B3 C45: Nothing to Worry About

“Wipe that smirk off your face.” The stern figure in her throne of iron was not one to suffer any nonsense, and Warram’s smile vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yes mother,” he answered reflexively.

“Better. Now report.”

Dispassionately, Warram did just that. It was not a short report, either -- though the guardsman had certainly gotten busier since the unexpected arrival of Chamber Head Suds’ granddaughter, one matter could hardly occupy his entire time. And frankly, he shuddered to think what would happen if it did. He was, after all, reared to be a poster child, and he knew it quite well. As such, he was subjected to a long list of tasks, appearances, and schemes, all assigned by the very woman sitting before him.

That was not to say that certain things weren’t more important than others, however. Only halfway through his report, Mistress Goss signaled for him to stop.

“That’s all fine. What about your progress with the girl? The Commons brat.”

It was a testament to the girl’s growing influence that his mother even cared at all. Only months prior, Tess had been a bothersome pest, but only that. Now with close ties to the prospective successor to the Chamber of Nobility, the favored niece of the Chamber Head of Adventure, and the city’s most powerful archmage, she was no longer someone they could afford to ignore.

And that, of course, was to say nothing of her personal power. She was still a long way’s off from any sort of true power, but from the reports he’d gathered, her combat and skill growth was meteoric. The speed at which she’d gotten stronger even just during her dueling class was shocking, and Warram had been half-sure the reports had been over-exaggerating.

Now that he’d arranged to be her partner in Resistance Training, however, he could believe it. Both in the number of resistance skills she possessed, and in their rapid rise, it was clear she would be a true nuisance if given a few more years to grow.

Even as far removed from the situation as she was, his mother could see that clearly.

But of course, not even she knew the half of it.

Warram stifled the urge to grin once again, only barely managing to reply in a dull monotone.

“I have some new information on that front, but I would ask that you give me another week before we discuss it. I have a plan I believe you will be pleased with, mothe-”

All at once, the air above him grew monstrously heavy, crashing into him and threatening to flatten him to the floor. Warram tensed, as he knew from experience that the worst was yet to come.

“I do not dislike you taking some initiative, boy. But the last time you said that, you gained the personal ire of the archmage and got him to extend a blanket of protection over the girl. You have the gall to come in here saying something like that again?”

The pressure bearing down on him increased tenfold in an instant. Far from being a simple physical phenomenon, that same weight carried a myriad of feelings which bypassed his body and went straight to his brain.

Domination.

A sense of stifling, smothering suffocation, like he was an ant merely waiting for the boot that would send him to oblivion. His traitorous sweat glands started to work themselves into a frenzy, and even knowing it would do him no good, his entire brain urged him to flee, and then-

All at once, the sensation vanished.

“Be lucky that you’re my own flesh and blood, boy. I’m not prone to giving most people second chances.”

Right as Warram started to relax, the pressure returned in full force. Just for a split second. A flicker so fast, he would have mistaken it for a phantom aftershock had he not known who he was dealing with. Even well used to his mother and her power, it caught him off guard, stealing the breath from his throat.

Seeing that she’d successfully broken through his facade, Mistress Goss offered a predatory grin.

“Be assured, though, that there are no third chances. I look forward to you returning with news of your success. If not, I’m afraid you’ll get to see what it looks like when I take care of things myself…”

A rare shiver raced down his spine, and this time, there was no skill behind it.

Entirely out of sync with how she’d made her son feel, Mistress Goss then leaned back in her throne of iron, lazily waving him away.

“Dismissed.”

Head bowed, Warram at last left his mother’s audience chambers.

As he walked, he worked to still his beating heart and mold himself back into his usual mask of indifference.

When at last he succeeded and managed to escape back to his rooms, though, he couldn’t help himself.

Warram smiled, wide and gleeful.

A pain having to put up with that aura of hers, but I believe that went as well as I could have hoped. And better yet, she doesn’t suspect a thing.

Hiding anything from his mother was a task not undertaken lightly, but in this case, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

A week.

A short and simple week.

The plans were set in stone. The pieces were all in place.

In but a few short days’ time, it would all be over.

And that insufferable girl would at last be out of his hair for good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust.

Cracked earth. A barren wasteland. A lifeless plain.

And dust.

Though he would hardly admit to it, it was times like these when King Antaiu reflected on his rule, and in his heart of hearts, he found some elements of it to be… wanting. As the horse he sat upon trode onwards, he did his best to keep himself from frowning.

He well knew that his own kingship was of a different sort than in many other kingdoms. Kingdoms where war was the rule more than the exception, where battles raged endlessly, be they between neighboring kingdoms or tides of beasts.

In kingdoms like those, the word king meant something. They were not simple rulers of men. They were the stuff of legends, closer to gods than they were to the subjects they ruled. Forces of nature that barely even needed an army with how powerful they were.

Men like that, Antaiu reflected, probably weren’t the type to balk at a bit of dust.

But then again, what was he to do? He had not been born into a kingdom full of constant strife, nor had he been groomed into a hardened warrior. Oh, make no mistake, he was strong -- far stronger than the rank-and-file soldiers who served beneath him -- but he was a peacetime king in a peaceful, secluded area.

Most days, he was content with that. Far better than the alternative, after all.

But then again, most days, he didn’t have to deal with the dust.

I wonder if there’s anyone in the kingdom who became a dust mage, or perhaps a cleaning mage. I would have brought them along had I known. They would have made this entire trip far more endurable.

The thought nearly made him snort. Who would ever choose to become a cleaning mage? And even if they did, with a speciality like that, he’d bet good money that they’d be far too weak to fit into an army.

