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Chapter 99. The Queen's Gambit
🕑 Added 2024-08-15 02:26:06 +0000 UTCAN. I am back. Still alive. Nothing deadly, but my eyes have been a problem for a long while. The current plan is to wrap up this book in the next chapter and then start the next one in earnest as soon as possible. A lot of groundwork had been done already on the third book and i am quite certain what it would contain in the broad strokes. But I might take some time to make sure I would not repeat the same mistake as i've done with the Ecdysis -- specifically that i didn't outline major milestones just as rigorously as i've done with the first book.
Catriona Emanai Aethil
She watched the camp below as the flock of gloves braided her hair and fixed any trinket that was out of place. Compared to the ramshackle of gers erected by the nomadic servants of Archomilea, the battlefield camp of her subjects was a walled city, no — a living being, united by its purpose. While the tribes of Barsashahr were forced to thin their numbers, sending the less prominent tribes back to the green steppe, lest all of them shame their overlords by starving their animals, the Emanai camp swelled as her warriors feasted on the timely shipments from Uureg. Nomads were fast and numerous but she was patient and inevitable.
Catriona spent centuries leading her lands to prosperity and any upstart trying to sow discord into her plans would pay dearly for it. Within and without. On her orders, the third Bragge was kept locked in time, forcing the Archomilea to sue for peace in the presence of his wounded body. For the brazen attack on her children, they paid with the tributary port-cities of Hilak on the south-eastern edge of the Babr mountains. One of the few farmland regions under nomadic control and their sole access to the South sea, its trade routes, and the eastern gateway to the world ocean.
The future years would be harsh for the steppe. By the time the Archomilea would regrow their shorn tails and dare to test her arms again, the western naval campaign would be over and the entirety of South Sea would be split between her and the dragon sleepyhead, just as the River of Fate ordained. The lands of Emanai would keep prospering and the new foothold would allow her subjects to execute pincer strikes into the Barsashahr steppe from both sides of the Babr mountains. Any future raid on Bayan Gol or Hilak would be answered not only with an immediate response of the relief arms but also with swift and daring raids from the opposite region. Catriona didn’t come into power by relying on Fate-Sight alone — the nomads could be swift, they might try to hide their plans from her, but Emanai would remain inevitable.
Her tentacle brushed the soft velvet of a nearby glove. Catriona was willing to indulge Albin’s antics, but even the best choices had consequences. The new Kiymetl offerings were… welcome, yet the House had a bigger part to play in the prosperity of Emanai, beyond sending the scales of power into turmoil and rousing her Pillars to the changing times. A guiding hand would be needed to calm their ambitions — Kiymetl would prosper from the bolstered eastern trade but none of the Hilak cities would be theirs to govern.
Flow rippled on her side and her ears picked up the now-familiar melody.
Cait cast a quick glance at her son. “You have chosen.”
“I have,” Albin nodded as he kept plucking the strings. “I will claim the artefact as my right of spoils.”
She coiled her tentacles in thought, yielding the artefact back wouldn’t get her more cities but it would give her time. “You know something.”
“It would be better to say that I know nothing.”
“Truly? And what is this ‘nothing’ that you have discovered?”
Albin put his instrument aside without silencing its music, “I spoke with Erf about the nature of this artefact. According to him, its core is a shard of some intricate but mundane design from a long-forgotten past. What Archomilea uncovered could be one of a kind just as likely as it could be one of thousands. If it is the former — we should keep it and deny its use to rakshas completely. If it is the latter — we need to learn its tricks post haste, before every chieftain of the steppe carries one into battle.”
The gloves scattered like frightened birds when Cait turned toward her son. “This is not the time to further ‘impress’ the rest of our family with you asking a wermurk for advice on Flow, let alone following it in earnest. Do not focus on Archomilea insomuch that you turn blind to everything else.”
“How certain are you that heurisks See the entirety of Flow? We can see the waves but can we see its tides? A subtle swelling of the water, not against the shoreline but in the middle of the sea? Try divining the nature of light and its connection to the warmth that dragons claim to see. Or, better yet, listen to this.” At his gesture, the instrument lit up in runes and one of the strings, now clad in blue, changed its tune. The hum turned into an ear-piercing screech, only to vanish without a trace shortly after. “Try to divine if the string is still singing.”
Cait blinked.
“An innocent question, borne not from the blatant disregard of our abilities but from the rejection of the established norms, redefining the order between senses and what is being sensed. A childish question, akin to asking why a horse is placed in front of a cart and not the other way around. And yet the world itself is eager to humour him. Some might be quick to see it as an affront to all that is heurisk, a smear on our power. I see it as a tacit revelation that each sense — wermurk, wermage, and even divine — serves a specific role and it is up to us to reach out further.” Albin twirled one of his divination cards between his fingers. “I agree with you, mother — our family needn’t know about this. It is not that I wish to avoid my aunts’ derision, but because I am unwilling to share my discovery with those who won’t appreciate it. What I will share with them are the tales of my success.”
She felt her tentacles relax. “And so you push for more, even if that would mean a daimon child for Kishava.”
