Hoard

The Empire slept, as did its gleaming capital, the countless citizens of Rhivaak secure in the certainty that they were protected. Their immortal Empress was not among them and had not been in years, but even this was a comfort; she was known to watch over her people from wherever she had gone, returning only to defend the Empire from threats, or to set it right when it had gone astray. Izayaroa’s absence meant these were safe and prosperous times.

It was best, thus, that her presence was a secret. Had it become known that the Golden Empress currently sat in a chamber deep below the Royal Archives of Rhivkabat, staring down at three of the highest officials of her government kneeling before her, the people would have begun to worry.

As they had cause to.

“Tell me about Ar-Kaln Zelekhir.”

The direct recipient of her attention, Hamad Malkizak the Lord Scribe of Rhivaak, found his first instinctive thought was that of a politician:

How much did she know?

As he was always telling the apprentices, it was important to pay attention to your instincts, but not be ruled by them. Hamad immediately discarded that question as pointless; it was a certainty that she knew more than she had let on, and anyway… What did it matter? This was the Golden Empress, not merely a politician whose skills outstripped his own by magnitudes, but an ancient being who eclipsed him in every possible dimension. This was not a situation that could be handled. His silver tongue was just not clever enough to talk his way out of this; no one’s was.

And from that realization, oddly, came not fear but relief. Facing inevitability with no prospect of maneuvering his way out of this dilemma, he had no option but to tell the plain truth, for once in his life. To…unburden himself.

“Kaln was my best student,” Hamad said, his voice soft with reminiscence. “And…my greatest failure. No—I phrased that poorly. I failed, not he. I couldn’t… I could not do for him what he needed from his master, and it cost him everything.”

Izayaroa inclined her head infinitesimally, face impassive. With no more specific direction than that, Hamad simply…continued. Letting it all pour out, everything that had been churning inside him all this time.

“He was one of the orphans, you see, raised in the Archives’ apprenticeship program. A good enough scribe—only good enough, frankly. Bringing up kids in a library tends to instill a love of reading in them, but that doesn’t always translate into aptitude for the work. Kaln seemed to like it, but much more than that… He was a people person. A rare talent. He could befriend anyone by the time he could talk, or so they tell me—I didn’t really take notice until he was in lessons, but by then I could immediately see his gifts. The boy had all the best traits of a gifted salesman, manager, and diplomat. There wasn’t a social situation he couldn’t turn to his benefit. And it wasn’t that he was manipulative—he liked people, took great satisfaction in finding ways to make everyone around him happy. I took the lad under my own wing early in his education. I thought… I believed I’d found a perfect successor for my role. Someone competent enough at bookkeeping and inscription and all the tasks of the Archives, but above all, someone I could trust to look after my people. To keep the place running smoothly, and take care of everyone.”

His knee was already starting to throb where all his weight rested on it; Hamad was the opposite of athletic, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d knelt for this long at a time. He made no move to adjust his position, nor asked permission. It felt appropriate, a small token of penance.

“The boy never did figure out when to keep that silver tongue behind his teeth. I don’t know how many times I warned him, but I never could get it through his head that there are people one should not engage with, nor try to handle. It’s…not that I wasn’t worried, but I figured he’d learn the lesson once he tried it on the wrong dockworker or mercenary and got his nose broken. Something like that could be fixed; failure and pain are very educational. But the lesson he found was…was so much worse.”

The Lord Scribe lowered his eyes from his Empress’s serene face, feeling a scowl of remembered anger rising to his features and not wanting to direct it at her.

“I told him to stay away from that girl. Told him over and over. Obviously I knew that telling a youth their sweetheart was no good is a pointless use of breath. Everyone needs to get their heart broken at least once before they learn. But she was… It was a bad choice of teacher for that lesson. Haktria was far too dangerous for a scribe to be messing about with.”

“In what way?” the Empress asked, toneless.

