And Age of Steel and Clay 02

“Espeon, of house Kosa.”

“Growlithe, of house Solnechnaya.”

Uncle and I bowed. I did so in perhaps a more perfunctory method than was polite.

“We live to serve. We die at your behest.”

I stumbled on this part of the greeting. Partially because I didn’t really believe what was coming out of my mouth, but mostly because I’d used it so rarely. Taiga didn’t venture to our hall often, preferring to spend the bulk of her time politicking in the capital or intimidating the neighboring countries.

Taiga reciprocated our bows. “It’s been too long, Umbreon.”

We sat. I was to Uncle’s right, and both of us were directly across from Taiga. Between us, a bamboo mat served as our table. (Here, I’m a little annoyed that Uncle followed the eastern traditions. I personally took my meals from an elevated wooden platform.)

Almost immediately, servants bustled in with platters of food tied to their backs.

Uncle levitated the platters off the servants, before dismissing them.

We ate before talking, as etiquette dictated. Uncle and I crunched through roasted beetle topped with pillbug puree. Taiga’s plate was dominated by a leafy salad with still-alive caterpillars and mealworms on it. Gross.

We finished eating, and the business of the evening finally began.

“On my journey here, I noticed the banks of the river were overflowing. Have you been having any troubles with flooding?”

Or at least the small talk portion of the evening began. Bleh. I zoned out, bored, as Taiga and Uncle talked about the weather, grain prices, commoner unrest near the capital, and in general topics that I knew were important, but had no interest in. I did pay attention to her quick remarks about our nation’s foreign stance, though.

“We still have a significant lead in military forces, but it isn’t as big as it once was. Revanchist elements in the bordering states may prove a problem if they decide to form a coalition, but I very much doubt that gaggle of backstabbing incompetents will manage to pose a threat to us any time within the next two decades or so.”

Finally, she got to the part I was interested in.

“.. and that brings me to why I’m here.”

(“And here I thought you just wanted to gossip,” I grumbled, not quite under my breath. This got me a sharp look from Uncle.)

Taiga laughed; a peculiar whistling noise filtered through the exposed bone of her skull plates.

“You have spirit. I like that in my soldiers.”

I couldn’t help but think that her smile looked more like a rictus grin than anything containing a semblance of warmth.

“Tell me, Growlithe. What do you know about court politics?”

“Enough.”

“Don’t play dumb. It isn’t becoming of you,” scolded Taiga.

The silence stretched on awkwardly, until I broke down and gave her what she wanted.

“Well… starting from the top, King Yuuto of--”

“Stop,” ordered Taiga. “I can already tell you’re gearing up to give me the same asinine spiel any commoner could tell me about our nation. What do you know about the current conflict? And don’t make me ask you a third time. I can tolerate a bit of spirit, but I absolutely cannot tolerate rebellion.”

Sufficiently cowed, I began again. “There are three major factions competing over the succession. The most powerful faction is the moderate faction, mainly composed of sub-kings like yourself, that support the king’s daughter, who’s set to succeed under current elective and successive law. They win if the status quo holds. The most numerous faction is the ‘republican’ faction. They want to change elective and succession laws to both enfranchise high lords and allow them to be elected king. If they succeed, Ursaring of house Zvezda is by far the clear favorite to win the succession election on the King’s death. Obviously high lords tend to flock to their banner, but they also have support from the three matriarchs, because high lords tend to be a little less cynical and a lot more religious than sub-kings, as a rule.


After a moment of though, I amended my statement. “There’s also the royalists, who support the king’s son, and want to change the succession law to… I paused here, trying to remember the term. “Primogeniture? To guarantee the monarch’s firstborn always inherits. I don’t think anyone believes they’ll get their way, though. Obviously they’re packed with the prince’s direct vassals, friends, and toadies. And there’s also a bunch of minor factions and holdouts that haven’t been swayed into joining the main parties yet, but the sicker the king gets, the fewer of those there are.”

Taiga nodded. “A reasonably accurate, if rather bland depiction of what’s going on. So tell me. What faction am I in?”

I didn’t have to give this question any thought.

“Your own.”

