The Argument of Empires

by Jacob T. Helvey

  The woman looked to be in better health than her comrade, thin and still possessed of a certain wiry strength. Her form fitting dress was of patterned silk, showing birds nesting in the branches of stylized trees. “What is this?” she demanded as Oranhur stepped forward. Her voice and mannerisms were all Akivian, sharp and emotive.

  She would have been one to instill fear, a focal point to which all eyes were drawn, if she hadn’t been standing a scant five paces from the man behind the table. He was of an average height, with an athletic build that spoke of a life of exercise and careful dietary restriction. His hair was blonde and cut short, revealing the gray that was beginning to advance upward from his temples. It was hard to place an age on his thin, hawkish face. Perhaps a well preserved sixty or world worn forty.

  Honestly, she had expected more from the man she knew must be Emperor Hadan. But what had she expected? He was not a god, just a man. A man who has lived four hundred years, she reminded herself.

  He looked up from the map slowly, carefully, as if it took all his will to draw himself from the lines inked on the wide swathe of vellum, and fixed her with a gaze that turned her bowels to water. His eyes were gray, so gray as to be almost colorless. That gaze commanded her to obey, to throw herself at his feet. This was Emperor Hadan. Not the body, but the eyes… and the mind behind them.

  Kareen found herself falling to her knees and bowing. It was almost a compulsion, as involuntary as breathing, but she made no attempt to stop herself. She saw now what her father had said of the man. He doesn’t demand loyalty, he expects it, and we obey. We were fools even thinking we could challenge him.

  Father was right, she concluded, glancing upwards. We were fools. Hadan didn’t seem to care that she had practically prostrated herself before him. He had already returned to speaking with his two companions.

  Oranhur glanced down at where Kareen knelt and gave an infuriating smile, motioning for her to get up. She rose to her feet and stood straight, trying to retain any dignity she had left. The training her father and mother had drilled into her came back in a blur. Back straight, chest out, hands clasped before you, heels together. None of it seemed to matter to Hadan.

  He simply stood, his posture casual, conversing quietly. Another man—she hadn’t noticed him before—sat on a chair in the corner. He was as old as the other two, heavily bearded and dressed in a fine robe. He looked like he might be asleep. Kareen marveled at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. The Emperor kept strange company indeed.

  “You brought me a beggar, general?” Hadan asked. Even in simple conversation, his voice was hard, commanding. He had a strange way of speaking, almost like Oranhur’s Whitestone accent, but different, archaic. In four hundred years, the dialect he had spoken in his youth would have long since gone extinct. No more tongues left to speak it, except one.

  Kareen bristled at his comment, but held back a retort. She still didn’t know where she stood in this man’s eyes.

  “This is Kareen Stevalen,” Oranhur replied. He gave a short bow and swept a hand towards her.

  Hadan cleared his throat and looked towards the man sitting in the corner. “She is the second child of Thuman Stevalen,” the man replied without the need of a question. So he hadn’t been asleep after all. And, Kareen noted with interest, he was a Curator.

  “Any outstanding issues of note, Tirin?” Hadan asked.

  “The family owes a debt of one-hundred and thirty-eight livres in taxes to his Imperial Majesty.”

  “That’s why I came here, Your Highness,” Kareen interjected. She kept her head low, her eyes downcast even as she held herself tall, just as her mother had taught her. “To deliver my family’s taxes in person.”

  “I see,” Hadan said. “And you were delayed?” The query sounded strange coming from his lips. Kareen imagined any question would. He was a man to command, not to inquire.

  “By the Cutarans, Your Highness. A raiding party attacked us behind the Front and I along with Sir Livran Kirov and several others were captured.”

  “Livran was with you?” Hadan asked. He was trying to suppress his reaction, but Kareen thought she could hear the slightest note of anxiety in his voice. It made what she was about to tell him all the harder.

  “He is dead, Your Highness. Killed at the hands of one of the Cutaran Chieftains.” Her eyes met his for the barest moment. Hadan had the table before him in a white-knuckled grip and looked like he might try to throw the piece of furniture at the slightest provocation.

  “His father was one of my most trusted servants,” Hadan hissed between gritted teeth. “Do you know why I protected the boy? Stopped him from going on expeditions like all the others?”

  Kareen shook her head. Livran had said something about it, a deathbed promise, but she hadn’t heard the specifics.

  “As he lay dying, eaten at by pox, he summoned me. My advisors told me not to go. They said the disease was contagious. That it could kill in days. I didn’t listen to them. He lay in a pool of puss by the end. The only person brave enough to stay by his side was his son.”

  Hadan finally let the table go and coughed, perhaps trying to regain some of his lost composure. “He asked me to take care of the boy, to make sure no harm came to him. I agreed, swore that I would care for him as best as I could. The next morning, his servants found him dead.”

  “Your Highness-” Kareen began.

  “I made an oath on Timon’s deathbed. And that is a terrible thing to break!” He shot a look of ice and fury at her. “How did he die?”

  She could feel tears well up in her eyes at the memory. The look on his face, Tirrak! “He died bravely, killed by a chieftain named Xisa.”

