Industry & Intrigue

by Ryan McCall

  Niko then waved his hand around to indicate the empty desks and busy officers. “Then there’s all of this. A quarter of my officers have been called up in the reserves and another quarter are begging me to let them sign up at recruiting stations. I’ll have to let them, once the Ministry of Security approves it.

  The rest of us are on city patrol and preparing for home defense. The fact is I don’t have the manpower to start up new drug investigations, even if I had cause. The ringleader skipped town, but we have all of her subordinates and soldiers. As far as the Watch Commander McLeod is concerned the case is over.”

  It had been a slim chance anyway, he didn’t have real evidence to give them. “I see,” he replied. “Thank you for taking the time to hear my concerns anyway captain. I will pray for you and your officers to remain safe throughout this terrible time.” The captain bowed his head in thanks and returned to his office.

  Isaac addressed Snar next, “Officer Bruce, I know what it’s like to lose a mentor figure as you have. If you ever feel the need to come and talk, my doors are open. The ears of Varos will listen to whatever you have to say.”

  Snar nodded. “Thank you cleric. I will confess I do not know as much about the Church of Varos as I would like. I may stop by.” He held out his huge bear-like paw. Isaac touched it tentatively with his own and simply gripped the top part and lightly shook.

  That had been an interesting answer. The agorid was not showing grief in the way the elf had been. But Isaac had no clue what grief would look like on an agorid, or if they could feel it. As he left the station, he pondered on the agorids curiosity about his church. Who knows, if he played his hand right, he could be the first Varonite cleric to convert an agorid.

  Chapter 62

  Dark red wine splashed over King Cyrus’s lips, spilling across his chin and down his chest. Cyrus laughed and wiped it off in Ulas’s direction. He flinched as he felt a drop hit his forehead. He sighed and pulled up a serviette to wipe it off. It was Sossian wine, they produced a strong, dark red that had an annoying habit of staining one’s skin. Ulas had no desire to have a red spot in the middle of his forehead.

  The king had arranged a feast for his family and inner court in celebration of the victories the royal army had won against the Alkon Empire. They were halfway through the meal and Cyrus had reached a sufficiently inebriated state that he could bring up the issue of the war.

  When the telegram had arrived in the throne room, the king had bellowed in triumph and laughed at hearing of the death of the Alkon emperor. Many in the court were also cheering and congratulating the king. Many of them were genuinely pleased no doubt, while others had simply gone along with the revelry. Ulas had remained quiet, a state of shock overcoming him upon hearing the news.

  Cyrus shouted, “The weak Alkons will crumble before us!”

  The king was wrong. This was a nightmare scenario come true. In spite of the king’s proclamations, the Alkons would not ‘crumble’. He had already been concerned about deceiving them diplomatically and launching a sneak attack. But to have their monarch killed in the same attack. The entire populace of Alkos would be burning for vengeance.

  Ulas had looked around the throne room in the aftermath of the news and took note of who was staying quiet and reserved. They were having the same thoughts as him regarding the attack.

  Unlike the king, Ulas sipped his wine in a dignified manner. He only pecked at the roast pork on his plate. He did not have much of an appetite. He was sitting to the left of the king, at the corner of the long table, with the other court nobles along the table with decreasing importance, all the way down to the Harvest-master.

  King Cyrus and Queen Vera were at the head of the table, a suckling pig in front of them. Half of it had been cut away and passed out, the smell of well-done pork invading Ulas’s nose. The queen was than a decade younger than her husband and she was stringent in maintaining her attractive appearance.

  She had her light brown hair in a cone of metal bands and was wearing a beautiful yellow dress. Ulas was amazed it was still clean; the king was a messy eater.

  To the right of the queen and seated opposite to Ulas was their oldest child, Marat, the crown prince. He had eaten a few plates and was sitting back in his luxurious leather covered chair and sipping wine. He had a bored look on his plain face, his curly hair spilled out over his shoulders.

