“You need to go in there and talk to them,” Olias told Torvald, huffing as he marched next to his grandnephew and pointed ahead to the carriage. It was obvious to Bernt that the old man didn’t get much exercise. “You have to trust me on this. It’s important.”
“And say what?” Torvald protested. “I don’t want to get involved. I’m going to the Sacral Peaks because the goddess told me to, and when I get there, I'm going to vote however she tells me.”
Bernt frowned at the paladin. “You can’t – that’s not how it works. You have to decide for yourself. You didn’t know?”
“No, what? What are you talking about?”
“It’s part of the whole agreement that formed the Invigilation.” Bernt explained. Maybe all the post-imperial history Iriala had made him learn wasn’t a complete waste of time. “Humanity sets its own course, and the gods support it as long as they don’t betray their covenant with them. The gods will only interfere personally on such a grand scale if all four are in agreement, which hasn’t happened since the Invigilation was formed. That means Ruzinia won't tell you what to choose.” Bernt raised an eyebrow, looking over at Olias. “Right?”
The old man shrugged. “No idea. I’m just saying that Ruzinians are always hard to come by – I don’t think anyone expects there to be a lot of representatives at the Conclave. That means your vote is going to be weighted more heavily than other people’s. And that means you’re going to have people with interests crawling all over you if you don’t start 'communicating' first. You need to set the tone before others do it for you. If you’re obnoxious enough about it, they might even leave you alone after a while.”
“They’ll do that whether I go and talk to them or not.” Torvald grumbled. “I’m not going to vote to send the entire continent to war in the Depths, so what is there to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Olias replied, a little testily. “Facilitating a common defense pact backed by the gods themselves would be a good start. Maybe coordinating an intelligence network that reaches into the Duergar Empire. That and making diplomatic contact with their Imperial Council.”
“Also, getting all the attending countries to send adventuring teams into the Depths to gather intelligence,” Bernt added. “Iriala said the existing data is over a century old in some cases, and huge portions haven’t ever been properly mapped. We need to know where the Duergar Empire’s borders are and who their enemies are down there. We might find more allies.”
Torvald scowled grumpily at both of them and then at the carraige. “Well, I’m not going to be able to make any of that happen here or with them.”
“No,” Bernt allowed, “but you can make sure that the others are aware of these ideas. Maybe they've already thought of all this themselves, or maybe not. If Hannis likes them, you might not even have to worry about him trying to mobilize everyone for some kind of holy war in the Depths.”
“I just said I didn’t want to play the game.” Torvald complained. “This is playing the game!”
Olias snorted and lightly slapped his grandnephew over the back of the head.
“No it isn’t! This is how you opt out. Closest thing to it, anyway. All you're doing is telling them what you would and wouldn’t support. You say your piece before all the smart-mouthed diplomatic types come around with their overcomplicated ideas and muddy everything up. Your “peers” there will start gossipping the moment we arrive. If you’re a known quantity, they can work around you. Then you can let all the political people work out the details and fight over who does what and how and with whose money. Take it from a man of experience – this is the most efficient way. Then you can go drinking, or whatever you do for fun. I’m going to sample the local wines. You can join me if you like.”
Bernt eyed the man skeptically. “Isn’t the king going to be very interested in all those small details? I thought you’d be pushing him to get involved in all that stuff...”
Olias rolled his eyes. “Renias knows better than to send me for that. I’m here because he wanted to get me out of his court for a few months. That, and to make sure people notice that we have one of Ruzinia’s Chosen in the family now. That sort of thing goes over wonderfully with the masses. And also, I volunteered.”
Torvald choked. “You… why? My mother told me you hated traveling.”
“That was over thirty years ago!" Olias rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "Besides, I wanted a change of scenery. Teres isn't so great, you know? And how else was I going to meet my young grandnephew? Of course, nobody bothered to warn me we’d be getting chased by murderous demons the entire way.”
“That was always a risk,” Torvald said. “We might run into the Duergar themselves at some point, too. They must have said something.”
“I didn’t pay attention at the briefing,” Olias grumbled in reply. “Why are you still here? Get into that damned carriage and tell them what you think!”
***
That evening, they reached a mid-sized farming town at the foot of a large mountain to the west. The weather was noticeably warmer here, and many of the fields were green with winter crops. Bernt could practically feel the sigh of relief shiver through the group when they came in sight of the walls. There would be no camping out in the open that night.
That tension returned in the morning, when they found that Torvald was missing. Thet organized a search party and tried to contact the guard, but it turned out to be unnecessary. He’d only been called out on another divine rescue mission – this time to save a child from an abusive home.
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The paladin’s testimony had been enough to see the boy sent to a relative to live and to have his father pilloried in the town square.
“You know, you’re supposed to take me along for this stuff,” Bernt complained once they’d found him and gotten underway again. “As part of the Invigilation, you’re technically a foreign agent – it’s literally my job to keep track of you!”
Torvald scoffed, unrepentant. “They didn’t know that. Besides, nobody doubts a Ruzinian. We don’t have a hidden agenda and we don’t play games.”
Bernt frowned at him thoughtfully and, after a moment, decided to let it go. He was right – nobody would question a real paladin of Ruzinia, but that wasn’t why he’d left Bernt behind. No, his friend was just working through some things. Torvald was probably still bitter about having to talk to the priests about the Conclave – to play their game, as he’d said. Bernt’s presence as his legitimator made him a part of those political games. He was, after all, the paladin’s government-appointed minder. He could understand wanting to escape for a few hours. He’d still have to include it in his eventual report to Count Narald, though.
