Chapter 22: Emperor Rontus
August 3rd, 2053
Rontak Empire, Kashir Forest
Emperor Rontus flew over the Kashir forest command center, or rather, what was left of it. There were wrecked buildings and large craters everywhere. Imperial soldiers ran around, attending to various duties. They barely noticed him and his escort unit of fifty rontoradeki land in the remains of the wyvern pens.
“Find General Ulmok, or whoever is in command if he is dead,” the Emperor said to the captain of his guard detail. They spread out in a hurry to carry out the order. It didn’t take long for them to return with General Ulmok.
“Your Majesty!” He exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here? You must leave at once, it isn’t safe!”
“Calm down General, I won’t be long. What happened here?” The Emperor asked as a procession of wounded soldiers hobbled by.
“The Americans happened, sire,” Ulmok answered. “They attacked us six days ago. Once I learned they were coming, I sent as many soldiers as I could deep into the woods to keep them safe, but Lord Torlan insisted on mounting a defense… No man emerged from their assault unscathed. They were so coordinated, so… efficient.” He solemnly shook his head. “None of our preparations made any difference.”
“You couldn’t even slow them down?” The Emperor asked, shocked. He truly thought they had a chance, thanks to Gwuardon showing him what American weapons were capable of.
General Ulmok shook his head. “They ripped through the forest faster than I thought possible and did the same to the army en route from Vakria. And… Sire, we received word that they captured Prince Cevlion.”
Emperor Rontus paused for a moment and asked, “And what of Lord Torlan and the rest of the delegation?”
“Lords Fevrah and Jarpon were killed in the attack. Lord Torlan survived with minor injuries but Lord Galiv was gravely wounded. Our best healers managed to save his life, but even if he had an elven mage by his side, he would take time to recover.”
“Have the healers abandon Lord Galiv to his fate,” the Emperor commanded. “Have them focus their efforts on the men wounded following his idiotic orders. And show my guards to Lord Torlan and have him brought before me.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” General Ulmok replied as he left, followed by six Imperial Guards.
Ulmok returned shortly, accompanied by Lord Torlan dragged along by Imperial Guards. They forced him to his knees in front of the Emperor.
“E-Emperor Rontus?” Lord Torlan stammered. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
Towering over the man, the Emperor responded, “Did you think you could escape the consequences of your deception simply by the fact that it took place far from Ronta?”
“I was following the commands of Prince Cevlion, sire!” Torlan pleaded.
“Oh, I will deal with Prince Cevlion, believe me. But you disregarded my explicit instructions on how to handle talks with the Americans... And you will pay the price for your role in his schemes.”
The Emperor saw Lord Torlan tense up, as if he knew what was coming.
“Lord Torlan, I hereby revoke your seat in the House of Lords and strip you of all rank and title. The same shall befall Lord Galiv, if he survives.”
The former Lord Torlan didn’t make any feeble protests and simply lowered his head in shame, accepting his fate.
“General Ulmok,” the Emperor said, “I believe this peasant could be of use to your army. See to it that he is given the least desirable duties.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Ulmok replied, as he ordered his own soldiers to take Torlan away.
The Emperor may not have executed Torlan himself, but he might as well have. Being in the midst of an army decimated as a result of his orders was a dangerous place for him to be. His nobility may have protected him before, but he just had that nobility stripped away. Torlan would likely be dead within a week.
“General, I leave our operations in the Kashir forest under your command,” the Emperor said. “Analyze how the Americans were able to so easily cut through our defenses and do what you can to devise more effective countermeasures. But do not engage them in battle. I am still hoping to avoid further conflict with them.”
“As am I, Your Majesty,” Ulmok agreed. “Is there anything else you require of me?”
“No, General. I am off to the American fortress to begin proper negotiations myself.”
As he was about to turn and leave, General Ulmok said, “Your Majesty, wait a moment. You cannot proceed to the Americans without informing them first. If they see your wyverns coming unexpectedly, they’ll assume it’s an attack…”
“And we would not fare any better than any other wyvern unfortunate enough to cross their path,” the Emperor surmised.
General Ulmok nodded in affirmation. “I’ll contact the Princess via mana comm and let her know to relay word of your arrival to the Americans.”
