Tristan and Obadai were escorted well into the night, and thanks to his heritage he could spot the enormous fortification on the horizon. The troops were leading them via lantern light, and he mulled over what he would say to the ruler he was about to approach. Prince Merrill. Asking the soldiers was pointless – the one time he did inquire they just told him to, "shut up and keep riding."

Obadai had no better luck, and he was not well versed in the politics of the island nation the two found themselves upon. And so, Tristan was left to play over various scenarios in his mind. In an ideal world, he would be able to talk to this prince and then convince him to let Tristan act as an emissary of goodwill to try and convince his brother to put down arms and embrace an idea of equal division of the kingdom.

It may work, he thought, since both men ultimately want control of some amount. But I'll really have to try and understand what exactly led to such bad blood. Both having a claim to the throne…I mean that happens in kingdoms all over the world, I assume. Succession crises have to be a usual occurrence. Do they always result in this level of violence and hatred for one's own kin?

They reached the fortification and were let inside. He subtly used his hammer, activating the Lucky Instinct spell. And, even more carefully, mid-dismount, he performed the Persuasive Charm spell. After getting fully off the horses, the two black steeds were led away by pages; young men in service to a lord or knight.

Tristan was confronted by a group of five guards alongside the squadron they had encountered on patrol. The captain of the guard, denoted by his plumed helmet, held up his hand in a fist. "Hold there. You cannot go before Prince Merrill armed as you are."

"Felicity," Tristan whispered. She got the message, and Tristan pulled his sword, bow, the quiver, his knife, and the maul off of his person – one piece at a time, and pushed them up into the air. Felicity then grabbed each and shoved it into the storage dimension.

To the soldier's eyes Tristan had just held up each item and it vanished into nothingness, and many of them trained weapons on Tristan. He held up his hands, "You told me I cannot go forward so heavily armed, so there you go. They're gone."

"Where did they go?" The captain asked.

Tristan smiled, "I'm an essence-weaver. They are in another place. Far, far away from us. I will not be able to summon them back at-will."

The captain frowned, "Then we must insist we bind your hands as well. Can't have you using a spell upon our Prince."

Tristan held out his hands and nodded, "My companion here is my advisor – he is unarmed." He was approached by two of the guards who wrapped thin cords around his fingers, binding them together, and then placing a sack over that to keep him from possibly removing the cords.

Obadai was left unchecked, and a simple glance between him and Tristan confirmed to him that the older man would be able to free him at a moment's notice if required.

"This way," the captain said as he led Tristan and Obadai forward with their escort. The fortress was a simple one – a large outer wall, a town within those walls, and then a central keep with another inner wall surrounding it. The town was quiet, as most residents had gone to sleep by this time, and the only people they passed were some city workers who kept maintaining the streets – sweepers, trash-pickers, and ratcatchers.

The keep itself was a towering, fortified structure that did not match up to the defenses of Bhant's Holdfast but was imposing and would be one hell of tough building to take by force. There was even a moat with spikes at the bottom, covered in foul-smelling sludge from the city's residents most likely using it as a refuse disposal. Anyone impaled on those lengths of wood, even if they survived, would doubtless die of an infected wound shortly after.

Taken over the drawbridge and into the castle proper, Tristan and Obadai were once more checked over for weapons. Then, they were led into a large entry hall. A seneschal greeted them with a slight head nod. "What would you like to be introduced as?"

Tristan made sure his posture was upright and put himself back into the mindset of having to attend royal court with his parents and half-siblings. "I am Lord Tristan, ruler of the Fey Realm. This is my companion, Obadai."

The seneschal curtly nodded and went to the doors, rapping three times with his rod. The doors swung inward, and he cleared his throat. "Announcing the Lord Tristan, ruler of the Fey Realm, and his companion Obadai."

The throne room was cramped. A spacious enough room on its own, but it was filled with tables that showed troop movements, dozens upon dozens of scrolls, inkwells, quills – all manner of objects related to war and strategy. Seated upon the throne was a man in his early thirties or late twenties. Human, with just a trace of Demihuman heritage somewhere in the mix, as he had elongated canines and a tuft of fur on the back of his neck.

