Well, fuck. Henry set the thought of smokeless powder aside. Today just kept getting better. “Copy that, Professor. Any indication where they went?”
“A stable hand observed a carriage departing in the midst of the battle, taking the principal exit from the Academy grounds into the city.”
“So it’s either still in the city, or long gone…”
“I cannot say with certainty whether they remain within the city’s bounds or have fled further afield. Sir Orlen! Have you any word of carriages beyond the gates?”
Henry glanced at the dropping EMF levels while Elwes conferred with Orlen. The levels were low enough that Elwes could reach them from the Academy – obviously, given their current conversation – but still high enough that they’d be shit outta luck trying to track inert artifacts through the ambient mana.
“Captain Donnager, it seems three carriages departed the city but minutes past, all upon the western road.”
“Alright. Anything else?”
“They were of wood, their canopies white, or so I am told.”
How original. Might as well call it a ‘carriage with wheels’ since they’re a dime a dozen. In a city this size, brown wooden carriages were about as distinctive as Honda Civics in LA. “Well, that sure narrows things down.”
Elwes chuckled softly behind the radio. “It is scarce the most useful detail, I grant you. Yet if none other have departed, I daresay we may consider that convoy our quarry.”
“Yeah, fair enough. Thanks, Professor. We’ll report it up the chain.”
The interference had finally gotten low enough for them to reach Armstrong. He switched channels. “Armstrong, this is Alpha Actual, over.”
“Alpha Actual, Armstrong. Send it, over.”
“Armstrong, rune system’s neutralized, but we’ve received report of a security breach at Hogwarts. Possible target: three brown carriages with white canopies, westbound main road, departed city limits recently. Request ISR on route and connectors. Break. Request ground units establish checkpoints; risk of carriage dump post-clearance. We can move to investigate or continue SSE at current location. How copy, over?”
The crinkle of a bag accompanied the response. “Alpha Actual, solid copy. Stand by, over.”
Henry glanced at the inert core sitting beside Sera. They’d already bagged and tagged the core, along with samples of the orichalcum wiring and those celisyrin vines they’d used as conductors. Between the rune system, the fyrite, and those treants, this site was a goldmine for R&D. If the Doc’s excitement was any indicator, Lamarr and Perdue were sure to go crazy over all this.
The chip guy came back after a minute. “Alpha Team, you’re cleared to pursue. We have a Reaper on station tasked for route recon, ETA three minutes. We’ll send over a collection team to pick up the site exploitation work. Armstrong, out.”
Going into a pursuit while low on ammo wasn’t the best idea, but allowing the Nobians to secure Baranthurian artifacts was, without question, worse. “Alright, y’all heard Chippy. Let’s get moving.”
Ron snorted. “Chippy?”
“Yeah, guy’s infamous at this point. Lieutenant Callahan, or something.” Henry got in his MRAP, strapping in. “Sera, Kel, y’all good on mana?”
Their confirmation came as a relief. Even if they didn’t have TOW missiles to lob at the enemy, they’d at least have some utility available. Maybe some light environmental manipulation didn’t take too much? Or they just had crazy capacities. Given what Kel had said about how many Earth Artillery spells he could cast, it was probably the latter.
The dense forest gave way to patchy woodland as they backtracked their route in. Three carriages. Knowing the Nobians, it wouldn’t be easy finding the stolen artifacts. Hell, they could probably consider it a lost cause by now.
The road emerged from the treeline as Isaac spoke up. “We’ve got eyes on the road. Got two carriages along the main road – about a klick south of Armstrong.”
“Two? Where’s our third?” Ryan asked.
"All stations, Watchdog Three. Five carriages matching description on the main trade route toward Grenden, spread over three klicks. Four more matches on alternate routes, plus four carriages not matching description. Continuing to monitor main route and alternates. Stand by for target track data. Over."
Henry could already see where this was going. Plus a few more not matching the description? Shit, he’d bet on a handoff – or several, given they were dealing with Nobians.
“Watchdog Three, Alpha Actual. Any chance of IDing which ones came from the Academy?” Henry’s voice didn’t even come out frustrated. Honestly, this was just one of those times when he saw bullshit and had to begrudgingly deal with it.