“Very well,” the Emperor agreed. “But make haste, General. I wish to leave as soon as possible.”
“At once, Your Majesty,” Ulmok said with a bow.
August 3rd, 2053
Rontak Empire, East Duremar Plains
Kallia and two knights from the Fire Dragon division were approaching yet another village in the ongoing search for American slaves. It was a small lumber town on the edge of a forest. She was getting tired of these backwater villages. Why did they want their people back so badly? The raid on their city really didn’t capture that many of them.
They landed their wyverns just outside the town and proceeded on foot. The town watch came out to meet them. About a dozen young men with axes and clubs uneasily approached them, led by their captain. The captain was the only one wearing any real armor.
“Lower your weapons,” the captain ordered his motley band of guards. “These are knights of the Order of the Dragon. Captain Hordu of Nirelan, at your service. How may we assist such esteemed knights of the Princess?”
“We need to inspect your town’s slaves,” Kallia replied bluntly as she made her way into the village. “Have you purchased any within the last month?”
“As a matter of fact, we have,” Hordu answered, as he walked beside her into Nirelan. “Merchants hailing from Rontak’s Reach recently sold us four slaves.”
“Take us to them,” she commanded.
Captain Hordu led them to the lumber yard where slaves toiled away. Kallia saw two human slaves sawed away at a large piece of timber. Minotaurs hauled large pieces of wood for the others to process. Though the town watch was a bit uneasy, Nirelan’s industry seemed largely unaffected by the catastrophic events in Duremar.
Captain Hordu had the foreman bring three slaves before her; a minotaur and two humans. She looked down at the two humans on their knees, ignoring the minotaur completely. They didn’t have the cowering fear she saw in American slaves, but she had to be sure.
“Where are you from,” she asked them.
“I was sold from a merchant ship two years ago,” he answered flatly.
“And you?” she asked the other.
“I disgraced myself in battle,” he said with a pang of shame in his voice. “I was sentenced to ten years of servitude.”
Turning back to Captain Hordu, Kallia said, “You said you bought four slaves. Where is the fourth?”
“He is something of a… special case,” Captain Hordu replied. “Come with me, I will take you to him.”
He led the knights out of the lumber yard. Curiously, they made their way towards where skilled craftsmen worked–not a place she expected to find a slave. They went into one of the Woodworker Guild’s workshops where artisans carved and assembled intricate wooden furniture. Captain Hordu explained that the luxurious nature of these products rivaled the value of the raw timber the town exported.
Kallia ignored his ramblings about local economics and instead her gaze settled on a man in tattered but distinctly American clothing. He had an old, slightly wrinkled face and gray hair, but she had heard that Americans live exceptionally long lives; he probably wasn’t an elder by their standards.
He was working on an almost complete wooden chair alongside other artisans. Strangely, they seemed to treat him, a slave, as their equal. He had his own workspace and tools. The others didn’t dominate the space around him as free workmen would a slave.
“What is the meaning of this?” She asked Hordu.
“This man hails from an exotic land beyond a portal to another world,” he said, explaining information that Kallia had already surmised. “He told our blacksmiths of ingenious new tools and used them to create fantastic products for our town. His exquisite skill was far more useful to us than just another slave, so we freed him and admitted him into the Woodworker Guild.”
“You freed him? He is no longer a slave?” Kallia asked. Hordu nodded in affirmation. “And he still remains here?”
“For a recently freed slave, he has acclimated quite well to our community,” Hordu shrugged.
“Benta, Horak” Kallia began, addressing her knights, “Keep an eye on the American. I’ll report in to Maribelle.”
“Yes, Commander,” they both sounded off.
Kallia went out of the workshop and took out the strange black box given to her by the Americans. It was called a ‘radio’. It was similar to a mana comm, but much more portable, and it wasn’t powered by magic. The inner workings of the device may have been a mystery to her, but its functionality was not.
She pressed and held the button and spoke into the box, “Maribelle, I’ve found another one in Nirelan.”
She lifted her finger from the button so she could hear Maribelle’s response. Captain Hordu looked at her inquisitively and jumped back when Maribelle’s voice came from the box.
“That's great!” Maribelle replied through the box. “His name is Kevin Langston, right?”
Kallia looked to Hordu, who nodded, confirming the American’s identity.
