As usual, you have me on the edge of my seat routing for Renald. "KillHimKillHim, stab the miserable short little excuse for an emperor through his cowardly heart."

This chapter was not the one I was expecting, but has to be added to my list of favorites - Varla's inner dialogue really plays with the emotions of the reader

- at first bringing laughter, then reeling with her when she hears about her brother and her mind turns to Lattia - (at odds with how they snipe at each other like sisters when together in the early chapters, here is the truth of how deep their kinship runs. Real emotions experienced just reading that section !!

- and then Varla being able to read Renald's emotions in those snake eyes - that was a huge moment !!! My first thought was wondering if he knew she saw that in him? Did he allow her to see his moment of weakness?

I was really surprised at his thoughts, I never expected him to have doubts, or feel he was without power in any situation! Shocking to me, because I thought he was playing them into his own hands till I read that!


Just two of my fave lines:


- "strangely enough, slaughterfish" -

"This man exudes power the way that Farenenre exudes scent"

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 8 2010, 04:49 AM

mALX already quoted two of my favorite lines.

I loved how you set the scene in the Emperor's box before three of the most charismatic actors showed up (Zurin Arctus, Talos Stormcrown, and Chevalier Reynard) - Varla was carrying the whole scene on her own for a while. Her observations of the interplay between Farenenre and Arctus were fascinating. She has truly earned a place among the most interesting characters in this story (and there are not a few of them, so the company is pretty exalted). The fact that the Emperor is introduced almost as an afterthought toward the end of this segment further emphasizes his weak rule.

Please, more.

Synnius Carbo? I think this must be the ancestor of Trooper Carbo, who trained Athlain in Vvardenfell! Yeesh, what a serious cloaca he is too! I would have spilled the wine all over him and his fancy velvet outfit too after 8 trips!

It is good to see Varla again. She and I are of the same mind when it comes to the Arena I see (not to mention concerning the Councilors!). It is a rather sad statement that a high elf from High Rock has more regard for the lives of Imperial soldiers than do the leaders of the Empire.

However, what really strikes me again are her feelings for her sister. Her love for Lattia resonates through every action she takes. That was apparent before, but only reinforced now that she has met Talos and Arctus.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 7 2010, 04:35 PM

Wow! Just wow!

Your interactions among the players in the Emperor's box was both magnificent and naturally flowing. What a delight to listen in on Varla's thoughts.

I quite adore how you have expanded this dimension of self-doubt in Renald. I find myself agreeing with you about being a favorite character from a cast of many wonderful characters.

Reading your prose is always both humbling and inspirational, my friend!

Everyone else has already voiced my own appreciation for your work, but I must say, Amazing! Varla's dialogue was both entertaining and captivating, as she interacted with various members of the Emperor's box. Once again I felt myself feeling empathetic towards Renald and his syffim, after all they have gone through, and still success grows more distant. A bit of a cliffhanger here, I wait anxiously for the next chapter!

Again, you begin strongly, with brilliant characterizations of a couple of less-than-admirable illustres… And the fact that they are his guests reflects on the Emperor. “You will know them by the company they keep.”

And I cheered Varla’s every unspoken thought.

The wonderfully ironic symbolism of Cuhlecain’s “pointed head” and the fact that everyone in the royal box overtops him was delicious. And it was clearly not lost on Varla.

And another incredible conclusion to match the excellence of the beginning.

Only one nit:



Plural, but not possessive- "Remans."

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 9 2010, 02:23 AM

Remko – Sorry to do this to you, but Renald’s actions are going to have to wait through one more chapter.

mALX – Having grown up around seven aunts (three on my mother’s side, four on my father’s), I know all too well how sisters can snipe at each other. I also know the lengths to which they are prepared to go to protect each other.

I don’t think Renald even noticed Varla. He was too busy fixating on Talos. His doubts concerning his own actions spring from his love of his syffim. vs. his unwavering devotion to duty. Above all else, he wants to do right by both of those imperatives.

hautee – The entire scene in the Emperor’s box was planned to give Varla some weight. As the reader, you have to believe that she is a character who can hold her own in the company of such illustrious men. I am glad that, for you at least, I was able to get that across.

And you absolutely nailed my intention concerning the introduction of the Emperor as an afterthought.

SubRosa – The only thing that Synnius Carbo has in common with Trooper Carbo is a last name. I weep for the Empire if ‘my’ Carbo’s family is set to defend it.

I am not surprised to hear that you share Varla’s sentiments concerning the Arena. In all of your writing about Teresa I think it is only mentioned in passing.

