Shadows
Chapter Fifteen: Fortis

Part Three: The Forests of Adwich

Ambriel strode side by side with Varkun through the twisting maelstrom of the Orb, and though he knew the giant man was an old friend, he also knew that Varkun’s loyalty was primarily sworn to the king. Maybe the change in circumstances brought about by the near total destruction of their race would sway him slightly, but Ambriel had never known Varkun to be anything but by the book. Ambriel had no desire to fight him, but Ambriel had no desire to follow the king’s wishes either, and he knew which one he would cave to first.

Each step they took seemed to be into thin air, but at the last second the air would solidify into marble tiling. It was disconcerting, seemingly stepping off into nothingness to tumble into the tumultuous vortex below, each step requiring a leap of faith, but Ambriel was trying his best to stay calm and collected. He would soon be standing before the Lord of the Fire Spire and King of the Olossa: Fortis Arcturus.

They had never seen eye to eye since they were young – Ambriel wishing to spread compassion to the humans and grant them greater rights within Olossa society, whilst Fortis had seen them as nothing but tools with which to further the greatness of their empire. Ambriel remembered well the first time he had met Fortis – it had been on a midsummer’s eve, sat on the raised benches around the Great Table in the debating chamber of Ashhollow.

Ambriel’s father Caleneth had been Lord of the Air Spire in those days, and Speaker for the council of the Olossa. A young Ambriel had been brought to the meeting of the Five Spires to watch and observe how due process was carried out, and as his father held the prestigious title of Speaker the last thing he wanted to do was show his father up. Ambriel had sat there watching silently and patiently, and all the discussions had seemed very balanced and fair. To the boy sat next to him in the scarlet and gold robes of the Fire Spire, however, it had seemed intensely boring.

“Hey!” the boy had whispered after a time. Ambriel had tried to ignore him. He’d already annoyed his father on the way here by bringing up his sister Marielle running off to join the Water Spire, and was trying to be on his best behaviour. “Hey!” the boy called again. Ambriel couldn’t help but turn his head, even though he tried to keep his attention fixed on the debate at the Great Table.

“Yes?” Ambriel replied quietly.

“I’ve not seen you at these meetings before. Are you Lord Caleneth’s son – Ambriel?”

“Yes. Father doesn’t normally make me come but he has this time. I’m trying to pay attention,” Ambriel replied politely but firmly.

“Is that because your sister’s defected to the Water Spire? He feels he needs to keep a tighter grip on you?” the boy grinned nastily.

“How do you know that?” Ambriel hissed back in hushed tones.

“It’s not like it’s forbidden knowledge,” shrugged the boy, rolling his eyes. “I’m Fortis, by the way. Fortis Arcturus, soon to be Lord of the Fire Spire come my sixteenth birthday.” Fortis gloated.

“Soon to be Lord?” asked Ambriel incredulously. He had recently turned sixteen himself and was nowhere near becoming Lord of the Air Spire. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you see the man sat at the Great Table wearing Fire Spire robes?” Fortis asked, pointing towards a large, balding man. Ambriel nodded. “Lophnis there’s only the Lord Regent of the Fire Spire. I was declared the next Lord by my father but as I was too young to inherit the title when he died old Lophnis is leading in my stead. He does a decent job but he’s immeasurably dull. Much like this whole meeting to be honest with you. When I’m Lord of the Fire Spire I’ll be doing things a lot differently, let me tell you. None of this sitting around all day debating on whether or not we should put in place provisions for when the human slaves get too old to work. Just kill them off and be done with it, that’s what father always used to say,” Fortis grinned to himself, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Don’t you agree, Ambriel?”

“I’m afraid I don’t!” replied Ambriel in quiet shock. “He didn’t mean that, surely? That’s barbaric!” Ambriel had seldom interacted with anyone from the other Spires at that age, and so knew little of the general apathy and hatred towards the humans Ambriel and many others in the Air Spire thought of as equals.

