PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running)

[puffyn]

One last yarn before I go...

--- C'tis, Turn 39 ---

The streets of C'tis

It is high summer when the young chameleon runs in from the front, so exhausted she can no longer blend completely with her surroundings, so she flickers in and out as she runs down the crowded main street, never slowing as she speeds toward the High Rock. And somehow everyone already knows what she is hurrying to say.

Lugal is haggling in the marketplace with an herb seller when the murmurs begin to reach him, and he is so taken with the thought of a victory parade that he forgets to finish threatening the poor herbivorous merchant, and thus quite inadvertently pays him a fair price for his goods. When he was been barely older than a hatchling, what parades they used to have! Every time ol' Shiny Army and his boys with the long sticks won some bedraggled swampland the village elders decreed a festival. Lugal even remembers the parade to celebrate the conquest of his own homeland, although he is beginning to doubt that the purple elephants were real.

But those were warmling parades, with warmling food and music and bizarre customs, and Lugal has always wondered what a triumphant lizard nation would put on. Certainly there would be a lot less flailing and composing odes to vile dairy products. No, it would likely feature some insipid little play by the hatchlings re-enacting some big battle, and then some moralistic tale from that blabbermouthed young woman whose name he never bothers to recall, but it would also have a real banquet spread. And perhaps they'd bring out the large heatlamps, late at night, after the kiddies were tucked safe in their nests...

As Lugal walks back to his hut he is lost in dreams of glazed crickets and melon balls and nubile young hierodules.

***

A marketplace in the Summerlands

Two human women are raising the canopy over their newly repaired stall. It is early evening, and the canopy is the last thing they need before they can reopen. That means they be able to make the official re-opening of the market tomorrow morning, which is months overdue, and they note with equal parts sympathy and greed that many of their neighbors and competitors will not be ready. It was only through the generous tax relief and aid policies of the lizards that they were able to rebuild themselves, and they had been luckier than many.

The women nod to the young lizard watchman as he makes his rounds. He is a good friend after the long months of occupation and then reconstruction, and anyhow he and his troops do a brisk business with the women in knit goods even in the middle of the summer. There had been some murmuring against their lizard overlords as recently as a year ago, but no more; after the repeated harassment and terrifying occupation by the purple bastards, as they are universally called here, the women and all of the rest of their compatriots have had it with human rulers. The lizards have always been good for business.

The young lizard watchman notices the women struggling with the canopy and offers to lend them a claw, so the old woman has him hold the canopy steady on one side while the young women shimmies up the post to tie the knots. The old woman checks carefully for leaks in the canopy and tables that might inadvertently be left in the scorching sun, and finally nods her satisfaction.

"Heard the news?" says the lizard as he turns to leave, in passable human dialect. After nearly two years in the Summerlands, his accent doesn't sound half bad.

"We sure have," says the old woman, and she presses a long, fuzzy piece of knitwear into his claws. Even in summer a lizard's tail gets quite cold at night when he's making the rounds, and the lizard smiles in gratitude as he continues on to the next stall, which belongs to the local vintner. It has been a good night for him.

The women began setting up tables in earnest now, unpacking a few crates that had miraculously survived the looting and the burning, and arranging the items neatly. They also have some new items almost finished, and they must hurry if they are to get them all painted in time. They expect the good news on the eve of the market's long-anticipated opening will loosen people's (and lizards') coin purses, and it would never do to run out in the middle of the day. The young woman pries open the lid on a large bucket of red paint and picks up the first carved figurine of a sleeping dragon. It will prove to be their best seller tomorrow.

***

The watchtower of Boddern Weald

An old man in red robes is walking the dusty corridors of the castle, searching for loot. He is looking for anything that might have been hid hastily by the few highborn Pythites who escaped before the fourth siege, and regrets the complete slaughter of the enemy commanders during the storming of the castle means that there is nobody left who knows what might be hidden.

No one pays the old man any mind; these days there are many humans in the employ of C'tis, fighting side by side with the sauromancers in battle after battle with Pythium's mighty army of mages, and no lizard soldier looks twice at the sight of another human in funny robes. If they were to stop and think they might recall that there are no powerful fire mages among their ranks, but nobody has time to stop and think with all the repairs to make and the final foraying parties to send out. Besides, there is a familiar air to this fire mage.

Cole does not mind the lack of attention in the least. He finds the human form tiring to maintain, and does not want to waste valuable treasure-hunting time chatting with confused lizard guards. He would far rather not leave his shiny crimson scales behind, but regrettably, human manipulative digits and small puny size do come in handy when searching for treasure hidden by humans.

He does not actually expect to find anything. The war was long and hard for his purple foe, and secretly he suspects every scrap of treasure has long been carted off to the captiol, where – Cole sighs bitterly – it is now apparently being pawed over by more undeserving humans, Mannish-men, who will only see what they can spend it on, and never love each individual gold piece or gem for who they really are. The dragon observes a moment of silence for the horde that might of been, and moves on to the dungeons. There is still an outside chance he might yet find something.

***

The hatchery in the Mark

"... and so Aetonyx ate the fish, and the lizards lived happily ever after."

Laph pauses before starting her next story. All the hatchlings are staring at her with rapt attention, except for the littlest ones, who still can't focus their eyes properly. There is a happy mood to the room, and even the dourest old hierodule is smiling, happy that their charges are getting some personal time with the great yarnspinner herself, perhaps? Laph smiles faintly, because she knows better. Everyone is happy these days because of the news that is sweeping the kingdom. Pythium itself has fallen; there is only a token force left defending their last fortress, which C'tis is besieging, and they are rumored to be on the verge of surrender, probably won't last the summer.

She glances briefly toward the most central part of the hatchery, where the eggs are kept. Eggs and small hatchlings are just too vulnerable for any lizard mother to protect on her own, and so most lizards, especially those who live in outlying regions, come to the hatchery to lay their eggs. Like some well-to-do town lizards, Laph chose to lay her eggs in her own nest; but now that they are within days of hatching she has brought them here, where they will be safe and among eggmates. They are the oldest eggs in the hatchery, but far from the only, and Laph suspects there will be many Great Hatchings throughout the kingdom within the next few months.

Time to enjoy the peace, she thinks, to rebuild and replenish our numbers. She tries, and mostly succeeds, in extinguishing the tiny voice in her head, who sounds a lot like Ash'embe, come to think of it, which adds, before the next war inevitably comes.

[Sedna]

We fought nine days before the walls of Ermor, the very gate of Hell.

On the first day we laughed at the force sent to meet us -- maybe two score undead and a pack of vile mechanical killing machines -- but as that first eternal night wore on, our laughter turned to shock, and then to weary tears. The ground opened up, became a sea of dead things, the cream of Ermor before the breaking of the world, woke from dreamless slumber for this final battle against the light. For every one we slaughtered another rose from the dust, and for every one of ours who fell, a new warrior joined the foe.

On the second day we pushed hard for the gate. The Tower Guard and the Men-at-Arms, resplendent in their red be-jeweled battle shorts, formed a shield for the solemn priests and their chanted voices which rendered dust to dust once more. But the pride of Marignon faltered and failed before the mass of implacable, unbreaking death, and the guard was dragged down into the parched and frozen earth by a thousand unseen hands.

On the third day I saw my brother druids run out of arrows, and they who I had fought beside for years in the Shadowlands were cut off from where I stood with the priests. I watched them draw knives uselessly over living bone until their blades were dull and their arms were tired and their will faltered and they were trampled to death.

On the fourth day I saw the sun set on Marignon, as the priests grew tired and hoarse and their chanting grew weak. The relentless wall of death advanced. I saw my own untimely end in every lifeless socket. I saw the ruin of Marignon, naught but ancient monuments under a twilight sky.

But on the fifth day I saw Orion and his eternal knights blaze back and forth across the sunless plain. They fought on and on in grim silence, ranging ever upon the field -- a thin line of flame between the darkness and the light.

On the sixth day I saw one of these immortal warriors fall, smashed down by a dozen rusty blades. But his brothers swept in, blowing aside the clouds of death, and Orion came forth. He lay his hands upon the dying man and whispered his release. Then they were gone, swept back into the chaos and the dust and darkness, their fallen comrade sleeping peacefully upon the earth with a smile on his lip.

On the seventh day the Archbishop of Marignon summoned forth two creatures of pure fire to fight alongside the knights. Their flickering warmth brought joy back to our hearts and we cheered ourselves hoarse as bone and shadow melted before them.