  His sister, Karina, the crown princess sat beside him. She was a delicate girl, thin and willowy with a head of soft brown hair that reached all the way down her back. Her face resembled her mother’s, though she had her father’s eyes. She flinched as the king thumped on the table and shouted for more wine to one of the servants.

  Staiko was the royal couple’s third child, a boy of seventeen. He took after his father in both looks and mannerisms, he was still putting away food and drinking and joking. Unlike the king he had his dark brown hair cut down to only a thin layer over his scalp.

  Ulas imagined Staiko was what the king would have looked like at the same age, without the added weight from a diet of rich food and heavy alcohol consumption. Staiko regularly trained with the Galrian knights and was a capable warrior. The other three royal children weren’t present at this feast, all being under fifteen years of age. After Staiko, sat Cyrus’s younger siblings and their families.

  Ulas heard the sound of the feast hall doors open and looked up. A man rapidly walked down the length of the room. He was in the uniform of the royal telegram office.

  He leaned over and whispered in the ear of one of the royal guards. He was allowed through and approached the king. Cyrus tossed a half-finished chicken breast onto his plate, his hands still slick with grease and he eyed the messenger.

  “What have you there then?” he asked. He sounded drunk, his words beginning to slur slightly.

  “Your Highness,” said the man and knelt down, handing a telegram to the king. Cyrus grabbed it and opened the envelope. His greasy fingers stained the edges of the paper as his eyes scanned the words. When he was done, he thrust the telegram back into the messenger’s hands and stood up.

  “Everyone, listen up!” bellowed Cyrus across the room. The room went silent and all of the diners focused their attention on the king. “I have received an excellent piece of news.” Cyrus paused for a moment before revealing what he had read. “Ze Feros has declared war on Alkos and Tal Feros.”

  The silence was broken as the room erupted into an excited buzz, but Cyrus was able to talk over it. “Ze Feros has launched their fleets, several of which are headed to Prophet’s Isle to seize what the Talfey took from them. Another fleet is heading east to harass the Alkons. Let’s give a cheer to our allies for joining the right side and aiding us in this war.”

  Cyrus held his goblet above his head and gave out an enthusiastic cheer, which most of the room copied, albeit not as loudly as the king.

  “Good news, eh Ulas?” said the king. “Things aren’t looking so good for the mighty Alkon Empire now, are they?” Cyrus toasted his goblet against Ulas’s own, his face lit up with pleasure, both from the wine and the news.

  At least the king had the war on his mind now. Ulas decided to bring up what he had been waiting to discuss since the news of the Rampart attack had arrived. “Yes Your Highness. But I have grace concerns” he said.

  Cyrus looked at him with and gave out a belch. “Oh hells Ulas, you can be such fucking old woman at times. Always with your damn concerns.”

  Ulas repressed a sigh. He wondered what sin he had committed in a past life, to be fostered with a king like this. “Your Highness, as successful as our attacks were, they did damage to only a mere fraction of the Alkon Empire’s total strength. The death of the emperor by our forces, accidental or not, is a far graver crime than the assassination of Envoy-master Rossiv. Nothing like it has ever occurred between civilized nations before. The Alkons will never forgive us.” There he had finally said it to the king’s face. Now to wait for the reaction.

  Cyrus stared at him for
several agonizingly long seconds before starting to chuckle. His chuckle grew louder until he was laughing hard enough to choke. When his laughter finally slowed down, Cyrus took several gulps of wine. “Ulas, you truly are a whining cow aren’t you? I have an idea. Why don’t you head to the border, bend over and pull down your pants and show them your dried up cunt?”

  This set the king off into another bout of laughter and he was joined by both of his sons this time. The queen simply smiled and Gold-master Gregor Dragovic, to Ulas’s left, chuckled. Princess Karina at least had the decency to look down, ashamed of her father’s crude insult.

