Solution rolled her eyes. “The nerve of those brats.” She muttered. Then thought more pleasantly, ‘The nerve of those brats. Asking ‘me’ to teach them?’ She huffed, “Why would I waste my time on that? Maybe it would be fun… but no, I’ll shove that onto my student when she gets back. Maybe it would be useful to see what she can turn them into. Teaching may be a better test for her than this anyway.” Solution was thinking out loud alone in her office, having just dispatched Diana and Sado… after one more training session left him bruised all to hell.
‘At least he is improving, as humans go, he’s not half bad really. At least he’ll be useful to my student, she seems to have a knack for picking up useful objects that others have discarded.’ Solution pondered that with bemusement first, then narrowed her beautiful blue eyes and thought it over more seriously.
‘Is this a blessing of the faith? Did our divine lord foresee all of this? It has been a while now since I have gone home… perhaps… perhaps I should go…’ She savored the thought and then dismissed it immediately. There was no need for her to go back, she knew that much. If she were needed or desired presently, she would have been summoned.
Her mind went back to the twins. ‘Their plea to learn… once we have an established administration… yes, the Demon of the West might have been on to something when it came to training children. A long term project perhaps, but then… we must think long term.’ Her inhuman smile spread out over her face, and as she pondered the utility of fanatical, relentless assassins modeled after some combination of the Raymond’s Black, her own skills, and the training of the death worshippers. It was such a beautiful thought that all she could do for several minutes was smile and savor the dreams of years ahead.
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Prince Rasgen sat among his ministers in their private chambers. “It seems that before his death Minister Ulmin at least managed to solve most of the pending financial crisis our new Duchessa inadvertently created. The coins we received for her noble title were melted down accordingly and are in the process of being turned into our own currency. This does leave something of a windfall for us.”
General Leaman watched his Prince speak, and held back his sigh of relief. ‘He’s mourning still, but he’s throwing himself into his work, so that is good enough. At least the western gash has gone into Tlalmok lands, I doubt I’ll have to worry about her troubling me again.’
“General Leaman?” Prince Rasgen said gently, and the old fat general blinked several times.
“Oh, ah, yes my Prince?” He said sheepishly.
“Are you well? You seem distracted.” Rasgen’s voice was genuine, his eyes deep with concern.
“Oh, no I’m fine, My Prince. Nothing but a poor night’s sleep, with all that has happened lately… sleep stays far away for far too long. I don’t recover like I used to.” General Leaman gave a self deprecating smile to the boy he helped to raise.
The Prince responded with a somber bowing of his head from where he sat leaning back in his chair. “I know… I know. Speaking of, do we have any new information about the murder of Ulmin and his family?”
Minister Barsam shook his head in the negative, his boney, skeletal face was as gaunt as if he’d been starving himself while investigating, when in fact it was just how he always looked. His braided beard swayed wildly, “Nothing that would clear the Contessa. Nobody saw anything, there is no evidence of forced entry, there is no evidence of magic usage, no residual mana. I would say it was like a ghost killed them, but ghosts leave traces. Sire, either the Contessa did this, or there is an assassin of uncommon skill in someone’s employ.”
“And nobody had reason to want him dead except…” Leaman interjected, and looked away.
“I didn’t do it, nor did I have anyone do it.” Rasgen repeated sharply with a glare to the table.
“Back on topic, the coin problem is basically done, but that leaves us with a new problem. The other cities’ responses to my request to allow us to buy Komestran land from them to sell to the new Duchessa.” Prince Rasgen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“All of them refused except for Kai’sen, but they did all wonder where we were going to get the money for that, and we’re now loaded down with official greetings and requests to discuss what to do next year.” Prince Rasgen let that sink in, around the table, his ministers shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“Right, the sacred city’s declaration about Komestra was going to solve the slave problem for a long time, but…” He put his hands up on the table and waited.
The Minister of Faith spoke up, a quiet man, he rarely had much to say about much. Prince Rasgen rarely even recalled what the man looked like, since he was always clad in the white cloth that hid his face. Like a ghost, he was never there until he was. “Sire, the temple's position on this is clear. The Questioners attempted to gain permission to question her people, and Malefacorum was practically threatened with torture if they tried.”
“I know, but I also know it was not her, but Kaiji speaking on her behalf, while…” he raised a finger sharply, “the Duchessa is on a mission you decreed was for her alone. A mission that might as well have been a death sentence. While I understand your feelings Malefin, a purple tag is normally the same as the person themselves, these are rare circumstances. If she comes back, I refuse to punish her or her slaves for trying to protect her property. She’s a foreigner, she knows nothing of the stars. Her slave is supposed to answer as she would, what did you think would happen?” Rasgen raised a curious eyebrow, and the Minister of faith fell silent for just a moment.
