The [Dawn Heir] was once again in his father’s former office—now firmly his office—making final preparations for the departure of his army. The three hundred native Tarzuns and two hundred mercenaries should be more than enough, but this blasted sandstorm could potentially be a problem. Neither of the city’s [Weather Forecasters] had predicted the sandstorm when it rolled in as night fell yesterday, and it had continued all morning, now approaching afternoon. Worse yet, neither [Weather Forecaster] was able to forecast when the storm would end, saying that something was interfering with their Skills.
At least the enchanted wall kept most of the sand out.
“[Dawn Heir],” a quasi-familiar male voice addressed him. He looked up to see who had entered unnoticed.
“Amen the [Saboteur],” he greeted. “I was not expecting to see you until I was gloriously riding into Abmeris. I trust you have a good story for me?”
“Oh do I ever,” Amen ◐ grinned, spinning around to sit into a guest chair. “Allow me to amuse you, Your Grace, with The Tale of Amen and the [Shadow Shah].”
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Ramet, [Shadow Shah] and leader of Abmeris, sighed as his morning court session continued. The current petitioner was a [Caravaneer Merchant] who used to have a special privilege on traffic running north out of the city. But Ramet had cancelled all such privileges when he first inherited the position, and while the other merchants had grumbled, they eventually gave up on trying to reinstate their old privileges.
But not this [Rabbitkin].
Every three months, when he was in Abmeris and about ready to leave, this [Caravaneer Merchant] would re-petition him for his old privileges. For thirteen (13!) years this had gone on. And Ramet was a little tempted to carve an exception to his rule permitting open petitions. But no, he had principles to uphold. At least Ramet was able to schedule him as the last petitioner of the morning, and could cut him off when the session ended before lunch and his daily shade.
“[Shadow Shah],” a deep voice announced.
Ramet startled slightly as a young adult [Rabbitkin] appeared just before him, half again as close as the [Merchant]. [Assassin]? He thought. No, they wouldn’t announce themselves. But how did he approach so close? Erring charitably, Ramet returned the greeting. “Petitioner. I’m afraid that all time for this morning’s session has been allocated. You’ll have to come another time.”
The young man snapped his fingers, and the [Shadow Shah] felt a substantial movement of mana through the room. A great gale summoned into existence just behind the young man—[Mage]—and sent the [Merchant] tumbling backwards straight out of court and into the plaza outside. A small breeze blew through the edges and corners of the room, but surprisingly neither the [Shah], [Guards], nor members of the public were affected. As the [Merchant] cleared the entranceway, the heavy doors followed him, slamming shut with a resounding thud.
As the [Shah] rebalanced his hat, he gave subtle hand signals to the [Guard Captain] on duty to keep his men back: A [Mage] who could nonchalantly afford an expenditure that large was better appeased than arrested. “It seems my docket has cleared,” the [Shah] tried to joke. “May I have your name, level and Class, then present your petition.”
“I am called Amen. I am a citizen of the Free Desert City of Tarzu. I am a Level 62 [Desert Illusionist].”
A chill raced up the [Shah’s] spine. To have tiered up at such an age. Genius or monster? “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the Class. And, as you have evolved, your Race as well, please.”
“[Desert Rabbitkin]. And the Class is an (ultra rare) mage-variant.”
This time the [Shah] visibly shuddered. Of course it’d be the higher Race evolution. And (ultra rare)! Tender care… “And your petition, sir magister?” he asked, using the respectful form of address for powerful mages of uncertain allegiance.
“The [Light Shah] is dead, assassinated. And the [Dawn Heir] deigns to use his death as a pretext to attack Abmeris 64 days from now. In so doing, he has imprisoned my brother and threatened my family, ordering me to come to Abmeris to sabotage its defenses.”
That’s a lot to unpack, was the [Shah]’s first thought, but he did so anyways. The assassination of a leader of one of the Free Cities was no small matter, the guilds usually refusing to do so on the grounds that such chaos was unprofitable. And apparently war was to come to his city. And the saboteur, who he was not sure his forces could even apprehend, was standing in front of him because…
“And you’re here to… what? Gloat?”
“No, Your Grace. I am here to petition you to conquer Tarzu.”
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Ramet eyes widened at that. “Excuse me? You want me to conquer your home city?”
“Well, yes. If I just killed the [Dawn Heir], I could very well trigger a civil war. But, I have it on good authority that if the city were conquered legitimately, the transition would be peaceful. You already have a reputation for being a good leader, and I have spent the last four days in this city confirming that with my own eyes.”
“…I don’t have that kind of military power.”
“A hundred soldiers will suffice; I’ll provide enchanted weapons and armor. We’ll move in under cover of a sandstorm. With that in play, the walls will be unmanned and I will blow up the gate, enchantments and all, as you and your men rush in. Then, I’ll distract the [Dawn Heir] while you punch towards the palace and rout any soldiers stupid enough to stay loyal to him to the end.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. You can’t just plan a war in a few sentences. There’s… not even a sandstorm predicted in the next few months. Where are we supposed to get a sandstorm? And what about the people here? A war campaign would deprive the city of its daily shade.”
