The Empress of Beasts, page 40
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
Her palace was empty. Empress Nsiia sat on her throne, holding a mirror. A scrying device. She waited, as the magic spell connecting her with Reim was established. As the King of Destruction was summoned to give her a fitting end. And what that might be only she and he knew.
But many could imagine. And they feared the timing, just as they feared Flos Reimarch. Perhaps beyond reason; surely, the legend of the [King] had far outstripped the man he once was. But what if it had not? That was the fear that kept those who thought of the world as ‘theirs’ up at night. The fear that they were tiny people who had felt the giant stir.
Empress Nsiia sat by herself. But she was not alone. Not unwatched. As she shifted, adjusting her headband where a single, huge feather hung, the cracked mask of bone sitting on the armrest of her throne, they spoke in quiet voices. But she could not hear them and they were thousands of miles away.
On the isle, in the citadel known as the Academy of Wistram, sat three [Mages]. They were listening, of course, watching Empress Nsiia through their own scrying orb. They could see through her mirror, hijacking the same spell that was about to let her speak with the King of Destruction. She had no idea. It was an ability Wistram kept secret.
The three watchers were all leaders of the academy. Powerful figures known the world over. Archmages, a title that represented the height of magical power and the ambitions of [Mages]. Archmage Feor, Archmage Viltach, and Archmage Nailihuaile were all present, half of the Archmages in the entire world. A rarity given the usual political machinations of the academy.
Feor, the half-Elven Archmage, leader of the most powerful Centrist faction, a master of almost every conceivable school of magic, sat in the center, his brows furrowed, his hands steepled. His hair was grey, turning white; he was old, even for a half-Elf, and he had lived in the world for nearly two centuries.
Archmage Nailihuaile sat next to him, on his left. She was a Star Lamia, known most for her skill in the enchanting school of magic and her erratic, scattered, cheerful personality. Leader of the Revivalist faction within Wistram’s walls. Her posture was erect; she used no chair, but a cushion as she played with her staff, watching Nsiia’s face.
Lastly, Archmage Viltach on Feor’s right. Human, and the head of his Libertarian faction, which was also mostly Human. It was rare to see him in Wistram’s halls—he spent just as much time on Terandria. He had come for this conversation alone, and he rested one arm on the table the three sat at, murmuring little spells to adjust the scrying mirror’s image, enhance it, change the perspective to see the room and Nsiia fully.
Three Archmages were absent, but it mattered little. These three Archmages held the majority of Wistram’s power. Not all Archmages were equal; it was a title that marked them as first among Wistram’s Council, it in itself a ruling body made up of the most influential [Mages]. They were all Archmages. Not [Archmages].
Izril’s lone Archmage and Baleros’ second were absent as befitted their personalities. As for Chandrar’s lone Archmage—well, Archmage Amerys had not been seen since the King of Destruction had announced his return. Rumors were spreading of why she was missing. And none of the Archmages in this room were inclined to speak the truth.
They were waiting, the three. Waiting for Flos Reimarch to connect his scrying mirror and hear what they would say. The anticipation added to the nervousness in the room. No—not nervousness—they were Archmages, far removed from the conflict. But…trepidation. No, speculation. They were concerned, that was all. Concerned.
“Tiqr’s going to lose. Which isn’t ideal, obviously, but it’s better than them being on Flos’ side. There’s nothing he can do about it now; he’d have done it at the start. That’s what we agreed on.”
Archmage Nailihuaile broke the silence after another minute of watching Nsiia sitting. Feor and Viltach looked up. The half-Elven [Mage] paused; it was Viltach who replied testily.
“So we believe, Archmage Nailihuaile. But anything is possible. Does Tiqr have any more surprises left in store? The coalition has already struggled to get this far. Those elephants put up a ferocious defense, as did the Laughing Brigade and Tiqr’s army. Has the Empress of Beasts any artifacts she might use in a last-ditch effort?”
Archmage Naili frowned, flicking her tongue out. Her scales shone, some with stored magical energy.
“Not to my knowledge, no. I know she’s got two artifacts. See the headband she’s wearing? One feather left. And that is her only powerful relic to my knowledge, aside from the spear.”