  “THE SAME ONE!” Hadan roared, turning and stalking in a circle around the table, his hands held in shaking fists at his side.

  “You know her, Your Highness?” Kareen put forward, shying back as he rounded the table towards her.

  “Know her? We taught her. Educated her at the finest academies in Akiv.”

  Kareen shook her head, suddenly confused. Educated her? In Akiv? Why would Hadan teach one of his worst enemies? She felt suddenly as if she and the Emperor had two halves of a book, which alone neither could understand, but combined would spell out the truth.

  “You must understand,” said the man in the fine suit of clothes. His voice was weak, thin, but still possessed of an aristocratic timbre. “This was long before the war, when we had first made contact with the Cutarans. Each of the Fanalkiri states had sent ambassadors to Akiv, and the savages wanted representation at court. So they sent their brightest young woman north to learn our language and practices, and to treat with us for better trade agreements.”

  Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place in Kareen’s mind—how Xisa had been able to speak Sasken, how she had known so much of Corrossan culture. Like many great generals, she had learned from the very people she now fought.

  “That doesn’t excuse my foolishness,” Hadan said. “Even back then, I knew that I would conquer this continent one day. I gave my enemy an edge. Handed it to her on a plate.” He shook his head. “Of all the men on Earth, I should be one to think in the long term.”

  “She is building an army,” Kareen muttered in the silence that followed.

  Everyone turned to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oranhur perk up. If she wanted Emperor Hadan ear, she needed a hook, something to draw his attention.

  “She has seven thousand warriors, Your Highness, with more on the way. Xisa wants to use that force to break through the Front and ravage all the lands to Kwell before you can muster a counterattack.” That last part was only speculation. She wasn’t sure of the Cutarans’ plans, but attacking the heart of Corrossan power on the continent seemed plausible enough. Just as she had done with Livran, Xisa would want to strike a quick, killing blow

  The room went quiet save for the soun
ds of the old Curator in the corner, whispering to himself, likely recording the entire conversation for later review and storage.

  The silence was finally broken by the old woman in the patterned dress. “The girl’s story reeks of bullshit!” she growled. The others around the table shuffled uncomfortably, but she continued on as if unaware of her own impropriety. “Now, I have no doubt that she was captured by the Cutarans, or that Kirov died, but I find it hard to believe that the savages have seven thousand warriors bearing down on us. When was the last time they had an army of that size, Oranhur?”

  “A few of the Cutaran chieftains managed to muster a force half that size, near the beginning of the war. But we haven’t fought a force larger than a thousand in the better part of a year. We always assumed they lacked the manpower.”

  “It’s not manpower that holds them back,” Kareen interjected. “They’ve been divided. Every chieftain is like a king unto themselves. They refused to fight as one because of a lack of will, not means.”

  “Until now,” said Oranhur.

  “Xisa is a Delver, and a strong one,” Kareen continued. “She used her abilities to unite the chieftains, is probably still using them as we speak. General, you told me you have four-thousand men here.”

  Oranhur nodded, his expression quizzical. It was only then that Kareen realized she was giving orders to one of Emperor Hadan’s most trusted officers. “We do,” he replied slowly. “There are seventy thousand men along the Front, but we can’t pull them away from their current positions, not without risking a full defensive collapse.” He pointed to a dotted line on the map, stretching in an arc from the city of Kova in the west all the way to just past Kwell. It must have been two hundred miles long. An immense battle line by any definition.

  “Calm yourself, Oranhur. We still haven’t made a decision,” the woman said, turning to Hadan. “Your Highness, you can’t take this girl’s word-”

  Hadan held up a hand to silence her. “Did I say I had made a decision, Renna? I will hear this girl out and make my choice when she is done.” He looked to Oranhur. “What can we draw from, General?”

  “The nearby garrisons,” He pointed to two positions along the Front. “Combined with our own army, they would swell our ranks to almost ten thousand.”

  “It won’t be enough,” the older man said. “Every time we have fought the Cutarans, it has been with overwhelming force. If we choose to meet them in the field, it should be with no less than twenty thousand men at our backs.”

  “Why fight them in the field at all, Loen?” the woman named Renna asked. “When we could dig in here. Wait them out.”

  Oranhur shook his head. “It would be too easy for them to bypass our camps. The Front is vast and only lightly patrolled. There’s even a chance they could move their entire army through without anyone being the wiser.” He pointed at the map. “As I see it, we have two options. We pull back to hills south of Kwell and dig in, or move out to fight the Cutarans in the field.”

  “I won’t give ground,” Hadan said. “Not after two years of having the savages on their heels.”

  “But do we take the girl on her word?” Renna demanded again. The woman was nearly hysterical with anger. “A Kilrian? Can we really trust her?”

  “If Xisa is out there, then there is no other option,” Hadan said. “We have a chance to end this war in a single battle. We have to take that chance, no matter the risk. General, call Lord Galtiren, Lord Hars, Lord Ophiran, and Lord Grauss. Tell them to muster their armies and make their way here at best speed. We march within the week.”

  Oranhur smiled. “Yes, Your Highness.” He nearly ran out the door, so sharp was the spring in his step.

