In the nation of Rinchak, those with power were encouraged to flaunt it. Culturally, it had been that way since the Empire fell into disorder and the powerful Brotherhood of Gapshaw had risen to restructure life in the country. Gone were the old provincial courts and systems of law, replaced by a single set of rules to be obeyed. Major cities became power bases, led by members of the Brotherhood, and each was given control of enough territory to have influence. In fifty years, all sixteen members had even stakes, and publicly renounced the syndicate, disbanding it.
But a rose by any other name is a rose. Calling themselves the Rinchak parliament no more changed their brutality, their powermongering, or their constant attempts to gain leverage over one another. Their proteges took power as they aged and were due for replacement, or as they passed away under 'mysterious circumstances', and the balance, ever precarious, was maintained.
The citizenry of Rinchak had recently become unruly, with small uprisings and rebellions flaring up around the nation, mostly in tiny, out-of-the-way places. They were easily quelled and silenced, but now something had happened that looked bad for all members of the parliament; The Chained One had escaped.
Lonek rode in the grand black carriage that had seen him to the capital from his realm of control, the Eleventh Prefecture. Tall, broad and portly, he would never be seen as a vision of health, but few of the blonot race were. The blonots were frog-men, typically a quiet, peaceful people with addictive personalities that usually rendered them unhealthy by way of their chemical addictions. In Lonek's case, food was the addiction.
He grumbled to himself as he twitched the curtain aside, looking out on streets choked with the working poor and unemployed. He sneered at them as he passed them by. "Such wretches," he said to his riding companion, a rail-thin gotrin in black leathers, his rat-like head bent down, arms folded over his chest. "You should take a look at them, Senta. These were your people not too long ago."
Senta grunted, but made no move to follow his employer's suggestion. Lonek looked to the brace of daggers around Senta's waist, admiring the polish and craftsmanship put into both belt and sheaths. He knew Senta had handmade them from raw cowhide, all from the same animal, which he had slain himself. The bones had been used to craft jewelry and ground down as a component in potions, the meat cut down and offered to his brothers and sisters so they wouldn't starve. The man possessed talents aplenty, but Lonek only made personal use of two; his ability to guard the blonot prefect, and to assassinate those who Lonek needed out of the way.
The carriage finally came to a halt at the base of the steps leading up into the Parliament Hall. A towering domed structure, it beamed with wealth and power, yet was surrounded by guards in all-brown uniforms who shoved back any not welcomed inside. The carriage door was opened by his kennin driver, and Senta sprang out first, a dagger in each hand. He moved with the eerie speed of a hummingbird, there one moment, armed, gone the next, ten feet away and standing like a perfect gentleman.
Lonek exited the carriage and moved swiftly for a man of his size and girth up into the building. He wasted no time with the outer halls, striding right into the wide, circular Ruling Chamber and taking his seat between prefects Kwi Jun Sou and Kariko. Sou, an orange-furred fellin woman, eyeballed him critically, while Kariko, a lizardman with white scales, remained passive in his ceremonial gold armor.
Lonek unclasped his cloak and threw it theatrically back over his chair, revealing the silvery tunics he favored with bronze trim. He snorted at the sight of an empty chair across from him, twitching one finger toward himself. Senta leaned in close.
"I thought we would be arriving last," he rasped.
"It appears we were outplayed this time, sir," Senta said, his voice low, smooth, cultured.
"Once more by Nijon," Lonek grumbled. The doors opposite his seat opened, and he and all fourteen other prefects looked upon Kel Nijon, the lone gotrin member of parliament remaining, and the last one from the previous generation of leadership. His fur, long and sleek, had begun turning gray in his advancing age, but the sure confidence and power he projected ever kept his competitors at bay.
Kel Nijon was not to be taken lightly, ever. He took his seat, one of only four members accompanied by a bodyguard. As the longest-standing member, it was his right to speak first and open dialogue. He smiled, waving the arms of his loose-fitting, cloth-buttoned blue gi. He tugged on the green silk sash worn from hip to shoulder and clapped his hands. "Let us begin," he intoned. Folders and binders slapped the top of the semi-circular tables at which they all sat. Lonek produced his and opened it to the fifth page, notes written in the wide loop of his secretary. "We shall start with prefect Durin. Durin, what word of the cave?"
