“We had to leave early.” I resigned myself to having to socialize some more, and wandered over.
“The Count and Countess of Myszno were the pair I was telling you about, Pasha,” Ignas said smoothly, positioning himself to include me in the circle of conversation. “You really should consider their suggestion, you know. There's a lot to be said for earning the faith of Starborn. I credit both him and Suri for the victory against that damnable vampire.”
“I have heard the Tuun are fierce warriors. Apparently, those scholarly rumors are true: a victory against the Corpse Kings is unusual enough to be of great merit,” Pasha said. Or... the Pasha. I wasn't sure if it was his name or a title. He extended a hand. “A pleasure, Count Dragozin.”
“Same.” The Dakhari emissary’s hand was soft and moist. I jerked it limply a couple of times and gratefully let go. Up close, he smelled strongly of perfume. “Suri is just as responsible for that victory as I am. We co-led the Myszno Defense Force against the Demon.”
“Suri? That is the name of your 'companion'?” He flashed yellowing teeth.
Standing near this guy was like getting maced in the eyes by one of those automated public toilet air-freshener dispensers. I took a step back, trying to get some distance. “Sure is. Definitely an honor to have her near the head of the table today, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed. Suri Ba’Hadir is a fine woman and a fine warrior,” Ignas interjected, squeezing my shoulder warningly.
“Ba’Hadir?” The Pasha got a strange expression. “That is an ancient name. Most definitely not one suited to a Shallatu like her.”
My temper spiked, and before I realized what I was doing, I shrugged Ignas' hand off and took a step toward him. “What did you just call her?”
The nobleman blanched, and held up his hands placatingly. “Shallatu is not an insult, Count Dragozin, merely a descriptive word in my native tongue to describe someone of her born social position. To be Fireblooded like... Suri... is to be without caste. Her ancestors were shunned from society, but that is not her fault, or the fault of any individual living today. Every man and woman is born to their station in Dakhdir, and every man and woman may be reincarnated into a higher station, should they lead a virtuous life. By her acts of heroism, she shall almost surely do just that.”
“It is a social custom we do not practice in Vlachia, but we respect all customs as part of the terms of the Alliance,” Ignas said, glancing at me. “And by turn, we here in Vlachia are not as liberal as Hercynia. Queen Eevi, charming as she is, finds some of our customs difficult to understand.”
“Yeah.” I still didn't like the way Pasha was looking at me. “Well, Suri is a countess now, and there's even some people who swear she's a princess. So I guess her station depends on who you ask.”
Pasha's eye twitched at 'princess'. “Indeed. Some here may consider me a mere emissary of His Radiance, but it does not reflect my station as a Pasha of the Sultir's court. Unfortunately, speaking of my liege, I must beg his Majesty's pardon and go work on my letter. My liege is displeased by late mail.”
“Indeed he is. By all means, attend to your duties.” Ignas bowed slightly, while the Pasha did a full courtly scrape and backed up while still bowed. Only when he was about ten feet away did he turn and bustle off in the direction of the guest wing.
Once he had vanished through the door and the door had closed, Ignas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Sorry,” I said. “I-”
He sharply raised his hand, palm out, and I stopped talking.
“No. Do not apologize. Kings and Counts do not cringe like naughty children,” he admonished. “They say ‘I shall do better’, learn from their mistakes, and seek not to repeat them. You need to learn to control your temper if you hope to participate in court.”
I bit back the ‘sorry’ that automatically tried to come out and crossed my arms instead. “It's been a bad day. He was staring daggers at Suri while Rutha was speaking today. It got on my nerves.”
“A bad day and one minor insult are no excuse to tip your hand to a rat like Pasha Sumayal Aswan. The only difference between a diplomat and a spy is that the former can claim immunity if his assassins are caught in the act of murdering someone.” Ignas' voice was as stern as I'd ever heard it, but after a moment, his expression flickered. “Come with me, Hector. Let us talk like princes: seated, with drinks, and in private.”
