When Heroes Die

“What heroes don’t seem to understand is that if history remembers them kindly, they either failed or didn’t try hard enough.”

— Dread Empress Regalia

Heiress’s mind soared through the clouds while her hands gripped the brim of a wide bowl of baked clay set on the table before her.

The northern front of the conflict between Aksum and the Legions was by far the most brutal. It was the front the Warlock was most often seen on and proved the most illuminating to observe.

Akua observed another clash between a retreating line of Legion infantry covered by crossbowmen and one of the new creatures fielded by the High Lady of Aksum. It was just one fight among many that were occurring all at once on the multiple fronts spread across the wasteland.

The red and silver striped many armed snakelike monstrosity was a grotesque amalgamation of both dust and stone, shifting between one and the other whenever the whimsy took it. It had been called a Living Statuary by its creator. The beast was more of a hostile sentient zone of influence than a traditional monster, and about as hard to kill or control as that implied. Anything that it touched was petrified. Plants, animals, dirt, everything save the air itself. Broken statues of those who failed to escape its grasp lay scattered across the now stone dunes.

It was one creature among many that had been conceived of by the insane brilliance of the Mad Cartographer. He had been a sorcerer who was set on mapping the hells through divination and cataloguing all the types of devils within them before earning his Name. Now he crafted creatures inspired by the many types of devils he had discovered in some of the more hazardous hells. He was responsible for many of the more esoteric monsters that now plagued the wasteland. More than one attempt against his life had been made by the Calamities so far, but the High Lady of Aksum had invested much into keeping him alive.

Akua’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. The vision shifted to the eastern front.

Another fight. This time the clash was between a cohort of Legion sorcerers and half a dozen Blade Orangutans. These beasts were far less alien in construction. They were a patchwork creation designed from the stitched together bodies of orangutans and metal blades. Akua concluded at a glance that the conflict was headed in favour of the imperial ranks when the Captain entered the fray.

Monsters like these fit the mould of the older designs of the wizards of Aksum. The Nightmare Shaper was a bit of a disappointment as far as Akua was concerned. She was far less inspired when it came to the types of Evils that she produced. Her creations were fielded side by side with many of the Aksum classics. There was at least one invisible tiger army spread out among the cliffs, and Akua smiled when she saw a legion of devils let loose against another line of soldiers.

It was the new monstrosities rather than the old ones which were the source of Aksum’s confidence. Creatures made by the Mad Cartographer and the Nightmare Shaper. Wolof’s spies had discovered evidence of a third villain called the Wretch Binder that specialized in fabricating horrors through the manipulation of souls within Aksum. None of their creatures had fought against the Legions yet. They were a special brand of terror that was likely reserved for once the conflict approached its end.

There had been a fourth villain. The Esoteric Butcher had designed creatures with the intent of mimicking the function of demons. The villain was far more ambitious than skilled, but even in failure, that ambition had borne fruit. He had perished at the hands of the only monster he had invented only two days past.

The conflict between the Tower and Aksum had started to enter its later stages and would likely end soon. Either at a table or on the battlefield.

Akua acknowledged that the Warlock was far more successful than she expected at keeping a lid on the many bottles of Evil that had been unleashed given the circumstances, and her estimation of his abilities rose as a consequence. The ongoing conflicts did much to tease out all of the many secrets that the current rulers of Praes had at their beck and call.

Even a sorcerer as skilled as the current Warlock was making mistakes when spread so thin. The seventh Legion had been slaughtered to a man by the creature that killed the Esoteric Butcher. The Warlock had been otherwise occupied with containing the demons of excess, absence, and apathy that had been unleashed by the villain’s death. He was unable to prevent the damage inflicted by the creature at the time, and lesser sorcerers proved incapable of eliminating the beast.

The bile yellow luminescent mind-warping floating mushroom monstrosity in question gave off toxic spores that were fatal when inhaled. Nobody had seen fit to name the beast before the Warlock dropped hell-fire on it, and it was only after it had perished that anyone remembered it existed at all.

The vision shifted again to the southern front.

It appeared that for now this front was quiet. The Legions remained camped behind fortified lines, although Akua expected that soon they would push forward. It was only two days ago when she had last witnessed the clash between an uneven line of Stygian Slave soldiers and Legion infantry fortified by the Black Knight in a narrow valley close to the city of Aksum. The slaves were both armed and armoured, but didn’t fare well against the might of the Legions.

High Lady Abreha of Aksum had decreed that the soldiers were “freed.” A technical distinction with no real weight behind it, considering they had been indoctrinated from birth to follow orders. Aksum was covertly backed by both her mother High Lady Tasia Sahelian and High Lady Takisha Muraqib, although only the High Lord of Okoro was overtly supporting Aksum’s defiance of the throne. High Lady Tasia had no interest in allowing High Lady Abreha to claim the title of Dread Empress, however the conflict both weakened Malicia and set the stage for their own bid for the throne at a later date.

