Chapter 1: Gratitude Offered

Firstsummer 15, 3722

As the white carriage pulled to a halt on the street, Ziza stood up slowly and wiped the sweat from his brow. After dusting some of the dirt from his hands, he peered intently through the bars of the gate at the vehicle beyond.
The carriage was large as such things went. Its exterior was painted white, and on the door was the Imperial crest, a silver crown with a gold rim. The driver jumped to the ground and opened the door of the riding compartment. As he did, a short, thin man dressed in a blue and red uniform emerged. Ziza raised his eyebrows as he recognized the uniform as one worn by servants in His Majesty’s Court. It had been years since he had last seen someone dressed like this.
The man looked at the gate and quickly spied Ziza standing beyond it. “You there,” he announced loudly, “is this the home of Ritchar Grussilivri?”
Ziza’s eyebrows rose even further at the tone of voice the man used, but he thought the better of commenting on it. As a child he remembered courtiers having voices like that visiting his family home in Alladag. His father had displayed little patience with such people and often dismissed them from his presence rather than having to listen to their officious whinging tone. He smiled slightly at the memory and opened the gate.
“It is, sir,” he said. “Who may I say is calling on him today?”
“My name is Felac Yiennon,” the short man announced. “I am a courtier to His Majesty and have travelled here from Imperius-On-Great-Lake on official business. Be a good man and let the master of the house know I have arrived.”
“I shall be pleased to announce you,” Ziza responded as he pulled the gate open.
The man took a step forward and pointed at the rear of the carriage. “And my bag, if you don’t mind. The blue one. I find it quite heavy, and my driver needs to remain with my vehicle at all times.” His short legs moved quickly as he purposefully strode through the opening and into the courtyard beyond. Behind him, the Imperial lieutenant returned to his position in front of the carriage and stared impassively ahead. Ziza shrugged and walked over to the carriage. He easily hoisted a large blue bag over his muscular shoulder and carried it back through the gate.
Felac walked up the grey cobblestone path towards the house, Ziza closing in quickly behind. On both sides of the path the garden surrounding them was in full bloom, and trees all around cast abundant shade that cooled the otherwise hot summer day. A large fountain burbled happily off towards the north side of the building and the song of birds filled the air. Felac stopped for a moment and gazed on the garden with obvious admiration.
“I must say that I am quite impressed with the care that has been provided here. Obviously the house gardener feels a great passion for his work.”
“You are most kind,” Ziza responded.
“Ah, so you’re the gardener in question,” Felac continued. “Yes, my good man, I enjoy a well-kept garden. Certainly those that His Majesty keeps in Imperius-on-Great-Lake are far more spectacular - but then, they are the Royal Gardens.”
“Of course,” said Ziza. “Have you ever tried gardening?” He could tell by the man's coiffed hair and well-manicured hands that he had never picked up anything heavier than a dessert fork.
Felac snorted in response. “Oh no, of course not. Common work is not for me. I have servants for that sort of thing.” He had not meant his remarks as an insult, which made them even more irritating to Ziza.
They reached the front door and Felac knocked briskly. Ziza smiled as they waited. He knew what was coming next.
The door opened, revealing a small creature hovering in the entrance beyond. It had the appearance of a small humanoid with the head of a lizard and large batwings which carried it aloft and when it smiled, small fangs appeared from underneath its thin black lips.
“Greetings,” it announced happily. “Etelif be my name. How might you be called?”
Felac’s jaw slackened and his hands fell limply at his sides as the colour ran out of his face.
“Have you never seen a concudaemon before, sir?” asked Ziza, putting an arm around the courtier to support him as he swayed. “Worry not, for he is harmless and a loyal servant to those who live here.”
“A d…daemon?” stuttered Felac.
“Now then, sir,” Ziza said reassuringly, “you are here on His Majesty’s business and I am sure tardiness is not part of the assignment. Shall I help you across the threshold or do you prefer to walk?” He waved with his free hand towards Etelif who grinned and then flew out of the room.
“I… I shall be fine,” said Felac as the creature disappeared. He stepped gingerly into the foyer beyond. The room was brightly lit by large windows and well decorated by paintings and hangings depicting a group of people travelling through a variety of landscapes. Felac looked carefully around the room, but when he realized Etelif was nowhere to be seen he relaxed.
“Well then,” he said as he took a deep breath, “be a good man and fetch the master of the house for me, won’t you.” He looked over at Ziza and clapped twice. Smiling more broadly, Ziza stepped forward into the middle of the foyer.
“Ritchar!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “We have guests!”
“Sir, I must protest,” Felac sputtered as Ziza’s voice echoed up the staircase. “Surely it is not the custom of the master of the house to accept such behaviour from his servants.”
“If the gentleman standing next to you was my servant,” said Ritchar as he appeared at the top of the stairs, “I am sure we would both agree with you. Happily he is not, and so the rules you are so concerned about have not been breached.”
“Master Ritchar Grussilivri?” asked Felac. Ritchar smiled and walked down the stairs. He was wearing a simple dark shirt and light pants, and his long, blonde hair was tied neatly behind his neck.
“I am,” he said as he reached the foyer. “Welcome to my home.”
