The midday bell tolled high over the city from the southern tower of the palace grounds. Right on cue, two servants entered the dining hall where Belvaas the younger, provisional Governor of Gaag, and Atipo the Emissary sat at an elongated dining table for the midday meal. The two men paused their private conversation for the entire twenty paces it took the two servants to cross the hall, plates in hand.

With efficiency and grace, the two servants distributed the serving platters between the two men where they sat across from one another. They smiled politely as each heavy plate touched the table with the delicacy of a first kiss. No words were spoken, as was customary, but the standard nods and smiles conveyed the necessary level of thanks and respect. The two servants turned and reversed their course, their shoes lightly clacking against the wooden floorboards until exiting the room. It was a Careyago custom. Belvaas wasn’t sure he liked it. The silence felt… dehumanising.

The two men finally reached for the serving utensils and loaded their plates with the various dishes the cooks had prepared to honour their guest. Atipo, ever the careful man, insisted Belvaas take first. Belvaas, unwilling to upset the emperor’s emissary, obliged. It was a tactic of Atipo’s that had worked wonders in the past. Let the governor see him as an equal and his candor will spill forth. Besides, even a governor of a backwater city like Gaag deserves not to be underestimated.

When Belvaas reached for the leg of the pheasant, Atipo turned the plate to make the action easier. When Belvaas finished serving himself a generous slice of meat pie and his eyes darted next to the fried breads, Atipo passed the plate the governor’s direction. It was all deliberate. The boy would talk. And he would agree to the emperor’s new terms.

Atipo had known the young governor’s father. Belvaas Senior had been a hard man. One his enemy’s might call ruthless. But Atipo recognized wisdom where others judged callousness. He was a man that knew what needed to be done and didn’t shy away from doing it. It was for that reason he had become Governor after all. But his young son was a new variable in the mix. And so it was that Atipo found himself returning to Gaag far sooner than he had expected. It was why he, as Advisor to the Emperor, sat at tables with powerful men and mollified them. The trick to getting somebody to like you, Atipo reminded himself, to be attentive. To listen, learn, and echo their own thoughts. The trick to being good at it, is to do so without ever letting them notice. The young governor would never truly know the special care Atipo paid towards keeping appearances. This was the point, after all. This was why the emperor sent him.

Belvaas sat back down in his dining chair, plate piled high, and placed his dish with none of the care or reverence the two servants had displayed. Atipo spooned himself a modest serving of stew over his plate of pie and sat down himself. The two men took several quick bites and then resumed their conversation.

“As I was saying,” Atipo continued, “the other concession that the emperor has requested is to have a cultural exchange of craftsman between Gaag and several of the other provinces across the Empire, but also in the Capital, Cayanoshi. It is my understanding that Gaag’s weavers and woodworkers are most skillful. We can offer apprenticeship exchanges facilitated by the Cayanoshi Shipwrights. The more integrated the empire is, the more benefit we all see. It has long been the emperor’s strategy for cohesion.”

As is conscripting the able-bodied into the armies and navies until they’ve lost what sense of home they one had, Belvaas thought callously. His face revealed none of this. “I would agree” he said instead. “An exchange of craftsmen would provide opportunities for the younger workers of Gaag. The ability to travel across the Empire. To learn from our new brothers and sisters. These things are necessary to build Gaag back into its former glory. Doing so would also solidify our ties to the Empire at large. Some people here still whisper fears about the emperor. They fear what they do not yet understand. They fear the uncertainty of what might happen next. But it has been years now, but we are only just drawing people back who once fled into the countryside.”

“Then it is settled” Atipo said. Disappointing. Not quite the man his father was.

“Not quite” Belvaas cut in. Atipo’s eyebrow lifted a fraction. “It is clear that we agree on the fundamentals of the emperor’s vision for Gaag. But it is necessary that we negotiate some of the details. Payment and insurance sit at the top of my list. Those who leave Gaag for the larger cities in the north on this promise cannot be simply forsaken once outside our territory. It is a long way home from the north. It is critical that I can ensure that those who leave for these exchanges have the ability and capacity to return home at the end of their exchanges, should they wish it. We are a small city, even when compared to our neighbours, let alone the great capitol of Cayanoshi.”