Pressing the button, she replied, “ Yes. How did you know?”
“He’s the last unaccounted for American taken during the raid. All the others have been rescued, or their remains recovered. He’s the last one.”
The Americans’ precise bookkeeping continued to amaze her. “That’s good news,” Kallia agreed halfheartedly. She didn’t particularly enjoy running around rounding up slaves, but she was glad the task was almost over. “I’ll bring him back to Fort Roanoke right away.”
“Great! I’ll let Ambassador Smith know the good news. This is a step in the right direction, Kallia. Make sure he gets here safe and unharmed.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on it, Maribelle.”
She put away the device as a bewildered Captain Hordu asked, “You’re going to take him from us?”
“That's right,” she said nonchalantly.
She went back inside and collected her knights. Together, they marched up to the American, startling him.
“Kevin Langston, by order of Princess Maribelle all American slaves are to be returned home at once,” she commanded.
“But… I’m no longer a slave,” Kevin protested.
“I don’t care for such technicalities,” Kallia countered. “You’re coming with me back to the portal site.”
“I–for the last month Nirelan has been my home,” Kevin pleaded. “Do you have any idea how little carpentry is respected back home? I lost my job to a bot that can build twice as much furniture as I can twice as fast. Creating luxury, handcrafted furniture used to be a respectable profession, but now it's nothing more than a hobby. The people here–they actually appreciate my skills.”
“It’s true,” Captain Hordu confirmed. “Kevin is a marvelous craftsman. We aren’t keeping him by force. Is it really necessary for you to take him?”
“His safe return is how we secure peace with the United States,” Kallia proclaimed, gripping the hilt of her sword. “So we are taking him, one way or another.”
Defeated, Kevin reluctantly gave in and followed Kallia back to her wyvern. He bid a few of the townsfolk farewell as she hooked him onto a spare safety harness. Together they flew west, back towards Fort Roanoke and the portal.
August 4th, 2053
Duremar Plains, Fort Roanoke
Emperor Rontus watched the myriad of flying machines escorting him and his guard detail to the American fortress with dreadful fascination. Some bore a resemblance to the machines he saw in his vision with their rigid, unmoving wings. But the ones he saw now somehow looked even more sleek and efficient at distributing death.
Others remained completely alien–they hadn’t made an appearance in his vision. They had no wings, but rather four disks that each sounded like a swarm of insects, presumably somehow keeping the machines afloat. He wondered what other unfathomably awful weapons they had yet to reveal.
All the more reason he couldn’t be more proud of his daughter. In spite of this savage foe, she managed to open a dialogue with them and stop the wholesale slaughter of Imperial armies. The recent battle in the Kashir forest and subsequent capture of his son proved how incapable the Rontak Empire was of using force to stop the American invasion. Even with the insights granted by his vision from Gwuardon, their best attempts at stopping them were completely useless.
He would no doubt have to accept whatever terms the Americans demanded. If he refused them, they would most likely just take what they want by force anyway. Though they surely had some ulterior motive for negotiating, there was no alternative at present.
The flying machines directed him to land on the east side of the base, near what looked to be a growing town–a town made of his own subjects, not Americans. There was a stark difference between the outskirts of their fortress and the fortress itself.
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While there were some American buildings here, most were the round huts typical of Duremar’s architecture. On the other hand, the American fortress looked like it was a small city that had been there for decades. Stone buildings, paved roadways, high quality glass–it was unrecognizable as a mere army camp.
He and his escort unit landed in a field closed off by a metal fence. There were a few other wyverns here too, presumably belonging to the Order of the Dragon. Wheeled American contraptions stood sentry around the perimeter of the wyvern field. He had no illusions about the situation. If he or his guards made one wrong move, those evil machines would obliterate them in an instant.
A procession of Americans approached him, with Maribelle and a few of her knights among them. His rontoradeki formed an honor guard around him and he proceeded to greet them.
“It is good to see you, father,” Maribelle said with a slight bow of respect.
“And you as well, Maribelle,” Emperor Rontus replied. “I am glad to see you are well.”
Gesturing to the American woman beside her, his daughter said, “This is Ambassador Smith. She speaks for the United States.”
