Chapter 11: An Infallible Threat Assessment

In this comprehensive chapter, Alexander is faced with the daunting task of rebuilding Aztlan after a devastating attack while Lord Ryūjin finds himself at risk of losing the Rain Dragon indefinitely.

         Early the next morning, Tatsu’s Minister of Defense stood on a balcony and oversaw the training grounds. The field below Nobiriryū was alive and teeming with troops in training, yet his eyes were mainly fixated on the Rain Dragon. Kōryō stood in his armor before an opponent who drew his sword confidently, so he, too, equipped his blade. They charged one another on cue and locked swords impetuously, yet in no time at all, Kōryō was thrown to the ground as his opponent suddenly gained immense strength. Looking down at Kōryō, the phlegmatic boy said, “I transmuted my upper body beneath my armor. It’s why I beat you so quickly.”

         “Does transmutation make you stronger?” Kōryō asked naïvely.

         “Didn’t you learn anything in school? I thought they said you were in Prince Hiryū’s class.”

         “He was,” Hiryū said as though having been spoken into place. On either side of him stood usual partners in crime--Kumoryū and Kazeryū. The former said, “He came to our class last week, so it’s not like he learned anything.”

         “What are you guys doing just walking around like you own the place?”

         “We’re on our fifteen minute break,” Kazeryū answered banally.

         “Well, you’re interrupting our squad’s training.”

         “Stop showing off,” Hiryū said with a furrowed brow.

         “What?”

         “You prove nothing by dominating him in training, so don’t use him to show off.”

         “You mean the Rain Dragon.”

         “You’ll call him Kōryō.”

         “Oh right, I forgot you and the Rain Dragon are brothers now.”

         “What did I just tell you to call him?”

         “Relax, Hiryū,” Kumoryū said. “He rode the wagon to school; he doesn’t know any better.” Riding the wagon to school was the Jewel Age equivalent to riding the short bus in the twenty-first century for all intents and purposes. Several people laughed at the joke, which paused the conversation long enough for Hiryū to address Kōryō.

         “Kōryō,” Hiryū said, “get up and come with me.”

         “He can’t,” the stolid boy said. “He can’t leave the squad during training.”

         “He’s being reassigned for the day.”

         “On whose authority?”

         “Mine!”

         Kōryō penitently stood and followed Hiryū and his two cohorts. The four of them walked through the massive training hanger, cutting through crowds of troops training via various exercises. They exited the hanger through the bunker’s back doors and stood in an alley. “You’re embarrassing the hell out of me,” Hiryū said unsparingly.

         “How?” Kōryō asked.

         “You live in my palace and you train in my presence, yet you make no progress. You’re as skilllessly weak as you were when you started. I can’t kick you out of the palace, so the only option I have is to ensure that you improve.”

         “Fast,” Kumoryū added with a sarcastic smirk.

         “The Minister of Defense is my personal trainer. His name is Nobiriryū. Do you know him?”

         “I,” Kōryō paused pensively, “don’t think so.”

         “You’re going to start training with us privately in addition to the military’s training, and that starts today. Got it?”

         By noon, the royal carriage was slowly moving through the streets of Aztlan. King Alexander sat in the carriage wearing the regal ensemble his father once wore, which was conspicuously atypical of him; however, the lavish tunic of fur, embellished with the symbolic ornamentation representative of several past kings, was easier than his battle armor on his injured torso, though its fibers occasionally got caught in the bandages that wrapped around the entirety of his rib cage. Accompanying Alexander in the open carriage were most of his advisors: Theodore, Enoch, Ibn, Token, Namon, Myendore, and Akron. Alexander scowled aimlessly as mares pulled the carriage slowly through the damaged parts of the city. He finally asked, “Why do I not recognize two of the people in my carriage right now?”

         “This is Akron,” Theodore said, “your Growth advisor, and the other is your scribe.”

         “This… scribe writes down everything?”

         “He records the minutes of your every meeting, sire, including that of Parliament with your knights and their respective advisors. He’s always in your throne room, my lord; it’s disturbing that you’ve only just noticed his presence.”

         “And a Growth advisor? What’re you a pediatrician?”

         “The Growth department,” Akron answered, “oversees all building and construction in the province or any other use of any plot of land we have at our disposal. We used to be called Growth and Development, but your father felt it was too long.”

         “Much like this explanation?”

         “Possibly so.”

         “Let that marinate.”

         “Sire, we’re now tasked with repairing or reconstructing, whether from scratch or otherwise, nearly half the province. We sustained immeasurable damage for a single attack, and recovery is going to be costly.”

