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Book 6: Chapter 28 - Sympathy (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-07-26 15:35:27 +0000 UTCBronzegate Hold, home to several clans of dwarves, lies nestled near the heart of Fire Mountain. It stands as a testament to the engineering skill of the stout folk, who channel the burning earth itself with rune-wards and harness its molten heart to fuel the forges that craft many wondrous things. The most wondrous of these, of course, are their Mechanica. Their golems and war automata of iron and rune, famed throughout the Grieving Lands and beyond. Many scholars of Quas believe such technology dates back to before the time of the Cataclysm, preserved through the ages by the Forge Masters.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney, 376 AC.
His men refreshed and fully supplied, Damien had no wish to linger a moment longer than needful near Narilmu. A few hours past dawn’s first light, a representative of the Sultana arrived just as the mercenaries made ready to deliver the head of the Pasha.
Kaes al‑Attallah was tall, by the standards of these parts—slender as a reed, yet held taut like a bowstring, the lean strength of a runner in his limbs. His beard was immaculately trimmed, his scent a heady mix of cologne and spice. He wore a spotless thawb, unadorned, and went bareheaded; his servants bore parasols to shade him from the cruel sun.
When he offered his greetings, I studied him in silence, searching his face for the telltale twitch of deceit or the faint shadow of treachery. I saw nothing. If he was a liar, he was masterful beyond reckoning. But I thought it more likely the Sultana had kept him in ignorance. The blades sent against us bore the stink of vengeance, a woman’s vengeance, and that meant Aelayah.
Still, I saw a chance to squeeze.
As Damien handed over the box, with its perfumed cargo, the head of the late Teshik. I made my demand.
“A thousand gold coins is the cost of this box, Kaes al‑Attallah,” I said, my voice low and clear behind the metal of my visored helm. “You stand here as representative of her greatness, the wondrous Sultana Aelayah the First, peace be upon her. I know you have it.”
His protest came quickly. “This is preposterous… this was not part of the deal! You were hired to do this; this is against the rulings of your Guild.”
But it was too late for him, for I had already seen the fear flicker in his eyes.
“I do not know where you are trying to go with this, Gilgamesh, but our charter does make allowances for any unforeseen circumstances… an attack from person unknown might fall into this,” added Damien.
Inwardly, I chuckled as I took a step toward Kaes, slow and deliberate, and let my presence do the rest. “If the Sultana desires peace to remain upon her name, she will pay the blood price for one of our own. Do you know of me? Do you know what I will do if you deny me this?”
I laughed then, cold and without mercy.
“I am looking for a reason, Kaes. Just one. A single excuse to turn about and raze the City of Dust to the earth. Tell me… will you be that reason?”
“But… you have the advantage of me, First Tamkar,” he stammered. “The City of Al‑Lazar owes you a great debt, and the life of your companion must be balanced upon the scales.” He did not look at me as he spoke. “My servant has brought… a gift for your service.”
Al‑Attallah gave a nod, and his servants came forward, backs bowed low, bearing a small chest inlaid with brass. They opened it for my inspection and kept their eyes down, scraping the sand with their foreheads. Inside were a large number of Al-Lazarian notes.
“That,” I said, “is why I will spare Al‑Lazar.”
I let the lie hang in the air before turning to Kaes, continuing. “Now tell me why I must spare your life. For this insult.”
“Insult?” he sputtered, “I meant nothing of the kind!”
Again, I laughed, and this time the sound surprised even me. A deep, rumbling thing from deep inside. “You dare gainsay me; that is insult enough, methinks. You will travel with us until I say otherwise. Think of it as a guarantee of the Sultana’s continued goodwill.” I tilted my head. “Tell me, Kaes—have you ever held a sword? Or any weapon, for that matter?”
Truth be told, I was curious to see if an NPC could be pushed into a class change. Forcibly, if necessary, for academic reasons if nothing else.