Albin shrugged, withdrawing a sword from within his wrist. “If I must. I am ‘your’ son but I am your ‘son’ and while I dare not to trample on your plans without reason, I have my own ambitions to satisfy. This campaign has shown beyond any doubt that Erf is more than a passing curiosity. At war, he had shown himself sufficient for sheyda, cancer, and distracted raksha alike. At home, already drew your attention with his influence over the Kiymetl. His measure is wasted on crafting colourful baubles for the amusement of Dominas.”
Cait received the sword, intricately runed by a steady hand and a sharp eye. Mansiya’s work. It screamed at her through Flow, telling of its past deeds. Bragge’s blood, Mansiya’s fingers carving runes and getting sliced apart themselves, Albin’s grip on the handle… and Isra Enoch Haleh’s hammer. In the middle of that song — a whisper. A hand, casting alchemical flakes into the molten steel. A voice, guiding the hammer of the smith. A pinch, sliding across the blade.
She brought her finger to the unmarred part of the edge and pressed lightly. It didn’t cleave her finger off but it easily bit into her skin, drawing blood. Very easily.
A murk blade that could cut a goddess. A divine-slaying edge with but a murmur in Flow. Bragge’s greatest mistake was his complacency.
“A curious blade.” She murmured, watching the azure glow disappear from the droplet. “A dangerous blade, but a fragile one. I can feel it fading away by merely existing. And yet it can achieve so much. As long as it has a proper sheath to contain it and a proper hand to wield it. Both to keep it safe until it is ready to strike and to guard naive fingers that rush in without care. And so you crafted a sheath for it. You spun the tale of a daimon, warning my Houses not to act ill-advised and now you are weaving the protective runework around the blade itself, hiding him from Sight. At his behest, at that, for he is shrewd enough to recognise the threats he cannot stand against and wise enough to ask for aid without the stubbornness of youth. No wonder Sophia is jealous. How will you adorn his scabbard, then?”
Albin shrugged. “I will know once the Houses of War make their offers.”
“Albin.”
“Oh, I know exactly what they will offer, mother. The Houses of War were specifically chosen for this task — Kamshad will walk out of this ordeal shaken but unscathed and eager to dust their dirty corners, while the three Matriarchs are pious enough not to dismiss or boldly undermine a ‘daimon’ outright but shrewd enough to stymie his influence across your domains regardless. I do not know for certain what he will choose nor do I intend to steer him one way or another, let alone ‘save’ him from their gratitude. I didn’t call him a ‘child of Mreea’ because I wished to mould him into one, I did so because I expect him to act as one. And so he will.”
Cait pondered for a moment, weighing her choices, and then dove deep into Flow. Watching. Observing. Her fingers and tentacles twisted in an elaborate dance, assisting her spell, while her voice hummed a melody of guidance and focus. The ritual would exhaust her but this went beyond new silks and baubles to fill coffers with silver or a spark of mathematics and geometry to push eager wermages toward their next breakthrough. Screaming whips, alive one time and dead another, rustling scales that put lamuras to shame, a living sword with teeth sharper than the maw of a cancer. Flesh beyond flesh. Albin’s previous prudence was appropriate — rather than trampling the ambitions of a fragile wermurk bud, the threat of battle made it bloom with deadly flowers and sprout sharp thorns.
Only for Albin to deftly lead the raksha cub straight into that blooming bramble.
“The cities of Hilak will be auctioned amongst my Houses. All of them, including Kiymetl. Once chosen, each House will present their scions, diligent and worthy to handle such a task. The House that shows the most success in the upcoming years will receive my grace and likely the governance of the entire Hilak region.”
“A competition?” Albin hummed in thought.
“Just so. In time, Archomilea will seek to reconquer what is lost and I want the roots of Emanai to run deep and strong by then. None of my Houses can accomplish such a task single-handedly but together — they will.”
He nodded. “Meanwhile, the opportunity will calm the House relations and shift some of their attention from my ‘daimon’ and onto the shores of Hilak. Including Kiymetl. I’ve expected nothing less from you, mother. I assume Shebet will not participate?”
“As always, Shebet will ensure that the other Houses are not needlessly bickering with each other. I want an organised process, tempered by morals, not a frenzied rush of greed. And I want someone capable of enforcing those morals upon my Houses. A Censor of Hilak. You.”
“Mother,” Albin pouted.
“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” Cait opened her eyes and glared at her son. “And do not forget that all of this was caused by you recklessly barging into Bragge’s ger with little more than a murk blade by your side! What if it couldn’t cut through his defences? Archomilea needs to be fought with reason, not matched in their reckless stupidity!”
“I Saw his defeat, mother. Once the blade was in my possession, I could follow its path.”
“It was merely the most likely path amongst many. You rushed in to draw Bragge’s focus from your Erf.” She sighed and continued without the previous thunder. “Well, congratulations. Your gambit paid off, earning us Hilak. There is no reason why you ought not to oversee it. Your days of leisure and slovenly freedom are over, Albin.”
Albin grimaced, coiling his tentacles into a childish mask around his face.