He turned to look at the ambassador. “I am Cevlion Rontus VIII, Emperor of the Rontak Empire. I apologize for the improper behavior of our delegation. My son, the Crown Prince, was responsible for that unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Prince Cevlion has proven to be quite… uncooperative.” Ambassador Smith agreed. “As Princess Maribelle already knows, we have him here in custody. I am pleased to hear that you are more open to diplomacy”
“Cevlion is here?” The Emperor asked, somewhat surprised that they were able to bring him back here so quickly.
“Yes. The purpose of our incursion through the Kashir forest was solely to apprehend the Prince so as to avoid further diplomatic complications,” Ambassador Smith explained. “We did our best to limit unnecessary casualties among your troops.”
The Ambassador hadn’t meant it as such, but the Emperor was still insulted. Their assault on the Kashir forest and subsequent battle with his son’s army was all just a ploy? They weren’t trying to decimate his forces, which they did anyway, they were just trying to capture his son?
Swallowing his pride, he asked, “May I see him?”
“Of course,” Ambassador Smith beamed. “We’d be happy to show you to him. But unfortunately we won’t be able to arrange his release at this time.”
“Oh?” Emperor Rontus asked. He wasn’t surprised, but a bit thrown off that she expected him to expect his son to go free. It was a little odd though, since Maribelle was hardly a prisoner here.
“He’s been charged with several serious war crimes,” Ambassador Smith explained. “He’ll eventually be taken to the International Criminal Court on Earth, where he’ll stand trial for his actions.”
She phrased it with diplomatic pleasantness, but Emperor Rontus could read between the lines: give us what we want or we’ll fabricate an excuse to execute your son in some hideous way.
“He’s not adjusting to his new… circumstances very well,” Maribelle added. “I’ve tried speaking with him, but he refuses to talk to me. At most he would sling insults and accusations of treason.”
“You are anything but a traitor, Maribelle,” he reassured her. “Leave your brother to me.”
The Ambassador led him to one of the ‘vehicles’ Maribelle had described over the mana comm. He was allowed to bring two guards with him, but the rest of his escort had to wait outside the main base. That was fine; their job was just to get him here safely. He doubted that there was much they could do if the Americans tried to harm him or his daughter.
They drove past an area with more familiar wooden buildings mixed with the rectangular American buildings. Maribelle explained that it was a refugee center for people displaced by the conflict. All had come here themselves of their own volition; none were prisoners.
Emperor Rontus couldn’t help but think back on his vision of so many people ruthlessly exterminated. Was that what awaited these people? Why were they being treated so well if not to lure them to their deaths?
The dark stone roads through their base weren’t made of cobblestone; they were completely flat, providing a spectacularly smooth ride. The vehicle came to a stop outside one of the nondescript American buildings.
They got out and Ambassador Smith led them through pristinely clean corridors. The Emperor marveled at the bright lighting and solid construction of the building. Maribelle pointed out some of the survivors from the first engagement.
“The Americans were ready to start releasing them,” she explained, “But it got put on hold after Lord Torlan ended the negotiations.”
They went into a small room with a window that looked into another room where his son sat with his hands chained to a table. Across from him sat a man in a suit asking questions. The Prince was angrily shouting and dismissing the questions. The Emperor could hear everything being said in the room, but neither the American nor his son took any notice of them.
Ambassador Smith knocked on the glass. The man across from his son looked over, but not directly at them.
Just as the Emperor was about to comment on that, Maribelle said, “It’s one way glass, father. We can see them, but they only see a mirror. It’s completely soundproof too–they can’t hear anything we say.”
The American got up and exited the Prince’s cell. A moment later he joined them in the observation room and introduced himself as Agent Vanderhoff, the person conducting his son’s interrogation.
“That is your idea of an interrogation? This is your dungeon?” The Emperor asked, gesturing around with mild astonishment. “Where are your torture devices, the rodents, the filth?”
“It’s a fundamental statute of our rules of war for prisoners to be kept in humane conditions,” Ambassador Smith explained. “As for torture, that, of course, is illegal.”
Confused, he looked to his daughter for an explanation.
“It’s true, father. They have very strict rules about how they treat their prisoners,” Maribelle clarified. “I myself was kept in a room identical to this one when they first brought me here. As of yet, I have not seen any of our people suffer any mistreatment.”