“Of course he did! And how dare you call my late father barbaric?!” growled Fortis, impassioned. “Look, I know a lot of you Air Spire folk like to think of humans as, well… trained pets or whatever, but the humans are a lot more dangerous than you give them credit. Why, in the last few months we’ve had no fewer than seven attempted uprisings in Fire Spire territory causing a heap of property damage and weeks of lost labour!”

“Maybe that’s because they’re treated so badly in your lands?” Ambriel countered, his attention now solely fixed on the spoilt, hateful boy sat beside him. “If you treat them badly and you don’t listen to them at all how else can they get their views across?”

“Views?!” exclaimed Fortis, close to laughing. “They don’t have views like you or I! They’re closer to animals than us, surely you can see that? Trying to talk to a human would be like trying to talk to a dog or a cat – in fact, I think they would be better conversationalists.” Fortis chuckled.

“How dare you-?” began Ambriel, but a deep voice cut across the debating chamber.

“Ambriel!” called Caleneth, and Ambriel bit his lip and shrunk in fear. “I did not bring you here so you could interrupt the session. Be silent!”

“But father, I was only-”

“Silence, Ambriel! Or you will be removed from this chamber.”

Ambriel sighed and sat back on the bench. Caleneth fixed him with a disappointed glare, then turned back to the discussion at the Great Table. Ambriel shot a dark look towards Fortis, who smirked devilishly and waved.

Things only got worse between them since that day.

As they walked Ambriel’s mind drifted and he found himself remembering another time, another place; another meeting…

“Lord Ambriel, how nice of you to finally turn up,” smirked Lord Fortis disparagingly as Ambriel rushed into the council chambers, scrolls piled high in his arms. “We were just welcoming Marielle to the council. She’s standing in for Lady Lamosa, who I understand has unfortunately taken ill these past few days?”

“Indeed so,” nodded Marielle in mock solemnity. “As such I have had to take over her duties regarding council matters.”

“It is very admirable of you to do so,” smiled Fortis as Ambriel took his seat. “For as I’m sure you’re all aware it is time to choose a new Speaker for the council. Lord Caleneth has stepped down from council duties due to his increasing age, to be replaced by Lord Ambriel here,” Fortis gestured and Ambriel nodded in turn to the others assembled round the table. Ambriel smiled to see Varkun sat to his right, more pleased now than ever that he had been promoted to the rank of Lord for the Earth Spire[26] – at least there was one friendly face at the table. It wasn’t that Lady Selune of the Ether Spire was hostile, just that she wasn’t overly friendly, and the less said about Fortis and his sister the better.

“If we must, can we at least get it over with quickly?” Lady Selune sighed. “The meeting’s going to take long enough anyway from the looks of the agenda. Are the humans really rioting again in your territory, Lord Fortis?”

“I’m afraid so, Lady Selune. Not just Fire Spire territory, either.” Fortis nodded solemnly. “Isn’t that so, Marielle?”

“Indeed,” agreed Marielle. “I’ve heard the Southern Isles are threatening to try and break away from our dominion. Aren’t the Southern Isles in your territory, brother?” she smirked, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her pointed chin in her hand. “What are you doing about this?”

“I do believe there’s been some miscommunication here,” Ambriel sighed, straightening out his robes and leaning forwards. “The humans of the Southern Isles are not threatening to break away. On a few select islands we are trialling a system of human self-governance overseen by senior Olossa-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“Self-governing humans?!” snorted Fortis. “Who gave permission to do that? The rules of the council explicitly state that humans are not allowed-”

“Actually I think you’ll replace, Lord Fortis, that the rules of the council say nothing against what we’re trialling. It follows a model built around the human work teams used by the Earth Spire-”

“That is an entirely different thing! Allowing mild leadership in a workforce basis is not the same as allowing these backward-thinking roaches actual control over their society! I voted against that system being used by the Earth Spire in the first place, and furthermore-”

“There is no problem with the system,” rumbled Varkun, speaking for the first time. “It is highly efficient and enables greater workforce satisfaction than any available alternative-”

“I don’t care about workforce satisfaction!”