Acadian – Thank you so much! One of the things that first inspired me to write this story was the tale of Renald. Because there wasn’t a lot of information about him in the lore, I was able to project upon him some very human emotion. His self-doubt just makes him more real to me.

Linara –

I could not have said it better than that. Thank you, Linara. You will learn more of Renald and his syffim in this chapter.

trey – I am glad that you caught that ‘pointed head’ line, and the fact that, when all those in the box stand, they block the Emperor from view. I am trying very hard to be even-handed in my portrayal of Cuhlecain, but sometimes I just can’t help myself!

Thank you pointing out the annoying nit. It has been fixed.





Centuries Past
The Imperial Palace, Po’Tun, Akavir
Evening


Three golden serpents kept to the shadows caused by the clouds shrouding the full moon, and waited patiently to begin hunting the king of tigers.

“Now,” Chirasch whispered.

They moved as one, with Chirasch in the lead. Their shadows slithered through the darkness and began to climb the high wall to the Palace courtyard. At the top of the wall Chirasch held them with a raised fist. His forked tongue tasted the shifting wind. There is fear in the air, he thought to himself, can it be they are aware of our presence? His tongue captured a familiar scent, and it drew his mind back to the task at hand.

“Vershu and the others are in position,” he said in quiet tones. “We must be swift.”

Ephirian nodded his solemn understanding. Yviasch smiled and drew his wakizashi.

“I will take the first cut,” he said.

“No brother,” said Chirasch. “In your zeal to dispatch the one, you would leave the other to raise the alarm. We will take them together, as one.”

With two fingers he pointed down the length of the wall. Ephirian turned and began to move into position. Yviasch lingered, the wakizashi clutched in a tightening grip.

“Put it away, now is not the time,” said Chirasch. “The wind lifts the clouds; if light catches your naked blade all could be lost.” His voice softened, “glory shall be yours, brother. But not at the expense of the mission.”

Yviasch returned the blade to his side and moved to join Ephirian. Chirasch watched them glide silently into position before he looked down into the courtyard below.

Two of the Po’Tun guarded the gate directly below them. The rest of the courtyard stood empty, with shadows shrinking from the light of scattered torches along the wall. Chirasch raised his hand and waited . . . then he lowered it with a flourish. As one the three Tsaesci left their perch along the wall and dropped upon the unsuspecting tiger-men below. In a flash of Akaviri steel and the rush of warm blood that pooled black in the moonlight, it was over.

“Open the gate,” Chirasch hissed.

Ephirian and Yviasch unlocked the gate and used their combined strength to pry it open. Eight shadows slithered through the breach and hid themselves in the darkened corners of the courtyard. The ninth shadow wound its way to within an arm’s length of Chirasch before the golden scales were revealed in the light cast by one of the torches.

“The courtyard is secure my lord,” said Chirasch. “I have seen no activity from the palace, but I sense fear in the air. Perhaps our presence has been detected.”

“Perhaps,” said Vershu, in a sibilant hiss that carried softly on the wind. “But it matters not. You have done well.” He turned toward the courtyard. “Usaes, Thoranizon, Shisazu, Musisi, and Fazyit with me. Xarsien, take Akal and Akeshi to the left flank. Chirasch, Yviasch and Ephirian take the right. Swiftness and surprise are our greatest allies tonight; their fear shall be their undoing.”

Again they moved as one, and found silent entry into the palace through untended windows. Through shadowed halls they remained invisible, yet with each forward undulation the unease within Chirasch’s breast grew. He tasted the air, it smelled of fear and death and ash. It cannot be this easy, he thought. Where are the guards? Looking to his left, he could see Vershu’s main force advancing slowly, cautiously. Vershu feels it too. Something is not right.

By the time they reached the throne room the silence had become deafening. The room itself was bathed in darkness. Chirasch led his portion of the syffim along the left wall with his blade drawn, his tongue piercing the air in an attempt to give name to the dread that filled his heart.

A familiar scent froze him a second before Vershu’s raised voice filled the throne room.

“Syffim, move!”

Without thinking, Chirasch dove forward and further to his right. In mid-air his eyes darted left, and he saw a long spear of flame shoot toward the center of their line from the back of the throne room. Vershu’s order was too late, both Tharonizon and Shisazu were caught and engulfed by the blast. The fire filled the room with the light of a thousand torches, and in that light Chirasch saw the coiled, tiger-striped scales that marked the source of the fire.

There are no dragons left in Po’Tun! He thought, as he rose from the floor. He felt a shape on the wall behind him and turned. In the fading light outcroppings appeared on the wall that could provide handholds toward high balconies above.