         “If we can,” Ibn interjected, “it may also behoove us to settle new land, too.”

         “You’re Exploration, right?” Alexander asked.

         “Yes, my lord. I know that it’s a bad time to invest in something as seemingly superfluous as land expeditions right now, but I think we’d see an impeccable return on that investment if we were to use the land wisely.”

         “And what, pray tell, would constitute wise use?”

         “Hospitals and mills,” Akron answered, “our issues are healthcare and manufacturing.”

         “Houses,” Theodore added indignantly. “Hospitals and houses. The homeless percentage of our population skyrocketed with Rivulet’s attack. They’re out on the street; you focus on supplying us with more hammers and nails? Is your department so starved that you…”

         “…Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, Theodore, that we’ll be taking heat in a few days for how slow the reconstruction period is going. I want to go on record ahead of time as having told you that we needed more mills to supply us, not just with construction materials, but also with military equipment; plus, we’re struggling as it is to even approach a reconstruction of this magnitude. Look around you.”

         “Mind your tone, Akron.”

         “Look… around you. Do you see any workers on this street? I’ve deployed every construction worker this province has, yet several streets simply are not under construction at all. Several, Theodore. We’re ill equipped for a job this size.”

         “Then, what you need is a larger work force, not mills. Whatever we build on any new land needs to be of the utmost priority, and you know that, Akron.”

         “You want priority?” Enoch asked. “Consider for a moment that this is war. If we do not strike back with a timely response to yesterday’s attack, we will be attacked again. We cannot afford another battle in our own province. We must ensure that the next battle is taken to them. This is a time for offense. We need to build barracks; they lead to shorter transit times for regiments campaigning to Rivulet. Priority: hospitals, barracks, homes, and then mills.”

         “Barracks before homes?!” Theodore asked in outrage.

         “You’re not honestly suggesting we build them all,” Akron answered.

         “Let’s build them all,” Namon said. The carriage went quiet, and everyone looked at Namon.

         “Old-Man Namon,” Alexander said as he turned and looked at him, “he finally says something everyone wants repeated and only says it the once. Now would be the time for repetition and explanation, Namon. What are you getting at?”

         “If we need them all, we build them all. Each of those buildings should be increased, so we should increase them.”

         “More explanation, less repetition. Let me ask this. Could we finance it?”

         “We have enough money to accomplish it all, but we would need to budget extremely carefully. Exploration and Growth expenditures would run approximately half of what we have to spend across the board, so it would require careful budgeting; nonetheless, we could add banks to the list of edifices to be constructed on the new land, and that would greatly benefit us financially in the long run. Banks produce revenue, which is something we must increase right now, and raising taxes would upset the people at a time like this. We shouldn’t raise taxes, but we must increase revenue. The best thing we can do is to add banks to the list to increase the rate of income; furthermore, all of this construction will force us to employ the homeless, and we can house them in the homes they build. We reconstruct their destroyed homes and give the old homes to those living on the land we conquer: housing, jobs, healthcare, military, supply and demand.”

         “I’m… impressed, Namon. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

         “You are repeating yourself, my liege.”

         “You’re pissing me off again.”

         “King Alexander,” Token said, “I regret to inform you that you are legally obligated to inform each of your knights of an attack within twenty-four hours of its end. It’s called a Threat Assessment Letter or TAL.”

         “Ugh, okay, so what? We write up a message and send it to each of them?”

         “A TAL, and your scribe will make copies, sire. If you like, Theodore and I are allowed by law to draft the TAL on your behalf, and we can bring you the draft to sign when it’s complete.”

         “Do that.”

         “Alright, and another issue: we received a letter from Lord Balder this morning.”

         “A letter?”

         “It’s a TAL.”

         “Viki was attacked?!”

         “Rest assured, they faired far better than we. The forces of Nozerland campaigned into Viki yesterday around the same time that Rivulet attacked us, but Viki repelled the Nozerish army with relative ease.”

         “Viki’s military defense is pretty spectacular.”

         “There are two other matters of great import, my lord.”

         “I didn’t expect my political advisor to be the most talkative of you all today.”

         “First, we received a message from Lord Gallow. He plans to send the Aesirian army on campaign to Yykon today.”

         “I see. Aesir is weak, but so is Yykon. Gallow’s young, too. At Parliament, I told him to do this today, so he’s acting on my orders. I just hope it’s the right move because his youth could lead him to distrust me if my decision gets him into trouble. He’s predisposed toward irrational decisions.”