“In my vision, I saw terrible things–things I hope you never have to witness, Maribelle. I saw thousands of people packed like animals into extermination camps and killed en masse by poison gas. I saw an entire city snuffed out in an instant by a single weapon of unimaginable power…” He looked down, still haunted by what he saw. “Gwuardon didn’t show me the context of the vision, but I cannot fathom what circumstances could justify the horrors he showed me. I didn’t expect such brutal and warlike people to be so… courteous.”
“Ahem,” Agent Vanderhoff cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, Ambassador, Your Majesty, but I must admit you’ve piqued my curiosity. Could you elaborate on what you just said, please?”
Seeing no point in concealing it from the Americans, Emperor Rontus said, “After your army took Rontak’s Reach, I was given a vision of your world by Gwuardon, the deity that inhabits our core territory.”
“Can you describe what exactly you saw, if you don’t mind?” Vanderhoff asked. “Please, indulge me for a moment.”
Emperor Rontus reluctantly retold his vision in more detail.
“That… sounds like World War Two,” Ambassador Smith said, looking at Agent Vanderhoff with a bewildered look.
“Yes,” Vanderhoff agreed. “And the African Wars too.”
“I’ve heard your people mention ‘World War Two’ before,” Maribelle said. “What was it?”
“Over a century ago there was a major war that reached across our entire planet,” Ambassador Smith explained. “The Geneva Convention exists in large part because of the atrocities committed during that war. The United States helped end the atrocities, we didn’t condone or participate in them. We have ample historical documentation to back that up. If you would like to see it, I’m sure that could be arranged.”
“Ha! I’m sure the ‘documentation’ of a war so long ago is nothing more than propaganda and tales of your own heroism,” the Emperor said. “I wouldn’t trust it more than I would trust an untamed wyvern!”
“From what I’ve seen of them, the Americans would never do such horrible things,” Maribelle said. Gesturing through the window to Cevlion, she continued, “They even treat their enemies with dignity and compassion.”
That did seem to be true…
“Tell me again, just how did you come by this information?” Agent Vanderhoff asked.
“I told you, Gwuardon showed me images from your world,” the Emperor said. “He showed me the horrors you are capable of. That's why I have come here to negotiate–fear, nothing more.”
“I see,” Vanderhoff said. “Thank you for being so candid. If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. Your Highnesses, Ambassador…” He politely exited the observation room.
“Well, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Smith began, “I hope we can establish a foundation of trust going forward so that the relationship between our two nations can be built on something other than fear.”
“I would like to speak to my son now, if you wouldn’t mind,” the Emperor said, changing the subject. He appreciated the sentiment, but certainly didn’t have much trust for the Americans right now. “Privately.”
“Of course,” Ambassador Smith replied. She ushered everyone out of the observation room and showed Emperor Rontus to the door to the interrogation room. “Take as long as you need.”
His two guards silently stood outside the door as he opened it and went inside. He closed the door behind him and walked into view of his son.
“Father!?” Cevlion exclaimed in surprise. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to clean up your mess,” the Emperor snapped, sitting down across from him. “Where do I even begin? Sacking Vakria? Countering my authority on a diplomatic delegation? Directly confronting the American army? What were you thinking?”
“What was I thinking? What were YOU thinking?” Cevlion shouted. “You mobilized every Imperial army to Duremar, not to heroically drive out the invaders, but to hide in the forest like cowards. Not to mention pulling out of the Sandorian desert! We finally captured a serpentfolk city and you foolishly ordered them to retreat! And to do what, fight like some minor city state in the Kashir forest? Baah!”
“You’ve seen the Americans in battle. You know damn well the threat they pose!”
“Skirmishing all day and ambushing my guards at night–they fought like cowards! If they had met us in a fair battle–”
“If they had been trying to do anything other than take you alive, you and your entire army would be dead!” The Emperor exclaimed. Shifting to a somber tone, he said, "You have become a major disappointment, my son. I’m revoking your birthright. You are no longer the Crown Prince. I’m naming Maribelle heir to the throne."
“You can’t do that!” Cevlion angrily shouted.
“I can and I am!” The Emperor snapped back, as he stood up to leave.
“You’ll regret this,” his son said forebodingly. “I have powerful allies.”
