It was a while before Rieren felt comfortable enough to let go of Batcat’s memory powers. Her reappearance at a moment as close to the height of her power as possible was necessary.
Kalvia needed all the support she could get. At a moment when everything was balanced on a knife’s edge, where one volatile move could end all the progress they had made together, she needed power.
Rieren—the veritable saviour of the Shatterlands from several perspectives—arriving to pledge her fealty to the future Empress shifted the balance of strength far more in Kalvia’s favour. One would think twice before confronting the woman who had fought the Dreadflood, who had taken on a Banishedborn too, foolish though the attempt might have seemed.
The fallout of the event where everyone had chosen to swear fealty to the new Empress obviously necessitated a subsequent meeting. This meeting was to take place two days after the disappearance of the Dreadflood. The small gap was done to grant all those who had gathered some time to come to terms with the new developments and figure out new questions.
“I can’t believe we’re the first ones here,” Kalvia said.
She had changed into garments better suited to her new position. The robes were rich white bordered with veins of gold and leaves of silver. Gleaming ivory buttons caught the light, low though it was in the tent.
Rieren kept her arms crossed. “Well, I imagine it will take some time before they start treating you like a proper Empress.”
Kalvia grunted in a decidedly un-imperial manner.
They didn’t have to wait in the pavilion for long. Avathene had assigned a small field near the base of the Stannerig mountain as the location for the all-important meeting. Neutral ground, supposedly. Why they needed neutrality when the Empress had issued a decree that forbade the clans from continuing to fight—not that they’d come to blows—was anyone’s guess.
“Do you remember the script?” Kalvia asked, eyeing Rieren.
“Of course,” Rieren said. The future Empress had rehearsed all possibilities in the meeting to direct all possible paths and ensure every outcome would benefit her, with Rieren’s sleepless help. “Though, I will warn you that plans tend to… evaporate in the heat of battle.”
“Well, they’ve already started evaporating considering you’re still wearing that.”
Rieren looked down at the same old red Lionshard Sect disciple robes she always wore. She’d purchased different robes from the System Shop before coming out of the Abyss, just to add onto the effect, but she’d missed her usual attire and had gotten these later. “What is wrong with them?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s suitable to wear plain robes when you’re the Empress’s bodyguard, is it?”
“Would not an unassuming guise fooling would-be assassins into discounting me be to our benefit?”
“It would, if our intention was to trap would-be assassins. I was under the impression our—well, a bodyguard’s—intention would be to guard me. You know, to prevent any assassination from being attempted in the first place.”
“Ah. In that sense, wearing something intimidating and fearsome—”
“Or simply giving the impression of power. Simply richer clothes would be better.”
Rieren nodded. “Richer clothes would be better, agreed.”
Kalvia raised her eyebrows suggestively. “So…”
“I do not intend to change out of them.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you have to do it right now. Not that I’d mind. But since the meeting is imminent and there is no time to go elsewhere…”
Kalvia held out her hand and a silk robe materialized. She must have either purchased one from the System Shop, or had one in her storage ring. Her lasciviousness made the latter more likely.
Rieren accepted the robe. “Very pretty.”
Then she stuffed it into her storage ring.
“But—”
The thump of some large beast landing not far from the pavilion announced the appearance of the others. It was time to begin the meeting. Rieren exchanged a quick nod with Kalvia—whose expression had turned grim and serious. It was time to set the Shatterlands on the path they needed it to go.
It was Avathene and her entourage who arrived first. She was accompanied, as ever, by Oromin from the Tarciel clan and Gorint Malloh. There were others in her party too, though she had thankfully kept them to a minimum. The pavilion wasn’t big enough to house the same number of people Rieren had seen when she’d exited the Abyss.
“Stop touching your face like that,” Kalvia hissed.
Rieren snatched her hand away from where she was unconsciously tugging her cheek. It had become a bad habit since she’d regained her natural form, as though she constantly wanted to reassure herself that she was indeed the normal Rieren she had always been and not the monster the Abyss had turned her into.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Avathene said, entering and bowing. The others followed suit. “I trust that we have not kept you waiting for long.”