Chapter 17
I had the weird feeling I was about to get some kind of dad lecture as Ignas led me to the parlor where both he and his younger brother liked to host their private conversations. It was cozy and dark, with an ever-burning fireplace, fine wooden furniture, a cabinet full of liquors and a hutch for crystal. It smelled like many different kinds of old smoke: incense, cigars, and wood from the fire.
Ignas poured me a double shot of sweet plum slivovitz without asking, and eased down into his preferred armchair with two glasses: a small tumbler of a strong berry liquor called rakija, and a much larger one of clear water. I took the sofa.
“I was hoping to catch up with you anyways,” Ignas said, sipping at the alcohol and then the water. “It can be difficult to stay in touch with the Voivodes of the hinterlands at the best of times, and I'm still getting a handle on the country after my coronation. Vlachia is a huge territory, and Myszno a large province.”
“Sure is.” I took a mouthful of slivovitz, but didn't sit back.
Ignas gazed at me over the edge of his glass. “So. Tell me about this weapon Suri mentioned. Ebisa said something about a broken Artifact in Myzsno… a giant ancient made of metal, designed to kill Drachan and bring dragons out of the sky.”
“The Warsingers.” I nodded. “I spoke to the spirit of Lahati the Chrysanthemum Queen during the campaign in Myszno… it’s a long story, but the short version is that she told me that the Warsingers were what turned the tide against the Drachan last time Archemi had to fight them off. So we’re focusing our efforts on finding one, or more than one.”
The lines around his eyes seemed to deepen. “So… you think that the Caul can no longer protect us? That it will fall to Baldr, and demons will return to the world?”
“I think regardless of whatever happens, we have to prepare for the worst,” I said. “The Caul is nothing but a five-thousand-year-old Band-Aid. The Drachan have been festering underneath it for a long time, pushing to come out, and we just happen to be the unlucky sons of bitches who are here to see them return.”
“And you think these Warsingers are the key to their defeat? And to Baldr’s?”
I shook my head. “I think the key to their defeat is to unify Archemi around something that inspires hope, awe, and courage. It will take an entire world dedicated to the same basic task to defeat the Drachan, and I think the Warsingers can help create that kind of world. The one we recovered from Myszno, Nocturne Lament, is a water-damaged, broken-down piece of shit prototype. But that rusted up old junker, the smallest and weakest of them, according to Lahati, was the most awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever seen. If we found one that worked, that was integral, we’d be able to inspire everyone in Artana to fight for the same cause. The Warsingers are just tools. The real power is in us.”
Ignas smiled. “Inspiring words. I’m not sure it’s possible, but even if it isn’t, then the journey – the dream of repossessing the machines that defeated the Drachan and saved our world – may be enough. I see now how you won Myszno from the Demon. How is it there? Really?”
I sighed. “Pretty much FUBAR, to be honest.”
He cocked his head. “I'm not familiar with that expression.”
“It's rude,” I said. “Stands for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.”
The king barked a laugh. “Not the rudest thing I've heard or said, I assure you. You can swear with me in private like this. Gods know I got good at it. One of the Nightstalkers' best prize fighters went by the name Cuntface.”
“How the hell did he end up with that name?”
Ignas ga
ve the Vlachian shrug, a small rolling lift of the shoulders. “Someone slit his cheek from jaw to eye and the announcer blurted out that, with the tip of his tongue showing through the wound, it resembled the female anatomy. The name has stuck to this day.”
“Hah.” I snorted. “Good old Cuntface.”
“Anyway. Is the damage to Myszno that profound?”
“The north is alright. The east is dirt-poor, but the Demon didn't plow through it like he did the southern part,” I said. “I had about thirty quests dumped on me, and they all have to be done before the harvest season. Racsa is the breadbasket of the county and there's no fucking food. Ashur - the Demon - blitzed Racsa and Bas counties right back into the stone age. Everything's screwed. The infrastructure, the farmland, the population…”
“Hmm.” Ignas' brows knit.
