The Maker of Entropy

by John Triptych

  The Great Cavern of the Khanate was located at the foot of the second tallest mountain. It was common practice for most of the tribes in the region to use caves as their main holdings, for the stable lava tubes within the peaks offered significant defensive advantages when they were not using their sand sails. Naturally, since the Khanate ruled over all the tribes in the Sea of Dunes, it was only fair they retained ownership of the largest cavern complex. Some of the lesser tribes had to make do with nothing more than a stone outcropping with which to park their sand sails, and a tribe’s influence and power was directly proportionate to how many of these desert traveling vessels they possessed.

  Wulfgen frowned as he sat just two places away from the Khan at the main table. His distant ancestor was one of the hairy ones, and he was gifted with a thick, reddish beard that hung low to his chest, along with a coarse mane he kept uncut for many cycles. He was chief of the Zaash, the most numerous and most powerful tribe in the entire valley. The Zaash were known as fierce warriors, and their blood comingled with that of the many breeds of humanity, giving them the most varied characteristics of any tribe in the entire region. Their enemies would call them mongrels, but never to be said within earshot, for to provoke a Zaash meant a duel to the death.

  The Khan’s wife noticed Wulfgen’s dirty looks while sitting alongside of him. Nuada placed her cup down and looked at him. “What is the matter, Chief Wulfgen?”

  Wulfgen pointed across the cavern with his chin. “Look there, Dural’s brother.”

  Nuada glanced over at the far end of the subterranean hall. Her bond brother Vorconis had dutifully sat along with his men at the table chosen by her, but they were all wearing armor. As the Khatun, it was her privilege to speak for her husband the Khan, and she easily convinced him to put her in charge of the seating arrangements for this feast. Now it was clear Vorconis was openly defying her. The brother of her husband had taken an instant dislike to her the moment she was betrothed to the Khan, and she repaid his disdain by trying her best to humiliate him, but she knew the alliances that had been made were fragile, and neither side wished to provoke each other for too long, lest their rivalry break out into open conflict.

  Wulfgen sensed her surprise. “I know your thoughts. The answer is no, Vorconis and his men have not violated the pact, for it made no mention of wearing armor.”

  Nuada barely hid her grimace as she picked up the ceramic cup and took another sip of wine. “He must be made to suffer for this.”

  “He will meet his fate- in due time,” Wulfgen said softly.

  When the wars to unite the disparate tribes in the valley had begun all those eons ago, the tide had turned when the Zaash became part of an alliance with another tribe that ultimately became the Khanate. Once the two most powerful tribes in the region had united, all the other clans quickly stopped their raids and pledged allegiance to the new order. The remaining groups that continued to fight on were ultimately annihilated or absorbed into one of the larger hordes, their sand sails incorporated into an ever growing fleet. In time, the Zaash had become the second arm of the Khanate, and it was by tradition their respective descendents be wed to one another, in order to ensure the alliance would endure. Peace had been reigning in the valley for countless cycles, but the uncertainties of fate had begun to sow seeds of discord.

  A bit of wine dribbled down the side of Dural’s mouth as he tried to steady himself. Wulfgen glanced over at the Khan and instantly realized more trouble might be brewing. He tapped Nuada’s forearm and the Khatun tried to steady her husband by holding onto his elbow, but Dural was already overexcited, and would not be deterred. He staggered into a standing position and shakily raised his cup as the revelry began to die down.

  “I … welcome all the tribes here … this eventide,” Dural said. His stomach felt leaden and he needed to burp, but so far he was able to stay upright by leaning with his gut on the side of the table. “This feast was called upon … by my lovely wife … the Khatun Nuada.”

  Many in the audience slapped the stone tables with the palms of their hands in both applause and respect. Vorconis and his men did nothing, preferring to sit silently by as they waited for the Khan to continue.

  Dural gestured to his right, pointing at a young man and woman who sat beside him. “And … I would like … to say … it has now been ten cycles since the marriage of my daughter, my lovely Karan, to the son … of our longtime ally.” He pointed at the blushing young man by his side, Wulfgen’s oldest boy. “Everyone knows the Zaash … They are great sand sailors. But Chief Wulfgen’s son Tozhem has made my daughter very happy. And their young daughter, Serit, who is now ten cycles old this very day!” he said, pointing to a smiling young girl who sat at the far end of their table. “May the gods … may the gods … bless…” By this time the bile had risen to his throat and he started to gag.