         “Lastly, much to all our chagrin, you sent the message last night that we all urged you not to send, and despite my prayers, Nubet has responded promptly.”

         “It’s Lord Nubet. You will all show him the proper respect he deserves. Now, is he coming?”

         “This afternoon, my lord.”

         “Excellent.”

         “With his chief advisor, he says.”

         “An act of good statesmanship to show that he expects no hostility. See, it’s the little things like that. My father would respect him for that if for nothing else. Theodore and I will meet him in my throne room.”

         “You would permit him entry to the palace?” Theodore asked. “He’s not a knight yet.”

         “Another exercise in diplomacy, Theodore. It was my father’s contention that foreign affairs were always a matter of reciprocity.”

         “Let me confess, my lord,” Enoch said. “And I hate to change the subject, but I deemed Shugoryū a bad decision on your part when you appointed him to his position; however, I must say, he has proven his worth.”

         “He’s intelligent and decisive--a good strategist and an immensely powerful warrior. He ended that battle.”

         “My lord, he is solely responsible for the latest addition to our list of CTA actions.”

         “Right, I almost forgot. What was it? WD40?”

         “D14, my lord.”

         “Yes, a brilliant, defensive maneuver.”

         “Nevertheless,” Theodore said, “you were injured, my liege. Had you not been tended to quickly…”

         “Yeah, yeah…”

         “King Alexander, let me meekly use this time of humility for you to tell you this with all due respect in hopes that it will sink in: you are not infallible. The words of the Oracle in whom you place such unmitigated faith were nearly disproven in a matter of seconds.”

         “Yet they weren’t, Theodore. You think you’ve made a point by highlighting a time when he was almost wrong but not really?”

         “If you continue to believe yourself to be infallible and Aztlan to be divinely adamantine…”

         “…Then, it will be so! A boulder landed on nearly my entire body, yet I am still alive--an awfully rare occurrence, I should think.”

         “King, I want to urge you not to attack.”
         “Here we go,” Enoch said.

         “Listen to me.”

         “Our army remains mighty, and any slight delay will convey weakness.”

         “Our forces are considerably weakened.”

         “What did I just say?”

         “You cannot deny that we do not have the strength we had yesterday, and Rivulet’s military is larger than that of Aztlan no matter which way you slice it. King Alexander, we cannot afford this attack, at least not yet.”

         “So what do you propose we do, Theodore?” Alexander asked skeptically.

         “Let another province strike back in our stead--Tatsu, perhaps.”

         “I’m saving Tatsu for Elegy Gulch. That’s Gargon’s strongest military, so we can’t afford to waste Tatsu’s resources or manpower on anything else.”

         “Throw the Halflings at them, then.”

         “Memph?” Enoch asked. “You were the one telling the king not two minutes ago that they had yet to be a Macedonian province.”

         “Clearly, there’s no discouraging Alexander from this asinine idea, so we should at least put them to use.”

         “Tell me,” Alexander said. “What prudent statesmanship do I display by immediately throwing Memph into the embers of war, specifically at Gargon’s capital city?”

         “It’s war,” Enoch answered. “Would you tell them to ‘sit this one out’ just because they’re new? It is imperative that you make it absolutely clear in your meeting today with Lord Nubet that, should he decide to join his province to our kingdom, he is obligated to do it right now and take part in war.”

         “Yeah… Yeah, I know, and I will. Still, I won’t send Memph to immediately attack Rivulet, Gargon’s capital and second strongest province.”

         “As well you shouldn’t,” Token added. “It would appear as though you merely drafted them for military purposes during war. We are one of the world’s three superpowers.”

         “We were.”

         “We are, my king. Whether we live up to the standard we once set is irrelevant because we are perceived as a superpower alongside Xylon and Zephyr. That means that this war is essentially the big stage. The world is watching because Gargon has challenged a top-tier kingdom. Three years ago or so, this would have been laughable, but it’s not. People don’t know who will win between us. They’ve postulated that we’ve weakened; it’s become a unanimous hypothesis, but only Gargon was bold enough to act on it as though it were fact. Beyond that, the world has watched as Gargon has flourished and grown rapidly over the last few years. It started five years ago: a war between two small provinces known as Gargon and Delphi. In conquering Delphi, they consumed Delphi whole like the garden snake would a young buck. Since then, their combined strength has led them on a winning streak that only continued to feed their power. They challenge indiscriminately, and the world has watched their avarice spur them toward the very dynastic status that made us the envy of so many. Unlike the rest of the world, we did not watch them, and neither Xylon nor Zephyr saw fit to check them.”

