The Emperor in Ilaial was not in Ilaial. He looked out the city of Tasadir from a platform of melted stone and impossibility, watching the sky and the smoke and a previous day’s snowfall, and most importantly, the sea and the ships that rested upon it. A string of jewels, white little snowflakes, filled with live so delicate as he sent them-
Cannons. The ceremonial cannons of the Sakaxhy Empire had been brought out of Ilaial for the first time since they shattered the old walls of Tasadir, this time standing beside him on his fleet. Ancient brass behemoths.
They watched-
He watched, sails resting on the horizon. Incredible power, over men and things beyond men. Thousands of cannons, thousands of men. Thousands of ships- an armada. The warfleet of all Xhyolok, forged and ready- it was time.
Two cannons fired, and the Sakaxhy fleets sailed off to war.
.........
It was nighttime in Orroyel two months after a moment above the earth, above everything. Something he’d never paid much attention to before, but looking across the forests and buildings, above the waters as Arctic’s ship swept down from above, quiet for all its power, slipping through the air with the force of everything-
His chest hurt. Two long gashes ran down where Arctic had previously stitched him up, burning with a fire that legitimately made him wince every time he took a step. He’d been assured that they weren’t as bad as they seemed, but even so…
Well, he had no right to complain. He’d been the one to insist on them in the first place… he walked through the outskirts of Norapt with a slight limp and ragged clothes of the Sakaxhy type, dirty enough to be mistaken for an Ilyaochi, much less a Sakaxhy. Most of the Sakaxhy nobility were almost purely Nola anyways, descended from the great fleet…
Stumbling through the darkness, he looked for his target- one of the Norapt guards, hopefully one of the less corrupt ones. He’d purposely had Arctic set him down on the outskirts of a wealthier district, which meant any second now…
Stumbling, onwards- through the shadows of night, stars overhead. Different skies from Xhyolok, but in the end it was the same sky… he’d seen that. Lush jungle trees dotted the landscape, the remnants from when this island had been densely forested… but no longer. Now it was one of the most densely populated regions in the world- the city of Norapt. Heart of the Orroyel Empire, birthplace of all Nola. It was an old place…
Stumbling, on-
“Hey! You- what are you doing here?” The words floated over the wind and he perked up, forcing his excitement behind a mask of terror. Fearful eyes, looking up to meet the guard as he collapsed in front of him.
An exhaustion he did feel, but not in the way he presented it. It was the perfect act, made all the more perfect… “Please. Stranded… on the rocks. A ship. Adrift for so long…” He looked the part, certainly. His clothes, fine though they were, had the appearance of being subjected to the seas for days, and his hair was crusted with salt and sweat and not the faintest bit of blood. “Injured… please. The Sakaxhy letters for the Emperor. I was to bring them with all haste.”
“I… what?” The guard looked down at him with a confused expression on his face- this was almost certainly out of his experience. That had been the idea… convince someone who was easy to convince first, then convince the other people with the immense sum of money he was carrying with him.
He held up a tight waterproof satchel, sealed first with oilskin and then with tar, it was completely impervious to water. Arctic had even put some more things between the layers to make sure it was really impervious… it would stand up to even the fiercest of scrutiny.
It would face the fiercest of scrutiny. The guard picked it up, gently unlocking it and pulling out the papers, eyes widening as he read the sheer sums of money on those papers. Enough Sakaxhy gold to cast ten thousand cannons and build hundreds of ships… fake money. Invented use of technology beyond anything Laeo could understand.
Arctic had made the banks in both Xhyolok and Royeleo believe they had more money than they actually had. It was something that, without a doubt, would get him where he needed to go. The guard snapped the case closed, reluctantly handing it back to him and helping him to his feet. “Here. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
………
The Palace in Norapt was a place that was beautiful beyond comparison. Laytaihishu had been small and compact, Tasadir’s had been sprawling, but still relatively small… but here. This court was a whole city unto itself, the home of the Orroyelan emperor and so many before him, a trail of rulers that reached back far…
A doctor carefully ministered to his wounds, dutifully cleaning them out and sewing them up, all while looking around his chest in wonder. “Who did the other surgery?”
“What other surgery?” A brief fear wormed its way into him- what if he’d given himself away just by a simple cut on the chest… he felt a cold finger touch the skin where Arctic had cut into him and prepared him from nothing in a manner of days, and hissed at the sudden pain. “That’s cold-”
The doctor paid no heed to his complaints, poking around even as he bandaged his chest in a tight wrap. Blood seeped through- just a little, white on red. War wounds… “It’s impeccable. I’ve never seen surgery done half this good… who did it? Do you remember?”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Siqxhe of Abōeo.” It was an abject lie, the sort that flew off the tip of the tongue and became difficult to remember later. He always tried to used names and places he’d be able to remember on a dime… that particular name though.
Memories of darkness beneath the eyes of god, eyes which were not eyes. Memories of light beyond the years spent traveling, and he was further than where he’d started. In the breadth of a day he’d traveled further than he had between Abōeo and Laytaihishu… “Here. You’re fine. Rough from the waves, but fine. Make sure to drink water and have enough food- you’re going to need it. Other than that, the emperor won’t be available for quite a while, so you might have to wait on those documents for a while. Keep them safe.”