“I have had no reason,” he replied, flustered. “I am a scholar… a…”
I turned away before he could finish, fixing my gaze on his servants still kneeling on the sands instead.
“Go. Return to your mistress. If I learn she has not received the head of the late Pasha…”
They flinched, visibly, trembling where they stood.
“And, tell your masters, whoever they may be, that Master Kaes has chosen to join the First Tamkar in his exile.”
“At once, samasa,” they said in unison, and fled with all the haste their feet could muster.
Kaes stood stiff as stone. He looked as though he longed to vanish, yet fear kept his feet rooted fast to the sand.
“Is this altogether wise, Gilgamesh?” Damien asked, his voice dry, the edge of a smile curling his lips.
“It will keep those who sent the killers on their toes,” I said with a shrug. “It will show that we are not to be taken lightly and that there are repercussions.”
Damien gave a slow nod and a smile that showed too many teeth. “A fair point. Very well—we accept you as a trainee, Kaes.”
“This is lunacy,” Kaes cried. “You cannot do this! I am the representative of—”
“You are nothing, Al‑Attallah,” I said flatly. “Once I was First Tamkar of Al‑Lazar. Now I am an exile. Such is fortune—fickle as ever. Keep your chin up. Think of it as a learning opportunity. You may yet see more of the world… if you survive training.”
I turned to Damien. “Lord de Savant, what does the code say about deserters?”
“A flogging the first time,” he replied cheerfully. “Crucifixion the second.”
The color drained from Kaes’s face.
“Welcome to the company,” I said, and laid my gauntleted hand on his trembling shoulder. “I hope you find yourself… a newer and better version of yourself.”
***
I amused myself, when I was not being amused by Estaza, by watching Al-Attallah’s training. The sergeants took to him as wolves take to a wounded fawn—eagerly, with mockery thinly veiled as instruction. Wide-eyed and stammering through every drill, he was the sort they all dreamed of hazing. And he gave them much to work with. Never had there been a more perfect butt for their jokes, a more suitable vessel for the ire and contempt of battle-hardened men who needed someone—anyone—beneath them.
I will not lie. I took a certain bitter pleasure in watching.
But the gods are capricious, and fate is a jester who takes his humor from cruel reversals. It casts down the mighty and raises the unworthy, lifting fools to pedestals and breaking kings upon the wheel. And so it was with Al‑Attallah. Once Narilmu had vanished behind the western horizon in a haze of heat and dust, the man changed. Or perhaps he shed what he had been pretending to be. Purpose settled on him like armor—awkward at first, then natural. He threw himself into his training with the zeal of a convert, and I came to see why the Sultana had chosen him for her mouthpiece. There was a grace to him, both in manner and speech, that wore down resistance like a tide against rock. So much so that it won him friends and grudging acceptance from the other trainees.
And that… that galled me most of all. He defied the lot I had given him, his future, and his fate not with rage, not with defiance, but with a quiet will. He submitted and, in doing so, transcended. The audacity of it was unbearable.
You cannot win them all, I told myself. And that should have been enough.
A gentler, guilt-ridden part of me wondered if, in truth, we were all waging our own quiet battle against Fate—blind, fumbling struggles against an enemy we could neither see nor understand. Perhaps it was not a different war at all, but the same battle in a hundred thousand guises, each of us grasping, in our own small, desperate way, for meaning, for joy, for something that might last. In that light, Kaes’s struggle was not so different from my own—his against the new life I had dealt him, mine against the so-called Divines who sat above this world. And perhaps, in that mirror, I found the true root of my resentment.
I cast such thoughts aside as the Whispering Wastes gave way to thorn-choked scrubland, the sands receding like a retreating tide. In the distance rose a vast, shimmering ocean of green that stretched to the horizon, broken only by a single road of pale stone that cut through it like a blade.
I stopped pulling, and the wagons came to a slow grinding halt.