“Up,” he yelled toward the two who followed him. They executed the order, slithering up the wall. Chirasch watched them disappear into the darkness, then he sheathed his blade and turned back to the center of the room.

The flames had been spent; darkness was swiftly reclaiming the throne room. In the dying light Chirasch could see the tiger-striped scales unwind. It was indeed a dragon, larger than any he had ever seen. Fear closed a taloned hand around his heart and began to squeeze. He launched himself up the wall. Behind him a powerful voice rumbled like thunder through the throne room.

“Behold Tsaesci,” it said, “no longer am I the Po’Tun that you once knew. I shall lead my Empire into a new age that begins tonight with your end. I am Tosh Raka, and Akavir is mine!”

“Syffim, withdraw!” Vershu’s voice carried throughout the room.

While still clinging to the wall, Chirasch saw Ephirian’s shadow leap from the balcony toward the door exiting the room. Yviasch’s shadow lingered, and before the light completely faded Chirasch saw the gleam of his wakizashi.

“Yviasch, no!” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He turned back to the center of the room in time to see the dragon’s head turn toward the sound. Above him, Yviasch’s shadow took flight.

“For Tsaesci!” Yviasch cried.

Chirasch released his grip on the wall. Time slowed to a crawl. With each pounding heartbeat Chirasch felt himself drop closer to the ground, while above him he saw his brother fly closer to the dragon’s head. He saw the opening of the beast’s jaws and the sharp, glistening teeth within, each one longer than any Tsaesci. No!

Chirasch felt the heat from the dragon’s blast. It scorched his eyes and singed his tongue. It lit the throne room and the roar rendered silent all other sound. He hit the floor and rolled with the impact. He forced his burning eyes to look up. In the space of a single breath his brother was engulfed by the flames and was no more. Chirasch saw the wakizashi bounce off the stone floor like a splinter between giant clawed feet.

Tosh Raka lowered his head and turned toward him. Their eyes locked and the dragon smiled a challenge. Chirasch knew that he could not hope to defeat the creature, but just the same he drew his dai-katana and stood resolved to make a memorable account of himself in his passing.

A katana sprouted like a needle in the side of the dragon’s neck. The dragon turned toward the center of the room where the fading light revealed Vershu waving his arms without a sword. In that same instant, Chirasch felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder. He turned.

“Chirasch! Do not be a fool!” A voice said.

Chirasch recognized the speaker. “Xarsien?”

Xarsien nodded once. “We have to leave, now!”

“But Yviasch . . .”

“Gone,” said Xarsien, “he’s gone.”

He felt himself swept toward the exit. In the center of the room he saw Vershu evade the dragon’s jaws to reclaim Yviasch’s wakizashi.

“We must aid Vershu,” said Chirasch.

“Our orders are to withdraw,” said Xarsien, “Vershu can fend for himself.”

They reached the hall. Behind them the dragon’s breath relit the darkened throne room. The rest of their syffim closed around them.

“Where is Vershu?” asked Akal.

Xarsien turned toward the throne room.

“And Yviasch?” asked Ephirian.

“Gone,” said Chirasch, “with Tharonizon and Shisazu.”

“We will continue our withdrawal,” said Usaes. “Move!”

They moved again, with thoughts of light and shadow lost in their headlong flight through the halls. They exited through the same windows that they had used to gain entrance. Once in the courtyard, they each turned back toward the palace.

“By the Great Serpent, was it a dragon?” asked Fazyit.

“It was,” said Usaes. “One larger than any I have ever seen.”

“It shared coloring with the Po’Tun,” said Akal, “it claimed to have been a Po’Tun.”

“Whatever it claims,” said Xarsien, “it is our enemy.”

“Look to the window!” said Ephirian.

A shadow shot through the window an instant before a long column of flame followed, piercing the night sky. In the light provided by the flame the syffim could see the shadow form into golden scales that twisted in mid-air above them.

“Vershu,” said Fazyit, with a voice made quiet in reverence.

The snake captain landed rolling amongst them. He rolled to a stop and rose with his scales smouldering.

“How many?” asked Vershu.

“Three, my lord,” said Xarsien. “Tharonizon, Shisazu . . . and Yviasch.”

“We journey back to Tsaesci,” he said, “the Emperor must be made aware of this.”

As the syffim moved, Chirasch lingered. Vershu moved alongside him.