Not that the king needed money, of course. It was good to be king.

Regardless, as much as the endless deadlands and its infinite dust wore on the king, he couldn’t let it show.

In his own chamber at home or even in a private tent, sure, but not now.

He wasn’t alone. He had an example to set.

Stretching out behind him, a full two-thousand soldiers marched as one, dutifully following him and the horse he rode upon.

For all their presence reassured him, this too was less than ideal. He’d wanted more. Far more. Sadly, it just wasn’t meant to be.

Between having an atrophied peacetime army and having to supply his troops with rations for the long march through the deadlands, King Antaiu could not muster up the tens of thousands of soldiers he would have so sorely wished to have behind him.

Perhaps another kingdom would have had spatial mages to store months’ of food for them, or even the money to outfit their soldiers with spatial pouches. He, unfortunately, would have to make do. Even this much had taxed him and his kingdom greatly.

Still, it would be enough.

From the reports he’d gathered, only a few hundred of the Protagonist’s people were fighters. More if one were to count the forest folk, but they were all bound to be Foresters or some such nonsense. Though the king would not delude himself into thinking that he was some grand strategic mastermind, he had no intention of fighting them in their forest. If it came to that, he’d sooner burn the whole thing down.

No, barring some horrible anomaly, the king was not worried about the residents of the Protagonist’s little ruins.

His only worry was the girl herself.

She won’t be there, he reassured himself.

She wouldn’t be.

After all, it was time.

A month had finally passed.

He did not know what that meant for the Protagonist. If he was lucky, then she would be busy and far away, just as she had hinted at to the guard he’d sent to question her. If he was slightly less lucky, she’d have already used her Diplomatic Visit to travel to Ftheran to meet with him as promised. A more volatile position, but he trusted his officials could stall her as necessary.

He’d been of half a mind to leave that position for himself, in fact, actually meeting with her just as she’d requested while his army sallied forth without him. Alas, such a course of action had never truly been an option.

With her clear antagonism and her holding his daughter as a hostage, it would have been unwise to let the two of them meet face to face. If she didn’t attack him outright, then she would just as readily use her bargaining chip to her advantage.

No, he couldn’t let himself get into a negotiation with her from a position of weakness. Only ruin lay that way. He needed to take her settlement by storm. Have his blade directly at her throat by controlling what she held dear and preemptively repelling whatever invasion she and whoever had helped her set up that vassal trading post were planning.

And of course, even if he wasn’t a grand warrior king, he could pretend, could he not? More than that, what sort of father wouldn’t wish to be front and center in the battle to rescue her? His poor, devout, devoted daughter…

Left unsaid was that if he was unlucky, then the Protagonist would have long known of his plans. He wouldn’t put it past one of her nature to have spies, even in his military.

But even then, so what? No matter how strong, one girl is hardly a match for two-thousand.

No. Whatever the girl had planned, she would lose, be it by a simple surrender or by blood and ashes. The settlement she was building at his borders would fall. The builders she’d somehow ensnared would be returned home. The foreign forces she’d allied with would be sent packing.

And by the end of it, he would hold his daughter safely in his arms once more.

It was just then, as he tried to firm his resolve for the upcoming battle, that one of his forward scouts returned, sprinting over the barren earth. The scout in question was visibly exhausted, having pushed herself far harder than he would have normally expected.

She made a beeline straight for him, and when at last she spanned the distance between them, she kneeled before standing and keeping pace with his horse.

“Report,” he commanded.

A bow, and then at last, the words he both longed for and dreaded to hear.

“The settlement has been located, Your Majesty. At our current pace, we will arrive in two days.”

Despite the fears that plagued him, the king forced himself to smile.

Just wait, Calilah. I’m coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In an entirely different realm of endless, infinite darkness, a shadowy beast towered high into the skyless air.

It was confused, this beast. Its awareness was dim and limited, but it knew it hadn’t been alive for long. Only months prior, it had spawned from nothing, filled with no desires or urges save for a single command.

Hunt.

Having not spotted the object of its hunt, it was a command it had failed to follow thus far, but that was no matter. It was patient.

Had the beast any conception of human beauty, perhaps it would have been appalled with itself. It had no nose, no mouth, no neck. Instead, four stubby legs ran up to a misshapen ovular body, entirely covered in tiny earholes, nostrils, and beady eyes. As if the multitude of eyes on its body weren’t enough, two long and fleshy stalks shot upwards from its center, each of them terminating in a larger, more mobile eye, both of which were currently shut.

These, it knew, were special. Its other eyes were simple things, but these eyes, they could-

SOUND.

A short blast of noise came from somewhere in the distance, and both of its eyes turned at once to hone in on its origin.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Strange. It was fairly certain that nothing didn’t make noise.

A torrent of mana traveled up its eye stalks, and with the extra powers granted to it-

THERE!

Something!

It knew what to do when it found something!

Hunt.

Hunt.

Hunt.

The beast began to charge forward on its stubby legs, and it was soon rewarded for its efforts.

The something appeared from nothing, now visible even to his mundane eyes. At the same time, it started to sprint away.

No longer requiring its augmented eyesight, it closed its special eyes, intent on mowing the something down now that it was in sight.

A monster born from nothing but darkness, the beast had no conception of humanity or its positions of power. If it had, it might have recognized the creature as a girl. A particularly noble one at that -- perhaps even a princess. And if it had been able to understand human speech, then the girl’s words would have been as plain as day -- not that it knew what day was.

As she began to run from the hellish beast that chased her, the high and holy princess Calilah only had one thing to shout.

“Motherfu- Of all the gods-damned times to have to sneeze!”