“It has a kind of beauty, wouldn’t you say?” Damien said beside me, shading his eyes with a hand browned by sun and scar.
I nodded, feeling he wanted to say more.
“It’s a hell, though,” he went on, his tone dry. “A hell painted in shades of emerald. One man in ten will fall to fever. Another to goblin darts or the Soldier’s Runs. If not for the terms of our Contract, I’d turn my Dragon aside and skirt it altogether.”
“At least Larynda will have a break from her Water Calling, or whatever the mystics call it,” I said, squinting at the distant verge. “Why isn’t the road overgrown?”
“The Giants made it, or so the histories claim,” he answered. “Their work endures long past their bones. The stones, they say, ward off the jungle.”
“You asked before if I had a plan for the jungle,” I reminded him.
“I did. You claimed you did.”
“I do. I intend to burn much of the damned thing down. Find me Larynda, and I will begin to see to it.”
Just for a moment, I wondered how many unique species I would be killing.
Damien let out a soft laugh, low and amused, and barked a few orders to a passing rider. Moments later, Larynda appeared, perched atop her odd mount, Blossom. The Lirkud hovered inches above the earth like a manta ray gliding through the ocean’s dream.
“What is it, Gil?” she asked, voice flat as parchment.
“We’ve a jungle a path to make. Your talents and skills are required.”
“There’s already a road,” my ward replied, deadpan.
“We must ensure that said road is safe. Have Theo ready. We’ll ride ahead and make a path. Bring every Mana draught you’ve got—I suspect we’ll need them.”
“Yes, Gil,” she said, and turned without complaint and rode away to enact my will.
That was… unexpected. Blaming her age, I had grown used to sighs and sarcasm, the usual adolescent resistance to command. In fact, I had prepared all sorts of responses for any biting comments she might have had. Her ready compliance made me uneasy.
“She didn’t argue,” I muttered.
“She didn’t,” Damien agreed, raising a brow. “Is that meant to be unusual? She is a professional, I think, of the Silver, no? She knows that sometimes it is best to obey without question”
I found I could not offer a word of complaint. I would take my victories where I could.
“So let me understand this,” he said after a moment. “You truly mean to burn down the jungle?”
“I mean to try my best. Fire cleanses. It will drive back that which causes sickness and smoke out the Goblins, or at least make them wary. I must admit, though, I am rather curious to see one.”
“Ghastly things,” Damien said, his lip curling. “They’ll eat a man alive if they can, and each other too when they must. They look like twisted cousins of those sea-creatures you fought. The Mer.”
“The Mer?”
“Yes. Take one of those, shrink it to half-size, strip away what little beauty it has, and dye it a deep green. That’s your Goblin. Nasty little bastards. Hard to see in the foliage, too, what with their skin color. If you torch and wipe out a few, the men will be singing your name over their cups.”
“They should be singing it already,” I said dryly. “I did, after all, hand them a fortune when I dragged our newest ‘recruit’ into service.”
Damien de Savant chuckled, but the mirth did not reach his eyes. “A fortune bought at the Sultana’s expense. Careful how you prod the powerful, Gil. Even a dragon at rest can burn cities if provoked.”
“Aelayah is far from a Dragon. And, I think she’ll have her hands full,” I said. “Trying to keep her grip on the reins of power without me to steady the hand. Autocrats always do. Power breeds shadows, and shadows cloak greedy knives. She’ll have no shortage of enemies in my absence.”
“What happened between you two?” Damien asked, voice soft with curiosity.
Looking away, I wanted to run away from the truth of the memories. Wanting nothing more than to unleash Larynda’s black flames on the sea of green.
“I did nothing more than fulfill my word, fulfilled my part of the bargain in both word and deed, and in the exact fashion she wished for and wanted. That was my crime and this is my punishment.”
I did not feel like saying more.
Comments
Mesa
men make all sorts of excuses
KingOrgasmusTwo
Good circumlocution of „rape“, Sir Gil hahaha
