A cadre of Sashul's guard lined out in formation along the peripheries of the throne room as Remun watched on from atop his throne on the far side of the cavernous chamber. It was clear that the palace guard was taking no chances with the Drathan visitors making their way through the palace at this very moment. Irssun too seemed guarded, standing beside the throne with his arms folded thoughtfully behind his back. A handful of his viziers, including Vizier Dimaza, were gathered on the right side of the throne. Remun read glowering consternation on the viziers, with Dimaza's face showing borderline fury - as if it was taking every ounce of his strength to contain himself.

"How can you let these beasts into our city? Into your very home?" Dimaza growled. "The words of the Dratha are nothing but lies. Your majesty, let us be rid of whatever treachery they wish to speak; let me sink my blade through their throats that they may never be used to utter another falsehood."

"Be calm, Vizier," Remun said with a shake of the head. "The past treachery of the Dratha is not lost upon me. I fear you will soon have the opportunity to slay many of their kind, but we may have an opportunity today to stave off war with the Drathan Union. Conflict with the Congress would be catastrophic, and we must all be committed to securing lasting peace. I will hear what these emissaries have to say, that we may avoid war with the Drathan Union."

"I must confess that Vizier Dimaza's concerns have some measure of merit," Irssun said, taking a step closer to Remun's side. "There is no telling what sort of falsehoods the Congress intends to spin before us today. Treat every word uttered by these emissaries as a masterfully-crafted lie." But Remun gave no form of acknowledgement to his advisor, sitting in regal silence upon the Sashul's Throne.

The gatelike doors on the opposite end of the throne room were pushed open, allowing a vanguard of Sashul's Guard to escort the palace herald halfway down the colonnaded aisle running through the center of the chamber.

"Your majesty," the herald began, "I come to request an audience on behalf of Masters Kaliban, Qaztul, and Melak das Jaagal, esteemed representatives of the Drathan Union. Shall I permit them entry into your presence?" Irssun, Dimaza, and the viziers looked expectantly toward the Sashul as he paused for several moments.

"You shall," Remun responded at last.

Upon hearing the command of their Sashul, the palace guards parted in unison toward the columns, clearing the portal and the aisle in front of the doors. Taking their cue to enter, the three emissaries entered the throne room.

Remun had never seen Dratha before, and his first impression of the beings striding gracefully toward him now was that of superiority - a curious thing indeed for the Sashul of all men to feel about [i]anyone[/i]. These Dratha had a superhuman air about them. They were slender and gracile specimens: unnaturally tall to the point of dwarfing everyone else in the chamber, be they Saliszi nobles or Rainlander servants. Their skin was ghostly white and of a pallid complexion that the swarthy men of the Rainlands only encountered in corpses. Their vestments were unlike anything Remun had even seen worn on another person. The three Drathan emissaries wore glossy cuirasses and greaves fashioned from some sort of leather or insect carapace - Remun couldn't be sure which. The one in the center of the triad - the one Remun presumed to be the leader of this delegation - wore spiny epaulets carved from the jagged claws of what had to have been a mighty wolf scorpion. A chain of black metal joined the two shoulderguards, from whence a flowing cape of some exotic fabric was draped. The material seemed to be spun from the night itself, and so abhorred the light of day that it reflected the line shone upon it in iridescent glimmers.

The presumed leader of the delegation met the gaze of the Sashul, and Remun looked into the empty eyes of the Dratha for the first time. Their eyes were completely black, and drew the attention of all the Salished gathered around them. One could never tell where the emissaries were looking. But there was no doubt that the Dratha could see that all the Salished were transfixed upon them; their collective attention drawn into their eyes like light and nebulae consumed by the great swallowing voids described by Drathan astrologists.

"Sashul Remun, son of Davorgada, I am Master Kaliban of Zar Mythrad. My companions and I come on behalf of the Congress of Masters and the Archmagister Khalul the Magnificent. We come today to establish a dialogue between our two realms. We are appreciative of your cooperation thus far, and I am optimistic that our meetings shall be fruitful," the cape-clad emissary began.

"Indeed," Remun responded. "My father was unwilling to treat with your Congress, and I fear that his recalcitrance may have needlessly cost our realms a great number of lives. Know that I am not my father, and that I will at the very least hear what your Congress has to say."

"To be sure, the relation between our realms has doubtlessly been strained during the past twenty-five years. While the Congress was saddened to hear of the loss of your father, we welcome the coronation of a new Sashul that we might once again build a dialogue with the Salished Empire."

"Saddened to hear of Sashul Davorgada's death?" Vizier Dimaza snarled incredulously. "It was the actions of Khalul that sent Remun's father to an early grave. Nothing could have pleased your Congress more than news of his death. Do not come into the house of the Sashul if you mean to fill its halls with lies." Remun gave Dimaza an irritated glare, though Master Kaliban responded with a bemused smirk.

"Will you silence this imbecile already?" Irssun whispered into Remun's ear.