The forces under the command of High Lady Abreha were putting up a much stronger front against the Legions than expected. The conflict had dragged on as a consequence, and other High Lords and Ladies were considering involving themselves, when a truce would otherwise have long since been called and the previous High Seat deposed.

The vision shifted again and settled on Aksum itself.

“Can you see, Mpanzi?” her father’s excited voice drifted to her through the fog, “it’s Ink Blot. I’m certain of it.”

A market set in an open plaza deep within the walls of Aksum. Merchants haggled with customers. Such a scene would in ordinary circumstances be beneath notice, but today it lay at the heart of her investigations. Akua watched as coins were counted out. She observed as an argument erupted on the streets. Watched until at long last bread was handed over. She counted in her own head in turn. Counted, and noted when the payment did not match the price written on the board beside the stall. A single event in isolation could be nothing more than happenstance, but time and time again the same sequence of events played out from one stall to another.

“Yes, papa,” she agreed, “the symptoms of the later stages are already evident.”

It was all but confirmation that the Calamities had put one of their Dark Days protocols into play. Akua considered the decision to be noteworthy, as she did not deem the situation dire enough to justify their use unless there were other threats hiding that she had yet to glimpse. It was a conscious decision that it was easier to mitigate the fallout from the weapon’s use than it was to continue fighting.

Ink Blot was by far the most subtle of all their doomsday weapons, and was designed almost entirely as a weapon against the other High Lords and Ladies of Praes. It was a ritual that could be triggered by an otherwise inert alchemical reagent that was harmless on its own.

What made the ritual so noteworthy is that the catalyst to trigger it was a part of the Praesi field rituals that had been used for generations. Field rituals that had once again become necessary as a consequence of the chaos spreading across Calernia. It was convenient for the Empress that the catalyst left trace elements of itself embedded within the crop yields. Wolof’s spies had only recently uncovered evidence of the existence of the weapon. It would be some time before they had developed an adequate countermeasure to it.

Ink Blot caused a shift in cognitive associations related to numeracy within all who had consumed foods that were grown by rituals containing the catalyst. The ritual only impacted those in a designated region when triggered, however, the smallest region the ritual could affect was larger than the size of a small city. That vulnerability made Ink Blot unusable as a precision weapon, except when large scale collateral damage was deemed to be preferable to the alternative.

The decay in numeric associations became progressively worse over time.

The first stage of Ink Blot only targeted numerical associations for larger values. If a victim was presented with a chest full of coins, then no matter how they counted the coins, their final tally would always be slightly off. Lower numeric values were influenced during the later stages of the plague.

Ink Blot appeared less dangerous than a traditional plague when considered by itself. There was no sudden spike in deaths or illnesses. The rate of engineering failures increased due to the introduction of errors that would otherwise not exist. The local economy destabilized due to the changes in spending. Problems became worse as time passed — arguments broke out because people could not agree on totals — but almost all troubles were caused by secondary effects and not by the plague itself.

The only immediate rise in deaths occurred within the population of sorcerers.

Trismegistan sorcery relied on precision measurements that often involved large numbers, and the errors introduced by Ink Blot rendered even the most basic of magics dangerous to the practitioner. Afflicted victims could not even risk healing themselves — let alone others — due to the dangers involved. Only the most skilled of sorcerers even had the talent to counter the effect, assuming they noticed it before perishing due to a magical failure. The plague was notable in that through happenstance alone, it tended to kill those best qualified to invent a countermeasure first. It was almost certain that the most dangerous threats to the Calamities within Aksum would already be beyond help by the time the plague was dealt with.

The current conflict in Praes would end once the effects of Ink Blot manifested within Aksum in full.

Akua felt the hands of her father life off her own. She released the bowl in turn and the vision faded away.

The face of her father came into focus from across the hickory table. Akua bit back a grimace. The Gilded Arcanist looked more satisfied than he had been in years. The increased turmoil within Praes had led to her mother loosening the restrictions on how much time Akua could spend with her father. That did nothing to quell the spike of resentment she felt every time she thought of the Name.

“I’ve finished the foundational calculations,” he continued scribbling away at a page on his right, “and it’s confirmed. With the right design, a pre-conversion escapement can be constructed to make use of the Due.”

“So the artefact can work then,” Akua smiled. “Destroy any evidence of those calculations.”

“The theory has always supported its construction.”

That was correct only in the sense that the artefact could be manufactured. There was no safe way to deploy it without Keter’s Due killing the practitioner. At least, there hadn’t been in the past.