For the first time, Amen did not immediately respond, and instead rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think I can satisfy you as to both concerns. Tell me, are you familiar with pluvo?” Amen asked, using a foreign word.
“Pluvo? The tears of the sky?”
“Ah, great, you are familiar,” Amen said cheerfully for once, his serious demeanor breaking as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “This’ll be good,” he muttered under his breath.
The [Shah] watched as Amen turned his gaze upwards, seemingly through the ceiling, but at nothing at all. As Amen spread his arms wide to his sides, the [Shah] felt an immense shift of mana flow from the young [Mage], larger than any he ever had before. Those still standing in court, even those not sensitive to mana, staggered at the sensation. Finally, when the [Shah] felt it couldn’t continue anymore, Amen clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the silent stone chamber.
As the [Shah] sat, wondering what could have happened to all that mana, the ambient light in the courtroom rapidly dimmed as if in deep twilight. A great crack like a cliff rockfall rumbled through the building. Then a great rustling sound, like sand cascading down a dune, filtered in through the light recesses high in the room.
The [Shah] gaped, staring at the recesses where the sound came from. Suddenly leaping to his feet, he ran past the petitioner to the entranceway, grasped the door handle, then heaved it open and stepped out.
As sky tears fell upon his upturned face, the [Shah] let out a manic, reverberating laugh. All throughout Abmeris, that scene was repeated, as people turned up to face the miracle. Some giggled, others had a silent grin, and still others shrieked in delight or surprise.
And throughout the city, all praised their leader, the [Shadow Shah], for his good works.
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“You see,” Amen said, jumping away from narrating his story. “I’ve killed a lot of people and that’s… troubled me. But, I recently learned—or relearned, perhaps—that with great power comes great responsibility. And with that, I should kill those that deserve it, serving as both judge and executioner.”
“Hmm,” the [Dawn Heir] grunted sourly. “Well, it was certainly a fantastical story, and now I have a reason for executing one of your younger siblings for lying to me and wasting my morning.” Then he paused and raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you have betrayed me.”
“There was no lie in my tale,” Amen replied.
“Oh, really?” the [Dawn Heir] asked. “So you’re a powerful water mage, what does that have to do with a sandstorm? And last I checked, my city remains secured. There has been no messenger to inform me. Nor a lark on the wind bearing the clang of weapons and whoosh of magic. Not a trace of evidence to your whimsical claims. So tell me citizen, why are you here?”
“Not a [Water Mage]. My initial Class was [Sand Mage] (very rare), and for reasons I won’t explain to you, I have significant Skills strengthening use of wind magic. So whipping up last night’s sandstorm wasn’t too difficult, certain not compared to conjuring all that water in Abmeris.”
“Moreover,” Amen continued, “I already told you why I’m here. While I do enjoy a bit of gloating, I am here to distract you while your last loyalists are slain.” Amen paused dramatically, then raised a hand. “Doesn’t it seem a little quiet?” The [Dawn Heir] finally noticed the mana coming off of the man. Then, the bastard [Rabbitkin] snapped his fingers, and the veil dropped from around the [Dawn Heir’s] office.
The din of battle, steel and magic intruded in through the uopen balcony, and the city leader finally saw that the sandstorm had gone, blue sky returning. The usurper rushed out onto the balcony overlooking the plaza below, and saw his forces in disarray as a heavily armored troupe of foreign soldiers rushed in, using enchanted weapons to fling bolts of fire, ice or pure mana at his unprepared legion.
As the blood drained from the [Dawn Heir’s] face, and panic began to set in, a steel grip fell upon his shoulder. He glanced up nervously behind him, like prey before the predator.
“You see,” Amen remarked casually, “I really must thank you for the idea of conquering Tarzu. You were quite right. The City guard surrendered almost immediately after I blew the gate up, the citizens are unwilling to fight, and your loyalists are few and concentrated here at the palace. As to the why I would support a foreign power ruling Tarzu. It’s simple really. It’s not that you threatened me, my brother and my family, though that doesn’t win you any favors. It’s that you’re willing to lie to and kill your own people for your ambitions. That is your crime. [Father to Your People], bah! You know nothing of leading your kin. You want to help your people? Why don’t you join them?”
Several seconds later, the [Dawn Heir’s] corpse crashed into the plaza before the thickest bundle of loyalists still standing after setting a new record for the longest fall in Tarzu. Over the plaza, illusions flickered into place declaring the [Heir’s] death and demanding surrender. And just a few minutes later, illusions popped into existence throughout the city informing them of their conquest by the benevolent [Shadow Shah] of Abmeris, long may he rule.