Skylar stared at the vote results in disbelief. Seriously. You want me to join up with the obviously evil lord of the vampire werewolves who is enslaving people, right after I freed a bunch of his slaves and killed one of his senior minions thus establishing myself as his enemy. Anything else you frosaks want me to do while I'm at it? Maybe solve world hunger, or invent cold fusion?
He stomped around the graveyard for a couple of minutes, fuming, then took a deep breath and fought for a little bit more self-control. As his anger cooled, his thoughts began to turn towards how he could possibly accomplish such a thing, and the puzzle began to intrigue him as usual. He sat down and put his chin in his palm, deep in thought. Well, it won't be easy... in fact, it's darn near suicidal. But if the time travel drotz is real, then there's a good argument to be made that I can't die or even suffer major harm until after I fulfill my obligations for the future parts of any time loops... He frowned. Then again, having that kind of attitude is a great way to get yourself killed by taking risks based on false assumptions. I should remain suspicious of time loops, future selves, and pretty much everything else.
With a sigh, he got to his feet and began looking around for things to inspire a potential plan. The pickings were slim; gravestones, a few vines, the giant statue, and the corpse. Oh. I guess I should search him for valuables or something. Moving to the corpse, he discovered that moving the statue off was sufficiently difficult that he couldn't get to most of the central part of the Ravitu's body; the only thing he could reach easily was the head. He backed up, pondering the situation. "I could try to break the statue apart a bit," he mused out loud. "Maybe get to the body that way..."
Must you defile my domain further, complained a silent modulation out of nowhere. Skylar jumped, then scowled. "Wait, I know you. The rumbly voice, from the sanctum."
Your past, the unseen Devari groaned. My future. I know you not, though Father's power flows through your veins; presumably I will make your acquaintance then.
"Yeah, well, don't worry about it." Skylar crossed his arms angrily. "I'm not strong enough to bust up this statue anyway. So you can cool it with whatever threats you were about to make, whoever you are."
I am Kalus, the un-voice replied with the dead, flat inflection he remembered. Devari of Endurance. My Erszet is the earth, the dead, and such things; threats are less in my nature than warnings.
Skylar shivered abruptly. "Uh, jeez, okay, point taken; I won't mess up your feng shui anymore." A sudden thought came to him, and he leaned forward excitedly. "Aqu said that I could have an Art from each of the Devari; any chance I could get one from you now?"
There was a still, calm sense of examination; Skylar felt uncomfortably as though his bones were being inspected right through his flesh. You are not yet strong enough; you are not yet wise enough. There was another short pause, the length of half a breath. You are not yet ripe enough.
Skylar's shivers redoubled; fear -- a nameless, insidious fear he could not identify or defend against -- coursed through him like electricity, warning him he was dangerously close to asking a question to which he did not want the answer. "Uh, okay, sure, maybe later." He backed away hurriedly. "Are all your sanctums like this?"
Anywhere the dead gather in silence, the Devari replied, you will find me. To be marked with a skull is to bear my likeness; in still shadows, I lie. The vibrations felt melancholy and fatalistic, but dangerous all the same; Skylar was reminded that he was toying with primal powers far beyond his ken. We will meet again.
Suddenly, the still voice was gone; Skylar let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Yikes. That guy needs to lighten up. Giving up on searching the corpse, he instead inspected the parts of the remains he could reach; the fire was guttering out now, with only a few tongues left to illuminate the boneyard.
Oh, vark! The light! Skylar jumped, then clutched frantically for the Kalativa; whipping it out and flipping it around to gaze upon the mirrored backside, he groaned as the last few flickers of flame dissipated behind him and left the reflective surface in darkness. Korskak corfsmot. I'm never gonna find out what I look like. With a sigh, he put it away again, then glanced around as the final pieces of his plan assembled themselves in his mind; then he began searching for a sharp rock.
A few minutes later, the guards he'd seen before came stumbling out of the woods and hauled up short at the sight before them; Skylar, his back against a gravestone, glared at them imperiously. "Took you long enough." He stepped forward, giving each of them a gimlet stare. "Where are your reinforcements?"
The two soldiers looked at each other in confusion; after a moment of embarrassed silence, one stepped forward and put his hand on his sword. "We don't take orders from you," he sneered, long greasy hair obscuring his gaunt and stubbled face. "Where's the lieutenant?"
With tremendous satisfaction, Skylar raised his left hand. Hanging from a twist of vines was the severed, smoking skull of the Ravitu; he stared flatly at the soldier, who jerked back in horror. "He is no longer fit for service. You will report to me now."
