Many worlds away a Karinjian scouter surveyed the plump phosphorescent fungal clouds covering the valley below. The giant mycelial mats floated through the heavy breeze almost two seckl above the ground, meaning anything could be beneath them. That was the trouble with this valley—it had always been. Invading forces moved usually under the stealth of night, that was what was written in the book of codes—that was what Karinjians vowed to do at their naming day—but given the cover of the clouds, that was a rule that had been broken more than once. The scouter had the sinking suspicion that was what was happening now.
It was obscene.
It took forty-three loping strides on long digitigrade legs before the scouter reached the valley. Its three-toed feet kept it silent as it landed in the jugger-grass and slunk to a four-footed position to avoid any detection. This was the ancient hunting stance, genetically ingrained by a thousand, thousand generations of Karinjian elders instructing their broodlings. Whatever was hiding in the valley would not see the scouter arrive.
Deftly it strode between the clumps of grass, scanning the area under the floating mycelium. The spore haze was thick underneath, and the scouter could see only several paces beyond itself.
It was silent.
The ears of a scouter had been trained almost since birth to detect even the slightest perturbance. A classic test of their ability was to tell which individual was lying simply by listening to the quickening of their pulse. It was something this scouter mastered long before, so the lack of noises disturbed it.
Skittering back and forth, the scouter scanned for anything—any sign that the approaching forces had already entered the cloudvalley. The army had been tracked for days on end, and the Karinjian battalions currently strategized based on their current location. Their absence from the valley would be reason for concern.
The scouter was so tuned into its auditory senses, it almost stumbled directly into the first corpse—or, part of a corpse.
The invading Lufors were a slightly larger species. They had rigid, short hairs covering their body whereas the Karinjians had a sleek coat of fur. The two nations had different tactics—one favoring brute strength and the other relying on sensory tactics and subterfuge. The dead warrior lying on the ground had been split into multiple pieces and strewn apart almost as if it were no heavier than a cloudcap.
The scouter froze in icy fear as a small breeze cleared the spore haze. Slowly it revealed that this was not the only body. Parts and pieces of mutilated Lufor were strewn as far as the eye could see. Open flesh was spread upon the juggar thick and rancid. The ground was colored fully with blood.
All at once the smell—which had been kept completely at bay by the spore haze—penetrated the Karinjian’s acute olfactory senses. It was an assault for which it wasn’t prepared.
The scouter emptied the contents of its stomach over and over until nothing was left, and even then would not cease retching. This Karinjian was not unaccustomed to the gore of the battlefield, it was not unfamiliar with violence, but the sheer mass of viscera and stinking meat was too much. The Lufors had not met with a normal fate, they had not been killed by any knowable force.
Even then, they had not just been killed, it was a massacre.
The scouter withdrew as far as possible. It could no longer think logically, the reflexes it had trained against for so long took complete control. Because of that, it did not hear the approach of the shifter.
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Hitten was not pleased.
Eight times, Eight!
It had been the number of rejections he had received from meeting with Senators. This wasn’t just insulting, it was unheard of and borderline illegal.
He was the Imperial Chancellor of the Republic of Tinaria. His was the task of transmitting information from the Senate to the rest of the populace.
And how am I supposed to do that without any information?!
The Chancellor tore down the hallway back to his official quarters. He had been made to stand outside Senator Tirillian’s door for over an hour and was still turned away. The man’s feet had gone numb waiting, and now pain jolted through his shins with each step. His circulation issues were ones he knew about and so did everyone else in the Capitol buildings, or they should, he had reminded them all enough.
The door to his office flew open. A small statue from the southern Yi ruins tumbled to the floor as he did so. Hitten took only a moment to look at his dwindling collection. He had smashed, broken, or thrown increasingly more numbers of his possessions as the Senators continued to ignore him. At this rate, there would be nothing left within the week. The thought that he was so predictable made him even angrier.
But now was not the time to show it. He had a visitor. A small page—Luktin was his name—was waiting at his desk.
“They should have trained you to wait outside,” Hitten said quickly. He snatched the missive from the young boy’s hand.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“I beg your pardon, Chancellor,” Luktin said quickly. “They told me to always enter if it was a level five missive or higher and—”
Hitten quickly glanced down at the parchment in his hand. He had been tearing the seal open without looking in order to berate the young page, and only now did he notice what the seal denoted.
It was a level seven.
“Out,” was all he said, and there was no emotion in his voice. As the page scurried away Hitten sat slowly and turned the half-torn note in his hand. It was cheap paper, something only used under a severe lack of time or extreme duress.
With slightly shaking fingers he opened the message—
“Entire town of Heylinth destroyed. All inhabitants brutally murdered. Sources confirm it was not committed by Yarvan rebels.”
Hitten gently lowered the letter. His mind began spinning through past, present, and future.
War. It’s war on Tinaria.