         “Okay, so we’re still perceived as a superpower, and the Gargonians have put themselves in a position to take that from us. Is that your point, Token?”

         “My point is that Lord Nubet is well-aware of what’s going on in this war and will be expecting you to call Memph to arms. Like many other kingdoms, he has likely had thieves monitoring relevant events. He’ll be especially informed now that he knows he’s being pulled onto the stage. Many will wonder why he traveled to Aztlan, questioning whether he was summoned or if he is taking initiative on his province’s behalf; regardless of their preconceived notions, Lord Nubet knows that he is going to be on the big stage just for meeting with you at a time like this, and it’s very telling that he comes with no soldiers.”

         “So, what are you suggesting?”

         “You give Memph a reasonable target, and you convey this as a favor.”

         “They’re the ones who would be doing us a favor at this point.”

         “Our favor to them, my lord. We can’t afford to seem weak at any point right now. Tell him that Memph must buy into the kingdom.”

         “What are they buying?”

         “Sense of security.”

         “Memph is vulnerable,” Enoch explained, “whether they realize it or not. I agree that you need to show them how vulnerable they are. Many kingdoms would love to strike them for being low-life Halflings that defied their superiors--the superior races of legitimate provinces.”

         “Superior?” Alexander asked sarcastically. “Legitimate? Is Memph not even legitimate? Was alleged inferiority not enough?”

         “Again,” Token said, “this is about perception. It doesn’t matter whether or not you agree. That’s how people think. No one would attack Macedon, though.”

         “Alright, I think I’ve made my decision.”

         “Not of this infallible mindset, I hope,” Theodore said.

         “Cuzco will strike back against Rivulet on our behalf. They have immense wealth and a massive military. They can handle it.”

         “I agree,” Enoch said. “In that case, though, they should attack immediately so that we can take advantage of the fact that, unlike us, they do not have to rebuild their defenses. We’re not ready to attack, but they should be, given Macedon’s current stance. Send the message posthaste, and tell Lord Dartmouth to move his troops right away.”

         “Yes, Theodore, Token, draft that and send it with the TAL.”

         “Of course,” Theodore answered.

         “Absolutely, your excellency,” Token said.

         It was only three hours later that Aztlan’s messengers were sent to their respective destinations, each purposed with delivering the copies of the TAL. Lord Ryūjin stood in the courtyard of his palace and watched Nobiriryū train both his son and the Rain Dragon. His chief advisor approached from behind him, evidenced only by the sound of a door closing behind him. “My king,” the advisor said, “we’ve received another message.”

         “A CAL (Campaign Announcement Letter) from Aesir,” Ryūjin said, “and a TAL from Viki. What else could have happened?”

         “This one’s from Aztlan, sire.”

         Ryūjin turned to glance at the advisor with a look of concern. “Aztlan?”

         “It’s another TAL, my lord.”

         “… And?”

         “Unfavorable.”

         “Damn it. Give it here.”

         Some fifty yards from Ryūjin, Nobiriryū lunged at the small sliver of space between Hiryū and Kōryō. He slashed horizontally with his scythe as though he had no regard for their lives. Kōryō leapt backward, and Hiryū blocked the strike with his own sword, grinding its blade against the scythe’s staff. He locked weapons with Nobiriryū who said, “I’m about to increase the intensity. Kōryō, this means you won’t be able to play this game of cat and mouse any longer. Get on the offensive!” Hiryū noticed the skin on Nobiriryū’s face transmuting into that of the most infamously majestic reptile, so he quickly attempted to do the same; however, the instantaneity of Nobiriryū’s transmutation bested Hiryū’s rather gradual, less experienced change, so Nobiriryū’s added strength allowed him to thrust Hiryū to the ground before any other moves could be made.

         Wings sprouted and pitched Nobiriryū’s body toward Kōryō at break-neck speed. Kōryō tried to dive out of the way, but Nobiriryū grabbed him by the arm and lifted off into the sky. As he elevated, he pulled Kōryō up so as to firmly fasten a headlock from behind, and he whispered, “I know what you were doing in the library.” By now, Kōryō had already been a bit scared as he was at any time during combat, but due to the training he had been regularly enduring at the training grounds, he had learned to cope. There was a time, after all, when he had not the wherewithal to evade an attack, and though he still wasn’t much of a fighter, he was relatively responsive to battle situations now. Unfortunately, despite whatever percentage of his fear had been conquered, Nobiriryū’s words reinstalled the fullest extent of that terror back into its proper place. The tone and method of phrasing were both implicative of an ill will toward Kōryō from a man easily capable of killing him in a way that could appear to be an accident, and they were only rising higher, too. At this point, all Nobiriryū need do was drop him.

