The empress of beasts, p.36
The Empress of Beasts, page 36
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
General Thelican was reclining on a sofa, brought by a bag of holding, attended to by eight servants. He was not alone; a number of his officers were conversing with him. Silk-caste, superior in movement and appearance, if not quite as sturdy as the Stitch-warriors made of Hemp. Femithain knew he was plain compared to them.
“Magus-Crafter! Ah, your army has arrived. Come! Sit! Any refreshments you wish, partake.”
General Thelican saw Femithain and waved a languid arm. The Magus-Crafter saw two [Slaves] hurry towards him. He paused, and his eyes flicked to the side. A man was crouched in the wide tent, the only other person not reclining. Or rather, a male.
He too was a Stitch-person, but his skin was rough. Not quite hemp; some thick, plant fiber perhaps. It gave him a rugged, tough look, but the utility clearly set him apart from the silk-fleshed loungers. He was an outcast. But too important to eject from the tent.
Femithain saw the Named Adventurer was crouching over a pot with his gear arrayed in front of him. He was flexing his bow, dipping ivory arrows into the little black pot beside him. Alked Fellbow looked up, his glittering armor—made of the scales of a Basilisk if Femithain was any judge—reflecting the light. He nodded and Femithain inclined his head. And then the leader of Illivere approached the [General].
“General Thelican. My greetings.”
“Magus-Crafter.”
General Thelican did hail from Nerrhavia, but he was respectful of Femithain’s position and sat up to nod to him. Femithain paused as another sofa was arranged in the circle, but he adopted the same lounging position as the Stitch-people. It was not comfortable to Femithain, but it was far more courteous than insisting on sitting.
“I trust you arrived without ambush?”
“Surprisingly, yes. The animals have all fled, it seems. Those that were not eradicated.”
Femithain made small-talk for a moment, but he and Thelican had spoken enough to be comfortable in each other’s presence. Or at least, Thelican assumed that was true. The [General] nodded after Femithain had been given food and drink; he did not wish to be hand-fed.
“It is good of you to join us. We are about to assail Oliphant and your Golems are a key component in my plan of attack.”
“So it will be an attack?”
That was news to Femithain. The coalition had been hesitating. Oliphant was hardly a bastion, but the Empress of Beasts’ army would still hold the walls. Thelican grimaced.
“It may be costly, but I have orders, you see?
“Ah. Say no more.”
Queen Yisame, then. Thelican nodded, shrugging casually.
“Costly, but I assure you, my Hemp [Soldiers] will take the first wave at the walls. In truth, I would not consider it amiss for Illivere to hold back its foot soldiers; I have only need of your Golems.”
He glanced up and Femithain nodded. A little favor. Thelican crooked a finger and a [Slave]—Garuda—rushed forwards with a bowl. He chose some nuts, and they were fed to him as he went on.
“We may struggle on the walls, yes, so my [Strategists] tell me. But the Empress of Beasts has no cards left to play. We count eighteen of her Grand Elephants left, virtually none of her [Mages]—the Laughing Brigade was destroyed last night, did you hear?”
“I did. It was a remarkable victory. But not, it seems, entirely bloodless.”
Thelican’s face twisted in displeasure. He turned and another bowl was brought for him to spit discreetly into. The nuts were suddenly no longer appetizing.
“Ah. That’s the second thing. These—articles. And this [Reporter] who seems to be interviewing [Soldiers]. Have you any idea where they are? Queen Yisame is rather upset about this person, and she has commanded me to find them. Naturally, I leap to her word, but I am fighting a war at the moment.”
He looked irate, as well he might be. Femithain had a copy of the articles and they were astoundingly accurate to what was really going on in Tiqr’s war. It was embarrassing, if not to him personally then the Siren of Savere and Nerrhavia’s [Queen], Yisame. He paused.
“Not personally, General Thelican. Surely locating one outsider is not a difficult task?”
Thelican waved an angry hand, grasping for a goblet of wine.
“You’d imagine so! However, this person seems to be untraceable. Their face? None of my officers can recall it! And they have a rather attractive personality, or so it seems. Skills. I’ve of a mind to set Adventurer Fellbow on the trail, but—”
He looked pointedly at the Named Adventurer. Alked Fellbow raised his head and replied in a gravelly voice.