“AND I AM THE EMPEROR!” He turned back and shouted, becoming more and more furious at his son. “I cannot conceive of a punishment severe enough for your actions, but fortunately I won’t have to. The Americans want you to stand trial on their world. Whatever your sentence is after you’re found guilty, consider it an escape from my wrath.”
Emperor Rontus left his son in the room, a tear just barely forming in his eye. He knew his son’s fate would not be pleasant. He wasn’t exactly fond of the man his son had become, but he was still his son.
August 5th, 2053
Duremar Plains, Fort Roanoke
After her father went to see Cevlion, Maribelle spent the rest of the day yesterday bringing him up to speed on the United States. She explained everything she knew about the United States. Their mechanical military, their mighty morals, their towering cities of steel and glass; everything.
Although her mission to gather information on them didn’t go exactly as planned, it was nevertheless a success. She didn’t have all the answers, however. She did her best to explain the idea of ‘electricity’, which was the lifeblood of many American devices, but she still didn’t fully grasp it herself.
Yesterday, her father asked Ambassador Smith to arrange a meeting with President Bennett; the Ambassador seemed happy to oblige. They were currently in a limousine, watching the same orientation video that she watched on her first trip to the US. Her father watched with great interest, even though she had already told him much of the information presented.
“You use no magic as we know it,” he said to Ambassador Smith after the video ended, “But do you not use any form of magic at all? Perhaps some sorcery unique to your world?”
“Our technology may appear to be magic, but I assure you it’s not,” Ambassador Smith answered. “All of it is the culmination of centuries of scientific progress. You can see some of our history yourself in the Smithsonian, if you like.”
“It’s a collection of museums,” Maribelle clarified for her father. “I didn’t have the chance to visit them last time, but I would certainly like to.”
“As would I,” her father commented.
“As you know, there is some type of magic that allows us to speak to each other in different languages,” Ambassador Smith said, gesturing to the droid sitting next to her. “This droid will serve as your translator once we cross through the portal.”
Ambassador Smith continued to explain their itinerary as the limo drove towards the portal. The doors to the metal dome built around the portal opened up and Maribelle could see the swirling pink and purple energy. They casually passed through the portal and emerged in New York City.
“Welcome to the United States,” the droid translated for the Ambassador.
Although she knew what to expect, Maribelle still marveled alongside her father at the towering American buildings. This visit was much like her first trip to the United States. They spent some time touring the city, but her father was eager to speak with President Bennett. Before long, they boarded an airplane destined for Washington D.C.
August 6th, 2053
United States, Washington D.C., Blair House (aka The President’s Guest House)
Maribelle was preparing to accompany her father to meet with president Bennett. She looked out the window at the White House. The fate of the Rontak Empire and its people would be decided in that iconic building.
Her father joined her at the window and placed a hand on her shoulder. “President Bennett must be remarkably humble to rule such a powerful kingdom from such a modest abode,” he said. “I should hope that is a good omen.”
“She was rather straightforward in her desire to resolve this peacefully the last time I met with her,” Maribelle replied. “I look forward to meeting her again.”
“About that,” her father said. She turned to look at him. “You have done more than I could ever have asked of you Maribelle.”
“I only did what needed to be done, father.”
“You’re being modest. You were presented with the worst crisis in history and you jumped in head first. If not for your actions, things would be much worse right now.”
“There is still much to be done.”
“That there is…” Her father agreed. “But I will meet with President Bennett myself. You will remain here.”
“But father, I should be there with you!”
“You have done more than enough already. Get some rest. Enjoy the wonders this place has to offer. You’ve earned it, Maribelle. Do not worry,” he smiled. “I imagine I’ll be relying heavily on you to enforce any… unpopular concessions. You’ll have your share of the burden upon our return home.”
“The Order of the Dragon is at your service,” she conceded with a bow.
Soon, her father left with Ambassador Smith, destined for the White House and Maribelle was left alone. She wanted to be by her father’s side, but was relieved to finally step back from the high stakes diplomacy with the United States. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Her father was right; she would have plenty of work to do after she returned home.
Several days went by while her father negotiated with the Americans. She was given typical American clothes by her ‘Diplomatic Security Service’ agents. Ambassador Smith had explained to her that stories brought back by the abducted slaves had turned public opinion against the Rontak Empire.