Cait wordlessly slapped them apart with her power. “This goes beyond a mere Kishava child — your play will be the talk amongst the families. The Archomilea didn’t come quietly to retrieve their cub and neither did I — eyes and ears are upon us. Upon you. If you want to continue using your tricks, build a new facade. For the hidden edge of a kattar only bites deep when the enemy is distracted by the shine of your axe.”
“This outcome was inevitable, mother. Bragge didn’t come to deliver a siege to Bayan Gol. He came to test his new weapon on the two young heurisks. To see how much he could hide from our Sight and how much he could gain by humiliating the children of Catriona Emanai Aethil herself. Anything but a sound and swift defeat would’ve only emboldened their future attacks.”
“It was. I am not questioning the path you took but your steps along the way. Do your part and I will not object to the runework you promised.”
“What of Sophia?”
Cait blinked at him. “What about her? She has her duties as the Censor of Emanai. I hope you are not trying to shame me by asking her to carry your burdens?”
The music shuddered into silence. “Then who-”
“Oh, so you do know what he will choose.”
“I don’t need Sight to make a reasonable guess.”
“Then you know whom I will choose in response.”
Albin palmed his face. “You mean… her?”
“Do you have concerns about Eirene Shebet Ishani’s character, my dear son? Can you name a better Shebet candidate? Or, perhaps, you hope that my Pillars will be blind to the Speaker of Shebet or the Censor of Emanai overseeing your ‘daimon’? Will ‘Azhar Hatay Mesud’ step in and all but scream at the Houses of War that Erf is greatly favoured by their goddess? Eirene’s assignment will not provoke my Pillars and I trust her to perform her duties well. Cease your wretched theatrics — you chose this when you refused to bring him into the negation chambers.”
“Worth a try.” Her son stopped pretending to be an arrow-struck dove and floated up from the ground. “Not that I can outreason a heurisk right after her trance. Still-”
Cait shook her head. “How many wives does he have?”
Flow swirled once again as Albin’s eyes turned southward.
“So, now you’ve noticed it,” she followed his gaze toward Samat. “Your senses are sharp — I am certain that no other would have uncovered him as quickly as you did in the middle of my capital, or at all. And yet, even you failed to notice the subtle machinations of the lark he had left behind. While you were observing Erf extinguishing Sparks, she quietly crafted new ones. This is why I want Eirene to observe their Manor and why you need to start thinking more like a Censor and less like a Speaker.”
“That’s… Rurkha’s blood, I think? The fifth Trymr Rurkha, then — sheyda seed should be strong enough to quicken a wermage Spark within a wer womb.”
“I care not what sheyda did he milk — that is his right as a victor. The timing of the pregnancy is wrong. Too quick, too soon. Too perfect. It is as if the one called Yeva found a wer in Heat on her most auspicious day just as soon as the seed was in her hands.”
Albin twirled his tentacle between his fingers. “But she did not.”
“But she did not. It was no lucky accident, nor a divined attempt — the one called Yeva knew exactly what she was doing.” Cait rubbed her temples. “What a headache — not only is he crafting deadly weapons and trying to advise young and impressionable heurisks, he is teaching murks how to breed wermages. I, Catriona Emanai Aethil, have to change my plans around him and you, my shameless son, show little remorse in forcing me to do so.”
“Why would I be ashamed of such an achievement? It could’ve been worse — Erf could have been a headache for another family.”
“They would’ve removed him as soon as he started making waves.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. He grows surprisingly prickly once he feels threatened. But the fertile land between the mountains bears your name for a reason. Archomilea still believe we fear chaos when it is the time we are at our strongest.”
”They aren’t idiots, Albin.” Catriona summoned her gloves back and turned away from the window. “While their subjects are often quite barbaric and lack proper forethought, the adult rakshas know that our strength does not come without effort. Remember this when they come for Hilak. Fifty years. Make sure he remains your headache, dear son, and Eirene has nothing to report.”
“As you command.”
Her flying farshat unrolled in front of her feet, while the gloves fluttered back into their chest box. She would join Sophia and Archomilea representatives after making sure the Gift was made exactly as she wanted it to be.
Shireen Kosenya Irada
“What a mess.” A voice sighed nearby.
Shireen glanced at the fourth daughter. Just like her, the Lady of the House was part of Roxanna Inayat’s close entourage in Samat and, since the Matriarch accepted Aikerim Adal’s invitation, they had found themselves in the inner courtyards of the Kiymetl Manor.
“To think that the vaunted Kiymetl steel was being worked on in such a haphazard manner…”
Shireen glanced around and found herself agreeing — despite being a healer, she saw plenty of factories, smith-works, and other manufactures, both Kosenya and otherwise, to understand how woefully lacklustre the organisation of this estate was. Some servants were running like headless chickens while others relaxed without restraint. And many of those who did work were quite bad at it — one of the servants almost overturned his load as he tried to push his wheelbarrow past their entourage.
“It is a young Manor without a history of working with iron,” The Matriarch mused from her litter, curiously observing the activities around them. “And the estate is even younger. The lack of skilled labour is expected. No, their ability to produce the ‘Haleh’ steel despite such shortcomings is quite commendable. The Enoch truly adores Anaise Hilal to support her so.”