  Many in the audience gasped as the old Khan lurched forward and began to vomit on the table. Nuada and Wulfgen quickly got up and steadied their leader. Dural continued to utter choking noises from his mouth as Wulfgen held him tightly with his powerful arms and led him away into an adjoining cavern. The entire hall was silent as everyone wondered what to do next.

  Nuada smiled and held her hands forward in a gesture of calmness. “The Khan is … but a little sickly today. Let the feasting continue.”

  The drums and flutes began to play once more as everyone turned back to their own tables and continued the revelry. Karan and her husband Tozhem took their daughter with them after excusing themselves, leaving Nuada by herself at the main table. A few moments later, another young man wearing a blue tunic and carefully combed black hair walked into the hall. He looked around in confusion for a short while before trudging over to where Vorconis was seated.

  The young man stood beside him as he swayed back and forth, as if possessed by a spirit of impatience. “Uncle Vorconis, where is my father?”

  Vorconis looked up at him with sullen eyes. The Khan’s only son was a mindless fop, but he needed him. “Welcome to the feast, Lorrt. As always, you are late.”

  Lorrt looked up and patted his hair to make sure not a single strand was out of place. “My apologies, b-but I needed to find the right oils for my hair. What has happened?”

  “Your father had his usual spell of drunkenness followed by stupor,” Vorconis said. “So it seems you have not missed much after all.”

  Lorrt nodded. “What will happen now?”

  Vorconis felt like standing up and delivering a blow to the young man’s half-witted face, but Lorrt was too important. “Your mother has decreed the feast will go on as usual,” he said, pointing at Nuada, who was herself gesturing that her son come over and join her at the main table. “You should join the Khatun, in order to lend an air of respectability to the Khan’s table.”

  “Very well, uncle,” Lorrt said as he turned and began to walk towards the front of the hall.

  Bugurt was a worrywart, and he leaned over to make sure no one could read his lips while he whispered to Vorconis. “My lord, are you sure that we take Lorrt’s side when the Khan finally dies? His son seems, rather much like his father.”

  Vorconis kept a straight face. “You are right. His son is even worse than the Khan. But it only means we can control him, for it is by the old pact that the son is fated to inherit the title of Khan. As long as I have my nephew’s ear, then we have the advantage.”

  Bugurt knew his master was right, yet there were still too many things that could go wrong. “But what if the Khatun influences her son to stay by her side? She is his mother after all, is she not?”

  Vorconis made a slight gesture, pointing towards the main table. “Look there.”

  Bugurt’s eyes opened wide as he saw Lorrt sitting down on the Khan’s personal chair. He could see Nuada’s snarl as she gave her son a sudden slap to his cheek which nearly sent him toppling backwards. Most of the audience didn’t notice the altercation as Lorrt glumly stood up, walked over to the far side of the table and sat
himself down before calling for the servants to bring him some wine.

  Vorconis took a piece of meat from his plate and chewed on it. He knew Dural was dying, and by rights it would be Lorrt who would take over as Khan. But his own spies had told him Wulfgen was planning to have his own son succeed Dural as the ruler of the Khanate. There were also rumors Wulfgen might be having a secret affair with the Khatun Nuada, and he needed to find proof of it, in order to get rid of them all and assume the ultimate title of Khan for himself.

  Now that the Khan was no longer present, he was contemplating on leaving when he saw Wulfgen and two of his men approaching his table. Vorconis pretended not to notice as he placed his right hand on his lap, ready to reach down and draw out his dagger in the event of hostilities. He was somewhat taken aback when Wulfgen stood beside him and bowed slightly.

  “Hail Lord Vorconis, Executor of the Khanate,” Wulfgen said, using the formal greeting.

  It was proper form to stand and bow in return. Vorconis placed the piece of meat back on his plate, stood up and lowered his head and shoulders, but only slightly. “Hail Chief Wulfgen, Lord of the Zaash.”