“Haktria Melchavidan was a perfectly insignificant person,” Hamad said bitterly, glaring at the floor. “Devoid of meaning or use in Rhivkabat, or in Rhivaak, or in life. Pretty, charming, and not much else. I watched her be a bad experience for young Kaln, watched her wrap him around her little fingers—use all the same social aptitude he had to worm her way into his head, and with none of his care for others. I watched, I told him what a mistake he was making, and then I left him to make it because…well, the young have to. When you’re that age and in love, you don’t listen, aren’t really capable of it. It was the only way he’d learn, so I thought. But the girl was dangerous because of what she was connected to.”

“The Melchavidan household is quite successful, I understand,” Izayaroa commented, still radiating cold neutrality. “Wealthy, respected. A shining example of the success of my household system. Is that not so, my Lord Regent?”

Kneeling at Hamad’s side, the Lord Regent answered his Empress.

“Members of that household have contributed much to the city and the Empire, your Excellency. I have granted public recognition to their achievements multiple times.”

“But you, my Lord Scribe, describe them as dangerous,” she said.

Well, here it was. Not only his own offenses about to be laid bare, but… Explaining this to her was going to upset the entire barge. The Lord Regent and Dragonlancer Commander were not going to appreciate hearing him drag all this up.

Maybe it was for the best. They had certainly not succeeded in resolving this situation—and if Izayaroa was here asking pointed questions, it seemed obvious she already knew at least some of their failure.

“Young Haktria’s father has political aspirations involving each of his children,” he explained. “She is to be married to a lesser prince of Zouzh to secure a trading alliance.”

Izayaroa leaned forward, the first time she had changed posture since demanding Hamad’s explanation, and all three of them tensed instinctively at her sharpened stare.

“Alliance through marriage is a practice that makes little sense outside the context of hereditary nobility. I have been explicitly clear that that practice shall not take root in my Empire.”

“We have no such practice, your Excellency,” the Lord Regent answered swiftly. “The household system is working as you intended. The balance of heavy estate taxes and generous business investment from the Regency has served to prevent the concentration of hereditary power…mostly.”

“Mostly.”

He was too composed a man to flinch, even under the direct displeasure of a sovereign who could annihilate him with a breath.

“Domestically, your Excellency. The practice to which the Lord Scribe refers has begun to be popular among the more successful households—marrying into foreign nobility to secure business alliances. The trend is still in its first generation and thus has not borne fruit, but I am concerned that it is…a crack in the dam, so to speak, and have taken what I considered appropriate action. I have drafts of legislation restricting the practice under review by the relevant ministers, to be refined based on their recommendations. Restricting the freedom of our citizens to marry would be far more intrusive than your priorities allow, and there are also implications for foreign trade; I wish to ensure appropriate measures which will cause the minimum unintended side effects.”

She returned to her previous upright posture, golden eyes flicking back to Hamad.

“Continue, my Lord Scribe.”

“Samed Melchavidan has a great deal of wealth and power invested in this alliance,” Hamad continued barely above a whisper, “and suddenly Kaln was a threat to it. He…responded as the powerful do when their ambitions are threatened.”

“And so,” Izayaroa said in an icy monotone, “you of course intervened to protect your protege from the maneuvering of an overweening politician.”

He lowered his head again…and then further, letting it simply hang. He could not bear to look at her.

“I did not, your Excellency. To my everlasting shame…I failed to fend him off.”

“Fend him off. What an interesting way to phrase making the official response appropriate to your rank.”

“My Empress… The man has not achieved his position without being good at these maneuvers. He is far too canny to be overt, or direct. Not only were none of his threats or demands couched in a way for which I could call him down… Before issuing them, he positioned himself such that any protest or retaliation from me would be immediately leveraged against me, as abuse of my position.”