“Please accept my apologies for such an unsightly display.” Their Enoch escort offered a polite bow. “Many of the slaves here came from across the sea — cheap but of a lower quality.”
“It is a good thing that Yeva values skills that matter everywhere — like fire-keeping,” a nearby lamura shook her head, “but if you consider the wheeled contraption wrangling to be just as important, our clans are eager to witness your skills on the loose sands of Yusuf.”
Pebbles crunched under a hoof. “They are not in Yusuf anymore.”
“Indeed. And now they answer directly to Yeva, while you apprentice to an apprentice.”
Shireen hid her smirk when Roxanna Inayat’s gaze immediately found the aforementioned servant and subtly followed him until he disappeared inside one of the buildings. Since the Kosenya Matriarch herself came here it would be a while until Aikerim Adal would meet her in person. A good host would take her time to prepare for a valuable guest but said guest shouldn’t be neglected either. Never to miss an opportunity, Roxanna quickly turned the offered tour of the hidden estate into a contest of pride, learning much more about the place than she otherwise could. Aikerim’s Manor was one of the loudest gossips in Samat right now and it was no wonder that those with ambition quickly found their way inside. Either to learn or to forge new connections with the likes of Roxanna Inayat.
The Matriarch scrunched her nose and grinned.
“Greetings, noble Matriarch. I hope that my estate is not too disagreeable to your senses.”
Shireen twisted around at the sound of the sudden greeting, feeling the hair standing up on her ears. The murk healer stood uncomfortably close to arrive unnoticed. Not close enough to force one of the Kosenya guards into immediate action but sufficiently close that the guard captain would get an earful later. It mattered little that the healer girl was known to them or that she was half the size of a scrawny Enoch or a third of a starved lamura — that is how Collectors killed their targets.
Armed with a basket in her hands, Yeva made a polite bow. “Apologies for not meeting personally at the entrance but I didn’t wish to greet you empty-handed.”
“Well then, allow me to be greedy in turn,” Roxanna chuckled, calming her guards with a wave of her hand. Another gesture and a nearby servant ran up to the healer girl and received the proffered basket. “After all, you were teasing me with these smells from the moment I stepped inside the Manor.”
Shireen took in the svelte child. A stark-white kaftan, lacking any stains despite its length, embroidered with pale-blue patterns. A well-made sash of similar colours, marking her diverse achievements and high-ranking status, including her sadaq connection, yet a slave medallion on her neck. A show of controversies — it was as if she was trying to dress poorly with the most luxurious materials.
To highlight that stark contrast, a stately lamura emerged behind Yeva’s back. Spark beside the murk. Curves and frills of black and gold against the straight lines of white and blue. Lush, long, raven hair and short blonde. One had her eyes covered by a white silk cloth while the veil of the other hid everything but her lamurian eyes. To call all of this an accident would be akin to admitting own blindness and folly — everything screamed of deliberate design.
And yet, it was the healer girl that stood out from the pair. A waxing crescent in the dark sky and more than a far cry from the healer child that attended to her Matriarch.
If she could match those clothes, that is.
“You seem to be growing splendidly yourself.” Roxanna noticed it as well. She quickly inspected the gift and glanced around for the escorts that already made themselves scarce. “I hope our arrival didn’t cause too much disruption.”
“Oh do not mind them. As the House of cart and road and a clan of ship and camel, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were bickering about the worth of the wheel before my great-great-grand-mother was even born!” Yeva tried to shrug it off with a polite smile. “On the other hand, a little bit of rivalry here and there makes the work go faster.”
A bold response turned brazen once the fourth daughter took another glance at a nearby group of idle servants, but Shireen kept her silence. Her duty here was to attend to the pregnant Matriarch and, if necessary, to observe the Kiymetl healer.
Said healer was quick to notice the pointed glances as well “Erezid Sumun, where do you think the wisdom lies? A camel or a cart?”
“A well-disciplined foot.” The Lady of the House didn’t let go. “The choice between the two is a luxury most do not have, especially on a campaign — one needs to know how to use what is available to them.”
“Your words are wise, the fourth daughter of Kosenya. Circumstances often dictate what we have and it is our duty to use that to the best of our abilities. Camels are resilient and strong, they can travel on loose ground and across treacherous terrain, but they are also wilful and often stubborn. A handcart has no will of its own, but it requires a sufficiently flat terrain or even a smooth road to be effective. That is why you entice camels with food and water and build roads for carts and wheelbarrows.”
“Oh?” Roxanna perked up. “And what kind of ‘road’ are you building for your servants here?”
“A complex task can be broken down into smaller, simpler parts. What one artisan can achieve herself, five apprentices can often match. But then I would ask — why stop there? An average murk slave might lack the skills, but they can be taught to perform a single task and do it well. Gather twenty of such specialists, and you have an apprentice. Gather a hundred — and it is a full artisan.”
“You cannot find another loyal artisan? Or even a master? How many thousands would you need to train in such a way to match the likes of Isra Haleh?”
Yeva shook her head. “It is not the loyalty that I can’t find, noble Matriarch. Isra Haleh is a spectacular mastersmith, but she is still an apprentice machinist and others are even further behind. If I were to wait until they properly developed their skills, your order would be ready in ten years rather than a tenday from now.”
