High Chancellor Edmund strolled through the stone hallways of Griffon Keep, his ornate robes of office trailing behind him. Or at least, that’s what the soldiers on guard saw as he swept past with a nod and a smile. The Being that wore the High Chancellor’s face noted their confused expressions and mentally adjusted his profile of the man.
Guards confused by acknowledgment. Likely avoids interacting with the castle staff.
It was a simple mistake, and hardly an issue for him at this stage of the infiltration, but the oversight still annoyed him. He had been so meticulous when preparing his schemes back in the day, but he had grown progressively sloppier in recent centuries. Probably from the boredom that comes from thousands of years with no actual excitement to speak of. The last big war had been during the expansion of the Emrinthian Empire, but that had been a purely mortal affair, with the other gods refusing to get involved. He stifled a sigh as he stopped outside his target’s door. Oh, how he missed the glorious wars of old. Now, they used to get his heart racing.
Still, if he succeeded tonight, he might once more enjoy the spectacle of the gods rending the earth as they beat each other senseless. He smiled at the thought as he knocked at the door of the Calandorian King.
“Enter.”
The Being swept into the room with a low bow, perfectly mimicking the movements of the bureaucrat he had studied these last few months. Some might call it stalking, and insist such actions were beneath a god, but sometimes even gods needed to display a degree of delicacy when handling matters. Some of his peers could afford to take a leaf from his book, to be honest, particularly Val’Pyria. As much as he enjoyed their brief spells together, The Goddess of Fire had a lamentable tendency to blow shit up first and ask questions later.
“Edmund?” the king asked, interrupting the Being’s musings. “What brings you to my chambers so late? Or unannounced, for that matter?”
The Being cast an appraising eye over the room. It was unexpectedly spartan for a king’s chambers; a large bed against the far wall, two high-backed chairs by the fireplace, and an empty dog bed in the corner. He noted with faint amusement that the dog bed sported more adornment than the king’s actual bed. More interesting than the furnishings, though, was the map laid out on a broad table in the room’s centre.
It was covered in carved figurines painted in the heraldic colours of various noble houses, and to the eye of one well versed in intrigue, the distribution told a story. One of a political power struggle about to turn very, very violent.
The Being resisted the urge to grin. Whilst it wasn’t his reason to be there, he never could resist stirring the pot when the opportunity presented itself.
“I come to offer council on handling the dissidents, my liege,” he said, gliding towards the table.
The king scowled and turned back to the map, experimentally shuffling armies about, hunting for opportunities and problems to be.
“You have already offered your ‘council’, Edmund. Assassinating the patriarch of the Politis faction would fracture our country. Such a brazen move would turn the neutral families against me and multiply the forces arrayed against the crown. You would cut off the head of the snake and replace it with a dozen more.”
The Being sighed, resisting the urge to ‘tut tut’ the king. The boy was intelligent, but young and stubborn. He lacked experience, and it was a constant grumble among the parasites at court that no one could dissuade him from a notion once he had decided on it. Except the queen, of course.
“If I may, sire, where is the queen?” the Being asked. The king didn’t look up from the table as he replied.
“Took Brutus for a walk. Get some fresh air.”
Ah!
“Another argument, sire?” the Being asked in his best snivelling tone.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Edmund, but yes. You know how she is. Stubborn as a mule.”
“You’re like apples and oranges, my liege,” the Being replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. The king glanced sharply at him, but the hard gaze quickly softened into a smirk.
“You are right, of course. I’m sure I didn’t help matters,” the king said, screwing up his face as the feelings of remorse and foolishness set it.
“What was the argument about?”
“Your suggestion, incidentally. The queen thinks it has merit, despite its risks.”
That could be useful…
The conversation was interrupted as the chamber door opened. As the men turned to look, the queen strode in with the biggest mastiff the Being had ever seen panting amicably by her side. The walk had evidently not settled her mood; there were storm clouds in her face.
Noticing, the king hurried over, quickly ruffled the dog’s ears, and planted two kisses on his queen, one on her lips, the other on the small bulge of her belly.
“Hello my love! How was your walk? I’m sorry we fought. I know I can be stubborn, but that’s no excuse,” he said, holding his hands up in supplication.
Observing in silence, the Being suppressed a chuckle. Despite the king’s renown as a fearless leader on and off the battlefield, he was no match for his formidable wife. Especially since they found out she was with child. But neither was she a match for his charms. A broad smile grew across her face as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back. When they broke apart, she looked at the Being and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m guessing you had something to do with this, Edmund? It usually takes him far longer to realise he’s wrong.”
