Chapter 6: The Sorcerer's Loss

The Tripolian Empire practiced many types of slavery. To a personality, to gods, to arms, and of course, to chains. It was a necessary good in their eyes. A defining institution in their economy and society.

A large number of officials were enslaved themselves and even owned some. Some were native to their continent and some were the captured soldiers of the nations they had fought. In their eyes not forcing former enemies into bondage would lead to revolt.

Via the institution of slavery, training them in their thought and breeding fanatical pride in Tripolian tradition, was a better reinforcement than stomping rebellions.

To be owned by the state was a status symbol, to be a literal part of a culture's operations. Afterall, incorporating the tactics and customs of outside people was more Iozian.

A sorcerer remarked that the death blow to the Oligarchy was when the Marian family aided the slave revolt a hundred years ago, and removed slavery from their nation.

Those slaves could have been loyal troops and hands. Now they were useless and the Oligarchy would be forced to concede to the tribes that inhabited them. He saw that attempting to make a foe into oneself was a fruitless effort.

Not that he loathed other cultures, but believed that they shouldn’t mix. They lose the strengths and beauty inherent in them. Like metals. It takes an expert to succeed, much less continually make good yields on human merchandise. No one could do that. Except him.

Ani was this man. He lived in the former Clan Adildaque Fortress, now titled the Tomb Fortress. He looked out towards the window and saw his domain. It wasn’t dead, it was a well trimmed orchard. A fine tuned city. Modest, and tight. Not like the dumb deserts and mountain ranges the Tripol like to settle on. And especially not fat and overflowing like those bastard Oligarchs.

Proud but not narcissistic like so many rulers. Just like his family. Born in the purple yes, but not pampered. To accuse the once thriving clan of the insult showed your lack of understanding. They maintained many estates of the empire and had begun the damoclean process of catching up to the Oligarch’s technology. That was the only thing keeping them afloat, Ani thought.

Each improvement, every new study, and whatever technic discovered threatened to disable the nation. Introduce a heating system to warm homes with the use of coal and pipes? That would drive the mining industries away from focusing on iron. Display a ship design that could survive the freezing seas so they can send diplomats to the vampire counts? They forget about transporting armies, wasting time traveling by land. He had many plans and operations to add to the ancient Tripolian Empire. But the slow and careful effort to do that was something the clan was rightfully proud of.

One invention however, of his own design, had just shown an inkling of success. He walked out to a standing woman. Barely motionless but very lifelike. Her pupils were sharpened rivers creating a ‘S’. Skin, blackened despite being covered in thick garment. The only parts of her exposed was the visor. She couldn’t remove it because her skin would scorch in the slightest sunlight. And she held no revolt. No breath. No throat.

“I wonder what her name was. Maybe… Itakkias? No. I don’t remember where I got her from.” Neither did she. The process of making a Snake Skin was lengthy but produced a perfect slave. Either sold to the Tripol from a third party, captured via the confiscating of documents, or killed. Then in a process dealt with by exclusive priests, would drain the person of any other persona beside listening to orders. No matter the command, the Snake Skin will complete it.

And during the creation process, it made a Soul Gem. Soul Gems was something he was researching before the Clan died. Ani was confused that souls could not only be contained but used to make tiny wonders.

Not like fire being cast from the hand, that's impossible.

Rocks floating, tremors in the ground, and sending a message through crystal. Oddities.

Despite these unknowns, Snake Skins grew quite popular among the nobility. Quite similar to a vampiric thrall, but with easier use and with no violent outbursts. Ani was pleased with this one.

“Ah, my snakeskin. You do not need to be the most brutal of warriors. Only the most durable.” A rusted scratch spoke. The door to his lounge opened, and two assassins entered.

“Master Ani. We have replenished our forces. May we discuss our plans?”

“Ah. Understood. What clan are we working with?”

“Clan Galabag.” The assassin groaned out the name.

“Ah. Well, we weren’t going to win this war by using the sharpest tools. Just the ones that won’t break.” Flanked by his guards, he walked to the war room.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

His body, contained in armor, was uneven. His foot is a few inches bigger, the arm shorter, maybe his mouth would be a dramatic frown or solemn. It shifted on mood and need.

Ever since Ani’s hair rotted off his scalp, he wore and constantly designed red copper chainmail to replace his once gorgeous hair. A well made mimic.

“I’ve been working on some stories to tell the emperor. Mind if I tested some out with you?”

“Yes Master.” The two bent their necks forward and turned their ears to Ani. The Snake Skin didn’t.

“What’s the difference between a man, and dough?” Ani proposed.

“Clever. Is it that one is tasty?” The elder rogue spoke.

“No, but that is… interesting.” Ani always carried a journal with him. To write down every new place or person. And he particularly enjoyed comedic stories.

“The difference is one screams in the oven.” The middle aged assassin heaved and cried in laughter. The older one had a chuckle.

“Now that is something to be proud of Master. Haha! Men can shatter one’s breath easily. But fewer can do it with words.” The assassin stroked his beard, they were in a casual setting when with Ani.

