Laruna grinned back at him. “Me too.”

Chapter 36

Time passed.

By Dewen’s month, the Palace of Andarun had been restored enough for royal audiences to resume. New banners hung from the walls, alternating purple and gold with green and silver—a gift from the newly reopened Temple of Al’Thadan and Al’Matra United. A new royal throne with enough height and heft to accommodate a Sten sat at the top of the royal podium, carved from finest ebony and inlaid with gold and precious stones. It was, of course, more a symbol than a seat, as it was always empty. At the base of the steps was a much smaller chair, set behind a simple but well-made desk. A chair fit for a regent. It was also usually empty, as Duine Poldo preferred to work in a small office in the western tower of the palace. The room had a magnificent window, originally made for Princess Xandra the Fifth in the Sixth Age, offering an unparalleled view of Pinnacle Plaza and the city beyond it.

Poldo stared out the window as he listened with waning patience to the latest petitioners pleading their case. “I understand your concerns, gentlemen,” he said at length. “But as I have said, I am confident that your institution has the reserves to survive the battering it received in this winter’s volatility without tax relief. The executive bonus pool, for example, doubtlessly has some available funds in it.”

Fenrir Goldson’s eyelid twitched, but otherwise he and Bolbi Baggs maintained their composure. “Indeed, sir,” said the ancient Dwarf.

Baggs made an obsequious gesture with a gloved hand. “However, that alone will hardly⁠—”

“Yes, I realize,” Poldo cut him off. “Still, I know that if there is anything to stand on at Goldson Baggs Incorporated, it’s the creativity of your accountants. I remain certain you will find a way to survive. Unemployment is at near-historic levels, new job creation is down, and even those who work cannot make enough to make ends meet. The kingdom’s coffers have been pillaged—quite literally—and all that remains within them are the funds that we taxed back from the guild and beneficiaries of Johan’s quest. And in such dire times, influence of nefarious groups such as the Red Horde or the Power of Light grows. We are working through a convergence of crises, and the kingdom’s aid must go to those with the greatest need.”

“As you say, Regent,” Baggs said through a grin. Poldo thought he heard the old Halfling’s teeth grinding.

“And now, gentlemen, I’m sure you are as busy as I am. I have an appointment at the Heroes’ Guild before the ceremony this afternoon. Perhaps I will see you at the unveiling.”

“Ah, I should hope so,” said Mr. Goldson. “But before we go, there was another matter we hoped to discuss…”

“Oh?” Poldo feigned surprise as he glanced over his planner. “I don’t see anything else on my agenda.”

“Ah, we must have left it off our petition,” said Baggs. “Careless.”

“Regardless,” said Goldson smoothly, “as we are here, we hoped to discuss the inquiry into our company regarding the Elven Marbles and the unfortunate business at Bloodroot.”

“It really is getting silly,” said Baggs. “The town criers are suggesting that there may be criminal charges in a business matter! Ridiculous!”

Poldo took a deep breath. The topic was as predictable as gravity; in corporate physics, every action has an equal and opposite effort to avoid consequences. “Ah, I am sorry, gentlemen, but you must realize that I cannot discuss an ongoing investigation with any member of the public, let alone two affected parties. General Gurgen will doubtlessly make you aware of the bannermen’s findings once they’re ready.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of talking about the particulars,” said Mr. Goldson. “We just wanted to discuss the principle of the thing.”

“While we certainly share in the sorrow for the unfortunate demise of the Orcs of Bloodroot, this inquiry does more harm than good. Probing into the past only prevents healing,” simpered Mr. Baggs.

“Not so much as letting the responsible parties go without consequence.” Poldo stood and retrieved his long coat from a hook next to his desk.

“An interesting philosophical point,” said Mr. Baggs. “Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?”

“I’m afraid not, gentlemen,” Poldo replied brusquely. “I welcome your input as much as any other citizen’s, but all of our communications must happen through official petitions and follow regular procedure. To do otherwise might create the appearance of impropriety. And now, gentlemen, I really must be along. The royal guard will show you out.” A few Wood Gnomes darted off to fetch the bannerman at a nod from the Scribkin.

For the first time, cracks appeared in the calm facade of the two bankers as they exchanged nervous glances. “Uh, Mr. Poldo,” Baggs ventured. “I appreciate the need to maintain appearances, but since Handor’s days our firm has enjoyed a… ahem… special relationship with the crown.”

Poldo turned to the magnificent window and gazed out over the city, trying to hide a smirk that he couldn’t restrain. “Indeed you did, gentlemen,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I’ve solved that.”

“Lady, I bring ill news,” said Ugmak of the Zabbagar. The wise-one wore a long mustache that denoted his caste and seniority, and a well-fitted suit that denoted his recent promotion to middle management.

