Sphera hadn’t spoken much with Princess Ado, for one crucial reason. She was a cunt.

  A while ago the girl had approached her, tried to discuss imagined commonality between them as women in a man’s space. It’d almost made Sphera laugh. She had nothing in common with a noble, let alone a Princess, and the fact that her ally had failed to even realise that was a perfect demonstration of why.

  Powerful men were bitter, jealous, oppressive tyrants. Powerful women, though, were almost worse. Powerful men at least did not see nearly so great a threat in Sphera, nor feel inclined to crush her with anything close to as much vigour. For all Princess Ado’s claims of solidarity, she’d undercut Sphera in a thousand ways after the fact and carefully drawn all eyes to herself.

  Of course she had. The very presence of a proper woman- an aristocratic woman- made other women less womanly by association. Femininity was a thing to be earned, and being in the presence of a wealthy woman made its price all the greater. It was just how the fact was seen.

  But Sphera kept all of that from her face, unlike Princess Ado she couldn’t afford to run around hurling insults at whoever offended her. Tantruming was a rich woman’s luxury.

  “I understand that you’re eager to keep a hold of your new territory,” She began, using honey and reason rather than the innate fear most had for a Necromancer, “But you must understand I’m suggesting what’s best for Staliga. You’re simply not a powerful enough caster to guarantee its safety, not alone and certainly not measured against my own abilities. I’m a Hero, and I can call on hordes of the undead as needed.”

  Indeed, Sphera fancied that in any other era she’d have been the most feared user of magic alive. Not the most powerful, not yet, but her talent combined with a Necromancer’s proclivities was a rare generation. It was just her ill fortune that had seen the only two Necromancers to exceed her in half a hundred years emerging just as she did.

  “We’ll do fine.” Was all the Princess said, a smug, knowing smile on her face. Sphera imagined how the woman might look as a reanimate, mindlessly drooling and shambling ahead to get torn apart fighting her enemies. She imagined that image vividly while pressing her with a question.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Staliga will be just fine under my rule.” The Princess beamed. “I happen to have secured a new King, and his abilities in combat may surprise yo-”

  “-It’s Baird.” Sphera guessed, the woman’s surprise was utterly pitiable. Had she actually believed other people were missing the looks they’d given each other? If nothing else, the crumbling of Shaiagrazni’s Empire had released that infernal tension coiling around them.

  But then, it had done so much more. Not all of it good, much of it disastrous. And it would do the rest no matter how Sphera fought to keep it together. Shaiagrazni’s Empire was crumbling, and she simply lacked the strength to hold it as one piece.

  The Princess left in a huff, irritated, but not beaten. Sphera had found no victory today. The world would soon be without her master’s legacy.

  ***

  It had not been so long since Galukar last set foot in Arbite, but it felt like years. Decades, even a century. Time had been stretched out by his journeys with Shaiagrazni, days turned into months by the changes to himself and the challenges to his suppositions of life. Galukar felt slivers of his former self returning as he gazed upon the adoring faces of his people, and the smile he answered their venerations with came naturally and easily.

  Here, at least, he knew his role, his duty, his work. Protector, ruler. King. As he had been for a hundred years, and as he would remain when the Godblade’s life-preserving magics finally exhausted themselves upon his ageing form.

  The festivities were exhaustive, as they always were upon one of Galukar’s returns. This time it felt wrong. Only twice before had he been bested in a quest, not counting the Dark Lord. And this marked the first time his power had been outmatched by a fellow human. The Godblade seemed to hum at his back for a moment, as if feeling his doubts and regrets. Galukar sighed.

  It seemed a human’s strength had its limits after all, and when he died they would be that much smaller for however long it took a new wielder of the Godblade to emerge. What would they do with it? He’d never given the question much thought before, the answer had always seemed obvious, but now…

  There were more nuances to power and its usage than Galukar had known, his latest journey had expanded his mind. Unpleasantly so.

  He received word of the guest just as he entered his palace. An empty place, now, cold and lonely. Galukar felt the loss of his sons as he moved through to his throne room. There were no words for the sensation of moving through a world in which one’s children were buried. He didn’t bother trying to find one.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  And soon, he was too distracted to have concentrated on the deed even if he’d been inclined. Within his throne room was a stranger. Tall, muscled like a warrior and with a bald head exposing black skin. His eyes were small, and focused on Galukar like needle-points.

  “I am Archmagus Mafari.” The stranger declared. “King Galukar, I have heard much about you.”

  “I know.” Galukar replied. The man seemed surprised for a moment, he elaborated. “I know you’re Archmagus Mafari. We met when I was a boy, sixteen or seventeen I believe. It was the year before you disappeared into the mountains.”

  Recognition dawned in the magus’ eyes.

  “Ahh, yes I recall now. Apologies King Galukar, it has been so very long.”