“What do you have in mind?” Atipo asked.

“I want to put out a tender.” Belvaas said.

“A tender?” Atipo repeated.

“Yes, a tender” Belvaas explained. “It is clear by the way goods are being shipped into Gaag that the empire has a hunger for timber and metals. Gaag is a city in the lowlands but to the west, the highlands are ripe for these operations. We have people looking for work beyond farming, and you have merchants hungry for materials. We must align our interests.”

“There are mines far closer to the capital than Gaag.” Atipo countered. “Why spend years and resources so far south?”

“I think it would be prudent to invite potential prospectors here to meet with me.” Belvaas said. “We may be further south, but I intend the terms of any arrangements made to be far more generous than they’ll get in other territories. And though we lack proximity to Cayanoshi, we are closer to potentially profitable kingdoms across the Starlight Isles, including Onera, Casoya, and Towiin. All I ask in return is investment. We must rebuild and expand our port. And the people of Gaag who leave on this exchange must have means to return home. That becomes much easier when ships sail south with opportunists and return north with cargo.”

“You seem to have thought a great deal about this” Atipo said. He was more guarded now. The son was a schemer. Not quite as tactful as the father, but not a dolt like the emperor feared.

“I want to ensure that we in Gaag are truly a vital part of this Empire, not some backwater city paying taxes to an Emperor who cares little for us. If we can ensure that Gaag is one with the empire and not simply ravaged by it, it will benefit us all. A land that is stripped of everything sown in the end reaps only blood. The emperor has paid a price for Gaag and now it is his. I would think he would like it to be of value to him. My father believed so. As do I.”

“Yes. Your father…and how is Belvaas the elder?” Atipo asked, bringing a spoonful of meat pie to his mouth.

“He is doing poorly.” Belvaas admitted, stirring the food on his plate. “He is eating well and he is functioning, as far as the healers can tell. But he sleeps most of the day. When he is awake, he babbles like an infant. He does not know where he is nor does he recognise those who come to visit him. Then, last week he took a fall and broke his arm. I made the difficult choice to have the servants strap him in during regular sleeping times to keep him from wandering.”

“This must be challenging for you” Atipo said. “We have a saying in Cayanoshi, “The tree that grows tallest has the furthest to fall. There are many who have much respect for your father.”

“That is kind thing to say,” Belvaas said, “but we both know that my father was a pragmatist. He saw the truth bared. My uncles were fools; proud men with haughty ideals. A kingship is worth nothing when you run a desecrated domain. It is better to be a peasant in prosperity than a ruler of ashes.”

The door on the far side of the room clicked noisily. The sound echoed through the empty dining hall. Both men turned as a comically large hat entered through the portal on the far side of the room. A hat that sat atop a man. A hat so garish that neither Belvaas nor Atipo found words of greeting as the man, approached the table. Belvaas’ eyes remained glued to the hat even as the man removed it from his head with a flamboyant bow. Beneath the hat was a handsome man with a lean face and a dark black moustache that curled around his mouth. Atipo looked stunned silent. Belvaas frowned at his old friend.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Belvaas asked, sternly. He deliberately refrained from dismissing the man from his bow.

“This is my uniform” Bartiin said, still bowing respectfully. He gestured towards his officer’s tunic and armour. The empty sheath at his hip. The soldier’s boots.

“We both know I’m taking about that hat” Belvaas said, pointing to it with his dinner spoon.

You don’t like the hat, sir?” Bartiin said. “I had it made just for me. I saw a fascinating gentleman in Onera with a similar hat and knew I had to have one made.”

“Do all the men in Onera all where hats like this?” Belvaas asked. There was no effort made to disguise his disdain.

“Oh, spirits no” Bartiin said, “The men are very reserved in Onera. Clean uniforms, simple white and tan colours are popular. No hats. Head scarves sometimes. The man I saw was a foreigner.”

“If I didn’t know you to be so damned cleaver, I’d think you a fool Bartiin.” Belvaas said.