  Wulfgen could sense the other man’s antipathy. They were both rivals, yet the pair of them knew their place. Neither had the advantage, so it was best to keep one’s true intentions hidden behind tact and tradition. He held out a small telling stone. “The Khan has requested you deploy your sand sails for a most urgent task.”

  Vorconis took the telling stone with his eating hand, making sure a bit of the grease from the meat he was gnawing on had stained his opponent’s palm. He read the glyphs that had been etched on it. “The Khan wishes me to punish one of the outer tribes?”

  Wulfgen rubbed away the greasy stain on his hand using his cloak. He felt like striking the other man, but it would have meant civil war. This was a clear provocation. Best to wait until the right moment, he figured. “Well, at least your reading skills have not diminished. Yes, that is what it says.”

  The vein in the middle of Vorconis’s forehead throbbed with anger. They were both deliberately provoking each other. “To commit my entire fleet in order to annihilate another tribe is a serious matter. I will need all my men. Who is to guard the Khan while my troops are away?”

  Wulfgen held up another telling stone, but didn’t hand it to him. “By the order of the Khan, my men will serve as the Khanate bodyguards while in your absence.”

  “This is not the normal way of doing things,” Vorconis said. “My place is by my Khan’s side.”

  “Yes, it is not the usual way, but the matter is urgent,” Wulfgen said.

  Vorconis looked at the telling stone in his palm once more. While it was etched with the Khan’s seal, he was quite sure it was Nuada who had issued the orders since Dural was barely coherent during his bouts of madness. “As the executor of this task, I have a right to ask why this tribe is to be annihilated.”

  Wulfgen paused for a bit before he gestured at the other revelers around them. “Do you see the Valis absence here? The reason why they were not invited to this gathering was because they committed a grave offense. Members of their tribe attempted to assassinate the Oracle.”

  Vorconis suppressed any display of emotion. A few days before, a contingent of the Exalted had arrived and requested a private audience with the Khan. Vorconis was incensed when he was told not to attend, despite the fact Wulfgen and Nuada were present in that meeting. Not even his spies were able to gleam what had been discussed, and even now he was sure there were many things he was not being privy to. He needed to know more. “I do not believe the Valis would be so foolish as to attempt that. The Exalted would have never allowed their chief to enter the Mountain of Entropy.”

  Wulfgen stifled a smile. His enemy was very intelligent, and he could not help but respect that. “You are correct. It was not their chief, but the exiled Magus who led their tribal youth in an attempt to kill the Oracle.”

  Vorconis’s thin eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Fumal Led was the one?”

  Wulfgen nodded. “Yes.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “They failed,” Wulfgen said softly. “And they all died for it.”

  Vorconis narrowed his eyes. He had tried many times to bring the exiled Magus over to his cause, but was consistently refused. Fumal Led had served as a neutral, soothing presence to the tribes in the desert, doing what he could to help them. In the end, he knew the conflict against the Temple of the Maker would have ultimately involved that Magus, for he had openly protested their unceasing demands for sacrifices. It seemed Fumal Led finally had had enough, and he attempted to destroy what he considered as the most evil influence in the land, but in the end it proved his undoing. “I see,” he said. “So there is a precedent after all.”

  “Of course there is,” Wulfgen said. “The Khanate demands an answer. Will you do this task?”

  Vorconis bit his lip. The Valis were but a fringe tribe of hairy ones. They had numbered in the thousands countless cycles ago, but had gradually declined into mere hundreds. Their holdings were so pathetic they did not even have any caves to reside in, being forced instead to live in simple stone dwellings near the Reaches. The Valis had one functioning sand sail, and his men would make short work of it. Vorconis was not at all surprised Fumal Led gave his life for them. Only now they would pay the ultimate price for violating the pact with the Maker. “Yes, I shall require half a moon to prepare my fleet.”

  Wulfgen shook his head. “You must gather and send your men at the morrow. The Khan demands swift retribution to those that dishonor his laws.”

  Vorconis grimaced. “It is not time enough! I must make arrangements to the household in order to provide a proper task for your men’s temporary quarters. The gathering of supplies for my vessels will take a few days, at the very least.”

