Rasaec runs his fingers through his black hair and looks up to the staircase's ceiling. None speaks as the Emperor reflects in silence, neither Shayle nor the thirty Exemplars who do their best to hold their breaths.
The man reminds himself he holds the fate of seven million humans in his hands. He turns back to his Shade Master whose gray hair and wrinkles cause him to mourn how quickly time passes.
“Continue.” He commands.
“After the Exemplar's death, Jessica Freepath went mostly missing. From all appearances, she began hunting the killer across the Izla but returned to Meria seemingly empty-handed.” Shayle reports. “From then, she traveled to Meiridin where she met with the dozen pregnant women Director Suxen held in secret inside the institute.”
“Something our Shades should have found out, along with the Lisilese's presence.” Rasaec emotionlessly comments.
“It would have been difficult to use Aisha to surveil the director considering her involvement in delivering the Princess and the Director's skill with flow, Archer did his best and wasn't discovered.” Shayle calmly responds. “The mistake is mine, Shades are best kept to shadows.”
“Did you find out how she evaded surveillance?” Rasaec questions.
“Yes, by the usage of beacon constructs, diversions, disguises, and hidden entrances. The fact that the area around the institute was deserted made it difficult to approach to closely watch every angle so Archer remained at a distance, making it impossible to notice that some faces entered but never came out.” She says. “I believe the Lisilese was purposefully put to hibernation and smuggled in a supply carriage.”
“Did you resolve the issue surrounding this Ka'tchuk as instructed?” Rasaec asks.
“Hersir Ka'osla and the Ka clan have not replied to any of my missives, unsurprisingly as the Hersir has used the incident to at least double the size of her Horde, the Red Fear. But the Bloody Claws have agreed to... mediate on our behalf, as you predicted my Emperor.” Shayle responds.
“As always with the Lisilese, the issue will be resolved on the battlefield.” The Emperor calmly concludes. “Regardless of the victor, Haitia will face less pressure and the resulting chaos in Telnur should limit the damage of raiding Hordes crossing the river.”
“Yes, my Emperor.” Shayle acknowledges.
“Send orders to our Marshals in Haitia to delay the Silver Hive as long as possible but remind them that not a single Princess must be killed and that Queen Grikyz mustn't even be injured.” Rasaec proclaims.
“Warrior is available, my Emperor.” Shayle reminds.
“The Silver Hive stands at the core of this war for the Rykz, their words will weight almost as heavily as that of the First Queen during peace negotiations, ignoring the fact we may initiate a feud that will last as long as the Empire stands with their Hive, it would be detrimental to further antagonize them by sending Warrior.” The Emperor denies.
“Were he to succeed, the Rykz would take the loss and be less willing to fight this war.” Shayle says. “Their strategy would shift to preserving their lands with as few risks as possible.”
“But they would not forget, Shade Master. Rykz memories predate the Empire and obliterating a Hive comes with dire costs which the future may ill afford.” Rasaec denies her oblique request with a harsh tone. “Not to mention that their First Queen is about to cede her position for the first time in our history, a younger ruler of the Rykz may do everything she can to resolve her elder's deepest grudge. It is best for this war to conclude with a lasting peace to be established between this new First Queen and the Empire.”
“This change could occur tomorrow or in three centuries, my Emperor.” Shayle notes.
“And so may this war.” Rasaec utters, his piercing words shaking the woman who has trouble apprehending such a time-scale. “Let's go, you'll recount me the rest on the way.”
Rasaec resumes climbing the stairs, causing the thirty Exemplars escorting him to burst forth in a cacophony of steel. The Emperor, using a flick of his hand, smothers the extraneous noise with a burst of unstructured flow.
He regenerates ten thousand portions daily from the pledges of Kruzser's population alone, meaning that even this unrestrained use barely took a dent in his energy reserves.
“Jessica Freepath led these escapees from the institute out of Meiridin, crushing through the troops placed in her way. The events that unfolded are somewhat unclear as there as many contradicting stories spreading around, but all agree that nothing could stop her from leading the runaways to Hetlan.” Shayle speaks up. “Exemplar Siegfried has sent spotty reports as the Order did not witness much of the events preceding the voyage to Hetlan but he insists house Cenwalh did so much wrong during the pursuit that it would be unjust to place the blame at Jessica Freepath's feet.”
“Unjust? Did she not take upon the sword to cut her way?” Rasaec asks with a scowl. “I've no intention of involving myself with this yet but Siegfried should more carefully consider his recommendations.”
