be fully entrenched.

"It is the best I can build with the tools I have," Eugene replied. He looked at his son grimly. "I will return to Floria as soon as logistics allow and begin preparing for the possibility of a spillover. The other High Nobles will not want to share the parade's glory, and my duties on the western border provide a convenient excuse to depart early.”

Eugene walked back to the table, picking up his wine. “But while this is important, your attention must be on the capital, Nick. A direct summons cannot be ignored on pain of execution, and if I have to keep watch over the situation here, you’ll be alone.”

"I have almost three months,” Nick shrugged. “Floria is secure. Mother continues to expand the town's borders. We dealt with a minor incursion by the Valerius Consortium into the supply lines, and Devon helped me root out a Cult cell attempting to establish a foothold in the refugee camps.”

Eugene smiled, though his eyes betrayed some worry. “I had no doubt that’d be the case. But the capital is a different battlefield. I do not like the thought of you walking into the snake pit alone.”

"I will manage.”

"You will not have to," Eugene stated, his tone brooking no argument. "I will send Leon back to the capital with the Army. He is Prestige now and knows the layout of the Court and the players in the Magic Tower. He will watch your back and ensure no silent plots are laid against you before you present yourself.”

Nick nodded, appreciating the support. Sir Leon Sadie was a trusted ally, a man who had fought beside them, understood the stakes, and was Eona’s brother. He’d be glad to have him. "I will look for him when I arrive.”

The conversation was drawing to a close, and he knew his father had to leave for the command tent soon.

"Keep your power veiled for as long as you can, Nick," Eugene warned softly, stepping closer. “Even if people already know, it will be hard for many to believe, given your youth. That will be your greatest tool for now.”

“Do not worry," Nick said with a flourish of his dark coat. "They will see only what I permit them to see.”

They exchanged a final, solemn look. Eugene had a war to see through to its end and another to prepare for. Nick had a city to secure and a throne to answer to.

"Safe travels, Father. I’ll see you back home.”

"And you, my son. Be careful, and know that I am terribly proud.”

Feeding a sliver of intent into the Stillness, Nick’s presence ceased to exist. He was simply a fluctuation in the air, a draft from the iron stove.

He turned and walked away, feeling his father’s eyes slide off his cloaked form.

Nick moved through the occupied streets of the First City, a ghost among the victors. He bypassed the silver-armored sentries, slipping past the glow of the garrison fires and taking great care to avoid the mighty presence of Archmage Mantarys, whom he could feel probing where the listening ward had once been.

The climb was swift. He did not tire, as his Eidolon physiology let him draw boundless stamina from the ether and sustain his flight. Before long, the sulfurous dampness of the lower holds gave way to the freezing draft of the surface.

Mere hours after leaving his father’s tent, Nick emerged from the jagged maw of the Crag of the Broken Tooth.

The winter sun was rising, casting its light over the untouched snow blanketing the mountain peaks. The sprawling Royal Army encampment lay below him in the valley, a chaotic sea of canvas and churned mud.

However beautiful, Nick did not linger, taking to the sky and flying toward Toneburg at full speed.

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