He then picked up, oblivious to the tiny smile on General Leaman’s face, surrounded as it was by his big, bushy beard. “My Prince, that doesn’t change the fact that by buying so many Komestran slaves, she has disrupted the plans that were meant to keep the other cities free of harvesting for decades.”
The Prince nodded in somber agreement, “I know that, which is why this is concerning to me, the fact that the other cities’ eyes are on us now is not lost on me. I know we had talked about distributing some of this unexpected windfall, but perhaps it is better to set it aside, we may have to fight a new war soon, and I will die before I see Pas’en suffer like Komestra.”
“My Prince, the losses we took against Komestra were worse than most of the cities believe. I question our fitness to fight a full campaign next year if we have to. And that foreign… ah, Duchessa, that has settled here… I doubt her loyalty to you very much.” General Leaman said sharply. “She is a mercenary after all, mercenaries fight for whoever pays them.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Prince Rasgen stared long and hard at General Leaman, “Oh… I wouldn’t worry about it very much. I’m sure that the Duchessa will have no problem at all when it comes to deciding to fight for me and for this city if it comes down to it.”
“My Prince!” General Leaman exclaimed and leaned forward, his heavy gut brushing against the polished table, he held his hands outstretched across the distance he could not bridge from where he sat. “We simply can’t trust her, even if she comes back, and I am sure she won’t, I can’t put faith in that one. Why should she fight for Pas’en?! She doesn’t know every stone of it as we do? She does not know our customs, our faith, she doesn’t know the depth of our history, she’s never shared in the suffering of a levy or a harvest here… so why would she give a damn what happens to this place or its people?! She’s as likely to side with Kai’sen or anyone else as with us! How can you be so sure she’ll be so quick to bring her mercenaries to the field for us?!”
Prince Rasgen waited until General Leaman was breathing hard from his long and desperate exclamation of doubt. When at last there was only silence from the table except for the heavy breathing of the old general, the Prince folded his hands together on the table so that the tips of each finger touched its opposite, leaned forward, and replied with the confidence of a born noble.
“Because, General Leaman, it would bode very, very poorly for the Duchessa Aiwenor to begin her marriage by fighting against her husband.”
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Of all the things to ever be seen in the lands of slaughter, of all the things to be heard in the lands of slaughter, of all the things to be imagined in the lands of slaughter by those who lived there, what they saw and heard was not among them. An elven escort riding tranquilly upon her mount through the long divide, the great crowd of Tlalmok citizens were made silent by the display. Some thought her mad, some thought her mocking, some thought her brave.
None said or thought her singing voice was not compelling.
Through the great wide stone avenues of the vibrant Tlalmok city, past the grand bazaar where Tlalmok merchants sold wares of every kind in such a variety of colors and patterns that Sobella almost forgot her coming doom in the face of envy at the chance to shop there.
The wooden booths had rich carpets laid out where beastmen were able to sit in comfort to haggle with merchants who had small stools on which to rest themselves. Birdmen soared overhead, circling as if in dance to land in orderly fashions on flat roofs, and about their necks, Sobella saw bags that suggested these beastmen were responsible for conveying messages.
Every street was clean enough that for the first time in her life, she felt ashamed of the great city-states. As they made their way through the wider avenues, she saw the golems march in pairs, they bore twin axes and paused to stop traffic at some of the roads, allowing young beastman children to go in safety from one place to the next. The children were painted no less wildly than the adults, with bright blues and greens, more than a few longhaired creatures like bears, wore ribbons or decorations secured to their furs.
‘It’s like Pas’en, everybody wants to stand out.’ Sobella thought with a discomforting recognition that Nua might have been onto something. ‘They block the roads with golems because their children can die. They decorate themselves to be seen, they create with passion like Pasenian artisans…’ The smell of blood touched her nostrils as they made a turn toward the massive pyramids at the center of the city. ‘But… there is that.’ She thought, pondering the smell of blood.
Nua had moved on to another song, one of passionate love between warriors, and still she held the crowd that hungered for the fear of the tribute and the bloody death of the escort, spellbound.
Ahead there stood a great arch with a lattice metal gate in front of it. At either side were large double doors that were already open, and the following crowd filtered within, drums began to echo as Nua’s song began to fade.