Asherzu Guz’Varda grimaced. Below her, charts and spreadsheets were splayed across her mahogany desk, held in place by paperweights made from the skulls of her father’s enemies. “Speak,” she said.

“It is the Red Horde, lady,” said the wise-one. “They have refused our entreaties for, uh, a short time for rest between our fights.”

“For peace.” Asherzu emphasized the Imperial word.

“Yes. That,” said Ugmak, whose grasp of Lightling tongues was still limited.

Asherzu stood and walked to her office window as she considered the message. “And did they say why they rejected our offer?”

Ugmak faltered a bit. “They say… they say that you have become as a Lightling, my chieftain. That you are unwilling to do what must be done to bring back the ways of our people. They dishonor themselves with such careless slander,” he added hurriedly.

Asherzu allowed herself a small smile. “Necessity is most subjective, is it not?” she said, switching to the Imperial language.

“Lady?” asked Ugmak, uncertain of what she’d said.

Asherzu thought about translating, but shook off the idea. Shadowtongue had no word for a subjective idea; the closest it came was labbo ri’zabbadad, or the reason for a war yet to be fought. Yet subjectivity was a wonderful concept, as were peace treaties, and trials that weren’t by combat, and corporations. For all the pain and suffering they caused, Lightlings were also the source of so many fantastic ideas. As were all peoples, Asherzu reflected. Fulgen taught that every soul held the capacity for works of evil and destruction, but also the seeds of beauty and creation. Anyone’s path to lasting glory led them to stand against the vile within and work to foster the good throughout.

She watched the river of people flow below her window. Two figures stood out like great boulders among the rapids; Darak had taken the afternoon off to court Gizardu the Mountain. In the days of her childhood, wooing an Orcess of Gizardu’s power would have meant traveling together to slay a great foe or raid a village. Instead, Asherzu’s brother was bringing Gizardu down to the Second Tier for a kebab and grog. Asherzu grinned at the thought of nieces and nephews in years to come.

Ugmak cleared his throat behind her. “Chieftain, what must I do?”

“Tell me of your approach as you met with the Red Horde.”

“We told them of our desire to reconcile the tribes, and entreated them to see that our people divided are weaker than we are together, and told them we were willing to work for a short time for rest between fights.”

“Ah,” said Asherzu. “That would be the problem.”

Few of her people truly understood the path of the aggressive seller. Some believed that the path took their kin far from the Old Ways. Some, like the Red Horde, would call her a coward, soft and weak. They had before, when she grew in her father’s shadow, when she kept to his path after his death, and when she took his place. Yet she was still here, and many of her critics had joined her on her path. And at the end of the day, her people went home to fat and happy children each night.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A Naga receptionist poked his head through the door. “Lady, it isss almossst time for your hot ssstone massssage.”

“Ah, good,” said Asherzu. “It is most needed today.” Massages were another great innovation of the Lightnings. And satin pillows. And chocolate. All three awaited her now, and every night. Such were the perks of the path of the aggressive seller, when you were good at it. And with Warg Incorporated’s meteoric rise to market dominance, few would say there were any better than Asherzu Guz’Varda. “Tell Mitsy of the Gentle Hand I will be down shortly.”

“And, uh, what of the Red Horde?” asked Ugmak.

Asherzu smiled at the wise-one, then looked back out the window. He was one of those who also misunderstood her way. Ugmak and his ilk thought that the path of the aggressive seller followed the high-minded ideals that Lightling’s talked about when they spoke of selfless concern for the greater good, and of the good in all people invariably triumphing when shown a better way. Asherzu would like to walk life’s journey in such a world, but she did not. The path of the aggressive seller guided her through this one, where people could be irrational and fearful and greedy, and those impulses often got the better of the good within them.

“Find the mightiest chieftains among the Red Horde.Tell them of the success of Warg Incorporated,” she told him, watching the people swirl through the street below their mighty office building. “Boast of the plunder we took from the Lightlings on the day Johan the Deceiver was slain. Send a drummer to chant the saga of our mighty brokerage, which inspires fear and trembling upon the Lightlings’ Wall. And then…” Asherzu’s tusks flashed in a predatory grin. “And then offer them jobs.”

“Saying goodbye?” Kaitha asked. The curtain whispered as it closed behind her, shutting out the rays of sunlight and noises of Pinnacle Plaza.

Gorm gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement before he turned his gaze back to the statue of Niln. The high scribe was cast in deep blue by the azure tent set up around him. He wore a serene smile, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down benevolently on the cobbles before him.

“They say the statue of Niln moved…” Gorm said, his voice hoarse. “He must have, if this is the same one they hauled up from the ruins of Al’Matra’s old temple. The Al’Matrans told me he’d been doin’ it for weeks, scarin’ the acolytes and all that.”

The Elf shrugged. “It’s not the most unbelievable thing we saw last year.”