The Being smiled and shook his head as the king protested.
“I never said I was wrong!”
“But you are wrong, love,” the queen replied, tweaking his nose. “What were you boys talking about?”
“My proposal to deal with the dissidents, my queen,” The Being said, addressing her before turning his attention back to the king. “A dozen snakes with no unity presents opportunities in and of itself, Your Highness. We could rid ourselves of both our current adversaries and the neutral families. Let those loyal to the throne fill the vacuum when the dust settles. Reward your most effective nobles with the lands and riches you seize from the traitors. Those who are loyal now will adore you and compete in ever grander gestures for your favour, while the throne will be secure until the reign of your great-great-grandchildren.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The king froze, turning narrowed eyes on the Being, his eyes scanning up and down his body.
“And how would you suggest we do that, High Chancellor?”
The Being noted the king’s tone turn from dismissive to… wary?
But of what?
“Oh, it is actually quite easy,” the Being said, forging ahead despite his misgivings, “a few words in the right ears and the opposing family heads will be too busy outmanoeuvring their own allies to effectively fight our forces. We will utterly crush them.”
He moved a few of what he assumed were opposing armies around the map to illustrate his point, finishing with a warm smile. It was the same smile he had seen the Chancellor give the king a thousand times before in court, and he would bet freely on the man being as much a grovelling crony in private.
His surety made him all the more disappointed when the monarch drew the sword fastened to his hip, placing his free hand protectively in front of the queen. The queen herself, rather than showing fear or retreating, grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled it around to face the Being. She looked less a scared young girl and more a beast handler on the battlefield. They made for an intimidating pair.
Bollocks.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness, what gave me away?”
“I appointed Edmund as my High Chancellor because he is the quintessential administrator. Hard working, thorough, and completely devoid of creativity. He lacks the capacity for political intrigue or manoeuvring, which ensured I never had to worry about his betrayal,” the king said as he rounded the table. “Also, he has a rather severe tremor in his left hand.”
The Being looked down at his own perfectly steady hand and scowled. The sleeves on the chancellor’s robes were long and wide and completely obscured the wearer’s hands in public. He should have spent more time watching him in private.
Sloppy, once again.
With a weary sigh, he flopped down onto a chair. “It’s a shame. I was growing a little excited at the prospect,” he said, waving a hand in the vague direction of the table. “It’s been so long since I was involved in a civil war. They always make for such fascinating little diversions.”
“Who are you and who sent you to kill us?” the king demanded, doing his best to look menacing while brandishing his sword in The Being’s face. Indeed, it may have been effective if he wasn’t trying to intimidate a god. The Being had to acknowledge his bravery, though. He had drawn and interrogated instead of calling his guards.
Brave, but foolish. He was unlikely to last long as a ruler.
“I have been called many things over the ages, few of them flattering. But I believe your great-grandfather called me Barbarus. That name will suffice for you, I think. And relax a little. I’m not going to kill you.”
The king lowered the sword but didn’t sheathe it.
“You’re the demigod who helped my ancestor during the Aderathian invasion?”
Nice to know someone remembers me fondly. But…
“God. Not demigod,” Barbarus replied sharply. “There’s more of us out there than just the Six,” he finished, muttering ‘self-righteous arseholes’ under his breath. The Six had always been arrogant pricks, but since their cult became the dominant religion across the Continent, most of them were downright unbearable.
“Blasphemy!” the king spat, bringing his sword up once more. “You dare insult the gods?”
Barbarus shot to his feet with a growl, seizing the blade in his hand. He allowed the king a moment to register the movement, before he snapped the steel like a twig. A small voice in the back of his head told him he needed to stop letting comments about the Six get to him. He told the small voice to fuck off.
“It is never smart to point a sword at a god,” he snarled.
The king stepped back, setting himself between Barbarus and the queen despite the fear in his eyes as he stared at his broken blade.
“So I see,” he said, reluctantly dropping what remained of his weapon. “But if you’re not here to kill us, then why are you here? And what of Edmund? Is he…?”
“Dead? No, I try to avoid drawing too much attention, and killing the Calandorian High Chancellor would be difficult to hide. No, he’s just wrist deep in a brothel down in the port district for the next couple of hours.”
“I think you mean knee deep.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The expression is knee deep, not wrist deep.”