“The Exemplar believes Jessica Freepath to have good intentions but suffered such that she will choose the path of aggression if provoked or feels threatened.” Shayle explains. “Siegfried thinks it would be a loss for her to run afoul of the Empire on a misunderstanding or miscommunication.”
“Mh, how close is she to the hybrid?” Rasaec asks. “We may have to kill Elizabeth Vil in the end if she turns out to be closer to Rykz than human, whether physically or socially.”
“Once again, I do not know. Events in Izla Meria have been chaotic and complicated so I cannot give you a definitive answer at this time. They have both courted Leomi Lance so there may be lingering resentment but are ideologically close.” Shayle explains.
“To be assessed at a later date, then.” Rasaec concludes. “Where is she now and what is she doing?”
“She has entered Mirus, Siegfried wrote that her aim is to meet Sykus but confesses an incapability to predict her intent.” She answers.
“That old fox can't read this young pup?” Rasaec asks, amused.
“From his words, I would say she is fairly intelligent but unstable and prone to changing her mind at a moment's notice for a variety of reasons, including emotional ones.” Shayle relates.
“How popular is this Jessica Freepath among my people?” The Emperor asks as the top of the stairs come into view.
“Very on Izla Meria, especially since the tale of her leading the runaways to safety has reached the island.” She replies. “She has a strong reputation in Meiridin but doesn't enjoy more popularity than Elizabeth Vil, the rest of Caeviel appears to be enjoying the tales with varying degrees of disbelief. Overall, her existence has destabilized the region in a way that will certainly lead to revolts.”
“Harsh, I would assess Cenwalh to be more responsible for the unrest than her.” Rasaec declares. “In fact, I can confidently say that we've done more to motivate these low born to free themselves of their shackles than she has.”
“I agree, my Emperor.” Shayle acquiesces while pushing back her swaying gray hair as she climbs the steps. “But we make decisions with the fate of the Empire in our hands while Jessica Freepath only fights for herself and those she considers her own.”
“Let her do as she wishes in Mirus, I doubt it possible for this woman to worsen the mess they made.” Rasaec says, referring to the conflicts between Noble houses from Mirus and elsewhere.
“Very well.” Shayle nods.
The Emperor reaches the top of the stairs and takes a few more steps before stopping. There is a great hall before him with dozens of marble columns engraved with golden artful depicting battlefields dating back to the Conquest, the war during which Emperor Rasaec united humanity.
In this hall are several hundred granite sarcophagi set in two rows across its entire length with, at the very center, a singular golden open coffin meant to symbolize the Emperor's eternal quality as the Lake's Chosen.
These granite final resting places each have a mourning fire burning atop of them, as they have for almost as many centuries as the Empire was established. These are adorned by sober images of flowers but no names.
None knows who lies in these extravagant coffins, save Emperor Rasaec himself and he does not answer questions asked even by his closest advisers or friends. There are stories, legends, and myths beyond count about them.
Some believe that they each contain one of the Emperor's most loyal servants chosen from each of the preceding generations, making many of these empty. Other legends assert that the bravest warriors from the Conquest rest there, nameless but honored above all others. Darker tales speak that this is the place where the Emperor's children are put to rest.
The truth, itself, is unknown but the caretakers carry out their duties with utmost reverence and loyalty for their Emperor. Not once in history have they failed to keep the flames burning in honor of whoever these sarcophagi contain, even during the great quake two centuries ago that the Emperor himself stopped at great harm for his health.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
A half-dozen servants in white robes with small golden wings on their sleeves rush over with a flurry of garments in their arms that they hurriedly but carefully dress their Emperor with.
One sets a discreet slender crown of golden laurels while two others fit silver arm-guards on his forearms. Another pair kneels to fasten silver ankle-guards on him while the last drapes a purple band of cloth across his torso.
“My thanks, you may leave.” Rasaec dismisses with a smile.
The servants hurriedly bow and scamper off through side corridors. The Emperor begins making his way across the hall in silence, eyes gazing straight ahead, Shayle and the Exemplars accompany him in respectful silence.
Outside the Tomb, which is surrounded by a magnificent garden open to the public, is a large walled courtyard where awaits a huge carriage with six wheels and twelve pure white horses. The Emperor stops short of climbing aboard and turns to his Shade Master.
“Shayle, order each of our eastern Marshals to send me their evaluation of our current operating strategy as well as draft suggestions for an entirely new one. Use your Shades and the Order's communication arrays to ensure secrecy.” Emperor Rasaec soberly commands. “I will be spending the next few weeks at the Administration repairing the damage my sudden absence has caused to our people.”