“Absolute rot,” she stated, and he did not succeed in repressing his flinch. “I am familiar with the use of intermediaries, catspaws and oblique methods. If he communicated clearly enough that you were able to understand his demands, you had sufficient leverage to deal with him as an official of my government ought to handle a criminal attempting to incite public corruption.”

“So…it should be, your Excellency,” Hamad said weakly. “So it seems on paper. In practice, on the ground… Well. We have all had to become similarly adept at maneuver. You yourself have been clear that rule should be gentle and refrain from forceful action as much as possible. I…am shamed to acknowledge that I, for one, have not proved to be the most sly operator in Rhivkabat. I have, upon occasion, been defeated.”

Izayaroa drummed her claws once on the desk, the soft clackclackclackclack resonating menacingly in the quiet room.

“And what precisely did Samed demand?”

“The…removal of Ar-Kaln Zelekhir,” Hamad said, squeezing his eyes shut. “First, from his position, and as a factor in public life or a presence in the Royal Archives, or any post in the capital.”

“And to this, you acquiesced.”

“I did not, your Excellency,” he whispered fiercely. “I made no response, and canceled the contracts his household’s businesses have with the Royal Archives as a warning. Immediately, we began to have problems in our own supply chains. Then…seemingly isolated incidents affecting my scribes. They were pickpocketed, mugged, had their homes broken into… I am well-connected in this city and thought myself adept at maneuvering through its subtler channels, but I failed to connect anything to the Melchavidan household. He was simply…better at the game than I.”

“This man disrupted the running of my government,” she said in deadly quiet, “threatened and assaulted my personnel, and your response was to placate him?”

Hamad drew a shaky breath. “Before I could bring Rhaket into it, documents were leaked to me. An investigation accusing me of corruption and of unduly leveraging my authority to interfere with the running of the Melchavidan household. Private detectives and civil barristers had done thorough work, preparing it all. Had I taken official action against Samed, the complaints would have been filed. And they would eventually have been debunked…but not until after I had been removed from my position. Then whatever was to happen to Kaln would go through with no one to stop it, and to the other scribes—the other apprentices, too.”

She was silent. He grimaced, swallowed heavily, and continued in a hoarse voice, now teetering on his agonized knee.

“In response to my resistance, the demands…escalated. Now he wanted Kaln removed entirely—dead or imprisoned, permanently beyond any chance of accessing Haktria.” Hamed had to pause, choking on shame, before he could say the next words. “I…had the boy charged with corruption and treason. I manufactured the evidence myself. I thought… I thought if I could just put him somewhere, I could protect him at least that much. Keep him safe in a cell until I could work out a way to thwart Samed, then get him out. I thought so long as I complied, I could at least remain here to work on that, to prevent him from killing Kaln as I was certain he was capable of doing, and protect the rest of the apprentices and scribes. And in that, too, my failure was absolute. He was murdered in his very cell. I did not even learn of it until after the cursory state funeral. I did not even imagine Samed’s reach extended into the deepest prison. It was listed in official documents as random prison violence, and…maybe, I suppose, but I don’t believe that.”

He had to take two deep, steadying breaths to manage it, but after doing so, Hamad lifted his head to look into her pitiless golden eyes.

“I failed utterly, my Empress. Failed you, and Ar-Kaln, and Rhivaak. I have, thus far, managed to protect the rest of my people. It feels a paltry solace.”

“And in the last year,” she observed, still coldly detached, “you have invested nearly the whole of your personal fortune into your apprentices. Divested yourself of every long-held asset to guarantee high-quality food, lodgings, and comforts, plus educational and business opportunities. And, notably, private guards in addition to city police to oversee not only their residence and workplace but their most common places of recreation.”

He lowered his head again, managing a rueful smile. “And here I thought I was so discreet. I—ah, of course. Il-Senna.”

“Spymaster Rhaket is concerned you are planning to take your own life, and attempting to discern why,” the Empress said. “It seems this…Samed is sufficiently adept that even she did not manage to intercept his plot. I suppose I cannot blame you for being outmaneuvered by such a talent.”

