The night was dark, the moon shone brightly. A shrill wind was howling across the meadow, while a single wayfarer was driving across the wide plain. Although, he wasn't actually driving, since he was riding his stallion along the barren, dry landscape. On the right, he passed a large salt pan, the colouration of which alone making the night journey and finding his way around a tad easier for him, as it made it clearer where the road was. Said road meandered up and down, guiding him towards his destination. It lay to the west.
There was no way of telling who the person was. This was not only due to the lack of daylight, but also to the fact that he was covered up. He was not to be recognized. Despite there being no one in this deserted stretch of land who could have recognized him, he strictly followed the instructions of his client. He was and remained the unknown rider in the night.
Another place, yet at the identical time: the same moon shone down from the sky and illuminated the dark outer garment of another man riding a horse. His face was also hidden under a hood. Why? Whatever the reason, he was in a great hurry. Again and again, he spurred on his mount, in order to get back to where he had come from as quickly as possible. His job was done, and he had a tight schedule to keep. To his left, the dark shadows of the Karantian Forests loomed, as he was passing them to the south. All sorts of small critters, such as fireflies and midges, kept flying into his face. Nasty! Only very rarely did he pass people, who occasionally looked at him in surprise or fright. “What's that lunatic doing here at this time of night?”, they probably thought about him. He didn't care about any of this. He had no time to lose.
Still the same time, northern Central Ordania: From the north, a rider was galloping along as wildly, as if he was being chased by a beast. He, too, was cloaked beyond recognition, and he, too, was on a mission. As if chevied, he hurried along the road to the capital. On his way, he thundered past a man on horseback and in military uniform. At first, the man just looked after him in bewilderment, until he finally realized, that he should probably stop and question such a suspicious figure. He set off in pursuit, but was left in the dust by the nimble steed. Finally, he gave up his endeavour and peered suspiciously at the seemingly impelled man in the distance. One wonders what he was up to.
Who's riding through night and wind this late? It's our fourth rider, and he's in a racing gait. Like the other three, the anonymous man wasted no time and drove his horse as hard as he could. A small cloud briefly appeared in front of the moon, but after that it immediately lit up the nocturnal landscape again. This one was characterized by more arid flora than the previous one. He was rushing through the southern lands of Camenia to return to the heart of the Empire. What was his mission? Well, none of the people who saw him from the roadside could possibly know. In any case, like the others, he was returning to a very specific place. It was called Meglarsbruck. Only when they were all back there, would things be set in motion and the plan be commenced.
At the city gate at last, the final of these four mysterious couriers was stopped by the guards. When he presented them with a roll of parchment with a very specific seal on it, they recoiled almost in awe and, as an exception, raised the gate's iron grate for him, in order to grant him entry. Under the dim light of the streetlamps and the watchful gazes of the countless saints' statues high up on the pillars, that flanked his route, he dashed down the main street of the metropolis. He arrived at the comparatively small, but still definitely supersized, building of the new “Palace of the Redeemer”. The man hopped off his mount and entered the only building of the palace that had so far been completed and the only one, that was in use. Now, they all had arrived in the imperial capital. The first step was done. Now it would start.
Several days prior:
Both casements of a large window stood open, due to which the air, which was far too warm, indeed downright hot, for the time of year, was streaming in. Her Highness was standing quite a distance away in the middle of the room. Brush in hand, she made one carefully considered stroke after another on a painting held by an easel. Using a darker yellow, she traced the contours of the field balk, which made up only a small element of her painting. Moreover, there were wide fields, a somewhat larger settlement and a few venerable old buildings on a hill. For Amalie, it was a journey back to her past, a past that no longer existed. Her creation depicted her birthplace of Olemar, which had also been the lifelong hometown of her parents, God rest their souls. Now she was taking a trip down memory lane in the place where she had met her husband, and with which she still associated so many good memories........ for the most part at least.
Her work was only progressing very slowly. The old lady wondered whether the outer wall of the boarding school, overgrown with ivy, was still as decrepit today as it had been in the times that were currently replaying in her mind's eye. There was very little noise coming in from outside today, which was owed to the fact that it was a public holiday. Amalie recreated a handful of nostalgic scenes in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, Wenzel's face inevitably changed back to that of the old, wrinkly man who had last been with her, although the mental reconstruction of these events should have shown a youthful Chosen One. So much he had changed. So much had happened......
Thereupon, she also reminisced about the “new version” of her beloved, the one he had been able to fob off on the common people as “Melgar”. In the end, everyone had believed him. Everyone except her. For her, he always had been and always would remain Wenzel, no matter what had happened and what might still happen! She had made up her mind, that she would never accept this so-called Melgar as her husband. The cold, cruel, calculating man, who ruled the Holy Empire with an iron fist, was not the one she had married. And her husband had understood and respected that. His attitude towards her had been very different from the way he had treated everyone else. At that thought, a conversation with him from the days after the renewed takeover of the Temple of the Holy Taphos emerged from her memories again:
“Am I really the most powerful man of all times? Yes, probably. But that doesn't mean that I really have more personal freedom than other people. Theodor was right when he spoke to me about freedom. I have incredible power over the Empire, but by the same token the Empire also has enormous power over me. I was not the starting point of the conditions we have in the Empire today, nor am I their ultimate endpoint. Teleiotism, the wealth of the guilds and the hereditary nobility, the powerlessness of the peasantry - all of that I did not create. It was already there when I set foot on this earth. I am not a demiurge, and I am not omnipotent. I, too, am only part of creation. However, unlike others, I have been given the authority by the Lord to rule this empire, comprising five kingdoms. I am the leader of a religion which imposes certain restrictions on my actions. Is this true power? I don't feel all that powerful.”