“Alpha Actual, that’s negative. Will update if we spot any deviations or new targets.”
Henry glanced at his display. They wouldn’t catch shit at this rate – hell, they probably wouldn’t even have the time to set up a checkpoint. And that was assuming the Nobians didn't have cloaked assassins waiting to ambush them whenever they stopped. There was no telling if the cargo even was on the carriages at this point. For all he knew, cloaked riders could be halfway to the border already.
Henry checked the map overlay in his IVAS. Watchdog had tagged the closest pair of carriages barely a klick ahead. The forest road was narrow but well-maintained – good ambush territory, honestly. Trees pressed in close on both sides, giving maybe fifteen feet of clearance.
The RWS feed remained unsettlingly devoid. The calm before the storm, the deafening silence; his gut knew the feeling well enough. “Sera, Kel – you see anything, focus on defense. Don’t wait for orders.”
Their acknowledgments came as they rounded a gentle curve. The road ahead was clear for about two hundred meters before bending right.
Then the ground directly ahead of them erupted. Not even time for a warning – just suddenly there was a fucking ramp where flat road had been not even a second ago. They hit it at forty miles an hour.
The MRAP’s front left tire caught the slope and the whole vehicle lurched sideways. For a split second they balanced on two wheels, then momentum took over.
“Shit shit SHIT–”
The world spun, Henry's body straining against his restraints as the MRAP rolled. Impact came with a massive crash that slammed his head into the RWS controls. Gravity pulled him right; the vehicle must have rolled onto its passenger side. His left window showed sky, the right one nothing but dirt and crushed grass.
The first arrows hit before his ears stopped ringing. Sharp crack-snaps against the top and undercarriage as what he assumed to be wind snipes hammered their armor, followed by the sound of splintering shafts skittering across the plating. Most of the arrows seemed to hit their underside. A few glanced off the forward windshield at bad angles, leaving small spider-web cracks but nothing serious.
“Nobians,” Sera hissed. A barrier of rock materialized between them and the tree line just as thick smoke started billowing around both vehicles.
Good – that meant Sera was fine. “Owens?”
“Still breathing,” Ron grunted, gripping the sidewall to brace himself as the other MRAP’s turret lit up. Bursts came sporadically; after their fiasco with the Vorikha Apex, they didn’t exactly have a ton of ammo to work with.
Henry keyed his mic. “Armstrong, Alpha Actual. MRAP flipped, ambushed at grid 3 klicks southwest. Enemy cloaked, deploying smoke as defense. No visual on hostiles, assuming heavy contact. Holding position. Request ISR focus on grid for hostile tracking, QRF and immediate CAS. Over.”
The ISR part was more wishful thinking, since they literally had a drone over them this whole time and it still couldn’t find a thing, but maybe the Nobians would slip up. Even being able to identify where the arrows were generally coming from could be useful information.
The response crackled through almost immediately. “Alpha Actual, Armstrong. Solid copy. ISR prioritizing your pos now. QRF alert initiated, ETA 15 mikes. Thunder 1-2 en route for Close Air Support, ETA 8 mikes. ISR confirms no thermal signatures; attempting to track projectiles on release – no direct fix on cloaked targets. Over.”
Thunder 1-2, here to save the day yet again. How many drinks would Henry owe now? “Armstrong, Alpha Actual. Copy all. Confirm Thunder will suppress northeast treeline,” he said, selecting the area where most of the arrows had come from.
“Solid copy, Alpha Actual. Armstrong, out.”
Henry shared the news to his team. “Thunder’s inbound, eight mikes. Watch the smoke; conserve ammo. We’ll just have to hunker down ‘til support gets here.”
A new volley came in, arrows producing dull thunks against Sera’s stone barrier. An occasional crack still rang out when an arrow arced over the stone walls and landed atop their flipped MRAP, but most of the subsequent barrages were caught by the wall. Outside, the smoke from Kelmithus’ spell still churned thick and gray.
Then it winded down. The next volley never came. Five, ten, fifteen seconds – nothing. No one ever emerged through their smokescreen, either. Unless they found a way to phase through the smoke without parting it, it seemed as if the Nobians had just… given up. One more arrow struck Sera’s wall with that distinctive thud, then nothing.
