grievinglands
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Book 5: Chapter 13 - Resolution (RAW)
🕑 Added 2024-12-17 11:10:28 +0000 UTC"The superior strategist discerns trouble before it stirs and prepares their remedy."
- The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.
The new blade did not rest easily in its sheath. Even here, back in my quarters, I could feel the magical artifact thrumming with energy. Had I been a poetic man, I might have described it as a mournful hum. The blade itself seemed eager to be drawn, and I was just as eager to test it. But not now. I needed a moment to myself.
Soon, once I had been washed and scrubbed clean—once the rigor of my last battle had been cleansed from my body—I would have an audience with Lady Aelayah, the master of the Salahaem. Judging by the servants’ hushed whispers and titterings, my recent actions had caused quite the stir.
Aelayah’s maid, whom I had summoned to my chambers to attend me on a whim after a perceived slight, had seen to me in nervous silence. She bit her bottom lip and glanced repeatedly at the door, as though longing to escape. Once I had no further use for her, I bid her go.
“But the Lady Aelayah—” she began.
“Will wait on my pleasure. I have just killed more men and women than you can imagine. Aelayah will understand,” I replied irately, munching on a slice of Tantan fruit.
She looked as if she wanted to say more but wisely held her tongue. Her earlier boldness had landed her in my service; best not to test me further. No doubt it suited Aelayah to keep her here, to inform her of my disposition. Bowing her head, she left gratefully, almost at a full blown run.
I looked out the window. The sun had fully set. It was remarkable how much one could accomplish in a single day with the proper resolve. A knock sounded at the heavy door.
“Who is it now?” I snapped, irritation edging my voice.
“Elenora,” came a quiet, practiced reply.
“Come in then,” I said, sinking down onto a low couch.
Elenora swept into the room, as regal as any queen, despite her station being little higher than a common whore. It was astonishing how easily some people could adopt airs. Had I not known better, I would never have guessed that only a few years ago she was a gutter girl with a parasite of a child clinging to her skirts.
But now I noticed something else: she seemed paler. Truly looking at her for the first time since the Dust dream, I realized she hadn’t aged a day. Some women aged well, but Elenora looked as though she had discovered a fountain of youth. Were I a betting man, I’d still place her around my own age in terms of raw looks and appearance.
Had my magic been truly so powerful?
She sat next to me, her large, gentle eyes studying my face, waiting patiently with a woman’s quiet wisdom. Sometimes words were not meant to be said, but they still needed speaking.
“Zariyah,” I said simply, regret finding its way into my tone.
Her features tightened for an instant before she wrapped her slim arms around me.
“I don’t know what happened,” she cooed, voice soft and comforting. “But it’s all right.”
I embraced her in return, mindful not to crush her with my strength. Lady Aelayah could wait a little longer.
******
Entering Aelayah’s audience chamber, I drew every eye. Whispers followed the clank of my armor on the blue marble floor. Removing my serpent’s helm and tucking it under my arm, I halted exactly ten paces before the Lady herself. She was, I realized again, so very young and trying hard to project an aura of relaxed confidence.
“The Alim are pressing for Arbitration,” Aelayah declared, her voice pitched low in what she likely thought was a commanding tone.
A wave of murmurs rolled through the chamber, everyone breaking into sudden, frantic whispers.
“Quiet!” Farzan barked, and the talk died instantly.
Aelayah cleared her throat before continuing. “Their demand no doubt stems from the actions of Tamkar Gilgamesh and Magister Vincenzio, who have crushed the Adventurers’ Guild that dared stand against them.”
More uneasy murmuring followed, though I sensed no disbelief. Rather, they seemed grimly resigned to this reality.
Farzan glared them into silence again. He shot me a swift, knowing wink—one that reminded me of the Rogue Elwin. Where was that bounder?
“I have decided to accept,” Aelayah announced. “We will meet under the Dome of Becoming in the Council Chambers at noon tomorrow. You, Gilgamesh, and the de Savant man will attend me.”
“As you wish, Lady Aelayah,” said Damien, stepping forward and offering a sweeping bow so extravagant it bordered on parody.
I merely grunted and dipped my head, giving her the barest acknowledgment.
“Very well,” I replied, feeling that it had to be put into words.
The girl looked almost relieved. Why was there all of this song and dance over a simple announcement? Sometimes the acts of the rich and powerful beggared belief.
No there was more to it than this. The girl was hiding something, of that, I was sure.
Whatever it was, it looked like tomorrow would not be a day just like any other.