“Sir,” breathed Felac, “it is truly a privilege to make your acquaintance in person. The stories surrounding your exploits have reached Imperius-on-Great-Lake and impressed the highest levels of the Court.”
“Have they?” Ritchar asked Felac. “I am most gratified to hear that. May I inquire as to who you are and the nature of the errand that brings you to my humble home?”
“Certainly,” he replied. “I am Felac Yiennon, and I have been sent by His Majesty to issue the following proclamation. My bag please.” He turned and waved towards Ziza who dutifully handed the satchel to him. After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulled out a small scroll, which he quickly unrolled. “‘You are cordially invited to the Royal Palace in Imperius-on-Great-Lake, there to receive fitting reward for the considerable services you have rendered to the Empire. His Majesty requests that you do not decline his generous invitation and accompany me with all due alacrity to the capital.’” he announced.
“And this invitation is for me alone?”
“Oh no, sir,” replied Felac. “Also called by name are Ziza Ze’id, Lord of Alladag, Arian Goldforger, Oa-neth Billipuotroni, Donal Quickhands and Nitzi Silentstalk.”
“Have you approached any of them regarding this?” Ritchar asked with a serious expression on his face. Behind the courtier, Ziza was now grinning broadly. He was already wondering what Donal would try to steal from the court.
“Well, no,” Felac answered. “I have yet to make my way to the Thieves’ Guild where I expect to find Donal Quickhands and Nitzi Silentstalk and the location of Lord Ze’id and Arian Goldforger are not yet known to me. I was hoping, if truth must be known, that you would be able to inform me as to their whereabouts.”
“Donal and Nitzi will indeed be at the Thieves’ Guild,” Ritchar said, “and it may be worth your while to note that they now share the surname ‘Quickhands’ as well. They visit here only infrequently. Since our return to Tzuba after the Invasion, they have apparently been very busy rebuilding their establishment.”
“Thieves,” muttered Felac. “I wonder why His Majesty tolerates them.”
“Perhaps because the alternative would be worse,” Ziza mused. “He would be forced to divert resources from the defence of the land. Why should that be necessary when the felons themselves agree to self-regulation?”
“And perhaps, my good man, you do not understand the nature of how civilized society should work,” Felac replied curtly. “Master Grussilivri, I would again inquire as to where I might find the others whom I named?”
“Well, Lord Ze’id would be the easiest to locate,” Ritchar said, his jaw twitching slightly as he continued to stare seriously at Felac.
“Ah, excellent,” the courtier answered. “And where is he?”
“Right behind you.”
Felac twirled around. The expression on his face proved to be too much and both Ziza and Ritchar began to laugh. Felac’s astonishment quickly turned into annoyance as the two guffawed loudly.
“I must say,” the courtier sputtered, “that it is most unfair of you to take advantage of my unfamiliarity here. How was I supposed to know that you are Lord Ziza Ze’id of Alladag when I met you working as a simple common labourer?”
“Perhaps,” said Ziza as he caught his breath, “if you were to spend some time working as a common labourer, you would see that it is not so simple. In the few months I have spent tending to the garden outside, I have developed a great appreciation of the labour people go through to complete their chores.”
“That may be so,” Felac continued, “but I am unsure if it is appropriate for nobility to experiment in such matters. At any rate, you are aware, Lord Ze’id, of the invitation. Now I would ask, with all due seriousness, about the location of the rest of your party.”
“Right,” Ritchar said to Felac. “Well, we can take you to the Thieves’ Guild if you like. I’m sure Donal and Nitzi are there. Oa-neth Billipuotroni parted company from us at the end of the war and has gone on her travels. We have not heard from her since. As for Arian Goldforger, she is the captain of our humble town militia. As you know, after the Invasion of the Vozhan bûr the Chetu’uls of the Storm Mountains began to challenge His Majesty’s hegemony in the Midlands. That has meant that much of the enforcement of Imperial law over the countryside has fallen on those towns willing to assume the burden. I am pleased to note that we have quite an efficient fighting force in town thanks to her. But it also means she dwells near the guard station, for her duties occupy her from early in the morning until late at night.”
“Then I shall accept your invitation for accompaniment to the local Thieves’ Guild first,” Felac concluded. “The sooner the rest of your comrades have been notified of their invitation, the sooner we can travel to the capital and partake of His Majesty’s gracious hospitality.”

Felac looked nervously up and down the narrow alleyway as Ziza knocked on the small, non-descript door. The courtier looked up at the sign above the door. The words “Legitimate Business Establishment” were clearly engraved in Common, Angerthine and Grinuaollish, and the wood looked like it had been recently painted.
“Despite your explanation, I still do not understand His Majesty’s tolerance of such things,” he sniffed as Ziza stopped knocking. “Why grant these folk a sense of legitimacy?”
“It’s an old political tool,” Ritchar said. “If you can’t destroy it, regulate it instead. As I recall learning many years ago, the Emperor of the day realized that he couldn’t eliminate professions as thievery and assassins without great difficulty so he instead entered into an agreement regarding what activities they would pursue and which ones they would avoid. The most brilliant tactic was self-regulation. It gave those classes a sense of responsibility that, as I understand it, they have taken quite seriously.”
