Hope

They may have… overdone it a bit with the dueling. It was exhilarating, after all, to cut loose. Fight with their everything, holding not a speck back. They had fought until the afternoon when Elizabeth finally could no longer keep going from straining both her Vessel and mind - Irwyn had been equally mentally exhausted by the end. For the following day, they had planned a repeat. The duo was supposed to spar until the noon… except even when the time came they had been exactly tied in wins, so they had to continue well past what their schedule dictated. It was only hours later that Irwyn had finally managed to claim a two-point lead, almost to his own surprise.

For all his improvements, Elizabeth was not lagging behind. After the first match, she had adapted. Being at times more careful or more reckless. Sometimes she still took the openings she created… but often she didn't, with no discernible pattern. And when she wasn't so predictable anymore it became a lot harder, forcing Irwyn do decide if predicting her was worth the opening it would create if he was wrong. Many of his victories came down simply to his superior Vessel. Elizabeth could never win a drawn-out battle. Ultimately, their final score had been 14 to 12, most of the time actually spent recovering and resting between rounds - though there had been a few particularly long duels. Upon returning to the mansion Elizabeth basically fell unconscious from tiredness and Irwyn ended up also taking a nap…

Except the afternoon was supposed to be dedicated to preparations. Irwyn needed a new suit - his old one wouldn’t be suitable for such a high-class event even if he still had it - which they had missed their appointment for… But what seamstress would refuse a daughter of House Blackburg? Irwyn felt rather embarrassed for the kind of rush job they demanded though did not voice it. At least Elizabeth was paying extra on extra for the overnight last-minute work.

Next were the other accessories such as proper shoes - because those had complex etiquette the details of which Irwyn’s brain refused to retain - then collecting gifts Elizabeth had thankfully remembered to arrange in advance. Irwyn had no idea what was inside or who they were for, though was quite happy to let the actual noble handle such things. As a result though, by the time all the arrangements were made, it was already late into the evening and the afternoon nap had not rested them properly. Choosing the lesser evil, they both went to sleep early with the intention of waking up before dawn to do the thing that was supposed to pass a good chunk of the prior day:

“Alright, a crash course on politics,” Elizabeth sighed, glancing at the clock and slightly flinching. They had slept a fair bit longer than intended. Elizabeth admitted that she may have lashed out a 'bit' at being forcefully woken up in the past and her staff remembered, losing around half an hour before they carefully coaxed the half-asleep heiress into leaving her chambers. “Damn it, we really should have done this yesterday. With someone who actually knows how to phrase everything.”

“I am sure you know everything that is needed,” Irwyn reassured.

“Most of it, probably,” Elizabeth nodded. “But this is harder to relay. A lot of it is just insights I earned through observation and taking part. They are hard to phrase or even remember outside their particular situations.”

“Hopefully, I won’t be expected to act like a career courtier,” Irwyn shrugged. “Let’s start from the beginning. I don’t even really know what this is beyond a major gathering.”

“Yes, ok, sorry,” Elizabeth nodded. “If we go by the formal name it would be called Exenn, literally translated as a ‘gathering to hunt the dead’. Supposedly an Elven custom, though anything involving them is… impossible to confirm essentially. But everyone with any degree of importance and their descendants in the Duchy of Black will be present.”

“In just two days?” Irwyn frowned, then immediately made the connection. “No, there is a Beacon in City Black itself. Anyone worthwhile presumably has access to someone who can get them here through teleportation.”

“Exactly,” Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, that is altogether too many people. Which is why it will all be separated after the opening speech.”

“And we will be…” Irwyn asked.

“In the ‘children’ section,” Elizabeth sighed. “Segregated by age and status, 16 to 20 of high nobility is where we are going to be placed. Which, as you will find, is bound to be rather obnoxious.”

“Anyone particularly troublesome?” Irwyn raised an eyebrow.

“No,” she shook her head. “But you will see that they tend to gather into groups, each with several brazen braggards, ego-inflated hot heads, and silver-spooned little monarchs used to getting their way. The only exceptions tend to be when a group is missing one of the three.”

