Once upon a time, in a faraway land…
You see, I am told that this is how all great stories begin. I find it rather lacking, to be uncomfortably honest. The events in this tale happened around two years ago, in a land that is quite nearby. The country I speak of lurks in the quiet places of our world, always just around the corner. Maybe you’ll find it in your closet or perhaps your local supermarket, perched behind a pile of limes. Portals are unpredictable, but they do seem strangely attracted to limes. Many interdimensional travelers carry a lime or two in their pocket at all times, just in case they find themselves stranded in an unknown universe. As most of you probably know already, a lime in the pocket is the first step of preparing for the apocalypse.
It was night in this strange nearby country, and the city’s lights were hard at work, pushing back the dark. The city had many lights, all hovering above the river, chatting pleasantly in their own secret language. Most were lanterns, colorful beings that carried flames in their hearts. Others were mere ethereal specks, floating like silver fireflies and dancing cheerfully over the water.
Lady Amaryllis Grey, of the Amerythian Court, stood at a gargantuan window and watched them as her breath misted the glass. “Beautiful creatures,” she remarked, as they bobbed up and down, conversing quietly. A soft rustling reached her ears. Their language sounded like the whispering wind.
Her associates shifted uncomfortably. “Remember the upcoming meeting, my lady,” one said, as if worried she had forgotten.
“Do you think our young queen would choose a senile old woman to be her ambassador?” she asked sharply. Her coils of white hair glinted in the gloom. “Nay… Dorian, was it? Nay, Dorian, my wits are as sharp as ever. Do not disrespect our illustrious ruler.”
Dorian subsided, nodding apologetically. A few minutes passed in silence, until he could not contain himself any longer. “Who shall the other ambassadors be?”
“Only one other ambassador, from the Court of Kintel,” she shot at him, her voice alternating between a purr and a hiss. “I do not know who they have chosen to send.” She paused, he expression darkening dangerously. “You didn’t think there would be a third ambassador, did you?”
Dorian shook his head. Only his excellent training as a soldier kept him from backing up into the luxurious velvet curtains.
Lady Grey stepped forward, undaunted. “You don’t believe in a third court, do you?”
Dorian opened his mouth. Behind Lady Grey’s satin-covered back, his partner shook his head vigorously. Dorian shut his mouth with a soft click.
“Much better,” Lady Grey remarked.
Dorian’s partner, a short, unimpressive-looking young man, let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Dorian wasn’t so bad, really. He just had a tendency to say the wrong things at entirely the wrong moments.
Both Dorian Florith and his partner, who went by the name of Namaril, had heard the rumors that a third court ambassador was going to sneak into the meeting. They both knew how ridiculous the rumors were, too. Third court or no third court, absolutely no one snuck into negotiations riding on the back of a unicorn. The difference between them was that Dorian wished to tell his lady these rumors out of some sort of misguided loyalty, while Namaril was a sensible individual who quite liked his job a somewhat important guard, and had no intention of losing it.
While Namaril contemplated his status as a sensible individual, the door at the opposite end of the room flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. A young woman wearing a dress constructed from long swaths of gleaming green silk strode in, flanked by two tall guards. One carried a flag with a shining white snowflake insignia on a deep green background.
Lady Grey shot Namaril a stern glare. A purple flag edged surreptitiously out of the drapery and came to rest in his hand. It flared out suddenly, a blue-tinted star emerging from the purple folds.
The overt display of court symbols over, the Kintellish ambassador cleared her throat. “I am here to converse with the ambassador of the Court of Ameryth. I ask the ambassador to step forth.”
“I am she,” Lady Grey said crisply, stepping forward. “I am Lady Grey of the Court of Ameryth. I ask my Kintellish counterpart to state her name so that we may begin.”
Dorian yawned discreetly. Really, he thought, the excess of protocol couldn’t be necessary. He opened his mouth, noticed Namaril’s vitriolic glare, and shut it again.
“I am Ambassador Amery Annareth, of the Court of Kintel. Now that the formalities are over, we must get to business.” The guard on her left, a formidable woman with a large sword handing from her belt, handed her a small scroll. The ambassador took it, her eyes lingering on her extremely tall guards, and then flicking forward to glance at Namaril, who was easily half the size of either one of them.
Namaril seemed to consider being offended, then decided to go in the opposite direction entirely. He raised his hands, smirking, and winked as if to say, “What can I say? I’m short, but enormously talented.”
“May I ask why you have such a diminutive guard, Lady Grey?”
“What can I say?” Namaril began breezily. “I’m short, but en—“
Lady Grey swept in front of him, her skirt swishing and doubtless doing a marvelous job of sweeping the dust from the carpet. “This is Namaril, one of our court’s greatest soldier-magicians.”