“You ever been to a brothel, Highness?”
“I- No.”
“Then I suppose I can excuse your ignorance. Still, if you correct me again, I’ll slap you into next week. Do you understand?”
“Right. Sorry.”
“There’s a good boy,” Barbarus said, letting his hard expression ease slightly, “but down to the business of why I’m here,” he said, gesturing for the king to sit.
Instead, the monarch guided his wife to the seat and stood beside her, the dog’s collar now in his hand. As the queen settled in, Barbarus steepled his fingers and leant forward in his chair. Though the king remained tense and rigid, Barbarus noted a subtle change in the queen’s posture, the sudden shift in Barbarus’ body language piquing her interest.
“An archaeological dig in Marduk has unearthed something exceedingly important. Shortly, your court will receive a formal request from the mages there to provide an escort to the Six Cities. I want you to send a marine company with them.”
The king snorted, then tried to cover it with a cough as his gaze fell, again, on the ruined sword.
“I’m sorry, but a marine company is no small thing. Especially given I have a civil war brewing as we speak.”
“Yes, yes, one Calandorian marine is worth ten Aderathians and all that, but consider these two things: one, a god does not lightly ask a favour, nor does he do so without good reason,” he said, checking off a finger as he spoke. “And two, and more to the point if I’m being honest, if you decline the offer I will come back, wearing literally any face I want, remove your intestines with my bare hands, put the chancellor in charge, and then make him send the company.”
The king muttered something to the monstrous hound, and it snarled, its muzzle crinkling to expose giant, gleaming teeth. Barbarus scowled at it, resisting the urge to snarl back. Fortunately, the queen had better sense than her husband, placing a soothing hand on her husband’s arm and coaxing the dog to relax.
“I guess we cannot say no then, can we?”
“Not really,” Barbarus replied with a cruel smile. “Oh! And if I might be so bold, I would like a specific company sent. The one belonging to that promising young man, ah, confound it. What’s his name… Erwell! That’s right. I would like you to send Captain Erwell’s company.”
“Why him?” the queen asked, a barely perceptible quirk of an eyebrow betraying her curiosity.
“I have my reasons.”
The queen regarded him steadily for a few moments, but with no more information forthcoming, she shrugged. “Very well. Can I at least ask what this, item, is?” the queen continued.
“You need not know specifics, though I can say it would be the end of your world were it to fall into the wrong hands.”
If they knew, they’d have it destroyed. Barbarus couldn’t have that.
“Sounds ominous,” the king muttered.
“Oh, very ominous. Few things more ominous to tell the truth.”
“I’ll take your word for it, I suppose.”
He didn’t seem fully convinced, but another quick glance at his shattered sword seemed to dispel any notions of arguing. “We will honour the request, though a company of marines tends to draw attention. This may do your mage friends more harm than good.”
“Ah! Don’t worry about that,” the god said, rummaging around in his robes, “I have secured writs of passage from both the Aderathian Emperor and the Tok Risim Council. Your men will have to deal with any Skjar or Emrinthians, though.”
The king frowned and the queen’s eyes narrowed. Barbarus could see the question plain in their faces.
He sighed. “Unfortunately, the Emrinthians were unimpressed with my impersonation of one of the Sultan’s concubines and the Skjar… well, you know what they’re like.” He handed over the sealed envelopes and stood to leave, but paused when the queen called out to him.
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes, m’lady?”
She wriggled in the seat slightly to become comfortable and rested a hand over her baby bump, letting out a gentle sigh as she did so. It was a classic ‘harmless pregnant lady’ act, but was betrayed by the intensity of her stare and an innocent smile that fell short of her cheekbones.
“Forgive my ignorance, I am only familiar with the doctrine of the Pantheon, but as my husband mentioned earlier, you aided his predecessor, an adherent. Do you still help your faithful in their time of need?”
The manipulation was transparent, but Barbarus had to admire her gumption, if nothing else.
“No, but that was a wonderful performance, miss. Tell you what, I’ll give you this for free; my advice regarding the dissidents is sound, I recommend you take it. Move quickly against the Politis family or you may not get the chance. They are your biggest threat. With them gone, you can deal with the other families when and as you need. I may even return shortly to assist if you desire. Consider it repaying the favour.”
The queen smiled sweetly, and the king nodded, but their eyes were already darting towards the map, weighing options and the god’s advice. Barbarus smiled as he closed the door behind him.
Perhaps they will survive after all.
Or perhaps not.