“That is apparent.”

“Would you please stop talking over each other!” groaned Lady Selune.

“Yes. Well,” said Fortis, composing himself. “This is one of the reasons why we need to choose a Speaker. To maintain order during these meetings.”

“I propose you be elected Speaker, Lord Fortis,” suggested Marielle sweetly. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about your leadership of the Fire Spire and I feel your revolutionary tactics are just what we need to bring our race into a new age of innovation.”

“Really?” scoffed Ambriel under his breath. Rather louder, he said: “My Lord Fortis, I mean no disrespect, but are you confident you would be able to handle the duties of Speaker whilst there’s widespread rioting in your lands? Surely that deserves your attention more?”

“I appreciate your concern, Lord Ambriel,” Fortis replied tersely, “but I remain assured that I would have more than enough time to handle the necessary duties of the role. Whilst we’re talking about ‘necessary duties’, is it really necessary for the council to convene so frequently? Much of the discussion that goes on is hardly needed.”

“That is a matter I most certainly agree with you on,” agreed Lady Selune emphatically. “So much precious time lost that could be spent on more worthwhile undertakings.”

“My thoughts precisely, Lady Selune,” smiled Fortis. “Lord Varkun, I’m sure you would much rather be at work overseeing the building of the deeper chambers of Duguntayrr?”

Varkun nodded.

“Lord Ambriel, I’m sure this… human self-governance business would benefit from your valuable input?” Fortis sneered.

“Of course it would Lord Fortis, but the matters we discuss around this table effect the running of our entire society. Boring as some may be, we can’t brush them under the table to suit our own needs!” Ambriel retorted.

“I’m not saying we ignore them, Ambriel. I’m just saying it would be so much quicker and easier if we didn’t have to spend so much time debating our course of action. It would be easier if one of us made the decisions, ideally the new Speaker. The rest of the council could… advise the Speaker, if they so wished of course, but the decisions would ultimately be the Speaker’s responsibility.”

“And what if the council disagreed with the Speaker’s decisions?” asked Ambriel, fearing he knew where this line of conversation was going.

“If that happened,” Fortis replied, “then the Speaker would have to deal with the consequences. Though I hope that would be a rare occurrence.”

“I don’t know… it sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship, Lord Fortis. The council was designed to allow diplomatic process. Allowing the Speaker ultimate power over the council would undermine everything it stood for.”

“Lord Ambriel, please try not to overreact. I know you lot in the Air Spire like freedom and free thinking, but I’m not asking you to hand over your autonomy. The council would still exist, it would just be… streamlined. As society and the speed of life increases, we must move with the times.”

“It’s really very reasonable, brother,” smirked Marielle. Ambriel couldn’t help but think Lady Lamosa’s illness had come at an incredibly fortuitous time. His sister had always been adept at treacherously inventive, underhanded magic, but would she have stooped so low as to incapacitate Lady Lamosa in order to support Fortis?

“If it means fewer meetings and less interruption of my studies, then I’m all for it,” chimed in Lady Selune. “I will vote for you for Speaker, Lord Fortis.”

“Naturally I will vote for you too, my Lord.” Marielle simpered.

“Well,” smiled Fortis, sinister relief washing across his face. “My vote makes three for me, which I rather think means the motion passes, don’t you?”

“I would urge against any actions to reduce the impact of the council’s decision,” Ambriel pleaded to the group, though he couldn’t help but feel it fell on deaf ears. “Lord Fortis, the council exists for a reason. One man alone should not rule our race.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Lord Ambriel. The only thing we’ve done today is vote for me to be the new Speaker. It was all diplomatically too, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

It hadn’t stayed diplomatic for long.

“We’re here,” stated Varkun. Ambriel had been lost in thought, remembering days long past, and had not noticed the outline of a door that had formed in the air before them. It was carved from polished basalt that glowed with magma and fire, which swelled between the cracks in the rock. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I ever will be,” nodded Ambriel solemnly, straightening his robe and drawing himself up to his full height. “How long do you think I will last?” Varkun didn’t answer, but instead swung open the doors and held them wide for Ambriel to walk through. With a deep breath Ambriel strode into the king’s chambers.