*****
Aelayah was borne on a palanquin, hoisted high by big, burly, bronze-skinned men who could have rivaled my late friend Enkidu in sheer size. We advanced at a stately pace—a full procession. Her mercenaries and household guards, all clad in ceremonial armor, glistened with sweat under the late morning sun, yet they pressed on, escorting her with utmost diligence.
Thanks to my impressive Constitution, even in my extremely heavy armor I barely felt the heat’s touch. By the time we reached the Dome of the Becoming, the central seat of the Council’s authority, it would be high noon.
Citizens lined the streets, gawking at us, unaccustomed to such a display of power. I suspected most were relieved that the internal strife in Al-Lazar would soon be over, allowing them to return to their mundane, if meaningless, daily lives.
The procession continued at the steady rhythm set by the palanquin bearers. There were no cheers, no petals scattered along our path—yet anyone could see it for what it was: a victory parade.
All this slow, deliberate pageantry gave me ample time to review my Status. My recent increase in level and Constitution had, as expected, pushed my Health to monstrous new heights. Still, there was a sour note: my “free” skill point had been randomly assigned to Improved Flails, a rather less-than-ideal outcome.
Our progress was slow, and when we finally arrived, the men in the procession sighed audibly with relief. Standing this close to the Dome of Becoming, calling it “imposing” would have been a trite understatement. I had been told the roof was coated in a thick layer of pure gold over pristine, imported white marble—an opulent statement of power. I estimated that there was enough gold on the dome to buy a small country.
With a poised grace befitting her high station, Lady Aelayah stepped down from her palanquin, her bearers remaining stoic and dignified despite the heat.
Farzan, Damien, and I moved together to escort her. Calder was no longer with us—he had been killed, I was told, in one of the Council skirmishes. His absence left Damien as the de facto commander of two full Dragons of mercenaries. Behind us, Lady Aelayah’s new Steward lagged some ten yards back before hurrying ahead to formally announce our arrival.
We passed through towering doors—easily three times the height of a grown man—that swung open with uncanny ease. Beyond them spread a circular hall of black marble, polished to a mirror’s sheen. Across the walls, sprawling murals depicted the storied history of Al-Lazar: ancient men raising the city’s first walls, forging fragile alliances with strange beings of the deep, and waging fierce wars against the tribes of the desert. These scenes, centuries old, now bore silent witness to a confrontation that might decide the city’s future.
High above, representatives of the Holder Houses and the ruling Council members peered down from their alcoves. Behind them stood scores of armored retainers, each wearing ceremonial garb that managed to be both ostentatious and undeniably lethal. Gilded armor plates reflected the light that filtered through the high windows, and crests of exotic feathers and precious stones caught every flicker of illumination. The air smelled faintly of incense.
Across from us lounged Kanaia, head of House Alim, watching with a predatory smile. She had been defeated in all but name, yet her grin suggested a cunning trap. Her slender fingers twirled a lock of hair idly, as if we were no more than mice come willingly into her den. The urge to storm forward and smash that smug expression from her face seethed within me, but I mastered myself. Unchecked violence here would solve nothing and surely trigger a bloodbath.
An old man, seated ten meters to Kanaia’s left, cleared his throat. Our presence had been announced by Aelayah’s new Steward, and now the Council made its move. His voice, impossibly clear and resonant under the Dome of Becoming, echoed around us. “You have been summoned for Arbitration, Lady Aelayah of Salahaem, to end the internal strife tearing Al-Lazar apart. State your terms.”
Aelayah did not hesitate. Her voice rang with confidence, though I could sense the tension riding beneath her words. “Al-Lazar cannot remain on the path it treads. Soon the Mer will attack, and in greater numbers. They will, as they always do, attempt to lay siege. This time I fear things will be different.
And for too long we have relied on the Dust, and the Dust alone, for our wealth. We need to reopen the old sea-trade routes, to seek new fortunes beyond the desert.”
The old man’s eyes were rheumy, clouded with the haze of a Dust addict. “And how do you know the Mer will be attacking soon?” he challenged, as if half-dreaming.
“Lord Kesken,” Aelayah answered, struggling to contain her frustration. “You know the season—the seas recede with the Moon’s influence, and the City of the Old Ones emerges. The Mer fear we will trespass upon those ancient halls and unleash terrors that even they cannot abide.”
