Chapter 13: Wolves in Sheep's Wardrobes

While Kōryō is in the hospital, King Alexander pays a visit to the Oracle.

         The next morning, Lord Dartmouth entered the office of his Military Advisor. For the briefest of whiles, his facial expression reflected his surprise that other advisors were also there, yet he quickly adjusted his countenance as his council greeted him. “Good morning, Lord Dartmouth,” said his chief advisor. He answered, “Yes, good morning.”

         “Here to check up on the status of our men?”

         “Yes, I am.”

         “Seth just received a letter from one of our generals deployed in Rivulet. It’s a BCL (Battle Confirmation Letter), but he attached some notes that we were all weighing in on, which is why we’ve congregated in Seth’s office.”

         “I see. What’s so noteworthy about these notes exactly?”

         “Two things: first, we’re matching up evenly.”

         “Which is a bad thing.”

         “Right,” Seth answered promptly, “the element of surprise shouldn’t have yielded to an even battle this early. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.”

         “What’s the second thing?”

         “Aesir’s completed their first full day of combat in Yykon,” the chief advisor replied, “as of this very hour.”

         “What do they want?”

         The Economics advisor chuckled, turned to Seth, and said, “You see? I told you he wouldn’t even need to hear you say it.”

         “It’s Aesir. Clearly, you’re bringing them up because an aid request has been made, so what do they want this time? Rations for the soldiers?”

         “Actually,” the chief advisor answered, “they want soldiers.”

         “… Soldiers? They want my men? Hold it. Are you saying Gallow’s generals had the gall to send a messenger from Yykon to Rivulet to ask our generals for aid in the first place and, worst of all, they ask for live soldiers?!”

         “We’re a crutch, sire.”

         “We’re a crutch!”

         “Yes, king.”

         “I’m serious! We’re a crutch to these people now! What’s our aid ratio look like?”

         The Economics advisor straightened his glasses and said, “Pretty crutchy, my lord.”

         “I’ll bet! I mean, guys, am I Noah, or is Gallow running an open-world province over there?”

         “Wide open, sire,” the chief advisor replied.

         “Well,” Seth said, “I need an answer to send back as soon as humanly possible.”

         “Yeah,” Dartmouth started as he rubbed his eyes in high dudgeon, “alright, uhh… Just… Did they say how many?”

         “Three thousand.”

         “Three?! They think we deployed as much as three thousand extra troops that we could just spare?!”

         “A crutch, my lord,” the chief advisor uttered.

         “In the note itself,” Seth said, “General Tsun quoted the word ‘just’ in front of it, so I gather he was pretty pissed, too.”

         “Of course, he is,” Dartmouth said. “He’ll be even more furious if I actually give the Aesirians anything. He’ll feel like a crutch!”

         “A crutch, indeed, sire,” the chief advisor added.

         “So?” Seth asked.

         “… One thousand with two hundred fifty war horses.”

         “Alright, I’ll have the message sent immediately.”

         “Anything else, gentlemen?”

         “No, king,” the chief advisor said.

         “Alright, let Seth and I get the room.”

         “Of course, my liege.”

         The councilmen exited Seth’s office and left Seth alone with Lord Dartmouth. Dartmouth stood in front of Seth’s bookcase and looked it up and down as he waited for them to file out. When the door was closed, he turned to face Seth who reclined in his office chair. “Where are we?” Dartmouth asked as he took a step toward the desk. In hushed tones, Seth responded, “The captain of our primary guild of thieves has a meeting scheduled for tonight.”

         “Where?”

         “Outside Aztlan. They have a usual spot now apparently.”

         “What’s the topic in this one?”

         “This one’s to see what our chances are of getting access to the burial ground.”

         “That’s as far as we’ve gotten?”

         “It’s a delicate situation.”

         “We’re no closer than when you gave me that long speech about how I need to just leave it to you because you know what you’re doing.”

         “I do know what I’m doing.”

         “I’ve left this plan in your hands, but from now on, I want more frequent reports. I hate sitting around not knowing anything.”

         “Yeah, alright.”

         “Who’s our inside guy?”

         “I shouldn’t tell you.”

         “I just asked you, and I said I’m sick of not knowing anything.”

         “You sure you want to know this?”

         “Who is it?”

         “Theodore.”

         “… Are you serious?”

         “I am.”

         “His chief advisor?” Lord Dartmouth asked excitedly as he leaned onto Seth’s desk.

