The dim light of flickering torches cast long, wavering shadows across the walls of a massive stone chamber deep within the heart of Dunfir. Seven men sat around a large, rectangular table of dark wood, its surface scarred with years of use and weighty decisions. Behind each man stood two guards, their faces obscured by the low light, their silent vigilance a reminder of the gravity of the gathering.
At the head of the table sat Duke Dorian Umbravane, his fingers drumming softly on the wood. His sharp features, cold and calculating, showed little emotion as he surveyed the men seated before him. The other six dukes shifted slightly in their chairs, exchanging glances, but none dared to speak until Duke Umbravane chose to begin.
The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the torches. Finally, Umbravane raised his hand, signaling the start of the council.
"It seems our plans are progressing faster than expected," he began, his voice low but commanding. "The King's forces have been caught off guard. Our spies within the capital have confirmed that Magnus is scrambling to understand what has happened."
There was a murmur of approval from the others. Seated closest to Umbravane was Duke Arlen Flintguard, a broad-shouldered man whose house had long controlled the vast mountain ranges to the north. His beard was thick and gray, and his eyes gleamed with a fierce hunger for the power that the revolution promised.
"So it is true, then," Flintguard rumbled, leaning forward. "Our spies managed to breach the capital. That fool Magnus has no idea what's coming."
Umbravane nodded. "Yes, several of our spies were able to infiltrate the city, disguised as traders and common folk. While we've lost contact with a few of them, others remain hidden among the castle staff. Information continues to trickle in, and from what we've gathered, the King is beginning to realize just how deep this goes. However, he still doesn't know who is behind it."
At this, a thin, wiry man sitting to Umbravane's left chuckled. Duke Varis Darkwater, head of House Darkwater and ruler of the fog-laden coastal district to the east, had always thrived in the shadows. His house was known for its dealings in clandestine affairs, and the revolution had provided him the perfect opportunity to extend his web of influence.
"The fact that the King doesn't know who is pulling the strings is crucial," Darkwater hissed, his voice like a serpent's whisper. "As long as he remains in the dark, we can continue to tighten the noose around his neck."
Duke Umbravane leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Indeed. But we must not grow complacent. Magnus may not know who we are yet, but it's only a matter of time before he starts connecting the dots. Our advantage lies in keeping him confused and on the defensive. For now, his attention is divided. He's focused on Dunfir and Shadowspire, unaware that all seven of us are working together."
The other dukes nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of ambition and greed. Each of them had their own reasons for joining the revolution, and while they might not trust one another fully, they shared a common goal: the fall of King Magnus.
Seated at the far end of the table was Duke Raelyn Firesong, a proud and regal man whose house controlled the fertile southern plains. Unlike some of the others, his reasons for joining the rebellion were not driven by personal ambition. Firesong had long advocated for independence from the central kingdom, believing that each district should govern itself without the interference of the crown.
"We've come this far," Firesong said, his voice measured and calm, "but we must not forget why we're here. Each of us has something to gain, yes, but at the core of this revolution is the desire for freedom. Independence for our people. We must ensure that this is not lost in the chaos of war."
Duke Flintguard scoffed. "Freedom? Independence? That may be your goal, Firesong, but let's not pretend that everyone at this table shares your noble intentions. Some of us want power. Territory. Others"—he glanced toward Duke Darkwater—"are content with ruling from the shadows. The revolution is a means to an end. Let's not get sentimental about it."
Firesong's eyes flashed with anger, but he held his tongue. He knew that many at the table saw the revolution as an opportunity to expand their power, but he refused to let that tarnish his own vision for the future. He would fight for his people's freedom, even if it meant aligning himself with those who sought only to further their own agendas.
Umbravane raised a hand, silencing the brewing tension. "Let us not bicker among ourselves. We each have our reasons for joining this cause, and we will all reap the rewards once Magnus is dethroned. I have made it clear from the beginning—whatever your demands, they will be met, so long as we work together to ensure my ascension to the throne."
Duke Aric Greenbriar, a stout and jolly man whose lands were known for their vast forests and wealth of natural resources, chuckled as he swirled a goblet of wine in his hand. His house had long been at odds with the crown over trade tariffs, and the revolution was his chance to secure greater autonomy for his people.
"As long as my lands remain untouched and I have free reign over the forests," Greenbriar said with a grin, "I don't care who sits on the throne. If it's you, Umbravane, so be it."
Duke Lyra Shadowthorn, the only woman at the table, nodded in agreement. Her house controlled the dense forests and swamplands of the western district, and she had long chafed under the crown's rule. For her, the revolution was a chance to carve out a kingdom of her own in the untamed wilderness.
"We all stand to gain," Shadowthorn said, her voice smooth and cold. "But let's not forget that we face a dangerous opponent. Magnus may be caught off guard, but he's no fool. He will retaliate, and when he does, we must be ready."
A murmur of agreement swept through the room, and Duke Umbravane's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The revolution was gaining momentum, and each of the dukes at this table had thrown their weight behind it. But the true key to their victory lay not in numbers or territory—it lay in the knowledge they possessed.
"Now," Umbravane said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we come to the matter of the King's next move. Our spies have confirmed that Magnus is considering activating the capital's shield."
The room fell silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. The shield, a relic of the old world, was the kingdom's most powerful defense. It had the ability to protect the capital from any magical attack, rendering the city impervious to invasion. But its activation came at a cost—one that most in the kingdom did not fully understand.
"The shield is a powerful tool," Duke Stormwing, a tall and imposing man whose house controlled the windswept plains of the east, said. "But it cannot be sustained indefinitely. If Magnus activates it, he may think he's securing the capital, but he's walking into our trap."
Umbravane nodded. "The King is unaware of the full truth behind the shield's power. He believes it draws its strength from the auras of the mages who activate it, but there is more to it than that."
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle over the room.
"The shield doesn't just consume the aura of the mages who control it. It draws on the life force of the people within the capital as well. The longer it remains active, the more it drains from those living inside the city. Eventually, it will begin to kill them."
Gasps of shock echoed around the table, but Umbravane remained calm. This was the ace up his sleeve, the secret passed down through generations of old dukes, known only to a select few. It was a truth that had never been shared with the current King.
"This is the knowledge that will turn the people of the capital against Magnus," Umbravane continued, his voice filled with quiet triumph. "He will activate the shield, thinking it will protect his city, but as the days pass, his people will grow weaker. They will begin to die, and when they realize that their own King is the cause, they will revolt."
The dukes exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from shock to awe. This was the key to their victory—the turning point that would ensure the fall of King Magnus.
"The King's own weapon will be his undoing," Duke Darkwater murmured, a sinister smile spreading across his face.
Umbravane nodded. "Precisely. We will let him activate the shield. We will allow him to think he has secured his city. And then, when the people begin to fall, we will be there to offer them salvation. They will rise against him, and the capital will fall from within."
The room was filled with a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation. Each of the dukes understood the implications of this plan. The revolution was not just a military endeavor—it was a carefully orchestrated game of manipulation, and they held all the cards.
"But we must move carefully," Umbravane cautioned. "We must ensure that our spies within the capital remain in place to feed us information. We must also prepare for the inevitable backlash. Magnus will not go down without
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