Belegar grumbles as he pushes aside another failed draft at a missive to the High King. He'd quite like to screw it up and throw it into the fire, but parchment doesn't grow on trees, so he'll clean it off with pumice once the ink has dried, just like all the others. He casts his eye over the growing pile of discarded failures, and regrets that the matter the letters attempt to speak of is too sensitive for the task to be handed off to someone else.
Belegar's craft was once that of hammer and throng, and now he does his best to turn his talents to that of throne and scepter. Blunt instruments all, some more literal than others. It has not been a life where subtlety and care and caution have been emphasized, so for the most part he hasn't learned any more than he needed to. But today he must assemble words with as much care, as much necessity, and with as much risk of disaster, as the one who put him to this task shapes the magical energies that haunt the surface world.
Belegar generally acts with confidence and surety, but that is the privilege of those that know where they stand. In this matter, he is painfully aware that he lives in one of two worlds. In one, the High King is an imperfect ruler of the Karaz Ankor, doing his best to shoulder the weight of thousands of years of accumulated oaths and grudges and enemies and sometimes stumbling. In the other, the High King has been blinded by history and shackled by tradition, and bleeds the rest of the Karaz Ankor to keep the vaults of Karaz-a-Karak full and its primacy unquestioned. In the former world, Thorgrim's abandonment of Karak Eight Peaks was a battlefield amputation that would have seemed justified with the knowledge available to him. In the latter, it was the perfect opportunity to rid him of a renascent Karak that once rivaled the power and influence of Karaz-a-Karak itself before it could do so once more. In the former world, there is some more important purpose that the magical energies drained from the other Karaks are being put towards, and some sort of explanation for why this is being done so without the knowledge or consent of their Kings. In the latter, there is not.
Belegar thinks of the past temptation to take valuable silk from the unknowing We for next to nothing and how that opportunity was left primly untaken, despite the damage to the Karak's large but not bottomless vaults. And he wonders if at some point the High Kings chose otherwise.
In both worlds, Belegar is failing in his duty. In the world where the High King is right and righteous, Belegar's duty is faith and loyalty. In the world where the High King is corrupt or corrupted, Belegar's duty is no less required for it being unthinkable. This middle ground, the tension and the dark looks and the silences that speak entire tomes, is as wrong directed at a rightful High King as it is insufficient for an unrightful one.
So today he must chart a course through two maps at once, and put together a missive that is both respectful and demanding at once, one that will not offend a righteous High King but will corner an unrighteous one.
After long labour and much time spent sorting through the previous drafts for salvageable fragments, he has the beginnings of something appropriate.
Recent advancements in the understanding of the Waystone Network have brought with them an awareness of the ways in which the energies involved can and have been put to use for the betterment of various Peoples and Polities. In the light of this knowledge, it is troubling to find that great volumes of magical energies are being drawn from the surrounds of Karak Eight Peaks to an unknown end. The first response of any rational ruler would be to end this state of affairs, but the possibility has been raised that there exists a proper explanation for this state of affairs. Should this be the case, then the full truth of the matter should be vouchsafed to the rulers from whose Karaks the energies are being siphoned.
In the absence of any such explanation, the only course of action that can rightfully be taken would be to sever this unknown connection so that the resources rightfully belonging to the Karak can be used for the betterment of the Karak...
It will do for a start. When a missive might change the course of history, one has an obligation to give it at least a revision pass or two.
---
Of all the possible responses, simply sending a messenger back with a reply was probably the most likely, but Belegar still feels wrong-footed for it being so prosaic. The only oddity is that the messenger has requested to meet him outdoors, at the top of the exterior stairs of Karag Lhune and outside the entrance that leads to the Hall of the Moon. For a wild moment Belegar considered whether this could be an assassination attempt, before dismissing the thought as unworthy of even the worst of worlds. Still, he brings his usual escort of Hammerers with him.
Outside it is a few minutes shy of the height of the day, when the shadows are at their shortest, which at this latitude means they barely exist. As if to confirm this, the messenger is consulting a small portable sundial as Belegar approaches. He looks up, bows to King Belegar, and without speaking turns to look out over the valley. Part of Belegar wants to do his best to disrupt whatever pageantry this is, but he decides to see where this is going and follows the messenger's gaze towards the Citadel at the center of the titular eight peaks.
The first indication that something was amiss was when the heat haze, which on particularly hot days could completely obstruct the view from one side of the Karak to the other, grew stronger and more turbulent above the Citadel. Then, without a sound, bright yellow fire from nowhere started at the base of the haze and climbed swiftly upwards, and a pair of immense but lazy flames danced atop the Citadel's two towers, so bright as to be almost transparent, and without a wisp of smoke emerging from it.
"The High King sends his warmest regards to you and yours, King Belegar," the messenger says, and without another word he turns and leaves, beginning his long journey back to Karaz-a-Karak.