         “I told you. We haven’t been just twiddling our thumbs. It’s taking a while, but that’s because we’re doing high-quality work.”

         “I’m thoroughly impressed. On the other hand, this sort of thing usually means the potential mistakes have greater weight. Anything I should be aware of when I’m around King Alexander?”

         Seth sighed and craned his neck to look out the window. He looked back at his desk, scratched his nose, picked up his pen, and said, “General Cassius.”

         “Cassius… Cassius… That was Aztlan’s previous Minister of Defense, wasn’t it?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Wait. What are you saying? Seth, was… Was that us?”

         “We made an early mistake.”

         “For the love of Britannia, Seth!”

         “We’ve already gotten away with it! Obviously.”

         “Have we?”

         “I swear it.”

         “It won’t come back to bite us?”

         “You have my word.”

         “… Alright, fine.” Dartmouth sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Evenly matched already, huh?”

         “Twenty hours and counting. We’ve already yielded momentum according to Tsun.”

         “And I shouldn’t be worried?”

         “We’ll still win. We’ve got numbers, and we’re concentrating our attack on densely populated acres.”

         “Alright, then. Send that letter, and keep me abreast of the other thing.”

         “Yeah.”

         Meanwhile at a hospital in Tatsu, Kōryō lay in a hospital bed as his eyes gradually opened. His vision was blurred at first as he adjusted to the brightness of his room due to its fluorescent lighting from the ceiling and the rays of sunlight beaming through the window. The grooves in the stone ceiling did eventually become more defined, and the stone walls cleared as well. He looked to his left and saw Seiaryū resting her head on his bed next to his forearm. The sight gave him pensive pause for a moment before his peripheral vision perceived shadows moving on the other side of the door. The door had a translucent, glass window in place of a large portion of its upper half, and two indiscernible figures could be seen on the other side.

         “Then, what was it?” Lord Ryūjin asked.

         “It was a response to epinephrine,” the doctor said as she placed her hands on her hips.

         “So, what does that mean?”

         “It means he probably isn’t lying. This isn’t foolproof evidence, but it does support his claims if he’s saying that he doesn’t know how he’s doing these things. You said Prince Hiryū told you he also breathed fire in a classroom during the intrusion last week, right?”

         “Yes, which makes this the second occurrence to say nothing of the wings.”

         “The wings, the fire… He gets an extremely high level of adrenaline rushing his system, and it causes him to channel all this untapped energy. The danger in situations like these is that he lacks transmutability. Subconsciously, his mind chose flight as the best option of escape, but there’s a reason wings are the final transmutative adaptation in the process. The skin has to already be reptilian for one to safely create the additional organic matter from which one forges wings because transmutation is a continually active state of conformer homeostasis; it’s a behavioral adaptation based on the mind’s threat assessment. This Rain Dragon actually proves the scientific theory that emotion plays a part in evolution!”

         “Calm down and answer my original question. Could he have achieved all this by accident?”

         “It’s possible, yes--first case of subconscious transmutation, the reason being that his JG is so high that it makes even the most difficult things easy enough for mere adrenaline to fuel these things for him.”

         “And the fact that he didn’t transmute the rest of his body is why he bled so much?”

         “Yes, my lord, the wings were forced through inflexible skin. He’s a danger to himself.”

         King Naphtali of Zephyr sat on his throne during this time, and his council stood before him. His political advisor said, “King, we have to take facts at face value.”

         “Meaning?” Naphtali asked as he stroked his long, white beard.

         “There’s no indication of absolute certainty that Lord Nubet was summoned to the Macedonian capital; on the other hand, this morning, we received scouting reports of having spotted an aid convoy en route to Aztlan from Memph.”

         “You’re saying it could have just been a humble request for aid in light of war?”

         “I’m saying we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”

         “And I’m saying that I knew King Alexander II very well. I’m saying I knew him so well that I knew his son. I visited the Second before he died because I knew of his illness, and during that time, I had time to converse with the Third. He’s the son every king hopes for; he’s a wiser ruler than anyone outside of Macedon expects. He’s like his father; he does nothing aimlessly. The world is underestimating him. Most believe that he will be the ruin of Macedon and that Gargon will rise to claim their status as a superpower. I am insulted. To think that Gargon is deemed worthy of a title inclusive of my own kingdom is nauseating. Zephyr and Gargon will never be equals, and the young King Alexander will see to that; of this I am sure. Macedon’s struggles as of late are irrelevant.”

         “Sire,” the military advisor said, “we do have other matters of greater import than the state of Macedon.”