On the eighth day I saw the eternal knights finally reach the walls of Ermor and scatter the dark lords there like so much chaff. Brother Henry was there as the knights closed, and he snatched up a sword from the claw of a fading spectator. But the hilt froze his hands and burnt them black. He fell to the ground still clutching the sword, his face in a hideous grimace. We could not pull the damned thing free, for none could bear the pain of its unholy touch.

On the ninth day Aftial descended from heaven. The field was still as she flew out of the clouds, and on the ground beneath came a new army from the East. Ermor issued forth more dark and terrible servants than any we had yet faced, but the flaming sword of Aftial met them in the air and cast them down. From above the confines of the world her voice -- a trumpet -- shook us to our knees: "Oh death, were is your victory! Men of Marignon, this is the cleansing of Ermor as was foretold. A new dominion is arisen and the shadow fades!" In a swirl of blinding light she swept down and towered over the Archbishop of Marignon.

"Atticus, prophet of dread, is vanquished. I slew it with my own hand, and you have scattered the legions of death. Now there is only one dark stone left to overturn. We must march into the heart of shadow and face Ami, She Who Loves not the Light. Then, when her twisted body is consumed with holy fire, we will march upon the Soulgate, unnatural passage to the world beyond!"

She paused for a thunderous roar of approval, but there was no sound upon the earth. Her eyes flickered over the mob of pale, wounded priests, all that remained of Marignon's grand army.

"Marignon, reform the ranks."

"Most high Aftial, I..." he collapsed. Nine days on his feet had been too much. "We need time to regroup before we try that gate." His eyes gazed into that dark maw and the gate built of skulls. On the other side huge shadows and terrible forms moved and mad mutterings and whispers echoed.

The angel's face twisted with fury. "Coward! I would give you victory over your fathers' thousand-year foe and glory unending!" With deft strikes of her sword she disrobed Marignon and plucked his magic armor free. Then she reached forth her hand and the body of Brother Henry flew to her. She lopped off both his hands and grabbed the Wraith sword as it fell. Now, with a fell blade in each hand, she shimmered against the sky-- darkness and light and no color anywhere. She stalked off into the gate of Hell, flinging the guard there aside with great sweeps of her swords. On and on we watched her wade into the night, a bright and abiding flame in the shadow.

Marignon, from his fetal position on the ground, spoke up, "We must go after her, she must... have aid... have someone... there is so much evil there..." He looked around at the assembled fathers of the church and each avoided his gaze and looked instead the the door to death.

"Father Muzel, will you go?"

"No, my lord."

"Lord Spire, will you go?"

"No, my lord."

"Monsigneur Buternot, will you go?"

"No my lord."

"Brother Estorgan, Brother Gebuin, Msgr. Sarr, Msgr. Virtil, Captain Shenlar, Brother Theag?"

Each shook his head in turn no.

Marignon turned his weary eyes to meet mine, and I saw that the head of the church himself, though the world hung in the balance, would not go.

My voice caught in my throat.

"What, Foen?"

"I will go."



I took only my bow and nine favorite arrows. I passed unchallenged through the gate of skulls and followed her footprints into the gloom. They glowed on the bone dust and the horns and tentacles and clawed wings all around recoiled from the brightness of Heaven's glory.

As I walked that path, falling headlong into nothingness, I saw the faces of my mother and my father beckoning me to join them. I felt the hounds of death grabbing me and as I lay, unable to die, I felt them gnawing at my eyes and chewing on my intestines. I heard the cries of a the damned wailing, wailing, always wailing... I hurried on into the night, a glimpse of flame ahead my only hope.

I came at last to a great bridge over a bottomless chasm, but the bridge vanished into space at the far end. Or, rather, into a hole in the air so black I had to shield my eyes. Aftial strode out onto the bridge, light in one hand and darkness in the other, and before her stood a giant black skull with blood dripping from its empty eye sockets: Ami, the Personification of Death.

The skull spoke, "You are too early. God has appointed the time for this fight, and it is not now. Depart, you have no power here. Go back to the living lands, and return in six months, at the end of the world."

But Aftial laughed with the twinkling of bells, and flowers sprang up at her feet, "I am not here to do God's bidding. I am not bound by the old fool's party tricks," and so saying she put forth her light and the shadow of the skull boiled away, leaving a giant angel of light who carried a sickle of flame: Ami, the Harvester.

The Harvester spoke, "Your doom is nigh. Behold, I am the angel of death. I, too, am a servant of the most high, for what is life without death? Light and dark are two sides of the same coin, allies even. And so, even I, I am holy, and your sacred fire cannot touch me."

Aftial swung her flaming sword, and as it clashed with the sickle it went out, falling down into the bottomless chasm beneath. But with her left hand she swung the Wraith Sword, and it melted through the great sickle and into the arm of the Harvester, who roared in annoyance and vanished, replaced by a dark, beautiful lady with pitch black silk robes and no weapon: Ami, She Who Loves not the Light.

"You have fallen far from the LORD, but you still cannot see. You cannot kill death. I am immortal. I was there at the beginning of time, and my ending is the end of all things. You cannot injure me."

Suddenly I saw Aftial sitting on the gates of Heaven, with storm clouds her garb and the world her crown, and I cried out in a loud voice, "I am yours Aftial! I worship thee!"

From the empty chasm under the bridge I heard the same cry, "I am yours Aftial! I worship thee!" and up floated great monsters the size of mountains, a thousand thousand eyes and claws in a shifting mass, and they turned to face the angel and bowed down, repeating their cry.

Aftial turned to Ami. "Here, where I am worshiped, I shall be God, and death shall die." Shadow plunged into shadow and darkness swirled over the bridge. When it cleared, only one paragon stood facing the void, but the voice of Ami floated over the world.

"Poor fool. For so it is written that by killing me your body and soul now hold the gate open, and you cannot close it."

Then she was gone, no more than a whisper of dream on a bright sunny morn. But Aftial, with a smile on her lip muttered, half to herself, "Why does everyone assume I want to close the Soul-gate?" She turned to the void creatures and I, and perhaps the whole world, for her voice echoed from every dell and hill in the kingdom, "Behold, I am become Afti-el, the shining one, and I shall make all things new."

And from every dark place in the unholy sepulcher, and from my mouth too came the cry in response.

"Afti-el, Afti-el
Labach'shanic eloi
Afti-el, Afti-el
Labach'shanic tani"

Then the floodgates of night collapses, and I was plunged into darkness.

Muszinger


999 A.P.P.M.
Father Muszinger,

By now you have surely heard that Afti-el has destroyed the armies of death and Ami herself. Sadly, in the battle, The Archbishops of Marignon and Spire proved unable to carry out their duties satisfactorily. Because of this, on Afti-el's orders, I hereby relinquish control of the Inquisition back to you.

Afti-el further orders you to seal the border against the creeping heresy of C'tis and Man and prepare plans for Case Chartreuse, the invasion of the lizard kingdom. Case Chartreuse will be a difficult war. We share borders with the lizards on both the north and the south, and ever since the Treaty of Lapintha we have had peaceful and undefended borders. Afti-el will lead here in the north, and you are responsible for the south. Attempt to keep Man out of the fray as long as possible (word that they will be embroiled in conflict with Pangaea is welcome). We have only six short months to bring the word of Afti-el to as many as we can, by fire and faith and sword!

Her servant, the Archbishop of Avoca




Father Muszinger,

Imictan has fallen, and we will soon be through the walls of the fort at Iron Range. The Vans have learned our trick of using fires from the sky, and have also shot assassin's arrows at us, but so far our losses from such things have been minimal. Still, the situation is not abundantly pleasant. I trust we are done with this war once the fort here falls?

The Archbishop of Wic



Muszigner sat back to gather his thoughts. Both letters were good news on the face of it, but with worrisome undertones. He wished now that he had not insulted Esclave at their last meeting. The boy would no longer answer his letters, but it looked as if he may have been right about Aftial's true name. What was in those prophecies about Afti-el that he had uncovered?

And Wic... a single arrow from the sky could rob Muszinger of his most valuable advisor and warrior, just when he would be needed most against the lizards. Iron Range would be a valuable outpost for fighting them, no doubt, but is it worth the risk? More worrisome, the rumors about young virgins disappearing in the Forest of Wic grew louder every week. But Muszinger could hardly accuse Wic of having a hand in this via letter.