“You solved your problem with numbers,” the fourth daughter spoke up again. “But a bellows-boy would grow into a bellows-man and little more, and what you have here is no simple smithy to be content that alone. Textiles, glass, soaps and ointments — each ‘complex task’ of yours requires another hundred or even more. To keep growing, you need people.”
She glanced at the basket in her mother’s hands. “But now, once you’ve insulted Kishava, you can’t acquire local slaves and, since Aikerim Adal had rather sour relations with Samat, you can’t hire decent workers either. And so, to get out of this predicament, your Domina is looking for our help.”
Yeva observed the Lady of the House for a moment only to sigh in defeat. “You are correct, the fourth daughter of Kosenya — I am seeking your mother’s assistance. I wouldn’t dare to guess Aikerim Adal’s intentions toward the Matriarch as I only implored her to invite your House on my behalf.”
Shireen frowned. What?
And so did the fourth daughter. “Your behalf?”
Roxanna just kept her ears straight. “Oh? Not me but someone from my House?”
A polite bow. “I am a mere alchemist and a healer, it is beyond me to ask for a Pillar Matriarch directly.”
The Matriarch stilled her daughter. “You seem to have found your voice. Very well, tell me of your plight.”
“I merely wished to dispel misconceptions about me that some of your subjects may hold. But I see that I may have caused more in the meantime. Yes, I have some troubles with my servants but they are of a different kind. Up to this day, I’ve lost seven of mine to the… outside forces.”
“You want our help in finding the culprits?”
“My Domina is aware of who is responsible. I have no doubts she will deal with this issue wisely. But that is the other main reason why I chose this particular method of training my servants.
“Oh?” Roxanna blinked but then a grin split her face. “My, how devious.”
The fourth daughter leaned closer. “Mother?”
“If she needs a hundred people to complete a task, others have to abduct a hundred people to steal it. Is that right?”
Yeva inclined her head. “Just so. I was doing it out of a sense of necessity, but, unfortunately, my fears were proven true. I expect some pushback in acquiring more people but as you can see there are plenty of inefficiencies to solve. It would be quite some time until we are truly starved for more. Who knows, the next generation of children might be old enough by then.
“That brings me to the main misconception.” Yeva turned toward her and bowed. “Honourable Shireen, would you be the judge of my healer skills?”
“Right here?”
“I have a special building set up just for that. I have helped one of mine to become pregnant and the healers of Aikerim Adal were quite praiseworthy of my skills. Not to leave the rest of you waiting, my assistant,” she gestured at the smug lamura behind her, “can lead you to meet Isra Haleh. She and her apprentices are likely working on your armour as we speak.”
“Oh? To see the vaunted ‘Haleh’ steel being worked on in person? How tempting.” Roxanna glanced at her daughter. “Erezid, would you?”
“Me? But-”
“I am an expectant Mother.” Roxanna got up from her litter. “The steel is curious, but I am more interested in the healer in front of me. Now, shall we go to that building?”
For the first time today, there was a chink in Yeva’s visage. “Um.” The child adjusted the collar of the kaftan and for a moment Shireen saw a glimpse of scale underneath. Was she wearing armour?
“The building is rather cramped,” the lamura spoke up. “I do not think that it can fit your entire entourage.”
The matriarch’s ear flipped in obvious dismissal. “Then only three of us will go.”
“Mother!”
“What? Are you saying that there is someone here, who can rival my power? Or should I rely on the guards who failed to notice the arrival of our murk friend? You have your task, daughter, and I have my curiosity to fulfil. After all, I do not wish to wonder if I allowed some crook to plaster me with leeches.”
Shireen sighed. Roxanna was wilful but pregnancy made it that more obvious. She could see the tremble in her tail and knew that any arguments were useless. She just had to make sure that the Kiymetl healer wouldn’t abuse the curiosity of her Matriarch.
Pebbles rustled under the heavy tail as lamura leaned closer to Shireen. “Remember that she is a wife of the Kiymetl daimon.”
“She is a host,” Shireen quietly growled in turn. “If she continues to act like one — she will be treated with respect. I will not protect her if she acts against my Matriarch.”
The yellow-on-black eyes crinkled from a veiled smile. “Then we are in agreement.”
“Would you both cease your posturing?” Roxanna huffed. “I did not come here to bicker.”
“Apologies, noble Matriarch,” the lamura hissed. “My protective side took the best of me. After all, Yeva promised to deliver my future children too.”
XXX
“Shireen?”
Shireen rubbed her temples, “Your senses do not lie to you. This woman is having twins. Wermage twins. Their Sparks are shining bright and steady.”
The wer squealed at her affirmation, making Shireen wince once again. The mother-to-be had enough lungs to birth ten children at the very least.
Roxanna took her eyes off the excited wer and claimed a nearby bed for herself. Her ears were sharp and her gaze was on Yeva once more. “Who is the father?”