Unlike Rieren, the Clanmistress of the Stannerig and the Ordorian clan was dressed appropriately. Golden robes patterned like the scales of a serpent, pins that resembled fangs holding her raiment together, and artful pieces of jewellery like ruby earrings looking like glinting drops of blood and a reflective pearl necklace made Avathene look stately and regal.
Her apparent ostentatiousness did well to hide any symptom of weakness she might have displayed. Rieren often wondered how long the Clanmistress had to rest before meetings such as these. That her failed advancement to Ascendant realm hadn’t killed her was an incredible blessing in and of itself.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As befit the Empress that Kalvia was attempting to be, she smiled graciously. Maybe it helped that she looked favourably upon the Clanmistress. For good reason too. Avathene had been a great help to both Rieren and Kalvia since they had both arrived here.
“You have, Clanmistress,” Kalvia said. “But I shan’t mind since it’s you.”
Ever the flirtatious one. Rieren supposed she might have felt envious since normally, she was the one receiving such statements. But such feelings were… remote. A lifetime of loss tended to burn away hope.
Avathene didn’t mind, smiling at the flattery. “It appears the last of us are yet to arrive. I will admit I gave them due notice so their lateness is…”
Her words faded as the others chose that moment to join the meeting. Footsteps resounded, the clank of metal greaves preceding the appearance of a pair of guards, who announced the arrivals of the dignitaries from the Ordorian clan who had been invited.
Seven men and women followed in the guards’ heels. They bowed quickly and shortly to Kalvia, before taking their place at the other end of the pavilion. Stern-faced but shrewd, and a little stressed if Rieren judged them right, they nevertheless appeared as ready as Avathene.
As Kalvia began exchanging formalities with each of the dignitaries, the Clanmistress joined next to Rieren.
“And the last contingent…” Avathene looked hopefully at the pavilion’s opening.
They looked for a while, and thankfully, by the time silence had descended upon them gain, the last members of this meeting finally made themselves known. The dissidents who had opposed the union of the two Archnoble clans through marriage marched into the neutral field.
“They do not look happy,” Gorint Malloh said. His fingers flexed like he missed his flask and would have liked nothing better than to take a swig of his drink.
“Well, we are not here to make anyone happy,” Kalvia said. “Well, except perhaps myself.” They all stared at her. “What, it’s a joke. A joke. I can forgive the others, but Rieren, do you really think I’m that narcissistic?”
Rieren pointed at Kalvia. “Well, you did step up and claim to be the Empress of all the Elderlands, essentially coercing the entire region of the Shatterlands to comply with your orders and swear fealty to you. I should think that requires a good deal of narcissism.”
Kalvia was unamused. “You know what I mean.”
Rieren grinned. She was spared the need to reply when the dissidents finally reached the tent. Half a dozen of them had chosen to attend. Even that was stretching the tent’s limits a bit, but they’d manage. Rieren would just have to stick closer to Kalvia, which she was sure the other woman didn’t mind in the least.
“We can finally begin,” Kalvia said when the last of the formalities were complete. Her voice brooked no complaint that she was going to be the one taking charge of this meeting. “First of all, any objections as to your current Empress?”
No one raised objections. They’d seen enough proof yesterday.
Besides, Kalvia had enough support already that going against her wouldn’t go well for anyone. Not openly, at least. Rieren harboured suspicions that there were at least some in this little gathering who would secretly wish to betray her to the imperial court.
For she was certain that Kalvia was going against the wishes of those who had secretly supported her at court. The time wasn’t right for her rise just yet, or so they likely thought. Kalvia was acting too soon. With the Forborne Emperor’s seat still quite secure, she would have to take the throne of the Elderlands the hard way, making her supporters’ jobs much harder.
“I sense no objections, Your Majesty,” Avathene said.
