The command structure in Ermoor was odd, to say the least. It was designed to keep those who had money and connections in power, without regard to intelligence, skill, or any other merit. He understood it from their perspective, of course; but it was an objectively terrible way to rule a massive city. The brilliance of it, however, was that the Twelve Crowns had almost complete power. They could do anything in Ermoor, regardless of the law, because they created the law.
And now that power was his. The one aspect of Ermoor's administration he didn't have complete control of was military matters. And since his project was military based, he was still stuck. As he waited for Symond to show up, he realised he might need the Lord Commander after all. The thought irked him more than it should have, and his mood darkened. By the time footsteps began echoing through the chamber, announcing Symonds' entrance, he was as certain about his plan as he was furious.
Arthor
Arthor's boots thumped against the cold, black stone, echoing as he approached the Twelve. He'd been called to an emergency meeting at the last moment; there was no way to refuse. Ellie had begged him not to go, but to decline a meeting with them at this stage would invite an immediate retaliation. It was only one more day until his 'retirement'. If he could smooth things over with them, or at least make them believe he was going to cooperate, it may just assist him to escape.
He'd tried to leave Ermoor earlier, but to no avail. He was too easily recognised; the problem with being the public face of the Ermoori Government. If he'd been one of the Twelve there would be no such trouble; he'd have almost limitless resources as well as anonymity. But every time he tried to leave the country, he was seen, confronted, asked questions. He had, at the least, sent Ellie away, and was glad for that much; she'd be safe.
Now there was just the matter at hand; he found himself shaking as he walked through the dark corridor, certain he was walking to his death. The coded letter he received said they wanted to discuss how to proceed with the project after he'd cancelled the production of energy and weapons; asking him how to get around the obstacle he himself had put up for them. It was an insult and they knew it. He assumed they were trying to provoke him into attacking or at least putting himself in contempt again to justify killing him now.
The chamber was deathly silent when he entered, and full of shadows. As he was forewarned, only a single member of the Twelve was present. He could have taken it as an insult, but he was too scared to be angry about it. Besides, just like with everything the Twelve did, it was most likely either a game or a trap or both; they were simply seeing if he would take the opportunity to attack one solitary person. The other eleven members were probably hiding in the chamber somewhere, watching and waiting.
He moved to the centre of the room, surrounded by the twelve seats where the Crowns usually sat. The one Crown who'd showed up sat in one of the two middle seats, sitting proper and tense. Arthor was immediately alarmed; they usually sat in arrogant hunches, their posture as bad as their attitude. There was something eerily different about the Crown sitting before him, and yet horribly familiar. It felt as though a monster sat in place of the person, a monster he'd seen in his nightmares. For a second, he thought it might be the shadowy being that spoke into his mind; but he didn't say anything in case he was simply imagining things. He stood silently, waiting for the Crown to address him. He was determined to do everything right. For a moment, the Crown simply sat, watching.
"Lord Commander Arthor Symond. You were previously found to be in contempt of the Twelve Crowns, and given the order to submit for retirement one day from today. This meeting is to discuss Ermoor's future plans for Pandeia, and how they might be realised. You have made it clear that you don't believe Overseer Hayne's methods were sound."
His voice remained level, emotionless, and Arthor struggled to keep calm. Of course his methods weren't sound! He thought. He captured some creature and set it loose on the city!
"You now have a chance to redeem yourself. Do you see any alternate pathway to the same goal?"
The words struck him like a bucket full of cold water. A chance to redeem myself? He thought immediately of Ellie; he'd sent her away already, but if he could salvage the situation with the Twelve and remove his retirement order, he could call her back.
"There are always other paths. I can achieve the same goal as Riffolk, I promise."
Even to himself, his voice sounded oddly calm and confident. The man in front of him didn't react at all; it felt like staring at a statue.
"That remains to be seen, Lord Commander. We wish to discuss how you will deliver your promise. Without a plan, your promises are meaningless."
Arthor didn't have an easy answer. The truth was he could deliver what they wanted, but it would take much, much longer than the timeline Riffolk's project made possible. It felt far too early to give them such bad news, however, and he got the uneasy feeling of walking on thin, cracking ice above a deathly cold lake.
"We still have the energy coming from the Tyrans," he said quietly, "that's on top of the factories in Darkpoint, and using blueprints Riffolk already drew up, we will be able to begin manufacturing units almost immediately, though they will need to be projectile weapons instead of energy based. Without the systems he designed and the automation process, it may take a little longer. But we will get to the same result."
The Crown stared again. They were usually easier to read, and he found himself again filled with the odd feeling that the person in front of him was someone else. Something else.
"I see," the Crown finally said. "How much longer?"
He hesitated, but there was no point dancing around the bottom line; the Twelve would find out eventually.
"Years. The original timeline, before Riffolk's project started, was twenty years. As you know. Now, with the recent setbacks our scientific district and resources have suffered, it may even be longer."