A minute dragged by. No more impacts. The smoke continued to swirl, but the unnerving drone in the back of his mind only grew. Funny, wasn’t it? How the absence of arrows somehow felt worse than the rain of them. It was a vacuum of sound that pulled every thought toward worst-case scenarios. There was no relief – only anticipation under the facade of calm. Just what the hell could they be planning?
Henry got his answer almost immediately as an unnaturally loud voice boomed, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. “To those who oppose us, heed my words. You are surrounded, and your plight is dire. Cease your struggle, and we may yet speak as men of reason.”
Seriously? Movie villain monologue wasn’t quite what he expected, but fuck it. Six minutes ‘til air support, and if this guy wanted to chat, he might as well run with it. But… how?
He glanced at his door. Opening it would be pretty stupid – one lucky wind snipe and he’d sport the same cut as the Headless Horseman. He dug through his pack, pulling out his field notebook. Not ideal, but it’d work. Cracking the door just enough, he wedged it with the manual.
“If I may,” Sera whispered, “I might amplify your voice with the wind.”
Henry nodded. Now, what to say? These guys didn’t really state who they were, but there was only one faction that had the ability to launch cloaked surprise attacks. Might as well try to confirm. “Nobian commander, you are engaging U.S. military forces. Stand down and identify yourself!”
“Ah, Captain Donnager. I had hoped our paths might cross again, though I confess I expected your ingenuity would spare you such a predicament. Tell me, how fares your pursuit of phantoms and shadows?”
That voice. Henry knew that voice. It sounded so familiar. Coupled with his impression of a villain monologue earlier, it had to be someone he’d interacted with. The cadence of it nagged at him for a moment before his brain made the connection. The formal speech patterns, that aristocratic tone that somehow managed to sound arrogant and condescending in any situation – yeah, he’d met only one Nobian who talked like that: their friend from GB-2, the one who’d tried to shake them down for their Holding Bags.
“Carvus. I’d say the pursuit’s going just fine – turns out phantoms and shadows bleed like anyone else. But since you’re so keen to talk, how about starting with your intent?”
“Intent, Henry? Surely it is not beyond your reckoning. Yet, if I must state it plainly: it is to forestall your dogged pursuit of that which lies beyond your grasp. I regret only that force was required to teach so simple a lesson.”
“You know, Vicearch, I believe some lessons can be delivered only through force. I reckon the Sonarans wouldn’t mind if they lose some artifacts permanently, especially if it teaches you and your buddies a lesson.”
“You presume much, Captain. How many lives would you hazard upon such fragile certainty? Those carriages may bear what you seek. Or they may belong to traders, innocents ensnared by your suspicion. Will you risk so great a cost for so little assurance?”
Innocents? Really? What a fucking tool. Henry almost laughed at the hypocrisy. “Funny you’d care about civilians after Hardale; after the Academy. But sure, let’s play your game – city’s been locked down for a while. Our chances are looking pretty damn good.”
“Be that as it may, the Nobian Empire will not suffer such insolence unchallenged. Should you destroy those carriages, you invite war, Captain – war which neither you nor your allies are prepared to endure. Mark me well, for the wrath of the Empire will reach far beyond these woods.”
Four minutes. As much as Henry wanted to dismiss it, war wasn’t an empty threat. Sure, they had better tech; Thunder 1-2 could probably level this forest in one pass, but what good was air superiority against an enemy they couldn’t even target?
Even now, stuck in this MRAP with Carvus chatting like they were at a coffee shop, Henry had no idea where a single one of his soldiers was. No thermals, no movement, no parting smoke, nothing.
And that was just a small unit. Like yeah, they could probably take out their emperor once they got their Typhon up and running with its cruise missiles, but how would the 3 or 4 thousand personnel in Armstrong deal with a hostile empire likely numbering in the tens of millions? They’d get overrun.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Still, the fact that Carvus was pulling a stunt like this; that the Nobians at large were still playing the clandestine game instead of leveraging that massive advantage… something wasn’t adding up. Maybe they’re not confident in a fight against both them and the Sonarans? At the very least, it’d explain why the Nobians hadn’t reacted more forcefully, even despite the possibility of losing their geopolitical status quo.
