Almost half of the Inner Chosen were gathered in the great hall of the God-King. For the entire day, reports had been coming.

“So far, it’s been mostly confined to these two separate tier-two sectors, I think,” Gania Mpinkulu said.

“The outlier is that tier five Gate, out of nowhere. And we probably would have not noticed for long – nobody keeps that zone as a Fast Travel point.”

“Are we… under attack?” one of the youngest Chosen finally said.

All eyes turned to the seated God-King, who had not uttered a single word for hours, as he watched and listened.

“This is not something that should happen,” he said with a ponderous finality. “Yet it did. And the chance of it is less than a star in the firmament moving away to fall on earth.”

“What happened then? How can an enemy close nearly a dozen of our Gates in one fell swoop? And without a trace of them.”

“That is because none of our rivals can. And those enemies who can never do such.”

All of the Chosen Ones stayed silent. You were not a member of the Inner circle of the Chosen Ones of the Zulu without an inkling of the existence of the unnamed, unseen enemies of Mhambi Meshindi. None had any idea who – what – they were, but anything that could threaten the God-King was not to be taken lightly.

So all of them stayed focused on their God-King, waiting for his wisdom. But the God-King stayed silent, watching the stacked figures representing the wealth and power of the Zulu Empire, as another Chosen entered, bringing some news from the corners of the Labyrinth.

“The French cannot have been done this. I know they were handed toys. There are always miscreants who think they can turn trinkets into useless wealth.”

“Surely, the French cannot have attacked us this way? Their sector may touch our territory, but the paths are few, and none of the trunk paths leads back here,” Kwazele said, with a half-felt finality.

This was one of the moments where he regretted succumbing to that French’s insistence and giving him what seemed ultimately useless.

“They should not be able to. Unless, when I opened the Gates… they chanced their way in. But in two decades, they haven’t stumbled upon any of the powers of the Labyrinth. For only one that is a Lord of the Labyrinth can wreck its pathways that easily.”

Both brothers barely exchanged glances. But their efforts were for nought, as another Chosen spoke instead.

“What if it is not the French? But the English?”

Meshindi’s gaze turned sharply toward the speaker. Mention of the British tended to irritate him, way beyond the mention of the other Gate owners.

“There has been a rumour bandied by the British that they obtained secret Professionals. Heroes that can be Professionals without being qualified. Who wield…”

“And when were those Heroes found?” he asked.

Zenzele though he needed to intervene.

“All of these foreign powers always talk big. Even in their defeats against each other, they always talk of great heroic deeds…”

“When did the British find those Heroes?” he asked again.

“There’s been stories written in their information papers. Grandiose talk about people thrown in the Labyrinth after the attack, and why the Gate was reopened by British professionals instead of when they would, as you said they would,” Zenzele insisted.

“And no one reported on this to me.”

There was an instant hush. Even Zenzele stayed silent after the implicit rebuke. When Mhambi Meshindi was displeased… people could die easily.

“It’s as Zenzele says. They always say they have mighty heroes that save their battles, even the ones they lost. To hear them, those people that got thrown into the Labyrinth just opened the Gate by superior will. It’s just another story… like all of them,” another added lamely.

The Zulu Chosen held their breath, waiting for their God-King to speak. When it came, it came as a mere sigh, amplified by uncontrolled Presence.

“The Chosen do not know all that there is to know about the Labyrinth. Something like that is not impossible. Merely… unexpected. You shouldn’t try to guess.”

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Zenzele could swear that he heard a barely muttered “of course, it’s the British”.

Mhambi Meshindi stared morosely at the stacked symbols on the war table. Then, all the Chosen recognized the signs of a decision taken.

“The French know the way to create Professionals. And the British have them already.”

Most of the Chosen frowned at the incongruous suggestion. Professionals were made all the time. But a handful knew exactly what kind of Professionals Meshindi was referring to. Those who didn’t… would have to know. And fast.

Because Zenzele, in a moment of clarity, now realized what Mhambi Meshindi feared most of all. Not unseen monsters, creatures that walked the Labyrinth in the hunt of the God of the Zulus. No. Professionals. Made in the shape of that British spellcaster. Made in the shape of one Mhambi Meshindi.

People who could shape the Labyrinth. People who did what Mhambi Meshindi had done twenty years ago when he bent the Labyrinth to open his way to his empire. What the British had almost certainly stumbled upon, in some unpredictable way.