“She’s used the rest, then. What does the headband do?”
Viltach might have guessed, but he deferred to Naili’s expertise. The Archmage was an [Enchanter] after all. She frowned.
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear reports of her using it in battle and obviously we couldn’t get anyone to watch for us. But that feather is a…Roc’s feather. And that headband looks like a variant of a wildform-type artifact. I’d have to actually be there to analyze the magic, obviously, but I’m betting each feather gives her some magic from the bird it came from. For a little bit. Thirty minutes? Maybe less. Definitely not an hour.”
Feor nodded. That was his appraisal too. He spoke softly, watching Nsiia’s eyes. She looked worn-down. But not despairing; she looked almost feverish as she shifted again. Like someone driven to the brink. A cornered animal. It was a look that told him to be wary.
“And the Roc’s feather?”
“Makes her bigger, obviously. Have you seen a Roc? That’s literally all they are. Huge. Eggs taste nice, though.”
Viltach made a grunting sound. He tapped on his pointed beard, frowning down his nose at Nsiia.
“That settles it from Tiqr’s side alone. Tiqr never had many relic-class artifacts. The King of Destruction plundered most from the nations he defeated; that she has even two is due to Tiqr’s alliance with Reim. The Tusk of Tiqr is a fairly standard spear enchanted with recall and piercing enchantments. It can also summon any elephant species in the region to the wearer’s aid, but it’s largely useless to the Empress.”
“It’s pretty good. She could throw it through General-whats-his-name. Kill the head and the army runs off, maybe?”
Viltach shook his head.
“Thelican. He won’t approach. He’s a conservative attacker. Strategic.”
“Cowardly. He stays behind his army for everything.”
“Pragmatic.”
“Coward.”
“Archmage Naili, the purpose of a [General] is not to take to the front like some barbarian—”
“Silence. The King of Destruction is here.”
The two bickering Archmages fell silent at once. Feor turned his head. A second scrying orb in the table came to life. They saw Flos Reimarch. He too was sitting on his throne. He looked old. That was always what struck Feor, every single time. Fleethoof, the King of Destruction—he’d seen them when they were young. He kept forgetting how fast everyone else aged.
But Flos Reimarch still brought a moment of silence into the room where the Archmages sat. He stared blankly into the scrying mirror and then his eyes suddenly focused. Empress Nsiia had been staring past her mirror at something. She glanced down. And sat up. The two ruler’s eyes met.
“Nsiia.”
The word was a sigh. Flos Reimarch stared at the Empress of Beasts. She looked at the King of Destruction, her eyes wide. Feor saw the same emotions cross Nsiia’s face for a moment.
“Flos. You look so old.”
“I do? I was barely your age when we met. No. Younger.”
The King of Destruction looked amused. Nsiia blinked at him. She shook her head.
“We have not spoken for over a decade. And then it was so brief. I still remember the [King] who strode into this throne room and stood before my father. Am I the girl you remember?”
Flos paused. His eyes searched Nsiia, and he shook his head slightly.
“No. You look far different than I remember you, Nsiia. I remember a girl. I see now an [Empress]. I greet you, Empress Nsiia of Tiqr. Empress of Beasts.”
She nodded slowly.
“And I you, Flos Reimarch. [King] of Reim. King of Destruction.”
The two held each other’s gaze. The Archmages shifted. They were uninvited voyeurs to this moment. And they could not guess at the emotions conveyed without words. Viltach was tense, a magical quill transcribing the conversation. He cared little for the emotion of the moment. Naili looked as if she were watching a story—and it was. Feor just listened, searching for anything he could use to understand the King of Destruction, that could aid him.
The conversation was intimate and formal by turns. Flos looked past Nsiia, searching.
“I remember an elephant. Your protector and friend, you called him. Where is he? His name was…”
“Thef. Thef is dead. He was slain by an arrow. Alked Fellbow struck him down and Thef died, giving me time to flee.”
Nsiia’s face hardened. Her eyes flashed wild. Flos bowed his head.
“I am sorry.”
At their table, Naili sat up and looked upset.
“He is? I liked that elephant!”
“Archmage Naili, be silent.”
Feor snapped at her. Nsiia was shaking her head.