Ruins grabbed by the U.S. and the Sonaran Federation; new technology forcing the Nobian Empire’s hand. Yeah, maybe.
“You and I both know damn well that it’s your Empire that’s scrambling around, desperately holding on to whatever power it can. You’re afraid – afraid of a new player. It’s a shame you weren’t more like the Sonarans. We could’ve had peace. And we still can, but that depends on you.”
“A clever attempt to turn the board, Captain, but misplaced. The Sonarans’ claim to peace is but a mask, for they would have yielded their dominion were it their true aim. Whether your pursuit ends in fire or folly, I shall waste no more of my efforts upon you.”
Two minutes left. The faint thumping of helicopter rotors had already seeped into the MRAP. Carvus probably heard it too, hence his impatience.
“Sounds like a long way of saying you’ve got nothing left to offer. Or maybe you’re just trying to figure out how much you’ve already lost.”
“Think as you will. Your machines may mimic the power of high Tier magic, but they are finite. This exchange has served its end, and your words no longer hold value. You may depart unscathed this day, Captain, but the next time we meet – should you be so unfortunate – shall be your last.”
And just like that, the presence was gone. Yeah, they could’ve lingered around a bit longer, but Henry knew better than that. He wouldn’t be so lucky as to have his biggest thorn sit around just to get conveniently blown up.
The thrum of rotors grew louder until Thunder 1-2 had entered the area of operations. “Thunder 1-2, Alpha Actual. Cleared hot on marked pos.”
The Apache thundered overhead as Henry peeked over the door. The chain gun opened up, loud enough that he could feel it in the air, the vibration resonating through the MRAP’s armor. Trees basically disintegrated as 30mm rounds tore through the treeline.
And hit absolutely nothing. Because of course they didn’t. As he’d suspected, Carvus didn’t want to fuck around and find out. Well, maybe in the grand scheme of things he did, but he sure as hell knew something was coming to save them. This close to the base, he must’ve realized a siege wasn’t something worth risking.
“Alpha Actual, Thunder 1-2. Negative effect on target. No visual or thermal signatures. Repositioning for second pass, adjusting to eastward ingress. Over.”
Thunder swept around for another run. Same result - just more torn up forest. They could level the whole damn woods and probably wouldn't find a single Nobian boot print. But then again, they probably wouldn’t be able to find one anyway amidst all the craters.
Henry sighed. “Thunder 1-2, Alpha Actual. Cease engagement. Targets not present. Conserve ammunition. Over.”
“Alpha Actual, Thunder 1-2. Cease engagement acknowledged. Holding station until QRF arrival. Out.”
Henry swapped over to Armstrong’s channel. “Armstrong, Alpha Actual. Request ETA on QRF, over.”
“Alpha Actual, Armstrong. QRF ETA five mikes. Request SITREP when available, over.”
Henry gave Armstrong a quick rundown of the ambush – the Nobian trap, Carvus’ appearance, their withdrawal before air support arrived, and the mission failure.
“Alpha Actual, Armstrong. Solid copy. Debrief upon arrival. Keep QRF on station until you’re mobile. Armstrong, out.”
They’d unstrapped earlier to avoid fighting gravity and enable easier evacuation, but that just meant finding creative new ways to be uncomfortable. Henry shifted against the window, trying to find a position that wouldn’t have his spine screaming at him later. After some awkward maneuvering, he ended up in a half-crouch under the RWS controls while Sera got herself situated on what used to be the passenger seat's side panel. His ass was going numb already, but the setup worked well enough – well worth it, too, all thanks to Sera’s half smile. One of them might as well be somewhat comfortable while they waited for QRF to show up and unfuck their MRAP.
Despite the extra room up front, Ron ironically had it even worse. The driver’s area was an obstacle course turned sideways. Between the steering column, the radio stack, and all their gear that had migrated down with gravity, he was basically playing Tetris with his own body. Every time Henry glanced forward he could see Ron trying to find some magic configuration between two ammo cans and a pack of equipment.
“Alpha Actual, Raptor Actual. On approach. Three victors, recovery with us. ETA two mikes.”