Muszinger read both missives again, and then descended the stairs of the church to the lowest office in the old broken tower where Polgrave had secluded himself. The man was clearly unwell, but it wasn't at all clear what the matter was. Muszinger knocked on the door. Hearing no answer (and being the head of the Inquisition) he entered. Polgrave lay naked upon the table surrounded by well-burnt down candles. On his chest pulsed the ugly purple lines... a five-sided star inside a circle.

"What have you done!"

Polgrave woke with a start, and for a moment, his eyes were nothing more than the whites as the looked at Muszinger, and his tongue seemed forked. Then he was human again, and groveling on the cold stone floor. "Forgive me, forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have... I am dying, Father."

"The righteous need not fear death old friend. But what have you done?"

"I... I feel death inside me. It is gnawing away at me, taking everything, everything. I thought, I thought, I found this spell in one of these old lizard books."

Muszinger crossed swiftly to the open book. The text was all in lizard-scrawl, but the title of the spell was translated by a shaky hand, Ritual of Rebirth. "What does this do?"

"I don't know. I just... I was so close to death. I thought I should try it, it sounded promising. Father, I know it was wrong, I am sorry, forgive me." He clawed at the purple marks, but it soon became clear they were not on his skin, but inside it.

"Polgrave, the LORD forgives all those who come to him. You have used forbidden death magic only out of fear, and not out of a craving for power. Your soul may still be saved, but you must dress now and follow me to church where we shall pray to Aftial... Afti-el for your life."

Muszinger left the room, and though one of Polgrave's eyes still trembled in fear, a cunning smile stole over the other one, and a smile tugged on one side of the frail man's face.

[The Panther]

Just as I had predicted, Pythium is dead. Our lizard allies finished off the final purple province. And I am also VERY pleased to note that the undead nation is almost nearly dead too. It will be a cause for great celebration when the land of Inland is fully cleared of the Ermor blight and thus all purple nations. Cheers for Ulm! Cheers for Vanheim! And even, I must admit, cheers for the Inquisitors!

So, what next?

Well, just as I had been fully expecting for some time, Ralph, my favorite (and only) uncle, waltzed into the Queen’s Chamber with nary a hello. Even though I spotted him in my mirror, and he knew that I had done so, I continued to brush my hair to let him squirm for a bit before I turned and addressed him. “Ah, my dear uncle, welcome to my chamber!”

“Good morning, my Queen.”

OK, so he put me in a good mood with this one. Am I no longer the little girl, his niece? Am I now really the Queen of Man? Apparently so, if Ralph believes this to be true.

I then inquired very cordially, “What news of the world these days?” Of course, I kept myself fully aware of the news of the world, but it would not hurt to repay him the favor to acknowledge him as the Man Minister of State. Those small courtesy things are so easy to do and so often overlooked.

Ralph answered, “Well, Selena, Pythium is dead.” I simply nodded, for he knew I knew that. He continued, “And leaderless Ermor is also nearly dead.” I nodded again, waiting for him to get to the point. He did. “And we are now fully enclosed once again by our neighbors.”

This seemed to need a reply. “I see. And does this mean we now live in peace?” I knew the answer to this one, but I wanted to see what he would say.

“Not necessarily. You see, the rest of the Pretenders still do not acknowledge you as the true God of Inland. You are nothing but the Queen of Man to them.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Of course! How can the nation of Man prove your divinity without the rest of the lands worshiping you? How can we keep the world at peace forever until you are the sole leader? We will always have petty squabbles and war until you are crowned as the Supreme Being of All the World. We MUST continue towards this final goal.”

Now, there was a time (and not all that long ago) when I would have argued against these harsh words. Back when I was living deep in the Forest of Avalon quietly with my mum in peace, I would have never considered such grand thoughts as presented to me by my uncle. I would have been quite happy just to leave the world alone if it left me alone.

But I now know better. The world is a nasty place. Look at Cibragol, who tried mightily to annex the entire land in a HUGE hurry before he was finally called to task and killed. Look at the undead, utterly destroying VAST tracks of my lovely forests. Look towards the Inquisition, who is now complaining at Man (!) because a couple of my death sages decided to summon a few wimpy dispossessed spirits in order to kill off our mutual sworn enemy. Heck, most of those dead spirits died for the second and final time in the many battles anyway.

And look at T’ien Ch’i…

Huh? T’ien Ch’i??? Who the heck are they? I have never ever seen a Chinese soldier. I have never even once met with their reclusive leader, Pasha Tzu, or any of their diplomats such as the odd Prophet Yuck Fu. I have not read a tale from them in years. Heck, they might not even still exist. Perhaps the Overseer News Network is totally wrong about this mysterious race of Chinamen.

I had to smile at myself over this little joke. Of course TC does exist. Of course, Pasha Tzu does exist. And of course, they have NEVER done or said ANYTHING wrong to me or the fine nation of Man. In his death throes, Cibragol tried to enlist the Chinese on his side to save himself. And the wise leader Pasha Tzu showed his intelligence (in accordance with the mysterious Tzu philosophy) by staying away from a losing cause. I even have reason to believe that TC is now helping with the invasion of the blighted lands of Ermor in this righteous Cause to Rid the World of all Purple Banners. No, let’s leave the mysterious T’ien Ch’i off my list of suspects for now. I have no border with them anyway, though ONN does claim to know where they are located.

Now, I had been thinking about this for quite a while and I know what I want. But it never hurts to get the opinion of a man as wise and worldly as my dear uncle. Ralph was waiting very patiently for me to finish my musings. I studied his face, but he was as impassive as a rock. Men…

I began, “Well, Ralph, I have studied the latest ONN map plus our own intelligence reports closely. We are bordered by six nations. Let’s consider them all.

“First and foremost is Vanheim. We have had a border with them from nearly the beginning of time. Back when you and I were leading our army, we went straight to the provinces of Darkwoods and Stone Grave Mountains. We did that to try and seal the mountain pass against the undead horde to our north.

“But Vanheim took affront at being so close to their homelands. Heck, we did not even know they existed over there back then. We only knew about the undead at that point.

“So, Vanheim sent that annoying diplomat and his thinly veiled threats in response. Threats! Against me!!! I surely put them in their place.

“But they were very smart. They recalled that idiot diplomat and sent the wonderful Valkryie Mirima to talk peace with me. What a bold move. What a brilliant stroke of diplomacy. She and I got drunk off the best wine in the land. And more than once too.

“So, we reached an agreement with Vanheim. We kept Stone Grave Mountains as well as the Rockside Spring and Mineral Cave magic sites I found there. We gave up some waste territories in which Vanheim likely found their own magic sites. We even gave them the province of Tenera, which they still have yet to subjugate.

“We had a bit of disagreement over the coastal province of Gintmark. They wanted it, but we took it first. That province then revolted against my righteous rule. You probably recall that I decided that perhaps they didn’t want me as a ruler, plus my army was deep in Pythium territory, so we let it go. Vanheim has since taken it, but that is of no consequence. I had more or less obliquely agreed to let them have it anyway.

“So you see, dear uncle, we have managed to always solve every problem amicably with Vanheim ever since Mirima was appointed to deal with me.” I did not mention the private message Mirima recently sent to me alone. I did not want to hurt my uncle over the fact that Vanheim deals directly with me instead of through our Minister of State like all other nations.

Ralph took my pause as a need to reply. He said, “So, Vanheim is our most steadfast ally. We should not invade them, right?”

“Absolutely correct. Vanheim is off the list for war. Next, we look at C’tis. And here is a very interesting thing: The lizards treat us as we treat Vanheim! Their Dragon King Cole, or leader or ruler or whatever it is that they call him; He deals with you, not me! Just like Mirima deals with me, not you. I find this interesting. So, I must ask you this question because you know Cole far better than I. Should we invade the lizards?”

Ralph considered the direct question. Of course he had already been thinking about this issue for months (just as I had) and probably previously reached a private opinion about the Yellow Banner nation. And now he was going to make his private opinion public.

Ralph said, “Cole is very trustworthy. He is so incredibly powerful physically that he does not have to lie or practice any subterfuge with anybody. He is not afraid to tell the truth to anybody about anything. Thus, I inherently believe everything he says. So, based on my dealings with him, plus my spies, plus his performance in the War Against Pythium, I would offer the very strong opinion that he has no desire whatsoever to wage war upon Man. He can be fully trusted.”

“And their army?”

Ralph answered, “Strong, powerful, dangerous.”