  “None are necessary.” A year ago Galukar might have pondered the man’s sudden appearance at least, but there was no doubting he was the real Mafari. Even ignoring that he’d not aged a day, his power was the same. Galukar was just arcane enough to sense the arcane, and it pressed against his wits now like a shadow of the Dark Lord himself.

  It was a rare feeling, indeed, for Galukar to stand in a room with only one other man, and know himself to not be the most potent being present. Mafari seemed to take no delight in inducing it.

  “I will be frank, your grace.” He began. “I have looked into your recent actions with some…Displeasure. Aiding the New Dark Lord, even if to oppose the original, is something I would have considered unthinkable for you.”

  Perhaps Galukar would have agreed with him, certainly if Shaiagrazni had not made such concessions early on he’d have refused to accompany him out of hand. The shame was still there.

  How did he explain himself? What he’d seen in the man, the glimmers of humanity? He couldn’t. Not when even he himself didn’t know what to make of them.

  “What I do is no concern of yours, Archmagus.” He replied, keeping himself polite, yet injecting some regal sternness into the words.

  “Oh, no, it is.” Mafari’s voice was a thing of iron as he responded. Any Archmagus was the equal of most, if not all, Kings. This was a known fact. Not officially as much as politically, Kingdoms who offended the ruler of Magira tended to wither as they found the precious magi needed to sustain a modern nation denied them. For Mafari, there was a more primal cause to be wary. The air hummed with his power. “You wield the Godblade, King Galukar. You are, by my estimate, the second most potent human alive after myself. What you do with that power is so very much my concern.”

  Galukar remained silent, resisted his body’s urges towards muscular twitching and explosive motion. Mafari was standing close, three paces away. A normal man would not have reacted in the time Galukar took to move even double or triple that distance. But a magus’ nerves were quickened by touching the arcane, and Mafari’s casting was infamously quick.

  “You are to sever all ties with the New Dark Lord.” The Archmagus began, “And you will then dedicate your resources to aiding me in putting him down.”

  “Why?” Galukar asked. The Archmagus seemed stunned.

  “He is a Necromancer, a Fleshcrafter- an art almost lost here yet still very much outlawed- and, if rumours are to be believed, a Demonologist. He seems to have gone down the list of our most illegal magics and practiced them in order.” The Archmagus spoke with no great passion, only a finality. “His powers are dangerous, and they will drive him mad. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. He needs to be killed for the good of all.”

  Galukar had expected some religious appeal, but he had been a fool to do so. This was a magus, not a paladin. The casters of Magira were beings of practicality and rationality, mostly. Of course he would be lectured on the pragmatics of the deed.

  “And you wish me to aid you in killing him on this basis?”

  Mafari’s eye twitched, irritably.

  “If it proves necessary, yes, though I have no doubt I can best some petty hedge-caster. Wielder of dark magics or not, he did not train in Magira as I did. This house Shaiagrazni of his is doubtless some petty caster’s lineage, whatever sort of prodigy Shaiagrazni is to be wielding more than one magic, he is no match for a true magus.”

  Galukar decided not to argue, if Mafari was wrong then he would find out himself.

  “No,” The Archmagus pressed, “What I am asking you first is mere…Indolence. Remain as you are, and do not lift a finger while I address the rest of Silenos Shaiagrazni’s allies.”

  His blood boiled quickly, and Galukar affixed the magus with a glare.

  “Address them how?”

  Mafari shook his head softly. “That is no concern of yours, King Galukar. You have my full respect, but this is a matter of the arcane, and there is none more qualified than the Archmagus of Magira to reside over it. Rest assured they will all be given a fair chance to repent and redeem themselves.”

  Galukar thought to the several among Shaiagrazni’s subordinates who would sooner die than do that. He would be lying if he claimed to have any great fondness for most of them- though Princess Ado’s loyalty to Shaiagrazni had grown to considerable lengths- but the long months of trekking around and working together had instilled some semblance of…Familiarity. The thought of seeing them perish gave him upset, left him unnerved.

  He dully wondered what was happening to him, even as he growled out an answer.

  “If I don’t like what you’re doing,” Galukar replied, slowly, carefully, intensely, “Then it will stop.”

  Mafari’s face grew hard at that.

  “You have become accustomed to wielding power unmatched among our own kind. I understand. I was once in your place. Do not fail to adjust to your new situation, King Galukar. There are forces in this world beyond either of our comprehension, and I have grazed them with my mind. You are no more now than the boy you were when we first met one hundred years ago. If you push me, I will make you…Less.”

  Galukar had never been threatened so softly, and yet felt such fear, in his entire life. For one moment he wondered how much of the truth was in this man’s words. Could he match Shaiagrazni? The Dark Lord? He lacked the magical familiarity to tell.

  And by the time he could even consider finding out more, Mafari was already gone.