The two soldiers shared another nervous glance; they looked back at Skylar, who smirked. "If you're thinking about trying to take me, go ahead." He leaned forward slightly, letting the moonlight cast his face into shadow. "Our forces have no use for soldiers who cannot follow discipline."
There was a pause, during which he imagined he could almost taste the soldiers' fear; but eventually, the other, chubbier soldier's nerve broke, and he was the first to salute. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, flicking his eyes sideways at the other man; the stubbled soldier growled and stood to attention as well.
"Very good." Skylar stepped forward, close enough that he could address them with familiarity but not so close they would notice how short he was. "Have you recovered the captives?"
The lean soldier nodded. "A few," he confirmed. "Lots escaped, but we caught the slow ones. Tied a rope around the cage, this time."
Skylar blinked. "That's what you were doing this whole time?" He shook his head. "Unbelievable. But to be expected, I suppose." He jerked his chin in the direction back where they'd come. "Make haste. I wish to return immediately."
The two soldiers nodded (the chubby one eagerly, the lean one reluctantly) and led him back into the forest. When they returned to the clearing, Skylar noted that only three prisoners remained in the cage; a feeble old man, a pregnant woman, and a young girl. "Pitiful. These will have to suffice." He gestured towards the lean guard. "Bring them; leave the cage." He paused, pretending to contemplate before deciding. "And don't bother tying them up; anyone who can't keep up is of no use to us."
"But, sir," the fat guard worried, twisting his helmet around in his hands, "won't they try to escape again?" Skylar noted that his apologetic tone belied a keen gaze. This guy's not so dumb. He probably suspects I set them free last time.
"Let them," said Skylar dismissively. "If they think they can survive alone in the endless night, they are welcome to try; fools serve our purposes no better than corpses, and require less effort to dispose of." He turned to the lean guard, who scowled but obeyed; in moments, the prisoners were free. They gazed upon Skylar with confusion; at least one, he knew, recognized him from their earlier liberation and were now suspicious at best. "You three," he remarked to the prisoners, "accompany us quietly. I have no patience for disruption." With as much confidence as he could project, he turned back to the fat guard; "We make for headquarters at once; I have urgent business with the commander. Be obedient and professional, and you shall be rewarded; further question or delay will be punished. Am I understood?"
Behind him, he sensed the lean guard tense up again; he knew he was bluffing outrageously, especially since he appeared to be a young teen with all the combat capability of a wet towel. But Skylar Kass had learned long ago that brass klepnorps and sharp wits could serve as a suitable replacement for strength or influence at least temporarily, and he saw no reason to change tactics now. Besides, he thought to himself smugly, just try to kill me. I don't know how I'll take you out, but I'll have fun solving that puzzle. At last, something of his reckless disdain seemed to convince the other man, and he felt more than heard the fight go out of the guard as he glumly took up position at the rear of the company. "March," he instructed the group as a whole.
They obeyed.
Skylar's arrival at "Lord Nightstar's" headquarters was less than awe-inspiring; a mist had arrived not long after the march had begun, which had then burgeoned into first a light rain and then a hard one. The last two miles of the slog had been soul-crushing, and when the bedraggled party finally made their way to their destination, Skylar was disappointed to discover that it was merely a log cabin surrounded by patchwork tents and huts. No stonework, he noted miserably. These guys are really behind the curve. "Take the refugees to shelter," he ordered the lean guard. "And get yourself some food." He held the man's gaze for a moment and let a hint of recognition enter his eye; "You did well. I will report it thusly."
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The lean guard blinked, then nodded and turned away; Skylar noted that his manner with the erstwhile prisoners was gentler than before. Maybe he's not as big of a drotzbag as he looks. He nodded to the fat guard, who paused, then looked apologetic. "Ah, your orders, sir?"
Skylar blinked in disbelief. "The commander," he reminded the other man with a smidgeon of exasperation; the fat guard jumped, then nodded, looking abashed. As he'd expected, he was led to the log cabin; the guard knocked on the door, sweating through the soaking rain, until it opened.
A Ravitu, wearing leather armor which had seen better days, stood within impatiently; Skylar scoffed in its direction. "I need to speak with the commander at once," he immediately ordered, preempting the thing's confused greeting.
The Ravitu's brows came down in a suspicious frown. "What's this? Where's Gailek?"
Skylar tossed the skull (which he'd been carrying for nearly four hours now) at the creature's feet. "He failed in his duty; extremely miserably, I might add. Unless you wish to follow his example, I suggest you make haste." He paused for a tiny moment, long enough for the Ravitu to absorb the facts but not long enough to formulate its own response. "Unless you think him incapable of defending himself against me?"