Namaril very wisely shut up, vaporizing the doubtful look the other ambassador had directed at him by summoning his companion spirit, which manifested as a glittering golden dragon, about the size of a small dog. He snapped his fingers with as much drama as he could muster, cautiously drawing on the spirit’s power to create Its eyes glinted in the gloom.
“I hereby cast a protection on myself and my associates, against the magic of the soldier Namaril and any spirits associated with him.” Blue light flared around Amery Annareth as her own companion spirit answered her call.
Namaril raised his eyebrows. “Do you even know how rude that was? It implies that you think I’m going to attack! Dear gods, you must be a newbie.”
Lady Grey drifted closer to him, then stomped viciously on his feet without disturbing the gauzy ruffles of her dress. Namaril winced.
“I apologize for the behavior of this guard,” Lady Grey said crossly.
Namaril grimaced, wondering vaguely if Lady Grey wore shoes or switchblades. “I hereby cast a protection on myself, against the footwear of Lady Amaryllis Grey,” he whispered softly. The golden dragon nodded covertly, and added its strength to the spell.
“Can we get on with this meeting?” Lady Grey’s lips pressed tightly together, as though each moment in the room was deeply painful to her.
“Very well,” Annareth sighed. “I’m here to speak to you about the Nameless Madriconian.”
“What of it? Last I heard, it wasn’t extending its power past the borders of its forest.” Lady Grey folded her arms, looking distinctly stormy.
“It is the most powerful spirit in the multiverse, you cannot deny that it is threatening to us!”
“It is not acting terribly threatening at the moment,” Lady Grey noted.
“Have you seen what it did to its forest? It is a place of horror!”
Lady Grey seemed bored by places of horror.
“It is called the Forest of Drowning Souls these days. The Madriconian appears to be sensing the misery of nearby humans and… broadcasting it somehow. No Kintellish spirit knows how it can do such a thing.”
Namaril stepped forward. “Kintellish spirits must not be terribly intelligent,” he said pompously. “Misery attracts misery. The Madriconian is angry and miserable, and so it attracts and acts as a pathway for the negative emotions of nearby humans. The human emotions then join the cesspool of raw, awful emotion that is the remnants of the Madriconian’s home. Understand? Or is this too technical for you?”
“It’s too technical,” Dorian said. Annareth just stared primly at Namaril.
“The Madriconian is angry and miserable, so it is filling its home with the negative emotions of humans in a wild fit of… well, anger and misery.”
“Why couldn’t he have said that earlier?” Annareth grumbled.
“He had to show off first,” Lady Grey said reasonably, sending Namaril and Dorian private looks of intense exasperation. Dorian looked deeply wounded.
“Again,” Lady Grey said, beginning her attempt to return to polite protocol, “I ask you to note that the Madriconian has not extended its power beyond the borders of its land. It has not infected any Court territory yet. However, if it did, I doubt any court could stop it.”
“Except the… third…” Dorian’s voice trailed off into silence as Namaril and Lady Grey gave him withering stares. If Lady Grey had been a magician, Dorian would likely have crumbled into a pile of desiccated ashes and been spread across the intricately patterned carpet by then.
“There is no third court,” Namaril reminded him, “save for a name in an outdated children’s rhyme. And deep in the delusions of manic conspiracy theorists, I suppose.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Dorian said, sighing dramatically. “But I suppose you’re right.”
“I apologize, once again, on behalf of my unruly guards,” Lady Grey announced wearily.
“There’s no need, I have grown accustomed to their interruptions,” the Kintellish ambassador said.
Lady Grey allowed her parched lips to part in a slight smile. Namaril and Dorian wondered vaguely if this was the start of a beautiful friendship. Then the smile evaporated like a raindrop on hot sand. “Now, if we remember our original discussion… I believe my point was that no court can hope to fight the Madriconian.”
“Quite,” the other ambassador agreed. “That is all I desired to speak with you about.”
“We will, of course, keep it under surveillance.”
“Of course,” Annareth said. “I believe this meeting is over.” She bowed, folding neatly in half like a stiff sheet of paper.
Lady Grey watched the shiny mass of dark hair on the back of Amery Annareth’s head retreat into the night. Then she turned, casting one last glance at the crowd of lantern-shaped creatures hovering peacefully over the river outside, and left. Dorian and Namaril followed her, Namaril limping slightly as pain shot through his thoroughly bruised toes.
I am lucky to have such a full account of that meeting, since it occurred months before I had even heard of the courts, or the land they ruled. The Third Court ambassador was able to give me an extremely detailed and perceptive eyewitness account, even catching part of the lanterns’ conversation. They had been complaining about how long their work hours were, and how the Courts barely paid them the minimum wage these days.
I did ask if unicorns were involved in the infiltration. Sadly, I was informed that unicorns are highly dangerous, ferocious, and unpredictable, and therefore the Third Court tended to avoid them.
