The King In the Mountain
Sanc Valatir, Southern Tiranine MountainsIt Is Vile
Upon this peak in the Tiranine Mountains, there had once been a castle. It had stood against the sky, seven turrets like the talons of a deformed hand. This had been the fortress of Saram Tzaam, the High Exaltarch. One of the seven mighty harbingers of legend who lead the armies of Azueral during the war in heaven. Now there was only a scattering of rubble that drifted like snow onto the valley, spreading out for miles. Where once there had been a stronghold, there was now a ruin. The intention had been to destroy completely all trace of the taint that had once inhabited the land. The touch of the Ancient Ones was not a thing that could be erased or destroyed. Borken, cut away, yes, but never truly destroyed. Stone and slate could be smashed, but it was impossible to blow away like chaff the horrors that lay in the memories.
Buried in the ruins for these past centuries was the Animus, a thinking creature with no true form. Just now it resided in a mask; a plain oval one like a large half-eggshell, wrought from a long forgotten light metal, so thin as to be almost transparent. It had features, but they were uninformed, undefined. To gain character, the mask needed to be worn.
To that end, it had gathered its strength over the countless years. Calling to it unendingly all that was kin of the devourer, so high in the Tiranine Mountains, they came by the hundreds. First, a dozen, then twice that many, then a hundred that had grown into nearly a thousand strong. With each Vilespawn brought to the ruins of this fortress, the power of the Animus became a little stronger, taking sustenance from the spirits of uncountable vile spirits and in turn imparting its will.
The gathering of so much taint had not gone without notice, however, for another creature as old as the Animus laid claim to these very same mountain ranges. It sensed the solid growth of taint, the alarming strength it mustered far from prying eyes. It knew what needed to be done, yet for all its might it was powerless to stop this mustering of evil. So it watched and waited, apprehensive yet patient.
Kalon sat behind his desk, regarding the man standing before him, a bundle of papers in his hand. He fidgeted where he stood, obviously trying to find somewhere to look other than into Kalon’s mask, where his face and form were reflected, but Kalon’s study bore little in the way of adornment. Finding the Portrait of the city on the right wall and the stylized map of the furthest extent of the territory controlled by the Exarch’s native Tirani people on the left too far from the Exarch for politeness, he settled on That-Which-Is-Due, which hung on the wall behind Kalon.
“Say that again, Lay Vicar. I want to be sure I understood you properly.” Kalon’s voice was low, and his words were those of his mother tongue.
“Y-yes, your grace” The man stammered in the same language, “The Steward of the Waters reports that there have been a significantly higher-than-average number of Vilespawn attacks within your territory—twelve in the past three weeks.” Over Kalon’s nearly-century-long tenure as Exarch in Sanc Valatir, such a span would average between two or three. The man took a deep breath. “Additionally, one of the last trade caravans originating within the empire to travel to Lesmiana was discovered within the
Kalutir, with no known survivors, which the Priesthood of the Waters has attributed to a Vilespawn attack.”
It could not be seen, but beneath his mask Kalon’s eyes were now closed. “You are dismissed.”
The man stepped back in surprise, but bowed and left without another word.
As soon as the door was closed again, he reached down behind his desk, at his side, and pulled out a large scroll. As he unrolled it, he revealed a large-scale topographical map of his domain in the Tiranine Mountains. Next, he having weighed the map down at the corners, he untied the bundle of papers, and began reading through the reports of confirmed attacks within his territory. Taking a quill pen in one hand, he meticulously marked each attack on the map in ink with a small
x,and scrawled its date and approximate time beside it.
Last of all was the attack on the Caravan, but a pattern had appeared well before that was placed. The attacks had all happened in and around the
Kalutir—what was known in the imperial tongue as the Lesser Tiran Pass—and the fortress that guarded it, Sanc Kalutir.
Kalon leaned back in his chair. This was Not Good.
He knew what had happened, and he was familiar enough with the Vilespawn to guess as to how. He knew where it had happened, and had a very good idea of when. He did not know why, but the map in front of him was proof positive that there
was a why. The large uptick in Vilespawn attacks taking place within a very small area only made sense if they had a very specific cause.
“The first step,” Kalon’s voice seemed to reverberate slightly in the otherwise empty room as he spoke, “is to identify the cause. Only then can the problem be redressed.”
