Cole

Graphite stained Cole’s wrist. He had started and scrapped several sketches of the feasting hall. With each attempt he had made a small error and deemed it unworthy of continuing. Usually it was the hands he had difficulty with. He wasn’t usually a perfectionist like this, but he wanted so badly for this to turn out good.

He and Bréag had a fantastic vantage over the great hall. It was a box seat reserved for the Emperor’s advisers, so that they may watch feasts and observe the guests from a top-down view. Adjacent to them banners of white trailed to the floor. The tradition was that all banners in the palace would remain blank until the Clash was settled. Much of the palace was barren, as no Emperor gets to inherit the treasures of their predecessor. The center of the hall was taken with a strip of raised stone an exact meter in width. It was Cole’s understanding that was the feasting table for the Teotl, who would sit on cushions of alpaca wool while dining on whatever, or whoever, they pleased. When the Coatlmade captured the palace they took great lengths to abolish anything tied to the Teotl way of life. The stone table had been raised to chest height by dwarven architects, and slabs of perfectly cut petrified wood were set on top to form a table more in-line with human tradition.

No two chairs lining the table were alike, but each looked very solid and very jagged. Cole imagined that if he were bludgeoned with any of those chairs, he would break before it did. He had no seat of his own, so he slumped over the railing of the box, fussing over his sketch of the scene.

The feast had yet to begin, but more than half the guests had arrived. Each General was announced with their correlating title in three different languages: Common, New Quetzal, and Dwarven. After the announcement the General in question would swagger across the threshold flanked by their two allotted guests. Most of the Generals chose elite warriors or bodyguards as their guests. It showed strength in this prelude to the Emperor’s Clash. Cole’s eyes kept drifting to Thezzus standing behind a rancher named Horca.

The other party he recognized was Ghetsis Reballo, who was still clad in his massive armor. Zam was beside him, scowling at anyone deviated from the norm. The other guest of the Order was the human with the missing chin, Gustav Oca.

No weapons were allowed, but armor and shields were. The hall was rife with the clinking of metal as the guests found their seats. As security, Cole was allowed his atlatl, but he didn’t quite feel he’d be able to stop any conflict that would break out.

He still felt exhausted from the day at Corban’s Tower, and the subsequent night of spreading their story. He spent the day of the duststorm passed out in his bed, but it still wasn’t enough to refresh him. Still, this job from the Red Watchmen was worth a lot of coin. Frost was on the ground level, back firmly against the east wall alongside Dirk and Lyn. Frost had difficulty keeping his attention on any single person. He kept tilting his nose upwards in anticipation of the food that would be brought in once all the guests were seated.

“You ever seen something like this?” Cole asked Bréag.

The elden was seated on the railing, running his thumb along the fletching on his arrows. He had returned to wearing a bandanna around the lower half of his face.

“A few times. The last feast I was at was in Sraid.” Bréag replied with a tinge of regret.

Cole cursed himself for forgetting. “Sorry. I meant this collection of warriors and commanders. It looks like something from a tapestry. ‘The Night before the War,’ or even ‘After the War.’”

“Hmm. Then no. Not like this, at least.” Bréag stretched his slender leg across the railing, straddling it with his back to the wall. “I recognize some of the guests. Fifth from the head of the table is Ruy Vivar. He is the lord of Eddadel in the southwest. He was exiled from his home and returned with allies from Mercin. He has retaken his land and is loved by his people.”

“That makes for a good story.” Cole nodded. “Is that something you identify with?”

“What do you mean?” Bréag demanded. His entire body became taught.

Cole shrugged, diffusing the tension. “The underdog. The good man who succeeds despite the wicked crippling him.”

Bréag shook his head. “As a story: perhaps. It takes more to rule than rallying people to a cause.”

Cole’s eyes drifted to Ghetsis. The old man was seated across from a rowdy diablan who was laughing at him. Cole had heard that diablan’s name spoken in the Dusted Quarter, Engañar the Bandit King. Ghetsis glared at the diablan from behind tented fingers.

“An ideal victor would be someone accommodated to commanding cities as large as this one.” Bréag continued. “Hergranja Plantation-Sister, just arrived. She leads the largest farming community in Athshin. If she were to control both the breadbasket, and the capitol, there could be no limit to what she could do.”

He pointed out a broad-shouldered coatlmade with green scales and a crown of dried maize husks. She certainly had the aura of a leader. Something in the eyes and how she spoke to the other guests. She was the last to arrive, and though he was seeing her for the first time, Cole placed all his hope on her being victorious. Anything was preferable to Ghetsis and his promised genocide.

The feast began. The guests were served at the exact same time so there would be no cries of favoritism. It took a horde of contracted servants to deliver the food in this method. The main course was a stew of black beans and beef. It was served hot enough that Cole could hear the sizzling of the meat from where he was. As sides, the guests were provided with hefty bowls of red rice, corn, and sweet boiled yams. Ribbed glasses were provided, filled with a milk-colored beverage called pulque. The food looked so appetizing that even the most steadfast of the guests indulged in large portions. In time chorizo sausages were brought out alongside fresh mangoes.