She had agreed with him on these assessments at the time. Likewise, however, she had pointed out to her beloved, that he was downplaying the wealth of authority he commanded - probably to absolve himself of responsibility for the things that had happened. His wife had provided him with the following example at the time: “From the highest to the lowest man in Kaphkos, you are feared by everyone. Your magic powers are beyond anything they can understand, and what someone cannot understand frightens him. This fear now dominates the realm. It gives YOU the power to do anything you want.” Wenzel had dismissed her objections out of hand. Instead, he continued with what he had intended to bluster about at the time anyway.
“Just think about it. I have returned the Holy Embassy, the former Inquisition, to its original purpose: To eliminate all mages except for the one healthy one, the next Chosen One. Is that right? No, it's immoral! But what am I supposed to do? This is nothing but an expression of my despair, a step I am taking because I have no idea how to integrate such special people into society. I'm a failure who only knows how to help himself with violence and oppression!” - “How do we even know who the one healthy mage is? Isn't there a touch of evil, a little devil, in every human being?”, Amalie had consequently asked him. And he had replied, ”Yes, indeed. The question is not whether one is capable of evil. No, it's which side wins out in the end, the angel or the devil.”
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“Sorry to disturb you, mistress,” a cautious voice rang out. Nevertheless, it startled Her Majesty. She had not even heard him enter the room, so engrossed had she been in her daydreaming. “What is your query, Rizzo?”, she immediately addressed her imperial advisor. “There are a few things I would like to discuss with you, Your Highness.” The woman looked over at her subordinate with a golden-blond, very short-cropped shock of hair. His clothes were fully black, but at the same time decorated with elegant silver tassels. “Agreed,” she then replied, putting her painting utensil aside and sedately walking over to a small table on one of the room's inner walls. It was a positively miniscule table, with just two chairs beside it. The lady, who was wearing a fine purple dress, took care to push aside her hair, which had gotten so long, that it was by now reaching down to the floor, before taking a seat on one of the chairs, to avoid sitting onto her mane. Rizzo sat down across from her.
Quick like a shot, he immediately and over-hastily began to palaver: “I would like to draw your attention to the fact that Chancellor Rubellio has only scheduled a Grand Council in a few days' time. In my opinion, it is irresponsible and negligent to show such a degree of tardiness! The clarification of succession should be seen as one of the most quintessential matters of all. I consider such behaviour on the part of His Excellency to be knowingly damaging and a provocation to Your Highness! It is impossible for this to just be a case of simple negligence. It...”
The ruler cut him off. “Now hold your horses!” Rizzo instantly submitted. She carried on, “I could well imagine that the absence of a clearly defined heir to the throne is causing Peter all sorts of headaches, too. Quite possibly he is consulting a number of other people over this. That could be the explanation for this.” Secretly, however, even Amalie did not believe this. The appointment of the next emperor, or, well, actually a steward, was of greater importance than any other matter in the Empire, was of the most urgent nature. Taking his time with this was likely to invite divisive forces that had hitherto been dormant. “I do understand why this is troubling you, Rizzo. Ludo, although he would be the most obvious candidate, is simply inadequate, not only for reasons of holiness, but also due to the lack of an explicitly named successor.” - “How right you are about that, Your Majesty!”, her servant immediately concurred.
Then he added, “It also seems suspicious to me that the Chancellor is not involving you in this matter. As acting regent, you temporarily hold the full range of powers exercised by His Holiness, praise be unto him. The Imperial Guard obeys you alone. I would, therefore, advise you to put pressure on His Excellency, or else he will suffer the consequences of his inaction!” Yet, Her Highness rejected such an approach. “Let's first see what happens at the Council in a few days,” she replied to her advisor. The latter was visibly displeased with Her Majesty's attitude in this regard, but did not contradict her.
After a brief moment of thinking about which point he wanted to discuss next, Rizzo finally said, “And the amulet? Is it safe?” - “Of course it is!”, his mistress responded, almost exasperated by such a question. As a result, she pulled something out from under her dress, from her cleavage to be precise. It had been completely invisible before, and not even the chain of the piece of jewellery hanging around her neck had been noticeable, as it was well hidden behind the fabric of Her Highness's dress. Surprised, the man stared at the object, mesmerized. A large, shimmering blue gemstone in a golden frame decorated with elaborate angel motifs was casting a spell over him. Rizzo gazed enchanted at the gem, which did not emit any light. He was one of the chosen few who knew about the stone. Already before his passing, Melgar had sealed part of his soul inside it. Amalie was now the keeper of this one and only Holy Artifact.
