grievinglands
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Book 5: Chapter 19 - Duties of State (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-01-27 14:17:01 +0000 UTC“I have spent countless hours in tireless study, poring over ancient tomes and conducting experiments beyond number, all to discover why those blessed with sharper wits wield deeper wells of Mana. The answer, in the end, was disarmingly simple and strangely elegant: a portion of the mind must remain ever at work, ceaselessly sorting through the shifting tides and hidden eddies of that boundless Chaos we call Mana.”
- Excerpt from the private notes of Master Bertrand, University of Quas.
For the next week, a steady stream of petitioners filled my makeshift sanctuary—men and women alike, wide-eyed and desperate, begging for miracles as though I were some ancient legend stepped from the pages of their holy books. It was almost comical how easily I could barter their unwavering devotion for a mere ten Mana. Over and over, I cast Greater Heal, mending broken bodies and easing long sickness. To them, I was a saint come to life. I do believe that I had the beginnings of a cult.
I had never believed in gods as these people did. From my experience, deities were simply incredibly powerful beings—impressive, yes, but hardly omnipotent or infallible. Yet here I was, performing small wonders and drawing followers like moths to a flame. The irony was not lost on me.
Some of my new flock debated amongst themselves whether I was Her Prophet or Her Herald. I cared little for their squabbling; they were all wrong, and it hardly mattered so long as their loyalties lay with me.
“General” Harun, however, was relentless in his quest for guidance, pestering me daily for a grand purpose. Once an atheist, his newfound zeal was almost overwhelming. I kept him waiting, if only to buy myself time to craft the right task for someone so fervent. I do believe he wanted to take up arms in the name of Goddess, the questions was where to point him.
Meanwhile, Larynda served as my alchemist-in-training, supplying Mana potions of varying potency—products of dubious experimentation that my Constitution, fortunately, could withstand. She sourced her bizarre ingredients from the reopened Grand Bazaar—now called by some the “Djinn’s Folly”—and though her concoctions sometimes left me a little queasy, I felt certain she would refine her craft eventually.
Now, as I prepared for a more formal visitor, I found myself in a small backroom, a place meant for private meetings. A low table was set with delicate refreshments and a pot of tea. Deciding that a touch of intimidation might prove useful, I wore my full armor, its metal plates adding weight to the wooden chair beneath me until it seemed on the verge of collapse. My serpent’s helm I left on the table, a martial statement.
At last, the guest arrived. He was a tall, willowy man, forced to bow his head slightly just to pass through the doorway. His beard—long, immaculate, and threaded with white and gray—framed a face that showed years of experience rather than frailty. His eyes were keen and clear, though he leaned on a walking stick for support. This, I assumed, was Aelayah’s new Steward and Vizier.
Behind him was Farzan, dressed in the resplendent ceremonial armor of his office. He offered me a quick, knowing nod and the briefest of smiles before slipping into a seat.
I studied the Steward, wondering if the staff he clutched was a sign of physical weakness or merely an implement of authority. Regardless, I was ready to discover what sort of man Aelayah had entrusted with this newfound power—and how it might prove useful to me.
“This is Aelayah’s Vizier and steward,” Farzan announced, gesturing to the older man.
“The name is Idris Baz, at your service, revered samasa,” the old man said with a polite bow. “The Sultana sends her gratitude for your true and faithful service.”
“Her exact words?” I asked, snorting softly in disbelief.
Idris offered a taut, carefully measured smile. “Perhaps not verbatim. Sultana Aelayah the First… has been indisposed as of late.”
“She’s been sequestered to her quarters for her own good,” Farzan added bluntly, earning him a sharp look from Idris. “Erratic doesn’t even begin to describe her behavior of late. We’re fairly certain she’s gone quite mad.”
“Unsubtle though Farzan may be, he speaks closer to the truth than I’d prefer,” Idris murmured with a frown. “But for now, that is neither here nor there…”
“Neither here nor there?” I echoed, my anger sparking. “She tried to have me killed. My sword arm is the only reason she holds this city in the first place.”
Idris inclined his head, pouring tea for us both. “No one denies your prowess, Tamkar Gilgamesh. However, I’m not here on Aelayah’s behalf, but rather in representation of the new Sultanate.”
“And how exactly is that any different?” I asked with a smirk, narrowing my eyes.
“We must do what’s best for Salahaem,” he replied, his tone pointedly vague. “And for Al-Lazar.”
Farzan braced his armored hands on the table. “Speak plainly, Idris. Stop dancing around the old Jenah tree and just say it.”
The old man exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. “It means Aelayah is Sultana in name only. That’s for the best, truly. We hold the real power.”
I drummed my fingers on the table, letting the rhythmic tap convey my growing irritation. “And that means what, exactly?”
Idris settled into a more businesslike tone. “Before her… affliction, there were several initiatives she was pursuing for the good of the city—most notably, a peace treaty with the Mer.”
“Go on.”
“That treaty is essential for Al-Lazar’s future. We need access to the sea again…”
I waved him on, signaling my impatience.
“With or without Aelayah, the treaty process must continue. We must have peace. And, In her current state, well… we simply cannot let her near the reins.”
I shrugged nonchalantly and picked up a sliver of fruit. “Then tell me exactly who ‘we’ is, or this discussion ends here,” I warned, my voice taking on a sharper edge.
“Senior members of the Salahaem,” Farzan said with a sigh. “Backed by some who served on the old Council of Al-Lazar.”
“I see. So you want peace with the Mer. That should be simple if both sides truly desire it.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Idris cut in. “Just as Al-Lazar isn’t a monolith, neither are the Mer. Some among them reject any treaty because they believe they have us at a clear advantage—and in a way, they do. According to a reliable source, the faction currently in power intends to crush Al-Lazar once the seas recede, bringing their entire military might against us. This won’t be a ceremonial conflict, but a fight with the outright destruction of the city at stake.”
