He drew a rune-covered knife from his belt, and without warning slashed it across Moragon’s living hand. The man with the grafted arm simply smiled, not even flinching. As the Veznans watched in awe, the wound resealed itself, leaving only the faintest hint of a scar.
"Such a tedious task, managing the essence quotas, keeping the houses balanced. Even the Emperor needed his share. It was easy though — if the Emperor wants too much, tell the houses, and he’ll back down. If the houses want too much, tell the Emperor, and they’ll back down. The houses watch each other. A delicate balance but one that has worked for many years, to a greater or lesser extent. However, there is one group for whom the balance has not worked out so well. The poor. Those who have no house. We get thousands of them coming to us templars every year. But what can we do to help? We have no lore, and so we have no gilden. In fact, what does lore really do for the world? All it seems to do is provide us with more efficient ways of killing each other. Perhaps we might all be better off without it."
Primate Melovar Aspen tilted the glass back again, finishing the contents. He sighed and looked up, noting the Veznans’ glances at each other. At Moragon.
"Trust me. You will be interested in my offer. Where was I? Ah, that’s right. The secret. High Lord Vladimir, can I ask you, would you like to live forever? To stop aging?"
"At what cost? What is it you aren’t telling me?" the High Lord said. "I thought we were here to discuss a treaty, not to talk about eternal life. What is this madness?"
"But we are, High Lord. We are discussing a treaty. I’m here to give you a choice. You can have the terms you are seeking, High Lord. All I ask is that you have a small taste of what I offer. You will have the peace you seek, your borders will be protected, and you will have all your many, many years to see your people prosper."
"No."
"Why not?" said the man in white. He glanced at the son, Dimitri.
"Father, he is drinking it as we speak. What harm can it do? Even if it doesn’t do everything he claims, we can help our people!"
"Dimitri, do as I say. Do not accept this man’s gifts."
Dimitri Corizon eyed the flask of black liquid sitting on a low table next to the thin man. The thoughts were visibly crossing his face. Eternal youth. Powers of regeneration.
"Oh, and your other option. Your other option is that I can destroy your Lexicon. I’m not speaking about lack of renewal, allowing your magic to fade. I am speaking of permanent destruction, made possible by raj nilas. Raj Vezna will be no more. Your civilisation will sink into the swamp. Your famous living city will rot and die."
"You don’t have our Lexicon, and nor will you."
"Do you really think you can last? I’ve already given the same offer to the Emperor. To High Lord Koraku of Raj Torakon. To High Lord Raoul Maul of the artificers. You know where they stand. You can join them by standing with me. Think of what I offer — the death of your house, or eternal life. Here, taste it."
The thin man smiled and refilled his glass from the flask. He held it out to Dimitri.
In an instant Dimitri took the glass and touched it to his lips.
"Dimitri, no!" said the High Lord.
Prince Dimitri took the smallest of sips, grimacing at the taste and set the glass down. The thin man took it back, while Moragon leaned forward in his seat, his smile broadening.
The High Lord shook his head. "You should not have done that, my son."
"It was just a taste," said Dimitri.
"Well done, Dimitri," said the Primate. "The borders of your land are now secure. Once your people join with us, you will be part of something bigger, something great, a new order for the world." His gaze became unfocussed. "The High Lords will live forever. There will be no more displacement of power, no voids left by departing rulers. People will live and work together in harmony. No more Lexicons. No more houses. And eventually, elixir will be available to all. Join with me, High Lord Vladimir. Tell me, Dimitri, how do you feel?"
"It feels… Amazing. I feel strong," the young lord’s expression was rapturous.
"Join with you?" the High Lord said with contempt. "You are nothing but a servant, a judge, a templar. Why would anyone follow you? This meeting is over."
The Primate simply smiled. "I was discussing the properties of this amazing liquid," he said. "It comes from the further processing of essence, you know. Did I mention that? There is only one small downside." His smile broadened. "It is addictive. Like nothing you have ever experienced. And," he nodded at Dimitri, "because this is your first time, you are going to feel it with full force."
Dimitri shook his head.
"I’ve heard it’s similar to the pain of essence poisoning — the pain of withdrawal from this liquid. You’ll be starting to feel it now. Ah, yes, there it goes. Remember, my child, all you need to make the pain go away is a little more."
Dimitri’s eyes began to look feverish, sweat rose on his brow. "Make it stop."
"A little more?" the Primate handed the glass out again.
"No!" the High Lord said.
Dimitri reached for the glass. High Lord Vladimir knocked it out of the thin man’s hands.