         “Yes, yes, of course. Get on with it. Where are we with Xylon?”

         “It would appear war has become inexorable, my lord.”

         “Damn it all. King Xavier has no qualms about starting a world war, it seems.”

         “Indeed, a war between Xylon and Zephyr is bad for everyone. Unfortunately, I see no way to avoid it.”

         “Then, avoid it we shan’t. We shall not yield or concede to the likes of them. The entire world is watching to see if we will do just that. Xavier wants to prove Xylon the greatest of the three superpowers. It’s not enough that Macedon has faltered; he must embarrass Zephyr now. This is the time to make the ultimate statement. War is inevitable. You must draw blood from the larger animal to disprove his infallibility; it’s how you cause his power to leak out like the air of a punctured balloon. After that, it’s only a matter of time before the balloon is empty--found wanting. That’s what the end looks like for one who deems himself infallible. Xavier is in for a rude awakening.”

         Theodore, Enoch, and Token walked down a long corridor of the Aztlatin palace en route to Theodore’s office. Theodore walked in the middle at a steady pace with Enoch on his right and Token on his left. “I’m not saying ‘to the military,’” Token said. “I’m saying ‘to the people.’ I’m talking about peasants. I’m talking about the people who don’t have any answers right now.”

         “And what is this again?” Theodore asked.

         “He’s talking about a speech,” Enoch answered.

         “Addressing the peasantry,” Token added. “People need to hear something. It’s been two days since the attack, and they only hear what the king’s doing about all this through decrees nailed to walls and lamp posts; that’s not okay.”

         “Good point,” Theodore said. “Morale is important. The people need to be reassured. If they aren’t, we could start seeing people move to that small village to the south or other provinces.”

         “That’s exactly what would happen in the worst-case scenario.”

         “The village won’t be there,” Enoch interrupted. “We started the first expedition earlier this morning. We have a couple thousand men conquering those acres as we speak, and I expect to have some extra land by nightfall. My disagreement wasn’t with the address. I’m simply saying hold off until we conquer and assimilate the villagers into our population and address them all at once during the Property Christening Ceremony.”

         “The people need to be addressed now. He can address the villagers separately in the square of that suburb we’re putting them in.”

         “So, you want the ceremony and two separate addresses, too? That’s three time-consuming events for the king!”

         “For an important reason, I told you! You don’t lump everything together in one great big event right now. You give the people face time, and you make a season of reassuring them. Morale is what needs improvement more than anything right now, and you should be onboard with my position since that’s what’s going to make it possible for the king to rally more undrafted peasants to enlist in the military voluntarily.”

         “Better yet, increase the damn draft rate! I’m onboard with that!”

         “Forget it,” Theodore said as they each entered his office. He walked around his desk, put his clipboard down, and sat in his chair. “Look, morale is extremely important at a time like this. We need businesses to keep running. We need the bizarre to still have that,” he paused to rapidly shrug his shoulders up and down, “hustle and bustle--that get up and go. Namon says everyday to the point that, if I hear it again before noon, I’ll fall on the nearest sentry’s sword, ‘The bizarre is our economy’s livelihood,’ and he’s right. We’re fortunate that it’s far enough to the north to not have been affected by the attack. When people have homes, they buy more groceries. That’s just a fact. When people start feeling better about our situation, the part-time vendors will get back out there in the bizarre. We’ve got farmers who didn’t just lose their homes; they lost crops, mostly cornstalks in a couple southern fields. They need to hear the king say that they’re not just out of luck. The homeless need to hear that there are homes coming, and the jobless need to hear that there are jobs coming.”

         “Thank you,” Token said.

         “On the other hand, this is a lot. We’re talking about three events that all fall under the nonessential category of ‘Press.’ That’s why we’re going to have one lengthy speech at the ceremony.”

         “Theodore!”

         “Enoch’s right. This is war. The king cannot be spending this much time on those kinds of problems. You consult with Namon and see what we can do about ensuring free food for everyone at the ceremony, which I’m hoping we can do tonight if the expeditions are as expedient as Enoch claims.”

         “They should be,” Enoch said. “We sent more men than is usually considered necessary so that we could get it done quickly.”

         “This is an accelerated expedition, isn’t it?”

         “Yes.”

         “So, it costs more. Glad to hear it.”

         “What about Xylon and Zephyr?”

         Theodore sighed heavily. “We need to take that to King Alexander. How’s it look to you?”