Durin, an elven man who was sweating right through his paisley shirt, tapped his papers. "We have not discovered the culprit responsible yet. I have had my elite Inquisitors making the rounds, but we have no leads, other than the recent visit of a sage from Amermidst coming to inspect the cave itself."
"Gods, Ovin," rumbled Sou. She flashed her claws in the air. "We should not be made to suffer such fools! Prefect Mogar, you're in charge of the Shadow Corps. Can't you send someone to rid us of that pest?" Mogar, an elf covered in tribal tattoos, barked a derisive laugh.
"I may as well hurl ants into the sun, woman," he retorted. "King Ovin could lay waste to my entire Corps and half of our standing army on top! I'll not waste my assassins on a fool's errand."
"Their investigation is not our concern here," said Lonek, gaining the floor. "We are here to discuss our own problems. The Chained One is over there now. Let them deal with it. I had such a response offered to that same sage on our behalf. Durin, that missive was delivered, wasn't it?"
"It was, prefect Lonek," Durin said begrudgingly. "Though I would have preferred you let me handle affairs in my territory." Lonek smiled, and the hearing wound forward, with much the same result as the previous month's hearing- little changed, and the policy of holding position stayed in place. Only one minor shift occurred; when Lonek vied for authority to deal with Amermidst in the future, regardless of prefect of contact, and it was agreed upon, 10-6. Nijon was, of course, among the six who voted nay, but the blonot carried the day.
"Little victories," he said to Senta as they rode away later in the day. "They are crucial. Now, the man who got the ball rolling, has he been located?"
"I've been told that he's here, in the capital," Senta said, arms folded, head down once again as they rode in the dark.
"Go and remove him from our path. The next step is crucial, and we can't afford to have him throwing a wrench in the works." Senta nodded, and as the carriage was about to pass through the city's outer walls, he leaped from the carriage, into the darkened streets.
Nothing could have prepared Stahg for all that he overheard that morning, listening to Ovin's audience thanks to the artifact planted by his spy. What was more, he had from that singular listening everything he would need to carry himself through another campaign. He had to act quickly, though.
With three sheets filled with scrawled notes he ran through his capital residence, barking orders at various staffers to prepare him for an immediate return to Ryalt. He sent his lover up to his bedchamber to pack him some clothes, with a whispered order to get herself ready thereafter to accompany him. She was giddy about it, a sure sign that he might have strung her along too far. He'd have to be rid of her after the election season.
It took only three hours to make ready and begin marching over to the Royal Guard barracks with his lover and another page in tow. None of the Guardsmen present were happy about his presence, but they tolerated him well enough to see him through the Ether door in the basement. When he was gone, several of them cheered, hoping he wouldn't be back.
Little did they know that their boss, Sir Daggeuro, would have wanted to know he was leaving.
Kathy sighed, placing tiles to form the word 'service' off of Selena's 'vase'. "You should be ecstatic," Selena said. "That's a lot of points."
"I don't know," Kathy said, cheek resting on her right palm. "I guess I'm just a little bummed out. Seems like something's missing, you know? I'm looking forward to traveling again, but it just isn't clicking."
"I know why," Selena said, rearranging her tiles while Tigger purred in her lap. "Baron Dimanche isn't here. You're used to him being there." Kathy looked up, shrugged.
"I think you're right."
"You might also be nervous about traveling with this Byron fellow," Selena said, grinning impishly. "You had kind of a twinkle in your eye when you were talking about him."
"I don't twinkle," Kathy said defensively.
"Oh, but you do," Selena teased. In a bad imitation of Kathy's voice she said, "He's just been through a lot, I bet he's really very nice under the weird stuff." She clapped her hands together by her face and wavered back and forth, batting her eyes rapidly.
"You're a twit," Kathy snorted, flicking a peanut at Selena. The elven woman laughed and played her move. "Besides, would it be so bad? I haven't had a date in almost two years."
"Well, I doubt you'll get much of a chance for a date out on a mission. Dag will be serving as chaperone most of the time. Still, even he has to sleep some time."
