The town had undergone a dramatic transformation during Mina’s absence. The mercenaries who had been taking advantage of the town’s dire straits tried to continue their abuses as usual, but without any new monster attacks, Donovan told them that their credit with the town had run dry. If they wanted food, drink, and lodgings, they would have to start paying for the goods and services they had helped themselves to.

The mercenaries hadn’t taken kindly to that, but Fariel was quick to control the crowd with a flashy display of magic. After that, the mercenaries who had gathered to “defend” the town left, drifting off in pairs or larger groups. There was no more work, and no more advantage to be gained here.

By the time Mina and company returned, the townsfolk had regained some of their cheer, conducting their business in a much more relaxed atmosphere than before. The people welcomed their own back with cheers, and though they were confused by the reduced numbers of mercenaries returning, no one particularly raised a fuss about it. The soldiers were given free drinks and meals, though much of it came from the relief supplies they had brought themselves. Everyone spent the evening celebrating the successful resolution of the monster attacks against the town.

“Remember this,” Grandma said to Jiyon. “This is your goal.”

Donovan, Fariel, Mina, Tanner, and Grandma sat at a table together, catching each other up on their goings on. They each made sympathetic noises while listening to the others, and Fariel predictably scribbled copious notes when Grandma related the dream she’d had of the dungeon’s master.

“One thing bothers me,” Mina said, emphasizing her words with a forkful of meat. “The miasmas here are much older and stronger than the ones we found in Bowcreek. Why is that?”

Fariel flipped through his notes. “Well, you did clear them out two years earlier than these ones.”

“Not enough time,” Grandma said, piecing together the words. [Two years isn’t enough to account for the difference.]

“Right, two years isn’t enough time to account for the difference.” Mina nibbled on her meat.

“The Frog mentioned something about a calamity that destroyed mountains long ago?” Tanner put in, though he was uncertain if this would be relevant.

Donovan scratched his head. “How bad does a calamity have to be to destroy a whole mountain?”

“It’s worse than you think,” Fariel murmured, rubbing his forehead in consternation. “I read in passing, during my student days, about an ancient disaster that changed not only the face of the land, but also the very fabric of magic.”

“Sounds bad,” Grandma said, head tilted in interest. “Tell us more?”

“It happened before the empire was founded. Historians never knew what exactly occurred, because everyone directly involved was killed in the incident. But if you dig through the history books, you’ll find that, at around roughly the same time period, many different tribes around the land describe a terrible calamity that changed the very landscape. Apparently, the stories say, the land crumbled, all life withered, and the very mana that flowed through the world was burnt up.”

“Fascinating.” Grandma gestured, encouraging the scholar to continue.

“Most historians in recent years have come to dismiss these stories as superstition, or at best exaggerations. Many of these stories only existed as oral tradition for centuries. But one scholar thought it was strange that so many people had stories like this, and wrote a treatise about it. In it, she wrote that, correlating the severity of the stories by their location, we can surmise that some apocalyptic disaster occurred around a thousand years ago, far to the north.”

“What does that have to do with us now though?” Tanner asked.

“North,” Grandma repeated, trying to gather her thoughts. “Depleted magic. South, still rich in magic.” [Maybe the disaster wiped out whatever dungeons existed then, and essentially killed any miasmas that old? And slowly the magic has been recovering, but only recently enough to overflow.] Grandma put a bowl next to a plate. “North,” she said, pointing to the plate. “South,” the bowl. “Mana.” She poured water from a pitcher into the bowl, and when it overflowed, it filled the plate, which also overflowed almost immediately. [The Frog told me not all lakes were the same depth. I’m guessing the northern dungeons are simply “shallower” than the southern ones.]

“A fascinating theory,” Fariel nodded. “I’d love to read that treatise again if we can find a copy.”

“Me too,” Grandma agreed.

Their next stop was Eastplains’ capital and the seat of Count Morash’s estate, Hightower. From there, they planned to regroup, learn about any changes or updates the count might have, and map out the rest of their expedition. 