“I’m not being paid to hunt down civilians. I was contracted for one war. Altering my contract requires a substantial fee.”
“…So he says.”
Thelican dismissed the Named Adventurer with a flick of the fingers. He shook his head, drinking deeply.
“I’ll find this person after the siege is done. They’ll have little to report but our victory in any case! I’ve drawn up our plan of attack. Interested?”
“Mildly.”
Thelican waved another hand; maps were produced and held up by his attendants. He pointed, and Femithain saw.
“We wait for every army to assemble before beginning the siege. A classic envelopment, I think. The walls will not give us much trouble, so I intend to overwhelm the defenders with sheer numbers rather than attack from any one side. I’d prefer to starve out a surrender, to be frank. But Oliphant’s stores might last them weeks, or even months depending on how well-stocked their larders are.”
“You imagine so?”
Thelican shrugged.
“Their city might well be empty save for their army. Hundreds of thousands have already fled west. And more to Pomle. I can’t imagine any would stay in the city knowing what’s coming!”
Some of his officers laughed. Femithain paused. He had seen civilians training, but he nodded anyways. It still wouldn’t matter; Thelican was adopting a simple, but effective tactic. There would be ten full armies assailing Oliphant from all sides. Nerrhavia alone could probably take it over a protracted siege. All together…
“Not to worry, Magus-Crafter. Ere tomorrow, we shall toast each other from Oliphant’s palace, such as it is. And I intend to keep Illivere’s forces back from the fighting! Note the Golems? Your Golems will storm the southern gates, take out any elephants, but you and your [Soldiers] will be well clear of the fighting. Unless you’d prefer to send some in to level them? I can arrange that.”
Thelican mistook Femithain’s scrutiny of the battle plans for worry. Femithain shook his head. He was no [Strategist], but he had noticed some irregularities within Thelican’s plan.
“Illivere’s place is well-set, General Thelican. I was more interested in the positioning of the other armies. I notice Savere is positioned without major support to the west flank. Little [Mage] or [Archer] cover save for their own forces. And no siege ladders.”
The Stitch-[General] paused and quickly hid his surprise by another gulp of wine.
“Ah, well, Savere’s [Bandit Lady]—dreadful class—has made the same protest. But I am the commanding [General]. And Savere will do well enough alone. They are [Scoundrels] and [Rogues] and so forth, used to city-fighting. In truth, Magus-Crafter, it’s all to do with the conclusion of the battle. The Empress of Beasts. Another order, you see.”
Femithain didn’t have to think.
“You want her alive.”
Thelican paused.
“Alive, most certainly. And it would please me if you would give the same orders to your forces. I have…a plan of battle that involves sending your Golems and some of my elite warriors through the gaps first to secure the Empress of Beasts. Now, I believe the Siren wishes Empress Nsiia alive, but in her grasp. Queen Yisame, our radiant leader, has given me an order to take her first. A matter of pride for Nerrhavia, so it must be.”
The other officers nodded and murmured their agreement. They were all watching Femithain to see if he objected. His nation was comparable to Savere’s after all, and while Nerrhavia was the giant of their coalition, Femithain’s objections could be—tricky. He was a leader of his nation and technically outranked General Thelican. However, the Magus-Crafter only nodded politely.
“I have no objections, General Thelican. I am merely surprised Queen Yisame wishes her enemy captured. Given Tiqr’s resistance.”
The [General] relaxed and laughed.
“Our [Queen] loves trophies, Magus-Crafter! And the Empress of Beasts? Better a royal prisoner or personal slave of Nerrhavia than one of Savere’s lot. It would be merciful. Perhaps she’d even be awarded to me for my efforts! Ah, but one does not dream too mightily.”
He tapped the side of his nose. Femithain looked at him. And he imagined the proud [Empress] who’d dared to speak her mind in chains. No wonder Tiqr had held until the point of annihilation. You couldn’t cage a beast. They had the spark Golems lacked. But that was what he thought. And Femithain seldom said what he thought. So he nodded, politely, and did what was best for Illivere.