The Ravitu growled, but opened the door wider to admit him; Skylar strode in as fearlessly as he dared, which was extremely difficult since his stomach felt like it was boiling a pot of soup. The fat guard, left behind in the rain outside, watched him go mournfully before the door was slammed in his face.
Inside, the interior was smoky and rough-hewn; the leather-clad monster ushered him up a fresh-smelling set of stairs to a second floor before directing him to sit in an uncomfortable wicker chair. "Bide," it snarled before disappearing through another door into what appeared to be a bedroom or study; Skylar leaned back and relaxed. Almost done now. Unless I get murdered, of course, but if so there's probably not a ton I can do to stop it. He yawned. Wow, I need another nap soon.
After a moment, the door opened again; the leather-clad retainer gestured for Skylar to come in. Slowly, he rose and did so, taking in the room beyond as he entered.
The study beyond was much more richly adorned than the rest of the cabin; a thick rug covered the floor, and paintings hung on three of the four interior walls which did not possess a window. A great desk of what looked like oak dominated the room, with two leather chairs facing it; a small cot up against one wall completed the furnishings. But the real noteworthy accoutrement was behind the desk; Skylar had expected another Ravitu, but this figure appeared to be human, with salt-and-pepper hair and a shaved, aristocratic-looking face. He wore a steel cuirass atop black leather, and steel bracers encircled his wrists, leaving his hands free to handle documents and quills. "Thank you, Ular, that will be all," he murmured to the leather-clad Ravitu without looking up; the monstrous beast hesitated, but obeyed reluctantly, shutting the door behind itself on the way out.
For a few moments, there was silence; Skylar waited patiently, radiating as much bravado as he could. Eventually, the man looked up, his gray eyes settling on Skylar curiously while Skylar carefully averted his own gaze just enough to avoid making eye contact. Even if he's not a Ravitu, he might know Weir from something else. No sense being stupid.
After another few moments, the man rose and turned to look out the window. "I must admit," he remarked over his shoulder, "that I am very curious. Gailek was not particularly bright, but he was more than capable at killing humans; the fact that he is dead is noteworthy all on its own, but for you to come here rather than fleeing tells me that you are either --"
"...very brave, very foolish, or very treacherous," Skylar interrupted. "That's what Gailek said right before I killed him, too; I would suggest that you add a fourth possibility, which is that I know what I'm doing." He leaned forward, tapping the desk. "You should probably be focusing a lot less on who I am and a lot more on what I have to say."
The man turned around, eyebrows raised. "Which is?"
"You're drotzing this up," Skylar said bluntly. "This whole 'Lord Nightstar' thing is actively antagonistic to your goals, and if your subordinates haven't told you, they're incompetent as well as stupid."
"Intriguing." The man resumed his seat, staring at Skylar with new interest. "I'll listen, but first I need to know; why did you kill Gailek?"
"Three reasons." Skylar held up three fingers. "First, he tried to kill me; never a thing one should excuse, I feel. Second, he was doing more damage to your goals than good; that part I'll explain in a minute. And third, he was both foolish and weak; if you're going to try to murder someone, especially someone you know nothing about, then there's no excuse for not finishing the job."
The man's mouth turned up in a smile. "A fascinating analysis, with logic that seems sensible to me. But if you are to provide me counsel, I will at least need a name by which to refer to you."
"My name is Skylar Kass," Skylar agreed, "but you should use an alias of some kind; I'm here incognito. Maybe something boring, like 'Winston Hemlock'."
"More and more interesting." The man stood up and leaned forward over his desk, extending his hand. "Saro. Saro Cromwell."
Skylar stood up and shook the offered hand; as he did so, he received a massive shock. Power flowed through the other man like nothing he had ever experienced; the other man positively stank of Arts, both innate and acquired, and strength was evident in his surprisingly gentle grip that could have crushed the bones of Skylar's hand like candyfloss. "Looking forward to working with you," he murmured, trying to mask his fear.
"The feeling is at least somewhat mutual, 'Mister Hemlock'," Saro chuckled, resuming his seat. He gestured. "Please, enlighten me."
Skylar nodded. "The short version is that the core idea is good, but it won't be sustainable as you're currently implementing it; if you start out with slavery, you'll never be rid of it, and all your inhabitants will be spending at least some of their effort attempting to escape or suborn that in perpetuity. The fact that you care at all about infrastructure means you actually want a functioning society rather than a little toy kingdom; that means you can't really afford to build inefficiencies into your system. You started out being honest about your intentions; lean into that, rather than trying to be half a statesman and half a villain. Everybody knows statesmen are villains anyway; the important part is pretending you're not, so that people have some illusion of security."