The Crown finally reacted, with an audible scoff. "We simply cannot wait that long, Lord Commander. You're not fighting very hard to avoid your retirement."
"You're forgetting one thing, your honour; without Riffolk, you have no choice. I am your only way to achieve Ermoor's goals."
It was a risky move, a bold statement. He had to force himself to stand still, maintaining eye contact. Another silence filled the chamber, pressing in on Arthor until he heard his heartbeat in his ears.
"Very well. The order for your retirement is hereby retracted. You will oversee this project, though we urge you to use any means necessary to expedite the timeline. This project is paramount. You have one last chance."
Arthor's mind was whirling as he stepped out from the secret entrance into the tunnels that lead to the Chamber of the Twelve. Another chance! He'd desperately hoped for exactly that, and it seemed almost too good to be true. He knew he had to be careful; it could be a trap, a way to lull him into feeling safe so they could more easily 'retire' him. He decided to let Ellie go for now, to continue her journey to Tarsium in safety; just in case. He would write to her every chance he got, and would call her back as soon as he could be certain of their safety in Ermoor.
In the meantime, he had to find a way to continue work on the invasion, without Riffolk's help. The creature had already escaped, so he knew it wouldn't be used again. With that moral qualm silenced, he could work on the project without the heavy sense of guilt he'd felt before. Invasion always meant death, there was no way around that; but moving things along using honest work and fighting with honest weapons was something he could feel okay with.
Besides, the Shenza seemed to relish in warfare; they were the most effective warriors he'd ever seen, and he'd read reports of the Thearan desert tribes and their savagery. The Shenza approached battle with a sort of dignity he begrudgingly admired. They didn't take pleasure from killing like his own soldiers did, but their skill was unrivalled. Ermoor had landed on their shores many times over his career, and never made it beyond the sand into the forests.
So for the mom
ent, his guilt was gone. He had spent his career leading the attacks on Shanaken, so warfare was not something that troubled him. What had bothered him so much about Riffolk's methods was the sheer brutality of it. He stripped every chance their enemies had away, effectively turning war into slaughter. Arthor could lead men into battle, could order the deaths of thousands, but condoning weapons that rendered their enemies completely helpless? It was akin to invading and destroying a village full of children. It wasn't right.
War must be won at all costs. Right or wrong is irrelevant.
Still, he had a second chance now, if the Crown wasn't simply playing with him. He could try to steer Ermoor back onto the right path. If it didn't work, at least he could say he tried. When he got back to his office, he sent a servant to fetch Mathys. Commander Corby was a reliable source of objective moral guidance. When he walked into Arthor's office, he was more animated than usual. Arthor raised his eyebrows.
"How goes the babysitting?"
Mathys laughed, shaking his head. People who didn't know him assumed he was a perpetually serious man, but around Arthor at least, he was quick to smile and laugh.
"How do you think? A sixteen year old girl after a trauma; not fun."
"At least it's an interesting investigation, if nothing else. I've read the reports of her capture. Your men have some impressive imaginations."
Mathys laughed again, though with less real humour.
"Yes... It's proving to be more puzzling than I thought."
"How do you think those men died?"
"I really don't know, Arthor. Regardless of the stories, the girl was clearly involved somehow. As little sense as it makes, she's the one common thread."
He shook his head, and Arthor saw how many hours Mathys had already spent thinking about the issue in the darkness under his eyes. He dropped it and moved on; Mathys had a habit of fixating on problems until they were solved, to his own detriment, and Arthor didn't want to contribute to his stress.
"I'm sure you'll get there in the end. You've got a great team of investigators, the mystery will become clearer with each day."
"We can certainly hope so. But I've never seen anything like this, Arthor. The creature. I received written orders from the Twelve, you know. To commission a task force to track down and recapture it."
That jarred him, and he couldn't stop his reaction. Wordless for a moment, he simply stared at Mathys with his mouth slightly open. It would have been comical were it not for the circumstances.
"They want the creature back in the city?"
"The orders stated they could contain it once captured. If it's allowed to roam loose, it could come back to the city anyway and destroy even more."
"You know they'll just attempt to use it for power again."
"Orders are orders, Lord Commander. You know that better than most. My duty is to the Twelve Crowns, and more importantly to Ermoor itself. I will do whatever it takes to keep this city safe."
He is working with the Twelve. They are keeping secrets from you.
"But the creature... The simple fact of its escape shows it won't be safe here."
"Do you think the Twelve would have ordered its capture without a plan in place to hold it?"
"I think they believe they can hold it. But if Riffolk himself couldn't, how could they?"
Mathys thought about it, then shook his head.
"You know I haven't always agreed with the Twelve, Arthor; or with you for that matter. But if we don't have faith in our own Government, how can we live in peace? They've given me orders, and unless I have a real reason not to, I intend to follow them."