***
The next several days passed mostly uneventfully, though they were stressful all the same. Bernt and Estrid further refined their nightly defenses, and on the second night, Leirin and Uriah began to get involved more significantly as well. The hydromancer saturated the ground outside their slightly elevated camps with water, turning their surroundings into a temporary bog. Leirin, capitalizing on this, planted what he called “marsh stranglers” in the improvised moat. The innocuous looking vines were carnivorous and would drag small prey down into the water to drown. It wouldn’t kill something as large as a demon, but it would be an inconvenience and slow them down if they came again.
Every night Xul’Evareg performed her ritual, and every night she reported that demons were nearby. They were being followed every step of the way. But no attacks came, until finally they rode into view of Gobford.
Where Lochholme was characterized by an air of past greatness fallen on hard times, this city had the air of a place that had never really planned to be great in the first place, thank you very much. Cheap wooden buildings and shanties spilled beyond the walls, sprawling out from the crowded city center toward the fields. As they approached, Bernt smelled the familiar odor of sewage running down shallow gutters in the obviously unplanned outer neighborhoods. Still, someone had gone to the trouble of paving the streets, which was more than many cities could say for their slums. The smell improved once they got inside the walls, but it was clear that this place had outgrown itself and never quite adapted to its status as a proper city.
Buildings that had likely started as simple stone and brick houses in a much smaller town rose three or four stories up into the air, with wooden and half-timber construction slowly layered over the existing structures. In most cases, the upper floors were slightly larger than the ones below them, giving the houses a unique style, while also casting the streets below into shadow.
After getting settled at a local inn, Bernt excused himself to find the Mages’ Guild. They’d made it more than halfway to the Sacral Peaks, and he still hadn’t managed to do any research to speak of. That was going to change here – he wasn’t going to miss out on Gobford’s guild library. There was a pass leading through the mountains a few days’ south of there, though the border area was supposed to be guarded by the Illurians. Past it lay the Phoenix Reaches. It was by far the most accessible way to gain entry. If any guild branch outside of Teres had some solid research on the place, it would be here.
The guild building, like the city itself, had what Bernt could only describe as “character”. What had probably started as a simple square building made of stone transitioned into round tower at the third floor, which went on to rise dramatically over the rest of the city. Some of the floors had large balconies, while others had misaligned windows of various sizes. It all looked a little… unintentional, as if no one had bothered to consult an architect in the construction. It wasn’t pretty, but…. looking it over for a few seconds, Bernt decided that he liked it. The entire place had a lived-in feel that made him feel at home, somehow, even though it was nothing like Halfbridge.
He entered the building, wondering at how different cities in a single country could be so drastically different. Was it the culture? Different kinds of governance and architectural guidelines? Or was it just about money?
The reception area of the guild here had no desk, and no one to greet or manage visitors. Instead, the wall across from the door featured a map of the building detailing where everything was. The library was on the second floor, and the Scryers’ Office up on the fifth.
It was already evening, but they would be open for another two hours. He had time to drop into the library first to see if it, at least, hadn’t been cleaned out like the one in Lochholme. Besides, it was on his way. Taking the steps two at a time, Bernt hurried up, offering a nod to a passing mage who gave him a curious look as he passed, but didn’t challenge him.
The door to the Gobford guild library had been left open, and Bernt stepped inside unchallenged. There was a desk next to the door, but it wasn’t occupied. They really did things differently here than back home. How did they keep out unauthorized visitors? The entire place was a single room that encompassed almost the entire floor. It was still smaller than the library in Halfbridge, but it was absolutely packed with books and scrolls.
Throwing glances left and right to check the placards indicating various sections, Bernt strode through the stacks. It was an odd organizational system, and it wasn’t immediately clear how to find anything. For example, there were sections for elemental magics like pyromancy and geomancy, but there was also an entirely separate section for combat magic, with subsections for various specializations. Similarly, there were small, dedicated sections for each of the various professions that guild mages might pursue.
Stopping at the pyromancy section, Bernt browsed through the titles, looking for anything that might have something to do with elemental summoning or the Phoenix Reaches. He’d have to ask someone about finding anything related to sorcery – there was no telling exactly where something like that might get filed away here. Nothing immediately stood out, but there was a lot of material here. Ideally, he needed to find books authored by local wizards. Copies of more prolific work would likely already have been in the Halfbridge library. He needed a local.
Bernt spent a few more minutes looking for the librarian, but finally gave up and climbed up to the fifth floor. He'd come back later and hope someone would be there who could help him out. Pulling Iriala’s token and a prepared note from his pocket, Bernt knocked twice on the door on the landing and entered.
A brown-robed mage, presumably the missing librarian, hastily rose from her position on the lap of the man sitting behind the front desk of the Scryers’ Office. She brushed past him, coughing in embarrassment and turning bright red as she descended the stairs. Bernt watched her go and then turned back to the scryer manning the desk.
“Ahem,” the man said, flushing and trying to straighten his robe. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to send a message to the guild in Halfbridge,” Bernt said, putting the note and token down on the desk. “Directly, please.”
The clerk eyed the token for a second, then his eyebrows shot up.
“Wow. I mean, sure, okay.” He picked up the note and disappeared through a door behind him for a moment. Bernt heard voices for a few seconds, then he was back.
“We’ll have that taken care of right away. All things considered, I’m sure it’s got to be pretty urgent. I bet all the big players are trying to coordinate a solid response right now.”
Bernt blinked. “Ehm, I’ve been on the road from Lochholme for five days. Just got here. What’s going on?”
“Oh, no way! You don’t know?! Teres is under attack. The garrison and the crown guard were trying to secure more of the depths under the city and ran right into a Duergar army. They’ve been actively fighting for nearly two days.”
