CHAPTER 54: THE KING OF MAGODILIN

Stephan woke later than usual, the light slanting in through the cracks of the hut’s ceiling and stabbing at his eyes. Grief and Yennefer were already awake, seated cross-legged, sipping from clay cups. The steam rising from the brew carried a sour, earthy stench.

Stephan wrinkled his nose. "What time is it?"

"They don’t have clocks here," Yennefer said, her voice dripping with amusement.

"Of course they don’t," Stephan muttered, dragging himself upright. He picked up his black shirt, sniffed, and grimaced. The fabric reeked of sweat and dried blood. With a look of disgust, he tossed it aside and shrugged into his coat instead.

"Do they even have water here?" he asked.

"They do," Yennefer replied, lifting her cup. "But it’s rationed. Remember what Fizzwigg said about this place? Sometimes it rains blood, so they store water for weeks. Well, turns out he didn’t lie."

At the sound of the name, Stephan’s eyes narrowed. "Fizzwigg. Almost forgot about that little bastard. When do we meet this king of theirs?"

"Shiva should be here any moment," Yennefer said.

Stephan ran a hand through his tangled hair and sighed. "I need a bath before I meet a king."

"You won’t get one," Yennefer said with a smile. "They don’t waste water on luxuries like that."

Stephan smirked bitterly. "Figures." He hesitated, then asked, "Any word on Anna Mary?"

"No," Yennefer said softly. "We’re waiting for Shiva’s update too."

Stephan ran a hand through his messy hair and grunted. "Great. No bath, no shirt, and probably no breakfast either. This place is already starting to feel like prison."

"You’ll survive," Yennefer said, sipping the steaming cup and making a face. "Barely. This tea tastes like boiled dirt."

Grief didn’t comment, but he kept drinking. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the morning light, betraying no discomfort.

A knock echoed at the wooden door before Stephan could complain further. Three sharp raps.

"That’ll be Shiva," Yennefer said, setting down her cup.

Stephan straightened his coat and muttered, "Here we go. Time to meet the prophet king."

The door creaked open, and Shiva stepped inside. Her expression was calm but her tone brisk, almost urgent.

"The Great King awaits you. But first—" she paused, glancing at each of them, her gaze lingering longest on Grief—

"—I bring news about Anna Mary."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Stephan’s gaze locked on Shiva, his eyes demanding the truth she was holding back.

Finally, she spoke. "She will make it. She’s already awake. Our magic doctor... worked a miracle."

The words landed like a weight lifted. Yennefer’s hand flew to her mouth, her shoulders trembling as she released a shaky breath. Grief only lowered her head, but even she seemed to sag in quiet relief.

Stephan’s chest loosened though he masked it with a crooked grin. "Huh. Miracles. Guess you gnomes are good for something after all."

Shiva’s lips quirked faintly, though her tone stayed measured. "But you cannot see her. Not yet. She’s still weak, and the doctor insists she rest. If her progress continues, you’ll be allowed to visit her this evening."

Yennefer nodded, eyes glistening. Stephan rolled his shoulders as if brushing off the weight pressing against him.

"Evening, huh?" he muttered. "Fine. I’ll wait. Just don’t make me sit here sipping more of that swamp-tea while we do."

"I’m afraid you do have that time to drink it," Shiva said evenly. "The King awaits us."

"We’re going now?" Yennefer asked, surprised.

"Yes. Follow me." Shiva turned and led them outside.

Four gnomes stood waiting, clad in dull bronze armor and carrying long spears, their small frames deceptively sturdy.

"And who are these?" Yennefer asked.

"My personal bodyguards," Shiva replied. "As the Chief Advisor to the King, I am to be protected."

Stephan narrowed his eyes. "From us?"

Shiva held his gaze without flinching. "Probably. From you. From other gnomes. From anything. A high-ranking official does not take chances."

"Fair enough," Stephan muttered.

They fell into step behind her, the guards flanking them like a silent cage. As they moved through the narrow streets, the bustling noise of Magodilin dimmed. Conversations died mid-sentence, tools stilled in hands, children froze mid-play. Mothers drew little ones closer, shielding them with wary glances.

Stephan frowned. "What’s their deal? Still afraid of us?"

Shiva’s voice was quiet, almost solemn. "Because they believe humans were the cause of Kareth’Zul’s collapse."

The words hung in the air like a curse, making the silence around them feel even heavier.