  Wulfgen raised his hand. “Do not concern yourself with such matters. Merely send your fleet to the Valis holdings at once. I will determine where my tribe will be quartered and secure the Great Cavern in your absence. A cache of supplies has already been prepared at the foot of this mountain for any repairs on your sand sails.”

  Vorconis clenched his fists in rage. He had been outmaneuvered this time. There was nothing he could do until after the deed was done. Without his presence, there was even a danger Wulfgen might attempt to usurp the Khanate. He needed to secure his position. “As executor of the Khanate, I shall require the Khan’s son to accompany me on this expedition against the Valis tribe.”

  It was Wulfgen’s turn to be taken aback. He had not expected this maneuver. “The Khan wishes to keep his family here where they will be safe.”

  Vorconis took out his own telling stone and held it so his rival could see. “By my authority, the Khan has given me the responsibility to train his son in the arts of leadership and war. I hereby evoke that mandate. Since I am to embark on a punitive expedition, I demand either the Khan himself accompanies me, or his firstborn son Lorrt.”

  Wulfgen exhaled slowly. He could not allow Dural to accompany his brother, for the Khan was weak-minded and could easily be influenced. Lorrt on the other hand was a fool, and he couldn’t wait to be rid of him soon enough to place his own son as the Khan’s successor. Nevertheless it was clear Vorconis had plans for the youth, though it was he who had the advantage. “Very well,” he said. “Lorrt shall accompany you on this attack. Please be sure to wake him so he will not be left behind.” He turned around and headed back towards the main table.

  Bugurt stood up and hovered alongside his master. “My lord, this is a very troubling turn of events. Do you think they will attempt to usurp the Khanate once we are sent out against the Valis?”

  Vorconis shook his head slightly. He saw that Wulfgen had given the Khan’s wife a wry smile as he sat down beside her and started eating again. “No, not yet. But this is the beginning of it.”

  “What should we do?” Bugurt said.

  “We deal with the Valis first,” Vorconis said. “That wil
l give our men some good experience for the coming war. Let us be off, for we must prepare. I want you to return here at dawn and fetch Lorrt. That fool will most probably be drunk or asleep, so be ready to carry him.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Once the feasting had begun to die down, Nuada excused herself, but not before declaring the celebration continue on even without her presence. Her son Lorrt had passed out at the far side of their table, his head resting on the stone top. She ignored him completely while turning around and proceeded into the passageway behind the Great Cavern. Once past the raging fires of the hall, the subterranean interior had less torches lined along the sides of the tunnels, allowing for a gloomier atmosphere.

  The moment she entered into one of the corridors of the inner dwellings, a shadowy form came out from the darkened alcove she had just passed by, grabbed her by the shoulders, and forced her to turn around. It was Wulfgen. He was half-drunk as he pressed her body against the walls and gave her a deep kiss.

  Nuada frowned as she pushed him away. “Not out here, you fool!”

  Wulfgen chuckled as he hugged her. It had been almost a whole moon since they had last made love, and he was eager to get her back into his bed. “Worry not, my love. My men have already secured the inner chambers and told all the servants to leave. Vorconis and his men are all at the base of the mountain, preparing to depart. There is only family left in these inner caverns, and my son and your daughter are fast asleep.”

  Nuada allowed her true feelings to show as she pulled his face closer to hers and kissed him once more. His breath stank of algae wine, but she didn’t mind. It was far better than her husband’s rotten wheezing. She placed her head on his broad, muscular chest. “These last few cycles have been the hardest of my life. Dural refuses to die, despite being sickly all the time now.”

  “Patience, my love,” Wulfgen said. His own wife had died of a fever many cycles ago, and he soon became infatuated with Nuada after the Khan began to exhibit strange bouts of sickness and even more baffling behavior as time went on. Whispers began to arise amongst the other tribes that Dural had succumbed to the mad disease, an affliction that had cursed the family line for many generations. Some people even began to refer to him as the Mad Khan, though only in private. Nuada was lonely, and she could barely cope with her husband before she ultimately began to lean on Wulfgen for support. Their affair would be considered blasphemous if the tribes were to find out, but they needed each other, and soon plotted to make sure it would be Wulfgen’s son who would become the next Khan. The moment the Exalted had told them of the failed assassination attempt against the Oracle, they knew their time had come.