“I need no lecture on Imperial history, sir,” Felac replied huffily. “If His Majesty was able to conquer the Zehalime, maintaining law and order in the Empire should have been within his abilities.”
Before Ritchar could reply, the small slot in the door slid open. “State the password,” said a familiar female voice.
“Open up, Nitzi,” Ritchar said. “It’s us.”
“That’s not the password, eh?” came the reply.
“Nitzi,” said Ziza, “I’m the person who made up with the password.”
“Rules is rules.”
“By the Abyss,” the Man groaned. “Very well. ‘Malversation is parlous.’”
“But it keeps us in business,” Nitzi replied as they heard the locks on the door click. A moment later the door opened, revealing a dark foyer beyond. Near the threshold, they could see Nitzi, dressed in a loose black shirt and fitted leather pants, her long curly brown hair spilling over her shoulders and her lips and eyes well-adorned with makeup. She smiled widely at Ritchar and Ziza, but when she saw Felac the expression of happiness disappeared.
“Who’s that, eh?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Ritchar replied. “This is Felac Yiennon. He is a courtier to the Emperor himself and has arrived from Imperius-on-Great-Lake.”
“I ain’t impressed so far,” Nitzi replied.
“It is for your benefit that we bring him here,” contributed Ziza. “He states that His Majesty wishes to invite us to the capital, there to reward us for our contributions to the preservation of the Empire.”
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” said Nitzi, “Well, now that you know the address, Mister Felac, you can just send the chests of gold here and we’ll take good care of them, eh?”
Felac looked hesitant. It was clear to the others that he was unsure how to deal with a defiant Chitzo. “Madame,” he said slowly in a voice that sounded as if he thought he was speaking to a child, “it is with great magnanimity that His Majesty invites you to visit him in Imperius-on-Great-Lake. Not only does he wish to reward you but also to share the pleasures of his capital with you.”
“Oh yeah, oh yeah, well if it’s sharing you’re talking about then,” Nitzi grinned, “then maybe you folks are better to come on in and talk about this with Mister Donal, eh? After all, he’s the boss here.”

Ziza, Ritchar and Felac followed Nitzi up a short flight of stairs. Although Nitzi managed to walk without difficulty, the low ceilings forced the others to bend over as they ascended. After a few minutes they entered a large room that was well lit by small lamps set into the wall. They stared around at the décor for a few minutes, trying to take in its bizarre nature. The floor was covered in a garish pink and purple rug while the walls were painted in a yellow and green pattern that seemed to assault the eyes and induce pain in them. On the ceiling was a large frieze depicting three Chitzos trying to pick the pocket of what looked like a bad caricature of the Emperor. Near the walls were awkwardly matched couches that looked like they had been recently refurbished.
“By Heaven,” whispered Felac, “what manner of insanity has overcome this place?”
“You like it, eh?” chirped Nitzi. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, Mister Donal has a taste for high culture. Ain’t a Chitzo in the western Midlands that doesn’t wish he could decorate like this.”
Ritchar smiled as Nitzi spoke. If there was one thing more inexplicable than Donal’s taste, it was Nitzi’s adoring appreciation of it. “Perhaps,” he said, “if you were to go and get Donal so our comrade here can issue the invitation to him personally.”
“Oh, I’d like to, eh?” Nitzi said. “But he’s in a meeting. Oh yeah, oh yeah. It’s very important that he’s not disturbed.”
Ziza looked over at Felac who stared blankly back at him. “Are you carrying any currency, Master Yiennon?
The courtier shook his head. “My funds are in the care of my driver.”
Ziza nodded and reached into his belt pouch to pull out a small gold coin. “When does the meeting end?” he asked Nitzi.
“Right about now, actually, now that you mention it,” she replied. She pocketed the coin and disappeared through another entranceway. Felac looked after her in outrage.
“This is quite unacceptable,” he sputtered. “I am on business from His Majesty. To expect a bribe to be allowed to complete my business is completely improper.”
“As Nitzi likes to say,” Ritchar commented, “‘the Empire’s out there and you is in here now, eh?’”
“Besides,” said Ziza, “you have reached the center of the Guild and still have your belt pouch attached to you, even if it is empty. That in itself is a feat of generosity on Nitzi’s part.”
“A most unusual form of generosity,” Felac muttered.
A moment later, a young Chitzo appeared, carrying a tray. On it was a glass pitcher filled with bright yellow liquid and several small goblets. He walked over and held the tray up so everyone could reach the drinks without bending over too much.
“Thank you, Rocco,” Ziza said. He poured some of the liquid into a goblet and took a sip.
Rocco walked over to Ritchar who did likewise and finally to Felac. With a look of distrust on his face, the courtier poured some of the liquid into the final goblet and took a sip. A moment later, his expression changed into one of admiration.
“Cammibian ovpa,” he said with awe. “I have not had the opportunity to savour this for many a year. Where did you acquire this?”
“The boss said he wanted some,” Rocco replied, “so we got some for him. Glad you like it, eh?” He turned and left the room. A moment later, Nitzi reappeared.
