Chapter 409: Hostile Negotiations

“I don’t think we need Aenflynn’s swords,” Merzhin said disapprovingly. “And I am getting a little tired of being left behind, my companions.”

Drestra froze in the middle of shouldering her pack.

‘Not now,’ she thought.

“Oi, Merzhin,” Cedric said. “Leave it lie.”

“I do not believe that I can,” the small Saint said from across the embers of the campfire. Around them, their escort of priests and knights were breaking camp. “The Ravener-spawn have been especially heinous as of late. Uldar has watched as—in the last while—they have struck with both more frequency and ferocity than ever before. The Holy Heroes must act together.”

“I agree,” Hart said, slipping on his pack.

“Holy Champion, now is not the time to arg—Wait…you agree?” Merzhin was taken aback.

“I do. The Ravener’s spawn are getting nastier lately, so we’ve gotta work together to stop them,” Hart continued. “But that doesn’t mean just the four of us, it means us and anyone else we can get to help. The army. The Generasians. The fae. Anyone. We need to be doing everything we can to get everyone we can.”

“True…but, this Aenflynn is toying with you!” Merzhin said. “And Lo did the fisherman trust the hungry pike, who left with the entire catch. Like in the parable, he lies and takes advantage. After all this time, I cannot imagine him taking these meetings with us for any other reason than his own amusement and the thought that—in desperation—we might fall prey to one of his mountingly unfair offers.”

Drestra fought to keep her face straight.

“Ain’t it our duty to keep tryin’ anythin’ we can for country an’ god, though?” Cedric said.

“…indeed. Apologies, I was letting my own feelings cloud our need to do what we must. And—in the end—these meetings cost us nothing while having the potential to generate more allies.” He placed his small hands together before himself. “I shall pray to Uldar that you are guided and that the miracle of success visits your negotiations. While in Dulforth healing the garrison and raising morale, I will say another prayer for your success. Hopefully, when we meet there, you will have positive news this time. And may Uldar’s grace smile upon the three of you.”

There was a pause.

“Aye, an’ you as well,” Cedric said.

“Nice save there, Cedric,” Hart said, walking between the Sage and the Chosen.

“Thanks,” the red-haired young man said. “Thought I was gonna choke on them ‘Uldar’s blessin’ words, but I managed to get ‘em out. Feels a bit ironic, an’ all, considerin’ Uldar might not be too happy with what we know…or what we’re about t’do.”

“We need to think about what happens if he finds out about…all of this,” Drestra said. “We want to be ready.”

“Hopefully, he won’t go full maniac on us. I’d hate to have to fight him,” Hart said.

Drestra looked at the Champion, surprised. “You’re afraid to fight him? I didn’t think you’d be afraid to fight anybody.”

Hart shrugged. “He’s a comrade. He might not be my friend, but he’s fought alongside me for more than a year. We’ve saved each other’s lives. We’ve killed together and broken bread together. And it’s never easy turning your sword toward an ally. It just isn’t.”

“Y’sound like yer talkin’ from experience,” Cedric said.

“That's because I am.”

For a few heartbeats, the only sounds heard were from the Heroes’ boots crunching through muddy snow.

“It stinks, doesn’t it?” Drestra thought about the traitors among her own people.

“It does,” was all Hart said. “But, let’s leave all that aside. You sure this is gonna work?”

“No,” Drestra said as they pushed through a thicket and into a hidden clearing. “But it will let us dictate terms. I’m tired of being led around by the nose.”

The Heroes paused at an unremarkable, dead tree.

“Aye, I’m tired of it too,” Cedric said grimly, drawing back his metal sheathed fist. “Let’s see if we can’t be the ones drivin’ the wagon for once.”

The Chosen drove his fist into the wood, and with a crash, it split apart, revealing a hollow in the south side of the tree. He stuck his hand in and felt around, grasping an object hidden deep inside the trunk. When his cupped hand emerged, it was holding an orb the size of a human head: a dungeon core.

“S’been a bit of a pain luggin’ this thing about, hidin’ it every time we move camp.” Cedric handed the dungeon core to Drestra.

