[OOM]

For a few weeks, it’s just patrols, and Braegh Company and the Jinetes work surprisingly well together. Braegh Company supplies healers, mages, archers, and swordsmen, while the Jinetes make use of their superior technology to provide both heavily armoured soldiers that can cause havoc to monsters around them, and riflemen who can efficiently cover troops from afar, or pick off a monster before it gets close enough to become a problem.

What bothers Sherral is that nothing they do ever seems to make a dent in the number of monsters. Braegh Company and the Jinetes are always patrolling the Eastern District, past the Gate of Winds, and every time they return, there are more monsters. There’s an endless supply of them - and maybe in the wild that would be usual, but there’s nowhere for these monsters to be coming from.

He voices that concern to Cirino one night, and the man lifts his shoulders, saying that that’s a question for the scientists, archaeologists, and priests.

Priests, at least, are something they have no shortage of: More and more pilgrims arrive with every new airship, and the senior Kiltia in the city start conducting sermons in the outpost’s central square every day. With more clergy in the city, more demands start coming in, and stronger. First, a Dalmascan Kiltia with two-hundred signatures demanding that the outpost be purged of ‘peddlers of immorality and heresy’; then, another letter asking that alcohol be removed from the outpost; then one asking that all soldiers and archaeologists gather for prayer in the morning.

They’re all broadly rejected, but each time they are, another letter asking the same arrives, often hand-delivered by an angry Kiltia who wishes to discuss their agenda with the outpost’s commanders in person.

That, at least, is something Sherral and Cirino can bond over - how the commanders’ meetings drag on endlessly as a result of listening to the endless requests and demands of the camp’s populace.

(Sherral sees Duke Rhagarde’s signature on several of those letters, but the man never appears in person. It makes sense: The man wants to curry favour with the Kiltia, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to explain their reasons to a room full of irate, tense military commanders.)

The bonding experience is odd. Cirino starts stopping by Sherral’s tent, peering over his shoulder as Sherral compares reports from each patrol side by side. He brings alcohol the first few times, then tea when he realises that Sherral’s not overly interested in drinking on duty.

“So, what, there’s a monster factory?” He asks one day, sitting on the edge of Sherral’s desk.

“Most of these monsters are mechanised, so just plain factories,” Sherral says wryly. “An automated system that repairs broken security forces, or cannibalises their parts to create new ones if they can’t be repaired.”

“It would have to have been working for thousands of years.”

“Not necessarily,” Sherral says. “I mean, the Mist here is heavy enough that it probably could have powered itself for that long, and it might be able to repair itself, but it could just as easily go inactive when nobody’s in the city. Or maybe it was set to only switch on when the Mist storm dissipated.”

“Sounds farfetched.”

Sherral resists the urge to grind his teeth. “It’d be a marvel of engineering, I grant you, centuries beyond anything we can do, but it’s a lot less farfetched than the other option, which is that monsters materialise from thin air whenever we aren’t looking like the world’s naughtiest schoolchildren.”

“So you want to, what, go and find it and shut it down?”

“Well, go and find one, at least. If I’m right, there are several scattered around the city,” Sherral says.

Cirino laughs at that. “Good luck, perrito.” Sherral tries not to be annoyed at the pet name the other man has picked up for him. “You’ll need approval from all four forces, not to mention the archaeologists, and probably the Kiltia too.”

“Can you appeal to your commander for me?” Sherral asks, turning a page of one of the reports. “I can talk to Ser Howell, and send a letter to Draklor Laboratories asking for them to throw their support behind the expedition, that should sway the archaeologists.

Cirino rolls his eyes. “I suppose I could. But you’ll owe me a favour, and that still leaves the Bhujerbans, Dalmascans, and Kiltia.”

“I am aware, thank you,” Sherral says, shutting his eyes. “I have connections yet in Dalmasca that I can exploit. Bhujerba might be more difficult to convince. As for the Kiltia, I …” he catches Cirino’s grin, “... Look, we both know who I need to talk to about that.”

[OOM]

Cirino does actually offer to accompany Sherral on his visit to Rhagarde, but Sherral has to turn him down: Dragging a Rozarrian along is not going to make Rhagarde more likely to give his seal of approval.

He contacts Rhagarde’s manservant (honestly, who takes a manservant along to an archaeological expedition?) and sets a time for the two of them to speak, and makes certain he arrives on time.

He’s made to wait outside the man’s tent for a whole ten minutes past their scheduled time before the manservant eventually leads him through.

On the inside, Rhagarde’s tent is absurd. It’s made from expensive materials and built for warmth, but Giruvegan isn’t cold enough to warrant it, and it’s suffocatingly hot within. The entire floor is covered by a rug, and a tremendous four poster bed is at one end, dominating the room. Other pieces of furniture - chaise-longues, a wooden table that must have taken a dozen men to move, a clawed bath with a twinkling crystal of water magicite on one end - are laid out around the tent, as if to give the impression of a set of opulent apartments, instead of a tent in an archaeological expedition.