I considered those words. I had not heard this opinion before right now. But his opinion did back up my own private ideas. So I said, “Then, we leave the lizards alone.”

“Yes, we do. And furthermore, based on their performance against Pythium, I would have to say that were we to call on C’tis for assistance in the future, they are likely to help us if it is in their own interests. We definitely should leave them alone. They have been steadfast allies. They did help us kill Pythium.”

“Fine, the Yellow and Red Banners are both off the list. So, what about the other Purple Banner? You know full well that the entire Land of Inland has joined forces to rid the world of all Purple Banners. We should help to the end, right?”

“Not necessarily, my Queen. Ermor is nearly dead. Other nations have already suffered much troop loses subjugating the undead, most especially Ulm. If we join in on mopping up the few remaining Ermor provinces, the nations already at war may take affront that we are taking the spoils without fighting any tough battles.”

I replied, “Besides, their lands are worthless anyway.”

Ralph offered a quick rebuttal. “No, Selena, they are not. Despite having no population, no infrastructure, and no taxable economy, those blighted lands are full of great magical sites. They produce a very nice gem income for whoever takes them. In fact, I find it greatly amusing that Marignon now holds the former capitol of Ermor and ALL the death income that has resulted from conquest of their lands. It must cause a splendid conflict deep within the Inquisition.”

I spoke softly, almost involuntarily, “Ah, the Inquisition.”

Ralph answered gravely, “Yes, the Orange Banner. With the destruction of Pythium, they now have the longest border of any nation with us.”

“Do you trust them?”

Ralph instantly blurted, “Hell no!!” He quickly added, “Um, sorry about the language.”

I laughed, “No problem, uncle, I have heard far worse than that on the battlefield. But do go on.”

“Well, you know they are now complaining at us because some of our sages summoned some wimpy dispossessed spirits. But, I must admit that I do not know who runs that nation anymore. Unlike the powerful Cole clearly in charge of C’tis, the quiet Aftial may have lost control of her own nation. Every since she died in the Mountains of Madness, she has come back from the dead changed somehow.”

I shuddered at the thought. Coming back from the dead? That was the scariest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. It was also one of the major reasons that I do not lead our army anymore. I simply cannot bear the though of this happening to me. I breathed deep, summoned my courage, and asked, “So, who is in charge over there?”

“No one. There are a house divided. In fact, Selena, one of their own religious houses has been secretly practicing their own death magics.”

“NOOOO!”

“Yes, Selena, they have.”

“But they have issued proclamation after proclamation denouncing all use of death magics!”

“Oh yes, they surely have. And so, they could have their own internal revolt. They could begin to fight among themselves. They are highly unstable, I assure you of that.”

“So, we should invade them immediately because they are so unstable?”

“No, Selena, we should not. An unpredictable army is also a dangerous army. An unstable nation is also a dangerous nation. Plus, they are our AYE allies. Perhaps it is better to let them self-destruct and pick up the pieces sometime later.”

These words eerily matched my own thoughts just yesterday. It therefore must be the correct answer. I said, “I agree, Ralph. I have heard their army is so zealous that they always fight to the death. We would take significant losses fighting them.”

“Well, your conclusion is valid, but there is one minor error in your reasoning. Not all of their army is composed of zealots. They can and do retreat and even rout! After all, they let their own Queen die in a particularly rough battle.”

“Yuck! I am VERY glad I am not the Queen of Marignon like poor Aftial. I really do feel sorry for that woman. So, scratch Marignon from the list. What about Ulm?”

“They would be laughingly easy to kill. We could conquer them in no time with practically no losses. It is hardly a test for Cleges and our mighty army.”

“So, we should go for them?”

“We could, Selena, but I see no particular reason to do so. Recall that there were the first of the nations to invade the undead. The Purple Banners to our north were popping up everywhere. If not for that early invasion from the Men of Iron, we likely could not have killed Pythium. We would have had to watch our northern border FAR closer than we actually did. Plus, you have been cheering on Ulm for years now. I know you secretly admire them and all their heroes in the Hall of Fame.”

“Yes, Ralph, I do. It would be slimy in the extreme to kill them after they had done the entire world such a great favor.”

We both went silent, for we both knew there was only one nation left on the list. Ralph voiced our mutual thoughts, “That leaves Pangaea.”

“Ah yes, Pangaea. A very secretive nation.”

“And a very peaceful nation, Selena.”

“I fully agree, Ralph. We have had a border agreement with them for nearly as long as Vanheim. Both Pangaea and Man have fully honored that agreement. They even did not take advantage of our temporary vulnerabilities when we were killing Pythium.”

Ralph said quietly, “So we have nothing against them. They have done nothing wrong.”

I looked up at my uncle and bored deeply into his eyes. I wanted to clearly see his reaction to my next words, “Not true, Ralph. They do not worship me. They actually worship that unknown pretender Vesnaeai. They have not spoken one word to me or to you in many, many years. Have they not?”

“No, Selena, I have heard nothing from them.”

I continued. I could see that Ralph was agreeing with me. “And they have shown that they will always fail to acknowledge me as the Supreme Being. My spies have reported the presence of at least 10 temples erected in Pangaea which were built to honor that unknown failure of a pretender called Vesnaeai. That is a grave affront to me.

“And you know one other thing, Ralph? They fly a Green Banner, same as us! That is truly a slap in my face. That is an affront to our entire nation. And they also have claimed to have the most skilled nature magic. They even erected a Mother Oak in their homeland! BUT WE ARE THE NATION OF NATURE!!!! Not Pangaea.”

Ralph was clearly surprised by my vehemence. He did not know I had it in me. I finished with, “So we should kill them and rid the land of the false Green Banner. We should eliminate them.”

Ralph replied, “It won’t be easy.”

I was momentarily surprised. “No? Surely they will be easier than Pythium.”

“No, Selena, they will actually not be easy to kill. I expect they will be harder to eliminate than Pythium was.”

“But Ralph! We lost so many troops in the Battle of Pythium!”

“We will lose many more in the battle of the Green Banners, if it comes to that.”

“Will we win?”

“Yes, we will.”

Ralph’s quiet assurance of our eventual victory solidified my opinion that had been months in the making. I said forcefully, “Then let’s do it. Send a diplomat to them and inform them that we will invade their homeland in the seventh month of the fourth year of our Lord.”

Ralph was truly shocked at this. He blurted, “But Selena! Why give them a 2 month warning? Our army is already in position because of the Battle of Pythium on their doorstep! Why not go in right now?”

“Because, Ralph, they have indeed been very honorable to us. They have never done anything truly wrong. They might have erected too many temples, and they may fly a Green Banner, and they are truly masters of nature magic. But they can hardly be blamed for doing precisely what they do best. Heck, I likely would have done the same exact things were I the Queen of Pangaea instead of the Queen of Man.

“Ralph, I owe Pangaea full honor. I owe them a fighting chance against us. Without honor, how can we get all other nations, like C’tis and Vanheim and Marignon and Ulm, and even the mysterious T’ien Ch’i to acknowledge me as the eventual Ruler of Inland? Ralph, I will always be honorable in all my dealings with all other nations who share this land.”

I then concluded most strongly, “Issue them the warning.”

“I hear and obey, my Queen.”

“Good. Now, I will prepare the Second Proclamation of Man for all to read. It will be ready before the end of the month. This document will hopefully justify this new war in the eyes of all other nations. And thank you very much, uncle. I do value your opinion highly.”

Ralph smiled at me. I knew he loved his niece. I have always known that. He bowed deeply to me and left my chamber.

Of course, I have always loved him in return.

[djo]

I forget, did puffyn request a pause in the game about now, or was that retracted? Or was it in another game's thread?

[The_Tauren13]

Yeah, we are paused for the week, as both Puffyn and Sedna are unable to play.

[djo]

Holy cow, we almost fell off the front page!

Well, weep no more, for I give you...

Vanheim turn 45

In which Belletennares ponders duality, and Pherios looks the Lady in the eye.

Pherios

Pherios watches.

Thousands of bright sparks mill and churn before him. They are everywhere, surrounding him; they cover the face of the earth. He hears every voice, touches every life. They are warm. He reaches for one, hoping to drive the chill from his hands, but he stops: the warmth is not his to take. Nor has he any need of it. Instead, he draws close to the nearest and watches:

He sees a young girl give her favorite doll to her little brother, to console him after his dog dies. A decade later she is married, and a decade more, she is widowed. She is forty and leading her town's council; fifty and, her new vows fresh in her mind, blessing her townsfolk who fight the bloodthirsty invaders. She is threescore years old, and two years dead, still protectively patrolling her hamlet's streets. Fourscore, and she weeps as her line dies, when her last great-great-grandchild is killed by wolves. A year later she lays down her bones, swearing to sleep until the end of the world. She is eight score and seven when she answers the call to fight for Vanheim again, in Ferra.

