Chapter 553 — The Envoys

The long, cold winter had finally come to an end.

The fog that had clung for a whole season was at last beginning to retreat from every corner of the Aldenan Plain, and the whole world seemed to grow clearer with the arrival of spring. The daily wind was still cold, but no longer the biting, piercing cold of the past weeks; the snow began to melt and the hard ice turned to running water. Thin streams of melted snow and ice ran down from the black rooftops and spires of Aldenan, soaking the city in a haze of moisture—thanks to the modern drainage system built a little over a decade ago, all that meltwater flowed smoothly into the underground channels, so no one had to worry that these extra "brooks" would rot the foundations of the buildings. The thawing of the city's snow was thus no longer a nuisance but had become a scenery of its own.

A black carriage bearing the Wendell family crest rolled along the Imperial Capital Avenue, its wheels creaking and rattling over the wet flagstones. Duke Pei Yi Wendell sat inside, watching the street through the opening in the window shutter.

It was early morning, the sunlight just then reaching the streets. At this hour one could normally hardly see a pedestrian about, yet into the Duke's view came not a few commoners in groups of three or five—dressed in drab thick clothes, wearing felt hats or woolen caps, all walking in the same direction. In the chill of early spring they shivered slightly, yet still hurried on without pause.

"Textile workers, is it..." the Duke muttered under his breath. "Out the door this early."

The steward who had served him for many years sat on the seat opposite, and this loyal old friend explained: "To encourage the new factories, His Majesty issued a decree of favor—carts hauling cotton may enter the city before dawn and pay no tax. So the textile mills all start work very early."

"Just to start an hour earlier..."

The old Duke grumbled, and could not help glancing out the window again.

He saw more textile workers coming out of their doors and heading toward the mills, and he saw carriages bearing the imperial crest and the crest of the Artificers' Guild hurry past—those were the great wagons hauling arcanonet components...

On Platinum Avenue he saw that an old warehouse had been razed to the ground; the building had belonged to Viscount Mori, and the Viscount had decided to put up a spinning mill on the land the warehouse had occupied. On Iron Lily Street he saw a tall chimney belching thick smoke—that was the new brimstone acid works, processing the Dust of Abundance that could serve as fertilizer...

The acrid, scorched stench drifting from the chimney of the brimstone acid works could almost be smelled even here—though of course Duke Pei Yi knew it was only his imagination.

The chimney stood a full hundred meters tall; the smoke it discharged would only disperse in the sky and could not reach the ground.

Still, the old Duke could not help frowning.

Factories, the arcanonet, boilers, tall chimneys, this bustling "Age of Investment"... it was as if they had sprung up overnight, suddenly everywhere at once, as though everyone was taking part, as though everyone was in high spirits.

The old Duke, who had spent most of his life in the Empire's innermost circles, had never seen anything spring up so furiously and suddenly. He did not consider himself a conservative, yet these new things that had burst forth so violently... always gave him a very uncomfortable feeling.

"Lately even the House of Lords spends all day discussing factory construction and cotton bills," Duke Pei Yi said, shaking his head. "That textile mill Viscount Hermir set up—he's pulled in a whole crowd of people to invest."

"After all, the new textile mills weave cloth that is both plentiful and fine," said the steward. "I hear Lady Mira wants to open a mill too, but she cannot buy the machines—there simply aren't enough to go around."

"I have seen the cloth they weave," Duke Pei Yi said with some disdain. "Sturdy enough, I suppose, but terribly coarse—utterly without taste."

The steward spread his hands. "...But for ordinary folk, sir, that is very good cloth indeed."

Duke Pei Yi frowned, and after a brief silence could only sigh faintly: "I suppose I am growing old."

"You are still a vital pillar of this nation," said the steward. "His Imperial Majesty has need of you."

Pei Yi did not answer the steward; he only looked ahead. The towering walls of the Obsidian Palace were already close at hand.

It was said that several special envoys had come to the capital, bringing news from the southern reaches of the continent, and that they were of lofty station. His Imperial Majesty's sudden urgent summons to the palace was no doubt on account of this as well.

The Empire grew more prosperous by the day; everything seemed to be developing at a furious pace.

Yet for some reason, Pei Yi Wendell could not shake a faint unease.

The Obsidian Palace.

The towering palace stood there as it always had, at the very heart of the Empire. Though it was a "new palace" built only two hundred years ago, its deep tones and its solemn, stately style still carried a gravity that seemed able to stand for a thousand years. As he entered the palace, Pei Yi's somewhat gloomy and uneasy mood gradually settled.

He walked toward the audience chamber where the Emperor was, his boots striking crisp notes against the marble floor. As he passed the "Nightingale Hall," his steps halted.

An old mage came toward him from the opposite direction, wrapped in a black robe, his expression gloomy and his bearing somber; an unpleasant rustling, squirming sound accompanied the old mage's steps, and a young sorceress who looked barely past twenty followed behind him.

"Good morning, Your Grace."

The old mage stopped some distance away and inclined his head slightly in this direction; his voice was hoarse, as though even his vocal cords had begun to corrode.

Duke Pei Yi gave a slight nod with the reserve and pride befitting a noble of the highest rank, and spoke with the courtesy owed to the great mage before him: "Good morning, Master Daniel."

The two were about to pass each other when Pei Yi suddenly spoke again: "Master Daniel, I am glad to see you willing to return to this place—and Lady Windsor Mabel, I imagine, is glad as well."

"As am I."

The old mage and his student walked on. Duke Pei Yi watched their backs vanish into the depths of the corridor and could not help shaking his head slightly.

Lady Windsor Mabel's mentor, once a member of the Royal Mages' Association, the great mage Daniel Fred—he had been a brilliant high-ranking sorcerer, but setbacks in his research and failure to advance had changed his temper, and he had exiled himself. No one could have imagined that a man who had left the Empire's highest magical institution might one day return; lately this great mage had become a man of the hour in the capital. Not only did he shine in the Imperial Artificers' Guild, he had also become a guest of honor in many a noble household—those people seemed to have forgotten the wretched, bedraggled figure Daniel Fred had cut when he left the capital years ago; seeing only the astonishing profits of the textile mills, they had all swarmed around him at once.

Duke Pei Yi sighed over the ugly spectacle those minor nobles made in the face of profit, then passed through the corridor and came to the door of the Emperor's audience chamber.

After he was announced, the doors of the audience chamber opened, and Pei Yi Wendell walked in. The first thing he saw was Emperor Luo Yan Augustus seated in the place of honor; then his gaze fell upon those few slender, tall outlanders.

Golden hair, pointed ears, features more delicate and slender than a human's.

Elves—elves from the Silver Empire in the south.

So it was just as the rumors had said: the Empire had received a party of special "envoys." But for what purpose had these elves come?