After subduing the dungeons in the area, the road to Hightower was surprisingly clear. They made good time, and arrived at midday in early summer. The gates were heavily guarded, no surprise given the recent unrest, but between Donovan and Mina, they quickly negotiated entry for their troops.

Count Morash sent a detachment of soldiers to greet them as they trekked into his city, meeting them near the entrance and guiding them through the busy streets to the estate located at the heart of town. The people here seemed restless and anxious, but carried on business more or less as usual.

“I heard the Count withdrew his soldiers almost entirely to his capital to keep himself safe,” Jiyon murmured. “That’s why the outlying towns were in such bad condition, but it’s relatively normal here.”

Grandma grunted in acknowledgement. They had passed quite a few patrols along the road in, giving Jiyon’s words the ring of truth. In the fields surrounding the city, they saw workers toiling on their farms, herding animals and tending crops under the watchful eyes of Morash’s guards. They had even passed a heavily guarded merchant caravan heading north out of the city, though Grandma didn’t know where they were headed, nor what goods they carried.

Finally, they arrived at the count’s estate. It was an ornate, sprawling compound, with its own walls and gates, holding multiple buildings inside. The count’s men led the soldiers to a side hall that had the look of barracks. Donovan watched them go, then turned a quizzical eye on Jiyon.

“Aren’t you going with them?” he asked.

“Not this time, sir,” Jiyon answered with a grimace.

Mina coughed to stifle a laugh. Donovan’s face was going to be hilarious once he found out who this soldier boy really was.

The remaining people – Donovan, Fariel, Mina, Tanner, Grandma, and Jiyon – were shown to a lavish suite with its own private washing area. Mina and Grandma decided to bathe together, followed by Jiyon, then Donovan and Fariel, and finally Tanner. Mina had to convince Donovan and Fariel to let Jiyon and Tanner bathe alone, which the Captain found mystifying, but finally agreed to.

By dinner time, they were washed, rested, and feeling quite refreshed. The count’s servants provided changes of clothing, and Donovan’s expression was a marvel to behold when Jiyon stepped out in elegant robes befitting his station at last. The poor Captain’s eyes practically bulged out of his head, and he didn’t know whether to kneel and beg forgiveness, or to carry on treating the boy like a common soldier.

“It’s fine,” Jiyon said preemptively, holding up a hand to forestall any stuttered apologies. “I was just doing my job, and you were just doing yours.”

“That’s right, Uncle Captain. Don’t worry about it.” Mina hugged Donovan’s arm and squeezed reassuringly. 

Mina looked dazzling in a soft, silky robe of patterned greens and browns. The robe was reminiscent of the forest, dappled sunlight reflecting off leaves and warming the earth. Her striking blue hair was braided in a crown, ringing her head in a delicate weave. Grandma felt quite smug about how well that had come out. 

Grandma and Tanner sported plain, sturdy robes, which suited them both just fine. Fariel, as an imperial mage, apparently rated a fancy robe, and Donovan as Captain also was entitled to something decorative. All told, they looked quite dashing.

A servant knocked on the door to their suite, interrupting Donovan’s consternation to summon them to dinner. They filed out after the lad, following him through the airy halls to a private dining room dominated by a large round table. The count rose to greet them, bowing to Jiyon and thanking him effusively for coming to Eastplains’ aid.

“My eternal gratitude, Your Imperial Highness,” Count Morash said, nearly bending over double in his fervency.

“I am merely doing my duty for the people,” Jiyon replied. Though his tone was warm, his words carried a hint of reproach. “I could never leave my people to suffer alone.”

Count Morash blanched, understanding the judgment carried in those tender words. “Your Highness,” the man repeated, apparently at a loss for words, before gesturing toward the table. “Please sit. I hope this repast is pleasing to your palate.”

The meal was exquisite, which in itself was upsetting for Grandma. Mina and Tanner sat rigidly in their seats, picking at the food without enthusiasm. The rich fare here contrasted dismally with the poverty and suffering they had encountered along the way.

[Yet another self centered lord,] Grandma growled.

[Nothing new there,] Mina responded acerbically.