“Mister Donal will see you now,” she said, flipping the coin. As the others walked toward her, she reached behind her back and pulled out a small belt pouch which she handed to Felac. “And I’ve spoken to Rocco, eh? The guys won’t be pulling that stunt again. Sorry.” Felac frowned and snatched the wallet from her hand, quickly reattaching it to his belt. Then, along with Ziza and Ritchar, he followed Nitzi up a set of stairs and down a hallway to a large set of double doors.
“The meeting just wrapped up,” Nitzi whispered as they approached the doors.
“What was it about?” Ziza asked.
“I’m not really supposed to tell, eh?” she replied. “But the guy what was meeting with Mister Donal had to leave in a hurry. Good luck for you, eh?”
As they reached the doors, Nitzi knocked loudly and opened them. The group walked through into Donal’s well-appointed office beyond. Expensive pictures adorned the walls, the most prominent of which was a painting depicting Donal heroically slaying an ogre, and a large bay window opened onto an expansive view of the town of Tzuba. Near the window was a low desk with a large red leather chair behind it. Donal was sitting in the chair, staring out the window. As Ziza and the others entered, they could see a trap door sliding shut on the other side of the desk.
“Ah, Ziza, Ritchar” said Donal, still staring out the window, “how nice of you to visit. Sorry for the delay. It was unavoidable, but I hope the ovpa made up for it.”
“Your hospitality is always delightful,” noted Ziza.
“We have another guest here too, Donal,” Ritchar said. “You probably want to meet him. He’s come a long way to speak to you.”
“And he has an empty wallet,” muttered Nitzi.
“Has he?” Donal stood up slowly and turned to face the group. As he did, Nitzi walked over and wrapped her arm around his. They could see he was dressed in an expensive black suit and matching shirt. His hair had been neatly cut and also looked like it might have been recently washed. Adorning his upper lip was a pencil moustache.
“Donal Quickhands,” said Felac in an even tone that betrayed the effort it was taking to maintain it, “I am Felac Yiennon and I have been sent by His Majesty to invite you to come to Imperius-on-Great-Lake, there to receive the gratitude of the Empire for your recent services.”
“Couldn’t he have just sent a couple of boxes of gold?” asked Donal. “The capital is so far away.”
Felac rolled his eyes. “Sir, His Majesty’s kind invitation must not be declined. I have brought suitable transportation. We should get underway as soon as possible.”
“An offer I can’t refuse, hmm?” Donal walked over to his desk and stared at some of the papers on it for a moment. “It’s been months since we returned to Tzuba. If it took so long for you to get here, why the rush all of a sudden?”
“His Majesty’s first concern was to assess and rectify the damage wreaked during the Invasion,” Felac explained. “Then the main priority became rewarding those whose efforts made the difference in defeating the Vozhan Bûr. That is why I have come now. As for the rush, His Majesty recognizes that suitable recognition was not given to you in the wake of the Revolt of the Black Cult and wishes to rectify the situation with all due expediency.”
Donal looked down at Nitzi, who was staring back up at him with an adoring look in her eyes. “What do you think, honey? Should we go?”
“It might be fun, eh?” she said. “I’ve heard the shopping is good.”
“Well, Imperius-on-Great-Lake is quite an expensive city,” Felac noted. Nitzi smiled sweetly at him in response.
“I didn’t say anything about paying, did I?”
Before Felac could reply, Ziza put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “All right,” he said, “come on now. Are you in or not?”
“Well, sure,” said Donal. “I think the Guild is established enough that we can leave it for a few weeks and be reasonably sure it’ll be in one piece when we get back. Besides, it would be nice to take a trip for a change where there wasn’t something bad waiting at the end of the road. We’re in.”
“I’ll let Rocco know,” said Nitzi. She scuttled out of the room as Donal walked over and took Felac’s goblet from his hand. He took a long sip and then handed it back to him.
“Yeah, that’s good stuff,” he said as he wiped his lips on his sleeve. “The baron probably still doesn’t realize it’s missing. All right, we’ll pack and meet you at Ritchar’s place when you’re ready.”
“How delightful,” Felac grumbled.
“There is only Arian left to find,” Ritchar said. “Donal, do you know where she is?”
“It’s Midweek, right?” Donal noted. “Probably on the practice range with some of her recruits. Unlucky sods.”

After returning to Tzuba after the Invasion several months earlier, Ziza quickly had managed to adapt to the quieter life of the town. He had found that he enjoyed gardening and maintaining the grounds of Ritchar’s manor, taking great satisfaction in the results of his efforts.
Arian, on the other hand, had found the more sedate pace of life in Tzuba not to her liking. She had been a warrior for so long that she found the thought of settling down and living a quiet life upsetting. She had tried to help Ziza with gardening, but the loss of her hand in the Invasion hampered her ability and she became easily frustrated with even seemingly easy tasks. It was to everyone’s relief when Ritchar discovered that the local militia was looking for a new commander. When Arian heard about the opportunity, she signed up immediately.
Very few of the recruits had any actual military training or experience. After Arian joined, the rest of the militia quickly realized the value of having her in command. Although it had only been two months since she had taken the post, the entire town had already noticed that the countryside had become quieter. But more importantly for Ziza and the others, Arian’s mood and sense of contentment had been restored.