There are hundreds of thousands of sparks. He sees them all. He knows them all. He need only ask--

I begin to wake.

"Easy, dear Pherios," she says. "Rest easy. Don't open your eyes. Listen to my words. Focus on my voice."

It's her. The Lady of the Tower, who had helped me find Galameteia. Her hand is covering my eyes, keeping them shut. Her soothing yet raspy voice rings clear in my ears, echoes in my mind, touching that place where recognition occurs...I know her.

"Everything has changed, Pherios. Listen. It will strike you like a sledge. But I am here, and I will help you. And remember this: you have already survived. The rest, take slowly."

"Whuhh--" I clear my throat. I try. Something's wrong.

"Shh! Don't try to speak. Whisper, first. Be calm. I'm here." She frees my eyes and takes my hand. I am feeling things. I am in bed. I feel her weight sitting on the edge. She is still speaking, filling my ears with reassurances. I open my eyes.

She smiles at me. I know the face. "You're..." I whisper. The words stick in my throat, pass reluctantly like a wagon over rocky ground. "But you're...am I...is this Valhalla?"

She laughs out loud. "You've a high opinion of yourself," my dead aunt Tilneia says. She rapidly becomes wistful. "Or perhaps not. Of the two of us, it is you who've earned it."

I am too confused to speak.

She leans closer to me. Her skin is pallid, her eyes, red. "We are not dead, Pherios."

And yet her hand is as cold as the ice on the window. So is mine.

"Neither," she continues, "are we any longer fully alive." She pulls her hair back and tilts her head to expose her neck. There is a thick bruise ringing her neck, ugly, old, purple and green. I try to cough. I can't. I have no air.

I panic.

I gasp, and my chest heaves. I can't catch my breath. My lungs are cold, and my ribs creak as I try to expand them. My arms and legs flail, but stiffly--they are cold, numb, lifeless, without circulation. I blink as my sight grows fuzzy. I can't form words.

And just as suddenly, I relax. I began to hear her voice again. "...to my words. Focus! Don't fight it! You're all right. Listen to me. Pay attention to my voice..." Tilneia smiles. "Good. You see? It's different. But you're going to be fine."

I bring my hand to my throat, feel the raw, torn flesh there. There is a broken mass where my larynx should be. I have no pulse.

I still can't see her clearly. "My eyes?"

"We do not breathe, nor do our hearts beat," she says. She wipes my eyes with a handkerchief. "But we do cry."

We do. She is, too. Our hearts aren't dead. I relax, and the next realization hits me.

"They hanged me."

She looks away. "I didn't know until it was too late. I'm sorry. I'm trying to get Vethru to let you go, but he won't. I don't know what his plans are."

"But you've been the lady of the tower for a long time. He didn't do this to you."

She shakes her head. "I chose this."

"Why?"

"You already know," Tilneia says. "It's everything new inside you. Everything you are now feeling but can't put into words. The vision and clarity with which you now see the world. The knowledge of the paths of life and death. The power. I foresaw that Vanheim would need me, and so I prepared myself. That is why I did it. I have never regretted it."

She sees that I'm overwhelmed, so she leaves me to rest, promising to come back tomorrow. In her eyes I see her plea, her hope that I accept the transformation that, to her, is as beautiful as the emergence of a butterfly from its cocoon.

Perhaps she is right. One bitter thought interferes with any appreciation of the moment I might have.

Vethru killed me.


Belletennares

I am over eight hundred years old. And although I have traveled widely, I have never made my home outside of Vanheim. Yet it was not until this month, when I came to Ferra, that Vanheim's true faces were revealed to me. Now, as I contemplate a simple order from Vethru, I realize that the path I tread is not singular but dual, and that, paradoxically, as a single traveler, it is impossible for me to walk only one of them.

I arrived in Ferra in time to see the storming of the castle. I did not participate in the battle; my commanders assured me that our forces were a match to the task, and they were. When the gates were opened, we saw our enemies: a shadow tribune led the remnants of a spectral legion, and a half dozen necromancers led by a spectral mage sent wave after wave of longdead at us.

Our light infantry broke and fled almost immediately. I am sure we will find them in neighboring provinces, still drawing pay, still eating our supplies. Would that I could be rid of them. Our einhere, though, did not flee, and the single survivor of their unit I have assigned to my bodyguards.

Others fought bravely as well. Illioserios and Siteillius threw lightning, banished the dead with the priests, and summoned the forces of the air to fight for us. The Vans performed admirably, as always, and none of them were lost. But the day belonged to Lord Foul's wights. They held the center and forced the gate, and when we broke into the courtyard, they slaughtered the scores of dead in our path.

Yet perhaps the bravest soul, and the saddest loss that day was Private Blaze, our fire drake. He fought alongside the wights, and it cost him dearly. His kind is not meant for our cold climes, nor to associate with dead creatures who exude a chill aura. But neither I, nor his commanding officer, Sgt. Rock the cave drake, ever heard a single complaint from him. In this battle, though, it was his undoing. His fire incinerated many of the enemy before the cold overwhelmed him. The sergeant and I have decided not to recruit any more of his fiery people to our cause. But we will honor his memory.

Once the battle was over, we found great treasures in the citadel--vast supplies of magical gems, a school of necromancy, some students of which had refused to fight and now joined our side. The land, of course, is worthless; death pervades the air, the very essence of existence here, and were it as ephemeral as a foul odor on the wind, Vethru's message to me would be unnecessary. But Vanheim now has its northern outpost.

And within the outpost I read Vethru's orders: after the enemy is defeated, secure the fortress and drive the influence of Ermor from the northern provinces; use any means necessary.

In those words, I thought I perceived a shift in the universe, from light to dark, from isolated, manageable skirmishes to a vast, strange war. There have been signs. Not signs mystical, or divinatory, merely signs mundane. After Marignon invaded, the populace began to arise. The people of Birman Highs organized a volunteer militia, needing only experienced leadership. I would have sent my old adjunct Neinos, but sadly, he was besieged in the tower at Iron Range. I fear that he will not escape.

All manner of creatures now walk the streets of Vanheim. Before I left, I myself encountered a spectral mage, and saw great winged lizard people flying with the Valkyries. The dwarves speak of summoning the defenders of the earth to our cause. And everywhere one goes, from Venna to Vanheim to Ferra, there are the dead, our ancestors come to stand with the living to defend our nation yet again.

Vethru's message still lies on my desk. He knows that I know what he means by "any means necessary." And in contemplation of this order, and his faith in my presumed loyalty, that I would carry out an implied action that he knew I would be reluctant to perform, is when I was struck by my revelation.

I was wrong. The universe had not shifted. It has always been this way. This is what Vanheim is, death and blood. Light and dark. Not or. And. We are Vans on white horses, and we run with wolves. We are the proud Valkyries in shining armor, and we are berserkers dripping with our own blood. We use the magic of the air, and the magic of flesh and bone. Is the duality to be embraced, or rejected? The answer, I realized, was neither--it is to be recognized, for we are the duality. That is what Vanheim is. That is what Vanheim has always been, and that is what Vanheim will always be.

And so my paths cleared. One question I have been struggling with in my heart: is Vanheim both loyal and traitorous? For I have heard no news of my nephew. Vethru ignores my inquiries as to Pherios's fate, but I know his silence to mask some horrific plot whose motivation we had yet to uncover. How will this duality play out? Shall I choose family or nation? Kin or God? What was unthinkable has now become possible.

Vethru's orders, too, now posed no conflict, though I need not revel in its implementation. I called Illioserios to my office. Since the death of his daughter, who would have become my niece, he has shown no soul. He, too, knows the old rituals. He will understand what I order him to do. And he does not care. At least in that, I would spare Siteillius, who is younger and still unbroken by war, the task and its inherent horror.

I told him, "You will go to the village and find women too young to have known men. Tell them...tell them their participation is required in a religious ritual. Tell them it will drive the aura of death from this province. Then you will bring them to the temple."

I could not continue, but he nodded and said, "I will do what you ask."