“I will not claim to make the impossible possible — merely turning the ‘unlikely’ into the ‘certain’. The seed was harvested from a sheyda chieftain. What I did was ensure the most desirable outcome for the mother and the seed. Maya couldn’t decide whether she wanted a daughter or a son so I gave her both.”
“What do you think, Shireen?”
“How do you expect me to judge her skills? If I were to compare this to a warrior wer claiming a sheyda chieftain dick as her spoils — a talented Manipular after an excessively rich harvest of prominent captives, perhaps — a wermage child, let alone twins, would be seen as a very fortuitous event. For that wer. If one of my apprentices even thought about doing something like this, let alone making it happen, I would’ve whipped her buttocks red.” Shireen crossed her arms in a huff. “You would’ve impressed me more as a healer if you showed me a vial of preserved sheyda seed, brought all the way to Samat. Using it on a wer…”
“A child’s conception is often likened to a farmer broadcasting seeds across a fertile field, hoping for a bountiful harvest.” Yeva ushered the wer mother away and started assembling some trinket on a nearby table. “But I wouldn’t call it an apt description. Rather than a vast field, there is usually just a single pot, large enough to sprout a single tree.”
“And so you chose a cracked pot to throw good seeds at?”
Yeva pulled the silk ribbon off her eyes. The silver eyes — too alive to be blind. “I didn’t cast seeds. I planted them.”
The bed squeaked as the Matriarch leaned forward, her ears flat, her own gaze — unblinking.
“You lied about being blind,” Shireen accused, ready to unleash her spells at a moment’s notice.
“I never said that I was blind. I just do not need my eyes for most of my everyday tasks.” Yeva averted her gaze and busied herself with lighting candles around the contraption. “Tell me, noble healer, if a tiny droplet of wermage seed was cast upon a truly fertile field — the likes of which wouldn’t leave a single seed to rot — how many children would it sprout?”
“Are you telling me that you used a single drop to get her pregnant?”
The murk healer finished clanking with slivers of glass. “Hmm, good enough. Come, take a look.”
Shireen glanced at the tubular contraption the murk was pointing at with suspicion. “What is it?”
“It is a type of looking glass, I see that your Matriarch recognised the form as well. This one is designed for size rather than distance.”
Roxanna got up from the bed. “Let me see.”
Yeva stepped aside, maintaining a respectful distance. “Of course, you know where to look.”
The Matriarch bent down and, with a practised ease, brought her eye to the trinket. “Tadpoles?”
“You are looking at individual male seeds, noble Matriarch. Provided a fertile land, each one of them has the potential to become a child.”
“Ugh, now I feel like a swamp.”
“My sincere apologies, but some things are just the way they are. Do note that it is a way for nature to ensure a more viable offspring and they do not last long. A female body is ruthless to them, making them swim through a veritable slaughter so that the weakest swimmers would never reach the coveted pot.”
Shireen stepped closer. “May I?”
Roxanna pulled away with a grimace on her face. “Go on, ruin your appetite.”
She carefully repeated her Matriarch’s movements and when she did so Shireen found herself speechless. Not by the unfortunate shape but by the sheer number. “Is that how many there are in a single droplet?”
“Not even close. This is but a tiny fraction of that droplet. To answer my original question, a single drop of male seed is enough to conceive a few million children. We are talking numbers approaching the population of Emanai in its entirety.”
“What?” Shireen croaked, pushing the contraption aside. “What did you say!?”
“Nature selects in a very blunt manner — akin to sending ten full arms on a forced march through the Forest without additional supplies so that one could choose the best candidate among the twenty survivors to reach the other edge. The method is quick and wildly inefficient — I am certain that both of you realise that survivors rarely mean best of the best but, when all that matters is making a good enough choice out of millions of candidates and millions more are no further than a few hand-strokes away, you can see why it is a decent solution.” Yeva took a seat across from them. “But imagine if you could do the selection yourself as if you were vetting potential recruits into an arm? Take that droplet, remove the sickly and the broken and you have a million viable ‘swimmers’ at the very least. Make the selection more strenuous — take the best one out of every thousand and you still have a thousand left over. For every droplet. And we all should know that men produce more than a single drop — some might be squeezed for a dozen, others might almost drown a thirsty cougar.
“That is also an impossibly ideal scenario and there will be numerous losses and inefficiencies along the way but, as I’ve said before, when you can get hundreds of millions more with but a few hand-strokes, even a single ‘perfect’ child per drop is plenty enough.”
Shireen felt her fingers clench. This was bad. Very bad.
Yeva leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. “And if I were to require more of that sheyda seed, I am certain that my husband will provide. After all, he was the one who killed that chieftain. In personal combat, despite being a ‘mere murk’. Barbarians, you know? Swift. Strong. Stupid. The fifth Trymr Rurkha looked at the daimon Alchemist of Kiymetl and saw nothing but the missing Spark.”
Should she-
“Shireen, stand down.”
“But Matriarch-”
Steel flashed in the Matriarch’s eyes. “You are here as my healer. Do not intrude.”
As Shireen swallowed her tongue, Roxanna Inayat calmly returned to the nearby bed and focused on Yeva. “Trymr Rurkha the Fifth… I do know that cur. Was Erf able to claim anything more than his seed?”
