The Mother of Monsters

The representative from Barom sipped at his wine and glowered over the rim at the Count. He was a large man, easily a foot and a half taller than Bertrand. His shoulders were broad and his entire body rippled with muscles that could be seen beneath his fitted tunic. He set the goblet down and leaned forward, fixing the Count with his gaze. The Count didn’t so much as flinch, he’d dealt with people like this before, people who felt that their very presence was enough to get their way. The count sipped from a glass, savoring the flavor before setting it down and glancing to his right. The woman who sat adjacent to him and the man from Barom smiled cooly in his direction. She was a mature beauty who showed no reservations in flaunting her figure. Her lack of reservation irked Bertrand but he had no control over the lack of social development in other nations. For Taywill to send a woman as their representative, he sipped his drink again to hide his scoff.

“It would seem that the representative from Harav is late,” Adimral Iska Powett said, glancing at her still full wine glass and looking over at the Count again, “Quite rude if you ask me.”

“I don’t know why we bother waiting,” General Erik Bann growled, “I don’t know why we’re meeting here either, you have some stones, Count Otel.”

“His majesty has given me the authority to handle the situation in Osan,” Bertrand said, “So you will be speaking with me concerning how we handle it.”

“Aiming for Duke, are we?” The buxom Admiral laughed, “Your ambition knows no bounds.”

“I serve Katal,” Bertrand corrected her, “In whatever capacity that my King demands of me.”

Erik laughed, “You don’t deny it.”

“We aren’t here to speak of our political ambitions,” Bertrand pointed out, “We have a serious issue to deal with.”

“I would hardly call it serious,” Iska said, waving her hand, “I have heard of your so-called vision from the gods. You have no evidence to support it though. A new Demon King? A traitor Hero? Where?” She laughed, “You have the old man running scared.”

“You will show respect when speaking of my King,” Bertrand ground out, “You will have your evidence.”

“Really?” Erik asked, “You have no documents with you.”

“Patience,” Bertrand said, glancing at the door as it opened. A shockingly young man stepped inside wearing the white shouldercape and tunic of Harav. Behind him was a man in heavy robes and deep, sunken eyes. The young man strode to the seat across from Iska and sat down, crossing his legs and glancing at Bertrand before inclining his head.

“Prince Markiv,” Bertrand greeted him, “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well, Uncle Bertrand,” The boy said and flicked his unsettling gaze over to Iska and Erik. “Admiral Iska Powett, the bloodletter, and General Erik Bann, the conqueror of Azewind. Your reputations precede you.”

The two older representatives looked at one another and then at the Count, the Count smiled, “As I said, this is Prince Markiv ik Harav. The youngest ascendant in the history of the human lands and my nephew.”

Markiv inclined his head politely but the other two stared at the boy with open mouths, “So young, what in the world did you face to undergo your Ascent?” Iska asked.

“It would seem that you are unfamiliar with Haravi traditions,” Markiv said quietly, his voice held no reproach, though. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and fixed Iska with a look. “All sons of the royal family are given five aspects from the Archons, our guardian beings. We then are made to kill one another over the course of some years.”

Iska winced, “I-I see, I am sorry you had to go through that at such a young age.”

“Why? I am powerful now,” Markiv said, “I have the resolve to lead my people once my lord father passes or becomes too tepid to tolerate any longer.”

Erik burst into laughter, “I like this boy, he has a spine!”

“Now, on to business, Uncle, I’ve brought what you requested. It’s quite a thing to see,” The boy said, gesturing to the withered man in the robes. The man drew a small box from his sleeve and strode to the table, setting it in the center. He opened it and the crystal inside began to glow. A moment later there was a projection of a field of dirt surrounded by raised stands. “This was captured by one of my spies among the elves, it depicts a portion of a competition that takes place during an annual festival the Demons celebrate.”

“Fascinating, I did not know they could be so cultured,” Iska marveled at the crowd.

“A competition?” Erik asked, leaning forward.