“…end upon us all. My [General], Vasraf, holds the walls. But the coalition’s armies have all encircled Oliphant. Ten, and Nerrhavia’s the largest by far. They will fall upon us come dawn, or so Vasraf tells me. Hence my conversation. It has been overdue.”
“Yes it has. I have been waiting for it. Let us speak, then, Nsiia.”
The Archmages leaned forwards as one. Nsiia adjusted the mirror. Her eyes found Flos’; the Archmages had trouble looking at her bright eyes. They had all seen death, and this was the gaze of someone on that edge they had all walked. Staring into the depths.
“Tiqr will fall, Flos Reimarch. My people have fled, lie dead or have been enslaved. The animals of Tiqr are likewise gone or fallen, defending this land. These other nations have torn Tiqr apart, and they will beset us at the last. This is Tiqr’s final hour. What say you of it?”
The King of Destruction bowed his head.
“What say I? I knew Tiqr in its glory. When I marched into your lands, your father stood against me and dared me to try to take Tiqr. That every child, animal, and stone would fight me to the end. I did not doubt him and invited Tiqr to my kingdom. Your people fought with mine until my slumber. Proud friends of the wild.”
He gestured at Nsiia’s headband, the single huge feather remaining.
“Your father gave his life, riding Leihfil the Roc, dooming hundreds of Terandria’s [Griffin Riders] in battle when they came to strike a blow at my heart. I mourn it all. But your father’s words hold true. Tiqr has bled them for every step forwards the invaders have taken.”
Empress Nsiia only nodded. Flos continued, heavily.
“And yet, Tiqr dies. You have heard of my vow of peace, which led Tiqr to this moment. Nsiia. Do you hold it against me?”
“Of course. Were you never to issue it, Tiqr might not have fallen.”
Nsiia’s eyes flashed. Flos nodded. She stared at him, biting one lip hard enough to pierce skin.
“Peace. Why would you bother awakening from your slumber just to announce peace?”
“To prove I do not make war without cause, Nsiia. I never did. Or should I do battle with every nation in Chandrar at once? Even I would lose such a war. Probably.”
Flos shook his head. Nsiia closed her eyes.
“So you issue it and your enemies plot to remove your allies.”
“Yes. I did not expect it, Nsiia. You did not ally with Reim. The nations that attack Tiqr have no cause.”
She nodded, distracted. Feor saw Viltach moving impatiently, opening his mouth. The half-Elf gave him a freezing gaze and Viltach subsided. Nsiia was staring absently past the mirror.
“You know, I could have declared Tiqr as yours and asked for your protection. I could have given my people to Reim as we did two decades ago and dared the other nations to violate your sovereignty. And they would have.”
“Most likely. Which is why I did not ask. But if you had requested it after Tiqr was attacked—”
Flos leaned on his throne, his face disturbed. Nsiia snapped at him, sitting up, furious.
“And I would not have offered! Tiqr joined you, King of Destruction. But we are our own nation. Proud! We will not bow to invaders or hide behind your sword! We fought.”
She paused. He looked at her and inclined his head silently. Nsiia sat back, slumping again. Her bare shoulders leaning against her throne of ivory.
“And we died. Thef died. My soldier’s blood waters Tiqr’s soil. My animals, my subjects I was pledged to protect—all lie dead. They died defending their homes. And these armies march onwards, destroying. Slaying us all in the name of—what? Justice? They do not even dare Reim’s borders, so they attack us for not condemning you as a monster.”
“I know. Nsiia. It is a harsh fate. One I would have avoided had I known what consequences my words held.”
She laughed hollowly, shaking her head.
“It is Chandrar’s legacy. Kingdoms rise and fall. Tiqr is but one more. They are waiting. Soon, they will strike. And Tiqr will fall. But enough of grief. Enough! I did not call you to condemn you, Flos Reimarch. Nor was it to wail lamentations. You have something I desire. A fitting end.”
Flos didn’t reply. He was waiting. The Archmages stared at each other, and then the orb. Naili rolled it closer so they could stare down at Nsiia’s face. She gestured past her throne, tilting her scrying orb so they could see the silent city, the rooftops visible from where she sat. Her throne room was open; elephants and animals could enter it freely. None filled it now.
