The King and Queen once sparred for nine hours to determine who could choose supper that evening.
Mirranian rumor
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Marcus wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, resisting the urge to glare at the sun. It would win that particular staring match, and it wasn't even really the sun that was making him sweat.
No, it was the fact that he had been double checking every runic formation on the Mirranian Gate for the last several hours, and it was exhausting. It also generated some grumbling, though none where he could hear.
Quite a few of the Academy's better enchanters were recruited rather than trained, and it showed in their attitude.
Marcus shook his head, nodding to his apprentices. Donna and Barcus cleared the area, literally herding people away, and he looked up before moving to the final phase. The dome was mostly done, just the very top needing to be filled with stone.
He wasn't sure when domes—more accurately called spheres, since they closed up underground too—had become the norm, but he couldn't think of a better defense than a literal wall of enchanted rock. And maybe that was his failure, but the Empire seemed to agree, and the Empire tended to know what it was doing.
A stone mage caught his eyes, staring at him for a second before moving on, and Marcus shook his head. He had a lot to do today, and this needed to get done. The sooner Mirrania was linked to the Empire, the sooner they could benefit from the boom in trade.
Marcus exhaled, grasping the connection. The Imperial network was getting bloated, and though he wasn't at his limit, each link increased how much strain he needed to endure. The Gates themselves cared little, but then stone was known for its indifference to stress.
He pushed the connection outwards before his thoughts could get even stranger, closing his eyes to watch a host of distant dots. Some further, some closer, but all within reach. No matter how far one would be, they would always be within reach.
Latching onto the one he knew to be placed in Strada, for what was location but distance compared to a mental map, and mentally extinguished the others from his perception. The mental image of this pace had changed a few times already, but this one felt better than the last. More clear, and easier to keep a hold of.
Sadly, and despite having access to the Mirror Dimension, this was not a process he could easily compare with another. Maybe one day he would find one of himself with this skill, but it hadn't happened yet.
For all that it was all Marcus, some of his brothers led strange lives.
The link solidified, and he eased himself off the connection, wiping a small trail of blood from his nose. Bleeding at all wasn't great, but this would be the last Gate he would connect to that network for a while.
Two more for Mirrania, creating a three-Gate network in his own Kingdom, and then a few more loose Gates at… other places. He wasn't going to think about that too hard yet, not with how much preparation that was going to take.
"Donna, open the link to Strada," he said, accepting a waterskin from Barcus. "Thank you. Oh, and don't let the Viziers set up shop here. Mirrania will be overseeing its own network, and our representative can work out a schedule with the other cities."
Meaning that if anyone wanted to get into Mirrania via his network, they would need to first enter Redwater. Which, considering that his Academy was close by and that it hosted one of the largest standing armies in the Kingdom, was well fortified.
Commander Mirre and her city watch might disagree, but it was an army, and one that would be stationed at Redwater for the foreseeable future.
Marcus stretched his back again, weaving a simple third-tier general purpose healing matrix. Frivolous it might be, it worked wonders for sore muscles. He sighed as it spread through him, and he watched Donna attune the Gate to Strada.
She smiled at him, excitement written plain on her face, and he gave her a tired smile. It was good that those two were progressing, because he was going to need their help down in the Dungeon.
The more of it they could do, the less attention he would need to create one. Which might be important if, say, a dozen Calamities were at the gates, and they needed to get the fuck out right this second.
He turned back to the city, starting his walk back to the Academy the slow way, and leaving behind the forty-odd people still working on the area. More had to be done, the dome finished and the road properly linked up, but that wasn't his problem.
It allowed his blooming headache to settle, which was a bonus, but honestly, he enjoyed being able to take it easy. Teleporting everywhere was nice—and he doubted it would ever get old—but now he didn't need to, and some mild sightseeing never hurt anybody.
People got to see his face, too. The Royal Guard stopped anyone from getting close, including one very deranged woman trying to throw articles of clothing at him, but it was necessary to be seen. He was still king, as much as he spent time on other pursuits these days. Reminding people of that would stop them from growing too apathetic.
Or so he hoped. Maybe nobody cared, and that was fine too. It would be a lie to say he cared about every member of his kingdom in turn. He cared as a concept, but there were far too many souls to grow attached to every single one.
The Academy soon welcomed him, and he moved up the stairs with his guards trailing behind. Clearing the only way between the floors just for him was rather disruptive, after all, and there wasn't a way to teleport to the top floor. Neither would there be.
Yonas had nearly raised his voice when he'd discussed it with the man, which, for him, was the equivalent of cursing. Apparently the security risks were substantial.
Marcus opened the door to his private… floor. That was still weird to say. But he opened the door all the same, and blinked at the sight that greeted him.