Taiga gave me a calculated look. “Perhaps you aren’t as dense as you look. Who do I support, then?”

Again, I already knew the answer. The way she’d spent thirty years consolidating her power, ensuring completely loyalty from her vassals, and establishing a reputation as an utterly ruthless and utterly pragmatic political and military operator pointed towards only one thing-- a bid for the throne.

Of course, she couldn’t propose herself as the successor. She was too old, at this point. The entire reason we’d adopted an elective monarchy was that a chain of short-lived rulers had nearly shattered our nation. We would only accept a ruler young enough to grow into their position, healthy enough to not fall sick and die, and politically well connected enough to avoid getting assassinated and throwing the realm into turmoil.

But that just prevented her from directly assuming the crown. An indirect method was also available.

“You plan to support your son’s bid for the throne,” I said, confidently.

Taiga looked surprised. I almost grinned at her expression.

And then she started laughing. Not the restrained whistle of earlier, but a full-on belly laugh. Uncle smirked. They knew something I didn’t.

“My son? That simpering, limp wristed homosexual? He couldn’t even handle being on top of another man, much less a country.” Taiga snorted, derisive. “But I suppose I can’t blame an inexperienced puppy for coming to that conclusion. In fact, I should be thankful that my efforts to hide my familial shame have worked so well.”

“You’re welcome,” interjected Uncle.

“Then, who do you support?” I forced myself to ask.

“That’s my business, not yours. But,” she added, “I can tell you who I oppose.” The levity slipped out of her tone. “The moderates and the republicans? They play by the rules. Liege and vassal divide themselves across political lines, but it remains a merely diplomatic war of favor trading and influence. The royalists, however, are largely disjunct from the other factions, and united against all outsiders.”

Taiga let that sink in for a moment. “I fear civil war.” Blunt, to the point. The hallmark of all her most famous statements.

I felt a pit in my stomach. My instinctual reaction was to reject what she was saying. After all, the enemy of an enemy was a friend, right?

She continued, heedless of my internal turmoil. “Now, there is hope. I can’t dismantle them outright. They have too much power, in the aggregate. But I don’t need to. I just need to keep them from reaching the tipping point, where they think they can win a war, long enough for one of the two main factions to gain an obvious lead. To that end, I need to strike at their fundamentals of their power base. What do you think of the current king’s reputation?”

At first, her last sentence seemed like a non-sequitur. But then I realized where her line of questioning was heading. “He’s incredibly popular. He’s expanded our borders, he’s fought off invaders, he’s staved off famines and built roads across the entire length and breadth of our nation. He’s known for always having time to listen to the woes of the commoners, and for works of charity and gestures of solidarity. The power base of the royalist faction is.. the common folk?” I screwed my face up. I’d made an intuitive leap that I knew was accurate, but couldn’t justify.

Taiga saw my consternation, and finished my thought for me. “The king’s daughter is a master at intrigue and diplomacy, and competent at military and administrative manners besides. But she doesn’t have her father’s head for manipulating the hearts of the common folk. And while Ursaring is renowned across the land for his personal heroics and success on the battlefield, he has very little experience transferable to managing the affairs of a nation. His personal holdings are left in the grasp of a competent steward, and he has a very light paw in their management.”

“Some would say that delegation is one of a ruler’s most important skills,” Uncle said, as a playful aside. His management strategy wasn’t quite as laissez faire, but he too preferred to have a lighter paw over the management of his borough.

“Regardless, while he receives unquestioned support from many of the military-minded lords of our nation, common folk are not so sure he should be king. But while the prince has inherited no particular administrative, military, or diplomatic capability, his silver tongue perhaps surpasses that of any ruler since the Founder. And using it, he’s claimed to be the inheritor of his father’s best qualities, as the child that knew him for longest.”

Taiga sniffed dismissively. Obviously, she didn’t agree with that notion.

“It’s an appealing argument. We use the same one, or variants thereof, to justify the familial inheritance of all titles besides that of king to the common folk. That blood is necessary and sufficient to carry on a legacy. It’s a convenient lie.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but quelled my words at a sharp look from Uncle. But still, how could she not believe in such a foundational element of our nation? Every person in this room was here because the nation recognized that bloodlines were the most reliable way to determine whether a child would grow into greatness or mediocrity. They weren’t a perfectly reliable indicator, of course, but if bloodlines were ignored, all three of us would probably be wasted on farming dirt or herding insects.