  “Civilized nations?” continued Cyrus. “Where were the civilized nations when the agorids were at our doorsteps? Civilization is what we tell the people to keep everything together. It’s nothing more than an idea. Whoever is in charge gets to determine the idea. The Alkons have been in charge for a long time and they defined civilization. They expanded and developed faster than the rest of us.”

  Cyrus’s voice was getting louder, everyone in the dining hall would be able to hear him. “Well their time is done! It’s our turn to define civilization. The Alkon emperor is dead and done. Nothing to be done about it now. The Alkons will curse and scream, nothing but the cries of mewling children shitting themselves. They’ve feared us, ever since we united our people and now is the time to show them why they were right to do so!”

  The rest of the room clapped and yelled in support of the king’s speech.

  Ulas slumped back into his chair in defeat. He hoped his face wasn’t flushed red with the embarrassment the king had put him through. He felt several drops of wine splash onto his cheek as Cyrus returned to his meal.

  As he wiped them off, he noticed Marat looking over at him intently. The crown prince didn’t get along with either of his parents, Ulas wondered if he disagreed with the king about this war. He would have to explore it later, when the feast was done.

  No matter what the king said, he knew Cyrus was wrong. The Alkons were not weak or timid. They had forged the greatest empire in the world. The sneak attack would only strengthen their resolve and give them cause to unleash everything they had on Galria. Ulas was no longer certain his nation could survive the reign of King Cyrus even if it survived war with Alkos.

  Chapter 63

  One wouldn’t know from looking that Sethain was a city about to face a siege. Everywhere Zuri could see, folk were going about their everyday business as if there was no war. Even where she could see the imperial soldiers and city militia preparing for the siege; arming the walls, stockpiling supplies and training for battle, they were doing it in a calm and methodical way.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. Sethain was the capital of Araiin province, the last piece of mainland Maceon to join the empire. The region still maintained an independent streak and had cultural influences from Galria and Enz. Araiin was famous for its spicy cuisine, its Galrian-style beer and its fur trading. The city had been the focal of many battles in its history due to its location on a ‘multicultural fault line’ as one historian had labeled it.

  Sethain had stood strong against sieges in the Azure Blade Rebellion, the Southern Conquest and all the way back to Minakayan Invasion of the sixth century. Its people were well-practiced at preparing for sieges; they were simply another part of the city’s history and traditions.

  Zuri was in the central garrison building where the Scepters were currently stationed. She was leaning on the cold, stone barrier of a balcony that overlooked the main road leading to the southern gates. From here she could see over the southern half of the city.

  Beyond that thick, stone walls towered above every other building, casting a shadow on the outer suburbs. Looking up at the walls, Zuri could understand the calmness of the city’s residents in response to the expected siege.

  The walls were an impressive sight. They stood at one hundred and fifty meters and even at their thinnest parts were several meters of solid granite. All along the walls stood defense towers with powerful cannons and sharpshooters in them.

  The top of the walls were large enough to hold entire regiments and half of the Third Army, with its large contingent of Eshal cannons, was in position up there. The Eshal was the most accurate firing field gun made by Typhon Armaments, boasting a two meter length, could fire a up to two kilometers with four kilogram shells that could decimate a diameter of five meters.

  The huge gates in the wall were made from reinforced steel and backed up with an extensive system of giant metal bars. Looking at the defenses, Zuri was ready to believe the Araiinish claim that their capital had never been breached.

  However, the largest concern of the city’s defenders and the army commanders was Galria’s Pale Brotherhood-the secretive and fanatical worshipers of Kralov. There was little known about them. They did not reveal their secrets to outsiders and answered only to the pagan church of their mountain god.

  “What is so fascinating out there?” asked Arnette. Zuri stepped off the balcony and back inside the large room. This was the headquarters for the Scepters and it was being used as a battle planning room. The Scepter Deputy-chief had her hands on the hips of her rainbow colored robes. It was a sign of impatience. Zuri realized she had let herself get distracted again.