“I know your mind, old friend,” the snake captain said, “but we could not afford to lose four tonight.” He produced Yviasch's wakizashi. The blade was stained black in the moonlight. It was offered hilt-first to Chirasch. “I drew blood, for Yviasch. His sacrifice made good our escape. Hang this in the halls of Tsaesci, that it may bring peace to his restless spirit.”

Chirasch took the blade and bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Do not thank me, he was also my brother. All three were.”

“I would take vengeance,” said Chirasch.

“And so you shall. But first, we must regroup. And we must regain our numbers.”

“There is no replacing what I have lost this night.”

Vershu placed a hand on Chirasch’s shoulder. “No, there is not. But there is one, barely more than a hatchling, who shows great promise.”

“He will never be Yviasch,” said Chirasch.

“But he will be one of us,” said Vershu. “As such, he will also be your brother. His name is Eesham-Sha.”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


“It’s time,” said the Blademaster.

The scrape of the whetstone against his katana ceased. Xarsien placed the stone on the floor, grabbed his shield, and rose for battle. Next to him, Eesham stretched to his full height and tasted the blood-scented air.

Chirasch wiped the veil of memory from his eyes. It took a moment for him to remember that he sat in the bloodworks of the Imperial City in Tamriel, and not in the courtyard of the Imperial Palace in Po’Tun. He cast a look into the eyes of his syffim, his brothers. We are all that remain, he thought. Vershu cannot stand with us, today it falls to me. He felt the familiar weight of his dai-katana on his back. He reached up to loosen it in the scabbard, and followed his brothers toward the darkened, blood-stained tunnel.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Oct 15 2010, 02:24 AM

WHEW !!!! And GAAAAH! Where was Renald? Was the plan of this night what drove his turmoil at the Arena? GAAAAH!

I was surprised by the vocal commands for some reason, thinking they would use silent signals - but I guess when facing a dragon the point of silence is moot. - ARGH !!!

Awesome Chapter - I exhaled three minutes after I read the last line !!!!!

Wow! Just wow! I simply LOVE the names of them Tsaeci! No, really! Shizasu, Chirasch Versu... WOW! Been reading any mangas recently?

I also love the way you showed Tosh Raka! Simply astounded, is what I can say to my current predicament. And this chapter is the cause of that! I just love reminiscing, yes?

I hope we see more of this 'backstory', if I may call it that. Yes, I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

Chirasch's reminiscence is straight out of the classic warrior tales of ancient China, Japan and Korea! Whew!

I recall reading somewhere in the Lore of the Po'Tun's transformation into dragon(s), and was delighted to see this here. You have made this come to life out of the mists of time.

Then the transition from a magical time and place of mythical heroism to the gritty reality of the Roman Arena is genius!

Dragons and Tsaesci fighting! Well, almost fighting. It's good to get some more backstory on the syffim. And I agree with h.e.r., the transition was startling, from the lore time to the Arena. I'm betting on the syffim by the way, are they yellow or blue?

One nit:
Tiger-striped perhaps?

Vershu is the Chevalier Renald. He adopted the name 'Renald' after the death of Reman III at the hands of the Morag Tong. My own interpretation of events is that his failure to stop the assassination convinced him that he was no longer worthy of the name 'Vershu'. I am still playing around with the idea that Vershu is a title given to those Tsaesci who show great skill in battle. Sorry for the confusion.

Every time I think you cannot possibly make the Tsaesci more interesting, you prove me wrong. The discovery of the Po’Tun dragon was amazing. That encounter and its aftermath left my heart racing.

Oh noes! You can’t stop there! I absolutely love the history you give to the Tsaesci and the added depth it provides them.

This was a powerful addition to Vershu's history.

One nit noted:



Wrong sort of tail, I believe…

Ok, now I have to go back through and re-read the chapter! Lol. Sorry about that.

Again they moved as one, and found silent entry into the palace through untended windows.
Hey, you cannot go through windows in ES games! You cannot even look through them! They are just graphics painted on the walls.

A very exciting battle. I believe that is the first time I have seen anyone fight a dragon in ES (Not counting the end of Oblivion's MQ of course, but that was a god). It was a neat peek back into the long past of the syffim.

What a magnificent way to provide more depth to the syffim! I quite adore dragons and you certainly portrayed both the Tsaesci and Tosh Raka in their awe-inspiring full glory.

They say there are no more dragons in modern Cyrodiil. How would we know? It has been reported that perhaps they can change shapes and forms.

Absolutely gripping, Destri!

Recently got fully caught up with this.