When Cole’s stomach growled Bréag tapped his shoulder. The elden had passed through the kitchen earlier and pocketed a few sausages that they could share. Cole practically inhaled the snack. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve a sudden wave of sadness came over him.

“Where do you think Rerume is now?”

“He said he would follow the trail of the necromancer. If Corban was moving south, then Rerume no doubt follows. How far he has made it, I cannot say.”

“I wish I could have stopped him.” Cole muttered.

“I know.” Bréag said. He placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “He made his choice.”

“When does it stop?” Cole asked suddenly. “Barbatus, Outpost Onx, Sráid, Rerume, the Order of Suffering...can’t we get one worry free day? I was never this stressed at the academy.”

“I suppose it stops whenever you decide to return to your academy...”

Cole frowned. There was truth in that. He was a traveler in this land, bound by nothing. He had come seeking adventure, and instead found unrest. Not the romance he was looking for when he made that promise to Lara a little past a month ago. Still, if he abandoned this thread because it was beyond his expectation it sort of proved Lara’s initial point: that he wasn’t ready for a life outside the academy.

“I have to see how this all ends.” He remarked. He could feel Bréag’s purple eyes on him. Cole hoped the expression he could see out the corner of his eye was something resembling pride.

A commotion below brought them to attention. The room focused on its center, where Ghetsis sat across from Engañar. Both men were very still. Ghetsis looked as if he had been interrupted. His face was damp with the contents of Engañar’s glass.

“Say that one more time…” Engañar hissed.

Ghetsis wiped his face with a cloth provided by one of his guards. Fouler words were brewing in his mind, but he recognized the multitude of eyes watching him. He spoke loud enough for all to hear.

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“What I said was: there are natural volatiles in this realm. They have been placed by the Divines to test us. The reason kingdoms and empires fall is because of volatiles. Volatiles like this man.”

Ghetsis pointed to Engañar. The Bandit King’s lip curled, but he said nothing.

Ghetsis stood, grandstanding like one of his street preachers. “Therefore! It is only logical that for utopia to be brought to us mortals that we must purge these volatiles. The criminal, the raider, and the cultist. It will be the cornerstone of my empire.”

Some of the gathered guests concurred with Ghetsis’ statements. In the shadows Cole could see Frost wouldn’t stop shaking his head. The minotaur Thezzus shifted uncomfortably in his seat as eyes turned towards him as much as they did Engañar.

Engañar pulled back into his seat, slowly grinding his teeth. “That’s what I thought you said. Hope those sharp words don’t cut your throat on the way out.”

He broke into a stretched smile. He gestured grandly to the room. “-But none of that matters tonight. All to be settled tomorrow, eh?”

He spun his empty glass in air, spraying droplets of pulque on those adjacent to him. “It seems my glass is empty. Perhaps it is time for the wine to be brought out?”

The battalion of servers looked at each other nervously. Gradually, they retreated to the kitchens to retrieve the bottles of red wine meant to conclude the feast. There were not enough bottles for each guest to be served at the same time, instead they were served in sections. No one dared to sample their glass until a toast was made.

That toast came from the most senior captain of the Red Watchmen, an imperial coatlmade made of more scales than meat. She gripped the neck of the wineglass between thumb and forefinger, lifting it high over the feasting table. “May tomorrow bring valiance, savagery, and the next chapter in our eternal empire!”

The hall erupted with boastful cries. The coatlmade present plumed small exhales of their elemental breath. Cole mimicked the toast with a mimed glass.

That was the punctuation for the evening. Guests were free to return to their respective camps, or remain to converse and continue eating. Cole returned to his sketch, ignoring Bréag’s obvious peeks over his shoulder. Below Frost had managed to snag a link of chorizo, which he savored with microscopic bites.

The candles in the room had burned by a quarter when the doors to the hall burst open. A human male dressed in a green tunic trimmed with grain emblems charged into the room. He was intercepted by Red Watchmen and forced back outside. The red-faced man screamed for his Queen, Hergranja. Hergranja dismissed the Watchmen, demanding to know why he was here.

“Poison!” The man wheezed out. “All across the city. Every camp, every legion. People are falling like shot birds.”

The atmosphere in the room snapped. A woman in black armor seized the man by the shoulders, shaking him and demanding to know more. Her face suddenly turned pale. She collapsed to her knees crying of unbearable pain in her chest. By the time attendants had rushed to her, she was limp and lifeless. Spit clotted at the corners of her mouth.

No sooner had her death been proclaimed than two more people collapsed with identical symptoms. Then four more. Then the entire room of Generals and their guards were on their knees. Cole cracked his nails gripping the stone railing of his vantage point. Bréag pivoted his head like a weather vane in a storm.

“Some aren’t dying.” Bréag mentioned.