As the carriage carrying Ziza and the others approached the compound where the militia had its headquarters, the group could hear Arian shouting orders, followed by crashing noises as her fighters struggled to comply. Midweek was the day Arian had set aside for practising fighting skills to ensure her charges would be able to handle savage intruders like Chetu’uls or Hobgoblins. Ziza had visited on a few occasions to assist her and to maintain his skills. Even he was impressed with the intensity of the training Arian was putting the conscripts through.
As they entered the compound, they saw two large men hacking fiercely at each other with their swords as Arian yelled out instructions. At her command, three other men jumped on one of the fighters and began pummelling him. The outnumbered fighter tried to resist, but quickly went down under the force of the blows. When he had collapsed to the ground, Arian ordered the others to back off and went over to help him up.
“But it wasn’t fair,” they heard the soldier explaining to her, his voice slurred by swollen lips. “There were four of them.”
“Yeah,” barked Arian in response. “Do you suppose the Chetu'uls will attack you one at a time? Do you suppose you’ll always outnumber them?”
“No ma’am,” the fighter humbly replied.
Arian looked over and watched as Ziza, Ritchar, and Felac approached. “Stand down,” she ordered her troops as she walked towards her old friends. The conscripts sighed audibly and walked off to take a rest against the wall of the compound. The day was still hot, and being dressed in chain mail made it worse. If the heat was bothering Arian, she showed no sign of it. She was wearing simple country clothes, and on both her arms were long leather gloves.
“Lord Ze’id,” she said formally. “It is a pleasure to have you visit us today. Ritchar, good to see you, too.”
‘It’s been a while since you’ve visited, Arian,” Ritchar noted. “Is everything all right?”
“We’ve been busy,” answered Arian. “There was a raid on Ortal a week ago, Chetu'uls along with some bandits from the south. For all I know we could be next. I don’t want the town caught off guard.”
“Just be careful, Lady Goldforger,” Ziza said. “You don’t want to be harder on your troops than the enemy might be.”
Arian spit on the ground and looked over at Felac. “Who’s this?” she asked gruffly.
“Forgive my lack of manners,” Ziza said. “Felac Yiennon, may I present Lady Arian Goldforger, my general from Alladag. Lady Goldforger, this is Felac Yiennon from Imperius-on-Great-Lake.” Felac bowed slightly as the introductions were made, but Arian only stared in response.
“What do they want us to do now?” she asked.
“No,” Felac replied hastily, “it’s not that at all.” He quickly detailed the specifics of the Emperor’s invitation and after he finished, Arian shrugged her shoulders and wiped her brow.
“I don’t know,” she said. “After all, I’ve got a lot of training to do here and I wouldn’t want to leave them ill-equipped to handle things.”
“Lady Goldforger,” Ziza said, “you’ve been training them for quite some time now. From what I have seen on previous visits, these men are more than prepared enough for any raiders that might seek to harm the town. Besides, we shall not be gone long.”
“Most certainly,” Felac added. “Possibly even sooner.”
“Is the happy couple joining us?” she asked Ritchar.
The Chetz-Grinuaolli nodded. “Most certainly. Nitzi seemed quite enthusiastic about it, actually.”
“The little moll gets enthusiastic about anything if you present it right,” Arian retorted. “Still, I’m not sure about this. We’ve done a lot of travelling lately and I’m just starting to enjoy living in one place.”
“Lady Goldforger,” said Ziza, “after all you have done to rescue the Empire from destruction; it would be foolish to deny the Emperor the privilege of your presence.”
“Well,” mused Arian, “when you put it that way, it has some potential. Okay, I’ll need a little time to wash and pack.”
“I was hoping to leave by late afternoon,” Felac said. The others looked at the sun, which was still high in the clear sky above.
“You have made it clear that the Emperor wishes us to attend his court as soon as possible,” Ziza noted, “but will one more night make a difference?”
“It shouldn’t take too long to get underway, Ziza,” Ritchar said to him. “With Etelif’s help, we should be packed shortly. Nitzi is also quite organized, and I’m sure she and Donal will be ready soon. And the sooner we get underway, the sooner we return. Tell me Felac, have you eaten recently?”
“I ate early this morning at an inn on the road,” he replied.
“Well, we can’t have you come all the way to our town and not give us an opportunity to provide you with a repast suitable for one of His Majesty’s courtiers. Why don’t we head back to my home?”
“I am happy to accept that offer,” Felac said.
“I’m glad to hear that. We just need to make one detour on the way,” Ritchar added.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of the stone wall and Ritchar led Felac up a flight of narrow stairs to the path at the top. Once there, the wizard pointed toward an enclosure within the wall, a large circular area piled high with blackened rubble and piles of pebbles. Ritchar pulled a small stone out of one of his pockets and handed it to Felac.
“It is our Ritual of Remembrance,” he said. “Any visitor to Tzuba is brought here to learn of our tragic history. Tzuba was once a simple farming village until it was destroyed by the rogue Lord General Gormann Daggerheart. Tzuba was razed so that he could establish his base of operations here in secret. After he was defeated, we could not approach this place for some time. A fire that Gormann had harnessed far below the ground belched smoke and soot for weeks before the rains quenched them. The elders of the village decided that the damned ground where Gormann’s fortress had once stood could never be lived on again, so we took the remains of the original village, placed them on this site and then walled it off. It is the custom for visitors to take a pebble and cast it upon the ruins as a symbolic sign that you too wish the evil below to remain buried forever.”