“Of course.” He nodded to the doctor-emissary and stood, walking into the court of Orroyel. A place that was beyond beauty, the central heart of a realm long shattered, once again unified. Black and white stone, mosaics of marble and beauty… it was an incredible place. Wrought from the work of eons.
Walking through the court he could see how the styles had changed over time. He could see where the outer border had been set and the court had been Norapt-in-entirety during that fractious time in the far past of Orroyel. Could see where the grand buildings had risen to the sky, where they’d been destroyed.
And from the sky it looked like nothing. Nothing at all- just the cold, empty, a few lights that burnt endlessly. A single point of brightness that paled in comparison to the immensity of god. To the power that Arctic held…
A group of courtesans invited him to a walk in a garden, and Laeo marveled at how easily they trusted everything within their sight while dismissing everything outside of it. He acquiesced politely in the Orroyelan style, a gentle bow and a toothless smile. Reserved- as any good warrior should be. As should the politician-
“...and the third province is producing quite well today. It’s incredible.”
“Truly?” One of the other nobles nodded, moving on to some other innate topic, something about fruit from the south islands that’d come into season soon. These were the people who ran Orroyel? The descendants of the warlords who’d shoved Sakaxhy rule to establish their independence- “...and the Sakaxhy! They’ve taken to feuding with the Nola again.”
“How so? Another one of those ocean spats over Paqaboōf?” The red-cloaked noble who’d been speaking laughed, but the first one remained serious, leaning in closer.
Whispering but not quite whispering, just loud enough for Laeo and the final noble to hear. “The Sakaxhy are going to war with the Nola. It’s the Cerulean Wars repeated.”
Laeo drew in a deep breath- this was the perfect moment, and he had a role to play. “The Nola deserve it, in my opinion.” He inflected his voice with a Sakaxhy accent, and for all the world he was a high Sakaxhy noble. “After what they did with that poor lord up in the north, and what they did to Tasadir…” He shuddered, even though by all rights he shouldn’t really know of either of these things. Only the fastest ships would have been able to make it between Royeleo and Xhyolok in those two months, but the nobles of Orroyel didn’t care for such petty things as impossibilities. They listened to him as he weaved a tale of Nola aggression, enraptured.
He could almost forget he was trying to throw his home into a war against a second great empire. He wondered, briefly if he’d be the person to go down in history as having destroyed Holy Nolabo in truth… it was necessary. “They killed him. Some Nola- maybe the ones living in the city- blew up the palace and killed the lord of Tasadir.” His theories weren’t particularly sensible, but they were the sort of theories a fervent Nola-hater might spout and so he spoke thm. Hidden in them, anyways, were crumbs of truth that the Orroyel would be able to follow to their own conclusions.
After all, the Nola really had been involved in both Laytaihishu and the destruction of the palace in Tasadir. He’d done both of those things… he stirred up the very beginnings of a war-sentiment, laying down the foundations to just for nobles before he retired to the rooms he’d been given, a complex ten times bigger than what he’d been afforded in Laytaihishy. Plush beds, curtains and a tower that looked out over the city and to the ocean, the other islands in the far distance. Sparkling as the moon rose over Norapt, and Laeo felt regret…
………
Laeo woke to the burning eyes, steel brightness and the intensity of Arctic’s glare. It almost hurt to look at how bright it was, and he supposed that was purposeful. It was a reminder of who was more powerful here… one of them had the power to destroy nations with the flick of his hand and it wasn’t Laeo. “I trust you’ve done what you said.”
“Of course. I’m in the Orroyel court, am I not? Norapt is a perfect target. Nobody would ever expect an intrusion of this high scale.” Still, there was just… something. He felt it- that regret. He didn’t want to send the Orroyelans against Nolabo.
It was an age-old problem. The same dilemma he’d been faced with in Laytaihishu, just greater. Kill a little, kill a few. Make Nolabo rise or make it fall… except this time he wasn’t fighting for Nolabo. Moonlight streamed through open windows, and beyond those he saw Arctic’s ship, all but invisible over the city of Norapt.
Arctic stood, moving closer to him… he was imposing, the act of threatening built into the very way he was. Glittering facets reflecting nothing, because there was so little light. Reflecting brightness, the glow of his eyes pale against Laeo’s face, burning against Laeo’s face. “So it's going well? I was wondering if you would be able to do it.”
“I have the documents.” Hidden in the bottom of his satchel where nobody would ever be able to find them, so cleverly tucked beneath the layers of leather and oil and plastic. The banknotes were important, yes, but those were the truly important things. Forged letters. Fudged documents. Things that pointed an arrow, however subtly, toward Nolabo. “It’s only been a day. I’ll start tomorrow, and there’s so much I can do. For now, we just need to wait.”
“Every second we wait is Iri closer to Polarity Light. Remember your promise, child of starlight, little one who’s promised-" Arctic leaned in close, blazing eyes glaring directly into his until they were the only thing he could see, incredible brightness that swam in more than just white, but also everything. It reminded him of the sun from space, gleaming off the Eternity Falling. Watching-” The Lord of Cold Places stood, leaving him in his bed with a conviction to prevent the death of the world. His small god, leaving on the winds of his power-
Remembering. He had his task. There was no right, no wrong… but maybe saving humanity would make up for darkness, orange blood, bleeding out beneath the eyes of God themselves…