He had heard whispers of this. If the perpetrators had been Yarvan rebels, it would mean they had come much further south than anticipated. It also meant they were moving toward The Capitol. This was unlikely, not just because his own spies assured him the bulk of the Yarvan forces were still positioned north of the Athes, but because their leader had been taken out.
Hitten had uncovered General Pyrn’s identity almost a year before. It always paid to pay people off, and it always paid to pay the right ones.
The Chancellor had been faced with a tough decision—reveal Pyrn as an enemy of the State and leave his fate up to the Senate, or take matters into his own hands. He had gone with the latter, seeking to cripple the resistance quietly and assert himself as secret commander of the Militian forces through his puppet Ufen Lis. His mother, Senator Lis, had never expressed outright acknowledgment of the plan, but Hitten’s sources had confirmed she was not opposed to it.
Genys would have potentially been able to argue the procession of power, and she had her supporters. However, given the grief at the loss of her General, Hitten would have made a plain and effective argument that she was emotionally unfit to lead.
Of course, there was the loss of her sister as well. That was a nice touch. It had been Ufen’s idea. They had carried out the operation flawlessly, every trail back to them was eliminated—bridges burned and leaks plugged. Overall it had been a masterful plan, executed perfectly all up until the Senate for some reason allowed Genys to take her recruits to Ullulia. Hitten could not conceive of why, and now that same Senate closed their doors, right when Hitten was positioned to seize power. Frustration was an understatement.
The Chancellor leaned back and considered the torn message. No, this attack on Heylinth wasn’t the Yarvans. With Pyrn’s death—even considering his frustratingly elusive corpse—they would be weakened and directionless.
Even at full power, they had never been capable of taking out an entire border city, a border city with all of its Tinarian militia support. Even if his information featured greatly inaccurate numbers, the rebels were merely Yarvan yokels. They had never been able to sufficiently organize to the degree of an attack like this, not since the Crusades. No, they hadn’t done this—they couldn’t have—which meant only one thing.
The Thori.
Hitten had publicly disregarded the reports of Thori weapons being found among the rebels, but personally, he kept careful notes of it. Many spies had been sent to Ullulia to suss out the truth, and as far as he could tell, the Thori Empire was not actively supplying the rebellion. Of course—as always—he could have been acting on incomplete information. However, when all was said and done there just wasn’t good evidence to support a Thori force in Tinaria. Hitten had always assumed the suspicious weapons were planted by Pyrn’s people in an effort to muddy the water. If the High General had been able to convince The Republic that the Thori were potentially involved, it would allow him to use leverage he wouldn’t have had otherwise. The two nations had existed for generations in a sort of mutually assured destruction, but it was in this very destruction Hitten had long placed his confidence. The Thori were wise, that was one of the only things known about them. They were too wise to attack a nation of airships and glitzers. It wasn’t a perfect gamble, but Hitten had always wagered on Tinaria remaining free from a Thori attack of any kind.
That is, until today. Until this note was put on his desk.
The wheels in the Chancellor’s mind continued to spin. He took a moment to breathe them into a better pace. He needed to think, not panic—analyze, not give in to fear.
Each part of the mind must move appropriately to the others.
And that’s when it struck him. This was not a crisis, this was an opportunity.
Opening up before him was a path, clearer than any he had seen in a long time. A Thori attack is devastating under normal circumstances, yet these circumstances were anything but.
He knew exactly what would happen next. The Senators would keep their doors closed and send him instructions. They had certainly learned of the attack, or would shortly, and they would do what they always had—create a propaganda campaign to keep the peace. Hitten would be their tool in keeping the citizens from falling into hysteria so that the Millitia could meet any potential invaders and sort it out quietly. It would only be after Tinaria’s victory that the populace would learn of the battle. It was easier that way—safer.
And that’s why he needed to act before the instructions came. The Chancellor leapt from his desk and readied to leave his offices. He quickly dressed in the traditional oficiatory a man of his office wasn’t allowed to be publicly seen without. He had chosen not to wear them today only as a subtle act against the Senators, but now he needed to change the narrative—he needed to be the perfect servant who would never dream of doing anything against the orders of his superiors. There wasn’t a moment to lose if he was going to take advantage of plausible deniability.
Hitten almost didn’t wear his mask. It wasn’t technically needed on a day like this, but he thought the extra touch was nice. It sent a subtle message to the senators.
Your commands are my law.
The door slammed into Luktin as he swung it open. The small boy was sent sprawling onto the ground.
“Y-yes my lord?” he asked while picking himself up.
“Ah, good, you haven’t left,” Hitten said.
“My trainers instructed me to—”
“Come in here,” Hitten said quickly. He wasn’t angry, in fact again there was no emotion in his voice. His mind was racing and Luktin was nothing more to him than a currently and particularly useful tool.
“Yes my lord,” the young boy said.
“I have messages for you to send.”
“To whom my lord?”
Hitten was already writing. “To everyone.”