I told myself it was for the good of Vanheim, and I did not lie. Gods walked the earth, and if ours was not strong, Vanheim would fall. I pulled my cloak tightly around me and walked to the temple to await Illioserios. And to sharpen the knives.

[Sedna]

Esclave

There can no longer be any doubt, except among blind fools such as Muszinger, that Aftial (Afti-el as she now styles herself) has fallen from God. Whether she entered this world pure and was corrupted by the evil herein, or whether she came here well-meaning to bring ruin and death to it, the end result is the same. My love, the bright lady of the morning, is now the dark ruler of a darkening land, swiftly ushering in twilight with her blood-stained hand. She appears now more brilliant and white than ever before, but her crown is a pile of skulls and she shimmers in daylight as one of the damned.

And what or our son? No-one can tell me where the child is held, and so I remain here, surrounded by my useless books and meaningless trinkets. I watch, while outside my window storm clouds gather on the Mountains of Madness. I sit, while the world rushes to its awful close.

Gawain

At night, the fortress at Iron Range seemed to cling to the sheer cliffs that hung above the Black Gorge. Small dark forms circled around a lonely light in the highest tower, the only sign there might be life. Around him, Gawain's men chattered and shivered in the cold air, but Gawain was warm.

"All right, listen up knights. We've been waiting for Wic and his part of the army for five..."

"Three, sir."

"Three days, and we will wait no longer. There's no reason to think Vanheim left anything other than a token defense here. The harbor is deserted. No doubt all those who could have slipped away over the waves, leaving on the weak and lame to fight the legendary knights of Marignon!"

His men gave a half-hearted cheer. It had been a long time since they had enjoyed a real fight. Too much patrolling wasn't good for knights.

They swept down the mountain at full gallop, glittering in the moonlight -- over the high narrow drawbridge, then into the deserted cobblestone streets of the fort. There was no sign of life except for the occasional bat. Gawain and his men dismounted and searched on foot. Indeed, everything was gone, even the laboratory had been burnt down. A faint smell of smoke from somewhere... Gawain followed his nose to the sea-ward courtyard, where a solitary red-robed figure stood staring out across the gorge to the twinkling lights of Vanheim beyond.

"Turn and fight like a man, dog!"

And the man turned, and as he did, Gawain's eyes snapped shut from the blinding light, and then he was engulfed in flames, but unburnt. When he could see again, he stared down at the charred Van on the ground just behind him. When he could hear again, he found that the red-robed man was laughing at him, and sipping calmly from a flask.

"Blood-sucker," Gawain murmured.

"Mmmm," said Wic, "Do you want some? Marvelously good for the stamina. Why, if you were in the habit of drinking blood you might have gotten here in time to have some fun with old Neinos there." He gestured to the still-smoking corpse.

Gawain caught the tossed flask, and a few red drops of liquid spilled out onto his freshly shined armor. He threw the container to the ground.

"Monster! Heretic!"

"Oh relax, it's just tomato juice. Now listen, have you sent Brother Gebuin to the Vans to make peace now that we've secured this place?"

"To the Vans? No, you told me to send him with peace messages to the crawling heretics."

"Yes, the... oh..."

"I sent him to the lizards."

For a moment, wrath clouded Wic's face, then it passed.

"My mistake, there are too many heretics. Ah well, the egg-suckers will be confused. Anyway, put this place in order, leave a guard and ride east as soon as you can. More wars, more glory await."

"My knights will o'ertake you in a week."

"Ah, but you forget your legends, Gawain." Wic jumped up onto the low wall, "Vampires can fly." Then he was gone.

Gawain ran to the edge and watched the dark spot falling, falling to the depths bellow. At the last minute Wic's cloak billowed and spread and he soared out over the water and away into the night.

Muszinger

Muszinger paused before the door to the room to compose himself. At least this would be easier than fighting the demon inside Polgrave had been. That force of darkness had withstood all manner of torture and prayer, finally quieting only in the face of Afti-el's power.

The door creaked open, and Muszinger passed into the pitch-black room, and stood a distance from the presence he felt in the other corner.

"God be with you."

"Bah."

"Am I wasting my time here again today?"

"No, I have news."

A long silence, broken at last by Muszinger, "And what, pray, is that news."

"They conspire against you. A house divided must fall."

"Marignon has never been stronger. We rule half the known world."

"And yet you do not see the plots."

Muszinger smiled in the dark. "I am head of the inquisition. I see plots within plots. This morning I tortured a druid to death trying to make him admit that he was in league with Pangaea to overthrow the Church. Which plots do you speak of?"

"The members of AYE, former allies."

"They plan to destroy us?"

"Aye."

Muszinger laughed out loud. "The fools have waited too longer. The LORD's servant grows more powerful as we near, so quickly, the end of all things. What have we to fear from mortal foes in these few short months before the LORD's return? Even if our surprise invasion were to falter..." he suddenly grew quiet.

"It will falter. The air will rise up against you."

Muszinger sighed. It was always like this; more riddles than answers. Alone, hours later, he tried to piece together what he knew about the conspiracy against him and his enemies' attack plans. Then he took out the attack plan he had produced for the lizard wars, Case Chartreuse. From another drawer he drew out Case Emerald, the attack on Man. With a small sigh, he drew more scrolls towards him and wrote names at the top: Case Maroon, Case Blue, Case Orchid (remembering the shifty look in the druid's eye that morning, he added a small scroll for Case Lime). Enemies everywhere... were there even enough armies in Marignon to actually attack everyone. Only the thought of Afti-el and her heavenly protection sustained his hand through the night, and only the sure knowledge that his heavy burdens would be eternally rewarded in just a few months enabled him to find sleep in the morning.

Foen

Shortly after the fall of Ermor a lizard passed by. He was blind and ancient, no doubt lost in the land of eternal night. He carried, he claimed, a suit of dragon chain-mail made entirely from scales shed by the dread dragon Cole. Afti-el heard this and came down from the citadel, killed the lizard, and donned the armor, which shone a brilliant red over her blinding glory.

The Archbishop of Marignon never recovered from his cowardice at the gate. Afti-el thrust upon his head a crown of black laurels found in the crypts, and then chained him upon the bridge before the soul gate, and commanded him to bring forth an army to spare his life. Twisting, crying, Marignon brought forth five great lions of shadow and flame. They burnt his body as they passed, and the form still hangs there limp and smoldering, but none will dare that place to find if he yet lives.

As for myself, I have wandered in dreams along forest paths lit by the last rays of the setting sun. I do not know what I seek, but my heart is ashen and my mouth is dust when I think of Afti-el. I know I shall never escape this prison, never walk softly beneath lilting leaves again. I seek, perhaps, some power of life, some force of nature to counter all this endless death. I have not found it yet, but ever I search. The seasons change around me. The leaves of this world color and fall. Winter comes soon.

[puffyn]

So many new turns in the last few days... it's like Christmas.

--- C'tis, Turn 45 ---

Lugal was trying something new, and it wasn't working at all.

It had taken him all week, but he had finally gotten the pen set up. The fence was sunk a hundred centimeters into the ground around the entire circumference, to discourage digging, and was meticulously interwoven with thorns, to dissuade any rabbits who might take "free range" too much to heart and attempt an escape. In the center was a marvelous new hutch, an inviting creation of wood and stone and earth than any rabbit would be proud to call home.

A little too proud. It had been nearly half an hour since Lugal had yelled at the last apprentice sauromancers, who had actually done all of the backbreaking work, to disappear, and since then not a single twitching nose had emerged. There were no floppy ears to be seen, no hoppy feet, nothing. Lugal was beginning to feel like the whole business of well exercised food animals being happy food animals, and thus tastier food animals, was all rubbish, and at any rate quite untestable, when Hema walked up with a pile of curious orange spears and began throwing them around the pen.

It was not the oddest thing Lugal had seen young lizards do lately, certainly no odder than the customs of some of the tribes in the swamps where he had been a hatchling. Why, there had been this one village where everyone would always walk around with an onion tied to their belt... Lugal was lost in reminiscences and almost did not see the first curious rabbit, a small brown fellow, sniff the air, peer around cautiously, then take his first few hops toward freedom and the orange spears.

It was a little harder to miss the thumping sound of the half-dozen rabbits who quickly followed, however, and soon the pen was filled with happy little rabbits, stretching their legs for the first time, and nibbling on the food of the gods.

"Erm," coughed Lugal, "what are those strange little whazzits?"