“No doubt. Then let us toast your—excuse me—our victory, General Thelican.”
He’d thought he’d laid it on too thickly. But the [General] beamed and raised his own cup, calling Femithain his Stitch-brother, a high compliment for a flesh-based person to receive. And Femithain waited for dawn, drinking lightly. He had a feeling the Empress of Beasts would not fall quietly. And he was right.
——
Reim.
The King of Destruction sat in his quarters, the drapes to his balcony pulled back. The rich fabric was pulled back, the doors thrown open. And the balcony was wet.
It was raining. The sky was dark, the clouds overfull. And from the sky, rain fell, soaking the arid lands of Reim. The King of Destruction watched the rain falling, sitting still in his chair.
He was an imposing man. The image of a [King] of old, his hair red and gold, his eyes emerald-green. His hands, more used to reins or a sword, rested on the arms of his chair. And he was still. Waiting.
Someone knocked on the door to his room. Flos Reimarch looked up. Instantly, he spoke, shifting his posture.
“Enter.”
A young girl entered the room. She was young—far younger than he was. She bore a sword on her hip and wore the same light clothing as he did—and nearly as rich. Flos smiled as he saw her looking at him.
“Oh. Teresa, come in. I was expecting someone else.”
“Really? Who?”
Teres, or Teresa Atwood, one of the two twins from Earth, and the King of Destruction’s personal aides, servants, bodyguards, or perhaps, hostages, walked into the room. She was familiar with Flos, and not afraid of him. If anything, she was somewhat challenging, in tone of voice and posture. She was holding something in her hands. Flos glanced at it, puzzled.
“A [Message]. Or perhaps a conversation. What’s that you’re holding?”
“A pot.”
“I see.”
Flos was distracted. He glanced back to the window again. Teres waited. She knew he wanted to ask about the pot, but he’d been like this lately. Hence Gazi not-so-subtly encouraging Teres to snap him out of it. She’d done her best, but in truth, the King of Destruction was simply melancholic today.
The war in Tiqr had dominated the last month, and the King of Destruction’s mood. But his ill-tempered fury and restlessness had given way to a somber, quiet mood these last few days. He exhaled, staring out the window.
“I’m admiring the rain, Teresa. Come, sit. Is it not a wonderful sight?”
Teres raised an eyebrow, but she went over and pulled over a chair. Flos blinked and Teres blushed; she was dragging it through what was this world’s equivalent of a Persian rug. He didn’t seem to really care, but Teres hurriedly lifted the chair up and carried it over to him. She sat and looked out the window. After a moment she coughed.
“It’s been raining. For days. Is it that rare in Reim?”
“Out of season? Unheard of. It’s a beautiful sight, no matter how many times I see it.”
Flos was unmoved by her lack of awe. He watched it rain. After a moment, Teres lifted the pot.
“Look at this.”
The King of Destruction stared at the little pot. It was clay, fired from some oven and given some carvings along the bottom. Not a fine work; some apprentice’s piece. It was also filled with dirt. Something green was poking out of the top. A broad-headed leaf. Flos eyed it.
“Is that a Yellat stalk?”
“Yup. Want to see how big it is?”
Flos hesitated, but Teres was tempting him. He paused, then pulled at the stalk. It came up and both he and Teres exclaimed at the large, fat Yellat. The spicy-tasting, vaguely tubular roots were usually long and narrow, but this one hadn’t been able to grow in the pot, so it had curled up on itself.
“What an unusual shape!”
The [King] was highly amused. He shook dirt off the Yellat, onto the aforementioned rich carpet and stone floor. Teres winced, but the [Servants] could probably get it out. And Flos’ laugh was worth the dirt. He stared at it, bemused.
“Are you attempting to be a [Gardener], Teres? There’s little potential for war in the [Gardener] class, I’ll have you know. Although my [Gardener], Tottenval, could grow the most wondrous of plants. Ah, but if he’d been here, Reim would be blooming eternally.”
He sighed. Teres hurriedly pointed to the Yellat to keep him from backsliding into gloom.