Saro pursed his lips. "You seem very well-educated in these matters." He looked down and made a few notes, then looked up and nodded again. "Your counsel seems wise, but it doesn't do anything to address the logistical element. A certain critical mass of population is needed, and quickly; too slow, and the Ravitu will begin to succumb to blood frenzy. Too fast, and our food supplies will not support the population long enough for food production capabilities to keep up." He tapped the desk meaningfully. "The mathematics are unforgiving."
"You're thinking in the wrong direction." Skylar crossed his arms. "How much food you have, and can produce, is your fixed capacity; whatever population you can sustain from that will dictate your maximum blood supply. You can solve both your problems simultaneously, too."
Saro's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"First, this 'Lord Nightstar' corfsmot has to go; just use your real name." Skylar got up and began to pace. "I assume you haven't been dealing directly with anyone outside your command structure; your best bet is convincing everyone that this -- and all the enslaving -- was an underling's idea and that you're putting a stop to it. We can blame it on Gailek if you think that'll work, but I think he might have been too low-level; do you have anyone in your inner circle who's disposable?"
"All my underlings are disposable." Saro's flat gray eyes never twitched. "Ular, of your recent acquaintance, would likely be the front-runner. What would you have me do?"
"Kill him." Skylar did not hesitate. "Tell everybody he was twisting your message, free all the slaves, get everything moving away from oppression and more towards support. Have the guards protect the refugees, set up food and housing production, pay wages. Anyone who disobeys becomes food for the Ravitu, so that'll help shore up your blood supply as you establish order and social norms. It'll take a few weeks, but with a few speeches and some discipline, you can be up and running very securely in nothing flat."
"I note your use of 'you' rather than 'we'." Saro glanced around as if to locate something, paused, then snapped his fingers; from downstairs, Skylar heard a series of howls and shrieks, followed by a thud. Oh fratz. He killed that guy from three rooms away, through the wall. I might have bitten off more than I can chew. "You have other business?"
Skylar nodded. "I can help set things up, but I've got some people after me; staying here too long would make trouble for you that would be counterproductive. The short version is that I want your city to succeed for my own purposes; I'm not saying you should trust me, but I am saying you should listen to my advice and then decide what you think is best."
"You are making suspicious levels of sense, Councilor Hemlock." Saro contemplated for a moment, then began to write with speed and precision across a large scroll as Skylar fought to keep a smirk off his face. Suck it, Erdrym, now I'm a Councilor too. "That being said, if your advice is valuable, you surely do not intend to offer it for free; what do you wish of me?"
"Five favors, to be named later; nothing that'll inconvenience you terribly." Skylar shrugged. "I get the impression you're a man of your word, so that's more useful to me than any sort of material remuneration."
Saro frowned. "There is nothing so expensive as a gift with no price. One favor."
"Four." Skylar crossed his arms, hoping he wasn't about to get himself killed.
"Two. And perhaps a concubine?" The aristocratic-looking man raised one eyebrow curiously.
Oh fratz. Skylar paused and thought; it was tempting.
Skylar sighed. "Three, plus some equipment to be named later," he decided finally. "I have to travel light sometimes; concubines don't pack well."
"One might suggest that you investigate the better class of concubine," Saro disagreed pleasantly; he finished his writing and handed the scroll to Skylar. "Distribute this to the Ravitu at the gate; it contains instructions for dissemination, your promotion, his promotion, and such things. Return here when you are done; much work will need to be accomplished, and quickly, if your gambit is to succeed."
Skylar nodded; too late to get off this train now; guess I'm working for the Werewolf Vampire Lord Guy, at least until I get a better offer. Rolling up the scroll tightly inside his coat to protect it from the weather, he returned downstairs and edged around the smoking, blackened husk that had been Ular before letting himself back out into the rain.
Maybe later. If I get asked to write some documents, I can ask for the date to put on them; that'd work. Distributing the scroll took only a few minutes; the Ravitu at the gate (whom he subsequently learned was called "Bresk"), returned with him to the cabin and began to set up things with an air of disbelief, glancing sidelong at Skylar occasionally. Skylar, on the other hand, ignored him and went back upstairs; he found Saro pulling out a lapboard and another set of parchment and quills, which he handed to Skylar. "I have begun the calculations necessary for the minimum food production timelines and allowable blood capacity flex; however, I will need to go out into the field to initiate the 'discipline' of which you spoke. You may finish them; I recommend not touching my desk in my absence." Standing up, the man pulled on a hooded black cloak and nodded to Skylar before making his exit. "I will return shortly."
Okay then. Skylar looked down at the scrolls upon the lapboard, all covered with writing he could not read. Oh, right, the language thing. Oh vark.
THIS IS NOT GOOD
