Irina rode quickly with her entourage.
Why, why, why must this happen now? I thought we prevented it!
She dismounted her horse upon arrival at the palace and rushed into the throne room. A man in his late forties was also in the throne room, surrounded by palace guards and military captains. He had an unshaven beard, a rough appearance and a blindfold covering a missing eye.
The Warmarshal—Zevo Zizkarin. A veteran of the Valk–Tytia conflict, feared by the Imperials.
"Archmagus Irina Anjevine. Welcome—"
"Prince Regent Vaenir WHAT is the meaning of this?!" she screamed angrily.
Sir Harketh placed a hand on the hilt of his sword but removed it when Vaenir gestured for him to be at ease. Zizkarin observed in silence.
"I do not understand. What seems to be the matter?" Vaenir said, feigning ignorance.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about! My husband," she panted, "Baron Stavross! How could you let him die?! By the hands of a brute, no less—WHOM YOU'VE MADE INTO YOUR ROYAL GUARD!" she screamed with tears forming in her eyes. "You explicitly outlawed murder in the tournament, so why?!"
"Calm down, Lady Anjevine. It was an unfortunate accident, nothing more. He died of his wounds. He knew the risks when he signed up for the Great Tournament," Vaenir replied nonchalantly.
"Are you insulting my intelligence, Prince?! I know you are fully aware that there's no way that wasn't planned!"
"Watch your tone, Archmagus," Sir Harketh said coldly, his hand returning to his sword grip.
"By Myriam! You let that brute murder my husband and act stupid?! You will pay for this, Prince!"
"Archmagus, contain yourself. I've had enough of your outburst. Don't act like you loved old Stavross, considering our own… hedonistic tendencies," Vaenir said, his expression sinister. "The death of your husband is unfortunate. Indeed, I too have lost a valuable baron and swordsman. I am sorry for your loss."
Irina's expression darkened. She did care for Stavross—though not as much as she was making it out to be.
"We will discuss this later as we are in the middle of a meeting. What of your task? Have you acquired the reports I ordered you to make on the Empire's magical progression?"
Irina frowned at the abrupt change of subject but obliged regardless.
"Yes. The Empire has found rare mana nodes underground near our borders. Their magical research may catch up to ours sooner than we think."
"The Empire tried to assassinate me on the day of the Great Tournament."
"Huh?"
"Indeed. They were bold enough to send one of their best. A tattoo of the Imperial raven, covered in blood on the corpse's back."
"The Order of the Blood Ravens?"
"They have grown bold. This is more or less a direct declaration of war and I intend to prepare a defence."
"We would lose. There isn't really much we can do in our weakened state now."
"That is where the Warmarshal comes into play."
She looked at his direction as he extended his hand.
"Praise Myriam, Archmagus," Zizkarin finally greeted her.
"All praise to Matrem Myriam, Warmarshal Zizkarin," Irina replied, still visibly furious about her husband's death being dismissed so easily.
"Hah, hah, hah. The Imperials are a bit too late with their magical research." Zizkarin held what looked like an ornate wooden stick, peculiarly shaped, with metal hinges built into its design. "Our technology has already surpassed theirs. Metalwork from Ironhold has advanced faster than expected."
"Do you know what he is holding, Archmagus?" Vaenir asked, smirking.
"No, Your Royal Highness." she looked perplexed, trying to figure out what it was.
"This is called a handgonne. A weapon that fires pellets or bullets. As of now it can penetrate everything except plate armour and it produces a thunderous roar that would scare off even seasoned soldiers. The ammunition is easy to carry and within minutes of training even a peasant can kill a trained swordsman at close range," Zizkarin explained.
Irina's jaw dropped. "This would revolutionise armies and warfare."
"Unfortunately, they are incredibly expensive to produce at present so production has halted until we find a way to mass-produce them. We have assembled a battalion of soldiers equipped with hand cannons, should the need arise," Vaenir said.
"Magic is still significantly more powerful. However, if thousands of peasants could wield this weapon, it would render mage battalions useless," Irina followed-up.
"Indeed. Nonetheless, send me your full report by next week. Archmagus, as for Stavross, we will hold the funeral service tomorrow," Vaenir replied. "Go and rest, please. You've had a long journey and I intend to discuss further with Lord Zizkarin here."
She reluctantly agreed, her back hurts from the ride.
Palace guards escorted Irina outside. She was still furious when she mounted her horse and rode towards her cottage. It lay within the third wall of Halzyon, still close to the castle so she could be summoned quickly if needed.
Her cottage was luxurious and custom-made, fit for a noblewoman serving in the king's council. She immediately ran to her bed and started crying.
No… I can't let this happen.
She wiped the tears off her face and held her crystal ball close.
"The prophecy… Was the reason we had to kill poor Ventren." she murmured to herself. "But if he is still alive, for some reason… Then all was for naught."