"Fizzwigg said the same thing," Yennefer murmured. "Guess it’s true then."

"It’s not only because of that," Shiva said. "You must understand, none of us have ever seen a human since we were born. This is new to us. And..." her gaze flicked over them with faint distaste, "...you look like elves without the pointed ears. And gnomes have no love for Elven scum."

The path curved upward, leading them to the only place in Magodilin that seemed touched by grandeur. A great stone hall rose atop the hill, its walls carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the morning light. Heavy banners of deep crimson and gold draped from the battlements, and a pair of iron doors loomed at its entrance.

Seven guards awaited them there, armored and unsmiling. One stepped forward, spear angled across his chest.

"You cannot enter armed. Leave your weapons here."

Stephan met the guard’s stare with open defiance, hand tightening on his sword hilt, until Yennefer’s hand brushed his arm.

"Stephan. Don’t," she whispered.

Reluctantly, he unsheathed the blade and passed it over, glaring as though daring them to mishandle it. Grief followed suit, her movements stiff and reluctant.

The iron doors creaked open, revealing a cavernous chamber lit by braziers of green flame. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of stone dust and incense. Carvings of ancient battles lined the walls, gnomes standing victorious over elves, orcs, and men alike.

At the far end of the hall, raised on a dais of black rock, sat the throne. It was hewn from a single block of granite, massive and unyielding. And upon it...

Stephan froze.

There, lounging as though the world itself were a jest, sat a figure they knew all too well.

"Fizzwigg!" Stephan snarled.

Before Stephan could spit another word, Fizzwigg raised a hand lazily.

"Shiva, you are dismissed."

Shiva stiffened. "But, my lord...."

"I said you are dismissed." His tone carried no room for defiance.

For a moment, silence pressed against the stone walls. Then, reluctantly, Shiva bowed low and backed away.

Fizzwigg’s eyes flicked toward the guards at the doors. "You as well."

Without hesitation, they bowed and exited, leaving the vast hall suddenly too quiet. The echo of the heavy doors slamming shut left Stephan, Yennefer, and Grief standing alone with him.

Fizzwigg leaned back against the throne, a sly grin spreading across his face as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

"You know," the King said, his voice carrying across the chamber, "you shouldn’t be calling me Fizzwigg in this part of the world, young sir."

Stephan tilted his head, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "Why? Is that your fraudulent name?"

The King leaned forward on his throne, grinning as though he’d been waiting for that jab. "You’ve got that right. That name does not exist here. To the gnomes, I am no Fizzwigg. But beyond these tunnels? Ah... in Kareth’Zul, in Orc territory, even among the Elves, that name carries quite the reputation."

"Then who are you really?" Yennefer asked, her tone sharp.

The King spread his hands dramatically. "I am Orak. But you will address me properly... as your Majesty."

Stephan chuckled under his breath. "Bullshit, Fizzwigg."

Orak’s smile didn’t falter. "Like I said, no one here knows that name. I am Orak... King Orak." He raised his chin, the gesture filled with theatrical pride.

"You really are a crafty son of a bitch, aren’t you," Stephan muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

The King’s eyes narrowed. "It is unwise to speak to a king in such a manner. Were my guards still present, they would have cut you down without hesitation."

Stephan’s smirk deepened. "And you know very well what I would have done to them. I could cut them down with my eyes closed."

For the first time, a flicker of cold amusement crossed Orak’s face. "You might be surprised at just how difficult a task that would prove to be."

Yennefer stepped forward, her voice steady, commanding his attention. "You have a lot of explaining to do, King Orak."

"Ah, yes... my lady. Indeed." Orak rose slowly from his throne, the motion deliberate, as though the weight of the chamber itself shifted with him.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," King Orak said smoothly. "After all, we haven’t seen each other since yesterday in the tunnels."

Stephan’s jaw tightened. "You mean since you ran like a pig and left us to die." His voice was sharp now, brimming with restrained fury.

Orak chuckled, raising a hand as though to swat the insult away. "Oho, relax. I didn’t run. I had my own reasons, reasons you will soon come to understand."

His gaze slid from Stephan to Yennefer, then to Grief, lingering on each of them as if weighing their worth. "There is much you need to learn about this realm. Why I brought you to Magodilin. Why the gnomes bow to me."

He straightened his back, the faintest spark of arrogance in his eyes. "And, more importantly... how we might profit from each other."