“Monsters pretending to be people,” Bertrand hissed.

An enormous man strode out onto the field, his grey skin shining beneath lights from above. A woman stepped up to face him, her own grey skin a bit more muted and green than his own. The large man and the woman fought, the woman summoning what looked like an aspect being to aid her in the combat. She was defeated soundly, regardless of her strength. As the crowd roared a voice announced that ‘His Majesty the King’ is victorious. The King raised his fist to the air before going to help the woman off the ground.

“The woman, according to my spy, is a Demon by the name of Yaga Yftha,” He said, “She is the leader of the Eastern Tribe.”

“The border demon tribe,” Bertrand said, nodding, “I know of them.”

Markiv nodded, “The man, as you heard, is their King. She has sworn fealty to him. He calls himself Thrake and as you can see,” He continues to show more images of fights featuring Thrake. At one point a warrior steps out only to forfeit immediately in the face of the king. “He is very powerful.”

“So there is a Demon King,” Erik ground out, “But what happened to the Hero? Should they not have appeared in our lands? The high priests of Katal would have known if they had arrived.”

Bertrand nodded, “Did you find anything?” He asked Markiv.

“Perhaps,” He said, “According to my spy, just over a month ago a woman arrived in Osan and was immediately taken in by the King. Not long after that she was named a Princess of Osan and given favor by the King.”

“Do you have any images of her?” Bertrand asked.

“Just one,” Markiv said, “The spy had left his recording stone active during the first few matches of the competition so we caught her first encounter. After that he only recorded when the King was present.”

“It’ll have to do,” Iska said, “Show us.”

He waved his hand and the image changed to that of a woman in white and orange gear standing in the middle of the arena. She was wearing some manner of porcelain mask with a veil though it was easy to see the dual set of horns poking out of the side of her head. She appeared to be saying something to her opponent but the crowd drowned out much of the conversation. Then, inexplicably, she removed her mask and it vanished from her hand. Iska let out a gasp and Erik got to his feet. Bertrand frowned, staring at the face. If there was such a thing as unholy beauty, this was it.

“Disturbing, what is it?” Iska asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

“No idea,” Markiv said, “But she possesses strange powers according to the spy. She was also the ultimate victor of the competition.”

“She defeated the Demon King?” Erik demanded.

“No, apparently the Demon King forfeited his final match along with his opponent to allow his daughters to duel one another. It was quite impressive though the fool failed to record it and his retelling was… fanciful,” Markiv said darkly, “I will need to train another spy.”

“I see,” Bertrand said, stroking his chin and glancing at the others. “Thoughts?”

“Taywill is prepared to offer troops to assist in the subjugation of this Demon King. I will also have one of my Ascended join the force as well,” Iska said, “I have my doubts that this freakish woman is the fallen hero, but the fact remains that a Demon King has risen and we are without a hero.”

“Agreed, the problem should be dealt with swiftly,” Erik growled, “I will send forces to join you. I will also have one of my strongest Ascended lead them.”

“I of course will do the same,” Markiv said.

“Then the Four Kingdoms are united in this,” The count said with a bow of his head, “You have my gratitude. Now, as for our timing?”

Markiv's face twisted into a smile. "The reason for my delayed arrival, I have word from my familiar."

The Count shifted in his seat, "The Green Sea?"

"Is, at least for now, pacified," the young prince said, "With adequate collaboration, our united force could indeed arrive at Osan just before the winter winds move from the Northern mountains."

The General grunted, "Leaving our troops the options of take Osan or die in the snow."

"So be it," The Count clipped. "We begin preparations immediately. If the demons are truly organized they may be able to entrench themselves over the winter. We strike with the first snowfall."

The gathered leadership nodded their agreement, “Katal will celebrate you as a champion for your decisiveness,” Iska said, getting to her feet, “I’m sure the King has quite a reward planned for you after this task is done.”

Bertrand shrugged and rose as well, “Such is his will,” He said with a cruel smile.