Elly was standing in the small kitchen, and appeared to be… baking. Marcus opened his mouth, closed it, then grew suspicious.
"You don't bake," he declared. "And you also heard me coming, which means that this is a cruel ploy to make fun of me."
She turned, a slice of buttered bread in hand. "How dare you suggest that I stole this from the bakery down the street, using the stealth cloak you made me while also bribing a small child with a honeyed apple for his silence. My honor is inspunged. Inspunged, I say."
"That's not a word," Marcus pointed out, teleporting the slice of bread to his own hand. He crunched, ignoring how she'd palmed a knife. She wouldn't dare. "The Mirranian Gate is done, by the way."
Elly made the knife dance, finally using it to slice another piece of bread for herself. "You're lucky I don't want to damage your pretty face, bread thief."
"You're the one who stole it," he countered. "And stealing from a thief isn't theft. I think. Wait, I'm not actually sure. I remember a law being passed during my father's reign about redistributing bandit spoils to the local villages, but I don't think that applies here."
She snorted, buttering her bread again. He contemplated stealing that too, but decided it wasn't worth it. She might actually stab him, and then he'd have to stab her back, and she would accuse him of flirting again.
He dropped into one of the chairs, fetching one of the two cups Elly had prepared. She had heard him coming, he knew it. The one he took was tea, so he returned it and teleported the other to himself. Wine, much better.
"I'm going to be enlarging the Academy today," he said, taking a sip. "The stabilization runes are all done, and in a few hours it's going to be evacuated. I'm headed down to double check the ritual circle in a bit."
Elly dropped into a chair next to his own, nudging his foot from where it was reclined on the table. He rolled his eyes, dropping them to the floor. She snorted. "I'm the one who was raised on the battlefield, yet my manners are better than yours. Unbelievable. And to be expected, since I'm obviously much more elegant than you are. Oh, and Xathar wanted me to tell you to let him in here. He wants to explore."
"That bloody horse never asks me for anything directly," Marcus grumbled, waving his hand for dramatic effect. The portal shimmered into view, and Xathar came walking out. Marcus glared. "No blood on the floor."
Xathar reluctantly dropped the leg he was munching on, though how he managed to take it with him from the Hells, Marcus would never know. Maybe the demon was so attached to it his soul considered it a part of his body, and thus created one for this realm.
"Bush mage," the demon greeted, dipping his head onto Marcus' lap. He was briefly surprised at the affection, and scratched Xathar behind the ear, until he heard a slurp. So much for his wine. "Mistress."
Elly waved. Marcus sighed. "Don't make him call you mistress. It's weird."
"Told you he would protest." Elly grinned. "You owe me two of the Unborn."
Xathar narrowed his eyes. "That was a complaint, not a protest. It doesn't count."
Marcus, for his own sanity, ignored their bickering and summoned Vess, who would, at the least, provide some intelligent conversation.
Vess strode through the portal with a flat, annoyed look on her face, ignoring decorum to throw herself into a chair. Marcus waved hesitantly. "Bad time? You know you can just refuse the summons, right?"
"I was brooding, and I might as well do that here," she replied, crossing her arms. "How hard would it be to convince you to kill a demon prince?"
He paused, tilting his head. "Vistus seemed a little upset the last time I did it, since apparently that can be taken as an act of war, but I suppose I could wear a sack over my head, or something. Why do you want them dead?"
"One of my temporary dwellings was in their borders." Vess sighed deeply, one hand tapping the armrest. "The bitch sent two dozen succubi to harass me until I left. Mark my words, I'll make that cunt gargle her own blood."
Prince was gender neutral, right. How surprisingly progressive for literal demons. Marcus offered a sympathetic hum. "We could move up me creating your own home. Now that I've actually been to the Hells, and know how to make Gates, it shouldn't be too hard to find a really isolated piece of land and connect it to wherever you wish."
"I might take you up on that," she replied, shifting her posture until it wasn't quite so… relaxed. "What are those two bickering about?"
"Me, or more accurately, something I said. Wine?"
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
The Academy was empty, as it very well should be. His Council had arranged it, and the Royal Guards had double checked. There was no studious mage hidden in some corner of the library, and there were no lovers tucked away where none would find them.
If there were, they'd probably be fine. Or maybe he had overlooked something, and they would be unmade as the very building blocks of their bodies stretched apart over a hundred feet.
This was ritual magic, and it wasn't fucking around.
Gretched and two dozen of her apprentices were standing by, because spatially enlarging the Academy took far, far more power than he had access to. Recruiting Gretched had been an excellent idea.
Thanks, past me. And also past Vess.
He turned to them, finding the mildly bored Gretched surrounded by serious-faced pupils. He supposed that was fair. Gretched liked to do her own thing, run her own project and train her own people. Being drafted to help power an achievement that she didn't have anything to do with would be rather boring for her.