Yeva sighed and sat up straighter, hiding the shake with the grip of her hands. “He did acquire the lost honour. Since you are staying in Samat, Kosenya braids will be returned to you directly.”
“Good. My kin will remember his deeds,” Roxanna cast a meaningful glance at Shireen and turned back to Yeva. “Do not fear… child. Even if it was a mere sweet, I have eaten the food you offered as my host. I will not disgrace our House’s honour by breaking the oaths of hospitality. Nor would I defy my Goddess and attack a fellow Pillar.”
“Apologies. Even though I know of your character, I am still a murk at heart. All my life I was taught to fear the wermage gaze.”
“Your eyes of silver… I wasn’t paying much attention back then but I do remember Erf having similar eyes. Are you related?”
“As a husband and wife can be. But we are somewhat similar.”
“You are somewhat similar…” Roxanna groaned and shook her head. “What a mess! Tell me then, child daimon, why did you summon us here?”
Shireen blinked alongside Yeva.
“A child daimon?”
“Will you deny it? Will you deny that the knowledge you shared with us wasn’t of the time-enlightened kind, brought to now from the unknown when?”
Yeva twitched and Shireen wished to pull herself into a hole by her ears — if Roxanna Inayat didn’t stop her, she might’ve done something unthinkable. So that was why the Kosenya Matriarch was so receptive to the girl — her sharp nose and straight ears pierced through the ruse a long time ago.
“Precisely. So, tell me — why am I here?”
The daimon sighed. “There is a rot within the Kamshad ranks. Agents of the current Great Lord of the Steppe had wormed their way inside. The Censor knew about it but prohibited Erf from interfering, lest the third Bragge learns that the ruse is no more.”
“Unpleasant, but if the Censor made her will known I see no reason to disagree.”
“Those agents do not only seek to hand the defeat of Emanai arms to the horde of Bragge Archomilea — they set their sights on my Erf. They already attacked him under the cover of Kamshad and now, since there is a decisive battle brewing, they might strike at him again. If they do, they will fail just as spectacularly as that chieftain did and I fear that is exactly what Sophia Chasya is expecting to happen. The agents will smash against the impenetrable wall that is my Erf, the enemy General will lose his assets without knowing why, and the Censor can plot other strategies without worrying about that trap.” Yeva sighed. “And the Kamshad end up feeling like fools. Who do you think they will blame for it? A barbarian General outwitting the civilised House? A Divinely-anointed Censor? Or an ‘incomplete daimon’ without a Spark?”
Roxanna nodded. “You want me to mediate.”
“Precisely,” Yeva bowed slightly, “I need someone with a calm mind, high morals, and an unquestionable character. I need someone whom Roshanak Kamshad Gulnaz would listen to. I need you, honourable Kosenya Matriarch.”
“And what is your position toward my cousin and the rest of Emanai? I will not hold Roshanak back just so you have the time to gather strength for a strike.”
“After everything that I’ve revealed to you today and everything else that you’ve known about us so far, what should be the position of a daimonic sadaq with a Pillar Matriarch-to-be in it? The very same sadaq that was personally witnessed by the Goddess at that. Mutual respect? A begrudging one, at the very least? What it definitely won’t be is a subservient kowtowing just to be ‘honoured’ by one of her children. Nor would we expect their obeisance either.”
Roxanna pondered for a few moments.
“Shireen?”
“Yes, my Matriarch?”
“Is anyone from the direct line approaching her Heat?”
“Yaran should have hers this year.”
“Mitra’s little Yara?” Matriarch bit her thumb in thought but eventually nodded. “Yes, that would be acceptable… Yeva?”
“You want me to impregnate your granddaughter for your assistance?”
“Impregnate — yes. With sheyda seed?” Roxanna scoffed. “No. I will not besmirch the daughter of my eldest with a barely adequate seed, no matter how skilful you are at purifying it. After all, you said it yourself that all you can do is pick the best from what is given to you. No, I want something better. I want a strong seed with a respectable heritage and impressive pedigree. Let us say a seed of Amalric Karim or Aidar Daniar.”
“Anaise’s brothers?” Yeva frowned. “You will have to ask Aikerim Adal if she is willing.”
“Of course I will ask their mother first! Who do you think I am? A cradle robber!? I am asking if you are capable of purifying their seed just as well as you did with this one. No. Better than that — there is no need for any leftovers.”
“If Aikerim Adal is willing and the chosen son asks for my assistance, yes, I will use my skills as if I were treating the Domina herself. If nothing else, they are Anaise’s brothers. But,” Yeva leaned forward, trying to stare down the most powerful wermage in Samat, “I sincerely hope that this favour would be returned in kind.”
Roxanna barked a laugh. “You’ve got guts, despite trembling like a leaf, I respect that. But you are still too quick to judge, child daimon. You asked me to mediate? I am. I will not hide who is the father of the baby, nor will Aikerim Adal. If the child ends up being as gifted as you claim, every other Matriarch might put aside their grievances just for the chance to grab the other brother. In the meantime, Aikerim’s son will claim a respectable position within Yaran’s sadaq, potentially ending up as the father of a future Kosenya Matriarch. That would calm quite a few whispers in my as well as the other two Houses of War, allowing me to mediate without any ears getting tilted. Before you say anything else — no other Matriarch would likely match my offer. Zamindar Azrin, perhaps, but Enoch is already on your side.”