He leaned forward again, and spread his hands out over the table. Closing his eyes, he slowly breathed in, and then out. He reached down within himself, and pulled in the
tulval from the world around him.
”Sky-Captain Cirile Kalaster. Commander Salvus Ward. High Priestess Kaia Storkan. Report to my study immediately.”He closed the connection before they could respond.
He had ordered chairs brought in for them before they arrived, but they and Kalon chose to stand regardless, with him on one side of his desk, and they on the other. On the left stood Commander Ward, a large, bald man of middle age, dressed in his uniform. He had been expressing severe displeasure with one of his officers when Kalon had called for him. On the right stood High Priestess Storkan, a woman with a young face, but silvered hair—Kalon knew her to be about the same age as Ward, but both exposure to and deliberate use of the clerical magic of Akaeron had made her appearance what it was. She wore the flowing robes of ceremony, as she had been preparing to lead a minor rite when Kalon had called for her. In the center stood the eldest mortal present, Sky-Captain Cirile Kalaster, whose hair was noticeably turning grey, and whose build was wiry. He had been looking through reports when Kalon had called for him.
“I assume,” said Kalon, “that you all know what it is we are looking at.”
“Indeed,” Storkan was the first of them to speak, “the recent attacks. This likely means that the source of all of this is near Sanc Kalutir.”
“Or,” Kalaster interrupted, “perhaps it might be near their goal.”
“Cirile, “ Ward said, “do you mean to suggest that the Vilespawn are seeking something other than mayhem?”
Storkan looked up from the map at Ward. “There are more intelligent breeds of the accursed things. It isn’t impossible for them to have decided on a particular objective.”
“However,” Ward looked back at her, and crossed his arms over his chest, “objectives mean tactics, and possibly even strategy. Correct me if I’m wrong, your reverence, but any tactics requiring that advanced intelligence have gone unseen since the War in the Heavens.”
“The Ancient Ones,” Kalon said, his gaze still fixed on the map, “are either dead or sealed. If any had somehow been revived, or if Azueral had been freed, we would know, and it would be neither this small nor this localized.”
“That is the case,” said Kalaster, “but the Ancient Ones had commanders that served under them, and while it still holds that one of them returning would have far larger immediate consequences than this, their having existed is proof enough that the Vilespawn could form into creatures of the means and inclination.”
“Be that as it may,” said Kalon, his tone grave, “if they were pursuing an objective, their action would have been more focused than even this. However, that does not preclude the possibility that they will not display such intelligence in the future. The possibility of an attack of even basic coordination on Sanc Valatir is something that cannot be ignored.”
Ward uncrossed his arms and leaned them on the desk. “A fair point, your grace, but they, as any army, would be hard pressed to take the city.
“That may be the case,” said Kalon, “but they would not need to take the whole of the city. They would only need to breach the gates.”
Storkar’s eyes grew wide. “If they broke open the Archives, they could release every spirit the Priesthood has imprisoned there over the past three centuries.”
“Indeed.” Kalon looked up from the map at his subordinates.
“They would have the largest army of Vilespawn the world has seen since the sealing of Azueral,” Ward’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “It could be enough to seize the Webwood. If they were to wait until the Long Night, they might even be able to march on Thulthar.”
“With Iao asleep, and so many of our forces tied up in Lesmiana or the North, only Archon Kabius, his shades, and whatever forces Archon Irkalla held in reserve would stand in the way.” Kalaster’s voice was trembling.
Kalon raised one hand, and slammed his fist down onto the table. The other three all jumped. “Enough! We accomplish nothing by sitting here and stewing on what may be. This has the potential to be cataclysmic, and so we cannot ignore that possibility, but there are too many variables in play to say for certain what the present situation is, let alone any plans that may or may not exist.” He waited a moment, allowing the other three to regain their composure. “We shall stamp out this problem now, so that it never has the opportunity to develop any further.”
“Should we arm the garrisons to fight Vilespawn?” Ward looked back down to the map. “I’m no expert, but I understand that spraying blood everywhere makes it easier for the taint to spread, and swords tend to have that effect.”
“The Priesthood require extensive training to fight with maces–” Storkar stopped herself, and aised a hand to her chin. “Actually, since the garrisons can expect to fight at locations specifically designed to constrict the potential angles of attack in their favor, and not in the variable, open terrain of the wilderness, it would take significantly less time to train them. The only issue would be the weapons themselves. The Priesthood has more weapons than warriors, but not enough to man every soldier in all three passes.”
