Chapter 537: Help As Best We Can

“Durran told me you said that these were made to kill gods,” Argrave said, staring down upon a ballista. It was entirely metallic, even the string that fired the bolt. He had seen it fire, and when it did, it let out a deep resonating rumble that might be used for music were it not so intimidating. He turned his head to its maker, Dario. “Was that a bluff?”

Dario sat on a chair, his crutches at his side. His arms were wrapped in bandages—if they weren’t wrapped, they would bleed profusely. He had braces on his legs that kept them from bending. His bones were more pliable than others, and without the braces his limbs would bend and eventually snap if he put excessive pressure on them. In summary, he was totally and utterly ruined after assisting the Heralds in trying to keep Argrave from Sandelabara. But still he lived, and surprisingly... still he served.

Dario gestured at it weakly. “When I had one strapped to my arm, the Heralds powered them. These models are magic or lightning powered, like the rest of my people’s work. They’re less powerful, but still miles ahead of any weapons your army has. They can kill lesser gods, damage greater ones. As for ancient gods, I’m skeptical.”Follow current novels at novelhall.com)

“How many have you made?” Argrave asked, touching it and moving it about with his hand.

“About two thousand.”

Argrave stopped and looked at him. “I said ‘made,’ not ‘will make.’”

Dario grabbed his crutches and rose. “And I said two thousand.”

Argrave followed the crippled master artificer as he shambled through his workshop. Though technically imprisoned, Elenore had ordered a workshop built in Vysenn that employed the magma in the volcano to operate forges of higher metals—both dwarven, and what the subterranean mountain people used for their golems. Considering Gerechtigkeit was bound to commandeer golems when he descended, they couldn’t make any constructs. Instead, Dario made these ballistae en masse. Argrave hadn’t been expecting much, but Dario led him into another room.

Rows of these weapons of war spread out before Argrave, all of them so recently forged that they hadn’t even collected dust. Each and every one looked factory made. He supposed the casting part would be rather easy to perfect, but as far as he knew, Dario would have to manually carve energy pathways that transferred power from a core into the metal to give it power and purpose.

Argrave looked around in wonder. “Did Elenore give you assistants?”

“She offered, but I turned them away. Even I won’t give away my people’s secrets so easily. All I have are constant guards,” Dario referenced, looking back where a few armored mages watched vigilantly. “I’ve decided to make these weapons every second I’m awake. It’s harder to think about what I’ve done when I’m working. There’s just the heat of the forge reminding me that if I make a mistake, I’ll lose fingers or worse. Then, I chisel the energy pathways into the ballista and its power core until I run out of raw materials.”

“How did you learn all of this? I don’t remember you in the place I came from,” Argrave said bluntly.

“I wasn’t special. Right tool, right place, right time. The Heralds led me, and I learned from dreams,” Dario recounted. “Forgotten methods. Forgotten forges. They showed me the Iron Giants and much more. Our people were devastated by golems in the last cycle... yet still, we haven’t fully learned our lesson.” He looked to Argrave. “I’ll work day and night until my body gives up. But I hope I can ask something of you, Your Majesty.”

“...go ahead,” Argrave gestured.

“Consider my perspective. Give up this foolish pursuit, and return Sophia to the Heralds.” He ground his walking aids against the ground. “And if you don’t... at least save my people.”

Dario didn’t wait for an answer. He walked down, crutches clinking against the stone, until he got to his workbench. There, the magma of Vysenn roared heat into the room. He merely got back to work, casting metal as he chiseled energy pathways into the pieces which had already been forged.

Argrave examined the ballistae once more. He had come here to get a little more insurance against Sataistador for this coming meeting, but Elenore said that he might be surprised by what he saw. He agreed with her sentiment. Dario had made something suitable to arm an army. If these ballistae could be powered, they would have a tremendous advantage against the forces of the Great Chu.

Another reason to thank Melanie, thought Argrave as he tapped a ballista’s brace. He looked with pity at the man broken far beyond what magic could fix. Maybe in another life... things didn’t have to end this way.

Then again, this wasn’t the end.

#####

Argrave had chosen to meet with Sataistador near Castle Cookpot in a wide-open plain. Long ago, he and Anneliese had fought against the tephramancers of the Vysenn people in this region. Now, the alabaster-skinned tribes were largely under the thumb of Vasquer. Argrave had kept his promise and vacated their land after the business in Sandelabara, but extended contact with Vasquer and witnessing the refugees living extremely well in Blackgard had led to something of a voluntary diaspora.

