Their discussion lasted long into the night, and when the emperor finally closed himself in his room, he still could not fall asleep. Instead, he paced back and forth through the room, only pausing from time to time by the mantel to stoke the dying fire.

Kanēnas had no doubt thought he had brought the emperor good news. And, in a way, Eligon supposed he had. The knowledge he had offered stirred both fear and hope in him.

But Kanēnas had also exposed a flaw in the Empire’s intelligence network - a danger that Eligon hadn’t even been aware existed. Were the Strythani really thinking of abandoning us? And of joining the dwarves?

The thought seemed almost absurd. Though the Strythani lived outside the Empire’s borders on the far shores of the Affīyan sea, they had always borne close ties with the Corsythians. Sometimes an ally, sometimes a protectorate, the relationship between the two peoples varied over the ages, but one fact had always kept them close: the Strythani were a small kingdom of men surrounded by a sea of unfriendly neighbors - including the many fractured lands of the dwarves. The thought of them allying with the dwarves was almost unbelievable.

And yet, if the news Kanēnas had brought was true, that was very nearly what had happened. A new queen had risen to power amongst them, a landholder from the far western reaches of their lands. And unbeknownst to him, she had nursed a grudge against the empire.

From what Kanēnas had gathered, her reasons were ridiculous. When just a child, a tribe of the always hostile Akkannū had raided her family’s hold. Her father and elder brothers had died in the fighting, but their sacrifice had not been in vain. They’d held the Akkannū off long enough for reinforcements to arrive and rescue those who had hidden in the fortress’ keep. And apparently, she’d blamed the Empire.

Eligon snorted. I can’t even oust the invaders from my own blighted capital, and she wanted to blame us for not preventing an attack on the far reaches of civilization itself. Naqmah’s reasons for hating the Empire were absurd, the twisted perspective of a little girl who needed something, anyone to blame for the tragedy that befell her family, but failed to ever grow up and recognize the truth. Ultimately, though, her delusion didn’t matter. What mattered is that his agents had failed to prevent the danger - had failed to even recognize that it existed.

But, he supposed, there was one fragment of good news. Only a few of the Strythani lords had agreed with her and Naqmah’s attempt to ally with the dwarves had been a step too far. She was dead now, a victim of her own need for vengeance.

Eligon came to a stop before the fireplace. His hands rested above the flames, drinking in the welcome warmth that unfortunately failed to reach the chilly corners of the room, but his eyes were fixed on the portrait above the mantel.

An older man with eyes much like his stared back at him. Greying chestnut hair, a long, fulsome beard, a missing hand replaced by the most expensive gauntlet money could buy. There was no kindness in those eyes, no warmth to fill the soul, just the judgmental glare of a father who had always found his son too soft.

Eligon’s lips twisted wryly as he looked away. He could almost hear the angry lecture in his head and yet…this time, he really had screwed up. He’d been so focused on reclaiming the capital, that he’d nearly allowed an ally to slip out of their grasp.

Then, there was the other, more disturbing news Kanēnas had brought.

Eligon decided that could wait till the morrow. The night was half gone already, and he knew the next day would be a long one. With a sigh, he stalked over to the bed and crept inside. The sheets were bitter cold, but, slowly, a cocoon of warmth formed around him and he slipped into slumber.

A few hours later, when Sol peaked his head above the horizon, Eligon was already up. First, he joined the soldiers in their morning exercises. He’d always been a man of the people, but after Vayābī’s betrayal, Eligon realized even more the value of loyalty.

Kanēnas was there as well, the elf flowing through the difficult routine without even a drop of sweat on his brow. Show off.

When the last of his morning torture was done, Eligon followed up with a quick stop at the bathhouse to scrap off the dirt and the grime and perhaps, if he was being completely honest with himself, to spend a few moments luxuriating in the hot, steaming waters. But he didn’t tarry long.

Half an hour later found him in his study, surrounded by a group of diplomats and generals.

“So Qīpūtu, do you have any updates on the situation in Strythani? I hear they have a new queen - Naqmah, is it? I’m sure we sent congratulations.”

Qīpūtu, a rather tall man with a body a bit too thin for his frame and dusky hair that despite his attempts at artful combing was no longer thick enough to hide his scalp, jolted up in surprise. “Uh, yes, my lord. There’s really nothing much to say, my lord. They elected this Naqmah last year, I believe. We sent the usual gift, of course.”

Eligon smiled graciously. “Would it surprise you to know that Naqmah is no longer the ruler?”

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“We have no news of that, my lord,” the man replied nervously.

“But I do. And that’s a problem, don’t you think?”

Qīpūtu was slow to respond. “Well, I…I haven’t heard anything from our agents. From whom have you heard this news?”

Eligon ignored the question. “When was the last time you visited the Strythani, Qīpūtu? Last year? The year before?”

“It’s been, err, 4 or 5 years, my lord.”

“Actually,” Eligon lifted a document from his desk and held it to the man, who accepted it begrudgingly. “I took the liberty of looking it up myself. Nine years, Qīpūtu. Nine years and just two agents on your payroll?”