“Don’t complain. Getting away to practise with it’s been even harder,” she said, pouring her mana into the core. “Last night, Merzhin nearly caught me: he’s going to get suspicious.”

“Well, I dunno about that,” Cedric said. “Y’ve always gone off doin’ your own thing ever since y’joined us. If anythin’, you’ve been spendin’ more time with us than before we found out about all o’ dis dungeon core business.”

She looked at Cedric and Hart for a long time. “Well, we’re united by purpose now.”

Hart snorted. “United by purpose now? What, are you saying dealing with the Ravener wasn’t purpose enough for you? Hah!”

“I guess not. Before, all we were doing was pushing down the Ravener for another hundred years. Some longer lived people would’ve had to deal with it in their lifetime again, which seemed pretty futile to me. And since I knew that, and it didn’t sit too well with me, I wasn’t really full of a lot of motivation. But now? Now we’re cutting the head off the snake.”

“Aye, fair enough,” Cedric said, looking at the dungeon core. “I thought fightin’ the Ravener was about as noble a purpose as I could think of….but bein’ sure that none o’ me grandkids’ll have t’deal wit’ the same threats we do, s’even better. Much better. Anyway, let’s get this done. Y’ready, Drestra? S’all gonna fall to you.”

“Hold on,” she said, closing her eyes and pouring more mana into the dungeon core.

After the Ravener-spawn attack in Coille forest, the three Heroes had searched for a full day before they’d found the chitterer dungeon and destroyed it, but they’d been too enthusiastic. Their plan had been to capture the dungeon core for Drestra, but by the time they were finished with the chitterers, every last chitterer was dead, the dungeon was wrecked and so was the dark orb. So, when they tracked the bone-charger dungeon a mile or so away, they weren’t about to make the same mistake twice so they curbed their enthusiasm, making capturing the orb the priority. They’d raided the dungeon, kept it fairly intact, smashed the bone-chargers and the behemoth serving the orb with prejudice, then claimed their prize: a living dungeon core for Drestra to explore, and eventually, control. For her plan to work, before they left the bone-charger dungeon to meet up with Merzhin, she’d need lots of practise, long sleepless nights of practice to reach a specific goal.

The process to get to that goal had been gruelling: the dungeon core’s inner mana pathways almost felt alien, and forcing it to do more than randomly making walls wasn’t a simple task. But, she had three advantages in her favour: the Mark offered the Sage an almost bottomless well of mana, vast amounts more than the Chosen, and he possessed far more than an average wizard. Her will was steel and her mind determined, and—if she set her mind to it—she could live without sleep for weeks. While Cedric and Hart kept watch, time and again she’d passed her mana through the core, focusing on something she’d done accidentally while touching the centre of the core the Generasians had: making monsters.

In the end, she’d managed to accomplish what she’d wanted, but she’d also found something unexpected, a startling revelation as it were: one that would change the way negotiations with Lord Aenflynn would go…and the entire war.

“Alright.” She slipped the dungeon core in her bag. “Let’s take control of our fate.”

The meeting place was much like Drestra remembered: an unchanging stone in a sea of change.

Each journey the Heroes had taken into the fae wilds through a fae gate was always different, the landscape had always changed. Sometimes they walked along green rolling hills. Other times, they crossed an endless meadow surrounded by trees that never seemed to come closer, no matter how long they walked toward them.

Today they were walking through cultivated lawns and hedges, among mazes of shiny green boxwoods sculpted into the shapes of life-like monsters, both large and small. They had even passed a tall bush pruned in the shape of a mage spellcasting: a literal hedge wizard. Yet, at the centre of a maze was the same destination they always found themselves arriving at.

Well tended flowers of a dozen shades were in full bloom, stretching out before them. Rising from a mound taller than the rest of the landscape was a small stone cottage that one could find anywhere in the Thameish countryside. A thatched roof woven together like threads of spun gold sat above stained glass windows that shifted colour each time a Hero blinked. Smoke puffing from the mouth of a stone chimney billowed skyward in neat, singular clouds, forming animal shapes that rose, spreading and seeming to dance across the sky.

No matter if they’d crossed forests, meadows, or hedge mazes to reach it, their destination was always the same.