“My Matriarch is taking a heavy gamble on your words alone,” Shireen stepped in. “There is a line of fourteen hopefuls to be the next father that she would need to push aside. Plenty of tails that she needs to step on. If there is even a hint of uncertainty inside your heart — step aside right now.”
“And I am taking an equally heavy gamble by offering this opportunity to an outsider of the Manor. Rest assured — unless I am forced to, I have no plans to wear the mantle of a healer day after day for years to come. I have an estate to run, workshops to oversee, and scores of apprentices to teach.” Yeva sighed, absentmindedly running her fingers through the leaves of a nearby plant. “But, if Erf is willing to still his heart and spill blood for our safety, I am willing to still mine and stand in front of a Matriarch just so he does not need to keep spilling blood forever. Aikerim Adal has finished her preparations to meet you, honourable Matriarch. Once all are in agreement, I will schedule a meeting with the future mother.”
Roxanna spun her ears around. “Is she?”
“I do not need to rely on my eyes for a reason. She is. Shireen?”
Shireen stopped searching for the hidden messengers and glanced at the young healer… daimon… child. “Yes?”
The silver flashed with steel. “Since my sadaq went north, eight Collectors tried to sneak inside my estate. Five of them had orders to either kidnap me or kill me outright. As you can see, all of them failed.”
The petite murk fingers picked up a small dagger and neatly folded the blade in half. “Your Matriarch saved your life.”
XXX
As far as I knew, the tent of Lita’af Kamshad Hikmat wasn’t that much different from the one my wives and retainers occupied. Retainers. What a word. But I was a big boy now, playing in big girl politics and while my wives could tolerate a lot of my shenanigans they weren’t tagalongs. I had appearances and decorum to maintain. Set by Emanai standards. The very same ones where Anaise would struggle to see what was wrong with all three of her parents maintaining personal Companions beyond the obvious ‘slavery is bad’. No, as far as I could tell, she was more scandalised by me playing music in public than massaging the vetted wermage of sufficiently high status into a sodden quivering mess — the only reason I was allowed to live after such a shameful display was that I had Albin as my partner in ‘crime’. The Kausar twins also set a very solid benchmark — no other wermage of lower status would dare to request a better deal. But that wasn’t important right now.
Because this wasn’t the tent of Lita’af Hikmat.
My well-trained eye could easily spot the subtle differences everywhere I looked. The leather walls were made of solid stone, engraved in glowing runework. The room which should be somewhat cramped even if every single partition was removed from the tent was now large enough to accommodate half of an arm. A maniple’s worth of towering statues, cast and carved from a variety of materials and then painstakingly painted with all colours imaginable and dressed in finest of silks. Windows, large enough for a chicken-legged hut to pay a visit, failed to show even a glimpse of the expected camp activity outside.
I was also alone, despite passing the tent flap surrounded by an entourage. There were no wives by my side, no twins walking behind. There was no Lita’af in front to greet us either. The hall was empty, apart from a solitary figure that rivalled nearby statues in height.
Glowing eyes, wiggling tentacles, a tail to make Shahin question her lamurinity. And the three honking horns that a few million Emanai inhabitants swore by. Yeah. Exhaust? Meet the engine-rich fuel. All I could do was go down on my knee in silence, looking no further than the square of black marble I found myself standing on.
“The one called Erf,” the voice of the goddess had an appropriately divine thrum to it. A hum of power, the source of which I couldn’t easily pinpoint. “A fake daimon. An oddity. An annoyance. Yet, I was told that you were surprisingly decent at the game of chatrang.
“Play a game with me.”
Comments
Not a clever man
It's been over two months since your last post, hope you are staying safe and feeling well
Juggs_Gotcha
he had some health issues earlier, but I was more generally meaning the old brain health. writing and publishing can put you in a weird head space, especially when you're writing and releasing without a backlog. Takes a toll on the mental.
losky
is the author sick?
Juggs_Gotcha
Take care of yourself authorman.
Hayden Linder
Hey Snus, just checking in. You doing OK?
Yoshiii311
Tournament Arc incoming.
Not a clever man
Thanks for the chapter, where is Hilak on your map?
Maniac
Erf has gone from giving his Domina headaches, to giving a Goddess headaches. He's moving up in the world. XD
Natthaporn Hongcharoen
Cait's horns can honk? I wonder what they sound like
Jim Payne
Welcome back! Fantastic chapter and great cliffhanger!!
Natthaporn Hongcharoen
So the dragons see infrared?
Bast
Thanks for the chapter! Take all the time you need ^^
Digdug
Welcome back. Ty for the chapter. And please take care of yourself, health issues suck.
Paul Barron
A new chapter! Hurray! A long one too!
SovietDegendays
It's been years since the last chapter and you did not disappoint
Amelgar
lol, 'decent'. Albin definitely set his mum up (ignoring the fact she probably already knew...)