Hamad didn’t dare to hope. He knew her by her writings, by the values she had taught her people and especially those she trusted to carry out her will. He knew better.

“I blame you for attempting to engage this man as an equal, rather than leveraging the assets of the state. The state which exists for the entire purpose of shepherding the people, protecting them from those who would abuse them in precisely this way.”

He simply…knelt. There was nothing to be said to that.

“So,” Izayaroa continued icily, turning her gaze back upon the Lord Regent. “My household system is functioning well, you tell me.”

“I, too, must admit failure, my Empress,” the Regent said, now wearing a deep frown. “I was in complete ignorance of this entire business. For that I have no excuse, and can say nothing in my defense save that I will redouble my efforts to be aware of surreptitious actions taken in the city.”

“You,” she whispered, “who have earned your position through competence, whom I have entrusted with the guidance of my Empire, would suggest to me that such widespread and deep illegal influence, even perpetrated by one man, is an isolated incident?”

The Lord Regent’s frown deepened, worry and alarm showing in the new lines on his face. “It… No, it cannot be. There is no way it could be.”

“Corruption is never isolated,” the Empress stated, and though she spoke quietly, her voice resonated with authority. “It is a thing of networks, of connections—and that is only on the practical level. The existence of these networks proves that it has begun to seep into culture, into the mindset of a society. These things could not exist if they were not tolerated, even welcomed, by numerous individuals in positions of power.”

She stood, looming over them, and all three lowered their heads.

“The rot has begun to set in. This decay which spells the doom of all civilizations—the failure of the common consensus, the demise of the all-important, unspoken agreement of every citizen that they are united together toward common purpose. Empires fall when the ambitions of the few poison the spirit of unity upon which civilizations depend. These are but the first tendrils, but they have already reached too far. I have entrusted you with my Empire, with my people. Each of you has earned that trust by demonstrating your loyalty, your skill—by distinguishing yourselves above all the talents of my realm.”

There came a beat of silence, and they could do nothing but wait for what they knew was coming next.

“I am not impressed.”

“For this failure,” the Lord Regent said hoarsely, “I will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate, my Empress. And, should you consider me fit to continue in my position, will devote myself utterly to rectifying these errors. If not, I shall pursue whatever good I may still do your realm in whatever place you choose to place me. The only defense I will ask now is of Safira. She has repeatedly urged me to take action to curb the power of the households. To my great shame, I thought her concerns overblown.”

At his right, Safira herself dared to sneak a surprised sidelong look at him.

“Your loyalty and regard for Commander Mafnat is noted, Lord Regent,” Izayaroa stated. “It is misplaced. She, like you, has both the prerogative and the ability to summon me in person, to address whatever ill afflicts my Empire that is beyond your power to resolve. That I have learned of this from none of you damages my trust in you.”

The Dragonlancer Commander lowered her head again, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You are correct in that I value a light touch,” Izayaroa continued. “You have done well to remember it, and take my urgings seriously. But Rhivaak is not a republic. This is the domain of an absolute sovereign. When all else fails, you have no less than a dragon upon whom to call. My role, my own service to this Empire, is to be that guide and guardian, to be invoked when the realm requires my power. Tell me, my faithful servants: of what use can I be to my people if you will not call upon me when they need me?”

None of them could muster an answer to that.

“It is yet early,” the Empress finally said. “The rot has not sunk deep. It must be ripped out in its utter entirety, and that cannot be done in haste. Every surreptitious connection must be found, traced, and mapped—without revealing to the corrupt that their actions are under observation. You will devote every resource to this goal. I charge you with gaining a complete understanding of this city’s underworld, unbeknownst to your targets. I realize the enormity of what I am ordering, and that is why you will invoke my aid in any and every task for which you require assistance. The effort you will launch and guide yourselves. At each and any hint that you will be unable to accomplish what is necessary unaided, summon me.”