"Approach, Lord Tristan." His voice was calm and commanding; a soft voice that Tristan knew was capable of convincing others to do what the man desired.

Tristan walked forward and bowed, "Prince Merrill, thank you for seeing me." He stood up straight, "I came to you for two reasons. The first is that I took Rigger's Cove. Captured, as it were, on behalf of the Pathfinders you hired whom I conveyed to this land."

The Prince sat up and leaned forward on his throne, "Oh? And why would you do this?"

Tristan glanced at the nearby maps, "The Founts accosted me and wanted to search my ships. I rejected that order, and they wanted to confiscate my trade goods." The map showed estimated troop positions, and from what Tristan observed, the forces were massing on a large, flat expanse of land near the center of the landmass – equidistant from both Prince Merrill's keep and his brother's. Bringing his gaze back to Prince Merrill, Tristan continued; "The second reason I am here is because I want the contract to ship your mead across the world on my burgeoning trade fleet."

The Prince let out a barking laugh, "And what makes you think I'd trust an Elf? One claiming to be from another Realm, no less?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Tristan smirked, "I was going to offer to help you in your efforts. I am an essence-weaver and dragonslayer."

A figure walked up next to the throne. An older woman, dressed in a fine if modest gown of dark green. "His highness has essence-weavers, Lord Tristan." She dipped her chin slightly, "I am Marineaux Fovron."

Tristan recognized the last name almost immediately, "Fovron as in the Fovros cadet house?" He tapped his chest plate with his held hands, "You would know my former house. My seal is under my armor, on a chain around my neck."

Felicity reached down and grabbed the seal, pulling it out. The woman gasped, "Essence-weaving while your hands are bound? How?"

Tristan chuckled, "Elf secret." Guards lowered weapons, and he tapped the emblem now clearly visible, "You can see I earned the favor of King Arinclex VIII, his Archon, and I am an Anorox."

"The dragonslayers?"

"The same," Tristan replied. "I'm the half-elf child. Well, if you were not around in the past eighteen years, you would not know who I am."

She nodded tersely, "I knew your grandfather. Hurvun, I believe was his name. And no, I have not been to Bhant in some time." She looked to Prince Merrill, "My liege, this man comes from one of the most prestigious and prominent families. His grandfather is the one who stopped the Dragonstorm."

The prince's eyes went wide and he looked at Tristan, "This is true?" Tristan nodded, and the man snapped his fingers. "Unbind him immediately."

Tristan was let loose of the restraints and he adjusted the family crest slightly so it would hang more prominently. "Thank you for the trust." He gestured to Obadai, "My advisor has told me that helping your claim is but one avenue open to me. Prince Roland, I understand, has an equal claim to your father's throne." This drew looks of consternation and a grim, tight frown from Prince Merrill. "But," Tristan continued, "I wanted to know if you would be willing to utilize me as an emissary."

"For what purpose?" Prince Merrill asked.

"I know it is not uncommon to partition out the realm between heirs. And I am no admirer of unnecessary bloodshed. I want to propose that you draw up terms to split Maladonia with your brother, forming two equal kingdoms. I, as a foreign ruler of equal standing – as I rule an entire Realm – will be able to facilitate such talks."

"Out of the question!" Merrill shouted as he stood. "My brother is a vicious bastard who seeks my rightful throne. There will be no peace. He will die, and I will rule. That is all." He sat back down and put a hand to the crown atop his head. "I have the crown, scepter, and sword. The ancestral seat is mine." He rapped his knuckles on the throne, carved with flowers and bees, busy harvesting the pollen to make honey. "I am the rightful heir."

Tristan sighed, "I figured that would be your response. Well, I will swear myself to your cause if you guarantee that your exclusive trade contract with the mead industry of Maladonia is mine."

The man raised his chin, "What do you bring to our side? You have no army. No retinue follows in your steps. A few trade ships in all likelihood, which are not going to help as my foe does not have a navy and the battle will be on land."

Tristan turned to Obadai and gestured, "My friend, if you will be so kind."