The woman immediately made the object disappear again. “Satisfied?” At this, her subordinate nodded curtly. “Good,” said Amalie and then promptly followed up with this question: “Has Silke already been moved out?” Momentarily taken aback, Rizzo instantly regained his composure and asked, “Does Her Highness mean the imperial assistant for the study of magic?” - “Who else, sonny!”, the high lady pertly sassed him. That was hardly surprising. Her Majesty's dislike of the long-time assistant at this point was common knowledge at court. In the past, she had tried countless times to get rid of Mrs. Silke, but the emperor had always stood in her way, not so much because of his affection for the lady, but rather because of her irreplaceable treasure trove of knowledge and expertise.
The imperial advisor replied to his milady, “After she was notified of this by you personally, the assistant immediately began packing up her things.” - “That doesn't answer my question. Just yesterday I saw her creeping through the corridors. Make her leave immediately! She is no longer welcome here, and I don't want to see her again!”, the regent raged. Her counterpart stood at attention, and immediately returned, “It will be arranged this way, Your Highness!” After that, he took his leave and exited the room again. The old lady slowly rose from her chair before wandering over to one of the large windows to look out. Her thoughts, however, were somewhere else entirely.
“He thinks I'm doing this because I can't stand Silke. Although that's true, it's not the reason why I need to get her out of here as soon as possible.” In truth, the amulet that now housed Wenzel's soul was hidden in the secret compartment in the emperor's private library. The jewel she was wearing around her neck was just an exact copy of it, designed to deceive any potential thieves. Silke was the only one who had knowledge that the real Holy Artifact was in Wenzel's library. (Or at least that's what Amalie believed.) Now that her husband wasn't around anymore, she could no longer tolerate this - in her eyes – tart here. She knew too much. And knowledge is power. No one alive knew more about the art of wizardry and how it functioned than Silke. What Amalie would soon find out in regards to the amulet, however, would confuse and, above all, disappoint her. The goldsmith who had manufactured the replica of the amulet for her was also very good friends with Peter Rubellio.....
There was a feverish hustle and bustle in front of the Palace of the Redeemer and in its immediate entrance area. The warm midday sun was smiling down, making the high walls of the grand building, which were as pristine white as ivory, gleam brightly. Carriage after carriage of the noble lords who had been invited to today's big event was pulling up. Representatives of well-known noble houses, such as the Duenitz, were of course present, but there were also “newer” families whose loyalty to the imperial house during the continuation of the revolution had propelled them to high positions. One such example was the Kuhary family from the east. Dressed in a noble, long mantle, Otto von Duenitz, standing in for his father, Xaver, stepped out of his two-horse carriage together with his wife and laboriously climbed the stairs of the palace. Such clothing was far too thick for the current unusually warm temperatures. Nevertheless, he could not help but wear them, as it was tradition to do so on such momentous occasions.
A tall, purple hat came riding in with its very own entourage. It was His Reverence Damianos, the Patriarch of the Teleiotic Commune. Dressed in white and purple vestments to match his unmistakable, almost funny-looking headgear, he then made his way into the government building. His people would not be attending the meeting with him, of course, but it was also notable that Damianos' “counterpart”, the Alethic Patriarch, had not been invited today. This was hardly any different than it had been during the lifetime of His Holiness. Even then, only the Teleiotic Commune had been granted the privilege of exercising political influence by Emperor Melgar. For His Holiness, toleration simply meant being tolerated and not much more.
In the interim, Her Highness the Empress was still having breakfast. She was dining on fine porcelain painted with exotic fruits from the archipelago south of Camenia. Her meal, by contrast, only consisted of local produce, such as simple bread, butter, cheese and ham. Her personal bodyguard, Raskild, sat nearby, constantly casting around an overly watchful eye. This woman took her job as seriously as one possibly could. On her Majesty's other side, her old friend Flora kept her company.
“I have been told by a reliable source that four heralds rode into the city at the same time late last night, all of whom supposedly have entered into the palace here. They are said to have come from all four cardinal directions and the first person to be informed about this was the Chancellor,” Flora recounted to her. The regent swallowed the food that was still in her mouth and then replied, “I haven't been told anything yet.” She thought for a moment and then resumed, “Not informing me about every organizational or administrative triviality is completely logical and to be expected. But that was during the darkest hour. I highly doubt that it was just because of some tiny trifle. If you let riders in at the city gate at such a time of day, and at the palace to boot, it must be something really serious.” Her friend nodded in agreement. “I'll have to ask Peter later what this is all about. I hope it's not some kind of bad news from the far corners of the realm. As we are currently in a saddle period, something like that would be an obvious possibility.”
Unfortunately, her request would have to wait until after the Grand Council, which was due to begin in an hour's time. It would take place in the magnificent Hundred Saints Hall, which was the government's large assembly hall. Amalie had already reached the end of her repast anyway. She exchanged a few last words with her old friend, then set off to dress herself in garments befitting the occasion. Wiping her mouth, she rose from her chair and said goodbye to Flora with a warm greeting. Then she walked away at a leisurely pace, as had become her custom, accompanied by her guard.
