Nemobrosus
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Chapter 97: Deal or No Deal?
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 06:58:02 +0000 UTCSarah rose from the altar, gently testing her feet on the ground. Then, she stood, clothes manifesting out of thin air to complement her glamour. She looked around, her expression having regained all the vigor it lost after Leonardo’s poison took effect.
“I have one regret.” Sarah said. “Leonardo won’t get to see me alive and well. He died thinking that he won. That’s mildly frustrating.”
Willem bandaged up the deep cut in his arm using strips of cloth from his shirt. It wouldn’t be fatal, but it would take a fairly long time to heal unless a priestess of the goddess of life tended to it. He stood to his feet as well and looked around.
“So… all this, and you only get 30 years?” Willem looked at her, exhausted.
Sarah nodded. “If there were another path, I would have taken it. But there’s no way for this volcano to loosen its hold on those it claims. We become dependent… or we die.”
“Then again, people haven’t tried hard enough,” Willem said. “Where I came from, a heart transplant wasn’t an impossible thing. Still, it seems like you’ll be fated to return to this place as long as you live.”
“And now it’ll be under new owners.” Sarah looked around. “Perhaps the best thing for the world would be to destroy this place. Force the volcano to erupt, scattering its madness across the land.” She peered down into the magma far below.
“If you wouldn’t kill millions—including yourself, thirty years from now—I might agree.” Willem grabbed her wrist. “We should just focus on the best outcome for now. Considering the damage we’ve done to the Avarian command structure, I don’t think it’ll take long for the king to catch up to us. Then… we have our work cut out for us.”
Willem walked up to Raphael’s body, retrieving his broken crossbow. He tried to correct it back into its original shape, but he would take more experienced hands than he is to do it properly.
“Shouldn’t have freaked out…” Willem shook his head, muttering.
“What now?” Sarah asked, walking up to him.
“Broad question. Specifics,” he requested.
“For us,” Sarah said. “I…” she almost didn’t seem as if she believed it. “I’m… free. Only thirty years, granted, but… free.”
“We’re free,” Willem concurred, looking around. “Honestly… I considered just leaving everything behind, going somewhere else. It would be annoying, but feasible, especially with your skill sets.” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fair to Junior, though. His family is just starting to get its shit together, and he deserves to reap some of the rewards.”
“Not to mention the fact that you enjoy their company a great deal yourself.”
“…there is that, yes.” Willem nodded. “I’m not too thrilled about this prospect, but I think that it deserves at least one attempt.” He looked her in the eyes. “We should try and negotiate with the king.”
Sarah sighed. “I had a feeling that you might suggest that.” She shook her head. “We don’t have any leverage. I think that the occupation of Avaria will be relatively bloodless because of what we’ve done, but that doesn’t mean the king will simply forgive and forget. We made a fool of him in front of all of his most prominent commanders and vassals, and he’ll want to make an example out of you. That’s assuming that he even allows you to come to the table. You might have been marked for death.”
Willem walked around the room with, retrieving the fallen greatsword Junior used. “In my line of work, I’m very used to dealing with fragile yet gigantic egos. Sometimes, people just don’t want to lose face.” He tested the edge. “I think that as long as it doesn’t become a public spectacle, the king will at least be willing to entertain conversation. And if that doesn’t work, he isn’t immortal. Probabilistically, within the next thirty years his successor will rise up. That person might be more compromising.”
“…and by then, there will have been a great deal done to secure this newfound acquisition. The Fount is too valuable to leave alone, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Sarah looked all around. “No—we need another solution.”
Willem went silent for a moment, thinking of that other solution. “Invert the problem,” he said.
“What?”
“Invert it,” Willem continued. “Right now, we’re thinking about what he doesn’t want. But what does the king want? Soon enough, he’ll be marching into a vast territory the same size or greater than his own kingdom, with the added detriment of a population that doesn’t even speak the same language and is historically hostile to his people. When he realizes the scale of that problem, do you think he might turn his nose up at people who could help?” Willem walked toward the exit of the room, shaking his head fiercely. “No—we have leverage. Tremendous leverage.”
Sarah joined him. “What are you proposing?”
“How do you get someone to accept a deal?” he asked rhetorically. “You make it very enticing… and you hide the bad stuff in the fine print.”
“And you’re the bad stuff,” Sarah said dryly.