The sight that lay before him was not what he had expected.

The Fortis in Ambriel’s memory had been a tall, imposing man with an athletic build. Long, flowing scarlet and gold robes, cropped black hair and a conniving face with chiselled features that contorted through twisted and perverse expressions. The Fortis that looked up from his throne to face him as Ambriel walked in was a shadow of his former self, save for his eyes.

They had always appeared cunning before, but otherwise an unremarkable shade of grey. Now they pulsed red and black, his irises a warped reflection of the madness of the Orb’s internal maelstrom. Ambriel braced himself to stop from shuddering.

“You’re late, Ambriel,” stated Fortis quietly, rising from his throne.

“I’m sorry,” replied Ambriel cautiously. “I wasn’t aware I was invited.”

“You are a leader of the Olossa, are you not? The Lord of the Air Spire?”

“A lord you exiled and hunted, Fortis.”

“King Fortis, King. I am your king and I shall be addressed as such.” Fortis stated impatiently.

“You have never been any king of mine, Fortis. You know that.” Fortis paused, his face twisting through a range of emotions and his fists clenching and unclenching, until he composed himself once more and fixed his mouth into an unpleasantly toothy grin.

“Why do you still think we’re enemies, Ambriel?” Fortis crooned, advancing across the room towards Ambriel, his arms wide. “After what happened to us; what happened to our race, do you not think we can put such petty differences aside? There are so few of us left…”

“And whose fault is that, Fortis? Who plunged our race into civil war and tore our civilisation apart from the inside?”

“That was you!” Fortis roared, his temporary calm shattered once more. Gouts of flame leapt forth from his outstretched fingertips. “You and your awful family! If you’d just followed my orders we could have experienced a golden age unlike any before it. A shining era of prosperity and power! But you threw it all away for your beloved humans,” Fortis spat. “Tell me,” he continued, wiping a strand of hair off his brow as a sly smirk crept across his face, “How did it feel when the worthless sow you called a wife was slaughtered?”

Ambriel’s hand twitched and his face froze in a rictus of fury.

“This is why we are enemies, Fortis.” Ambriel spoke, his words dropping like icicles. “Because you’re not just an incompetent, power-hungry king. You’re not just a hostile xenophobic bigot. You are, in your heart and soul, the most unpleasant bit of filth our race ever produced.”

“You hate me,” Fortis chuckled. “I appreciate that. But better for a ruler to be feared than loved, is that not so? And truly you must fear me more than you hate me, even now, otherwise you would have attacked me.” Fortis grinned and leant forwards across a table. “Do you think you could do it, Ambriel? Kill me? Avenge your family, your wife, your… child?”

“How do you know of her?” Ambriel breathed.

“Oh, were you under the impression I didn’t know you’d created some foul half-breed with that cow of yours? If it was intended to be a secret, I’m afraid you did a very poor job of doing so.”

“If you know of her, you may also know she is far beyond your reach now.”

“Perhaps that is so,” Fortis grinned, “but are we so far beyond her reach?”

“What do you mean?”

“You see Ambriel, you give me too little credit. You think me some savage brute of low cunning; no better than a human. But look!” Fortis chuckled madly, gesturing to the room around him. “I saved us! Me! They said it couldn’t be done, but I saved our race! I’ve kept us safe within this Orb for hundreds of years, just waiting to return to the world!”

“What, you, my sister and Varkun?” Ambriel sarcastically quipped back. “You didn’t save our race, Fortis. You saved yourself.”

“Hah!” laughed Fortis, waving his hands dismissively. “So what of it? The three of us will be more than enough to wreak vengeance upon the humans when we return. We shall slaughter every last one of them for daring to rise up against us!”

“When you return? Why haven’t you done so before now, then, if you are so confident of your vengeance? The humans nearly wiped us out before, how can you think the three of you can defeat them now?” replied Ambriel. For once Fortis seemed to falter.