“My Emperor.” Shayle makes a deep bow in acknowledgment of the order, which is useful to conceal the concerned frown on her bow. “I shall leave Kruzser today to follow through on your orders but, if I may add a commentary...”
“You would find a way even if I denied you, Shayle.” Rasaec replies, amused.
“Beware of Caeviel, figures other than Leomi Lance and Elizabeth Vil rose during the conflict with aligning ambitions as well as beliefs, Jessica Freepath is merely the most visible at this time. King Cenwalh may successfully court others to his side because of the change they represent.” The Shade Master warns. “Warrior may deliver the reports I've compiled to your advisers if you so wish.”
“Then it shall be done.” Rasaec acquiesces as he climbs into his carriage.
--- --- ---
Next to a wide paved road in the eastern Kingdom of Steso is a large inn that caters to wealthy merchants and Nobles traveling to and from Kruzser. Inside is a room decorated in silk and ivory imported from the southern Lisilese Grasslands by Rykz Hives using ships that sail south along a legendary far eastern sea.
There is a small tea table made of redwood which also originates from the Grasslands but more central parts of it. This table among other pieces of furniture were carved out of a gigantic battering ram the Emperor seized from a Lisilese Atcheson and used to breach Rykz fortifications built around Trident Hill.
The inn has hosted a number of Lisilese Hersirs and Rykz Princesses across the years, and twice the Emperor. It has a long history but hasn't recently served as a diplomatic embassy.
The former Duke of Fallone now sits across the former Duchess of Hetlan, both dazed after learning of each other's fall from grace. One by honorably serving his Queen, the other by dishonorably betraying her King.
The body Fallone depended on was burnt to leave only deformed scared flesh, the name Hetlan relied on was taken away for only Delia to remain and none of the clout she built throughout her life. Yet, they are far from having lost everything.
The former retains the powerful loyalty of those who followed him in battle, reinforced by the rejection of Steso's Court, while the latter has a personal fortune built over decades of ruling over a Duchy selling iron and steel across the entire Empire.
“I was in the hope of purchasing a County from you and joining your campaign.” Lady Delia bitterly remarks. “House Hetlan would have regained much political clout.”
“I wished to bring those with no home to return to with me to Hetlan.” Lord Fallone somberly comments. “Many have fire yet burning their entrails from Steso's abandonment, rightfully taking their severing pay as a betrayal.”
“Is it true what remains of the Twelfth rides with you?” She asks.
“Many, not all.” Fallone acknowledges. “Ties forged in battle are not soon forgotten, and sacrifices even less so. Insult to one was taken as insult to the other, my tongue may have slipped and such is now my burden to care for them as those I now lead have forsaken the retirement our Emperor gracefully grants those who retire still in his service.”
“How fitting for us to meet and share a drink at this redwood table.” Delia murmurs as she picks up her porcelain teacup. Fallone takes up his and throws the small item a dubious look.
“History will remember us as traitors, in the end, Delia.” He croaks. “For rulers command scribes and own the libraries.”
“Raise your ambitions, my old friend, my daughter has made a few interesting friends before she returned to strip me of my title. They have ideas I believed ludicrous but am beginning to see the genius of after hearing of your predicament.” The middle-aged woman encourages. “I can see turmoil on the horizon, an opportunity for us to win back the prestige we lost.”
“Honor is all that those who follow me have left, prestige is not part of their needs.” Fallone counters. “Grain, fresh water, meat, and cloth are what they require.”
“You forget that they can win coin with their weapons to obtain these necessities.” Delia says as she takes a sip.
“I've not, but neither will I demand silver from those peasants who need saving from the Rykz.” Fallone replies.
He is rather confused by what his old friend means because, for the past week, his mind has been focused on building a strategy to deploy his troops to eradicate the Rykz from Steso's countryside which no Liege will repay out of fear for the Queen's Court.
“Yes, you've run out of options in Steso as I have in Caeviel.” Delia acknowledges, easily inferring the man's circumstances through her experience. “But there are four other Kingdoms, three of which aren't engulfed in slow-burning pointless civil strife and have a real need for soldiers.”
“Hrm.” Fallone clears his burnt throat. “You aim to make us mercenaries?” He spits the question out.
“My funds will only last so long, only enough to raise your army back into shape to wage war, my friend.” She declares with an appeasing tone. “I am not telling you we should fight for the highest bidder and break off when battles turn but professional soldiers do not repeatedly risk their lives for free.”