"You mean carrots, Lugal?" said Hema. She had watched his project with great amusement all week, although always she was careful to be quite busy with important Affairs of State whenever Lugal looked like he might want her to dig a fence post.

"Powerful magical artifacts, are they?" said Lugal. "They look mighty useful, what are they, potent earth-fire magicks?"

"No, Lugal, they're vegetables," said Hema, stifling a laugh. "They grow in the ground. Lizards eat them too, you know," she said.

The carnivore gave her a very distasteful look, but whatever bizarre utterance he was about to make was cut off by the sudden sound of rabbits trampling the ground, desperately trying to escape... back into their hutch. Hema looked around, deeply puzzled, until she spied a fat man in a shabby brown cloak, coming up the woodland path.

"Ah, I see the ambassador from Marignon has arrived."


"Hail, heretic!"

"You scared my rabbits!" Lugal bared his teeth, but Hema tugged at his robes firmly, so he didn't move.

"Uh... yes... I am Brother Gebuin, emissary of the One True Church of Marignon. Take me to your leader."

"Do you know how long it takes to get the adrenaline out of their system?" continued Lugal, now quite irate. "Now who am I going to eat for lunch?"

"Um, Lugal," hissed Hema, somewhat insistently. "This man is from Marignon, not the deli."

Brother Gebuin tried again, "I bring an offer of peace. This terrible war must end!"

There was silence. In the distance, a few rabbits could be heard crying.

Finally, Hema piped up.

"Er, war?"

"You do speak human, don't you?" Brother Gebuin did a short interpretive dance depicting a man being skewered by a pike. "War. Bad."

Lugal and Hema exchanged a glance. "It's just that... well... our nations have always been at peace. Well, except for that incident with the temple,"
said Hema.

"Not to mention the unwarranted terrifying of my rabbits," said Lugal, his beady eyes boring down on the plump friar. Come to think of it, he looked a bit rabbit-like...

Brother Gebuin shifted his heavy beech-wood staff to stand more authoritatively between him and sharp pointy lizard teeth. "Okay, but one day we'll be at war, and then we'll need to have peace negotiations." He was beginning to feel a bit unsure of himself. Perhaps Gawain had meant to send him to the Vans instead? Gebuin wished he'd paid more attention, but the knight's shield had been very distracting.

Hema began to realize she was in a bit over her head. She quietly edged away as Lugal began a loud tirade on matters leporine, and then began to skitter, and then run, to fetch Cole.


As Cole approached, he saw that Brother Gebuin and Lugal had settled down to a nice game of checkers with broken egg shells and rabbit bones for the pieces. The bones seemed to be winning, but just barely.

"Ah, my good fellow, how is our friendly neighbor to the south/north?" said Cole.

"I bring a message from Father Muszinger and the Church. The first part was an offer of peace, but it turns out that's not strictly necessary... yet... but the second part of my message is probably still valid. If we attack all the vaguely greenish-bannered races in Inland, could you be persuaded to remain on the sidelines?"

"And which nations would those be, young man?" said the dragon politely.

Hema felt a little ill at ease. Didn't C'tis have a vaguely greenish...

"Ah. A wise question oh great dragon," said Gebuin, hoping to avoid becoming kindling. "I have a list here somewhere... yes... Man, Pangaea (if they're still alive), and C... Kiss... no, er wait, See-tiss. That's an odd name."

"I do believe my little kingdom is pronounced C'tis," said Cole, eyes narrowed oh so slightly.

"Yes! C'tis. That's right. We just call you the lizards back home and... um..." Gebuin trailed off again. Hastily shoving the document back into his pouch, he straightened a little, "I'm sure that's a clerical error. I'll have the responsible Cleric burnt when I get home."

"You do that," said Cole.

There was a pause.

"Is there anything else the good father would like you to tell me? Approximate army strength with which you will be invading my undefended border, timing, anything like that?" said Cole.

"No, that wasn't included in my briefing," said Gebuin. "Do you have an answer to our fair and just offer that I may take back?"

Cole took a deep breath, pondered for a moment. Then he breathed flame onto the nearest tree, instantly incinerating it. A burning branch fell into the rabbit pen, killing the curious little brown rabbit, who had stuck his nose out again.

The dragon flew off toward the capitol, and Hema thought he seemed to be flying a little faster than usual.



"So, er, yes, was that?" said Father Gebuin. Receiving no response from the lizards he drew a glowing purple gem from his pouch. "Can I buy some roast rabbit for lunch?"

Lugal's eyes lit up. "I don't see why not, yes, yes, rabbit for lunch, very good." He plucked the unfortunate but tasty smelling roast rabbit from the pen and motioned to Hema. "My herb-pouch, please." His eyes lit up as he removed some fresh dill, picked just that morning, and cheerfully offered some to the Father, who was spreading his cloak on the grass. "Fine day for a picnic lunch, yes," said Lugal.

Lugal did not ask Hema to join them, but that was okay. She felt quite sick to her stomach, and the smell of roast rabbit had absolutely nothing to do with it. She suddenly understood the rabbits' urge to flee, and walked quickly back to the city.

[The Panther]

As usual, I was arguing with my uncle. The latest heated discussion was about Project AQ.

“Ralph, I do not like this idea of yours at all!”

“But Selena, it is not my idea!”

“Oh, really? Then whose idea is it?”

“Our fine Minister of Research, your childhood friend Veronicas.”

This stopped me for a bit. But I gathered my wits quickly and bounced back. “Then why did she not tell me this instead of you?”

“Oh, because she is so darn busy these days. As are you, I night add, constructing all those artifacts for our army. In fact, she asked me to tell you all about Project AQ.”

Well, this put a new light on the situation. Veronicas has not been wrong yet. If this really was her idea, well then…

In a blinding insight, I suddenly realized that this MUST be her idea. No way would Ralph discover this knowledge outside the laboratory of the Research Ministry. I therefore got over this little annoyance with my uncle. I suppose he was just the messenger anyway.

I changed tactics and said, “OK, Ralph, I believe you. Now tell me, exactly why should we employ other Queens in my army. Aren’t I the only Queen we need?

“Of course you are my only Queen, Selena! These other creatures are simply magical beings. They are only referred to as Queens of the Sky. In fact, any nation can summon these Air Queens. But we should get them first.”

“And just what good are they?”

“Ah, they are most powerful beings. They control storms and lightning. They can summon powerful Air Elementals in battle. They can cast wind guide for our longbowmen. They can kill nearly unlimited mundane, ordinary troops. And they can use the air itself in the form of Lightning Swarms to easily crush all enemies. I assure you, we do NOT want to have to fight against these Air Queens. You MUST direct Veronicas to go forth with Project AQ.”

“And what exactly will it cost me from my treasury?”

“Well, Veronicas said we must have a very powerful air mage. As you well know, you have no knowledge of any air magic. Thus, it cannot be you.”

“Who is our most powerful air mage?”

“Igraine, an ancient Crone of Avalon. But this spell is so difficult that she will need much help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Igraine will need to be empowered. It costs 60 air gems to complete that one ritual. She will also need to use our Bag of Winds and our Winged Helmet, both of which have already been built using 15 air gems apiece using your Dwarven Hammers. And she will need one more thing we do not currently have.”

“Ninety air gems. Plus even more?”

“Yes, my Queen. Igraine will need a Staff of Elemental Mastery that you alone can construct. This will cost your magical treasury 15 fire gems and 15 water gems when using one of our Hammers. You should do it this very month while we empower Igraine.”

I mused out loud, “All that just for some false queens…”

“And that is still not all, Selena. Igraine will have to spend 50 air gems apiece to summon each Air Queen over the course of three months. In fact, this is why Veronicas has been saving air gems for years.”

I exploded over this news. “RALPH! Well over TWO HUNDRED air gems plus some other kinds too. No way!”

“Yes way, Selena. These Air Queens are that powerful.”

“Nothing is that powerful.”

“These queens are, Selena. They are truly quite strong, especially after we construct many artifacts for them to use in battle. We MUST have these three Air Queens to limit the army losses in the upcoming Green banner War. You do still plan to conduct this war, right?”

“Yes, I will go through with this war. But Ralph, I really still do not like this at all. I am the only true Queen around here.”

“Oh, of course you are! These are merely Queens of the Air. They are NOT Queens of Man. They will follow your orders, and yours alone if we summon them first. Go talk to Veronicas. I know you will believe her.”