“That is the difference between us and those Galabag idiots.”

“Treasonous thoughts, eh master?” The elder joked.

“Ah, yes. But don’t mistake my hate for them as anything less than love for the empire. They act all serious. Holding their daggers tight when in the company of friends. Like that they have to prove something.” Squeezing his gauntlet hand into a hardened ingot, he hissed a deep rust.

“Understood. Your comfort is a blessing to us Assassins.” The elder brushed his trimmed mustache. He had seen bloody plots. The time he spent in the fortress was the closest chance for rest, the assassin thought.

“I try to be. Too many clans butcher themselves before they even form battlelines. I do hope the new facilities have improved your effectiveness.”

“Yes. I never knew the body could fit in such spaces.”

“And while the recruits are brash, their agility on foot and paper is growing swiftly.” Ani was pleased. With his new offensive in the planning phase, he would need his assassins to be in top strength. Afterall, killing multiple Oligarchs in quick succession wasn’t an enviable job.

“Good. For every drop of sweat in training is a drop of blood saved in battle.”

Crashing into the war room, the discussion stopped and gasps took place. Ani took to scanning the room for notable forces or patriarchs. There was Runtaii, the son of the head patriarch. A few uncles of white skin. Fat but listened well. Tall and defined men from the Hahran side of the family. Darker and with branches for hair. For every ounce of muscle there was a pound of outdated tactics. Only one woman in the room, Galataii. Fifty years of age and still fighting. Wearing the clothes of custom, not exposing any hair or lips. A neutral party.

Ani was of older age, but not quite as lucky when it came to survival. He still lived, but struggled with the plague that ended his clan.

“So, brick of iron. Is there anything you want to add?” Runtaii was good at asking questions. Ani enjoyed that in person.

“Yes. You realize this is my plan, correct?” Runtaii nodded, and gestured to the Hahrans. Ani coughed a snicker past his steel helmet.

“Ah. So you let the primitives touch my plan.” He and his assassin laughed at his insult. Runtaii and Galataii closed their eyes, as the men confronted him.

“We might not have the finest metals, but we have the stomachs of fighters.”

“And your stomachs will be paraded along the battlefield if you don’t let me educate you.” He lay his hand on the map. It was the northern region of the Oligarchy, rocky and hill filled. As he guessed, the Hahrans constructed a ‘Oxen Horns’ strategy.”

“No, that won’t work. Your troops are best employed as skirmishers.”

“So your snake skins will beat the battalion instead?” The largest Harhan postured.

“Listen you fool. A distraction then an encirclement might work. If it was anyone else than the Oligarchs. They may be predictable, but their cohorts are fast. Not only would they pull out fast, but they would survive your strongest.”

“You seem to love the Oligarchs, sodomite.” The Hahran stood over the face of Ani. He spoke in a contained anger.

“Do you know what your spears would do to an Oligarchy shield?” Striking the side of his body where the Harhan’s liver was, Ani made the man drop to his knees. Stripping the spear from him, he chucked it at a shield on the wall. A dent formed. Nothing else. He turned to the clan.

“We outnumber the Oligarchs four to one. Yet they still stand. You want to know why? Because unlike this primitive here, they are charismatic. They treat people and tools like art. Something to learn from. Your spears won’t work unless you use them in a charming way.” The Hahran continued to gasp for air, laying his fingers at his side.

“Throwing yourselves at them will waste my time.” Ani commanded the room. Runtaii strutted to the armored man.

“So what do you suggest, brick of iron?” Runtaii asked. Finally, a man who wanted to listen.

“Your clans will act as support, peppering their flanks while my cataphracts force them to retreat. The assassins might be able to deal with a few centurions and officers. Snake Skins will terrify their cavalry, if not their riders. And Galataii can hold the center?” He prodded. It was best to allow a Tripolian woman to make her own decisions on life or death. She held a fist to her head, a sign of acceptance.

“Good. Now Runtaii, as we catch the Twenty Seventh legion off guard, your battalion will start to raid the Oligarchy. Make sure you reach Haliovid, make them starve. And only if you see it necessary, Yutai Basin. Don’t stretch yourself too far.” Runtaii nodded, assured by Ani of his abilities. Though a conflict in his mind prompted him to ask something.

“How do you know the legion is going to be there?”

“I have my ways.” Ani pointed to his assassins who smiled, grateful for their service. Runtaii turned his head to his clan. Galataii shot a reassuring glance to him, ending further confusion.

“Understood. I’ll start fielding my men. I’ll let you clean up the plans.” Ani was pleased with the man. He had a genuine serenity. Ani always hated the make believe peace people made up, especially the Iozians.

This false peace between the divine and mortal. The lie that said they were separate and that was good.

Taking his leave, Runtaii went to the stables. He was becoming the man that would see the end of the Oligarchy. Perhaps he himself would deal the deathblow. Too many times he heard that the Tripolian Empire was the ‘old man’ of the western continents.

“I will show them. When I’m the one who raids the Lai Bank!”