Nua and Sobella simply waited behind the pantherman as the crowds entered the open doors at the back left and right, it didn’t take long to see what they were doing. They were filtering in, to where the seats were. Nua dismounted her horse and approached the portcullis, laying a hand on the metal, she determined it to be orichalcum. She squeezed it with her left hand, compressing it into the shape of her fingers and palm.
The pyramids she’d seen from a distance were now much closer, the three points they made all overlooked the arena. Each pyramid, more obviously, was meant to be climbed. Nua felt the eyes of the pantherman on her back. More curious than anything, he watched and waited.
As the crowd filtered in, Nua saw figures ascending long stairs that ran down the middle of the wide stone pyramids, ascending to the flat tops, followed by others who ascended and stopped at lesser ones.
Sensing her curiosity from her interested stares, and feeling indulgent from her pleasant music, the pantherman chose to speak up. “Those, meat, are the other great ones of the city. My subordinates.”
“Why aren’t you with them…?” Nua glanced over her shoulder and listened to the crowd begin to chant.
“Tzinak. Magister of the city of Tezcatli, meat.” The pantherman answered. “I am going to be the one doing the killing.”
“Am I going to be fighting you?” Nua inquired, a hopeful note on the tip of her tongue.
Tzinak laughed, “No, no you get to pick who you fight, from among the guards who help me with the slaughter, meat.”
“Any recommendations?” Nua asked in a voice thick with sarcasm while she watched the massive arena fill from more positions at the other three sides.
“Someone hungry, so that they kill you quickly.” He laughed at his vicious humor, but Nua did not.
“Please don’t make her do this…” Sobella asked urgently from atop the horse where it stood behind the pantherman.
His cat ears pricked around in annoyance. “What, tribute?” He demanded with a snarl after glancing over his shoulder.
“Please… she’s my escort, I’m all alone here… isn’t this enough…?” Sobella all but ordered.
“No.” The pantherman said succinctly and threw back his head to laugh as if he’d made some very fine joke. Sobella fell silent, but glared at him with hatred in her blood red eyes.
Finally, it was only the three of them, the horse, and twenty guards that closed off the exit behind where they stood.
Up above, out of sight among the stonework of the arena, Nua’s elven ears caught the sound of turning wheels and gears, she heard the snap of chains, and the portcullis began to rise until it was well overhead.
On the far side of the arena, another opened in the same fashion, but there, Nua saw what they wanted her… her and Sobella both to see.
Long rows of pathetic people. Humans, orcs, and goblins mostly at a glance, but among them were a few large minotaurs near the back.
All were at least ‘exceptionally’ well fed, but with her sharp eyes, it was obvious that other than the chains that bound them together, the only thing they wore was fear.
Hundreds were marched within, the dread rattling of their chains and their faint crying and pleading were the only noises to disturb the silence of the arena. It was then that Nua noticed something else. ‘The sand… it’s all red. I wonder how many centuries of blood have stained this place…?’
The pantherman began to walk forward, and when he did, Nua returned and took the reins of the horse, and led it with Sobella in after their escort. Behind them, guards followed in a lockstepped march. They were all tigermen, broad of chest, long of limb, and with cold, sharp expressions in their feline eyes.
Their padded feet were noiseless in the red sands of the unpaved arena, but it was impossible to forget they were there.
Tzinak, Nua could tell, was a bit of a performer. The way he held his arms out with his bright painted claws out, the way he spoke and presented to the crowd while the guards behind Nua and Sobella marched slowly until they were at either side of what Nua guessed were some five hundred chained and naked people.
Nua however, focused on Tzinak. “Glory to the god-emperor! He who eats and feasts, who gives to us our daily meat, that we too may taste of the paradise of the beyond! Witness this day as the tribute is redoubled with punishment! First the hundreds who came from the wars among livestock! Now the one plucked from the arms of one of their Princes! This prince of cattle gave up his mate in terror, she goes to the emperor’s table, but he who eats, wills it that you feast with him!” The pantherman whirled about on his feet and planted them in a firm, commanding position. The guards had taken position flawlessly, while the chained people quailed and quivered.
“Guards! By the will of the god-emperor...feed the people!” He shouted, and as one he and the guards charged toward the huddled masses.
Hopeless wails rent the air while Nua and Sobella looked on, the sounds in the town of Silence now had pictures to match. Limbs were torn asunder, faces were shredded by teeth and claws, the minotaurs went down as they were tackled and claws tore into their throats. The bull-like lowing a pathetic thing to hear. The shrieks of pain likened to the drums before, red ran out over the sands while death screams reached out for the mountains as if even the sounds of death longed to escape the place of dying.
But the pair of women bound to witness it, moved not an inch.