“Besides that, I'm pretty sure Lord Soma is just biding his time in Litvy, waiting for me to fuck it all up.” I slumped back against the plush leather, the same sofa where I'd accepted the quest to go to Myszno to begin with. “He wants to be Voivode. He said as much on the Prezyemi Line.”
“He will never be Voivode. He was an open ally of my brother's, and that immediately disqualifies him from any position of significant authority.” Ignas shook his head ruefully. “Are you on good terms with him?”
“No, and I don't plan to be. He tried to incite mutiny and challenged me to a duel,” I said. “I kicked his ass and threw him in the brig for a couple days. After that, he seemed to cool off, but I don't trust him.”
“Not trusting him is wise.” Ignas nodded. “But you are making your decisions based off how you feel about his character. Are you always perfectly composed and perfectly wise under pressure?”
“No, but-”
“And are you always able to be pleasant and courteous when you feel threatened by an apparent foreign interloper? One who, for whatever reason, is prejudiced against your lady?”
“…” I took a drink. A long one.
The Volod chuckled,. “Of course not. I would say you are proud, stubborn, independent but immature, hot-headed, aggressive, and emotional... all qualities I know Soma to also possess. The main differences between you are that he is noble-born, scholarly, and hates risk, while you are common-born, decidedly unscholarly, and highly risk-tolerant.” Ignas gestured to me. “Let me pass to you some things that my father taught me, when he was training me to succeed him as Volod.”
I felt my back go up as he rattled off his shit-list summary of my personality, but tried to let it slide. “Okay. Sure.”
“Firstly, Hector, there is no such thing as good and bad in this world. You may loathe Count Soma and Pasha Aswan and feel they are bad people, but be assured that their mothers and wetnurses love them, and many of their subjects burst with pride at their accomplishments. There is only function and dysfunction. Very stupid or proud or even very degenerate, evil people may be very capable, earning riches and accolades, while extremely intelligent or good people may not have any control over their own behavior and live sloppy and unproductive lives. To think with power - to hold power over yourself and others - you must cease thinking of them in terms of what you think is good or bad, smart or simple. You must look at what they do and what they don't do. Their actions. Do you understand?”
As tired and irritable as I was, I thought about it. “I guess.”
He held up two fingers. “The second lesson he taught me is related to the first: as a person and as a ruler, you are not what you think and feel. You are what you do. Your sense of your own personality or self-worth is irrelevant. A very capable person may feel himself to be worthless, while a worthless braggart may think himself to be a person who is extraordinarily gifted. Your image of yourself, as Dragozin Hector, is false. In fact, your feelings about others - even your dear Karalti - are illusory. “
I bristled. “That's not true. I love Karalti more than anything.”
“You do. That is how you feel about her. It is also how you act toward her, and thus, you love her. But whatever you feel about Suri, or me, or Karalti, in actuality has nothing to do with any of us.” He motioned to himself. “Your perception of me is merely your projection of who I am in your own mind. I, Ignas, have thoughts and beliefs about myself you will never see, experience, or care about. And because of that, you have an image of me. As a king, as a man whose advice you are willing to listen to. An authority figure. A source of quests, gold, and accolades, perhaps. Your image of me changes from minute to minute, day to day. When I praise you, you feel fondness. When I assess you and give you uncomfortable advice, you feel my company to be less comfortable than before. Is that not true?”
The corner of my eye twitched. “Yeah.”
“Karalti is loveable to you because of the image you hold of her in your mind and heart,” Ignas continued. “But do you think the peasant woman who sees Karalti swoop down to take one of her sheep feels the same way? Or the sheep, for that matter? They likely see her as a monster, hateful and terrifying.”
“I guess,” I admitted.
“You have an image of Karalti as being good because Karalti has been good to you. And that is the crux of it,” Ignas said. “Her actions toward you, and yours to her, have made you close. So it is with every relationship under the sky. But let us say you were a commoner with a choice between two rulers: one ruler is temperate, manages his affairs and his kingdom well, recruits wise advisors and keeps his budget balanced with minimal taxes. The other ruler is a walking circus of errors, strangling his nation through poor decision after poor decision. Do you think the common person cares what the ruler is thinking or feeling while he does these things?”