“But no matter how loud he yells, the prince cannot reach every commoner in the realm by himself. So he employs a network of rabble rousers to do his work for him. And irritatingly enough, he seems to think he can send them wherever he likes, including my demesne.”

Taiga withdrew a piece of paper from her sleeves. “This contains four names. I expect to see a matching number of heads, sans body, within the month. Each name corresponds to an agent of the prince.”

Then, to my surprise, she handed the paper to me, rather than my uncle. I bit down carefully on the delicate paper, and inserted it into a pocket on my vest.

“I can see what you’re thinking. And it’s true-- initially, I planned to give this assignment to your uncle. But I realized, during this conversation, that perhaps I could make better use of my resources. You’re something of an unknown quantity. Espeon vouches for you, which carries weight, but I remember what your father did, and I stayed my hand from executing you only because your guardian personally guaranteed your future loyalty. This will give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“I-- I understand.” I muttered.

Taiga nodded. “Chin up. I won’t force you to do this for free-- although that would be well within my rights.” A pointed reminder of where we stood. “I have a fire stone that’s recently finished its recharging cycle. Should you succeed at your task, you will be allowed to use it.”

I blinked. I didn’t know how to process that. Dull anger warred with hope.

“My retinue is quartered in the barracks. Choose two of them to accompany you. They will aid you in your task and keep an eye on you. They will also have the execution warrants and descriptions for your targets, as well as money to pay for traveling accommodations and other necessities and contingencies. Go.”

A little disbelieving at her sudden, curt dismissal, I got up. Bruises I had forgotten about in the heat of our discussion once again became noticeable, and I had to suppress a wince.

~oOo~

The trip to the barracks was brief, but gave me enough time to read the sheet and process my orders. None of the names were familiar to me, which was good, but I understood what she was doing. Forcing me to bloody my paws at her behest; the start of a pattern. Plus, this would tie my reputation with hers. I’d permanently be making enemies with everyone in the royalist faction, cutting myself off from people I potentially had a common enemy with.

But I had no way to refuse. I wasn’t strong enough to flout legal orders. My father hadn’t been, either.

Regardless, by the time I reached the dormitory, I was in a poor mood.

I opened the door.

Five soldiers were in the barracks. A Miltank and a Persian played cards. A Rhyhorn was reading a book, and a Kangaskhan whittled at a branch with her claws. On one of the beds, a Munchlax slept.

Everyone (save the Munchlax) flinched when I opened the door. A testament to Uncle’s stealth training.

They scrambled to salute me.

I sized them up without talking, forcing them to maintain their salutes.

Persian was recently evolved, perhaps a decade older than me. A southpaw, by the looks of it; his claws were duller on his left side. He had no armor on, and I didn’t see any that fit him.

I couldn’t tell Miltank’s age at a glance, although I could see that she hadn’t had any children yet. Her armor sat disassembled on one of the bunk beds, large plates of curved steel. On the same bed was what I assumed was her weapon, a halberd slightly taller than she was.

Rhyhorn, meanwhile, seemed to be younger than I was. Sixteen or seventeen years of age, if I had to guess. He didn’t have armor, and didn’t need it. The book he’d been reading was emblazoned “A Treatise on the Theoretical Construction of Flying Machines.”

Kangaskhan, meanwhile, seemed to be several decades older than me. From the stretch marks on her pouch to the wrinkles on her face, I could tell she’d had at least one, and perhaps several children.

Munchlax was still asleep.

None of them had any obvious scars, and none wore a captain’s sash, confirming my suspicions. The bulk of Taiga’s retinue must have purchased board at the town inn. She hadn’t brought her veterans. She’d brought minions for Uncle’s use, which translated to ablative armor, according to his doctrine. Not that these soldiers would have been told that was their purpose. (I felt a little bad for Kangaskhan’s family, knowing that.)

Still, it was concerning that she’d brought them at all-- she was expecting these rabble rousers to pose some sort of threat, even to Uncle.