         “What’s that supposed to mean?!” Kōryō asked. The words had been chosen with care to convey a certain measure of resentment because, of course, he deserved to be angry, and if there were ever a time someone deserved to be berated, this was clearly it; nonetheless, his tone of voice barely communicated any anger at all, exuding mainly fear instead.

         “You were spying on the king and I.”

         “No! I--”

         “Lord Ryūjin decided to spare you. He has graced you with the benefit of the doubt, but I have not.”

         “I wasn’t spying! I swear!”

         “You have two options. Either you confess and tell me who you’re working for, or you drop. Choose before I decide for you.”

         “HELP!!! HE’S--”

         “Fine.”

         A sudden sensation washed over Kōryō from head to toe; it was the feeling of weightlessness. He was plummeting, and it became too difficult to breathe due to the speed of his descent, which meant he couldn’t scream. Hiryū stared up at the dot in the sky with impatience, irritated that Nobiriryū seemed to be giving someone else more attention all of a sudden, but his irritation abated when his eyes discerned the dot splitting into two dots as one fell precipitately toward him. He could quickly see it was Kōryō despite the height and speed to confuse any human eye. Flight was a coveted ability, nearly as sought as the act of breathing fire; in and of themselves, wings were many a Dragonoid’s dream, rarely seen on anyone who wasn’t already elite due to them being the most difficult part of transmutation.

         Hiryū felt compelled to save Kōryō, and he was immediately reminded of the fact that he was atypical for having such high transmutability. He could change his entire body, and wings were essentially all he lacked; contrarily, Kōryō had yet to change so much as an earlobe, yet he had managed to expel flame once. If Kōryō of all people can breathe fire, he thought. Hiryū commenced transmutation as quickly as possible. He had to perform it perfectly, and he couldn’t afford to fail; if Kōryō were to fail, Hiryū would fail, according to Lord Ryūjin who was inconveniently watching at the moment. Beneath his armor, every part of Hiryū’s body quickly changed, and his face began to change as well. He grunted as he attempted to do that which would not only save Kōryō but also show his father that he was truly gifted and could take control of any situation.

         Wings never came. Hiryū screamed. It was all for naught. The previously inattentive Lord Ryūjin looked up from the documents his advisor had given him and stared in awe at what was happening while he had averted his gaze. Nobiriryū peered down intently as, from his perspective, Kōryō’s flailing body met with a violent augmentation--four anatomical structures abusively burgeoning from his torso. “I don’t believe it,” Lord Ryūjin said as he stared in awe. These were four bloody wings, each of them nearly ten yards in length. With an unprecedentedly immeasurable wingspan, Kōryō took flight a mere fraction of a second before touching the ground. The slots in Tatsuvian armor for wings were meant only for two, yet Kōryō had sprouted two through each. They were legitimately skinnier and more angular than the wings of other Dragonoids, but that was far less bizarre than the fact that there were four in the first place.

         Even more outlandish than the wings may have been that Kōryō’s body showed no signs of full transmutation; granted, only his face and hands would have been able to show a change due to the rest being shielded in armor, but neither his face nor his hands had changed. “This doesn’t make sense,” said Ryūjin’s advisor. “Wings are the final step in transmutation. How could he create wings without first transmuting the rest of his body?”

         “Four wings?!” Hiryū shouted. “What is this?!”

         Much to Nobiriryū’s dismay, he didn’t have time for amazement. The increasingly inscrutable Rain Dragon soared toward him at a blinding speed, whizzing through the air and catching the sword of which he had let go during his fall. The unbridled celerity of Kōryō’s ascent indicated to Nobiriryū that it would be foolish to attempt to engage in close-quarters combat, so as an alternative means of self-defense, he orally expelled a fireball most comparable in size to a basketball. Like a meteor, it hurled through the air rapidly, causing Kōryō to halt his ascent so as to assess the gravity of the threat before him.

Author's Note

My intentions:
• Suspense for Kōryō's near death.
• Compelling end to chapter
• Fluid, intellectual dialogue
• Complexity of Jewel Age politics
• Engaging action
• Was Kōryō's transmutation cool? It really needs to deliver on coolness.