He pointed to the center of the table. Engañar and his guards were stepping away from the table. Panic was plain on the Bandit King’s face. In front of him Ghetsis Reballo grappled with the table to keep himself standing. The man seemed less affected by the poison than others. His chinless follower was dead on the ground. Zam showed no signs of poisoning. He had never taken a drop of the wine. Zam smashed his glass on the ground.

“It was the wine!” He declared.

“It was only for the old man…” Engañar spoke to himself, but it was loud enough that those paying attention could hear.

“Fiend!” Ghetsis bellowed between labored breaths. “This is work only a Diablan is capable of. How many die tonight? How much blood for your dark master?”

Engañar did not respond. He and his companions ran for the nearest exit. Swiftly, Zam vaulted the table. He tackled Engañar. Cole saw the flash of a concealed knife pierce Zam’s thigh. In retaliation Zam took a shield from one of the dead and proceeded to beat Engañar with it. When Engañar’s guards attempted rescue, Zam immolated them with a furious burst of fire. As more people collapsed the room grew quiet until the only sound was Zam viciously breaking Engañar’s skull.

When he deemed he was finished Zam stood calmly. His hands and chest were caked in blood. Not all of the guests were dead. Some had refused the wine like Zam. Ghetsis was struggling, but his symptoms were less immediately aggressive.

“The Bandit King is dead for his crimes,” Zam declared, “but his co-conspirators run free in this city. If you have any love for your leaders and fallen comrades then you will purge this city of every devil-blooded cultist within it.”

“To the Dusted Quarter!” One of the survivors cried.

“Kill them all!” Shouted another.

Cole looked to the Red Watchmen, hoping against hope that they would stop this. Some were still processing the volume of dead in the room. Others cast aside their red rust armor to join the mob. Those that tried to fulfill their duty were pushed aside by the crowd.

Zam did not go with them. He went to Ghetsis’ side.

“I will live. You have performed well, Zam.” Ghetsis dropped into a seat. “The fiend underestimated my vitality it seems. I am weakened, but I am not dead.”

“What does this mean for the Emperor’s Clash?” One of the remaining soldiers asked. There were some who had neither tasted the wine, nor joined the mob. It seemed they remained to hear an answer to this question.

The senior captain of the Watchmen had died with the rest. Cole didn’t know the rank of the dwarf who took her place, but he spoke with authority. “Tradition dictates that the Clash will continue. Substitutions for those who have fallen are allowed, even for the commanders, but it cannot be delayed.”

“I will take Ghetsis Reballo’s place in the clash.” Zam spoke without conferring with his leader.

The dwarf looked down at the pair with a judging eye. “Understand that if you are victorious it will be your victory, not Ghetsis’. He cannot claim what he hasn’t fought for.”

Zam turned to Ghetsis. Between wheezing coughs, Ghetsis nodded his approval.

“Will there be any other declarations?” The dwarf demanded.

The room was silent save for mutterings. None could speak with the certainty Zam had, nor did it seem they wished to oppose the Order. Cole drew blood from his lip, he was biting it so hard. There had to be someone to challenge Zam.

A chair creaked and an imposing shadow dropped across the table. Thezzus breathed unevenly, but the conviction was clear in his expression. “I will enter the Clash as leader of Horca’s Ranch.”

Zam’s eyes narrowed. “Suspicious that you were as unharmed as the diablan.”

“My people are immune to poison, you ignorant snake! Our blood is toxic, just like the bull we were born of.”

Zam dismissed this fact. “Then it's convenient for you and your minotaur coalition. How long has this coup been planned? Before your uprising in Finis, or after you were ousted?”

“Wipe your mouth if you’re going to talk shit. Nothing stops me from entering.”

The dwarf on stage confirmed this.

“You stand alone demon.” Ghetsis coughed into his fist. “Only your own kind will take to the field with you.”

“No!”

Even though he shouted it it didn’t sound like Cole’s voice. In full view of everyone, he repelled down the wall length banner to the floor.

“I stand with him!” Cole reiterated. He placed himself as close to Thezzus as possible. He tried to display as much of his elven features as he could, pushing aside his hair to show his ears.

“How is it always you...” Zam snarled.

Cole had to pry his eyes away from the blood on Zam’s fists, otherwise he might lose the bravery that had welled up inside him.

“I’ll also fight.” Frost was now beside Thezzus.

“As will the Lion’s Claw.” Dirk flanked Frost.

“I thought your order was meant to be impartial.” Zam spat.

Dirk puffed out his chest and threatened Zam with the tip of his beard. “Impartial doesn’t mean blind. What’s the point of keeping to the middle of the scale if you allow it to tip so much one way? Sahn would be proud of me.”

No more came forward, either to Thezzus’ support, or to enter the Clash. Cole’s heart hammered in his chest so powerfully that he could scarcely focus on the declaration of the Red Watchmen speaker.

“The matter is settled. At the height of noon the Emperor’s Clash will commence with just two entrants. In the words of my late commander, may this write the next chapter in the history of our eternal empire.”