The ritual array her father had designed to discern newly awakened Names was only novel in scale. Devices capable of detecting the manifestations of Names had long existed. The array was an iteration on old designs that had been improved upon using Akua’s research into demons, and was only a practical demonstration of the smallest part of her grander scheme. Further refinements on the initial idea as well as many additions would be required to achieve her final design.

A design which she intended to keep locked away safely within her own mind until it was ready to be unveiled.

“I’ll need to determine the most fitting location to perform the ritual,” Heiress mused.

Finding the crown of the new Fae Court was proving to be a stimulating magical puzzle and was one of only a few pieces she’d need to put together in order to begin fabricating her masterpiece. Akua had proven that the Crown did exist using resonance between coins taken from the Ravel Bank and the Aspirant’s journal, even so its current location remained shrouded in mystery. The outline of her ambitions was still in the early stages, and many complications remained unanswered. The design of the ritual array and an adequate source to power the finished device were two of the larger outstanding problems.

Her father looked up from his calculations and was about to reply when her mother walked into the room. High Lady Tasia Sahelian was just over fifty years old, though she looked barely half of that. Her appearance was no glamour: rituals to maintain the physical trappings of youth and the same superior breeding that had led to both their beauty were more than enough. High cheekbones and perfect eyebrows, dark golden eyes and full lips. She was everything Akua was taught to admire.

“Mother,” Akua greeted her.

“Akua,” her mother replied. “Leave your current studies and come through to the solar.”

Her mother always expected her to determine what questions she was expected to ask, and to answer questions that had not been given voice.

“Who is the guest?”

Akua rose from her seat and brushed aside any creases on her red dress. Her mother departed the room at a sedate pace. Akua followed behind and bid her father farewell as she stepped out of the room.

“It’s a negotiation conducted through scrying with the rebellion in Callow.”

The rebellion in Callow was only useful insofar as it continued to cut away at the influence of the current Dread Empress in Praes. It would serve no further purpose in the years to come, once Malicia had at last been toppled from the throne.

“I’m to remain out of sight?”

“Under Ibrahim’s mirror,” her mother passed her a heavy gem encrusted leather-bound book.

Akua glanced at the title, then raised an eyebrow. A Stranger’s Guide to Names in Calernia. It was evident that her mother expected her to study the contents. The Proceran House of Light hadn’t been quiet when publishing their new book, and so Akua was already aware of its existence.

“I didn’t think the House of Light produced books so richly adorned,” Akua commented.

“They don’t,” her mother sounded amused. “Look at the contents page.”

Akua did as she was bid and then raised an eyebrow.

“You had the book transcribed,” Akua surmised.

“It’s about the principle of the matter,” her mother agreed.

It wasn’t long before both of them stepped into the solar. The walls were panelled with light coloured hickory imported from the southern stretches of Callow. Precious stones and gilding ornamented anything of importance, and the arched ceiling was enchanted to show a perfect reproduction of the stormy sky above Ater.

The two of them approached two chairs set down beside each other in front of a full body mirror.

Akua placed the book on the table to her left, then examined her fingernails while she reclined in her plush satin chair. She tapped three times against a sapphire gemstone embedded within the arm. It wasn’t long before the enchantment on the chair activated, and she faded from sight.

The silvered surface of the mirror shimmered. The Reluctant Strategist’s piercing grey eyes met those of her mother. Akua noted that reports of the woman’s condition had — if anything — underestimated the extent of the deterioration. There were sentient cacti in the wasteland with healthier skin.

The information they uncovered on the Deoraithe woman mentioned that until recently she had been a minor strategist of no real note, with only a single exception. While she was not considered skilled at winning battles, she was considered far more skilled at predicting the worst possible outcomes — within reason — for battlefield strategy than even the most seasoned generals.

“High Lady Tasia Sahelian,” the woman greeted. “Tell me what you want.”

Further notes on the Reluctant Strategist indicated that her body language served as a better measure of her thoughts than her tone of voice or choice of words, and that she fell back on her training when angry or unsettled. Spies within both the Eyes of the Empire and the Rebellion indicated that she had an aspect called Forecast. The aspect cost her a month of her life each time she called upon it. The aspect was believed to be oracular in nature, however the Eyes of the Empire noted that the Reluctant Strategist had never disclosed the exact details of what it did. Her other aspects remained unknown, but were suspected to be related to leadership.

“Reluctant Strategist,” Akua’s mother replied. “We have received word hinting that your rebellion is suffering from a dearth of supplies.”

It was the feeling of eyes upon her that alerted Akua to the presence of another.

Akua remained nonchalant, even though by all accounts she should be veiled from sight. She examined the room projected from the mirror while she considered what she knew. The Reluctant Strategist wore a simple cotton shirt and trousers. She reclined on a rock slab set some distance from the mirror, with a pile of documents set atop her lap.