Thank God. The sudden message was almost enough to send Henry to his knees – if he could even adopt such a position. “Raptor Actual, Alpha Actual. Copy. Ambush site’s clear for now – no contact since Thunder arrived. Smoke should be clear by now. Watch your approach.”
“Alpha Actual, solid copy. Eyes on. See you in two.”
The rumble of engines grew steadily louder until they ceased. The brief silence was followed by a silhouette appearing on their front windshield – Captain Lewis, the dude who was supposedly related to a basketball player.
He knocked on the window. “Yo, Alpha! Perimeter’s secured. Y’all good to dismount.”
“Aight.” Henry climbed out. Around them sat three MRAPs – four, including Ryan’s – and an HEMMT wrecker. The lead vehicle had pulled up about thirty meters ahead while the other two had been split off to establish a perimeter alongside Ryan’s vehicle, all while giving enough space for the wrecker to operate.
Ron gravitated toward the recovery vehicle, probably hoping to speed things along. Sera drifted off to Ryan’s MRAP, no doubt to compare notes with Kel about the Nobians.
Lewis called out to their recovery vehicle. “Ay, Couture! You’re up!” He turned back to Henry as the wrecker maneuvered into position. “We gon’ need ‘bout four, five mikes before we good to go. Anyway, the fuck happened here?”
Henry stepped back as the wrecker moved its crane. “Hit a magic ramp. You ever played those racing games with ramps? Like Asphalt? Same shit. And the rest? Well, you’ve probably already seen for yourself.” He rounded the vehicle, facing the undercarriage now.
A handful of arrowheads were stuck in the plating, shafts sticking out like toothpicks. Most of the arrows hadn’t even penetrated the armor, minor scars marring the surface where they ricocheted off.
Lewis whistled. “Shit, bruh, the flip prolly did more damage than the arrows.”
Henry nodded silently.
“Man, I ain’t gon’ front – I was tryna get on one of them adventuring teams, though. Signed up for Bravo Team but shit, everything from Charlie to Foxtrot’s already locked down by Zulu-9 niggas, plus whoever else they bringin’ through from back home. Suppose it makes sense, since they been here the longest.”
To be fair, Zulu-9 did have an advantage beyond just being first in Gaerra. Henry let out a chuckle. “Not far off, but dude, Zulu-9s been grabbing people straight from The Unit, Green Berets, y’know? Probably won’t have too much luck unless you got a secret archaeology degree, or unless you’re from the 75th.”
“Shit, I am, actually. Second Batt for three years now.” Lewis grinned, sudden interest lighting his face like Superman himself had just descended to give him hope. “That help my chances?”
“Definitely does. But I heard they’ve got even weirder criteria now. When I first signed up, they asked me if I’d seen Stargate. I did, obviously, but now they’re apparently asking about DnD and anime. Thought it was a joke at first, ‘til I realized they were dead serious – something about familiarity, flexibility. Totally agree with them, though.”
The wrecker’s arm stabilized the MRAP mid-lift, preparing to turn it over.
“For real?” Lewis faced away, pumping his arm. “Fuck yeah.”
“I mean, you still gotta wait for a slot to open up, though. I wouldn’t mind putting in a word for Golf Team.”
Lewis beamed back at him. “Y’know what, you a real nigga. ‘Preciate it, gang.” He dapped him up.
“Yeah, well, don’t thank me too early. My guess is they’re gonna have y’all do some fetch quests for Dr. Perdue – the shit Tier 2 parties be doing. Gather this herb, gather these stones, shit probably ain’t gonna be as fun as you think.”
“Bruh, you kiddin’ me? That’s like, the whole fantasy experience right there! Gathering reagents, learning the magic system, shit’s the dream, bro.”
Henry couldn’t argue. “Fair enough. Just don’t expect any quest markers or convenient NPCs telling you exactly where to go. And number one rule: wrap your willy.”
“Y’all seen a catgirl yet? Bunny girl?” Lewis’ eyes got even wider.
“Well, yeah. To both.”
A devious grin popped up on Lewis’ face.
Henry smirked. “Aight, brother. You might think it’ll be worth it ‘til your shit burns, shrivels up, and then falls off.”
The grin dropped for a moment. “What, it’s happened already? Ain’t hear nothin’ from Perdue.”