News traveled instantly across the United States, even among their commoners. For now, it was best that no one knew who she really was. Aside from the translator droid accompanying her and the security agents discreetly lurking in her vicinity, she might as well be just another tourist.
She at first limited herself to purely practical pursuits: learning more about US history and its place in this world. The other kingdoms, no, nations, on Earth had technology just as advanced as the United States. Wars where both sides possess such weapons must be truly horrific. It began to dawn on her why they established the Geneva Convention in the first place and why they treated violations of it so severely.
She also made sure to visit the Smithsonian museums this time. The Americans didn’t strike her as an artistic people, but they had several separate collections of art. In her travels across Kraffnia she learned that a people’s art says a lot about them. She made a point to browse as many of the art museums as she could.
Then, she visited their Air and Space museum, mostly to sate her curiosity. Just how the hell did they send explorers to their moon? She learned that they also had several ‘space stations’ flying above their world and an international colony on one of the other planets in their ‘solar system’. She had to let go of much of what she thought she knew about the stars and sky. The Americans had a vast knowledge of ‘space’ that put the Rontak Empire’s astronomers to shame.
She was surprised that they came so far in such a short time. Their space program was less than one hundred years old. She wondered if the Rontak Empire would ever send people to Gravis or Ivon, Tempestia’s two moons. Though, that was assuming the negotiations went very well, which was a bit of a longshot. Still, she couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities of the future, however far fetched they might be.
During all this time, she barely saw her father and knew very little about the peace deal. What little time he spent in their lodging, he mostly spent sleeping or preparing for further rounds of negotiations.
“Are you hungry, father?” Maribelle asked as her father came in one day, followed by his translator droid. “I’ve discovered a popular American delicacy called ‘pizza’. You must try it.”
“Maribelle,” he said with a heavy tone. “I have agreed to sign a treaty with the United States.”
Her father sat down across from her and began explaining the terms of the treaty. As they talked, they cut off bits of the odd, circular cuisine from opposite ends of the box it was served in. It was dough topped with layers of sauce and cheese, baked in an oven. It was delicious.
Her father explained that Prince Cevlion, Lord Kushmon and General Rallek would stand trial for war crimes in an impartial body called the International Criminal Court. “Their trials really will be fair and unbiased,” he explained. “They have a bizarre legal concept called ‘innocent until proven guilty’ that they say gives the accused a fair chance to defend themselves.”
“I’ve heard of that too,” Maribelle added. “I don’t understand very well, though. If the person is innocent, why bother having a trial at all? Doesn’t a trial necessitate some level of guilt?”
“Whatever it means, they offered to provide legal advisors in addition to any advocates we wish to provide,” he said. “I believe them that the trials will be honorable and free of political motivations.”
Maribelle nodded as her father moved on. Instead of paying an obscene amount of reparations, the Rontak Empire would transfer the majority of the Duremar province to the United States.
“Duremar has mithril mines in Miretan, the mana crystal mine in Jurago, and Crystal Coast,” her father said. “They were more than happy to forgo direct payments in favor of acquiring land and strategic magical resources. They also wanted access to the Gauvon acid swamp.”
“What?” Maribelle asked. “Why would they care about the acid swamp? That place is a death trap.”
She’d never been foolish enough to go there herself, but she had heard stories of acid worms dragging unwise travelers to their ugly demise.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” her father replied with a shrug. “They said something about studying it. What benefits could be provided by studying that wretched place is beyond me.”
“Did they demand any further payment?” Maribelle asked.
“They want our help in understanding magic,” her father answered. “They requested minor amounts of magical resources not found in Duremar: archwood, adamantium, things of that nature. I agreed and pledged to send them some mages to help teach them the basics.”
“They’re going to release all of our captured soldiers,” her father continued. “But, they’re placing restrictions on the offensive use of our armies. We aren’t allowed to launch any new conquests for the foreseeable future.”
“That won’t be much of a problem,” Maribelle said. “After everything that's happened, our attention will be focused on restoring stability and keeping the nobility in line.”
“Astute as always, Maribelle,” her father said. “We also have to draft our own rules of war and gradually amend them over time to bring them into compliance with the Geneva Convention. No doubt there will be plenty of nobles against that provision of the treaty.”