The dull light of a fire flickered on her right, and the shadow of a figure fell across the floor before her. Akua judged it to be one of the emissaries. One of them would be required to maintain the scrying ritual, even if they were not in sight of the mirror itself.

“Give me the offer.” The woman picked up one of the pages and set it beside her, “I’m doing the work of over a dozen people and don’t have the time for verbal trickery.”

Further examination of the space on the opposing end of the scrying ritual at last bore fruit. The shadows behind the Reluctant Strategist had a depth to them that didn’t appear natural. Akua considered her observations, then leaned in to Catalogue to make sense of what she saw.

“The Dread Empress placed restrictions on the circulation of a specific currency within the Dread Empire of Praes. We are interested in an exchange of currency with the rebellion as a consequence.”

A stocky, brown haired girl with narrow cheekbones and Deoraithe colouring stood opposite Akua and was hiding within the Reluctant Strategist’s shadow. It was an amateur working. One done by a villain who was new to their Name. Akua’s mouth twitched. She noted that the shadows under the girl’s eyes were off. Not in the sense that the girl looked like she lacked sleep, but that they fell just short of the positions they belonged.

None of that explained how the girl was seeing through Ibraham’s Mirror.

Or had Akua made a mistake and the girl had seen nothing at all?

“Why should I consider this?” the Reluctant Strategist asked.

Further examination of the girl suggested that her eyes had fallen upon Akua by happenstance. The girl’s attention remained focused upon High Lady Tasia and never returned to Akua herself.

“It serves our interests to see the rebellion flourish at present.”

“One aurelii in exchange for five coins minted by the Ravel Bank,” the Reluctant Strategist offered. “Nobody but us are willing to use that coinage.”

Akua felt a twinge of surprise. Her mother had made no mention of the specifics of the negotiation. The aged youth was informing them that she knew more than she should by opening with an offer of her own.

“Your offer is ambitious,” her mother began, “however, an exchange of one to one with another half in goods the rebellion requires seems far more equitable.”

Callow hadn’t had a mint of its own in years. Even the current rebellion was still relying on the Empire’s coin. The people of Callow had Praesi coin in excess, but no goods to spend it on. The price of everything had risen as a consequence.

“One to five,” the grey eyed woman repeated. “Further loans will also be taken out by Callow with the Ravel Bank.”

Her mother blinked, before raising her hand and laughing.

“I believe that the Calamities have underestimated you,” she murmured. “Iron sharpens iron, Mabli of Daoine.”

The woman reeled back as if slapped.

Her mother and the Reluctant Strategist continued to negotiate terms of trade. They settled upon one is to two, although an additional quarter of that would be delivered in goods. All transactions were to occur through intermediaries. The agreement would give Wolof the leverage it needed to continue scheming against the Tower, while also turning the attention of Malicia somewhere else.

Akua picked up the book beside her and paged through it as further discussion unrelated to the negotiation itself commenced. She made note of several stories that ended with Evil claiming the ending, and smiled inside at the thought. The Calamities were too ossified to risk experimenting with new narratives. They had forgotten what it meant to be Praesi. Malicia would set aside the stories within the book, and in doing so would spit on all that had come before her. It was a chance for Evil to not just claw for scraps but rise up and claim its own victory.

Akua would not turn away from that opportunity.

The mirror rippled once more, then became inert.

Three taps on the sapphire and the spell around Akua faded.

“What did you learn?” two golden orbs turned her way.

Akua had considered the matter as she read and come to a startling conclusion.

“She is inflating the value of goods within Callow deliberately.”

It did not matter whether the rebellion won or lost. The consequences of the Reluctant Strategist’s larger plot would echo decades in the future if the Black Knight did not act against it before the coins from the Ravel Bank became spread throughout the local economy. Praes was wealthy enough to mitigate the potential damage. However, none of the potential methods of doing so were quick.

The resulting strife would all but insure another rebellion in the near future. It was the kind of long term spite that could be expected from the Deoraithe. The only surprise was that none among the rebellion had caught wind of it.

“What of our own plans?” her mother smiled.

The coin from the exchange could be used by her mother to continue sparring with Malicia. Most of the High Seats would come out of the current conflict in Praes weaker, but with a much stronger grasp of the force the Empress could project. Another uprising among the High Seats against Malicia was all but assured with time. Akua would be at the forefront when it occurred and make certain that it would be the one to succeed.

“They remain unchanged,” Akua replied.

The interrogation continued for a while before at long last her mother was satisfied with what she had discerned.

“Return to your studies, Akua,” her mother dismissed her. “There is much to prepare before we are ready to step onto the stage.”

Indeed, mother.

Most of the future remains shrouded behind a veil of uncertainty.

It’s a pity that one day soon I’ll be cutting you out of it.