Arthor sighed. As moral as Mathys was, he was also stubborn and ruthless; his previous life attested to that. He'd been strongly against the project Riffolk had designed, but still argued the same way whenever the issue had come up between them; orders were orders, and he would protect Ermoor no matter what. He was a great Commander, but the same traits that made him so also made him difficult to talk to when it came to moral issues.
Arthor had expected this kind of conversation, but he hadn't even raised the topic he'd meant to raise.
"We're still planning the invasion," he said.
Mathys didn't react at all for a moment. He had an uncanny ability to keep his face utterly emotionless.
"I see. And the weapons you were going to use?"
"Won't work without the creature's power. We'll be using projectile weapons."
He gave a slow nod.
"And you called me here to ease your conscience now that the creature isn't being harvested to create weapons of mass murder?"
He doesn't understand.
There was no judgement in his tone, but the words still cut right to his core; Mathys could always tell exactly what lay in his heart. He was an eerily accurate judge of character, even with people he didn't know as well as he knew Arthor.
"Well you have what you desired, Arthor. I'm pleased that horrible project is done. The war to come won't be pleasant, but at least it will be fought honestly. It's the least we can hope for."
He strode from the room before Arthor could respond, then stopped at the door and turned back.
"I just pray you're wrong about the Twelve. If they decide to use the creature again, even if we win the war, we'll lose our souls."
Elana
Elana sat on her bedroll on the rooftop she'd claimed as her camp-site, thinking about Hayne and Ermoor. In many ways, he embodied Ermoor itself; advanced, intelligent, and headstrong, but also violent and cruel. It was a toxic place. Her connection to Shadow Magic was growing weaker. If her fight with Hayne had occurred in the forests, he could have thrown dozens of his machines at her, and she would have walked away without a scratch.
Her injuries were worse than she originally realised. The focus of combat had died down now, leaving her tired, shaking, and sore. Her right thigh, her left bicep, and her left calf had been torn by whatever projectile Hayne's weapons shot out. From the mangled look of her injuries, it seemed as though the hand cannons spewed chunks of jagged metal.
She was grateful the weapons could only carry a finite number of projectiles. Once unarmed, Hayne had been easy to take down. She hadn't killed him, though perhaps she should have. But at the moment her chance came, he'd thrown his weapon away, and lay helpless on the ground. Regardless of his intentions, she was honour-bound to let him live. She adhered strictly to the three tenets of the Shenza;
Peace without weakness;
Strength without aggression;
Growth without forgetting.
The second tenet, Strength without aggression, held that unprovoked aggression was a terrible crime. Murder of an unarmed victim, regardless of the situation, was seen by the Duulshen as one of the worst possible things a Shenza could do. So she'd knocked the scientist unconscious, damaged as much of the lab's equipment as she dared, and escaped through the air ducts.
It left her doubting the Duulshen just a little for the first time. She knew there were other lives at stake, Shenza lives, but this was the first time she'd been asked to eliminate people for a mission. They must have meant eliminate without killing, surely, she thought. There had to be a way to eliminate them without murder.
Her mission was drawing close to an end; she could feel it. For one thing, she'd already been discovered, albeit by a man who wouldn't admit what had happened to anyone else. For another, she knew as much as it was possible to know. If the information she'd found was somehow faked, she would never be able to find the real information now that Hayne was onto her. If it was real, she had more than enough to bring back to the Duulshen. She knew the meeting between Hayne and Symond wasn't faked. Symond was insane, but he wasn't the type to play games, especially not with Hayne; his dislike for the man was evident from a distance.
All she had left to do was find a way to eliminate the Lord Commander without killing him. Now that she knew how unstable he was, she just had to think of a way to exploit it.
Drawing her Ka
izuun, she rose and settled into the Zuunshai, the blade dance, which also served as meditation. Despite her torn flesh, the dance gave her energy and relieved the soreness of her muscles.
After the dance she meditated, activating a healing spell with the tattoo over her heart. The injuries weren't completely healed; she didn't have enough magic, but the pain shrank to a dull ache. When she was finished, she dressed the wounds as best she could, ate some stolen food, and fell into a troubled sleep.
The Lord Commander's mansion was in Ironhaven, one district over from the military base that contained his office. It was luxurious, but sparsely furnished, making it feel to Elana like one of the training platforms in Shanaken. Symond was married, his wife young and beautiful just like Hayne's. But unlike Hayne's marriage, Symond and his wife seemed genuinely in love. They shared a meal every night, talking and laughing as they ate. He was caring and attentive with her, and it was clear she had no idea that he was insane.
While in the mansion, he never lapsed into the mad rambling she'd seen so often from him. In fact, he hid his madness from everyone perfectly. It made Elana uncomfortable; how could someone control their own insanity? It didn't make sense. She had to find out more about his mental state; it was the key to eliminating him without resorting to murder. If she could reveal him to his wife, to Ermoor, his command would be called into question. Ermoori politics were a mystery to her, but they seemed to have complex processes for everything; approval, voting, meetings, and so on, even to get something simple done. Something as important as the role of Lord Commander would surely take a long time to resolve.
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