  Kareen went to follow. She hadn’t the foggiest idea where she was supposed to go. All she knew was that she wanted a bed and something to eat. The rest would come later.

  “Girl,” Hadan said, before she could exit through the tent flap. That single syllable halted her as surely as rope around her neck. She turned to face him, her heart thudding hard in her chest. “Your debt has yet to be paid.”

  She swallowed. “I had the coin, Your Highness.” She tried to keep the fear from her voice. She had heard about the Emperor’s version of justice before. It was not a forgiving thing, and usually ended at the bottom of a rope. “But it was taken from me when I was captured.”

  “One hundred and eighty livres is not a small amount of silver,” said Hadan, stepping slowly to the other side of the table. “But if what you have told me is true, and Xisa is preparing to strike here, then you may have just paid your debt—paid it several times over, in fact.”

  She let out a sigh of relief, as a weight lifted off her chest. Her family was free for another year and she would be able to return home. She opened her mouth to thank him, but stopped. The way Hadan stood, almost predatory, signaled that he wasn’t finished with her yet. “But until I see this army with my own eyes, until I destroy it, you will stay by my side. You know Xisa better than anyone on this continent. I need someone who knows how she thinks, how she works.”

  “Your Highness…” Kareen stammered. Among all the possibilities that she had imagined, all of the ways she thought this meeting with the Emperor might pan out, this was the furthest from her mind. An advisory role in Hadan’s retinue…

  “Until the time that Xisa is defeated, you are still in debt to the Empire. But do your job well, and this year’s taxes will be waived. And… perhaps I will even loosen the sanctions on your family.” And it’s not like you can refuse, his tone seemed to imply.

  Kareen nodded her head. By doing this, by following Hadan into battle against Xisa, she could give her family a better life, a new start, a chance to rebuild what had been lost. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “Go talk to one of the servants outside. They will handle your room and board.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and turned back to his map.

  “Your Highness?” Kareen blurted out before she could stop herself. She had to get this off her chest, this thought that had haunted her since they first spoke. He gave her a sidelong look. “Livran died bravely. Don’t doubt that. He would have made his father proud.”

  Hadan nodded slowly. “I would’ve expect nothing less from the son of a hero.”

  Kareen felt her heart rise in her chest. She gave a last bow and exited through the tent flap before the Emperor could see the tears welling in her eyes.

  Twenty-One:

  Grith

  Five days out of Ytem, and Grith’s hair still itched where the dye had been applied to the roots. It didn’t help that his hair had been braided into a thick tail that felt as if it would rip from his scalp every time he twisted his head. He wouldn’t be surprised if, when he undid the knot that held it in place, half his hair came with it. But while the arrangement of knots might have been uncomfortable, he had to admit, it was convincing.

  He tilted his head forward and let the braid fall in front of his eyes, swinging his head so that it played back and forth across his vision. It was deep red, just like Jionis’. She still insisted the look wasn’t convincing enough, but it had yet to cause them trouble at any of the inns along the road, even with the natives.

  Grith was supposed to be playing the part of a simple servant, but the brightly colored tunic and knee length trousers he wore clashed with his idea of what a servant should be. They were supposed to wear subdued, demure attire, something that made sure that attention fell on everything but them. His clothing couldn’t have been more different from that Corrossan ideal.

  Jionis wore similar colors on a short cotton dress. She played the part of Tain’s translator, a far more prestigious position in his household than a simple servant. While Grith was left riding a pony and leading the pair of pack horses which carried their supplies, Jionis got the use of a strong brindled mare. Grith didn’t mind. Until they had left Ytem, he had never even been in a sadd
le. There had never been a point in learning when your world was all mangroves and water. A pony, smaller and far less intimidating, seemed like a good place to start.

  Tain rode ahead of the group. His tailored suit, all in solid colors, stood in stark contrast to Grith and Jionis’ clothing. He had styled himself as Sir Trim Caleux of Carnvel, one of the Empires most northerly provinces. Trading out his saber for a gentlemanly longsword, and riding a great warhorse that towered over Grith’s pony, he truly looked the part of the enterprising nobleman, come to Fanalkir to make his fortune in exotic fruits or the ivory trade.

  The road on which they traveled was well patrolled by the soldiers of a dozen minor nobles and knights, many of whom had bought up the farms and plantations along the northern coast. It was warm here, almost uncomfortably so, allowing lemons, limes, bananas, and a half-dozen other rare fruits to grow large with only minimal tending. Grith looked to the north. If he stood up in his stirrups—something he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable doing—he could just make out the ocean, glittering in the afternoon sun. This land was beautiful in a rugged sort of way. He could almost see why the Emperor and his lords had fought so hard to take it. Almost…

  “How much longer?” Tain called back to Jionis. He slowed pace, letting his black stallion fall into formation with the others.

  Jionis looked around, her eyes carefully analyzing the terrain. As a Curator, she would only have had to travel this road once to know their exact location along its length. “Another three hours. We have made better time than I would have expected.” She grimaced and leaned back in her saddle, rubbing at her thighs to try to work out some of the aches. Even with the help of Deepening, Grith was beginning to feel the same pains. Why couldn’t they have just walked?