“Don’t worry father, I’ll keep them in line,” she said.
“No, you won’t, Maribelle. Your attention will be elsewhere. There is one more term of the treaty,” her father said. After a pause, he continued, “I am to abdicate the throne and you are to take my place.”
Maribelle’s eyes widened in shock. “What!?” She exclaimed, nearly spitting out a bite of pizza. She rose to her feet and began pacing. “But you’re the Emperor! They can’t demand this, they have no right!”
“I’m afraid that as the clear, uncontestable victor, they have every right,” he replied. “Have we not imposed similar conditions on kingdoms we’ve conquered?”
“Yes, but–” the wheels started turning in her head. “But if you abdicate the throne, what about Cevlion? He’s the heir to the throne, not me.”
“He was the heir,” her father corrected. “When I spoke with him in the American prison, I revoked his birthright. As of that moment, you were destined to become Empress one day. It’s just going to happen much sooner than I anticipated.”
Maribelle was speechless. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. She never imagined that she would be named heir to the throne, much less actually ascend to it. She thought that if that ever happened, it would be because both her father and brother were dead.
“Father, I could barely handle a few days of informal diplomacy,” Maribelle said, ashamed that she found the simple task so burdensome. “I can’t take the throne, I-I’m not ready. I… I don’t even think I want it.”
“That is precisely why I have every confidence that you will make an excellent Empress, Maribelle,” her father said warmly. “The truly great Emperors of the past, like our ancestor Cevlion Rontus I, were not born into power, they had it thrust upon them. There is little doubt in my mind that you will one day be regarded as one of those great leaders.”
They continued discussing the details of the treaty. They agreed to build embassies in Ronta and Washington D.C. respectively. The US also wanted to establish trade agreements with them, but the details of that were to be worked out later.
When they circled back to the transfer of land, her father said, “Giving them the Duremar province has cut off our access to Mintauria. The minotaur slave population will eventually dwindle down to nothing. Your reign will not start off easy, and I fear this will only make it worse.”
“I’ve considered that,” Maribelle replied thoughtfully. “I don’t think there’s any chance of improving relations with the US unless we commit to abolishing slavery entirely.”
“That came up during my negotiations,” her father said. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told them: it just isn't possible. There are too many towns and nobles that would blatantly ignore it, not to mention the manpower shortage and subsequent famines it would cause.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Maribelle countered. “I’ve spent time with the Americans, father, I know them. They detest slavery. And for better or worse, our future now rests with them.”
“No, Maribelle, The future of the Rontak Empire lies not with the Americans, but with you. I do not agree with this decision, but it is your decision to make,” her father conceded. “You are now the Empress of the Rontak Empire and the throne is now yours. You must rule as you see fit. Should you ever need my counsel, you have but to ask.”
“Thank you for your support, father,” Maribelle said.
“Of course, my daughter,” he replied as they embraced each other in a hug.
August 15th, 2053
United States, Washington D.C., White House Oval Office
After Maribelle had time to review the treaty herself, she and the President came to an agreement on the issue of slavery. The Rontak Empire would gradually abolish slavery in exchange for the United States providing infrastructure to replace their labor. The Americans claimed that their machines could dramatically outproduce any amount of slaves, no matter the task, so she saw it as a major win in the long run.
The Emperor and American President were beside her behind the President’s desk in the Oval Office. They were about to sign the first ever treaty between the United States and the Rontak Empire. There were a dozen or so Americans in the room plus a few guests from home, including Ralva and Kallia.
Her father and President Bennett took turns signing their names on the paper in front of them, and soon it was Maribelle’s turn. She had practiced writing with American pens, so the fluid movements were familiar. She eloquently signed her name just below her father’s.
When she was done, she set the pen down and pressed her index and middle fingers to the right of her name. There was a faint glow, and a few light blue magic particles swirled around her fingers. When she lifted her hand, the Imperial Crest was burned into the paper, with a few cinders still glowing.
Following the American custom, she shook hands with President Bennett. Their image was taken by cameras and the spectators in the room launched a soft applause.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Empress,” President Bennett said. “I look forward to a mutually beneficial relationship with you.”
After a droid translated for her, Maribelle replied, “As do I , Madam President. As do I.”