The Meeting

Fríġdâ, the 27th of Ostaramonað in the year 267

Rain hammered the shutters. Wind howled through the vast hall, rattling the chains of the massive chandelier overhead.

Before a roaring fire, a corpulent man sat heavily upon a beautifully carved wooden throne. The flickering light carved deep shadows across Prince Vladimir’s troubled face. Clad in a thick ruby-red cloak draped over his broad shoulders, his black trousers cinched by a gleaming gold belt, the prince exclaimed, “Grand one, you must fix this crisis! It cannot keep happening. The conclave is questioning my honour.”

The man before him, tall and imposing, with dark hair streaked with grey, regarded him with quiet intensity. His long, flowing robes, embroidered with intricate threads of gold, lent him the bearing of a cleric. His eyes, deep and unlit, held no warmth. Leaning forward, he scrutinised Vladimir so intently that the prince instinctively recoiled.

“Prince Vladimir,” the man said, voice calm yet commanding, “I understand your concerns. And it will be investigated. Though it has been only a handful of days since your request, I have summoned my nephew. He will meet us here.”

“Your nephew?” Vladimir gasped, surprise rippling through his posture.

A faint smile curved the grand one’s lips. “Yes. Peculiar, but meticulous.” He raised a finger, his tone sharpened. “Full cooperation is required. He may not be a grand one like me, but he is a god like me.”

“Yes, grand one,” Vladimir murmured, still processing the declaration. “Praise Kanum for sending his sons.”

A low rumble sounded from the wooden doors. They creaked open, revealing a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, his light skin pale in the flickering torchlight. Dressed in a snug navy jumper and tailored Prussian blue trousers, his steps carried a quiet confidence that resonated through the hall despite the storm raging outside.

He nodded to the guardsman and strode forward. The gaze of twenty armed men settled upon him, but his stride did not falter.

Upon reaching his uncle, he bowed. “Grand Patriarch Edmund, I have come at your behest.”

Edmund’s expression brightened. “Welcome, Lord William.” He gestured grandly to the prince. “This is Prince Vladimir. Prince, my nephew, Lord William.”

William exchanged curt pleasantries, then turned as Edmund continued, “William, there have been several attacks. You are to determine what is happening and put a stop to it.”

“Understood,” William replied. “By what manifestation have these attacks occurred? Stabbings? Organised groups?”

Vladimir shifted uneasily on his throne. Edmund merely smiled, enigmatic and unhelpful. “The specifics remain ambiguous. Twenty-one victims are dead. Two survivors linger in grave condition. It is your task to determine what has happened.”

William regarded Edmund with a measured look, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. Is he serious? Surely they can give me more than this. He allowed himself a thin smile. “Understood. So, are there investigative reports? Or should I take it that no one has begun investigating?”

The hall erupted in laughter, a discordant blend of amusement and disbelief.

“William, William,” Edmund chuckled, shaking his head like a patient tutor addressing a stubborn student. “You are missing the point. That is why you are here. You are the investigator.”

William’s expression cooled. “So what I understand is this: people have been attacked and killed. Yet no one knows their names, the locations, or the circumstances in which they were found. And no one has attempted to establish any of it.”

“Ah,” Vladimir interjected eagerly, “the provincial rolls were sent. They declare the attacks.”

William’s smile faded. “Very well,” he said. “I will need copies of these declarations. As there are two survivors, I would like to see them, and I will arrange for their medical examinations.”

“Of course!” Edmund exclaimed. “You’ll have the declarations. And Prince Vladimir may inform the conclave that matters are in hand. The latest attack occurred eight days ago. Begin there. Now, I must be going.”

As Edmund swept past him, he flicked a dismissive hand as though brushing away an insect. “Now, William,” he hissed softly, “you should start wearing robes. This ordinary look may seem smart, but it is not aligned with best practice. I am on thin ground with the Council. You should be concerned with appearing distinct; this reflects on my professional reputation.”

William inclined his head, his calm carrying an edge of quiet defiance. “My attire suits me. I need not pretend to be something I am not. What matters is completing the investigation. And if you required a more ‘distinct’ appearance, perhaps you should have petitioned the Council for a formal investigator.”

Colour drained from Edmund’s face before returning in a hot flush. “I cannot! The Council blocked it. I was forced to pick you. And for your records, it is customary, when on official business, to wear robes. Though that is hardly the greatest concern right now.” His tone hardened. “You must understand this, William.” He jabbed a finger toward the stone floor. “We are gods here.”

William grimaced. “Gods? Are we assuming divine mantles? We are halëdrúmans, not gods. I do not believe it is appropriate to mislead.”

“Enough,” Edmund snapped, cutting him off. “We are gods here. That is the structure that holds this place together. They have no concept of what we truly are. Do not break that model. Now go.”

A wry smile tugged at William’s mouth. “Who knew? I am a god. Are gods permitted to investigate?”

Edmund pressed a hand to his forehead, exasperated. “William. Focus. Your abilities will be seen as godlike, end of story. You are here to investigate these attacks. Nothing else.”

William closed his eyes briefly. I could be training. I could be studying. Anything but rescuing him from yet another predicament. When he opened them, Edmund was already striding toward the exit, then paused, turning back sharply.

“Oh, one more thing.” Edmund approached, voice low and urgent. “The local god worshipped here is Kanum. We are his children, messengers of Kanum and his sons. Remember that. And he is a wolf god, for some reason.” Edmund waved a hand impatiently. “Do not enlighten them. Do not meddle.”

William narrowed his eyes. “Then at least provide clarification on their mythology. It may be relevant….”

“Not your concern!” Edmund snapped, spinning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows of the corridor.

Silence lingered for a moment before William released a heavy sigh. Come, William. Think. If the mythology tangles, you will blame Edmund. He turned back to the prince, who watched him with thinly veiled amusement.

“Prince Vladimir,” William said, voice returning to its calm, deliberate register, “where may I obtain these declarations you mentioned?”

Vladimir chuckled lightly. “In the Hall of Records.” He gestured toward the rain-lashed window. “Across the way. I hope you don’t mind getting wet. My guardsman will guide you.”

William glanced at the rattling shutters as the storm howled against them. “I do not mind,” he said evenly.

Vladimir nodded. “Very well, messenger.”

William inclined his head. “I will retrieve the declarations and begin immediately.”

With a final nod, he strode toward the entrance, into the beginning of his investigation, leaving behind a chorus of laughter mingling with the thunderous symphony of the storm outside.