  “I’m sorry. This is my first time in Sethain, I was taking it all in. We need to know the city if we want to be able to defend it,” she said.

  “That’s all well and good,” replied Arnette. “But we have plenty of maps of the city with all of the strategic points and troop placements. Being a Scepter means being part of team, we all have to do our duty.”

  Zuri felt shamed. She had been struggling to adjust to her new role in the Scepters; she was used to being far more independent and autonomous. But she wanted to prove to herself and Arnette that she could be one of them. “You’re right of course.”

  She walked over to Arnette and joined her at the nearest table with a map of the city. “Where are we at?”

  “The third army has its artillery concentrated here, here and here,” said Arnette and she pointed to several places along the city walls. “They will be crucial for softening up the Galrian armies and targeting their siege weapons. My primary concern is that the Pale Brothers will target these concentrations with their geomancy and metallic magic. They could wreak havoc on them and give the Galrian siege weapons a chance to breach the gates.

  We’ll be on the walls with the army, but I only have enough defensive mages for two of us to be at each artillery concentration. Our offensive mages will be spread out in order to compliment the fire power from the defense towers while the remaining mages will be stationed at this point,” and again she pointed, “so they can be mobile for wherever they’re needed most.” Arnette folded her arms and looked Zuri in the eyes. “I’ll need you to fulfill an important role.”

  “Whatever you need me for,” she said in a determined tone.

  Arnette nodded in approval. “I’m fortunate to have you. Your unique natural abilities and magical expertise are exactly what is needed for this. As a skylord you’ll be able to move above the walls and the siege with ease. I want you to be our eyes and ears above us.”

  Zuri had thought that this would come up. Skylords in the Alkon military were often employed in scouting and observation roles for their flying capabilities.

  “I need you to find the positions of the Pale Brothers as they reveal themselves with their spell casting,” Arnette explained. “You’ll then relay their positions to me and I’ll coordinate our offensive moves against them.”

  “And my shadomancy will be able to impair the enemies ability to see me while I can use my pyromancy help you take out specific targets,” she replied.

  “Yes, but don’t try to take on targets by yourself. You need to wait and send your fireballs at the same time as our attacks.” Arnette folded her arms and grimaced. “The Pale Brothers are powerful. If you make moves against them alone, there’s a chance they could detect you and hit b
ack. At least if you’re acting in tandem with the rest of us on the ground, they will be hindered in determining your location.”

  Zuri started to counter, “But-”

  “No buts, Scepter Abeliah. As I said, we’re a team and we fight as a team. Follow your orders and you’ll get through this, and help keep the rest of us through it. Working together keeps us strong in a battle and ensures the least chance of casualties.” Arnette’s usage of her official title showed that she was serious.

  “With all due respect deputy-chief but this is war, there are going to be casualties,” she said.

  “I’m well aware of that. This isn’t the first time I’ve been through this,” Arnette replied coldly. “It’s true, the plans we make could come undone. In the heat of battle, nothing is predictable. But having a clear set of orders and a plan at least gives us something follow. Do as you’re ordered and you may come through this alive.”

  Arnette and Chief Shonna were concerned about the Galrian mages, but she thought they were being overly cautious.

  Arnette answered her thoughts before she could voice them, “I know I sound worried, but we have no idea of the battle magic capability of the Pale Brotherhood. I want to make sure you’re prepared for whatever they throw at us.”

  “Fair enough,” replied Zuri, deferring to the veteran battle-mage’s wisdom.

  The doors opened and several more Scepters entered the room. They were each dressed in a different colored robe for their magic specialty. They were the commanders of each of the contingents of Scepters. They took their places at the tables, waiting for Arnette to address them.

  “You defeated Feyton which is impressive. But dueling a single mage is far different from a full-scale battle. You will be distracted every single-moment by the sounds and sights. It makes it harder to concentrate on your casting.”