“That sounds… problematic,” Irwyn guessed. His experience in this area was lacking. The Tears had some older teenagers but those who made it that long were usually cool-headed, not to mention on the same page. He had been once told that heirs to wealth could be extremely temperamental by Old Crow but that seemed a mild warning compared to how sour Elizabeth’s face looked.

“More than that, there will be babysitters,” she continued. “If someone wants to unnerve you, they might try to bring in Oxen, though Shadows are most likely going to be too busy preparing the metaphorical trenches, especially someone like him. No, there will be just a few low conception mages making sure we don’t kill each other.”

“Is that a risk?” Irwyn raised an eyebrow.

“Even without the duels - which there will be a lot of - tempers tend to flare,” Elizabeth sighed again. “Make no mistake Irwyn, this is the Duchy of Black. When someone has a problem, they tend to solve it directly. When there is an obstacle, it is broken. Straightforward, but also rash. Pride and Wrath run thick in the blood of the first Duke and it so happens that it has spread rather liberally.”

“Then we will have to navigate through those waters,” Irwyn sighed, imagining the future headache just anticipating it. “And then, I presume, try to form whatever alliances can be made, right?”

“Alliances?” Elizabeth seemed surprised by the suggestion. “No Irwyn, absolutely not.”

“I have lived under the impression that strength in numbers matters, especially when you already have enemies,” Irwyn frowned. “Trying to make even loose alliances in a social gathering appears to me like the smartest decision, as much as I loathe doing it.”

“Maybe for anyone else Irwyn, but me? I cannot afford alliances,” she said staring straight into his eyes with complete seriousness.

“That sounds unintuitive and opposed to the very fundamentals of politics as I understand them.”

“It would be a great idea for anyone else, Irwyn, but not for me,” Elizabeth shook her head slowly, reiterating the point.

“Why?”

“Because I am too dangerous, obviously,” she nodded. “Or at least might be one day.”

“Dangerous to whom?” Irwyn questioned. “As I recall your plan has always been to grasp power.”

“Personal, magical,” Elizabeth nodded. “But never political, Irwyn. No allies in high places beyond those borrowed from my family. Not an acquaintance or a favor owed among the keyholders of power. The Duchy of Black already has an heir. It has no need for another.”

“Your eldest brother has come up,” Irwyn connected. “You think he would be afraid of your influence? Isn’t there a significant age gap?”

“Ezexiel is over twice my age, incredibly talented in both magic and politics as such things are meassured,” Elizabeth nodded. “But as a mage, his talent is still far away from mine. And twenty years is not that much of a head start when our father has at least well over a century left to live by pessimistic predictions. So, what he does have over me are all those connections and alliances he has formed. Tools and pawns.”

“Would your own brother really go all the way?” Irwyn asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“I honestly don’t know,” she sighed. “I am the sixth child and we are not… particularly close. At least I am not. I dare not wager how much Ezexiel cares about our close blood and, honestly, have no reason to test him. I would, after all, be risking my life for something I distinctly don’t even want.”

“Alright, no making friends then,” Irwyn nodded. “But neither enemies, right?”

“If at all possible,” Elizabeth nodded. “The nobility is rather direct. But they can also be at times rather… touchy. Pride and Wrath, as I said.”

“Then how do I avoid giving offense?”

“Honestly? Just don’t talk unless spoken to,” Elizabeth shrugged. “You will be there as the sole member of my entourage. I can navigate what is what, just… back me up if I need it. They might get touchy if someone they deem ‘lesser’ by birth opens up a conversation but if they or even I initiate such, it should pose no trouble when you come to my defense.”

“Just cross my arms and look menacing in the background,” Irwyn chuckled. “You know, I don’t think I ever did that half of the act before. I tended to be the one sneaking around during the distraction.”

“First time for everything,” she glanced at the clock. “We need to go get dressed properly. I am sorry about messing up the schedule.”

“Hey, we ignored the plan together,” Irwyn shrugged. “And it is not my political career at stake here.”