Now, the tribes even permitted traders, and Elenore had obviously been allowed to construct the workshop Dario and other craftsmen resided in. It was somewhat colonialist, but the tribesmen certainly weren’t being treated unfairly. About a thousand of their number had joined the army, and were undergoing basic training as Argrave stood here. Warriors that were fearless and regenerative—the Veidimen warriors would make great troops out of them, and in return, their families would be living in the shelter of Blackgard while the troops themselves earning a high salary.

“The two of you... you work well together.” Sataistador sighed. “Would that I had a woman like yours. I intended to groom Melanie for that role, but she seemed to view you as a better prospect than me. No matter. How would you like me to factor in?”

“The liquid fire, the magic, the docks—we’ll handle that on our end. All we want from you is to abate the pressure the gods of the Qircassian Coalition cause. Hunt them, tear them apart, and eat them alive.” Argrave gestured. “Sounds like something you’d enjoy.”

“That’s it? You don’t intend for me to distract the more notable members of the Qircassian Coalition?”

“The only one of those I truly fear is the leader. Qircassia is a god of land and sky. The sea has always been his weak point.”

Sataistador stewed. “You’re relying on me a fair bit all the same.”

“Not really. Law is easily on Qircassia’s level. He’s my patron, and I now how to make him tick.” Argrave tapped his chest. “I chose my allies prudently.”

Sataistador clicked his tongue, then gave a nod. “Expect my aid, then. But when?”

“Not too long...” Argrave began, explaining things to Sataistador.

#####

With Sataistador’s assistance reaffirmed, Argrave and Anneliese returned to Blackgard. Tomorrow, Argrave intended to speak with the gods comprising the Blackgard Union. He felt the support of some, like Veiden, was guaranteed. The others... he didn’t know what he might have to offer to get them to bend.

But behind this gigantic undertaking, a crux of it remained. Sophia, the seven-year-old girl rescued from the strange city of Sandelabara. Argrave’s duties kept him extremely busy, but he saw her at least once a day. Despite Elenore’s efforts to introduce highly competent caretakers that had reared the children of many great noble houses, Sophia trusted only Argrave—and to a lesser extent, Anneliese and Elenore. He had intended to give her a nice and calm life, but she actually wrote him an elegant letter pleading that she find some way to repay what Argrave had done. He half-thought Elenore had written it for her, but no—Sophia wanted to find some way to be helpful, despite being seven and severely traumatized.

Argrave was reluctant to do anything until Sophia started trying to clean the parliamentary hall. After, Argrave assigned tutors. Sophia felt even more indebted until Argrave managed to get through to her by saying Elenore was one of his most valuable people, and she went through the same tutoring. That sealed her fate; Sophia’s grand ambition became to be just like Elenore. His sister seemed somewhat baffled by this, and she clearly didn’t know how to deal with children, but she treated Sophia as kindly as she could. The young child badgered her with questions on how to best help the kingdom whenever they spoke.

And to that end, her desire to repay Argrave made a certain task all the easier.

Argrave opened the door, coming upon Sophia as she read a book diligently. She wore a green outfit in some imitation of Elenore, had her black hair done straight like Elenore, and her red eyes scanned the book with the same focus that Elenore often had. She was so focused that she didn’t even hear the door open. Argrave knelt beside her, and some seconds passed before Sophia noticed him with a gasp.

“Your Majesty!” she said, shocked as only a child could be.

“Who’s that?” Argrave said, looking around. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Everybody calls you that. I should, too,” she said guiltily.

“The people I like can call me Argrave. I say you can. What’s the matter—don’t you like me too? Come on...”

“...hello, Argrave,” she said shyly.

Argrave was a little disappointed she had corrected her speech impediment, frankly. He thought it was adorable to be called ‘Argwave.’ Still, he held his hand out and said, “Hello, Sophia. It’s time to visit Doctor Raven. Are you ready?”

Sophia nodded, took his hand, and rose. When he turned, Anneliese stood at the door, smiling. The three of them walked side-by-side to visit the Alchemist—now known in the parliamentary hall as ‘Doctor Raven,’ a name given by Argrave. Over the past few months, the Alchemist had been exploring the depth of Sophia’s power.

Today was especially important. Apparently, the Alchemist said he’d finally begun to somewhat comprehend Sophia’s power of creation.