“Now, that’s no way to speak to an old friend, Belvy”

Belvaas stood up from the table hastily, the legs of his chair scraping hard against the wooden floor at his feet. He dropped his utensils and the clattered noisily across the dinnerware. Atipo recoiled instinctually. The disrespect shown was enough to have the man flogged. He had been present for previous transgressions. Always they were met with punishment and force. Atipo raised an eyebrow and expected the worst for this man. A silence hung in the air.

Belvaas approached the soldier and took from him the large black hat. He looked it over, brushing his thumb along the dark crows feathers along the brim.  He looked it over once before giving it back to the man. The soldier remained motionless, still bowing. At least he had some good sense. Belvaas straightened the man out and, to Atipo’s astonishment, they embraced in a friendly hug.

“Bartiin,” Belvaas said, bringing the soldier forward to join them at the table. “How long has it been?”

Ah. So, this is Bartiin Foxstring? Atipo assessed the man, looking him up and down. Ignoring the hat, he looked rather unremarkable. No different than any other soldier Atipo had passed in the hallways. It was clear that he and Belvaas were close. And so that begged the question, did he earn the trust of Belvaas the Elder for his role or was he gifted it based on his relationship with the son?

“This is Atipo Waliimanad” Governor Belvaas said. “He’s here on behalf of the Careyago emperor.”

Bartiin smiled charmingly, “Welcome to Gaag, Atipo. I hope you find the city hospitable and the peoples’ folksiness charming. I understand, coming from larger cities, Gaag feels small in comparison.”

Atipo returned the smile with only mild discomfort. “Yes,” Atipo agreed, “you have it right. Gaag does feel small when compared the grander cities of the north.”

Bartiin moved to place his hat on the table and was delivered a warning sound from Belvaas, who had retaken his seat to continue eating. “Not on the table” Belvaas said through a mouth full of food. Atipo found the talking with a mouthful off-putting but kept silent.

“Apologies, Belvy” Bartiin said in an insincere jesting tone.

“In fact,” Belvaas added, “Just get rid of the damned thing. I’ll not have you starting some spirit-forsaken trend amongst the nobility. If I come to find half the court wearing the same stupid hat in the next few weeks… I’ll have you’re eyeballs plucked out to make damned sure you never see another ugly thing again.”

“You would deny me the pleasure–”

“Do not finish that jest” Belvaas interrupted.

Despite the words, Belvaas pulled out the chair next to him and grabbed the officer a plate, which the man refused politely. Bartiin instead took a seat and threw the hat away into the empty hall theatrically.

“And Bartiin” Belvaas said, spooning another bite.

“Yes sir?” Bartiin asked.

“Don’t call me Belvy. Not while we’re joined by guests.”

“Yes governor. My apologies.” Bartiin said, reaching to pour himself a cup of strawberry wine. He downed the entire glass in one go. Not good news then, Atipo surmised.

“Let’s move on.” Belvaas said. He swallowed his mouthful of food and stared intently at his old friend. “You’re back. That can only mean one of two things and the lack of joy on your face tells me something went wrong.”

“The Assassins failed” Bartiin said flatly. He poured himself a second cup.

“What do you mean, they failed?” Atipo asked, frowning. “Do you mean, the princes managed to escape again?”

“Worse. The emperor’s assassins are all dead” Bartiin clarified.

“You mean to say that the emperor’s own elite assassins, men and women bred for toppling dynasties, failed to kill the likes of Aramuk and Ohacha Krimas!?” He was shouting now, but not at anyone in particular. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he roared, dropping the spoon hard onto his plate with a crash. Atipo didn’t flinch and, to his credit, Bartiin too remained unphased. The officer took another casual drink from his glass. Belvaas turned to his friend expectantly, annoyance visible across his face.

“My source says they managed to kill all four assassins” Bartiin said. “Eli went down to an arrow while coming over the wall. The others split up and were killed off one-by-one. I suspect somebody got a lucky blow on Doumbe, and their enhancements wore off.”

“Spirits” Belvaas said. He pressed his palms into his face. “Fucking bullshit. After all this time, I finally believed we’d be rid of this thorn in my side. I can’t believe it. What do we do now?”

