"War?" Gregory repeated. "Against who? Antras?"
Vondell shook his head. Antras was the closest city to them, sure. But attacking it had no benefits. In fact, it would be to their detriment. Antras was the bastion of the east, the lonely wall that kept the threat of the weirkin out of the inner continent. If Antras were to fall, The Plains would soon follow.
"If I had to say, they plan on attacking either Leeds, or Mikas," Vondell replied in a whisper.
Gregory scoffed, before quickly fixing his posture into a praying posture.
"Praise be to the Tigerna," a male serf called out, carrying baskets filled with bright red roots past them, towards the path they had just come from.
Gregory and Vondell bowed slightly. "Praise be to the Tigerna," Gregory called back.
Once the serf was out of sight, the two of them relaxed again.
"If they plan to go to war with Leeds, then we'll finally be rid of the heretics," Gregory replied, his tone filled with scorn. "But I doubt they'd be that foolish. Leeds would crush them. And even if Mikas isn't as powerful, their banks could buy half the continent. They aren't stepping so much as a foot north before the Sultan puts a continental bounty on every serf, soldier, and Tigerna's head."
Vondell shook his head at that. "Cities can't respond to wars that never begin," he said.
"It's poison. Undetectable to both scionic and magical senses. Unless you're an alchemist, you won't even know it's in the air," Vondell explained. "You'd just think the air was sweeter tonight, and head off to the brothel as usual."
Gregory stared at him with a thoughtful expression. "I've heard about alchemy, but surely it won't be strong enough to kill high-level scions. From what I've heard, alchemy is the weakest of the mystical arts, even back when it was still a well-established practice," Gregory said. "No offense to you," he added.
"The poison doesn't need to kill high-level scions," Vondell replied. "It only has to cull the ordinary citizens for them to win."
Gregory seemed confused at this. "That's a war crime," he said.
Vondell scoffed, before gesturing for them to continue walking. People would get suspicious if they were found whispering here.
"And what benefit would killing the ordinary citizens bring? It'd only make us scions that much more brutal on them," Gregory whispered as they walked down a path filled with black berried plants.
Vondell looked up at the moon. "What do you think a city's greatest strength is?"
"The scions," Gregory replied.
"And what is their greatest strength?"
Gregory remained silent for a moment. "Their covenants?"
"No. The god they follow," Vondell replied, looking down from the moon to the path in front of them. "But it isn't the same the other way around. The empyreans give power to a select few, as a means of mental enslavement. They want their other followers to see those they favour and think 'I could become like that'. In turn, more is sacrificed to them, and they claim a larger jurisdiction," he explained.
"It's a continuous cycle, with barely working abilities used as the fuel."
Gregory remained silent at that, his eyes focusing forward as well.
"You'd have me executed in Leeds for saying this. Why do you think that is? If it wasn't the truth, why would the punishment for 'lost' heretics be so final?" Vondell scoffed.
"But that's not the point. I'm saying that the greatest strength a city has is not its scions, it's not even its patron gods. It's the ordinary followers. They're the densest source of sacrifice. If you get the followers to stop praising a god, you weaken them."
"And if you get enough of them to stop. Congratulations. You've just killed a god."
Gregory paused at this, turning to Vondell.
"You're exaggerating a bit. Even if what you're saying is true, the gods can't be killed. That's why they're gods."
Vondell shrugged at that. "Persephone almost killed The Mother Gnarl. Did you think that was because they killed off her scions?" he asked.
"The Plains was once the largest city on this continent. Did you think its population dwindled because a few scions were killed?"
Gregory's fist tightened at this. "You will not accuse Lady Persephone of such vile acts," Gregory whispered hoarsely, his original accent seeping through.
"I won't accuse her of anything," Vondell replied calmly.
Just then a group of serfs appeared towards the far end of the path. They were using whispered prayers to control streams of water from large canisters behind them. The water sprayed into the air, and spread out in a thin mist, cooling the face.
"Even if what I'm saying is true. We need more proof. We'll head to Tigerna's council room and split up. You'll watch over him and complete the directive, and I'll search for anything that confirms my suspicions," he whispered, before pulling his hood even further down his face.
*
The entrance to the Tigerna's council room was at the center of the garden. A large circular opening, with wooden statues around its circumference —all previous Tigerna's. At the center was the statue of the current Tigerna, an old man with a slender build, and outstretched arms.
He was the only unarmed Tigerna on display. The people here called him The Voice of the Gnarl, on the outside, he was referred to as The Silent Tigerna. Unlike all his predeccesor's, he's remained relatively quiet in the politics of the continent.
"State yer business," a guard, standing in front of the circle of statues shouted.
Gregory and Vondell bowed their heads. "Cleaning."
The guard scrutinized them for a moment, before scoffing. "Yer late. Get in quickly," he said before turning to the central statue.
"Oh great mother, may your branches hear my request," The guard whispered under his breath, before stretching out his arm.
With that, the statues on the circumference began to turn. One rotation, two rotations, three. Each of them went on to a different number.
~It's a code,~ Vondell thought to himself, as the entire circular platform twisted to the left.
~A code on top of an array,~ he realized, feeling the warmth of ichor collect under the statues.
The middle statue's eyes began gleaming, the light matching that of the moon's. A loud clang emanated from down below, and the statue began to descend into the ground. It left behind a gaping black hole, that quickly lit up.
"Move quickly," the guard said, shoving them forward.
A flight of stairs spiraled down the hole as far as their eyes could see.
"And don't fall off. I'll have yer daughters if my wife has to clean peasant blood of my armor again."
Gregory and Vondell bowed once more before heading down.
"He says don't fall, but these stairs are thinner than your arms," Gregory whispered.