The door guards’ backs straightened and their eyes widened slightly as Grundrik approached, projecting a subtle aura of dread all around. It was a tricky application of his demon’s power that he’d mastered over a century ago and one that he’d made regular use of ever since. It was important to keep it subtle, or people would notice that they were being manipulated. Done correctly, though, a subtle aura of fear was, for all practical purposes, indistinguishable from a sense of awe and respect.

  It was an invaluable tool for a ruler at any time, but especially today. It might lend him greater credibility and help disguise what he was actually here to do. To beg for help from his… peers. Some of them might be protected against such mental manipulation, to be sure, but that was no reason not to try.

  Moving quickly, the guards swung the broad double-doors wide, revealing the beating heart of the Duergar Empire—the Imperial Council Chamber. The massive, circular hall was as grand as it was stark. Massive pillars rose up into darkness high above, supporting a ceiling that even the bright mage lights hanging in the air above the center of the room could not reach. Inside the ring of pillars stood twelve thrones, with smaller seats placed between them to form a large semi-circle.

  The thrones were for the empire’s kings and queens—those who ruled the twelve dominions, while the smaller seats had been added for the autonomous mandates. These were newer territories colonized by the Duergar in recent centuries that were no longer dependent on outside support, yet not truly peers to the great monarchs of the Duergar. Some of them didn’t even have true rulers, instead sending sniveling commoners to represent them.

  Grundrik’s throne lay to his right, empty and waiting for him, but it would remain unused today. He had called this meeting, so he continued on toward the chamber’s central feature. The pool of lava radiated a pleasant, dry heat throughout the room, its poisonous gasses contained by layers of wards inscribed around its rim. In its center stood a raised dais, similarly protected and connected to the rest of the room only by a narrow stone bridge. On that dais sat a simple stone bench.

  The Seat of Molten Stone.

  Taking his time, Grundrik allowed his aura to fill the room as he ascended to the seat. Once there, he turned in a slow circle, taking note of all those present. The monarchs sat in nearly identical purple robes, each crowned in the jewels representing their respective dominions. The effect was ruined somewhat by the lesser princes, who wore a varied assortment of ceremonial robes, armor or uniforms reflecting the varied norms and customs of the vast Duergar Empire.

  Only seven of the twelve thrones were occupied, and fewer than half of the smaller seats. The deep dominions, feeling safe in their boiling depths, had apparently not felt compelled to answer his call.

  No matter. They would be of limited use regardless, too poorly adapted to fighting in the colder upper dominions, never mind on the surface.

  “My brothers and sisters,” he began, meeting the eyes of all those present, even the lesser princes who should have been beneath his notice. “I bring before you a grave matter today—a matter of war. As in ancient days, the sunwalkers have allowed themselves to be blinded under the corrupting glare of the evil eye. They invade the empire, falling upon my armies in cowardly ambushes, razing towns and cities in my lands. They forget our might and disrespect our borders, seizing treasures, mines and slaves. While I have, at great cost, blunted the impact of their armies and turned them aside, it is only a matter of time before they spill beyond my borders and reach into your own lands.”

  He turned slowly, stoking their fear a little as he emphasized his next words, willing them to feel the danger. “The empire stands under threat. Will you sit idle as savages break open our cities and pillage our hidden places? Will you see us fall to the corruption of the sun?”

  Grundrik’s eyes landed on Zorgrun, Queen of the Igneous Dominion. He met her eyes with the gravest expression he could muster. The bulk of her holdings were shielded from above by his own Overcroft Dominion, but the heart of her lands—her capital city—was positioned nearly two leagues above this chamber, near the surface to the southwest of his own realm. Besides him, she was the one most vulnerable to attack if hostile sunwalker forces began to delve into the Depths in earnest.

  She inclined her head to him ever so slightly.

  “I have received reports, and my scryers have confirmed increased activity in my dominion, reaching to the south and west. Sunwalker adventurers have been sighted repeatedly—but there have been no attacks, nor any direct contact so far.”

  Grundrik nodded meaningfully, holding up a hand in a “there you go” gesture.

  “It is just as I feared. Having met strong resistance, they spread their focus, seeking new and softer targets. Time is short. We must not tolerate such disrespect. Together, we can sweep these vermin from our caverns and tear their cities down in turn. We must remind them that they are allowed to exist only by our tolerance and goodwill! This aggression cannot—”

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  “Bah! Give it a rest!” interrupted Yildrin, the king of the Downfold Dominion, his voice derisive, “Come on. Before you try to sell us a war, give us some clarity on the details. Which of your towns and cities have fallen? Who, exactly, is attacking? Is it the humans, the suntouched dwarves, or even the elves? Have the goblins suddenly developed a taste for siegecraft? Most importantly, when did this start, and why didn’t you convene this council much sooner? You’ll have to forgive me, but I have little interest in committing my armies purely on your say-so. We have our own borders to mind, and not just against our external enemies. As it stands, we have nothing but your word to go on—and you haven’t even told us anything yet.”