Let me just add to the choir of praise for the depiction of Cuhlecain, Talos Stormcrown, Zurin Arctus, and the whole political intrigue kettle currently sitting in the emperor's box. You weave threads as nimbly as Mephala herself.

The depiction of the Syffim's failed attack against Tosh Raka is excellent. As always, you weave tangents of canon into an effective and intense story line that not only keeps the characters real and grounded, but makes me wonder if this story will show up as a game book in the next Elder Scrolls game.

Well I've caught up and wow! This is very, very good (like I can think of books I've paid good money for which weren't near as slick and exciting).

You've managed to have multiple plotlines without one coming to dominate the other's too which is great. The politicing around the Emperor is excellent, somehow I sense things are about to go badly for a certain altmer, unless he manages some sweep of genius. Having them all together in the Emperor's box certainly pays off some of the tension which is building.

Renald is an excellent character, I like how you've done the Tsaesci, they work well as characters but are different from humans which isn't easy (and is a big part of the reason I tend towards human characters). But they work and are quite compelling to read, I look forward to seeing where they end up.

Valdemar and Alain are also great, and again quite different. Their interactions are entertaining, certainly you matched them well. I wonder how their hangover is...

So yes I love this piece, intregue, plot, suspense and a mountain of supporting characters all well enough developed to hold their own spin off (I can only imagine...).

SGM

mALX – The syffim maintained silence up until they reached the throne room. Vershu/Renald broke that silence when he sensed the dragon. As you said, at that point the silence was moot.

ureniashtram – I’ve never been a huge fan of mangas or anime. Some of the stories are great, but I just can’t get past the way the characters are drawn. Coming up with the names for the Tsaesci was the single most time consuming part of the last chapter. I’m glad you liked them.

And there may be a few more ‘Tsaesci flashbacks’ in this story.

hautee – My original conception of the Tsaesci is a lot different than what this story presents. Part of the change came in the writing. Another part can be attributed to you for recommending movies like When the Last Sword Is Drawn, which in turn got me re-watching movies like Ten Tigers of Shaolin, The Seven Samurai, and Rashomon. Now the Tsaesci have become a kind of cross between samurai and shaolin monks . . . with forked tongues and slithering!

As I understand it, Tosh Raka was the only Po’Tun who successfully transformed himself into a dragon. Indications are that he continues to rule the Po’Tun to this day.

Linara – I would have to say that the syffim would be part of the yellow team. A blue serpent sounds like he’s either frozen, or under water. As you are soon to discover, betting against the syffim is not wise.

And thank you for pointing out that nit. I found my lost ‘r’.

trey – I have to be careful with the Tsaesci. Every time I write about them I find more to draw my interest. It would be very easy for me to just let them have the reins, but then it would no longer be Talos’ story (if it still is).

Hopefully, this tale doesn’t undulate as much as Chirasch’s tail. Thanks.

SubRosa – I would have thought that someone as well-versed in mods as you would have solved the problem of windows by now. Vanilla’s like me have to rely on imagination.

Unfortunately, I was not able to present much of a battle when the syffim engaged Tosh Raka. I was more interested in communicating the awesome power that a being such as Tosh Raka possesses. Even for a race like the Tsaesci, who had by then hunted most of the dragons of Akavir to extinction, the best option against such power is to run.

Fortunately, I do have one more dragon knocking around in this story, so I still might get another chance.

Acadian - Now you’ve got my wheels turning! The idea that dragons can change their form might go a long way toward explaining some of the events that occur later in this story. I thank you for raising the possibility.

Captain Hammer – Thank you for the compliments. As an in-game book this story would cover about a hundred volumes! I wonder if Bethesda would pay by the volume? If so, I better keep writing.

Olen – Once again welcome back, you have been missed. Things are about to ‘go badly’ for a certain character, but it’s not who you think.

I have given a lot of thought to writing new stories around Renald and the syffim, the four Blades, and even the voyages of the Pelladil. Maybe in five or six years when I finish Interregnum, I will revisit those ideas!

Everyone – Finally we come to the first half of the long-delayed finale to the interminable 7th First Seed!





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


Light! Brilliant, blinding and all encompassing, it flooded their consciousness and slit their eyes as they emerged from the tunnel. The cacophony of sound that assailed their ears forced them to use their tongues to measure their surroundings. Captured in that first taste of the air were the familiar scents of sweat, blood, and excrement. Slowly their eyes began to pull familiar shapes from the shimmering blur around them. Thick iron bars caked with rust and dried blood barred their entrance into the Arena. The boisterous crowd around and above them seemed to shift into a single nameless, faceless mass of jeers and threats that loved them not. The heat of the burning sand in front of them beckoned. Above it all banners depicting the flight of vengeful dragons drew Eesham back to a cave in the Shadowgate Pass, and the others to the Imperial Palace at Po’Tun.