“We can return any time we want. Whenever I want to, I could give the order and emerge from the Orb back into the world! We are the strongest of the Olossa, and the humans will have grown weak and complacent in our absence. It will be easy.”

“Then do it! Return to the world!” Goaded Ambriel. “I think you got it wrong, king! I think your incantation didn’t quite work as it should have, am I correct? You’re trapped here, aren’t you? Leeching off the life force of humans foolish enough to touch the Orb, humans you lure in with false promises, all to sustain this prison of yours! You can’t leave. You’ve failed.”

“I shall punish you for your impudence,” Fortis breathed, his eyes aflame and his rage barely restrained.

“What more can you do to me?!” Ambriel cried, his robe whipping around him as magical energy crackled at his fingertips. “If our existence within this Orb is an eternity of torment with you, I would gladly die rather than endure that!”

“Don’t be so hasty to die, Lord Ambriel.” Fortis said, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you wish to see your daughter again?”

“What?” asked Ambriel suspiciously.

“Loathe that I am to agree with you, you are correct in your deduction.” Fortis spoke softly, slippery as a snake. “We are trapped in here, that’s true. The spell of mine didn’t quite function how I’d hoped. As you may have recently felt, the touch of a human can indeed allow us to drain their energy and sustain this world within the Orb, but it cannot release us as I’d intended. It is my belief that only the touch of an Olossa can release us back into the world once more.”

“Good luck with that,” huffed Ambriel. “The only ones left alive are trapped in here with you.”

“The only pure ones, perhaps.”

“You can’t mean my daughter,” scoffed Ambriel.

“Can’t I?”

“What are you smiling about, snake? Would you care to share what amuses you so much?”

“With pleasure,” smirked Fortis. “I cannot see much from outside the Orb, and that I do see is clouded and uncertain. But I do know this – the Orb has made its way to the northern island you fled to during your exile. It is there, now, and so is she!”

“You mean my daughter?”

“Honestly, Ambriel!” Fortis sighed exasperatedly. “Of course I mean your mongrel daughter!”

“That’s impossible,” said Ambriel, shaking his head. “You’re more deluded than I thought. These years imprisoned here must have addled your mind, Fortis.”

“Addled, am I?!” cried Fortis, slamming his hand down on a table. “Perhaps that is so, but I am not wrong! I can sense the aura of an Olossa out there – watered down it may be, but there! Enough to sustain our gateway out of this hell hole and return us to the world – our world, ripe for reclaiming!”

“I greatly doubt the Orb is near my daughter! I laid a spell upon her to keep her safe; to let her slumber undisturbed down the years until the world was safe to return to once more. I do not know how much time has passed in the world whilst we’ve been cooped up in here, but I replace it very unlikely that she and the Orb would ever cross paths. You have naught but a fool’s hope.”

“I think not, Ambriel. Is it so unlikely the two remnants of our civilisation would be drawn to one another? Some would say it was destiny – her fate; her purpose to use her tainted life force to allow the true Olossa to return to the world! I know what I have sensed, and I sense our moment of victory upon us! The return of the Olossan race is nigh!”

Ambriel recoiled from the king who continued to proclaim his vision of the future, his gestures punctuating the air with each impassioned word. Fortis had always been a passionate man, wearing his heart on his sleeve, but now his moods seemed to Ambriel to be as predictable as the sea. Ambriel thought it wise to keep a sensible distance. All of a sudden Fortis’ practiced proclamations ceased, like the pause after a lightning strike that preceded the thunderclap.

“There is just one question I have for you, Ambriel. Are you with us, or against us? Join us and the sins of your family shall be forgiven. I will spare you and your daughter’s lives, and grant you your old title again.”