  Grundrik clenched his teeth and inhaled slowly through his nose to contain his sudden anger. Yildrin’s domain stretched along a deep fault line, originally following a coal seam along the subducting earth from the deepest depths where the earth melted like soft clay all the way up to where the surface winds still reached and the suntouched dwarves mined the scraps. There were rumors that Yildrin had even lowered himself to trade with the corrupted creatures for surface materials.

  “Do you think I am naive?” he grated out. “I will not expose myself to attack from internal rivals—least of all you. Your… weakness for the pinkskins is well known, Yildrin. What right do you have to question my words?”

  One of the lesser princelings sat up as if to speak, but Grundrik’s glare set him straight before he could so much as open his mouth. But then another voice rang out from behind him.

  “I would like to know as well.” Grundrik turned to find Pranwin, queen of the Dominion of the Midnight Sea. “Your dominion is shrouded in shadow, protected against scryers. How can we trust your word, when we cannot verify it?” Hers was one of the deeper dominions, and he was more than a little surprised that she’d bothered to show up at all. Surprised and annoyed. Why couldn’t she just stay home and mind her skirmishes with the dark elves?

  “All of you take measures to protect yourself against spies, just as I do. It is no concern of mine if you are less competent at it than I am,” Grundrik replied sourly, but then added, “As we speak, a human army is attempting to establish a permanent stronghold in what used to be one of my cities. I will not share which, but the attack occurred three weeks ago, immediately after which I called for this council to convene. I will retake my property soon, but I am fighting on multiple fronts.”

  He wasn’t really, except perhaps against the malformed arachnoid horrors that kept swarming from the deep tunnels to pick at his lower towns in the east. But that had been going on for decades. Unless they were natural creatures—which he seriously doubted—they were a containment measure from one of his peers here, meant to keep him from expanding his borders. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of mentioning it.

  What was true was that his kingdom needed time. Grundrik had lost most of his true veterans fighting the nest of kobolds that set itself up over one of his outposts. At the time, he’d thought of it as a gift—an easy source of souls that wouldn’t require him to start a real war, or to sacrifice his productive workers.

  His scryers hadn’t detected the dragon until it was too late.

  After that mess followed the disaster at Halfbridge, which had wiped out most of an entire army. He’d managed to make the humans pay for it with one of their own cities, but this new approach relied on stealth, and it had failed when Grundrik had attempted to approach their largest stronghold to break their backs once and for all. His forces had been intercepted on the move, harried from multiple directions and ultimately forced into retreat.

  “Three weeks, you say?” Yildrin said, leaning forward in his throne with an insincere smile. “That’s very curious. I seem to remember hearing a rumor months ago that your forces were attacking the humans. That, and that one of their cities fell to a horde of demons that poured out from the ground. Who could have possibly controlled enough warlocks to effectuate such an attack? Are you even under attack, or are you just hoping to shift our forces to complement your own aggression?”

  The chamber was silent and Grundrik ground his teeth. But he couldn’t afford to let a statement like that stand. He sneered at the gray-bearded dwarf and scoffed.

  “The lies whispered into your ears by suntouched dwarves do not concern me. They fight alongside our enemies, seeking to paralyze this council’s response and to divide us. Hesitation now will only serve to weaken us further and leave us exposed.”

  “Perhaps,” Zorgrun allowed, “or maybe you are both lying, seeking some advantage.” She stood up and let her gaze sweep over all those present, projecting a sense of control over the room before finally meeting Grundrik’s eyes. He stood straight, doing his best to look unconcerned. “I will mind my own borders and investigate the truth of your claims, as should all those present. Only when we are satisfied and prepared to make informed decisions on our own should the council move to act as one.”

  Then she got up, descended from her throne and walked out. Yildrin followed only seconds later, followed by Pranwin. As Ivrik, another king of one of the deeper dominions rose, Grundrik clenched his jaw and released a little more of his aura into the room, daring anyone else to walk out.

  It had the opposite effect that he intended.

  Instead of sitting back down, the corpulent man waddled out faster, followed by two lesser princes who, while independent, still acted as his vassals in all but name. After that, it was over. Without further ceremony, the remaining rulers began to chatter amongst themselves.

  Grundrik had failed. His peers would begin to order scouts and scryers to investigate events on the surface. He needed to find a way to control the narrative, and he needed to do it now, or he would have to reach for... other solutions.