"His anger is justified, I am not offended, Sashul," Master Kaliban said before Dimaza could be dismissed. "The Archmagister wisely recognized that resentment might remain within your court. To this end, I have been instructed to present you with gifts from the Archmagister himself. Consider them to be tokens of commiseration." With that, Kaliban gave two crisp claps which prompted the rest of his delegation to enter the throne room.

A score of men marched into the room, each one clad in roughspun linen robes with their heads completely shorn. Whiplash scars and bruise-mottled skin gave proof that these wretched beings were slaves. They carried ornately-carved boxes fashioned from black crespice wood in their arms, their white eyes cast down to the floor in submission. As the gift-bearers filed past the three Dratha and approached the throne, the Sashul's Guard mobilized. They drew swords and immediately spread out in front of the throne dais to prevent the gift-bearers from getting any closer to the Sashul.

"Your guards are wary, which is to be expected," a sympathetic Kaliban concluded. "The guards may inspect the gifts at a later time, but I ask that the Sashul see one in particular."

One slave, carrying the smallest of the boxes, stepped forward toward the guards. The Sashul's guard looked to Remun, who gave a nod of approval. The guards stepped aside, allowing the lone gift-bearer up to the throne. The slave bowed at the foot of the throne and held the box toward Remun. Upon taking the box from his hands, the slave immediately turned away and returned to join with his fellow gift-bearers.

Remun lifted the top from the box, and gingerly pulled the contents from the silk-padded interior. In the palm of the Sashul's hand was an armillary sphere, a brass machine built of concentric rings that spun about inside one another. Violet crystals were embedded into the outer joints of the contraption, galvanizing the machine with arcane energy and setting the myriad graduation marks and Drathan glyphs etched into the brass rings aglow with a bluish-purple aura. The rings inside the globe were spinning about wildly, turning about on every possible axis. Inside four layers of spinning rings, Remun could see a needle-like piece of metal whose color would change from bluish-green, to orange, and then to purple, based upon where the light shone upon it. This arrow-shaped needle of exotic metal would flit about wildly, shivering toward Remun for a second or two before shooting away to point at the Drathan emissaries for another moment.

"Azt'jalum..." Remun recognized, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Correct, Sashul," affirmed Master Kaliban. "Azt'jalum does not occur in this world. All the azt'jalum that exists on Azoth was either brought to this world from the beyond, or synthesized by alchemical means. It is exceedingly rare, but as a scholar, I suspect you already knew that."

Remun tore his gaze from the device in his palm and glanced at Irssun, who seemed to be nervously eyeing the gyrating sphere.

"You may also be aware, young Sashul, that azt'jalum orients itself toward fonts of arcane power," Kaliban continued. "Just as reliably as a fragment of lodestone within a mundane compass orients itself with the northern reaches of Azoth, azt'jalum points toward sources of arcane energy. The device you hold in your hand is what is known as an arcanometer. It is an invaluable tool for practitioners of the Art."

"The Art?" Remun asked. A wide grin drew across Master Kaliban's face.

"I see now that Irssun omitted a few subjects from your curriculum during your imprisonment."

"What are you talking about?" Remun demanded, setting the arcanometer down onto his lap. "What is he referring to, Irssun?"

"Pay him no mind, your majesty. He is attempting to deceive you, now dismiss them from your presence."

"We know that Irssun educated you when your father imprisoned you," said Master Kaliban. "This is common knowledge among the Congress. But I can see now that Irssun's studies were not complete, for you know nothing of the Art."

"What is this Art of which you speak?"

"Magic," he declared. "Our people, the Dratha, are not simply born with the ability to harness supernatural energies. Our kind is predisposed toward it, but we Dratha are not born sorcerers. This is why it is called the Art, not the Gift. One must be gifted to practice the Art, but the Art itself - like any craft - must be perfected through diligence and study. The same diligent and rigorous study we know you have been accustomed to during your imprisonment."

"I will admit, young Sashul, that Irssun is in part correct. Our stated intention of meeting with you has not been entirely true. The Archmagister has no interest in treating with the Salished Empire. Instead, we come to deliver a proposition unto [i]you[/i]. The Archmagister desires that this be expressed directly to your ears, that Irssun and your other advisers are denied the opportunity to intercept it."

"Enough of this!" Irssun cried out. "Guards, remove these men from the throne chamber!" Irssun's command galvanized the guards into action. The shiver of a hundred swords being unsheathed rang out through the chamber, and the guards made their way toward the Dratha standing before Remun.

"You do not take orders from him!" Remun bellowed, scooping the arcanometer into his hand and bolting up from his throne. "You answer to [i]me[/i]! Now stand down!"

The guards exchanged glances with one another and froze. Qaztul and Melak das Jaagal exchanged behumored smiles, and Kaliban could not help but chuckle, exposing his sharp Drathan teeth.

"This is precisely why the Archmagister tasked us with delivering this proposition unto you, Remun. The Salished Empire is in shambles. You know it, your lords know it, and the Congress of Masters knows it. Your father, in his obsession for complete control over the Salished Empire, decimated the loyalty of his client lords. And now that his reign of tyranny has ended, your dominion is erupting in rebellion. Disloyalty is so ingrained in this society that even your advisors attempt to rule in your stead. Insofar as I can see, Irssun sees himself as the true ruler of the Salished Dominion and you as his puppet of a Sashul."