Ambriel paused. Walking in to the room he had been certain he would fight Fortis before joining him, but if there was a possibility his daughter was still alive – a possibility he might be able to see her, to protect her…

“Refuse,” Fortis whispered in hushed, menacing tones, “and I shall hand your daughter over to your sister. I’m certain she’s been missing having a test subject for her most dreadful and inventive magic. Do you understand me, Lord Ambriel? I wonder,” he grinned, circling Ambriel, “how much do your precious humans mean to you against your daughter’s life?”

Varkun stood upright outside the door of Fortis’ throne room, staring out across the twisting maelstrom of the Orb and wondering what was happening inside. He could make out the sounds of arguing and shouting, but so far no fighting had occurred. This was good. It meant there would be no difficult choices for him to make.

Varkun had always got along well with Ambriel, more so than he had ever got along with King Fortis, but unfortunately it was not Ambriel who Varkun had sworn allegiance to when he had been appointed head of the Earth Spire. Although Varkun did not agree with a lot of what King Fortis had done during his reign, loyalty and keeping his word was of the utmost importance to him. If you did not stick by your word, how could people trust you? And if you didn’t have the trust of people, what did you have?

What do I have, though? Thought Varkun, looking around him at the swirling emptiness of the Orb. He was the sole survivor of his family, the sole survivor of the Earth Spire, and only one of four surviving Olossa – five if Lady Selune was still alive. He was no longer holding out much hope.

Varkun did not wish to kill the humans. Whilst he had never quite shared Ambriel’s views that they should be granted the same rights as Olossa, he had never quite shared Fortis’ views that they were worthless and expendable either. Varkun, a builder at heart, thought that Fortis calling humans ‘naught but tools’ meant he didn’t appreciate the value of good tools. After all, you didn’t destroy a perfectly good hammer if it missed a nail once or twice.

It’s a bad workman who blames his tools, that was what Varkun’s father had told him. Maybe if Fortis hadn’t been so hard on the humans the civil war might not have happened. Learning to live together as equals, as Ambriel and his family had wished, was perhaps too large a leap in Varkun’s opinion, but maybe the Olossa could have learnt to live without humans as slaves. Diplomacy was the art of compromise, after all.

Varkun couldn’t help but feel King Fortis would never compromise. The moment he was free in the world again there would be nothing to stop him killing as many humans as he wished.

More so the one to worry about perhaps was Marielle, thought Varkun as he noticed her lazily skipping across the Orb towards him. Whilst Fortis had certainly lost a lot of his sanity during the war and his subsequent containment within the Orb, Marielle had never really had any to begin with. Certainly she had no morals. She’d left the Air Spire and her family behind at a young age to marry into the Water Spire, though there were rumours she’d been forced to leave after many… unsettling incidents regarding experiments with air magic on humans.

The rumours hadn’t ceased upon her induction into the Water Spire, and if anything they had got worse. Research into branches of forbidden water magic had been reopened during her time with the Water Spire, and Varkun dreaded to think what would happen if Marielle were free to explore such magic in the world once more.

If the four of them did manage to escape the Orb, Varkun thought – if it did come to war against the humans again – what would he do?

“Marielle! Varkun!” cheered Fortis happily, emerging from his chambers with Ambriel trailing after him dejectedly. “I have great news!”

Varkun turned and stood rigidly to attention, trying to see the look on Ambriel’s face. Marielle slunk down from where she’d been lounging in an alcove and gazed between Fortis and her brother.

“What is it, your majesty?” Marielle curtsied. “Are we going to have an execution today?” she grinned, her poisonous eyes fixed on her brother whose head was hung low.

“Quite the opposite, Marielle. Your hated brother may well be the key to our salvation.”

“What?!” she spat, her delicate features suddenly transformed to cool rage. “My king, he cannot be trusted. You know how he turned against us – he and his family are nothing but a blight on our kind!”

“And what are you, if not his family?” questioned Varkun accusingly, looking down on Marielle.

“I am the exception,” she countered proudly, puffing her chest out and pointing a finger to herself. “Do you see Air Spire markings on my robe, Varkun? No. Because I left as soon as I could. I got away from their poisonous and deceitful ways.”

“If there was ever poison and deceit in our family, dear sister,” Ambriel muttered, “it left when you did.”

