Deus Necros

Several days after, at the Imperial Palace, the cold that clung to Solania was replaced by a different sort of chill, the lacquered, perfumed stillness of power at rest. The long hall that housed the throne drank sound in a way only expensive rooms can: carpets muffled footfall, tapestries ate whisper, and the soft wash of braziers along the walls seemed as measured as a courtier’s bow. Scented smoke drifted in pale banners under a ceiling painted with old victories. Between the columns, courtiers and advisors held themselves half-bent in the permanent ache of ceremonial respect, hands pressed together, eyes lowered, lips already forming the next gracious phrase.

After all, today was the day that the Emperor of the whole of the Empire of Lufondal has gathered the most relevant people to the situation that happened back in one of his ruled kingdoms, the Kingdom of Tulmud.

Many of the nobles have gathered around the palace for what the Imperial Edict would entail. Reward for those that have helped, or Death for those that were too slow to act for the glory of Lufondal.

Inside the Imperial Hall, and at the far end, the throne itself was not seen but suggested; it sat behind a heavy curtain worked in thread-of-gold with the imperial device, a sun whose rays bit the edge of a black star. The figure beyond was only an outline, a silhouette that changed posture as little as the mountain does.

The five Tower Masters were announced and admitted without fanfare. The hush closed behind them; even the braziers seemed to lean their flames toward the dais. Van Dijk stood at the center of the line, a dark weather in human shape. To his left, blue silk and cool poise; to his right, crimson slashes and a grin that did not reach the eyes; beyond those, white like new paper, gray like old stone. Each carried their tower’s manner as naturally as breath.

One of the advisors took three careful steps forward, bowing more deeply with each, and spoke without daring to raise his head. “The Emperor welcomes his subjects in these halls. Servants of the Five Towers of Magic, bow down to your Emperor.”

Van Dijk snorted.

It was a small, contemptuous sound and in that hall it cracked like a staff across a dog’s back. Steel answered it. As if they had sprung from the grain of the pillars themselves, several swordsmen were suddenly there, polished boots on carpet, points of gleaming swords kissing the air just in front of Van Dijk’s chest and throat and heart. Their faces were patient, professional; their eyes were fixed on the spot on his body each blade intended to inhabit if asked.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Van Dijk said evenly. He did not move; he did not even shift his weight. The question hung there like frost.

“YOU WILL BE SILENCE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE EMPEROR!” one of the guards barked, passion tripping his tongue. The point wobbled closer, an inch that screamed of training momentarily forgotten. For even if they knew the monster they pointed their swords at, and how strong he was, even dogs become braver in the presence of their masters.

Van Dijk turned his head just enough to let one eye find the man. The look he gave had no heat in it. It was not threat; it was the plain appraisal of someone measuring furniture for a fire. A thin smile touched the corner of his mouth, the sort of smile that has emptied rooms.

The tension tautened to the edge of snap. And then the voice behind the curtain, quiet and absolute, cut through.

“Stand down. I haven’t invited them to be humbled or oppressed.” A breath, an unseeable shift of attention. “Councilor, you know well that the Five Masters of the Towers are exempted from bowing to me. Do not try this power play in my presence again.”

The councilor dropped like a thrown cloak. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” he said to the floor, voice trembling into the carpet. “I have made a grave sin.” Though the act itself was convincing, it was all a ploy that everyone present knew of. The councilor himself. After all, what foolish man who already knows that the tower masters shouldn’t bow to even the emperor would force them if it wasn’t a ploy to undermine their incredulous power.

“It is all right,” the Emperor replied, as if speaking of the weather. “Guards, dismiss your weapons. You should all know that if he wanted, you’d be laying on the ground now. A shameful fate for those who should be protecting the emperor.” The source of this content ɪs novel※fire.net

The points withdrew as if jerked by a single string. The blades vanished into shadow with the men who held them; the room seemed, by degrees, to remember that it was a place for words.

“I’ve heard some news, great masters of magic…” the Emperor said, the pause between clauses as measured as a metronome.

“Cut me some slack, will you,” Van Dijk interrupted. He should not have, anyone else would not have, but there are exceptions in this life and he was one of them. “You know well that Tulmud’s capital could be easily saved. Yet you sent no one.”

Silence pricked, as if a thousand quills had pressed the parchment and hesitated to write.

“It is by reasons you should be aware of,” the Emperor answered after a moment, “or must I explain that it was all done to protect my subjects?”

“No,” Van Dijk said, hands folding into sleeves. “It’s pretty clear you wanted to, ” The word he chose would have curdled finer ears, and he did not bother to soften it, “A power play, over the Holy Order. By all means. Were it my decision, I would have done worse. But not the way you did it. Not an entire city, hell, a whole country, left to shake itself apart, destabilized, and without any hope to recover in the foreseeable future… The king of Tulmud is dead, the rest of his line is nowhere, and the citizens of the capital are in critical condition. The whole country might collapse. Are they not your subjects?”