“They’re going to move again” Bartiin answered, “Lord Anup of Onera lost half his best warriors to the attack. He’s kicking them out of his palace. Also, the assassins did manage to kill Lord Provis. His was the largest contingent of their army. Aramuk will have a hard time keeping Provis’ men loyal and committed. Many will abandon the cause. They’ll be vulnerable.”

“They’ll be cautious” Belvaas corrected. “When are they supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow” Bartiin answered. “It took me three days to come back to inform you.”

“What is your plan? Ambush them at the docks? With their full host of remaining soldiers about?” Belvaas jeered.

“We’ll try it with an expendable asset” Bartiin answered. “But it would be best if we could catch them at sea. Their ships are old. Outriggers, xebecs, and cargo ships. No war ships. Nothing fast. They’ll be no match for the imperial navy.”

“That won’t be possible” Atipo said. Both men looked to him as if they had forgotten he was present. “Our warships in the south are otherwise occupied picking up important cargo in the north.”

Belvaas frowned. “Where’s my uncle headed?” Belvaas asked.

“I’ve got a spy amongst the infantry with wife and child still here in Gaag. He’s been leaving helpful little notes. The first scout ship already headed south. There’s talk that they’re heading for Casoya” Bartiin said. “I plan on sailing directly to Caso myself to speak with Ambassador Durali. We can use her contacts amongst the Casoyans to do the deed. Best chance would be to take them as they come ashore or better yet, at sea outside the city but that could be risky.”

“Don’t bother” Atipo said. “You’ve already missed your opportunity. They’ve already fled on that first scout ship.

Bartiin gave Atipo a second interested look. “And, how would you know that?”

“I don’t know it” Atipo said blankly, “but it would be the obvious ruse. You’ve been at this for years now, Bartiin. They know your patterns.” The suppressed scowl on Bartiin’s face suggested he disagreed but he didn’t argue.

Belvaas didn’t seem to notice.  He continued on, “Losing Provis will be a blow to their moral.” Belvaas said. “The man was a tyrant but deeply loyal to the old King Golan. But the person I’m most worried about is Aramuk” Belvaas said. “Ohacha’s father was strong in all the wrong ways. He was entitled. Quick to anger. Quicker to forgive. He would act on how he felt. He was headstrong and ignored council. He would have burned everything to the ground just to spite whoever was left to rule the ashes. The war he wanted would have been long, bloody, and unwinnable.”

“And…” Atipo asked. “Prince Aramuk?”

“Aramuk has a different set of faults. He, like my father, was a pragmatist. But he was loyal to Golan to a fault; idolized him. They were best friends. Much wiser, and much more cunning, Aramuk was bookish. He liked learning things that didn’t matter. How many dialects of O’kwiré there are. The accounted history of the Great Turtle Library. The historical spread of the trader’s language and its adoption across the continents. I once saw him with a book on the history of the Gurlil Dynasty of Wiisagine Kings. Stuff like that.”

“Who were the Wiisagine Kings?”

“Exactly” Belvaas said, taking another drink from his cup “A long gone kingdom in a far away land.”

“Aramuk is smart enough to bide his time and wait for the right opportunity.” Bartiin added.

Belvaas nodded in agreement. “My cousin Ohacha is ill suited to lead. He shares all his father’s faults. Without Aramuk, he’ll find himself abandoned or get himself killed. Aramuk is the real threat behind whatever remains. Without Aramuk, Ohacha will never make it back to Gaag.”

“Which is why,” Bartiin said, “I’ll be in Caso making sure Aramuk sees an early grave as soon as possible. Aramuk matters most.”

“Tell me, when will my uncle arrive in Caso?” Belvaas asked.

“If what Atipo says is true, perhaps a week or less” Bartiin answered. “I plan to leave in the next few days to follow.”

“You’ll leave tomorrow morning” Belvaas corrected. Bartiin opened his mouth to protest but found it silenced with a stern look. “My uncle may plan on travelling to Caso to instead slip away elsewhere in secret. I need you to make sure they don’t disappear. I need you to make sure they’re eliminated for good.”