Then they departed to get ready, Irwyn found several staff members already waiting for him. It honestly did not take long to get him into the tailored suit - pitch black, of course - as well as applying a bit of make-up which Irwyn frankly could not even see in the mirror. He did look quite good though with the tie and all. And the clothing was enchanted extensively. Among other things, it did not feel like it was restricting his movement - though honestly, Irwyn did not need perfect mobility in the first place.

He had to wait on Elizabeth for a while before she was done, stunning Irwyn with the transformation. Her hair had been braided extensively, gems and other accessories interwoven into it. She wore the very same dress she usually did though much other jewelry had been either attached to it directly or added around to complement it, including long black gloves, an amulet of sorts as well as several rings, the familiar insignia one among them. She had also adorned extensive make-up which Elizabeth tended to avoid most of the time. All of it themed in shades of black.

“How do I look,” she grinned as they set out.

“Quite royal,” Irwyn assured.

“This way,” she hummed as they entered the Voidways. “We will first arrive for the ceremonial commencement. My father will have a speech, then we will be sent off to our part of the gathering. It will also be a convenient time to point out people for you.”

“I will strive to remember at least some of them,” Irwyn nodded.

“Are you actually that bad with names?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Is that in doubt?” Irwyn mirrored the expression.

“I figured you might just be pretending,” Elizabeth shrugged. “And it is unusual, given how sharp your mind is.”

“I genuinely cannot remember a single name of a living person from the attack on Abonisle besides you and Dervish,” Irwyn confessed. “I can try a bit harder to commit it in a peaceful setting when there isn’t so much danger at the forefront of my mind but can hardly promise anything.”

“I will try to focus on only the most important then,” she sighed, then glanced to a doorway a bit further ahead to the left. “We are almost there.”

The door led into another hallway, a much more mundane one. The corridor was significantly less wide and a gaggle of servants was already awaiting them, as well as a blatantly high-class family of four engaged in discussion with the staff. When Elizabeth completely ignored them a walked right past they appeared infuriated for a moment based on their body language, though they seemed to quickly recognize her - or perhaps the insignias plastered around much of her jewelry - and immediately gave way without any complaint.

The staff seemed to immediately place Elizabeth's face too and after just a few polite bows and words, one servant in a dress led them down the hallway. Curiously enough, there were numbered doors along it, although only on one side and the way seemed to curve slightly. Eventually, they stopped by one such doorway and the servant beckoned them to enter. Inside was a luxurious suite. Yes, the decorations may have been on the sparser side - and all kind of melding into each other in the shades of black with the insufficient lighting - but the two chairs looked very well cushioned and spacious with a small mahogany table by each. What was more important though was the front of the room… Or rather the lack thereof.

“This is a theatre,” Irwyn realized. The front of their suite was cut out, revealing the massive auditorium spanning in front of them. In the distance, he saw the opposite side of the wall with similar suites, some occupied, some empty, and a few obscured with magic.

“Where else would a speech be held,” Elizabeth smiled as she dismissed the servant, quickly taking one of the seats right by the window. Irwyn followed, planting himself on the other.

“It’s massive,” Irwyn muttered. To their right, the auditorium went hundreds of meters further before reaching the far wall. To the left, there were nine more rows of suites similar to their own - at least fifteen levels high as far as Irwyn counted, approaching the stage - then one more row of far more isolated and larger viewing platforms overlooking the dais itself. There were also more mundane seats at the ground level, starting a good distance away from the front and gradually rising the further away they were.

And of course, there was the dais at the very center of the room. The stage was not a level surface at all, rather it was layered into platforms of various heights with tables and seats on each. Though the hierarchy was quite obvious - the higher the level, the fewer the seats. And near the top sat two thrones. One a modest affair of elegant black wood, almost mundane as far as thrones went. Next to it, its dais perhaps half a foot higher, stood a monument to Pride... For how else could one describe the carcass of a dragon carved and twisted in a seat?