“Hasn’t happened. I’m just sayin’.”
The grin returned. “Ah, then fuck it; we ball.”
The wrecker’s hydraulics hissed as it retracted its arm, their MRAP finally settled back on its wheels.
“You do you, man. Just don’t come crying if your shit really does fall off,” Henry laughed, hopping back in his MRAP.
Ron clambered back into the driver’s seat while Henry helped Sera up. Once everyone was secure, Henry radioed a quick status check to Lewis’s team. Three MRAPs and the wrecker formed up around them, Lewis taking point while they headed back to Armstrong.
The drive back was mercifully uneventful, their little convoy rolling through forest roads in silence. All Henry could do was contemplate the day’s clusterfuck. What kept gnawing at him was Carvus’s play. The whole thing felt... performative. Like yeah, flipping their MRAP had been one hell of a statement, but then to just stand around and monologue?
He hadn’t really realized it until now, but the Nobians could’ve done way more. Two options stuck out: the first was that Carvus didn’t know how long it’d take to wipe them out, if at all possible given the MRAP’s armor. His forces had engaged MRAPs twice at this point, including the bandit attack and GB-2, and none had come close to inflicting lasting damage on their vehicles. He probably had some Tier 8 or higher magic in store that’d be able to do something, but didn’t want to risk it knowing that help was on the way.
The second was that Carvus wanted to relay his threat. It was significant enough to warrant a report to Armstrong, and maybe he thought it’d give them second thoughts about their relationship with the Sonarans. Ally with the Sonarans, and be dragged into a full-fledged war against a militaristic empire, or something of the sort.
Then there was the processing of failure – though ‘failure’ felt both accurate and somehow unfair at the same time. They’d failed to intercept, sure. But the more Henry turned it over in his mind, the more he saw the elegant brutality of the Nobian plan. Hit them during a monster stampede, when every spare unit was tied up in city defense. Use their own protocols against them – of course they’d have to respond to both threats. They’d also have to split their forces.
By now, the convoy had probably made it all the way to the Nobian border – nothing they’d risk crossing even though the Reaper could track the targets beyond that. Nothing they could do without adequate intel on what the Nobian Empire was actually like; what the territory beyond looked like.
Still, that nagging voice kept whispering: what if? What if he'd spotted the pattern earlier? He’d known there was a spy in the Academy, known the Nobians played these kinds of games. But then again, what would he have done differently? Ignored a possible terror attack? Let monsters rampage through civilian areas?
No, the real bitch of it was how perfectly they’d been boxed in. Every decision that led them here had been tactically sound, even necessary. And that was probably what Carvus had counted on. The smug bastard had practically engineered a scenario where they’d do exactly what they were supposed to do – and fail anyway. Or fail because of it.
They pulled into Armstrong's motor pool just as the sun was starting to think about setting. Time to break down exactly how thoroughly they'd been outmaneuvered. Not failed, really. Just... outplayed by an enemy who'd been setting up this chess game while they were still learning the rules.
Henry hated the taste of excuses – always had – but sometimes truth wore that same bitter flavor. The only way forward was to swallow both: the failure, and the fact that maybe, this time, the excuse and reality were one and the same.
The fact that General Harding understood this made the whole thing feel both better and worse. Interesting how validation somehow made the failure taste even more bitter.
The General’s face held no accusation as Henry laid out the sequence of events. Then again, there was no time for accusation; only for working out a shitty hand that they’d had the misfortune of being dealt.
“Great,” Ambassador Perry sighed. “Thompson’s really gonna enjoy this.”
Harding barely even gave himself time to ruminate. “Not as much as President Keener himself, I’m afraid. How likely do you think it is that they’ll follow through?” He looked at Perry, then at Sinclair, eyes suggesting he was already bracing for an answer he didn’t want to hear.
Perry leaned back in his seat. “A nation as militaristic and hegemonic as them? Likely. Almost guaranteed, unless we can show that it won’t be worth their effort; if we can show them it’ll be pyrrhic or worse in the end.”
Having dealt first hand with the Nobians, Henry didn’t doubt it. And Sinclair’s confirmation was the nail in the coffin. “Intel corroborates this, sir. The Nobians are wrapping up a conflict with a kingdom further west, near the coast. It might be a few years, give or take, until their resources are freed up.”