"What does your Archmagister propose, Master Kaliban?" Remun asked, paying no mind as Irssun and the viziers fretted.

"The Archmagister envisions two options for us. The first, and most satisfactory option to all parties involved. Abdication of the Salished throne, and dissolving the borders of the Dominion into a number of districts to be governed by appointees of the Archmagister's choosing. In return for your cooperation, the Archmagister has made arrangements for you to learn the Art under the tutelage of Master Qaztul at Zar Thryznur."

"Young Sashul, you are known throughout the Ashlands as a great scholar, especially given your age," added Master Qaztul. He was gaunt-faced Drathan whose silver hair had been woven into dozens of matted dreadlocks all bunched together in a twisted bun on the back of his neck. "I would be honored to accept you as my apprentice. I have trained four apprentices in the Art, and so I have come to recognize potential in prospective apprentices. I sense that you could become a powerful sorcerer indeed under my instruction."

"You are a scholar, Remun," the third Drathan chimed in, "not a Sashul. Politics is such a tiresome game. The Congress of Masters is a society of scholars. You will be in better company with fellow scholars. Leave this moribund empire to its fate."

"Sashul!" Irssun exclaimed, "do not think for a moment that they would hold to any agreement you make. Once the Archmagister has what he wants, he will simply kill you! You are nothing but an obstacle to them!"

"And the second option?" Remun asked Master Kaliban.

"Die with your empire as it collapses into chaos."

"You cannot seriously be considering this!" Irssun called out. 

"The Sashul is under some sort of mind-spell!" Dimaza bellowed, unsheathing his soulsteel blade. "Enough Drathan trickery, Khalul will know the Sashul's response when we send their heads back to Zar Dratha!"

As Dimaza made his way down the dais toward the Dratha, Melak das Jaagal cupped his fingers around orbs of arcane energy forming in his palms.

"Take one more step, and I shall leave nothing of you but a scorchmark on the tiles." Melak threatened as raw magical energy pulsed with a malicious orange light between his fingers.

As tensions rose, the guards began drawing in around the Dratha. Qatzul and Kaliban remained more calm than their companion, but a quick glance at the arcanometer showed the machine's azt'jalum needle was quivering wildly toward Kaliban, indicating that he was quietly gathering enough energy to massacre several guards in an instant.

"What of the common people in the Dominion?" Remun asked as tensions built toward a terrible crescendo. "What will become of them?"

"Nothing will change for them. The rulers appointed by the Archmagister will assume the leadership of these lands in the stead of the Sashul's vassal lords. New lords will take the place of the old and their lives will go on as they always have. Nothing will change for the peasantry."

In the midst of the chaos building on the floor below him - the Dratha surrounded by a sea of blades - Remun noticed the Drathan slaves, pressed into a corner on the far side of the throne room by a contingent of Sashul's Guard. Even from this distance, Remun could see them cowering in the corner, their bald heads scarred and bruised by all manner of Drathan abuse. These had likely hailed from the Ashlands, but Remun could recognize that if he acquiesced with Khalul's ultimatum, the people of the Rainlands would join the ranks of the peoples enslaved by the Dratha. Master Kaliban was correct in recognizing that Remun had no desire to be the Sashul, but watching those slaves cower in the corner reminded him that Remun was not Sashul for himself, but for the people that knew him as Sashul.

"Guards!" Remun called out at last. "This delegation is no longer welcome in my presence. Seize them, and take them to the undercroft. I will keep them there until I know how best to deal with them."

With that, the guards sheathed their swords and pressed in to grab the Dratha by the arms. Melak das Jagaal seemed ready to unleash his energy upon a few of the Salished guards, but a single shake of Kaliban's head instructed him not to resist. Without any disturbance, the Dratha allowed themselves to be escorted out of the throne room. A handful of guards remained to mind the Drathan slaves after the doors to the throne room were shut. As Remun slumped back down into his throne, Irssun gave an audible sigh of relief with the potential for disaster over.

"I am very proud of you, your majesty." A relieved Irssun. "The war with the Congress of Masters could have begun within your own palace. But you've handled a delicate situation as best you could. However, war with the Congress now seems inevitable."

"It has always been inevitable, spymaster," Dimaza added. "Did you not hear the Dratha? Khalul means to take the Rainlands. We must react accordingly, and mobilize our forces to protect the Vorghul Shelf."

"You are truly an imbecile, Dimaza! You very nearly instigated a fight with no less than [i]three[/i] Drathan sorcerers. Do you have any concept of how powerful just one wizard is? They would have killed us all, the Sashul included."

"But... you are right. There is no longer any doubt, Khalul means to invade. We must look to our defenses. The time has come to mobilize the armies and hold back the forces of the Dratha."

But Remun offered no response. He didn't even bother to look up to his vizier or spymaster. His eyes were fixed on the gyrating rings of the arcanometer in his lap. His eyes followed the quivering azt'jalum needle, which now pointed directly at Remun now that the Dratha were gone.