I gave Idris a bored stare, making no effort to hide my disinterest.
“I’ve heard rumors you were once a slave…” he ventured, tugging thoughtfully at his long beard.
“Who told you that?” I growled.
“No one. It’s a common tale for foreign arrivals in Al-Lazar,” he answered, his tone maddeningly calm. “We are, after all, a free city. It wasn’t hard to guess.”
“Why, you—”
“Don’t you feel any gratitude for the city that protected you from the slaver’s whip?” he interrupted before I could launch into a proper tirade.
I narrowed my eyes, letting my anger simmer. “I owe this city nothing. I bought my own freedom, and I tore the corrupt Council from its throne with my own hands. If anything, Al-Lazar should be thanking me, you ingrate!”
Idris shook his head, leaning forward so far that his beard nearly dipped into his teacup. “It doesn’t matter where you came from. You are still sworn to the Salahaem.”
The old bag of bones was trying to pivot, retreating from a failed gambit.
“Al-Lazar is weakened right now. The new order of government and with the Adventurers’ Guild all but broken, we might not have the strength to face the trials to come. We’ve relied on hired swords for too long. And Aranthia and the Empire? They sense our vulnerability and want to drain us further, charging us more than ever for their soldiers. All of them covet the one thing only Al-Lazar can provide—Dust.”
Farzan placed both hands on the table, the metal of his gauntlets scraping against the table. “We’re already under siege, Gilgamesh, whether or not everyone realizes it. Lady Aelayah was one of the first to see it coming. We need you.”
“I still do not see where this is headed,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and letting a note of obstinacy creep into my voice.
“We need you,” Idris pressed, leaning forward with sudden fervor. “We need you to lead our forces—be the tip of the spear. If we break our enemies in the next battle, if we crush them decisively, then real peace with the Mer becomes possible. But before we can even deal with them, we have threats closer to home.” He locked eyes with me, and I could see the intensity burning there. “Some still doubt Salahaem’s authority. We can’t touch the great Holder Houses just yet, but a minor House requires… violent correction.”
“You won this city for Salahaem,” Farzan added, his voice as rigid as the armor he wore. “But we need your might to keep it.”
Rolling my shoulders, I tried to ease the tension gathering in my muscles. “Why not send Salahaem’s own soldiers? And what’s in it for me, considering I’ve already been betrayed?”
“That will not do anything,” Idris answered. “We need to send a message, and though it pains me to say it, much of our authority is tied to you, Gilgamesh. Your reputation. A tenth of the spoils—would that satisfy you?”
I snorted. “I would be spilling the blood myself. Giving me just a tenth is basically taxing me nine parts out of ten.”
Idris steepled his fingers, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if this negotiation amused him. “You misunderstand. A fifth of the spoils from this small raid—and also from the war to come.”
“Better.” I settled back in my seat, which groaned under my weight. “And the value of all the chattel?”
“There are no slaves in Al-Lazar,” Idris bristled, clearly offended by my words.
I let out a cruel laugh. “Call it whatever you want. The survivors of my raid will sign indentured Contracts. If you are aiming to make an example of them, living servants serve the purpose longer than rotting corpses.”
The blatant hypocrisy of these people never ceased to grate on me. Idris bit his lip, mulling over my demand.
“It can be arranged,” he said at last.
Farzan gave a low chuckle. “Idris, never play cards with this one.”
I met Idris’s gaze, letting a sharper edge creep into my tone. “So, tell me how you want this handled.”
“We need the head of the House—and every male in the main line—eliminated.”
I arched an eyebrow, pretending to take offense. “You take me for a mindless killer? Someone who slaughters without question?”
Truth be told, I relished the idea. I had gone too long without the thrill of battle. I craved fresh blood and experience.
“Not at all,” Idris said, speaking quickly. “But this is the least painful route for Al-Lazar. A small evil for the greater good. An example must be made, to show that dissent will not be tolerated. It’s the only language some of the city’s more barbaric elements understand. And do not pretend to be a clean man of the Temples.”
“Of course,” I murmured, a dark chuckle rumbling in my chest. “For the stability of Al-Lazar—and to teach these so-called barbaric ‘dissidents’ a lesson.”
Farzan cleared his throat. “Speaking of stability, there’s another matter Idris wanted to discuss.”
“Perhaps it can wait,” Idris ventured, his voice tight with discomfort.
But Farzan would not let it drop. “No, Idris. We can not put this off. He deserves honesty.”
“Very well,” the Vizier said, straightening his robes as though he’d suffered a terrible slight. “The Salahaem line must continue. The Salahaem must be strengthened.”
I frowned. “You’ll have to be clearer than that. What exactly do you want from me?”
“We need you to father a child. An heir. With the Sultana,” Idris said, choosing his words carefully.
I blinked, taken aback. “And the Sultana—praise her name—she’s… agreed to this?”
Laughing, I looked at them both for a moment and saw that they were serious.
Idris looked aside. “Her agreement is secondary. It’s her duty to continue the line, and she’ll understand once her mind is restored.”
“You do realize what you’re asking of me?” I tried to confirm in all seriousness.
“Lady Aelayah is comely enough,” he sniffed, as though I had nothing to complain about. “It won’t be an… odious task. There are certain potions and elixirs to ensure her cooperation, to spare her any distress.”
A slow grin crept across my face. “Not overly odious, indeed.”
“It’s your obligation,” Idris reminded me, stiff with formality. “Remember, you swore yourself to Salahaem.”
I inclined my head in a mocking gesture of respect. “Then perhaps we have a deal, Vizier Idris. May the Sultana’s reign be a long one.”
It seemed that I would be able to have my cake and eat it.