“Stand fast,” said Chirasch, he had to raise his voice to be heard. “No needless heroics, no unnecessary risks. We keep watch on each other’s backs at all times. Heed Vershu’s order, survive.”

“What do you suppose awaits us on the other side of those bars?” asked Eesham.

Chirasch shook his head and looked into the crowd. Xarsien raised his shield before his eyes, tightened his grip on his blade, and gazed upon the dragon banners.

“Death,” he hissed.

A voice echoed from above. It filled the Arena and doused the crowd like water thrown over a flame.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” it said, “by the grace of the Emperor, we dig back into the mists of fabled history for a sight unseen by an Arena audience for more than eight hundred years. In the year 2920 of the First Era, on the occasion of South Winds’ Prayer, the Emperor Reman III thrilled his subjects by allowing his only son, the noble Prince Juilek, to stand alone in single combat against the might of the immortal Tsaesci warlord, Savirien-Chorak. Today, in honor of First Planting, the Emperor Cuhlecain proudly presents not one, but three of the immortal Tsaesci. These great warriors will not be engaged in an exhibition against a single opponent, but will be tested in battle for their very lives against the most fearsome beasts in all of Cyrodiil! Can they survive? Lower . . . The . . . Gates!”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Temple of the One, Imperial City
Dusk


A single candle served as a bulwark against the encroaching darkness inside the Temple of the One.

“Good evening, Lady Direnni,” the hooded monk said from the shadows. He motioned her into one of the two chairs set facing each other before the candle. “Please make yourself comfortable. I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant for the Temple. It has been given into my charge to conduct the interviews for this inquiry.”

“I have already given my sworn testimony to the Watch,” said Varla

“Yes, I am aware of that, and I apologize for the inconvenience. We ask that you repeat your testimony for the Temple. It is not our purpose to search for inconsistencies, milady. Rather, experience has shown us that the Watch is slow to share witness testimony with the Temple. In a matter such as this, when one of our own has been taken from us, we have found it expedient to conduct our own inquiries.”

“Very well,” said Varla. She sat in the offered chair. The dim candlelight accentuated the blood that splattered the left side of her dress.

Apelles Mero lowered himself into the chair across from her. “I understand that you were a guest in the Emperor’s box for the exhibition.”

“I was. Although I believe that calling what took place an ‘exhibition’ is overly generous.”

“What word would you use?”

“Massacre, perhaps. It didn’t turn out that way, at least not in the way that was intended.”

“You believe that the Emperor sought to destroy the captive Tsaesci?”

“They were not captive at the time, and it is not my place to question the Emperor’s intentions.”

“Of course not,” said Mero. “But in any event, tell me why you considered this exhibition to be an intended massacre.”

Varla shook her head. “I would rather not speculate, especially if it is to be for the record.”

“I understand. Let us stick to facts. Where were you sitting, exactly?”

“Directly behind His Majesty,” said Varla. “I do not know how much use I can be to you. The size of His Majesty’s throne blocked my view of most of the proceedings.”

“That is regrettable, milady. However, it is not the activities on the sand, but rather the activities inside the Emperor’s box that warrant my attention. I understand that you sat between General Talos Stormcrown and the Battlemage, Zurin Arctus.”

“That is correct.”

“Where was the accused positioned in relation to where you sat?”

“Just over my left shoulder, near the exit from the box,” said Varla.

“Behind General Talos Stormcrown?” asked Mero.

Varla’s head cocked to one side. She considered the question. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Lady Direnni.”





“Trolls? Why waste warriors such as these in sport against trolls?” Varla kept her voice low, but she could not hide the disdain that flavored her words.

Zurin Arctus leaned forward and surveyed the Arena floor. “I count a dozen of the beasts. The pillars may provide some refuge, but I fear it is only a matter of time before they are overwhelmed.”

“You underestimate Tsaesci prowess,” said Talos. “They may be outnumbered, but they retain the advantage against mindless beasts known only to charge.”

Prior Sanne turned in his chair. “Would you be willing to place a wager on that, General?”

Talos froze him with a look. “Despite what you may think, my dear Prior, I do not wager on lives. I leave such pursuits to men like you.”

Prior Sanne spun in his seat as if he had been slapped. The soft laughter emanating from the Emperor’s chair only served to rub salt in the wound.