“No. He cares about feeding his family and paying the least amount of taxes he can.”
“Exactly.” Ignas nodded. “You can make decisions with the best intentions, but if they are poor decisions, you will not be judged for your intent. You will be judged for the outcome. Therefore, how you think and feel is irrelevant. It is always, ALWAYS, about what actions you take, or don’t take.”
I nodded slowly. “When I was in the army, there was a big difference between the guys that made a big talk and the guys who just did their jobs. Half the time, the guys who thought they couldn't cope with war became the best soldiers in the unit, but the ones who thought they were hot shit put the rest of us in danger. Same when I was bouncing for a living. Any guy that came in talking about how much he liked to fight lasted three weeks, maybe.”
“Yes, indeed. And think of your officers. Did you much care if your officers were of a different color or creed to yourself if they were good at leading?”
“No.”
“But if they were terrible officers, you surely noticed and thought ill of them.” Ignas spread his hands, like a magician who'd just performed a magic trick. “Some will distill this idea down to the notion of 'appearance is everything' when you hope to attain and retain personal power. To some degree, that is true - but it is more accurate to say that 'action is everything'.”
I took a moment to digest that, then nodded.
[You have learned a new Advanced Skill: Statesmanship 1. View the Archemipedia article on Statesmanship for more information and skill synergies.]
“So, make your assessment of Soma again,” Ignas said. “But do not refer to his character - only his actions.”
“Well... Soma's demonstrated he's a great engineer, and he told me himself that he didn't like being a military commander. He nearly handed Myszno to the Demon because he kept trying to make decisions about the defense based on how he felt about the people he had to work with.”
“Right. And why do you think he was so fond of my brother?”
“Soma and Andrik were hunting buddies, right?”
“Correct.” Ignas nodded.
“So he was probably loyal to Andrik because they had fun together,” I said.
“Andrik was a terrible hunter. He rarely caught a thing,” Ignas mused. “But Soma is quite a good shot with a rifle.
”
“So…being around Andrik probably made Soma feel better about himself?” I leaned forward, thinking. “He told me he was the youngest son in his family, a bit of an underachiever. And Soma often acted insecure around others, so I guess that's why he had such a positive image of Andrik. Andrik made him feel powerful.”
“There you have it.” Ignas smiled. “And now, perhaps, you understand why my brother was a degenerate person and a mediocre king, but an excellent politician.”
Chapter 18
My head was ringing when I left the parlor and made my way through Vulkan Keep to the library. My chat with Ignas had power-leveled my Leadership skill, added a point each to Intelligence and Wisdom, and left me thinking about my fight with Suri in a whole different light. It had made me realize something important - namely that I'd treated her like a huge fat jerk.
I stepped into the warm, dry chamber and was immediately overwhelmed. Vulkan Keep's library was built into a naturally dry cavern, one that was warmer and airier than the rest of the keep. Shelf after shelf after shelf receded into the subterranean depths, well-lit with rows of clear, heatless mage lights. There was a large sign out front: “No pipes, matches, sparks, witchcraft, or loitering.”
A surprisingly young man with a long ponytail of startling red hair sat at the desk beside the sign, his narrow lips pursed as he quickly and dexterously copied the contents of a brittle scroll, carefully stretched under a glass pane, into a brand-new leather-bound book. He glanced up at me as I sidled over to the desk, eyes sharp and hawkish.
“Can I help you?” He didn't sound Vlachian - he had the same crisp, Britishy accent as Rutha, though less pronounced.
“Uhh...” Up close, I noticed his teeth. They were sharper than normal human teeth, twin rows of small glassy fangs. Both of his ears were scarred. He was Lysian, like Rutha, but his ears had been docked and rounded to look more human. “Yeah. Actually, I'm looking for a stack of books on about-” I checked my list. “Twelve different subjects. And statesmanship. And military strategy.”
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