Still, he'd made her a deal when she joined the Academy, and so her assistance was his whenever he needed it.
Marcus clapped his hands together, rather unnecessarily focusing everyone's attention on him. "We'll be starting in a few minutes. I'll be guiding the overall ritual, with Gretched both providing me support and organizing your power. If something were to go wrong, disengage. Don't kill yourself trying to save a ritual we can perform again tomorrow."
Everyone nodded, and he turned to the building. They had to be outside, unfortunately, so a crowd had formed, but Mirre's city watch was keeping everyone away. Thankfully, spatial rituals, like most so-called higher branches of magic, were fairly subtle.
Its effects could be showy, but unlike a water mage, he didn't need water. Or a forest to practice druidism, and on and on it went. No, he just needed power, a relatively simple enlargement spell magnified twentyfold, and enough experience to actually control that much energy.
Easy peasy.
Still, spatial magic came to him easily, like usual. Perspective, it was called. Some called it weight. It was most notable in Archmages, though not unique to them. Affinity was the word he liked best. A connection to whatever magic you used, and the universe itself meeting you halfway.
The ritual started gently. Gretched coaxed the power from her pupils together a few people at the time, bundling them into one greater stream, and fed it to Marcus. He, in turn, used it to power the containment and barrier runes inscribed into the Academy, which had kept nearly the entire enchanting department busy for days now.
It was easy, and it didn't matter how quickly—or slowly—one powered them. The runes proved stable, as more and more power flooded through the stream, he began building up a reservoir. Around and around he twisted the stream, leaning on the very runes he just activated to contain it all.
Gretched linked the final pupil into the ritual, and from there things became harder. Mistakes would be dangerous now, and if things went really wrong, the Academy could be heavily damaged.
Marcus breathed slowly, using it to guide his own efforts, and infused his will into the ritual. More than feeling it, now he was it, and he wanted it to stretch. He wanted one to become eleven, for reality to move but only in certain ways. Space strained, because it did not like being told what to do, and he insisted that reality should conform to his wishes.
Something groaned, as if the universe itself had deigned to react, and a fundamental force of the cosmos slowly unspooled. The inner side of the Academy wall stretched out, doubling the internal space then doubling it again. Something shook, and Marcus strained to stabilize the released energy.
A presence bloomed, rushing to his aid like an excited pup, and it was joined by another moments later. That one stepped forward with the solidity of stone, unflappable and calm. But also brittle, and pondering, where the pup flowed like water, dancing from one issue to another.
Marcus left the containment to his apprentices, holding the enlarged space where it was. Slowly, slowly, he convinced it that this was the natural order of things, and nudged the runes into position. He released the working like one would sit on an unstable chair, hesitantly and ready to jump up at a moment's notice.
But the chair held, space didn't violently collapse inward, and Marcus smiled through the wave of exhaustion. He nodded to a pair of Academy guards, who opened the doors.
Everything inside looked normal, as it should be. Since the original space was intact—though the rooms bordering the wall would need new, well, walls—it would eventually become a nightmarish labyrinth of hallways, rooms and dead ends.
It ticked his 'insane mage building a tower of madness' fancy, so he kind of liked it.
He was also going to put his foot down and insist that the new expansions on the fifteenth floor was to be put to use, and not turned into more personal space for himself. He barely knew what to do with it as it was.
There was much celebration, and even a speech by the Council, but Marcus was wiped. Both finishing the Gate and expanding the Academy in one day had been on purpose, mostly to impress, but while he saw the logic, it was far from easy.
So he stayed only as long as he had to, and promptly retreated back to the castle. He was kind of living in the Academy, since it just had more things that interested him, but hey, he was king. Living in two, or even more, places at the time was perfectly acceptable.
Hells, he knew a few nobles that had five manors, most of them rarely used. Which was a massive waste of money, in his opinion. He could raise several thousand soldiers for that much wealth.
Marcus sighed when he finally stepped into the castle, swiftly relocating to his room before anyone could interrupt. Which almost worked, except Helios ambushed him not two hallways before his destination.
"My king," the man greeted, sounding suspiciously formal. "Duchess Soema and Duke Hargraf are awaiting you in the throne room."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I don't have a meeting with either of them."
"You do, your grace," Helios replied, sounding apologetic. "I have made one in your name. It was the only way to avoid them from marching towards the Academy and interrupting your ritual."
He didn't reply for a moment, which made the duke lower his head further, before sighing. "Fine. Thank you, but don't make a habit out of that. My time is my time, and I'll decide how I spend it."
"Of course." The man straightened, a flash of relief quickly replaced by a mild smile. "Shall we?"