“How much are you willing to wager?” asked Synnius Carbo.

“A talent of gold,” said Prior Sanne, the previous insult all but forgotten.

Carbo laughed.

“Two talents!” said the increasingly red-faced Prior.

“Make it three and you have a wager,” said Carbo.

“Done!”

“Silence!” said the Emperor. He leaned forward in his chair. “Now we shall see the truth behind the rumors of Tsaesci skill.”

Varla could not help herself. She turned in her chair and glanced toward the back of the Emperor’s box. The Tsaesci captain remained impassive, but Varla could see past the blank look on his face to the growing torrent in his eyes. One golden hand was wrapped around the hilt of the sword at his side, and that hand shook with the emotion that the valiant creature was trying to quell.

The buzzing of the crowd grew to a roar that pulled Varla’s eyes away from the Tseasci captain to the back of the Emperor’s chair. Battle had been joined on the Arena floor, but it was occurring beyond her line of sight.





Apelles Mero motioned toward the empty chair across from him. “I apologize for the lack of light and the informality of the arrangements, Councilman, but the Temple must hold to its traditions.”

Synnius Carbo sat. “I would have appreciated more time to compose myself. Your request for this audience barely left me time to remove my ruined clothing. I would also have it known that my appearance this evening is a courtesy extended out of respect for the deceased, and is in no way an admission of anything that would compromise the sovereignty of the Council, or the Council’s relationship with Skingrad.”

Mero nodded. “Duly noted, Councilman, I have been given to understand that you engaged in a number of small wagers with Prior Sanne during the matches that led up to the Tsaesci exhibition.”

“That bears no relevance!” Carbo rose from his seat. “I will not sit here and be accused!”

“I am not making accusations, nor is it my intention to cast aspersions on the good Prior’s reputation. I am merely trying to establish the facts. Please sit down.”

Carbo’s scowl remained, even as he once again took his seat.

Mero cleared his throat. “Now I understand that Prior Sanne lost the majority of these wagers, is that correct?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny anything having to do with information of a personal nature.”

“I am afraid that I must insist, Lord Carbo. Did these wagers continue into the Tsaesci exhibition?”

Carbo crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I am sure that you are already privy to that information.”

“I would like you to confirm or deny it, sir.”

Silence followed. Carbo sat with his arms crossed in front of him and with the scowl revealing hints of the latent sweat upon his furrowed brow.

Mero broke the silence. “Lord Carb . . .”

“Yes! The wagers continued into the Tsaesci match.”

“And I am given to understand that Prior Sanne wagered against the Tsaesci,” said Mero.

“Again I ask, what relevance does this have?” asked Carbo.

“Perhaps none,” said Mero, “or perhaps it goes to establish both of your mindsets leading into the incident in question.”

“Once again you come dangerously close to making accusations, Sergeant.”

“I apologize, Councilman. I shall abandon this line of questioning for now. Where were you sitting in the Emperor’s box?”

“On the left hand of the Emperor, between His Majesty and Prior Sanne,” said Carbo.

“Am I correct in surmising that your position in the box placed you directly in front of General Talos Stormcrown, who in turn sat between you and the accused?”

Carbo smiled. “That is correct. Now your questioning begins to bear fruit, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, Councilman.”





The Tsaesci moved as one. From where he sat, Synnius Carbo saw the serpent with the shield move his back to the one wielding the dai-katana. That shield provided the protection, a defensive posture dropped only to dispatch any troll whose charge had been broken against it. With his rear and his flank so protected, the other Tsaesci employed his dai-katana mowing down those trolls who stood before him. The third Tsaesci was a golden blur in their midst as he repeatedly mounted the pillars, his supple body twirling up their length in less time than it took to draw a breath. From that vantage point he launched himself again and again into the dwindling ranks of their opponents, his twin katanas struck down in blinding flashes of Akaviri steel that severed limbs and blooded the sweltering sand.

All too soon it was over. The three Tsaesci clustered together, surrounded by the maimed and bleeding corpses of the trolls that had been sent against them. Their forked tongues captured all the smells wafting in the air, but Carbo knew that the scent of victory on that arid field still eluded them.

The crowd had been dazzled into silence by the display that they had witnessed. So it followed that the plaintive whine of the heavy gate was clearly heard throughout the Arena as it was lowered for the second time. The Tsaesci moved into a wedge-shaped phalanx, and lifted their blades to receive this new threat.





“I trust this interview will be brief,” said Lord Farenenre. “The Emperor expects me back at the palace.”