“The Tithing could produce some as well,” said Kalaster, “but the logistics would be somewhat difficult—any extra arms are spread out in the towers of the different Wings. I could also call up some retired officers to instruct the men on how to fight in formation.”
“Sanc Kalutir is the most critical.” Kalon tapped the fortress’ location on the map. “All the attacks have been near there. There is a decent chance that they will be struck even if they aren’t pursuing some objective, and there should be enough between the Tithing and the Priesthood for the full garrison. The other garrisons may follow, and I will have Adyras place a commission with the Ironmonger’s Guild to cover the shortfall.” He looked back up at the assembled officers, and they each nodded. “Also, I want a force of Brothers and Sisters of the Priesthood present at Sanc Kalutir, both to provide tactical advice and to cleanse the taint after any potential incidents.” Both Storkar and Ward spoke in the affirmative. “We will expand these measures to both the Mountain and Sanc Akatir before too long.” He turned his head towards Kalaster. “How much can Loft Osterius tighten their screen? I want to divert as many Riders towards finding the cause of all this as we safely can.”
Kalaster crossed his arms and closed his eyes, his face pensive. “We can decrease Riders on leave and decrease probes into Charce to free more up for patrol. I would need to go over the numbers, but we would be able to free up no fewer than three Wings for the search, and possibly as many as five. Seeing as the Lesmianans likely know that you recently hosted the War Council, my Lord, a change in tactics would not seem entirely out of place. But we would need to make the same changes in Loft Anterius’ orders, otherwise they might suspect something is amiss.”
Kalon nodded at Kalaster. “It will be so. Any attack by airborne Vilespawn on any Rider is to be considered a serious threat, and they are to open a telepathic link with myself immediately should one occur.” He turned his face to Storkar. “I assume Talson has already begun organizing parties to inspect the locations of each confirmed attack?”
Storkar nodded. “He has, my Lord, and intends for them to cleanse each location as necessary and track the Vilespawn involved as best as they can, though the trails will have begun to vanish by now so available information will be minimal.”
“If any remains we will have more than we have now. The team which goes to the caravan will be accompanied by a team from the City Guard, who will be going over the wreckage with a fine toothed comb. Adyras and the civil servants will be comparing what trade goods remain in the wreckage to what they were expected to be carrying, and the inspectors will be making not of which parts of the caravan suffered the most damage. If we allow for tactical decision making on the part of the Vilespawn, then we cannot ignore the possibility that the caravan was hit for a specific reason. Additionally, I shall accompany the expedition once it is prepared.”
Storkar’s face distorted in confusion. “My lord? I am afraid I don’t see your line of thinking.”
“Over the course of my life,” said Kalon, “ I have fought more Vilespawn, and used more magic, than any person any of you command. I am only surpassed in these respects by Archons, other Exarchs, and one or two particularly old archmages. There is a chance I will be able to detect something beyond the physical that the search teams could not. As I cannot realistically review every sight, it is the most exceptional that shall receive my attention.”
Storkar bowed her head. “I will convey your orders once we are concluded here.”
Their eyes all fell on the map, and Kalon said, “I am going to order the
Kalutir closed to all passage not authorized by any person present here.”
“Your grace,” said Ward, “that could conceivably tell communicate to Lesmiana that something is amiss, to say nothing of how the public might react.”
“The Vilespawn attacks are known outside these walls,” said Kalon, “though the specifics will be kept in confidence by those who need to know, there is no changing the fact that the public and Lesmina will know soon if they do not already. Any persons moving through the pass will only be an obstruction to us and in danger of being attacked. The pass will be closed. My heralds shall proclaim it on the dawn, and the garrison will divert all resources previously devoted to probing Charce towards keeping it closed.”
Ward bowed to Kalon.. “A apologize your grace. Your will shall be.done.”
“I will be informing Lord Regeant Ai, Archon Grim, Archon Irkalla, and my Liege of these developments, and our plans for them. Do any of you have any other concerns?”
None of them spoke.
“You are all dismissed.” Each of them bowed deeply to Kalon, and filtered out of the room. Slowly, Kalon sat in his chair. Slower still, he removed his mask, and placed it on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he raised his arm and wiped the sweat from his brow. The Exarch heaved a heavy sigh.