“Your words, not mine,” Willem said. “What do you say we round up those sisters of yours? No—what do you say we do a spy reunion party?”
***
King Arnoud studied the newly-made map without speaking. The candlelight flickered over the ridged terrain of Avaria, each ridge and valley marked in fine charcoal. He had already committed it all to memory. They had broken past the cyclops guarding the underground pass. They had marched through the whole of this territory with their finest troops, subduing what little resistance was left. They had made it to the capital, where the Fount of Avaria had already been ransacked… though by whom, the king couldn’t tell.
The trouble wasn’t the map—it was everything it failed to show.
The land was barren for most of the year, flat and frozen. Roads were few, and those that did exist were either ruinous or frozen over. The deeper he proceeded, the more his supply trains would stall, the more soldiers would freeze. There was no value in holding onto this land. It would cost far more to sustain than it would generate in income. It wasn’t difficult to see why the nation had developed its slave economy.
And on the economy… the people were nearly worse than the land. They spoke a tongue few in Ravenveld had even heard, and fewer still spoke. There were no schools, no clerks, no taxmen—those had all been managed by the ruling class, and they had either fled or died. In their place were slaves who could not read, let alone staff a court. Appointments would have to come from the outside, and that meant resentment. Every provincial command would be seen as foreign rule, because it would be.
And then there were the creatures.
The old regime had bred monsters. Slave-beasts, kept on chains, warded with spells. Some were barely intelligent, others too intelligent to trust. Without harsh discipline, they would turn feral. The war had drained his coffers. He would need to send caravans across hundreds of miles just to keep the troops fed. Every step deeper into Avaria stretched his lines thinner, exposed him to harsh realities. Even the Cabinet couldn’t solve this problem.
He’d have to bleed resources just to keep it from falling apart: rebuild what little infrastructure there was, import foreign officials who wouldn’t speak the language, train a new generation of locals from scratch just to form the lowest rungs of administration. Every step would be slow, expensive, and resisted. Occupation wouldn’t look like victory—it would look like babysitting a corpse that refused to stay buried.
But if he simply plundered all that he could, left… things would go back as they were. He needed to explore other options.
***
Galahad stood just inside the command tent, robes marked with dust and ash, face impassive. “The Fount’s ownerless, but not broken,” he said. “It’s just waiting for someone else to take control.”
King Arnoud didn’t respond. He stood near the tent’s edge, eyes fixed on the caldera below. The beautiful city persisted in the crater like an oasis in the desert. Avaria’s heart was still beating, even if its rulers were dead. The longer their inaction carried on, the worse things would become.
Galahad continued, voice even. “Every slave, every creature with lava where the heart ought to be—they’re all still tied to it. That link hasn’t faded. Tens of thousands are tied to the Fount—dependent. We could preserve that system… or do away with it entirely.” He paused, but not for effect. Just calculation. “The only way I see to destroy it would be forcing it into eruption. Millions would die... but the threat would cease to be.”
Arnoud’s gaze didn’t shift. Far below, smoke rose in thin trails from half-abandoned furnaces. A few lights still flickered.
Galahad didn’t embellish. “Leave it intact, and someone will learn to use it again. I believe that someone should be us.”
“You’re suggesting we enter the slave trade?” Arnoud said.
“Respectfully, Your Majesty, without it… I see no other option,” Galahad confirmed.
“I’m able to do so much of what I do because I believe that I’m genuinely working toward a better future. Every ruthless action builds toward a brighter future. But that?” The king turned around, fixing his golden eyes upon Galahad. “This land has remained worthless and destitute because slavery has allowed it to stagnate for centuries. It locks everything in place. No incentive to educate, no reason to innovate. Why build machines when bodies are cheaper? Why teach skills when obedience is enough?” He let the words hang a moment, then added flatly, “It rots a society from the top down. Keeps the rulers comfortable, and everyone else replaceable. The reason why we struggle so right now is because hundreds of others in the position I’m in decided to do what was easy.”
“Every resource you pour into holding this place weakens your grip elsewhere.” Galahad paused just long enough to make the next part land. “Better future or not, your enemies within and without won’t care why you’re stretched thin—only that you are. Holding this country without the aid of the Fount will require building a new state from scratch while fighting off the remnants of the old one.”