Obadai walked forward slightly and bowed, "I am Obadai Grimtome, former Archon of the Kingdom of Bhant, and advisor to King Arinclex VIII." He straightened his posture and continued, "I have the essence capacity to perform Twelfth Order spells. Such a display should be more than adequate to cow any foes." Raising his fingers, he snapped them, "I could obliterate an army like that if I was so inclined.

Marineaux scoffed, "Twelfth Order? Please. There are only, what, a hundred people across the whole Mortal Realm capable of that spellcraft."

Tristan shook his head, "And what can you do, if I may be so bold to ask?"

"Now why would I reveal that?" she replied.

"Fair enough." Tristan faced the Prince once more. "You could always promise the contract now, and then actually deliver when Obadai here does the deed." He swallowed down the knot in his throat that he was, effectively, giving Obadai the go-ahead to annihilate an entire army with essence-weaving. Something that Tristan never thought possible.

"We go to the front, in that case," Prince Merrill replied. "And by we, I mean you may accompany my last group of levies who are being gathered." He snapped his fingers, and several guards approached and knelt. "Men, you will report back on the efforts of these two. If this Archon does indeed do what he claims he can do, then you are to return with haste to inform me." He looked up to Tristan, "You have the contract, on the condition that the army is destroyed."

"It will be easy enough," Obadai replied. "As long as they do not have any essence-weavers of the Archon title."

"It is possible," Marineaux replied, "As there was an Archon serving the now-deceased monarch who went missing during the skirmish in the castle. They could be working on behalf of Prince Roland."

Tristan frowned slightly but kept his voice neutral despite the unease building in his stomach. "We will go to this front and see what we can do." He turned to face Obadai, "Let's go. I need some fresh air."

He was led outside by the guards and the two were given quarters just outside of the fortified castle proper. Laying in bed, Felicity curled up next to him, and Tristan looked up at the ceiling. Obadai was in a bed nearby, and Tristan glanced over at him. "Are you…really going to kill an entire army?"

Obadai sighed, "I've done large scale spells before. Enormous ones, in fact. I could kill them all with a massive fire elementalism spell."

"That's not what I meant," Tristan replied. "You're okay with it? Killing who knows how many?"

"They will die regardless. If the two armies clash, then many, many more will die – from both sides. In this case, Tristan, it is a choice of what benefits me, and therefore you, the most? Risking our necks in battle? No, that's not happening. You've never experienced a war. I have. They are messy, violent, and many, many people die. Is it not kinder to obliterate a regiment – not the whole army – and use that to cow the rest into submission?"

"No…that makes sense," Tristan replied as he laid back again.

"Do not think on it too much," Obadai said softly. "You are not taking on this burden, I am. It is just more bodies I can attribute to my name." He coughed slightly. "But," he said regaining his breath, "Such a large spell will drain me precipitously."

"Give me an idea of the area you'll be affecting."

"The big area spells that are used are typically Third Order or higher," Obadai replied. "Some just require people to be able to hear you – like your Command, which is an exception to the general rule of Third Order or higher I mentioned."

"Specifically elementalism? If you plan on using fire, at least."

"It depends on the essence-weaver, their bloodline capabilities – which if favoring certain elements such as your Winterbloom and ice elementalism – can have a drastic effect on how potent the spell is. Be that area, range, injury inflicted, or some combination of all the above." He chuckled, "Me, with a Twelfth Order fire elementalism spell? I can affect a thousand-foot across area in the shape of a circle. The spell I plan on using is called Ring of the Forgotten Flame."

Tristan tried to envision the area but was having trouble. "Can you give me an idea of how far that is in layman's terms?"

"Sure. The distance between Argont's Resolve and The Choke," Obadai replied, referencing the outer walls of Bhant's Holdfast and the smithing and forging district.

Tristan could visualize the area, and he was shaken to his core. "That's a fifth of a mile…in a circle."

"That sounds about right."

Tristan shook his head, "That's incredible and so dangerous. No wonder only a hundred essence-weavers of your power exist."

Obadai chuckled, "Yes, it is a mighty power. But it has a cost. Twelfth Order is just about the upper end of my limits. And my essence does not return rapidly. I will be a liability for quite a while."

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