“I remember the Revolt of the Black Cult,” Felac said in awe. “Did His Majesty ever reward you and your friends for the heroism you displayed in that grim time?”
“He did,” Ritchar replied, “although not in as extravagant a manner as this time. Donal Quickhands and I were given a title to rebuild Tzuba. Arian Goldforger was offered a position in the Imperial Army but declined. Khazav Bloodblade was made a captain and ultimately a Lord General.”
“Khazav Bloodblade,” breathed Felac. “His Majesty was most distressed to hear that he had fallen in battle. Many shall be the honours that shall be bequeathed in his memory. You were his friend. What was he like?”
“The memories are difficult to discuss,” Ritchar said, “for my heart still grieves his loss. He was a true friend and a great hero until the end. His life was dedicated to the Empire, and his death came in its service. More than that I will not say. Toss the pebble and let us be on our way.”
Felac tossed the stone lightly towards the middle of the enclosure. It landed with a clattering noise and quickly rolled out of sight. After it had disappeared into the ruins, the group turned and walked back towards the carriage.

Ritchar entered the room and saw Ziza staring down at the shining armour on his bed and the neatly folded cloak beside it. Across the breast plate was emblazoned the eleven-pointed red leaf, the crest of his home, Alladag. The garment was sewn in red and white, the colours of what his family and their friends had always called "the fairest domain." When he had first arrived in Tzuba, he had taken great care to restore the armour, and although it had taken time, all the damage it had suffered had been fixed. The cloak had similarly been mended and now looked almost new.
“Thinking of old memories?” Ritchar asked. Ziza looked up and shook his head slowly.
“Some things never cease to haunt me,” he answered quietly. “A voice in my soul tells me that I should have returned to Alladag after the war ended to resume my duties as Lord of that domain.”
“You would have been a Lord over rubble and ashes,” Ritchar reminded him. “The time will come to restore Alladag. Perhaps when you have His Majesty’s attention, you can request suitable resources to rebuild the castle. If he did it for Tzuba in recognition of our services in one war, he can do it for you for the sacrifices you made in another.”
“Possibly,” Ziza said. “I wonder if the true question in my soul is whether to continue on as Lord of Alladag at all.”
“Ah, this has to do with your father again, doesn’t it.”
“Yes,” shrugged Ziza. “You know the concerns that gripped me after the Vozhan Bûr destroyed Alladag, how I felt I was a pale shadow of the great Helmy Ze’id.”
“Any insecurities you felt must have been dispelled by how you comported yourself during the Invasion,” Ritchar retorted. “You became a great warrior and leader in your own right.”
“Your assessment is generous, and appreciated,” Ziza said. “Perhaps that is why I question returning to Alladag. To take all I have accomplished and dedicate it to rebuilding what was, instead of engaging in a new future, seems to be a reversal of sorts.”
“Not at all,” suggested Ritchar. “There is a balance in life. You need to be your own man and you have definitely accomplished that, but following the tradition of your forbears is important. Society only advances when children respect and build on the constructions of their parents, not when they insist on reinventing what other generations have already laboured to build. By restoring Alladag to its glory, you would establish it as your domain and also show fealty to what your father built. There is no reversal in that. What is more, I might even want to come along with you.”
“You would?”
“Oh yes,” Ritchar nodded. “I have spent a long time in Tzuba, both the old and new. When you first met me, my only dream was to avenge the destruction of my home and rebuild the village. Having accomplished that, I feel I can look forward to new dreams and goals.”
“A court wizard” mused Ziza, “would make an excellent new Lord of Alladag. Master Ritchar, if I do decide to ask His Majesty to assist in the rebuilding of the fairest domain, I shall surely treasure your assistance.”
“Excellent,” Ritchar said. “Now finish packing if you please. Lunch is ready, and Felac is overly eager to leave.”
Ziza smiled, folded the cloak and carefully placed it in his pack along with the armour. Then he slung his sword belt over his shoulder and walked downstairs to the dining hall.

Arian arrived just as Ritchar, Ziza and Felac sat down to eat. The courtier looked nervous but remained calm as the ghostly servants brought the meal out of the kitchen and arranged it on the table.
“How long will we be in Imperius-on-Great-Lake?” she asked Felac.
“His Majesty will want to see you at his earliest opportunity,” he responded, “but many matters are constantly occupying him, of course. Once we have arrived in the capital, you will be shown to one of the finer estates in the city and given a chance to meet some of our nobles. His Majesty will be informed of your presence and will send for you as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”
“So it could be weeks,” Arian noted.
“Probably not,” Felac said. “The Emperor will doubtlessly wish to see you within a day or two of your arrival. Rest assured, after your audience with His Majesty, you will be able to return to Tzuba whenever you want. I am curious though. A chance for an audience with His Majesty is an eagerly sought opportunity. What is this strong regret you feel about taking this trip?”
“We have travelled much in the last year,” Ritchar explained, “and too many of those journeys were unpleasant. Sometimes even the greatest privilege may lose its gloss after such travail.”