The man began to tremble. “Nothing ever happens there, my lord,” he protested feebly. “They are just a small kingdom that keeps to themselves.”

“You’re right, Qīpūtu. They are a small kingdom,” Eligon replied coldly. “A small kingdom with warriors who can change into house-sized monstrosities. Did you even know their queen hated us?”

The man gaped up at him, his eyes wide, his mouth open like a brainless goldfish. Eligon felt like smacking the man but suppressed his urge. “Did you know that she tried to ally with the dwarves? The same dwarves that have been threatening our borders with war?”

“No, my lord, I did not,” he admitted. “But, how was I to know, that after decades of inaction-”

“Did you know,” Elision’s voice lowered dangerously, “that there are reports - numerous reports, credible reports - that their Ilrabû, their demigod ancestor, walks among them again? Did you know that I had to learn all of this from an elf, the last group I wanted to be indebted to?” he hissed.

All fight went out of the man, as he hung his head against his chest. “No, my lord. I failed you.”

“Yes, you did,” Eligon agreed. “It’s been nine years since you last visited the Strytahni, Qīpūtu. Nine years, and yet I see you’ve found plenty of time to visit your new manor in Merôm. Curious, that.”

“You’re dismissed from your post, and when the results of our audit are complete, I hope for your sake I haven’t funded the construction of your new home. Take him away, Hams̆a,” he commanded one of the captains.

When Qīpūtu had left the room, he turned his attention to the remaining members of his cabinet. “You will complete audits of all of your staff,” he ordered. “Any diplomats who have not personally visited their assigned courts in the last two years must arrange a trip immediately. Those who have not visited in five years shall be dismissed unless they can provide compelling evidence of competence. And all of their expenses must be examined. Am I clear?” “Yes, my lord,” the nobles quickly assented.

“As for the ambassador to Strythani,” Eligon sighed. “Give me time to consider who to appoint. We need someone we can trust, someone who can mend the bridges that have been ignored for too long.”

With their instructions clear, the remaining diplomats departed, leaving Eligon with the commanders.

“Is it true, my lord,” S̆alas̆īn asked. “Were the Strythani about to turn us on?”

The emperor grimaced. “From what I learned, it seems like only a small portion, those most devoted to this Naqmah woman, were on board. Most of their chiefs resisted the idea. It seems that one of the dwarven princes is some sort of mind reader and warned her about her people’s true feelings. She responded by launching a sneak attack against them. It failed, and she was the one who lost her head. All in all, a very fortunate series of breaks for us.”

“Thanks to Qīpūtu’s corruption we were unaware of the danger she posed, and yet, she is not what I’m worried about.”

“The Ilrabû?” Adāru, a short man with the body of an ox, shifted forward, his voice rife with skepticism. “Surely that’s just a myth.”

S̆alas̆īn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and with obvious reluctance, piped up. “I’m sorry, my lord, but what is an Ilrabû?”

“Not what, but who,” Eligon corrected, feeling bad for the commander who, unlike all the others in the room, had not had the benefit of a noble’s education. “You know the origins of the Corsythians, do you not?”

The commander nodded. “Our ancestors were once humans, the offspring of Sol, descended from the fallen empire of Albwyn who fled north and after centuries of intermarriage with the elves and fey emerged as something new.”

“And the Strythani?” the emperor prodded.

“They also diverged from humans,” The man replied, after a moment’s thought.

Eligon smiled. “That’s certainly the story that our allies to the south tell. But the Strythani tell a different story. They claim that they were the first of us, from whom first humans and then the Corsythians diverged. They also claim that it was not Sol who fathered us, but Ilrabû, the divine prince.”

“The name of this prince has been lost to time, with only the title remaining, but the Strythani worshipped Ilrabû as their divine progenitor. The humans, on the other hand, dismissed him as nothing more than a demigod.”

“But he’s a myth, isn’t he,” Adāru repeated.

Eligon shook his head. “No. I do not know if there is any truth to the rumors of his appearance, but of one thing I am certain - Ilrabû did exist. When I was a child, before we lost the capital, I would often wander through our archives.”

The emperor chuckled. “Back then, I would do anything to get out of the endless hours of sparring my father required. I wasn’t much of a scholar, but sometimes I’d look through the files. There were all sorts of treasures there - letters between S̆ams̆addin and Gemlir, the original prophecies of Nūrilī, the charter of Uttû’s ill-fated final expedition.”

“And amongst those documents, there were also records from Ilrabû. I admit, I was fascinated by them most of them all - the so-called god who lived directly amongst his people. His presence in our records was always spotty. He’d appear and disappear frequently, often hundreds of years apart, but he made quite a few trips to the capital and met in person with many of the earlier emperors. There can be no doubt that Ilrabû was more than a myth.”

“But then, about two thousand years before the Desolyton, he disappeared. Just vanished from the records - and unlike before, he did not return again. From time to time, there were rumors he was sighted, but not definitive and very little that even seemed credible.”

“If he was indeed just a demigod, then perhaps he died. But if he was a god?” Eligon shrugged expressively. “Let’s just say, we can’t ignore that possibility. We need a new ambassador to the Strythani and we need them now.”