“Is that an actual dragon?!” Irwyn had to ask as soon as he identified it, gasping. Dragons, supposedly the paragon of monsters. Destroyers of nations, ravagers of regions. Irwyn had read descriptions, seen drawings, and witnessed a vague impression in one of his dreams. But this was the first time seeing it with his own eyes.

“An ancient Void Dragon,” Elizabeth smiled, staring at it with surprising intensity. “Many scholars think perhaps older than the Tyrant’s rise to Namehood - though Time is more… fluid as deep in the Void as it resided for most of its life.”

“You know a lot about it,” Irwyn urged her to continue.

“Of course I would,” she nodded. “Some 40 years ago it had wandered close to Abonisle - Still more of a fortress town than a city at the time. Before the Dredge had been built. The dragon stretched its maw from the lake’s waters to our side of reality, meaning to rampage as monsters do. After a battle that lasted three days and nights, my father had slain it, claiming its eyes that had seen depths beyond imagining, then carving the carcass into a throne. It is said it was that day that Ezax von Blackburg set on his journey to wrest the Duchy of Black from his siblings.”

“A dragon slayer,” Irwyn muttered, thinking. How mighty was a dragon? How powerful was the Duke? Did he even have the frame of reference to understand or was that height still too far away? Probably too distant. That provoked another thought. “Is it… impolite to ask how old your father is?”

“Most definitely,” Elizabeth nodded seriously, then grinned. “He should be nearing 160.”

“What?!” Irwyn’s head snapped to her. He had been curious about what age the Duke might have been to slay a mythical monster like that, but the answer… “That does not compute.”

“How so?” she played oblivious. Or maybe genuinely though there was nothing strange.

“I had been under the impression that the Duchess was far younger,” Irwyn narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, my mother is merely around 60,” Elizabeth nodded.

“Do you really think that a century is not an absurd age gap?” Irwyn was baffled.

“It is not too unusual among high nobility,” Elizabeth shrugged. “Mages can maintain a youthful appearance for many decades, especially the talented ones. The situation is slightly different due to my mother coming from beyond the federation though it is not something strictly against tradition.”

“So what, the Duke was alone for a century, then just suddenly decided to marry?” his mind was filled with questions.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have never inquired about my father’s virility during his youth, Irwyn,” Elizabeth squinted a bit. “Either way, bastard children have zero standing or claim to anything unless they are explicitly adopted into their father’s family. Whatever life my father may have once led, Avys is his first and only wife.”

“It just sounds… strange I suppose,” Irwyn tried to explain. “I am baffled it doesn’t to you.”

“Probably a thing of perspective,” Elizabeth shrugged, ending the conversation. Irwyn kept chewing on it for a while longer before he noticed something else that evoked a question. Looking down towards the stage Irwyn realized that most of the lower levels had already been occupied by various people in formal attire.

“Who are they?” he decided to redirect his train of thought.

“Officials, inspectors, directors,” Elizabeth listed off. “People who stand at the peak of governance in the Duchy of Black. For example, there at the lowest level, the minister of agriculture and the minister of mundane industry. Above you can see the head of the Institute Academia - they dictate what and how is taught as higher magical education in academies across the Duchy. Or near the top, the Inspector General of Roxbet - elite internal auditors for the military and other important institutions that answer directly to the Duke, notoriously empowered to execute traitors without trial - though they rarely actually do so.”

“And even above them,” Irwyn nodded, quite glad that she had not bothered with names. There were still 3 levels of dais unclaimed. Unlike those below which had several seats, there was only one spot on each. Now, the two thrones were obvious but Irwyn wondered who was considered just below them.

“The Marshal, the highest military commander whose wartime orders may be overruled only by the Duke himself,” Elizabeth nodded. “Usually, they would sit with the others on the level below, however, a Lich war elevates their standing, if temporarily. Speaking of…”

A man stepped onto the stage from behind, ascending the steps with a confident gait. Indeed, they took the third seat from the top as the entire theatre seemed to hush by a good chunk. A military uniform with a dozen medals glimmering ever so slightly. Although it was a good distance away Irwyn noticed something rather curious:

“His left sleeve is empty,” he observed.