Marcus walked instead of answering, and fortune be good, a group of twenty Royal Guards were marching up the stairs. They paused when he waved over their lieutenant. The woman—he was finally starting to recognize gender, no matter how thoroughly Yonas designed their armor—saluted. "Sir?"
"You're with me. We're going to the throne room, and when we get inside, make a half ring around the throne. I'm going for intimidation and displeasure, but no actual aggression. Think you can handle that?"
"Sir," she replied, sounding faintly amused. It was gone the next moment, and she turned to her men. "Fin, report to the captain. Everyone else, shock and awe."
Marcus watched them turn, not so easy to do on a narrow stairway, and glanced at the one named Fin. The man was probably going to fetch them replacements for whatever assignment they were on.
Either way, Marcus followed them to the throne room, and entered from one of the side doors. It put him to the side and just behind the throne, and the moment he was through, the Royal Guards streamed past him. The sound of marching feet and clanging armor drowned out everything else, and he ascended to his seat while they formed up.
It created a ring of steel around the throne, and Marcus glanced at Helios when the man followed him up. The Duke pivoted almost smoothly enough to cover for his mistake, joining his fellow nobles instead.
Marcus sat, shifted to make himself comfortable, then finally looked out over the room. It was empty of sycophants and attendants, which was good, but the three Dukes had brought a few family members. Hells, Soema had brought most of her barons.
But most surprising was Mitzi. She was standing just behind her father, and without a word having been said, he was already tired of the politics. "Mitzi, get over here. Hargraf, she's the heir to the throne, not your daughter. Don't pull something like that again. Soema, you're the representative of your lands, so the barons are not needed here."
Nobody moved for a second, and then Mitzi slinked forward to take the seat just below his own. Soema dismissed her barons, who seemed on the verge of protesting, but a hard glare made them move. Helios nodded to his brother, who quietly left the room.
Marcus stretched, spotting Otmon hiding in the shadows. He rolled his eyes. "Good. Now, I've had a busy day, and I'm tired. So if that was the plan, congratulations. I'm now slightly more likely to cave to your demands so that you'll leave me alone. I'm also at the line just before my patience runs out, so tread carefully. Mitzi?"
"Of course, your grace," his heir replied, her tone almost entirely normal. "Duchess Soema, what do you bring before the king?"
Soema stepped forward, bowing her head. "Your majesty. The conversion from our own coin to the Imperial ducat is nearing completion. However, when first this plan was put in motion, a promise was made that internal trade would still be conducted in the old way."
"And no law forbids you from trading with it," Marcus replied. "What is your point?"
The Duchess' expression tightened. "You have started converting the coin using the goldsmiths here in Redwater, your grace, and at a profit to those who bring their wealth here. This will cripple us."
"It will cripple those who cling to the old ways," he corrected. Thank the Silent Gods Vess foresaw this. "Those who make use of the ducat will see very little disruption in trade, and in fact, will profit greatly. The Redwater Gate is active, my nobles. The whole Empire is open to you. Soon both the moderates and the isolationists will have one of their own, and local resource limitations will be a thing of the past."
Which sounded good, and would be good to the common man, but not so much for those who controlled the current system. And that was normally the kind of switch that would invite civil strife, if not outright war.
Marcus looked at the Duchess, staring at her until she lowered her head. "The isolationists merely wish to be assured that Imperial markets will not undercut our own, your grace."
"Then you may rest assured, because agreements have been negotiated and drawn up for that problem." Marcus kept looking at her until she stepped back, then turned away. That had been far from what she wanted to say, but well, there wasn't much she could do. "Mitzi."
His heir's voice rang through the room. "Duke Hargraf, what do you bring before the king?"
The duke stepped forward, and the dance began again. Marcus suppressed a sigh.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Carl watched the Archmage make his way towards his small fleet, a group of guards and mages in tow, and glanced at the sea. This had been in the works for nearly two weeks now, and it had kept his captains busy, but now the time had come.
The king was to sail into the sea, locate a trench, and descend to the bottom. Apparently the man was going to build a Gate there, though for what purpose Carl didn't know.
He didn't care to know, either. All he knew was that the king's life was now in his hands, and if something were to happen, that his queen would flay him alive.
I should have stayed on Parna.
Carl glanced at the sea again, feeling a thrill of fear and excitement both.
Then again, maybe this would be interesting. His life hadn't been, not since their arrival to Mirrania and the Long Night on the Sea. He felt his blood start to flow, and inhaled the salty air.
Did you miss me, little beasties? Are you angry at how I butcher you by the hundreds, here in the shallow bay? Well, I'm coming, and I bring the terror of stars with me.
Afterword
Patreon (10 and 15 chapters ahead)
Discord (2 chapters ahead for free)