Kalvia nodded as though it was only right there were none. She had her own suspicions of course, but her role as Empress forbade her from showing anything other than absolute surety about her surroundings. “Then the next order of business is my order of business, yes?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. We have all sworn fealty to you and your bid to claim the Elderlands’ throne. How do you intend to proceed?”
Rieren hid her smile. They were adhering well to the script, though Avathene was smart enough to act natural. Rieren only wished Kalvia was a little less… rigid about it.
The future Empress closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the resoluteness in them had only risen. “As you all know, I intend to become the Empress recognized by everyone in the Elderlands. To do so, I must sit on the throne in the imperial court. However, said throne is currently occupied. We can’t have that.”
“Are you proposing we…” One of the Ordorian Elders swallowed. “Go to war against the imperial court?”
“It’s already happening. You don’t need to act like it’s an unprecedented thing. The Arteroth have succeeded in galvanizing most of the north and even some of the west in seceding from the Elderlands. The imperial court has refused to accept their belligerence, so there is now open hostility between several powerful clans and Sects.”
“In other words, you wish for us to join forces with the northerners.” Oromin said. “Together, we might be able to pose an actual threat to the imperial court where we might have a greater difficulty doing so by ourselves.”
“Correct. Things haven’t deteriorated to the point where it’s an outright war, of course. There are even outreach attempts from both parties to come to some amenable conclusion that doesn’t require their clan members from killing each other.”
“That’s concerning,” a woman said. One of the dissidents. “Are there actual hostilities or not? We can’t simply march up to the imperial court with our weapons bared only for those we were to count on as allies to join with our very enemies.”
Kalvia shook her head. “I never said it would. The outreach attempts are little more than a formality. What’s truly occurring is that both sides are gathering their proper strength, laying their groundwork for a proper campaign. Things have changed. With the introduction of the system, conflicts are no longer going to simply be fought between cultivators.”
Rieren nodded. That was true enough. In times gone by, wars between factions often consisted of their cultivators battling against each other. Usually, their regular conscripts and guards were left behind as a final stand in case things turned desperate.
Now, however, those regular guards could just be as strong as—if not stronger—than some clan cultivators thanks to the system.
Of course, they needed the space and time to grow their classes and skills. Most clans and Sects weren’t likely to give them the opportunities needed to become truly powerful. However, those intelligent enough to recognize the truth might just do so.
In fact, the Arteroth clan had done so already, as far as Rieren knew. One of the chief reasons behind their comparative success in the apocalypse was their ability to rally their people. They’d been able to make their regular citizens make proper use of the system they now had access to. In other words, the Arteroth’s true fighting force had easily quadrupled in size.
Of course, it was possible the imperial court had done something similar. Rieren doubted it. They simply didn’t have the same willingness to change like their opponents.
The Arteroth had transformed their system of progression through social hierarchy. Where before the true heights had been withheld for those favoured by the clan’s leadership and any powerful cultivators rising through the ranks, the path to the peak had been opened considerably.
Warriors, regardless of birth or social status, could claim great wealth and title if they proved themselves in battle. Such a meritorious system had summoned a great number of people who were willing to lay down their lives in an effort to secure themselves better fortune.
Which was what Kalvia had proceeded to explain to all who were present.
“Essentially,” she said, looking at them all in turn. “The Arteroth know how to win. They won’t be satisfied with any meagre compromise.”
Most looked anywhere between troubled to convinced, though a few skeptical looks yet remained. One of them, an older man, stepped forward.
“That is all still conjecture, isn’t it?” he said. “How can we be sure that they will attack?”
In Rieren’s opinion, the crooked smile that crept onto Kalvia’s face was all the proof they needed. Instead of answering, the future Empress looked to the pavilion’s opening. Her pointed glance made them all turn around as well.
Where Astern, the Empress’s retainer, had appeared, with an Avatar in tow.
“There,” Kalvia said. “That is how we are going to make them start a war.”