“Explain your plan.” Fallone shortly demands.
“Three rulers would gladly welcome us and a plethora more of ambitious people with means would have us to temporarily resolve manpower shortages. People with lands to grant.” Delia tells him. “The Empire's borders need to be defended. We merely need to find the right faction to tie ourselves to and all of us, including your soldiers, can thrive once more.”
“I would not pledge myself to another ungrateful, Lake-forsaken, Court.” Fallone tells her with a harsh tone that tears the back of his throat.
“Then we'll free a swathe of land from the Rykz or Lisilese for ourselves to occupy and dare any who wishes to challenge us to come dislodge us.” Delia utters with a cold voice. “No Hetlan will lie down to die like a dog.”
Fallone grunts in agreement as he sets down the porcelain teacup he didn't touch. He rises with a painful groan and holds his hand out to his old friend, aware they've both changed in different ways yet still somehow again found themselves sharing common goals.
--- --- ---
Leomi Lance awakens late in the afternoon at her desk, her face pressing down on a stack of papers. She spent the last three days chasing and gathering news about Jessica without sleeping and simply collapsed.
Some of the tales brought back by those she sent out made her smile, others made her laugh, but mostly they increased her stress because of how much she worries about her fiancee's health.
Leomi straightens up in her chair and gets up while absentmindedly fiddling with the three chains tying the bracelet on her wrist to the ring snugly fit around her finger. As is now her habit, she feeds a slab of raw meat to the weird shiver-inducing parasite nesting inside a large wooden chest.
Leomi feels a heavy guilt weigh on her, towards her mother and her lover, but this emotion is tainted by intense anger towards them both as well. There are too many vague reasons for her to articulate even to herself, many of which are unjustified.
“Leomi, you up?!” Yvonne calls out from outside the tent.
“I am.” She calmly responds. The sword-sworn walks in with one hand in front of her eyes and the other holding a clean uniform. Leomi frowns. “What?”
“I'm afraid of what I'll find.” The brunette replies with a smile full of freckles.
“Don't you dare.” Lance groans.
“I'm not the one who began living like a moldy creature under a bridge.” Yvonne throws out with a chuckle.
“I'm perfect, Jessica said so.” Leomi establishes, her waking mind experiencing a rare bout of insecurity.
“Pretty sure that mostly applied to your breasts, and that in itself proves how biased she is.” The sword-sworn counters while closing her arms just enough to enhance her ample chest.
“Stuff it.” Lance replies while sticking her tongue out, unable to help the smile stirring her lips.
Yvonne lets out a bright trill of laughter at seeing her friend in a better mood than she's been for weeks and throws the uniform at her before crashing on her mellow bunk without a shred of ceremony or intent to help her ward dress up.
The uniform falls atop Leomi's head and she sighs. She sets it aside to strip naked and goes wash up at their wooden water basin. Once she's done, and fits the uniform on, she finds that her sword-sworn fell asleep with saliva sipping down from a corner of her mouth.
“Rest well, oh drooliest of mine.” Leomi quips as she steps outside.
She starts walking through the tents the two companies of Hospitaliers escorting her have set on the outskirts on a town in Mirus. Most are sitting around a campfire to fight off the cool spring wind coming down the mountains to the west.
As she makes a tour of the camp, she hears quite a few groups speak about Jessica's most impressive act of leading the runaways out of the predatory Nobles' clutches. Two officers are even debating over it.
They aren't arguing whether or not she should have done what she did but if peasants are in fact prisoners if prevented from going where they wish to do the work they wish.
“I would say they are.” Mary, their lieutenant, intervenes from another campfire. “People have the instinct to free themselves when tied up. It's not as bad when you're confined to a region but it still applies.”
Lance is struck by this affirmation because it's something that heavily affects her personal life and ambitions. She suddenly feels stupid and illuminated at the same time because she experienced a crushing feeling of helplessness when her freedom was restrained but failed to truly comprehend that it equally applies to all humans rather than merely those she loves.
She immediately snaps around and rushes back to her personal tent to take up a quill to send out orders. Leomi plans to have the Hospitaliers push this philosophy but also to do it in an itinerant manner.
Her goal is to have those preaching this live a life of freedom that'll make them invested in this, while also saving her ludicrous amounts of coin and ensuring her Hospitaliers spread much further than they would if they built structures akin to Temples, she'll still create Hospitals but much fewer than she would have otherwise.