“Si vis pacem, para bellum… SecDef’s not gonna like my request for reinforcements.” General Harding rubbed his temples. “In fact, I think he’ll hate it. A year’s enough time to bring over a few divisions, but I suspect the President won’t take too kindly about having to explain why 50,000 men have vanished into Area 51 and haven’t resurfaced. We can handle the Nobians if push comes to shove, but…”
“Last resort,” Perry offered.
“Yup.”
Henry folded his arms. Yeah, that tracked. Not only would families start raising questions the government wouldn’t want to answer, but foreign relations would also go down the shitter.
The silence stretched until Perry finally thought up a recommendation. “I could… Well, the Sonaran Federation might be amenable to cooperation. At that point, it’s only a question of how much we’re willing to pay them.”
“Indeed,” Kelmithus remarked, “though, should the Council concede to such an arrangement, they will assuredly seek recompense – whatever technologies the Sanctum Arcanum deems of greatest value.”
Perry kept his diplomatic facade, even through his complaints. “I appreciate the honesty, Archmage. Technologies are a… fickle thing. Kickstarting an industrial revolution has its consequences – a double-edged sword. If they spread unchecked – which they will, be it through espionage or simple diffusion – it might empower the Nobians as much as your Federation. Still, the Council must see that mutual defense outweighs such risks.”
“Your point is well-taken, Ambassador. Be assured, the Council will indeed regard such a union as mutually beneficial. Yet they will, without doubt, seek that recompense. It is not their way to let opportunity pass unheeded, nor to suffer the Federation’s hand to be stayed by magnanimity.”
The Ambassador exhaled sharply through his nose, giving a slight chuckle. “Everyone wants to milk the cow dry, don’t they? Can’t say I blame them. Zero-sum games are, unfortunately, just another day in the office. Frankly, dealing with the Sonaran Federation would be a breath of fresh air. Much more receptive than a certain bunch who build walls – literal and figurative – around themselves and expect the world to marvel at their isolation.”
Harding caught the edge in his tone and smirked faintly. “Walls, huh? Sounds familiar.”
“Ovinnegard,” the Ambassador confirmed. “Brilliant tacticians, exceptional defenses, but impossible negotiators. Every meeting feels like trying to scale those damn peaks of theirs without so much as a rope.”
Kelmithus smiled, clearly amused. “Their obstinance is well-earned, Ambassador. The dwarves regard every negotiation as a trial of resolve. It is not their way to concede lightly, for to do so would betray the values of their forebears. Yet, I suspect, if you can but show them that the stakes are truly dire, their loyalty will be steadfast – unyielding as the stone they call home.”
“Which is a very diplomatic way of saying they’ll grind us into dust before they agree to lift a finger.” Perry turned to Henry. “Well then, I suppose now’s a good as time as any to relay the great news.”
Something about Perry’s voice set off every warning bell Henry had. ‘Great news’ delivered in that tone was about as trustworthy as a Nobian peace treaty.
“Hey now,” Perry held up a hand. Fair enough; Henry didn’t bother hiding his skepticism. “Maybe you’ll like this. Anyway, Ovinnegard’s offered two potential concessions – trade, or a favor. And before you ask, no, we don’t know what this ‘favor’ is yet. But if I had to guess, it’s likely some grand undertaking. Something only we can provide.”
Kel’s eyebrow went up. “The dwarves seldom barter without imposing a trial of merit. Such trials are their way of discerning true allies from opportunists. Whatever form this favor takes, it will speak to their values and ours. As warriors, they shall seek more than simple brute strength.”
“Possibly. Either way, they won’t discuss the favor until we meet them in person; they made that clear over the aethergraph. Which means… I’ll be tagging along when Alpha Team heads north.” Perry addressed Henry. “When will you be ready?”
Henry recalled the schedule. “Tier 7 evaluation’s in a few days, just before New Year’s Eve. Sera will finish her training maybe a couple weeks after that, or a week, if we expedite some stuff, cut some corners.”
“Alright then, you’ll have the time you need. Don’t let anything else cloud your head; focus on the certification. Dismissed.”