“And that might shatter Ravenveld altogether.” Arnoud nodded. “I know.”
***
King Arnoud hadn’t known what to expect when he received word one of the locals claiming to speak the language asked to discuss how to facilitate their occupation and integration. His allies had been wary of a trap, but after thorough examination, decided that it would be worth the effort.
Arnoud, Clara, and Galahad attended this meeting, flanked by several prominent royal knights. The other party came alone. It was a woman. She spoke the tongue of Ravenveld like a native, giving her name—Lilliana. The meeting wasn’t underway for long before Galahad felt the need to interject.
“She’s a chimera, Your Majesty,” Galahad said, though he didn’t move to do anything.
Arnoud stared into the woman’s eyes. Was she Sarah, perhaps, or another? Even he couldn’t tell.
“You say that as if I should be surprised.” The king gestured toward the woman. “Continue.”
“By now, Your Majesty will have realized that the vast territories of Avaria are prohibitively difficult to govern. He will have also realized that there is no administrative cadre to exploit—they’re all mysteriously absent.” She smiled faintly. “Rather, there are very few people who even speak the language. And… in case you have some doubts, I can assure that further investigation will yield no fruit.”
Clara looked toward Arnoud, both of them having the same thought.
“You’ve gathered the remnants of the spy network that once infiltrated Ravenveld,” the king said aloud.
“Just so,” the chimera confirmed. “Ours is a small group, but we’ve managed to stay alive in the midst of your incredibly ruthless inquisition efforts. We are rather adept at sabotaging, spying, and infiltrating, as I’m sure you’d agree.”
“Is that a threat?” Galahad asked.
“Quiet yourself,” Arnoud told Galahad firmly, then gestured toward the chimera. “Continue.”
“We possess the means to preside over this vast territory, and the knowledge to do so effectively. You, meanwhile, have military might that we lack. Moreover, there’s only one place that’s truly important for you to hold. We have no interest in perpetuating the regime of our former masters. We would be more than happy to cede the entirety of the Fount of Avaria to you as a military base in exchange for allowing all those afflicted with its condition freedom of use.”
“You’ll barter with lands we conquered?” Arnoud summarized.
The chimera ignored his jabbing summary, continuing, “Our nation will entirely demilitarize, supporting your garrisons of this land at our own expense. We’ll be subjects to Ravenveld, though with greater autonomy than enjoyed by your nobles.”
“How much greater?” Clara asked.
“As much as you’re willing to grant,” the chimera said. “You’ve won. The only question is whether or not you want to be viewed as liberating heroes or brutal occupiers.”
“Would you see slavery continue?” Clara asked.
“No,” the chimera answered immediately. “Each of us are intimately familiar with the institution. We hope to establish industries that can stand on their own. It may take centuries… but with a stake in this land, we have incentive to till the soil. And with a friendly trade partner southward… we believe there’s ample opportunity.”
The king stood. “Give us time to discuss.”
***
“This negotiation has Willem’s writing all over it,” King Arnoud said to his daughter, sitting in his chair tiredly. “I’ve received no word from Leonardo or Raphael. No one’s even seen them.”
“And I doubt anyone will,” Clara said. “But Liliana was very clear, father. We can strongly secure the main thing that we’re interested in—the Fount. Everything else would be handled by them. If we don’t comply, they’ll continue doing as they have been for your entire reign. Holding Avaria is impossible… for now. But after decades of building trade relationships? After they build infrastructure, stable governance?”
“If,” Arnoud rephrased.
Clara stepped forward. “If it’s Willem, as you think… the prospects are good.”
“And this pleases you—letting him get away with it?” Arnoud pressed. “You wish us to be embarrassed perpetually by that pompous deserter strutting about freely in this land?”
Clara scoffed. “We already have a tacit understanding. His absence was a sign. This issue… it sits there, unaddressed. Willem or Sarah aren’t seen much at all, and we don’t look for him.” She shook her head. “Life isn’t about getting even, father. We can continue your method of inquisition… or we can embrace a more generous method. From where I stand, the choice seems obvious.”
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Comments
WarStrider72
I wonder how Willem and Sarah will get pardoned for dissertion?
Gwalmeich
(using a Jedi mind trick) Probabilistically isn't a real word. It's all in your head. Forget it.
Derek Zoolander
Probabilistically is a real word.