“It shall be done, my Empress,” the Lord Regent swore.

“It shall be done!” Hamad and Safira echoed fervently.

Her eyes fixed upon Hamad again. “I was recently reminded, by one whose regard I value highly, that there are none who commit no errors—that the measure of character is in how one addresses the consequences of one’s mistakes. For your offenses, my Lord Scribe, you will be called to answer under the law. But as I have seen in you penitence and responsibility even before I became involved, first I shall grant you the opportunity to do your part in setting things right, that your efforts may be weighed alongside your crimes with the time comes.”

“It is more mercy than I deserve, my Empress,” Hamad said, fighting a tremor in his voice. “I will serve you to the utmost of my ability, and gratefully accept whatever verdict you deem right.”

“Begin your investigation in the prison,” Izayaroa ordered. “It is obvious that this Samed’s tendrils run deep, there, which means those of other players in this network do as well. The administration is clearly capable of interring illicit political prisoners, feigning their deaths and covering up escapes. Ascertain every detail of who and how, and you will find the next necessary steps. Il-Senna Rhaket is already aware, and has been tasked with leading this effort. Coordinate with her, my Lord Regent.”

“As you command, my Empress.”

That was when Hamad finally lost his balance, barely catching himself from a complete pratfall on one arm. It wasn’t just the pain in his knee, but the shock of understanding. He raised his head to gaze up at Izayaroa in sudden hope that he could not suppress, despite fearing the pain it would bring.

“Escape? He—is he alive? Is he all right?”

Safira hissed aloud in displeasure, but the Empress did not see fit to rebuke this breach of protocol.

“Kaln is in a better situation than any of you three at this moment,” she said. “Perhaps, in the fullness of time, he will wish to speak with you, Hamad Malkizak. Perhaps he would rather anything else. You will accept whichever outcome with all due grace.”

“I…yes. Yes, of course.” Hamad managed to recover his posture, absently wincing at the renewed pressure upon his sore knee as his agile mind fixed upon another detail in her words. Kaln, was it? Of course, the Empress could call any of her subjects any diminutive nickname she wished, but that was not Izayaroa’s way. She made it a point to speak to and of even the least of her subjects with courtesy and respect. The use of Ar-Kaln’s shortened name would not connote condescension, not from her, which left…intimacy?

“I have made my will known,” the Empress stated. “Carry it out.”

“As you command!” they chorused, rising in unison. Almost in unison. Hamad stumbled as the leg upon which he’d been kneeling tried to buckle under him; the Lord Regent lent him a steadying arm.

All three bowed before her, retreating two steps before turning to file out of the archive chamber under her unrelenting stare.

Not until Safira had finished securing the door behind them did the Lord Scribe emit a shaky chuckle, slapping a hand to his forehead.

“Ahh…my boy, you never did know whom not to bother. If there was one clever fool who could make it work, though… But how did he find her?”

“I strongly advise you to worry about yourself, and the task we have been given, Lord Scribe,” the Regent said pointedly.

“Right. Right you are, my lord!” Hamad clapped his hands together eagerly, feeling lighter than he had in years. He was barely able to limp forward, weary with interrupted sleep and the emotional exhaustion of all the revelations crammed into the last few minutes, but before him suddenly rose possibilities he had not dared to imagine mere hours ago.

Redemption. Hope.

“And since we are all here,” the Lord Regent added in a grim tone, “I might as well forewarn you of the other looming matter of which she informed me before you were summoned. It will become widely known soon enough, but for now, this is confidential to those of our rank.”

“Other?” Safira asked, wincing. “I almost fear to learn.”

“Oh, this news is good, though the consequences will be enormous and unpredictable. It seems Atraximos is no more.”

Hamad didn’t bother to listen to the Commander’s exclamation of shock, feeling only the ever-increasing lightness in his chest. There it was—more of it, for the world at large, not just himself.

Hope.