“My beloved citizens hide behind Oliphant’s walls, Flos. They would not flee. Many have, but many more came here. To stand with me in Tiqr’s final hour. Do you know how many?”
“No.”
“Six hundred thousand.”
Viltach made a sound. Feor looked up.
“What? How?”
“Six hundred thousand?”
Flos’ voice was echoed by Viltach’s in incredulity. He stood up.
“That’s impossible. There were hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing in every direction!”
“Well, Tiqr’s big. No wonder many went to the capital. That’s…a lot more than we thought, though. A lot more. She must have been hiding them! They’re not on the walls!”
Naili’s tail was curling uneasily. Feor looked at them, then waved a hand for silence. Nsiia was nodding, replying to Flos as he leaned forwards, frowning.
“It is good that these armies won’t wait to starve us out. Oliphant’s food stores are already running low from feeding them so long. We could last another two days before starvation sets in.”
“You did not ask them to flee?”
“I asked. They would rather die than flee and risk enslavement, or live without their homes. Most did flee. But this is where they have spent generations!”
The Empress of Beasts snapped back. Flos only nodded. She calmed herself, breathing more quickly. Now there was a stir in the air, a prickle on Feor’s skin. Foreboding.
“Six hundred thousand. And my army still holds my walls, though they have been torn away. Maybe you didn’t predict this, Flos, as you said. Or perhaps you did. If you were so calculating, you were not the man I remember. But a [King] sometimes makes dark choices, so perhaps you only saw the opportunity. I am an [Empress] and I see it now. Dark choices. Branching paths, all of which lead to nothing. Nowhere.”
“Nsiia.”
“The other nations have demanded my surrender. Do you know what the Siren of Savere offered me? Torture, my citizens her slaves. I, a plaything. Yisame dressed her words more prettily, but the end is the same. Tiqr would be caged like animals. I would be leashed. I would prefer death over that. But a worthy death. A fitting end to my home. King of Destruction. Will you listen to my request?”
“Yes.”
She sat up. Empress Nsiia gazed at Flos Reimarch as the Archmages waited. She took a deep breath. And then she spoke in a level tone.
“Flos Reimarch. I would swear Tiqr to you. If you are willing, I would pledge my life by blood to serve you until the end of my days. To fight for your dream once more. Make me one of your Seven. And give me my end. Tiqr may die, but we will destroy everything with us.”
Her eyes burned. In their room, Naili dropped her staff. It clattered to the floor. Viltach jerked.
“What did she—”
Feor pointed. The [Complete Hush] spell hit Viltach and enveloped the room in silence. Only the scrying orbs were excluded. Nsiia’s voice continued onwards, growing louder.
“I know the strength you gave your Seven. And I know the power you can give an army! If we are your subjects, you can revive your units of old. The Sorcelled Blades! We have a hundred enchanted weapons. Wasn’t that all you ever needed? There are not any [Illusionists] to recreate the Mirage of Chandrar. But I have my citizens. King of Destruction, turn Tiqr into your weapon of old. Resurrect the Dreamers of Reim! Summon your [Army of the King]!”
There was no sound from the Archmages, spell or not. They watched Flos slowly raise his head. Nsiia’s eyes were wild as she stood. He spoke slowly.
“You wish to turn your army, your people into one of my armies? My Dreamers of Reim?”
“And your Sorcelled Blades. Use your Skill, Flos. As dawn breaks and the armies assault Tiqr, transform us into a sword. Give me destruction! And give them death!”
Nsiia was shouting. The Empress of Beasts stalked her throne room. And she stared at the distant camps in the night.
“I have seen your Dreamers. I know their strength. My people are no less than the Dreamers who brought nations to ruin. Think of it, Flos! Unbreakable. Undefeatable! Tiqr could wipe out the armies besieging it. All of them! Turn every last of my citizens into a Dreamer and use your Skills and we will take them, no matter the cost. I will fight until my dying breath.”
“And then? You might fall, even were I to do all you ask. But what if you won? With Tiqr in ruins, what would be next? Your enemies would still assail you, again and again. The Dreamers are not invincible.”