I glared at my uncle and replied hotly, “Good idea, dear uncle. I will do exactly that. And right now too! This conversation is over.” I immediately stormed out of my chamber without a backwards glance. I am sure my uncle was smirking at me anyway!

And so, that is how it happened. I did talk to Veronicas. She backed up my uncle completely. She did admit to all this being her idea. And she did strongly assure me that these Air Queens could be controlled by me. She even gave me the wise suggestion to bring them into my chamber one at a time for a private chat as they were summoned out of the air.

So, in a seemingly fast month, the very first Air Queen to show her face called herself Nephele. I had laid out all the artifacts on my work table that we constructed for Nephele’s use on the battlefield against Pangaea. I tried not to think of all the gems being drained from my treasury for this one project alone. Easily 400 gems just for three false queens, consisting mostly of valuable air gems.

And when I was done talking to this odd creature, I found Veronicas and Ralph to both be correct. This was no true queen. Maybe Nephele could control the very air, but she had no intelligence. She had no vision, nor any plans. Not like me, or even like Ralph or Veronicas! And she was strongly tied to me though unbreakable magical bonds. I could easily feel the truth of that.

This scene was then repeated twice more over the course of the following two months. Next, it was Thuella. And finally, there was Aella. All three Air Queens now serve Man alone. I sent them down to the war chamber for their battle orders. I wondered the wisdom of all this.

But only time will tell if Project AQ was worth the cost or not.

[djo]

It's time for Vanheim turn 48!

In which Vethru tells Pherios why.


Pherios

For the first time since he had me hanged, months ago, Vethru comes to visit me. My aunt Tilneia, the Lady of the Tower, had been relaying his messages to me, initially with reluctance, later, with active derision. For all his circuitous arguments and rationalizations, his demands came to the same: I was to resume prophesying, and I was to take to the battlefield against Vanheim's enemies. Under his command. I refused, and I remained imprisoned.

Today he walks into my cell, Quellian Ji on his shoulder. Ji, too, had been bringing his master's messages. And like Tilneia, he wasn't happy about it, but he tended to plead with me rather than try to convince me. I think he just wanted everyone to get along.

My first glance at Vethru since my transformation staggers me. In an instant, he realizes that I'm peering into the spirit realm, and he clouds what I can see. But that single glimpse is terrifying.

Vethru's a patchwork. He's put together out of dozens of distinct body parts, knitted together in a blinding web of necromantic energies. There are hundreds of spirits flitting around him. I can only imagine what they're doing--sensing danger, maintaining his body, standing ready to defend him, whatever. Each one of them is tethered to him by a gossamer tendril. Impressive, but not the scary part. The tendrils are nearly invisible, because they're overshadowed by massive conduits of power running off into dimensions I can't access. Vethru-that-I-see, as powerful as he is, is nothing; he's the finger puppet of something else, much larger, hiding in a universe that I'll never touch. Vethru-that-is-elsewhere could swallow Vanheim.

"How did it come to this?" he asks. "Every one of my seers is touched by you. You, your uncle, the girls, and now, my lizard. I've given you a window into all the realms of life and death, and you, in turn, take my eyes away. How is that fair?"

Tilneia told me that Molly was in hiding, safe. A few days ago, I convinced the spirits of some lizards to stop telling their brother anything useful. "What did you do with Akkulu?" I ask.

"I sent him home."

Good. "Will you let me go, too? I'm not going to help you."

He pulls a chair up to the table and sits across from me. "I don't do this often," he says. "Once every twenty or thirty worlds, maybe. Always in low-tech worlds, funny. The techies and scientists never even consider that there might be something beyond their physical law. But there is. I'm going to tell you the secrets of the universe. Then you'll understand why you have to help me."

He thinks for a moment, almost ignoring me. Even though my transformation left me more powerful than ever before, there's no way I can stand against him now. I have no weapons or armor. I'm weak and half starved. And there's a short chain running from my ankle to a bolt set in the floor. I'm not sure it makes any difference.

"There is something beyond magic," Vethru says. "Something outside the world, that gives it its shape. Determines its rules. Is the rules, in a way."

"And you want to read them?"

"I want to rewrite them. It goes beyond that. These 'rules' are the world. They're the program the universe runs."

I'm lost. Program?

"No, damnit, wrong vocabulary. Think of a clockwork automaton. A toy. Or better yet, one of those clever music boxes with the little silver birds whose wings flap and beaks open and close as they 'sing'."

"Birds," I repeat.

He snorts. "Pay attention, boy! The birds don't matter. It's the clockworks. Ever take one of those apart? Seen the gears, and the toothed cylinder? Those parts tell the birds what to do. Those are the rules made metal."

"You're looking for...the world's gears?"

"Hood's breath, I'm looking for the source code to the universe!" He's exasperated, but it quickly passes. "It'd take months to explain this to you properly. Listen: yes, there are rules, and yes, I intend to rewrite them."

I think that's ghastly, and I tell him so.

Vethru shakes his head with a sad smile. "You don't see it. You've got the past and future in your head, and all of life and death, and your mind is still too small to see it.

"When I know the rules, I can fix things. Plague? Gone. Poverty? I'll tweak society's parameters, and your world takes three big steps toward a liberal democratic economy. I make one small change in your planet's albedo, and the growing season in temperate climates is extended two weeks, increasing crop yields enough to feed a nation of starving people. I can do these things, when I find the right parts of the rules that plug into your world.

"I've been doing this for tens of thousands of years, scouring the dimensions for little fragments of these rules. I estimate I've found between seventeen and nineteen percent of the total. Doesn't sound like much, does it? You can't cast seventeen percent of a spell. Doesn't work. But the source code is vast. Even small pieces have power. If I have the right fragments, in the right world...I can work wonders."

He's not even with me now. He's somewhere lost in memory. His voice grows soft, pleased. "In five worlds, it was enough. I left golden ages behind me. Shining cities, an educated and healthy populace. Can you conceive of a million people? A billion? I've saved that many lives. I've improved ten times as many!" Now his eyes find me again, and they're cold. "That's what you're interfering with. Give me Vanheim, and I'll put them on top of this world. I'll save this whole world from the zealots and monsters. I've almost found when I need, but I need armies to get to it. And I need your help."

He stands up. "You're smart, and you're a good kid. Think about it. Reach out to all those souls you now see, and ask them if you should give the world a better life."

He leaves, but Ji stays.

He kind of clears his throat, and says, "So, um, OK, sometimes the boss sound like a megalomaniac. You got me there. But it's true! Kid, I've been following him around for about a hundred and twenty years now, and I've seen it. Not one of the really good ones, but I've seen him take real hellholes and turn them into places you wouldn't mind bringing up your kids. He can do it. Just...think about it, OK?"

"And when he leaves," I ask, "Does he give them the knowledge? Or does it all go with him?"

Ji flutters his wings. "Better than letting every Joe in the street have it. Imagine Marignon with that power."

"I'm fairly sure they wouldn't have trapped my fiancee's soul in her reanimated corpse and enslaved her until her second horrible death."

"Sorry, kid," he says. "You know, I been saying that a lot lately, and I don't feel any better than you. But what can I do? It ain't a perfect world. Every choice has a dark side."

"You've got a choice, too," I say. "Tell my father where I am."

"I can't!" he squawks.

"Your choice," I reply. He flies out.

Well. Vethru had one good idea. I lay on my cot, close my eyes, and reach out to ask the spirit surrounding me what they think of tyrants.


Petema

I suppose our conspiracy should have met in the back room of a dark tavern on a stormy night, but my sitting room is very pleasant in the afternoon sun. I served tea and pastries that I bought from a shop down the block. I'm not much of a baker, myself.

Our conspiracy is a small one inside a larger one. The outer one is widespread and growing. The inner is small and will not get any bigger. There's only one way into our circle, and none of us is pregnant.

"I know where Pherios is," I told them. That caused a stir. We all believed he was still alive, and that Vethru had him. But Vethru's people were fanatically loyal. I know every damn jarl and herse in Vanheim, and I couldn't find anyone who knew anything about Pherios in the four months I've been searching for him.

"How?" one of them asked.

"You will not believe me when I tell you. We have a friend on the inside."

They were of course suspicious. "Can you trust him?"

We can trust her, I thought, and I smiled. I told them everything. Fate had tipped her scales toward us, at least for a time. We discussed our options, and when the meeting ended, our plans were set. They would take time to unfold, and there was danger ahead for all of us. But when they did...Vethru thought Pherios was trouble. Hah! He hasn't seen trouble until he's seen us.