(Sherral does note the small statue of Faram on the bedside table, and the Book of Light besides it. Very pious indeed. A little strange as well: It is common for Archadians to devote the bulk of their reverence to Miriam, goddess of war and justice.)

“His Grace, the most noble Duke Leopold Tycho Marcus Rhagarde, son of Sebastian Rhagarde, High Lord and Defender of the Eastern Territories, Duke of Galdheim, Viscount Montbelliard, Second Imperial Scion, Senatorial Knight of the Third Class,” the manservant announces as Sherral enters, before bowing low to his master. “Your Grace, Ser Sherral Rannoch Maduin, Judge-Captain of the Ministry of Law.”

Rhagarde himself is writing at a desk, although Sherral suspects he sat down and started writing nonsense only a few minutes earlier - it’s an obvious little piece of theatre, meant to make him seem more busy and important than he is.

“My apologies, Ser Maduin,” he says after a moment, laying down his pen and heaving himself up from his seat. The man is not old, not truly - middle-aged, perhaps, starting to grey, with crow’s feet - but he moves like someone fifty years older than he looks. Once he’s risen, he gives Sherral a once over, raising an eyebrow. “My word, you are young. You know, in Bhujerba, they do not let any join their military until they’ve seen seventeen summers. They must think it rather barbaric that an Archadian boy might have both medals and scars by the time he’s twenty.”

Sherral inclines his head a little. “In truth, I didn’t ask for this meeting to discuss how we might learn from Bhujerba.”

“Ha! There’s that Northern abruptness. Ser Beor warned me of that. He thinks you barely civilised, you know - and he thinks Ser Desmerais to be craven and weak-willed, and Ser Howell to be out of touch and slow,” Rhagarde frowns a little. “He is a truly exhausting fellow.”

Sherral is very tempted to ask what Beor was meeting with Rhagarde about, but he thinks a distraction from the topic at hand might be just what the duke is after.

“No, you came here to ask that I corral the Kiltia into giving their blessing to some mission to seek out a factory,” Rhagarde says after a moment. “Don’t look so surprised, I do have friends outside of the holy orders. Has Draklor yet given you their approval?”

“They have. Ser Howell too, and the commanders of Dalmasca and Rozarria’s forces will give their approval shortly,” Sherral says.

“In truth, I am divided over the whole idea of it. The gods did reveal this city to us, after all, and surely so that we might explore it, but is it not their hand that directs these monsters against us?” Rhagarde shakes his head. “It is a quandary. The Kiltia would think so as well, if I were to ask that they discuss it.”

“Only if you believe that there’s any kind of divine plan involved.”

“Which I do.” Rhagarde’s voice is a little sharp. “I would be a fool not to. A city materialises from the Mist, a purvama of islands appears in the sky - these are not magicks that any mortal might wield. No, I see Faram’s handiwork quite clearly, the Father of Light illuminating parts of our world we never saw before.”

Sherral waits without saying anything. If Rhagarde’s already heard about what he’s asking, then he’s likely already made a decision. He’ll get to it eventually. As he watches, Rhagarde’s manservant pours two cups of tea. Rhagarde takes one, and the manservant holds the other out for Sherral.

It would be rude to wave him away, so Sherral reluctantly takes the tea, holding it without drinking.

“I suppose I could hold the Kiltia back. Explain to them that this is a test placed before us by our lady Miriam, with Faram’s blessing,” Rhagarde says after a quick sip of his tea. “I would have conditions, however.”

“I am truly surprised,” Sherral says flatly.

Rhagarde barks out a quick laugh. “Not to worry, they are nothing that you wouldn’t be amenable towards. I am happy to have Braegh Company and the 21st Jinetes take the mission, however I would have them joined by Dalmasca’s 4th Expeditionary Force and - more importantly - our own Pallicant Company. Ser Beor will take overall leadership of the mission, and you and Alferez-Capitan Bracamontes may serve as his right and his left hands.”

Sherral very carefully keeps his expression neutral. Bergard Beor had, a year prior, been a fellow garrison captain at Rabanastre, and one with a particular penchant for brutality. Pairing his soldiers with a Dalmascan force seemed like a one way trip to violence breaking out on the expedition.

“May I ask why?”

“This is an important mission, I would not want to exclude Dalmasca a role in it. Ser Beor has worked closely with the 4th Expeditionary Force thus far,” Rhagarde says. “And I could hardly place him under your command, could I? He might be so incensed as to challenge me to a duel.”

“If those are your conditions, then I’m sure we could arrange something,” Sherral says carefully.

“I do have one more: There are likely members of both the archaeologists’ party and the Kiltia who would like to accompany you, I’d ask that you strongly consider taking a few of them along. I will also accompany you, and take full responsibility for the conduct and safety of any civilians joining the mission.”

This seems more and more like a bad idea the more Sherral hears. But it's not like they can just ignore what might be an endless supply of hostile forces.

"I'll discuss your proposals with Ser Howell."