“I shall be as brief as I can be,” said Mero, covering his nose. “Is it correct that you were present in the box when the Emperor arrived with his entourage?”

“I fail to see how that bears any relevance to the incident in question.”

“I am simply establishing your whereabouts when the Emperor arrived. Were you already present in the box, my lord?”

“I was.”

“Is it not customary for you to accompany the Emperor?”

“Not when I am engaged in official business,” said Farenenre.

“Is this the business that carried you to the Waterfront?” asked Mero.

“Your intelligence network would do the Emperor proud,” said Farenenre. “However, I would caution you to confine your questions to facts relevant to your inquiry. My whereabouts before the incident have no bearing.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I sought only to establish that you were not a member of the Emperor’s entourage when he arrived at the Arena, therefore you could not have been aware of any conversation between the Emperor and the accused while outside of your presence.”

“Be careful, Sergeant. One less forgiving than I could interpret the implication of Imperial malfeasance as a form of treason.”

“Again, I beg your forgiveness, my lord. You were seated to the Emperor’s right, am I correct?”

“Of course,” said Farenenre.

“From that position were you able to hear any conversation between Lord Carbo and Prior Sanne?” asked Mero.

“The entire box was subjected to their conversation. The Prior did not take his losses with the stoic grace taught by this institution.”

“Their conversation revolved around the gold he was losing on the matches?”

“The two men were not friends, to my knowledge. What else would they discuss?”

Mero’s mouth formed a grim line. “You were seated directly in front of Master Zurin Arctus, were you not?”

“Of what relevance is that information?” asked Farenenre.

“I am merely establishing where everyone was in the Emperor’s box, my lord.”

“No,” said Farenenre, “I believe you were leading into some implication involving Master Arctus.” Farenenre rose and began to pace around the room. He nodded once and returned to his seat. “He was not in the box when I arrived. His arrival coincided with the arrival of the Emperor.”

“And with the arrival of General Talos Stormcrown, my lord?” asked Mero.

“Precisely,” said Farenenre.





“Ogres,” said Prior Sanne, he turned toward Synnius Carbo. “I renew our wager, double or square.”

Carbo shook his head. “It hardly seems a fair contest. There are six of the savage beasts. I would need some form of odds to consider it.”

“Odds? I have already given you double or square. You quibble with my own coin.”

Carbo laughed. “When put that way, I can see your point. Fine, done.”

“Your Majesty,” said General Talos, “is it your intention to test these Tsaesci, or destroy them?”

Farenenre turned in his chair. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, General.”

“Just as I fail to understand why you choose to answer for your Emperor,” said Talos. “Your Majesty, these Tsaesci would be of better use in the Legion if you will not have them.”

Cuhlecain did not turn, but his voice carried throughout the Emperor’s box. “It would be a tragic waste to place them amongst the rank and file of the Legion. You ask if my intention is to test or destroy them, General. I would have thought that a soldier of your standing would have found my intention obvious. Apparently my faith in Tsaesci prowess exceeds your own.”

Farenenre could not contain the smile that spread across his face. It was a smile that grew when he saw the surprise mirrored in the faces of both the General and the Battlemage. That surprise told more of their overconfidence than words, and made Farenenre’s seat on the Emperor’s right hand appreciate in value.





“I sat to the right of Lady Direnni,” said Zurin Arctus, “directly behind Lord Farenenre. My view of the incident was obscured.”

“Be that as it may, Master Arctus,” said Mero. “You were still close enough to see the incident as it unfolded.”

“I suppose so,” said Arctus.

An escaping sigh caused Mero to deflate in his chair. He looked directly into Arctus’ eyes. “I have become an old man, Master Arctus. I lack the energy or the inclination to engage in the show of animosity that has long existed between the Temple and the Arcane. I seek only to know the truth of what occurred in the Emperor’s box today.”

“You already possess that knowledge,” said Arctus, “in the form of what is left of the departed Prior Sanne. You do not seek to know the truth of what occurred, you seek to know the truth of why it occurred.”

Mero nodded, “I hope that you can help me in this regard.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt,” said Arctus. “Prior Sanne died as the direct result of greed that should embarrass this Temple. He allowed his passions to govern him, and he repeatedly drove a lance into the flank of the wrong snake.”

“Could you elaborate, sir?” asked Mero.

“It began even before the Tsaesci were thrust upon the Arena sand. Sanne tried to recoup losses wagered on the preliminary matches by wagering a much greater sum on the fall of the Tsaesci.”

“The Tsaesci are renowned warriors,” said Mero.

“Which is why the Prior continued to lose,” said Arctus.