“I planted this seven days ago in my room. I watered it, but I didn’t do anything other than put it by my window. Look how big it is.”
“Yes indeed. Quite tasty. I have a mind to eat it. But of course, Yellats taste horrible raw. I’ll hand it to one of my [Chefs] and have it for dinner. Or a snack.”
Flos good-naturedly tossed it back into the bowl. Teres cleared her throat meaningfully.
“It grew in seven days. Don’t Yellats take…longer?”
“Seventy days. It’s just as well our growing seasons are so long. And that Chandrar has little to no winter. But they don’t take much water. What of it?”
Teres folded her arms. Flos paused.
“Oh, well, I told you. I issued an Edict. The [Edict of Bloom]. Hence…that.”
Flos waved a lazy hand. Teres stared out the window. She knew what Edicts were. A [King]’s order that could encompass a kingdom. But she hadn’t thought it would be this powerful.
“Is that why it’s still raining?”
“Most likely, most likely. It’s a happy surprise. It saves my [Farmers] the issue of watering. Their only complaint is that it’s too wet for some crops to grow. Happily, Yellats only get fatter with water. They’re harvesting quickly! They have Skills on top of their natural abilities, Teres. I dare say their Yellats might be as long as my leg!”
He laughed at the thought, then frowned.
“The [Edict of Bloom] will fill Reim’s storehouses. But we must be careful not to overstretch. The soil’s lost some of its potency from all this growing. The [Farmers] are telling Orthenon they must switch crops after this next harvest. I don’t suppose you recall anything more of this crop rotation? My [Farmers] say they have a good system—and of course, some have Skills that replenish the dirt, but…”
He looked at Teres. She could only shrug unhelpfully.
“Sorry. I never grew anything back home.”
“Ah, well. The rain is good enough. I’m glad we could collect so much water as well; it will help for the dry seasons and campaigns.”
The King of Destruction looked pleased. Teres just raised an eyebrow.
“About that. I thought the [Edict of Bloom] only affected plants. That’s what Trey told me you said to him.”
Flos laughed.
“So did I! But the last time I used it was…ah, twenty levels ago. As I said, Teres. Edicts wear at a kingdom. I try not to use them unless I have need for them. I suppose I’ve become a stronger [King] since then.”
“Wait. So last time you used it, you only got plants to grow faster?”
“And babies to be born quicker. Better harvests. Hm. Energized citizens. Yes, that was what happened last time. No rain.”
“So leveling up gives your edict more power?”
“Only naturally.”
Flos looked like he was explaining why the ground was the ground to a child. Teres stared at him. He elaborated.
“Come now, I’ve taught you about Skills and classes, haven’t I? Why is it a surprise that your level affects the strength of your Skills? Have you ever seen a [Lady] use [Deft Hand]? Well, most of them fled Reim when I entered my slumber. I’ll try to find one and have them show you an example.”
“What can a [Lady] do?”
Teres watched Flos perch the cup with dirt in it by the edge of the table. He flicked his wrist at it. The cup didn’t move.
“See that? [Deft Hand] lets you reach out and touch something. At low levels, say, Level 10, you can knock over something like that cup, or stop one from falling. Useful, in…tea circles, but not for most other things, correct?”
Teres nodded dutifully. Flos leaned back; the poor cup nearly fell over on its own as he nudged the table.
“However, I have heard that during war, high-level [Ladies] can divert a shower of arrows, even change the direction of a cavalry charge. At least, if someone like Orthenon isn’t leading them or Maresar isn’t shooting the arrows.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Have you seen the [Warriors] practicing with [Power Strike]? Ask Mars to do the same and stand back! Strength lies in your level, Teres. Why do you think half the world is so afraid of me and my little kingdom? Then again, strength is also in magical items. Spells. Sheer numbers. Gold.”
Flos sighed again. Teres bit her lip. He was thinking of Tiqr again.
He’d promised not to go to war. Unless a nation gave Reim just cause, the King of Destruction would not make war without reason. That was what Flos had promised, but that had led to other nations declaring war on Tiqr, one of the few countries even remotely sympathetic towards him. It had been nearly a month and Flos hadn’t gone to Tiqr’s aid.