“Well then,” Felac said, “let us hope that by the grace of Heaven this journey shall be one that brings you joy and contentment.”
“By the grace of Heaven,” agreed Ziza as he began to eat.
“What’s the capital like?” Arian asked the courtier. She also began to eat and filled her goblet with von ruagi, a red drink favoured by the Grinuaollish race.
“Ah, it is truly a wonder to behold,” said Felac, relaxing slightly as he spoke. “The city was carved out of the slopes of two mountains, Govet Biotzeh and Govet Ternigul, Mount Skyreach and Mount Regal in the Common Tongue. It rises majestically into the sky, and its spires and towers can be seen almost halfway across the Great Lake whose shore it adorns like a signet on a ring.”
“Is it true there are no roads leading to it?” Ritchar asked.
“Aye,” replied Felac. “The city is easily approached only by boat, and the Imperial navy vigilantly patrols the waters to ensure that they remain safe. Our trip shall take us to Barcanus, a port city on the east coast of Great Lake. From there, a naval vessel shall carry us across to the Capital. There is no other way to go.”
“Sounds nice,” Arian commented. “But it must take a great deal of effort to keep the city’s inhabitants fed.”
“With all due respect to the artisans who built it,” Ziza said, “Imperius-on-Great-Lake is more of a show than a city. Its population is tightly controlled to prevent growth and increasing dependency on the supply lines. The real business of the Empire still occurs in the original capital, Imperius, within the Forbidden Hills.”
“And with all due respect to the Lord of Alladag,” Felac retorted, “all authority in the Empire still resides within Imperius-on-Great-Lake.”
The doorbell rang suddenly, cutting off the conversation. Etelif flitted through the room and disappeared into the hallway leading towards the entrance, and a few moments later, Donal and Nitzi walked into the room. Both were casually clad in long leather overcoats. Nitzi’s hair was now tied in a tight bun and Donal wore a large, brown hat which had a single red feather attached to its brim.
“We’re ready if you are,” he said. “Hey, is that von ruagi?” Before the others could respond, the Chitzos sat down at the table and used their bare hands to help themselves to generous servings of food. Felac looked away in disgust, but the others continued eating their meals unperturbed. After they had finished, the servants floated in and cleared the table. As they did, Ritchar snapped his fingers and Etelif reappeared through one of the doorways.
“Etelif,” he said, “we shall be leaving momentarily. I entrust this house to your care. Please make sure it is maintained properly and no troubles arise.”
“I’ll do my best,” the daemon chirped in response, “but I can’t make promises about the garden. Lord Ze’id’s work is beyond my ken.”
“You’re too magnanimous with your praise,” Ziza laughed. “Very well, I shall look forward to repairing the neglect our absence will cause.”
Ritchar rose and the others followed. Felac led them to the main foyer where their luggage had been neatly piled. After collecting their bags they walked to the carriage. The lieutenant was still sitting at his post in the driver’s seat and saluted Felac as they approached. As he loaded their baggage, the others boarded the carriage and found seats for themselves. Finally, the lieutenant went back to his seat and spurred the horses forward. As the carriage moved down the street, Ritchar cast a long look back at the receding front gate of his house. Although he could not explain his feeling, he wondered if he would ever see his home again.

Gee-dig took a deep breath and raised her tired arms. Then he clutched at the rocky edge just above her head and lifted her slowly onto the flat surface just beyond. For a moment, she lay on the stony ground panting heavily.
“Digger!” she called, her voice echoing back towards her from a dozen directions. “Where are you? By Trór’s axe and hammer, answer me!”
“I’m over here, Gee,” a voice echoed towards her. A few seconds later, a small head appeared over the edge of another rocky shelf dozens of feet above her.
“You’re not supposed to run off on me like that,” she shouted. “Mom said we should stay together.”
Dig-ahr smiled and waved as she spoke. “It’s not my fault your legs aren’t as quick as mine,” he said. “You have to come up here and see this!”
“See what?”
“I’ve found the mountain,” Dig-ahr crowed, “and in record time. It’s taken everyone else at least four weeks to reach it in the past, and we got here in just twenty days!”
Gee-dig sighed and gripped the scree that lined the edge of the slope. Moving carefully and slowly, she began to ascend. After several minutes of difficult climbing, she heaved herself onto the ledge where Dig-ahr was sitting, rolled onto her back and gulped for air as she looked at the sky. It was clear and bright without a single cloud in the sky. The temperature was just right too, not too hot to make the climb burdensome and not too cold to make the rest uncomfortable. When her energy had once again built up within her, she rolled over and stood up slowly.
“What,” she asked between breaths, “makes you so sure we’ve found the right mountain?”
“I just know we have,” Dig-ahr responded with obvious excitement. “Isn’t this the way you came?”
“No, Digger,” Gee-dig retorted, “it isn’t. There wasn’t half this much climbing. That’s why I’m doubting you. There are thousands of mountains here. After making me climb like that you had better be sure about this.”
“Listen, sis,” Dig-ahr replied, “I’m sure. Remember what the old legends say about it? How it’s blacker than obsidian and a dark cloud always hangs over its peak?” He turned and scrambled down a narrow path through a cleft in the rock.
