image [https://i.imgur.com/UvduvtT.png]

“Refreshments gentlemen,” called Sorvild as I entered the small council chamber that evening, “refreshments! Courtesy of the Silversword Company to toast the coming campaign!”

I seized a pewter tumbler off the great bellied man’s tray, thanking him before he shoved off to bark for more custom as lustily as a bazaar mama. I can’t tell you what drink it contained or even how it tasted, only that I sipped at it with my off-hand as my head swam while surveying the room. Rokash gave me a sickening smile from where he sat on the table, chatting down to a pair of high nobles seated before him. Sunset marooned the table length between us, sidelong and exaggerating the palm frond pattern etched into the table. The unfurled map at the table’s center was now populated with dozens of tiny wooden idols in the shapes of men, catmen, and houses to represent the various forces and strongholds in play. His Holiness was nowhere to be seen.

Prince Findulain approached me, quivering with excitement such that liquid drooled over the side of his sloshing tumbler. He shouted into my face about the glories to come and our brotherhood to be forged before departing abruptly with a jocular slap to my ass. Do’Qanar also called me over to listen to a joke from one of his captains, which also I cannot for the life of me recall, only that I forced a smile before excusing myself. Do’Qanar followed after me, a hand on my shoulder as he asked if I felt well — that I looked a bit 'sun struck' — to which I assured the tiger-man I was well but needed an urgent word with my brother.

He sat in his council seat, papers splayed before him which he fended off with a quill as the rest of the room caroused with barely restrained exhilaration.

The chair leg gave a small shriek as pulled free the seat beside him, at which he gave me a warm smile.

"This is wrong,” I said.

His smile lingered on his mouth longer than his eyes. “What?”

“What we're doing is wrong,” and when he did not respond I continued, “the war, Berry. This is evil.”

The smile fell. His mouth moved as if he spoke, but what came out was a mere whisper forced between his teeth. "This really isn't the time and place Fate Weaver. We have to get through this right now.”

“We don’t really, do we? What if we tried another way, some new method like those Eophicles or some latter scholar perhaps —”

“We have an excess Mane, and the people of Elsweyr demand clarity — the world demands clarity. We can either fix this or let it all fall to pieces.”

"An excess person though… would you say the same about me?"

"That's different and you know it.”

I opened my mouth but was cut off as the doors burst open, striking against the walls as His Holiness sauntered in ahead of a trail of Lion Head Priests, golden masked and trailing crimson capes cast over one shoulder so as not to catch on their high held tails. He was more regal, beautiful, and terrifying to me in that moment than ever before.

"Let us begin-uh, let destiny be made."

And we did. Nobles, chiefs, and bishops shuffled around as Rokash and Do'Qanar took up standing positions at opposite ends of the table. His Holiness sat as well, a finger held ponderously to his chin as he invited Do'Qanar to propose his plan first.

Do'Qanar reached his long rattan stick over the table, tapping the map's northern border. "We know the imperial dogs are crossing here, directly into the scrublands. My tribesmen all agree this is a once in a lifetime blunder on their part — it takes them far from their usual supply lines. We will assault directly with an elite band of desert warriors — here," and he tapped his stick just southward, partway to Orcrest.

The tiger-man's eyes swept over us before going on. “Our warriors will use hit-and-run tactics to harass the legions farther into the wastes while the majority of our forces — western tribesmen, lancers, levies, and northman mercenaries — shall lie in wait along The Scar to deny access to the southern oases, and come up to either way to block access to towns with wells, or provide a hammer strike assault once the legions falter under the desert sun.”

He went on to describe several permutations of this plan, allowing for different responses on the part of the legion. Once it was finished, His Holiness nodded. "It is rather direct-uh."

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My deviator brother said, "I don't like the thought of dividing our forces though, it's historically been a rather large gamble to make. But if we succeed in baiting them, how many enemy fatalities can we expect?"

The tiger-man clenched the rattan between his hands meditatively. "Do'Qanar knows cats better than dogs, but for a guess: easily five hundreds manfolk dead in an initial skirmish and three-score each day after from heatstroke and dehydration once they've been led off their path."

"Not enough then," said Rokash, "and we wonder what the southern pretender will be doing as we run about the wastes."

This led to a few growling remarks between the facilitators until His Holiness ordered Do'Qanar to pass the stick to Rokash.

Vizier Rokash straightened his crimson robe, clearing his throat. "Our most precious resources are time and legitimacy. To that end, Rokash and his order propose the entirety of our forces march south," he smacked down on the map. "And traverse through mostly friend territory, avoiding Corinth for now. We will assault Senchal directly."