Bartiin bit his lip to keep himself from arguing. If the Careyagoan weren’t present, he’d have had words for his old friend. If the empire’s best assassins can’t handle the task….

“I believe I have an idea, should you arrive in Casoya and find these princes remain hidden behind powerful friends in impregnable fortresses.” Atipo said, directing the statement to both men.

“An idea?” Bartiin asked.

“Yes,” Atipo answered, “two ideas to be precise. It is plain that Prince Aramuk’s strategy has been to hide behind a benefactor’s safety. It is therefore likely that they will continue this strategy. Since assaulting has proven costly, we therefore have two options. We draw them out, or we turn the benefactor against them. Without knowing who the benefactor will be, I suggest we plan to draw them out.”

There was a look on Atipo’s face that suggested he hadn’t said everything he was thinking. “What is it you’ve withheld?” Belvaas asked astutely.

“They choose Caso for a reason. It must be the auction house. We must sell something valuable to them at the Auction” Atipo said. “A family heirloom, perhaps. Something that will anger them; draw them out from hiding.”

“Atipo, you are a cunning man.” Bartiin said, grinning. Belvaas was less convinced.

Atipo continued, “Bartiin can facilitate the sale. Once they are drawn out, there will be an opportunity to strike. No walls. No garrisons. It will work, but only with the right bait.”

The words came out at the same moment Belvaas grasped them, “we sell the throne of Gaag.”

“The throne?” Atipo repeated.

“You would sell the throne of Gaag?” Bartiin asked, incredulous.

“It’s just a chair” Belvaas said dismissively. “Our people need stability, not a throne. They need hope, not a dictator. Once my uncle and cousin are dead, there will be no more whispers of returning the monarchy. There will finally be peace and prosperity. Under the empire’s banners” he added.

              After a short farewell with Bartiin and Atipo’s departure, Belvaas climbed the long stairway through the central tower keep to his father’s bedchambers. Belvaas was greeted at the door by one of the servants and led into the wide chamber that housed the bedridden body of Belvaas the elder, his father. The palace healer sat in the corner at a desk she had moved into the room to keep an eye on the old man. Belvaas smiled as he caught her eye from across the room and she gave him a courteous nod of respect.

              “May I have a moment of privacy with him?” Belvaas asked, knowing she wouldn’t refuse.

              The healer agreed and collected some of the tablets on her desk. She gave Belvaas a pitying smile as she passed by him, closing the door as she left. The young governor walked over to his father’s bedside and pulled over a stool. The old man stirred and opened his eyes meeting Belvaas’ gaze. Neither of them said anything. One wouldn’t, and the other couldn’t. A thousand thoughts rolled through Belvaas’ mind but none of them ever progressed far enough to become words. His father looked away and then babbled unintelligibly. Belvaas took his fathers hand and sat with him for a long time, letting the once-wise man chatter to himself.

He missed his father. The loved the man before him, but it wasn’t the same. The wise man was gone; replaced by an empty impression of what once was and would never again be. Once a hero, now barely a man. It was clear now that they would never again debate philosophy. Never again walk the city, or hunt game in the hills, or sail together in the open sea. Regrets have a way of putting a man in a melancholic mood. No, he wouldn’t miss this part of his father when he passed. But he would miss the company. He would miss the moments together where he felt he wasn’t alone. Life had taken his grandfather and greed had stripped Belvaas of his uncles and cousin. Soon, it would take his father too.

Grief swept over him as the realization sunk in. Here, as his father lay dying and his uncle and cousin were to be murdered by his actions, Belvaas fathomed that he would be the last of the Krimas line. The last in an ancient line of kings, queens, and heroes. The grief was almost enough for him to reconsider sending Bartiin after his uncle and cousin again. Just looking at the man, Belvaas knew what his father would say to that, “The right action and the easy action are rarely the same deed.” The old man met his gaze, but didn’t reply. Belvaas wasn’t even sure he had been understood. Instead, he squeezed his father’s hand tight and retired alone to his chamber for the night.