---
"Let's operate under the assumption that the High King wasn't being deliberately mysterious," you say to Belegar. After the massive flare of apparently non-magical fire had filled the sky over the Citadel, his messenger to you had met you halfway to him. He hadn't moved from where the High King's messenger had delivered his obscure message, but he had had a table set up and a few relevant tomes brought out for him to start leafing through for clues. "The most likely reason for a message being sent in that way is that a message cannot be sent at all. To my eye, this smacks of a secret that cannot be told, but must be shared."
"That seems like a sensible place to start," Belegar replies, to your relief. He's gotten a better grip on his habit of reflexively interpreting everything from the High King in the worst light possible than he once had.
"So if we assume this is a direct response to your question, then it's saying 'this is what that energy is doing'." You're leading him in the way that you normally would Eike, rather than a King, but with a safe harbour in sight you don't want things to run aground at the last moment.
He nods. "I've seen paintings of the Karak in its youth where immense airships were moored to the tips of those towers. If we assume that that was the original purpose of the Citadel, rather than just a convenient place for them to tie off to, then it seems reasonable to suppose that what we saw was some sort of liftgas being burned off."
"The creation of which, I've read, is usually quite problematic. The sort of thing that an immense amount of magical power might be needed for, say. If it relies on an energy network that spans the Karaz Ankor to function, it would also explain why it's controllable from Karaz-a-Karak."
"It is said that before the Underway was built, various forms of floating transports were used to trade between the Karaks. Perhaps Karak Eight Peaks was once a center of aerial trade to Azul and Drazh and Izril and Ekrund, a counterpoint to the rivers and lakes connecting the central Old Holds."
"That makes a lot of sense, actually," you say, looking out over the farms and pastures that have filled the sheltered center of Karak Eight Peaks. "I'd wondered what the purpose of all this space was in the original Karak Eight Peaks, as it's much more above-ground space than any other Karak I've ever seen has claimed. This Karak being a hub for immense airships would make sense - both Dwarven and foreign."
"Foreign?" he asks.
"Elven Skycutters, most obviously, and possibly more peaceable forms lost to these more fractured times. I know next to nothing about it, but ancient maps show an Elven settlement called 'Oeragor' in the Badlands, and I've wondered how a colony would work that far inland. Airships could be the answer. And I've read of Nehekharan Sky-Boats, and Arabyan flying carpets, and many kinds of airships of Cathay that all might have travelled here in ancient times. Perhaps even Fozzrik himself might have paid a visit." You contrast the mental image against the pleasantly bucolic valleys of today, and suspect that most would call the past greater than the present.
"In any case," you continue after considering that, "the clear insinuation seems to be that the power sent to Karaz-a-Karak is being used to fuel ancient wonders throughout the Karaz Ankor, which were thought lost but are actually inoperable due to a lack of power. Is there anything that occurs to you that could have been a remnant super-project?"
"The Rune of Eternity on the Throne of Power, perhaps," Belegar says quietly and consideringly. "It is said to be the only Rune with which Grungni was ever wholly satisfied, and that it grants the High King the wisdom of all his predecessors."
"Something with an area of effect of a single individual in a single place shouldn't require anything like that much infrastructure to support it, no matter how dramatic the results," you say. "Possibly the Underearth itself requires a continuous input of power for its role as an afterlife, or the Glittering Realm does to be a source of the underpinnings of Runesmithing." Or both, but that the two realms are the same is a Gazulite secret you're not able to casually share. "A lot of reasons why what Runes do are impossible under Teclisean theory disappear if their operation is supplemented by an external source. That would justify any amount of secrecy."
"The Eyes that are making the Second Silver Road War possible might be another example of one of these grandmasterpieces."
"If so, the reclamation of Karak Eight Peaks might have made it possible."
"And Karak Vlag," he says pointedly.
"I suppose so. And through it Karag Dum is reconnected, and considering its location, it must be pouring energy in."
"Then why would he not have supported the Expeditions more than he did?"
"Perhaps he simply didn't know that the flow could be restored so easily. Before us, no Karak had ever been wholly retaken. He might have thought that whatever it is that makes a Karak-Waystone would need to be performed from scratch, and the impression I have is that the modern Runelords are not capable of doing so. That would explain his sudden shift of priorities from vengeance to revanchism."
Belegar is quiet for a while. "If you are correct, and the Underearth requires an input of power to maintain itself, or perhaps to maintain its connection to the world of the living... that may be even more of explanation for his Age of Reckoning. If a day was coming when an afterlife with our ancestors was lost to any Dwarves that still lived, then an extinction in the name of vengeance before that day came might be preferable."
"'Die well'," you quietly recite.
"Was he waving me through a door that might soon be closed? That he might have thought would become closed to me and mine if rescued?"
It's not a question that you can answer, and not one that you're expected to. You simply sit with the King as he rethinks every interaction he's ever had with the High King.