“A wound from the last Lich War,” Elizabeth nodded. “Doesn’t hinder him any, believe me. Magic allows for power to be drawn even from misfortune if one has the will and talent to grasp it.”

“You are personally familiar then?” Irwyn inquired.

“That would be my eldest brother, Ezexiel,” a complicated smile found its way to her face.

“I…” Irwyn opened his mouth only to find himself immediately interrupted by a loud note sounding across the theater, followed by another as an organ started playing loud enough to overshadow every other noise.

“Stand for the anthem,” he barely heard Elizabeth, glancing at her to realize she already was. And so, he followed, fascinated by the song he was hearing for the first time. The notes were deep, almost harsh, as the organ played. And as it played the last two people walked onto stage.

Firstly, Avys von Blackburg, trotting up with something closer to a ceremonial garb rather than a dress, her hair appeared braided in a style not unlike Elizabeth’s. And right in front of her a man who could only be the Duke. Irwyn stared… but could not really figure out many details. The stage was a good distance away after all and his sight was not significantly better than a normal human’s. He could recognize that the Duke also wore a ceremonial robe of some kind as well and appeared middle-aged by mundane standards… and that was about it.

The anthem still played, building up to a crescendo of sorts as the regal pair walked up the steps of each level, the music reaching its peak just as they arrived before their thrones.

And then the organ cut out as the last note sounded, the Duke and Duchess sitting down at that exact moment as if it had been choreographed. Belatedly, Irwyn realized that Elizabeth had sat down at that time too and that the anthem had ended so he followed suit. There was a hush in the theatre as the Duke put his elbow on one of the armrests, then put his chin in its palm, taking a posture of both arrogant confidence and borderline boredom as his eyes flickered across the entire hallway. Irwyn thought that for a split second, they had made eye contact and wasn’t sure he was willing to dismiss that impression. Then finally, after a dozen or so seconds, the Duke spoke.

“My dear subjects,” his voice sounded with an undeniable force behind it. The Duke did not shout yet the words were clear in Irwyn’s ears - and probably everyone else’s. “You come here at the dawn of war. Once again, the Betrayer’s rot festers in our lands. Once again, the blasphemous would seek to destroy our millennia of achievements; consign our history and tradition to dust. As they had in the past; as they will in the future.”

“This is to be my fifth Lich War. I have watched the fall of Blackrock with bated breath in my teens, fought as a regular mage at the Hollowed fields, beheld the death of the Eraser, then slain the last Archlich 18 years ago with my own spell alongside the other Dukes. I dare not claim I have seen all the horrors the undead have to offer, yet I have seen much.”

“18 years, a blink of an eye. And an implication. Much shorter than what usually passes between each incursion, yet just long enough to raise doubt. I remember well that between my first and second Lich War only 5 years have passed, survivors of the prior hiding away and laying their schemes. The second was short and brutal. A Desperado - hopeless last stand meant solely to inflict damage.”

“18 years, that raises doubts. Then I shall dispel them. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that this too is caused by remnants. Much more careful, much more dangerous, preparing their ground for what is to come. Do not let that certainty deceive you - this will be a true War, harsher than most even. The insidious attack on Abonisle is proof of that. If we were to gather again in a year, many of you would be missing.”

“Once again, the Betrayer’s rot festers. So, I say it shall suffer the same Fate it always has. Since before the first annals of history, there has been ever only one answer: Once again the mage shall arise, bring with them the spell and grit and Wrath like only our blood can..."

"AND ONCE AGAIN, WE SHALL SHATTER THEM TO THE DUST THEY SO DESIRE!”

The Duke finally stood up as he shouted the final sentence, raising his hand above his head. A moment after, the hall erupted into rather thunderous applause Irwyn found himself following. The confidence was certainly reassuring.

“Now then,” the Duke sat back down. “I shall not hold you here any longer. I declare today’s Exenn started. Find your brothers and sisters in arms to be. Test your mettle, broaden your sight. War is upon us, my dear subjects. And we are ready.”