“This’ll be the last time we come here,” the Sage whispered, leading Hart and Cedric up to the door.

“Aye, may it be so,” the Chosen said.

“I dunno,” Hart shrugged, knocking on the door three times. “He serves really good bread and milk. Shame there’s no meat, though.”

Before Drestra could say a word in response, a voice came through the door.

“You may come in,” the cultured voice of the fae lord said.

The three Heroes nodded to each other in resolve and the Sage pulled the door open.

As much as the outside of the cottage was unchanged, the same was also true of the inside: they stepped into the vast ale hall filled with artefacts from their childhoods, complete with the lingering scent of spring flowers native to the Crymlyn. The fae lord still sat within the setting as though it all belonged to him.

He, too, was the same.

The unearthly beauty of his face. That laurel of ivy circling his brow, the pointed ears. The only thing that changed were those eyes: those ancient pools of silver light—filled with a shrewd cunning—which only seemed to grow more smug with each meeting.

The Sage vowed that this would be the last day she would see that smugness in those eyes.

“Welcome back, mortal Heroes,” Lord Aenflynn said cheerily, gesturing to the spread of buttered bread and cups of creamy milk on the table beside him. “Are you ready for our little luncheon? At this point, these meetings seem to be less about negotiations and more about simply joining me for lunch, but I do not mind. After all, I have all the time in…”

He paused, watching as the three Heroes filed into his cottage. His eyes noted the confidence in their steps and determination in their gazes. A slight furrow creased his brow as they bowed.

“You three seem…different somehow. Have you gained resolve? If so, I am truly surprised. The price has reached three hundred mortal children now, as you know. I thought you might be more…reluctant.”

“I was never reluctant, Lord Aenflynn,” Drestra said. “But now…now I’m ready for you.”

“We all are, wit’ respect,” Cedric said.

The fae lord paused, an amused smile touching his lean features. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re going to attack me or do something equally silly. I know young mortals can be impulsive. But trust me, to attack me in my own home…that is a contest of arms you would not wish on your worst enemy.”

“No fights, unless you’re starting one. Can I grab some food real quick?” Hart pointed to the spread on the table.

“Be my guest,” Lord Aenflynn said, watching Drestra closely. “You know…if you aren’t here to start a physical fight out of desperation, I can only suspect that you might have finally found something suitable to counter with. My, my, this will be an interesting meeting. Tell me, how do the Heroes of this generation seek to impress me? What can you offer me with all of my power? What can you offer me that I cannot already provide for myself, or even a suitable alternative to what I have asked for?”

“How about four hundred, Lord Aenflynn?” The Sage’s tone was calm. “Four hundred mortals under the age of five winters and our agreement to take care of one hundred of your elderly fae as though they were mortal children. The four hundred mortals wouldn’t be given all at once, but rather over time.”

“An’,” Cedric added. “Since we’re increasin’’ what you want to shore up your armies, us four Heroes an’ our armies get to use fae gates to move across the land and respond t’threats faster.”

“Well!” Lord Aenflynn chuckled. “The young ones bite back! Oh, this will definitely be an interesting meeting. I am noting your phrasing carefully, though: four hundred mortals aged under five winters, not four hundred mortal children.I suspect this is where you altered the deal, but I hope you wouldn’t be so…transparent as to propose an offering of four hundred young animals or anything of that sort. Keep in mind that you’re not in a fairy tale where you trick me by honouring the spirit of what I want and not the actual deed. It would take more lifetimes than you could ever have for you to be shrewd enough to trick me into, well…anything, I suppose.” His tone and the smile that joined it were smug.

“No tricks,” Drestra said. “You said you wanted young mortals that could be raised in the fae realm to serve in your armies. You’ll get an army. One full of young and trainable…mortals.”

“Oh, this I am dying to hear!” Lord Aenflynn’s silver eyes lost their smugness, instead sparking with excitement. “You must explain it to me.”

“I can’t do the plan justice with words alone,” the Sage said. “It’d be better to show you. But it’s not possible here. Are you willing to follow us into the mortal world? We’ll have to travel to a specific place.”

“Where, exactly?”

“A dungeon. An…almost empty dungeon.”