Paragon of Destruction

When Arran walked into the gardens with the Matriarch, the sheer number of people there caused him some surprise. Even if he had spent hours personally welcoming all of the groups, he only fully realized just how many people were present when he saw them all together.

And these weren’t just any people, either. They were the Valley’s most powerful and distinguished mages, along with many of their most promising students.

An attack here would cripple the Valley for countless generations to come, perhaps even weaken it to the point of collapse. And all it would take was a few bottles of poison.

Arran paled slightly as he considered the idea, and he found himself glad that Brightblade had paid frequent visits to the kitchens to get some early tastes of the banquet’s delicacies.

But then, perhaps that wasn’t her only motivation. Perhaps she had recognized the risk, and had taken actions to counter it. Knowing Brightblade, Arran would be surprised if she hadn’t.

The arrival of the Matriarch in the gardens did not go unnoticed. At her side, Arran saw that all the mages’ eyes turned to them as soon as they approached, with looks that held a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

This was wholly different from how the Elders had reacted to the Matriarch two weeks earlier. Back then, most had only shown her the respect required for her rank, and nothing more.

But more than a few Elders had vanished since then, and now, the Elders met her eyes far less confidently. Fear, it seemed, was an effective substitute for respect.

There was a dais at the back of the feasting grounds, and it was here that the Matriarch led Arran. As she stepped upon it she motioned for him to follow, then took a quick glance around, and called out, "Commander Brightblade, please be so kind as to join us."

Brightblade stepped out from the crowd a moment later, quickly finishing the last piece of some pastry as she stepped onto the dais.

The Matriarch greeted her with a small nod, then turned her eyes back to the crowd. She stood silently for several moments, letting her eyes wander over the gathered mages, until finally, she spoke.

"A time of change is upon us," she began, her voice loud enough to reach even those mages farthest from the dais. "Today, we have gathered to welcome my chosen heir, and with us stands the new Commander of the Valley."

She briefly paused, and a few cheers and claps could be heard from the crowd.

"But these steps are just the beginning," she continued, her expression hardening as she spoke. "Half a century of peace has seen our Valley grow weak, and to continue on this path is to invite war. Only by regaining our strength can we deter our enemies. And to that end, I have three announcements to make."

No cheers sounded this time. While the mages in the crowd had already known about the changes in Arran’s and Brightblade’s positions, they were now told that there would be more changes, and they awaited the Matriarch’s next words with wary eyes.

"First," she said, "the Houses’ most talented students are to join my heir in training. Many of you are already aware of this, but those Houses who have yet to choose students for this task are ordered to do so with no delay."

Some grumbles sounded at this, more than a few of the Elders appearing unhappy at being ordered to do something they intended anyway. But the Matriarch continued, "These students will receive the guidance of all of us — both their training and their loyalty will belong first to the Valley, and only then to their own Houses."

At this, several gasps and complaints rose from the crowd. Having their students join Arran in training was one thing, but to relinquish control over them was a step beyond that — and one that the Houses clearly had not intended to take.

Yet the Matriarch ignored the protests, and the sound of her voice drowned out the dissatisfied murmur.

"Second," she said, "a new stronghold has been erected for Commander Brightblade. There, she will begin training the Valley’s mages for battle. All Houses are to send a tenth of their numbers to this Stronghold tomorrow. All who are sent will train under Brightblade’s command for a year, after which they will be replaced by a new group. Any mages she chooses to become part of her personal guard, however, will remain under her command."

This time, several shouts of indignation came from the crowd. If the Matriarch’s first announcement had displeased the Elders, this one angered them — it was an open attack on the Houses’ autonomy, as well as their own power.

"Silence!" The Matriarch’s voice thundered through the gardens. "These are orders, not requests. Any who refuse or object will be stripped of their rank and banished from the Valley."

Her tone made it clear that this was no empty threat, and the crowd went silent at once.

The Matriarch looked at the gathered mages, and when she was satisfied that none dared speak, she continued her speech.

"Third," she said, "the Valley has wasted its resources for too long. No more. Starting tomorrow, the Houses are ordered to take in anyone in our Valley with even the slightest shred of talent and provide them with proper training. The Valley has hundreds of thousands of such mages, and by next month, I expect each of them to have joined a House. The leaders of any House that fails to do its part in this endeavor will face consequences."

This time, no noise came from the crowd. Instead, there was only a stunned silence.

And no wonder, Arran thought. He had seen how many mages there were in the outer Valley. Allowing any who wanted to join the Houses would easily triple the Houses’ numbers, and burden them with the training of numerous initiates and novices.

"Lady Matriarch." A calm voice sounded from the crowd, and with a glance, Arran saw that it came from an Elder — the woman from the House of Shadows who had refused to represent Brightblade in inspecting the dueling grounds.

"What is it, Apate?" The Matriarch looked at the Elder with an emotionless expression.

"These announcements..." The woman hesitated, then continued, "Do you mean to lead us to war against the Hunters?"

It was an obvious question, even to Arran. From what the Matriarch had announced, it sounded like she did not just intend to rebuild the Valley’s strength. Rather, it sounded like she was preparing for war.

"I do not." The Matriarch spoke plainly, and in a calm voice. "But I do mean to prepare us for one. We have grown weak — weak enough to become a target for our enemies. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the opportunity, and as things stand, we have no hope of victory."

At these words, a shocked murmur ran through the crowd.

The Ninth Valley’s weakness was a public secret, known by many but rarely mentioned. Yet with the Matriarch discussing it so openly, the Elders could no longer ignore it — they would finally have to face the unwelcome truth.

It took several minutes for the whispers to end, and the Matriarch waited patiently. When the area finally fell silent again, she spoke once more.

"I trust that all of you will take these announcements to heart, and carry out my orders immediately," she said. "But any further discussion of these matters can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is a night of celebration, so please, enjoy the festivities."

Her final words were as absurd as they were unexpected, and Arran watched in amazement as she stepped down from the dais and headed to one of the tables.

A quick look at the crowd confirmed that after the Matriarch’s announcements, the mood was anything but festive, and after a moment’s hesitation, Arran stepped down from the dais as well. He had expected he would have to give a short speech, but with the gloomy expressions on the Elders’ faces, he very much doubted that the few jokes he had prepared would be well-received.

Brightblade followed behind him, and as she caught up, she gave Arran an amused look.

"Rhea was never much fun at parties, even when she was young," she said with a shrug. "You could hardly expect a few centuries to change that."