“You see?” Marielle gestured. “You see how even now he does not show an ounce of respect?”

“Enough!” yelled Fortis. “I am your king, and you will listen to me!” Marielle fell into a fuming silence, whilst Varkun returned his attention to Fortis. Ambriel dropped back into resigned stillness. “As I was saying,” Fortis shot a glare at Marielle, “I have great news! Ambriel and his half-breed daughter, once the shame of our entire civilisation, may now be the key to our salvation. You know I have theorised that our only way of escape is by the Orb being touched by one of the Olossan race?”

“Indeed,” nodded Varkun.

“I have sensed that Ambriel’s spawn is not far from the location of the Orb. If she were to touch it she would form the bridge necessary for us to step back into the world!”

“That would indeed be good news,” acknowledged Varkun, looking over at Ambriel.

“Good news? It would be truly excellent news, my king!” Marielle chirped, eager to win back favour with Fortis. “My soul aches for revenge, a chance to break free from our confines and wreak havoc upon the miserable humans!” That was ludicrously over the top even for her, thought Ambriel. How desperate was she?

“Quite so!” Fortis beamed wildly. “The bloodshed shall be magnificent!”

Varkun and Ambriel shared a look that said:

You have a plan, don’t you Ambriel?

Half a plan. And I’m not sure it will even work.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Marielle simpered, “but if it is my brother’s foul spawn we require, why must we keep him alive? It’s been so long since I’ve had a test subject for my spells…”

“A good question,” Fortis grinned. “It is my belief that with so few of us remaining it is petty to continue to fuel our little squabbles. The humans are the enemy, not us. Isn’t that right, Ambriel?”

“Yes, Fortis,” murmured Ambriel.

“Pardon, Lord Ambriel? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, my king,” Ambriel spoke, devoid of emotion.

“That’s better.”

“Forgive me once more, my king, but this is an obvious deception. As soon as we are free my brother shall flee again like the rat he is,” Marielle objected.

“Enough of your tiresome doubts, Marielle!” Fortis snapped, throwing his arms into the air. “If it is indeed a deception, I have promised Lord Ambriel here that I shall had his daughter over to you. I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of inventing the most devious and depraved tortures you can. I shall force him to watch, and only once she eventually expires will I grant him the gift of a slow and painful death. Is that clear to you both? Does that satisfy you, Marielle?”

Marielle and Ambriel both nodded reluctantly.

“Very well!” shouted Fortis, clapping his hands together. “Make all necessary preparations! Muster your power! For the time grows near when we shall have our revenge, and glorious it shall be! I will do my best to lure in Ambriel’s spawn, to try and whisper in her ear to get her to touch the Orb. And when she does,” Fortis chuckled, “we shall be free!”

With that he returned inside his chambers, leaving the sounds of self-satisfied cackles and cheers of premature jubilation in his wake. Varkun nodded blankly to Ambriel, and turned to head back across the ever-shifting madness of the Orb to his own quarters. Only Marielle lingered, glaring at her brother.

“I am watching you, brother,” she growled venomously, pooling all her hate and revulsion into the last word. “You may have King Fortis convinced you’re going along with his plan, but I know you. I’ll be watching, and the moment you turn against us I will crush you.”

“My dear sister,” Ambriel sighed, “whatever did I do to deserve you?”

[26] The Spires all had different approaches to decide who would receive the title of Lord or Lady. In the Fire Spire the title was passed down, usually through families, by the current Lord or Lady naming a successor who would inherit the role when they died. The Air Spire handled the process fairly similarly, with the exception that the proposed successor would need to be approved by a public vote. If the public found the proposed Lord or Lady unworthy, another successor would need to be proposed, and so on.

Citizens of the Earth Spire earnt the title of Lord, either through hard work or by inventing/creating something that improved the lives of Olossa everywhere. For example, Varkun had earnt the title of Lord by replaceing a way to improve sewage systems, which whilst not particularly glamorous, reduced disease outbreaks by half.