"Are you sure about that," Tigger asked, looking up at Selena. "We only have your word that he actually uses that bed of yours for sleep."
"Quiet, cat." Kathy played another word off of one of hers, making 'pepper' into 'peppermint' for the kill. "By the gods, Kathy, can't you let me win once?"
"Where would be the fun in that?" Kathy got up and did a little victory dance, until Selena flicked a peanut at her. "All right, I'll help you clean up, then I should get to bed. Dag finished packing yet?"
"Mostly. I think he's studying sitreps for Alsem right now."
"Sitreps?"
"Situation reports," Selena said, holding the box base while Kathy slid the Scrabble board inside. "He likes to know what the social and political barometers of a region look like before he goes tromping in."
"Wise of him," Kathy said. She gave Selena a long hug as she put the game in her enchanted bag. "I'm going to look forward to stopping in again next."
"You won't be gone long, I think," Selena said. She held Kathy at arm's length. "Now listen; Dag would do anything for the King, you know that. That includes throwing himself in harm's way. Keep his back guarded, Kathy. I want him to be my husband in a few months, not a remembered hero." Kathy nodded, gave Selena a kiss on the cheek, and headed back to the guest room for bed. Selena headed to her room, where Daggeuro sat in his loose pajama pants and a plain black tunic shirt, unbuttoned, looking over sitreps.
He peered up at his betrothed, smiling gamely as she undid the ties at the front of her dress. A quote that Kathy had used a few times floated to the top of his mind, from a film she said was entitled 'The Graduate'. "Why Miss Barnick, you are attempting to seduce me."
"How's it working," she asked, letting the dress drop. He tossed the paper aside and lunged, picking her up off the floor.
"Quite well."
Thousands of miles away, Senta Kol slipped effortlessly from one shadow to another in the hallway of a decrepit tenement building. It had been condemned for years, but squatters had taken up residence the day after it was boarded up, prying out nails but leaving the façade. So long as no one acknowledged the conditions within, brownshirts didn't perform raids.
Senta was known around the circles of government as Lonek's henchman, his bodyguard and go-to guy. None but the blonot himself knew of Senta's skill as an assassin. Even the Shadow Corps knew nothing about his tradecraft; if they did, they would have recruited him long before.
He passed within inches of griping, bitching squatters, men and women and children who, through no fault of their own, lived in a nation that had left them in the dust. None saw him, heard him, even sensed him. While in the shadows, Senta became the shadows. Timing his movements, he passed through into the stairwell on the south end of the building.
His leathers weren't black, but a dark, deep green that blended into natural darkness far better than black could. He had learned, through trial and error, that black was actually noticable where it didn't belong. Yet deep green, almost brown, blended with natural shadows and outdoor environs with ease.
His boots had been layered with his own mixture of sigils, minor magic so subtle that even if someone were to scry his footsteps, they would get nothing but a hint that someone, at some time, had been where he'd been. Best to leave vaguaries than no sign at all, another trick he'd developed. The Shadow Corps scrubbed everything clean, a clue to those in the know of their passage. Senta left everyday sign, which told those same people nothing of value.
As he slipped out onto the fourth floor, he picked up the scent of magical fire burning in a metal drum, the acrid stench of some unknown foodstuffs cooking on it. He followed this scent, peering into an open apartment doorway. In the center of the living room stood the drum and two kennin vagabonds in tattered rags, a piece of meat spitted atop their drum. Neither man was his target.
Senta rushed into the room in two bounding lunges, daggers held out, a blade under each man's throat. They were labrador clan, friendly enough unless angered. Then, he'd have a fight on his hands. Always best to put them at a quick disadvantage.
"Ferter," he snapped quietly. "Where is he?"
"He flaked outta here last night," the kennin on the left said, straining to keep his head back. "Said he was gonna go right where nobody'd look, following the tail of the beast. I got no clue what the hell he was talking about, I swear!"
"I do," Senta said, carving his blades through their throats in one fluid motion. He flicked their blood off and sheathed the weapons before they had even dropped, whisking away into the shadows once more. His employer was going to be livid, because now Senta would have to go overseas.
Senta Kol had to go to Amermidst.