Do'Qanar shook his head. "A siege so far from our power though—"

"No long running siege. A full on assault. Rokash knows Senchal's defenses better than any. The walls are low and spread very, very, wide and broken by slums."

His Holiness remained fixed as a statue. "Casualties?"

"None on the journey, but in the assault — easily two thousand on each side, oh merciful one. But once we are within the city their spirits will be broken we will."

"And for civilians?"

"Significantly more. But Rokash cannot say."

The knot tightened around my gut once more.

"Regrettable, and what-uh of Prince Findulain?"

"It would serve us best to have him lead an assault against the pretender. His kinfolk will more readily rise to his… inspiration at hearing his great success against the pretender than against the legion."

Do'Qanar snorted. "And the priest expects the legion to be napping during all of this?"

"They will not know how we have moved until we have gained distance, and we will leave behind skeleton defenses in our northern strongholds — two hundred soldiers could make a heroic stand on the walls of Dune or Orcrest, led by one or my apostles of course."

"So the southern priest would leave the north to the dogs? This new order smells much like the old."

My fingers itched over the round glass vial in my pocket.

"We will return," said Rokash, "once the pretender is beheaded and his subjects rush to us, Valenwood pledges themselves to us. And if the legion will not acknowledge our rights we will use force, defensively, until they do."

His Holiness claimed he had heard enough and dismissed us all so that he could reflect upon his options, promising to decide within the hour. As the sky purpled my brother and I set about preparing and blessing the sweet wine toast, mixing concentrated wine with water and a half dozen ornate crystal pitchers of simple syrup, each with a spice captured within to extract its essence: cinnamon, tarrogon, and various other weedy herbs unfamiliar to me.

We clinked these instruments over several dozen glasses, performing benedictions of good favor for each in turn. Some had remained in the room and caroused about, some crowding the Mane with anxious feedback. My brother and I were silent however, I suspect he knew my mood, although not how intensely I felt it.

Once we were nearly finished he turned and asked if I could complete the work so that he could speak more with His Holiness, both plans being damn hot headed in his opinion but that he believed he could smooth them over. I just nodded and watched him off.

Not one eye was upon me as I drew out the vial, uncorked it, and inhaled the sweet smell of licorice within. Few would suspect death to be so sweet. I dumped it into the single golden chalice. It was a shockingly easy thing.

A slow breath. The knot in my stomach drew tighter. I pretended to be busy until finally we were all called back to the table by the Master of Ceremony. His Holiness sat with the easy confidence. I came to him with a golden chalice in my hands.

I froze as he thanked me, and extended his hand.

Benezia had told me the poison would take at least a day to have any effect, bu I saw him then as fallen, convulsing on the floor at my feet. He would never know how or why it had happened. He would die lost and confused, and everyone would always wonder. It was just more of the same poison that had brought us all here.

“I need to speak,” I said, without meaning to.

Surprise in his lion eyes, then an easy fanged smile. “Of course-uh, Fate Weaver you have been uncharacteristically quiet and I as always welcome your sage advice.”

Heat ran up the side of my neck. "Your Holiness, you are misinterpreting the legion's actions."

"Oh? And what makes you say that-uh?"

"I’m an imperial agent.”

He blinked at me. "You are… hu-haha-uhhh! Fate Weaver you always could raise my spirits —"

A chorus of uncomfortable laughter.

"I'm not joking. They are moving independently of both Manes. In fact, they plan to depose both of you.

“Betrayed from the start? The emperor would never—”

“It’s not the emperor, it's a corrupt faction of the Elder Council. I believe the emperor is still incapacitated.”

"But how do you actually know this?"

"As I said, Perfection, I am an imperial agent. I have been before I joined your court. Unbeknownst to my brother, the Blades approached me —”

My deviator's hand caught my sleeve like pincers, “Brother sit down, this joke has gone quite far enough…”

I jerked my arm free and he fell, withered really, back to his seat. "There's more. The rumors about the southern Mane are true, he is your perfect duplicate just as I am my brother's — both of us accidentally created by the fate binding ritual you both conducted with the Miser's Mirror. The pretender is you, or a near version of you. Your Holiness, there is no need for this war, and every reason for peace. I beg you," I fell to my knees, tipping the chalice aside until I felt wet coolness on the knuckle of my right knee. "For the love of your people, for my love of your people — seek peace, seek realignment with your brother to the south before it is too late for us all."

I stared at the ground for a moment that felt like an eternity. Finally I heard the only response I could have expected.

“Traitor…”