“I had hoped you would have more time. No one knows what the Labyrinth means, truly mean. They all play with toys, and they are blinded by the obvious. In a few decades, none of their toys would have mattered. But there is not enough time. Not if they wreck the Labyrinth. Or if they do it again and get noticed.”

“What do you mean, Great One?”

“It is way too early. You should have been able to stand on your own. But we have no choice. We must end those fledgeling powers before they make themselves known. Before their stupid actions have repercussions.”

Mhambi Meshindi rose from his seat, his head a foot under the ceiling that was barely appropriate for his height. But he navigated the room with his usual deftness, and the rest of the Chosen Ones followed, exchanging bemused glances.

Once outside the Great Halls of Command, one asked, “Where are we going, God?”

“To wage war.”

----------------------------------------

The Chosen Ones of the Zulu Empire stood upon the bay’s lip, mesmerized.

Down below, massive works rose, and in the bay, dozens of wooden ships lay. Oddly shaped, but ships nevertheless. Even now, they could see people moving around, working on several ships in various stages of completion.

“What is this?” one of the Chosen finally asked.

“What was needed,” Mhambi Meshindi answered.

They had run, like only Professionals can do, with hundreds of Agility and thousands of Endurance. They knew some people used “mounts”, but those were for lesser ones. But the spectacle at the end was not one any of them had expected.

Upon seeing their surprise, the God-King merely commented, “You do not need to be Chosen to build this.”

They started to scramble down the slopes, following the immense figure toward the bay.

“What is this?” repeated another Chosen.

“The Labyrinth… requires long term commitment. You cannot wage warfare across it quickly. Even the trunk requires long term planning. Advancing one zone at a time, year after year. If you want to truly wage war… you need both the power of the Labyrinth and the speed of the world itself.”

“You really want to transport the Chosen Ones on this?” Kwazele blurted.

Zenzele almost tried to stop his brother from commenting. But the God-King took it into stride as they made their way.

“Yes. It is the only way to transport a large number of Professionals across large distances.”

He pointed out toward various pale figures spread all over the bustling bay, adding in a light way, “And all those shipwrecked foreigners have been of such a help. I know how to build ships… but they know how to build them. The years have been kind to us.”

They reached the bottom of the valley, the bay’s end, where five different ships were being built. For a second, the Chosen were silent, as one Zulu detached himself from the crowd.

“Great One, I had not expected you. My reports have been timely.”

He peeked at the entourage of Chosen Ones, before inquiring, “Is there something wrong?”

“No. You have done well, Shaka kaSenzangakhona. Your skill at leading all these is not in doubt. But we have need of your works. Now.”

The man was taken aback. He looked at the assembled Zulus before bowing.

“Although many ships are still being built, the ones launched are as ready as they can be. Even those built a decade ago are in perfect condition. Power Crystals ready. And the crews trained.”

“Then prepare yourself. For, in a few weeks, the Chosen Ones will begin assembling and will require those.”

“You will have enough ships ready, Great One. This, I swear.”

He turned and started sprinting back toward the bay, already shouting orders.

Mhambi Meshindi’s entourage contemplated the hive of activity for a few moments before one started asking.

“But, Great God, the British will no doubt enforce their mastery of the seas. Their fleets are much better than anyone in the world, and even with your guidance…”

Mhambi Meshindi flicked his hand, dismissing.

“Why, do you think, did I show you how aether extenders are made?”

Kwazele frowned, then shivered inwardly as the idea struck him clearly, for the first time.

“They are near-useless in combat in the Labyrinth. But out in the world… at sea…”

“They give our Chosen the range needed for warfare against the unchosen. That, I’ve learned well.”

Kwazele realized now why Mhambi Meshindi had given the crafters the principles for those “toys”. The God-King laughed when they debased it with additional Power Crystals into something that, at least, could have a use in shutting a Gate – and other things – but he’d never imagined that the original intent had always been the true one.

I am too taken with the Labyrinth, he thought. But Meshindi was taught more secrets of warfare than I guessed.

Still, he couldn’t let the thought escape him. This war was going to cost many lives… and end his and his co-conspirators plans for decades, if not forever.

“Even then… can we really take both the British and the French? Even if they are not versed in the ways of the Labyrinth, they are many Professionals, and their armies are strong. Can we tackle them now? Really?”

The God-King contemplated him for a moment, unwilling to rebuke him for speaking what appeared to be an obvious truth.

Then he turned back toward the sea, and Kwazele though he could see a very short-lived frown. But Mhambi Meshindi did not comment further.