A thin, dark-skinned councilor, nearly bald except for a stubborn fringe of hair at the back of his skull, scoffed. “Who cares for the superstitions of an alien and backwards people? Treasures from that ancient city more than make up for the lack of trade. Foreigners still cross the desert, even more so now that the Green Road is permanent. We need no change. And, what good would it do us to understand the motivations of the fish?”
Aelayah took a measured breath. “You think the Mer fight us because we pillage the treasure of the city beneath the waves? No. They fear we will bring forth another Cataclysm. There is something down there! And, does it not occur to you that understanding the enemy’s motives is essential to having a measure of control over them?”
“And how would you know all of this? No doubt you have been consorting with them? I will have you know that consorting with the enemy is treachery!” the bald man snarled.
Aelayah’s eyes flashed. “Foolishness. To know an enemy’s heart is to gain a blade against it. Did your tutors never teach such a basic truth?”
He sputtered with rage, but she ignored him, pressing on. “You did not summon me here out of some polite courtesy. You have no choice. You sent your best soldiers to crush us, to ‘discipline’ my House. They failed. The Salahaem stand triumphant.”
Kesken attempted to regain control. “What is it you wish, then, little girl?”
A low growl rose in my throat before I could stop it. “Call her ‘little girl’ again and I will gut you all, here and now,” I warned, my voice echoing beneath the great dome.
Damien looked at me in horror as if I had suddenly grown horns. As for Farzan he looked worried at the guards behind the Council members.
A portly man wearing a feathered turban sniffed, voice high and effete. “Who is this foreigner to speak in these hallowed halls?”
Aelayah did not spare him a glance. “He is Gilgamesh of Uruk, a Tamkar in my service. I believe he has proven himself more than capable of fulfilling that role, Lord Rashta.”
A collective gasp rose from the assembly, all except Kanaia, who continued to merely toy with her hair, amused. She reminded me of a cat who had just seen a mouse stumble closer.
Kesken tried to restore some semblance of tradition and order. “Arbitration means formal combat. You may choose your champion—provided he is a citizen born of Al-Lazar.”
Aelayah’s lips thinned. “A lie. Nowhere do the laws insist upon Al-Lazarian birth for my champion.”
The old man pretended confusion. “It is the proper custom, Lady Aelayah. There is an order to these matters.”
“Order?” she echoed bitterly. “This city has been stuck in a rut for generations, ruled by old men too corrupt to see past their own gain. You twist rules to suit yourselves, never thinking of tomorrow, never imagining a different future.”
Kesken’s face reddened. “I will not suffer this insult—”
“You will suffer whatever I choose. My spies tell me that your soldiers have named my Tamkar Djinn Slayer, Knight of Ash and Ruin. They fear him. The whole city fears him, the Golem of War. You all do. Otherwise, you would not be begging for Arbitration. I must remind you that the Salahaem can grind all those stand against us into the dust.”
Another council member, puffing on a water pipe, tried to protest. “Might does not make right—”
“How hypocritical,” Aelayah cut him off smoothly. “The Contest of Knives is itself might makes right, wrapped in pretty, civilized tradition. Many times foreign champions have fought in your name when it suited you. Spare me your moralizing.”
Her voice rose, filling the hall. She stood straighter now, every word infused with certainty. “My demands are simple: We will seek peace with the Mer. We will diversify our trade. We cannot continue pulling in three different directions under your selfish whims—Al-Lazar must be united under a single rule.”
Kesken’s bushy eyebrows jumped. “And you think that should be you?”
Aelayah leveled a glare at Kanaia. “Would you do better, Kanaia? You are obsessed with proving strength—especially your own. It blinds you. Men and women have differing strengths, and you deny yours, weakening yourself. And that is why you lost in the Contest of Knives and that is why you lost in the Festival.”
“How dare you! I did not lose in the Festival, I was declared the winner!” Kanaia hissed, but when she tried to refute Aelayah’s claim, she faltered, forced to stew in silence on her silken cushions.
Aelayah merely chose to ignore her, cementing the truth of her words.
A shrill voice from another council member rang out: “You would be a tyrant! The citizens will never stand for it!”
Aelayah laughed, a harsh sound. “Citizens stand for whatever they are told. Tell them the sky is purple, and they will swear it true. Do not deceive yourself. I will be Sultana, as in the days of old. The future of Al-Lazar demands it.”
I could see it clearly now: Aelayah had grown into her power. She had forced the Council’s hand. They were cornered, and we all knew it.
In that stillness, in that hush beneath the golden dome, one thing became certain: one sufficiently powerful person could indeed change the fate of a city.