Gee-dig sighed and trundled after him, making sure not to slip on the shale covering the path. “Those weren’t the old legends. It’s what dad told you when you wanted to hear a scary bedtime story.”
Together, the two Qilivs passed through an opening and onto the edge of a rock promontory. What Gee-dig saw made her gasp in surprise.
The mountains of the Rockbarren Divide spread about them in all directions, extending to the horizons. The cliff edge below them stretched down to a wide gorge hundreds of feet across which had been carved out by an ancient river that had long since run dry. Across the valley stood a large mountain much taller than the one where they stood. Its slopes were covered in dark black rock and unlike so many of the mountains of the range, there were no plants growing on it. A small, thin plume of dark grey smoke drifted out of its peak, forming a small cloud that hovered over it in defiance of the strong gusts of wind that howled up and down the range and at its base was a dark opening.
“Gulakh Nor,” breathed Dig-ahr. “See? See? I told you we’d found it.”
Gee-dig forced her eyes away from the mountain and looked down at her little brother. The excitement in his face almost overcame the instinctual fear that she had begun to feel when she had laid eyes on the mountain. He looked up at her and as she examined his bright blue eyes and thin, short beard, she reminded herself that he was probably too young to appreciate the stories she had heard about Gulakh Nor, the Dead Mountain. Besides, it was the time of his Ane Nabi dil Idridún and she didn’t want to spoil the moment for him.
The Ane Nabi dil Idridún was probably the most important ritual in a Qiliv’s childhood. From early on in their history, the Qilivs had recognized that children needed to be given tasks that would build their confidence and also allow them to come closer to their ancestral homes. For the Qilivs of Gornodon in the Rockbarren Divide, the traditional ritual had been to send a young Qiliv, in the company of a suitable escort, to seek out a specific place in the range, touch it, and then return to the fortress with evidence of having succeeded. Other than limited food and suitable gear, the Qiliv children were given no supplies to help in their mission. It was a test to see how they would fare in the mountains once the comforts of Gornodon were far away. The ritual had added significance now as well. It had only been sixteen years since the Curse of Garnel Ironheart had been dispelled by the great Don-zee of Arnodon and his comrades. For the Qilivs of Gornodon, long banished from their ancestral homelands, once again to participate in the Ani Nabi dil Idridún had added significance. Despite great obstacles, Gee-dig had done the ritual herself thirty years earlier with a cousin escorting her, but seeing Gulakh Nor today felt different somehow.
Dig-ahr’s excited voice startled Gee-dig. “Is this what it looked like when you were here?” he asked.
“Well, no,” she said hesitantly, staring at the dark opening in the mountain’s base. “There was less smoke and…” She stopped speaking as a high-pitched noise rent the air around them. An instant later a jet of what looked like steam shot out of the opening and floated quickly into the air before dissipating.
“Amazing!” shouted Dig-ahr.
“And that certainly didn’t happen,” mumbled Gee-dig. “Digger, I don’t think going down there is such a good idea.”
“What? Are you crazy? We’ve come all this way and now you’re getting scared?”
“I’m not getting cowardly, you whelp,” Gee-dig answered. “It’s just… well, the steam for one thing. What if you’re standing in its way when it comes out? Mom and Dad don’t want you returning to them well-boiled.”
Dig-ahr shrugged. “I’ll just avoid that part of the mountain. It’s certainly big enough. Look how its edges are lying on the slopes of the mountains around it, like it’s creeping onto them. Come on!”
“Digger, I really don’t want to go down there and if you trust me, you won’t.”
“I can’t believe you,” protested Dig-ahr. “Fine, I’m fifty two years old. You may still think I’m a little child but I’ll prove to you today that I’m not.” Before Gee-dig could protest further, he flipped his legs over the edge of the promontory and began scrambling down the mountain face. Gee-dig watched him for a moment and then groaned as she began to lower herself down as well.
As her head passed the edge of the cliff, the ground suddenly shook underneath her. There was another high-pitched noise, and she quickly grabbed the rocks beneath her. A warm feeling came over her and grey mists briefly wisped past her before dissipating. Another steam blast, she thought. But this time the ground rocked.
“Digger, are you okay?” she shouted. Silence. Adjusting her position, she looked down the slope and was horrified as she saw Dig-ahr’s body lying at the base of the cliff, several feet away from the dark opening in Nor gulakh. He was motionless. The blast must have caught him by surprise, she thought.
Trying not to let her panic overwhelm her, she quickly climbed down the rest of the promontory. After finally touching the ground, she broke into a run, moving as fast as her short legs could carry her. She was only a few feet away when she saw him stirring. Pulling to a halt, she breathed heavily to fill her lungs and choked on the air. There was a strange smell in it, as if something rotten was all around her. Wiping her nose, she looked over at Dig-ahr, who was now standing and facing the opening. In the darkness beyond she thought she saw something for an instant, a purple flash of light.
“Oh Digger,” she wheezed, “you gave me such a scare. I thought the fall killed you. You’re one tough Qiliv, aren’t you. Listen, just go and grab a rock so we can get out of here. The sooner this mountain is out of sight the better. Digger? Why are your eyes all black?”