As I completed my brief survey, I caught Rhydon’s eyes widening.

“Wait, you’re--” he gasped. “Holy Mew, I never thought I’d get a chance to work with the daughter of the Iron Boiler! My mother used to tell me about working under your father! I’ve heard so many stories about his unit’s work on the eastern campaign. It was a real shame about the treason.”

Rhydon smiled a goofy grin. I should have been annoyed at his flippant reference to my father, but I found him slightly endearing, to be honest. I immediately decided he would be coming with me.

That left me with just one more person to take.

I blinked once, slowly. Rhyhorn’s smile grew slightly uncomfortable. Then, I spoke.

“Taiga has a mission for me. I was told you had the documentation.”

My voice was carefully flat, both to maintain a professional aura and to avoid showing how much my bruises ached.

“Oh, uh--” Rhyhorn started, looking around wildly.

Kangaskhan produced a scroll of paper, and handed it to me. The wax seal holding it closed had the imprint of Taiga’s house emblem; a diamond, bisected vertically.

I nodded my thanks as I accepted it.

As I put the scroll into my vest pocket, I made a snap decision as to who the second member of my retinue would be. Maybe it was dumb, but I didn’t want to command people obviously older and more experienced than myself.

Looking back up, I said “Rhyhorn, Miltank, you’re temporarily being transferred into my retinue. I expect to see you by the main gates sunrise, tomorrow.”

I turned around, not bothering to look at their reactions. Today had been an extremely long day, and tomorrow would not be any better. As soon as I left the room, however, I had second thoughts. They were below my station, but they would still be my comrades.

But by then, it was too late. Showing indecision now would destroy any chance of them respecting my authority. Unbidden, the munchlax came to mind. I’d assumed he’d been sleeping, but perhaps he’d already judged me, and found me lacking.

I went to bed in pain, and in a bad mood. Apprehension about my first ever mission mixed with dull hatred for Taiga. And in there somewhere was hope-- that I’d succeed, and get to use a fire stone. That I’d get to experience a full evolution in the prime of my life, rather than wasting years, or even decades to mature fully.

But even that hope was tainted by suspicion. My family-- my biological family, that is, not Uncle-- had had a long and storied history. Even the decades-long decay of our power that had ended with my father had only served to consolidate our lands and wealth. But I had almost none of my birthright to call upon. The lands had been distributed among the commoners, the wealth seized by the crown, and possessions valuable in and of themselves distributed across Taiga’s supporters.

(Uncle had received his own portion of those possessions, but had kept it in trust for me. He was a murderer, not a thief.)

So the fact that Taiga dangled a single use of the fire stone as bait infuriated me, when in all likelihood the stone was rightfully mine.

Eventually, however, my exhaustion outweighed my anxiety and anger, and I fell into a fitful sleep.

~oOo~

A servant woke me an hour before dawn. I woke up blearily, and stumbled through my morning ablutions. With some embarrassment, I noted the scorch marks on my bedspread. At least I wouldn’t have to put up with yet another lecture about ruining Uncle’s furniture; I planned to be gone before the servants had a chance to inform him.

I read through my mission scroll as I ate my cricket porridge. (High in protein, low in taste.)

There were four people I needed to kill. “Fights Rivers” the Raticate, “Big Slow”, the Muk, “Lickililly” the Haunter, and a curious-looking foreigner: “Claude” the “Dewott.”

Taiga’s information was extremely limited-- a description, a drawing, a nickname, and a general location. The dewott was going to be my last target; I’d prefer some more experience before I took on what was obviously a water type. The other three were trickier to decide between, but eventually I decided to go for Haunter first. Her species was known for being slippery; the information on her location would be obsolete faster than anyone else’s, and then it would be a lot of extra work to track her down.

Thus decided, I got all my gear in order; my armor, some trail rations, a small purse, and various other essentials all went into my saddle bags.

I arrived at the gates precisely at daybreak. The early morning sunbeams stirred something within my soul, and for a moment, my anxiety fell away.

I smiled, fierce.

Rhyhorn and Miltank stood at attention. I gestured at them. “Let’s go.”

And we did.