         “Got a fresh scouter report from the Northwestern County Thieves’ Den. We have more than enough reason to believe Xylon has changed their stance from ‘normal’ to ‘aggressive.’ Every province was covertly surveyed individually, and intelligence indicates that each province has raised draft rates, increased specialist training, and begun construction of one or more types of military buildings or grounds, mostly armories and barracks.”

         “Damn it!”

         “Theo,” Token said, “we’re looking at claims from the monarchs of five fixed kingdoms. None of them match, but even so, they all agree that it was over a hundred eggs.”

         “You kidding me?! What was this a heist?!”

         “This was Xylon’s quarter to guard Sacrosanctus Valley, and at least a hundred eggs are missing.”

         “What’s our count, Enoch?”

         “Ours was,” Enoch paused, “one of the higher estimates. Twice as high.”

         “Geez!”

         “But technically, our intel on that isn’t really ours. It’s based on Ouardian intel.”

         “And by based on, you mean…”

         “We asked, and they told us.”

         “Yeah, let’s fix that and get our own confirmation. What’s the survival rate according to the latest research on mass-breeding Sacrodragons?”

         “I don’t know,” Token answered.

         “Find out before we see the king. That’s a question he’ll ask. He’ll also want to know who’s come to Xylon’s defense.”

         “Everyone knows Xylon did it. It’s just a matter of figuring out how many were stolen.”

         “I know, but… whatever. Talk to Vespyr about the research thing, just another advisor I’ll have to introduce to the king. When am I done doing that?”

         Alexander and his sister, Princess Cassandra, stood in a small, underground crypt. The light of the torches mounted on the four walls cast a vermillion hue over the glass, transparent casket. Cassandra broke the silence saying, “I used to feel so distant from the name.”

         “What name?” Alexander asked.

         “Roxana Grotto.”

         “You associated it with old, dead people.”

         “Now, our father’s here.”

         “And you feel close to it.”

         “There is no generation between us and the Grotto anymore.”

         “He ever tell you the story behind that stone on his breastplate?”

         “We’re next.”

         “It looks like a rock carved into the shape of a diamond, but it’s actually a diamond that looks like it has the texture of a rock.”

         “A young death is common for kings who once were warriors.”

         “It’s a rare gem more precious than gold, and father had it as the centerpiece of the Tigon Set.”

         “Roxana Grotto.”

         “You want to see the Oracle?”

         “I thought women weren’t supposed to see him.”

         “They made that up. I’ve confirmed there was never any such rule.”

         “I want to meet him.”

         Meanwhile at the hospital in Tatsu, Kōryō still lay in his bed while Seiaryū kept him company. “So, wait,” she said with a smirk. “How exactly do these scholarship seminaries work?”

         “It’s nothing like the military academy,” Kōryō answered. “They have seven areas of study, which are called the Seven Sciences: Channeling, Alchemy, Tools, Housing, Food, Military, Crime & Deceit.”

         “Geez, do you have to learn it all?”

         “You learn a little bit from each area for a year each, and during that period, you use what you learn to select which one you’d like to be your focus for the rest of your scholarship.”

         “What was your focus?”

         “I didn’t actually get to pick. I would have gotten into mine next year. This was my seventh year, and I was learning Crime & Deceit, which is basically all about what you do. It’s the studies that your line of work draws its theories and principles from.”

         “I would have made that my focus. I’ve honestly come to love it.”

         “Mine was going to be Channeling.”

         “Which is?”

         “Studying to be a mage.”

         “That’s awesome. You would have learned magic.”

         “Yeah, I really wanted to.”

         “The scholarship seminary sounds a lot better than the military academy. You must--”

         “You saved my life.”

         “I took you to a hospital.”

         “The doctor said I would have died.”

         “I felt… guilty.”

         “For what?”

         “Not realizing it while we were talking. I didn’t think you were…” Seiaryū’s voice began to quiver, and her eyes watered. “I thought you were already dead, and you know how, when tragedy strikes, sometimes you get that same feeling you get in bad dreams? It’s like with all the terrible things going on, you focus on the smallest problem? The thing on my mind was that you might not get a proper burial all because we’re alone out in this open field, and I’m the only person here, and I don’t even know how to do funeral stuff. Like… I don’t know who to take a body to in the first place.”

         “That’s what you were thinking while I was dying?”

         “Yes. Well, I mean, no obviously. It’s like… It’s like your brain subconsciously blocks out whatever it thinks you’re not prepared to think about because it’s too heavy or too much. It prioritizes your problems for you so you encounter them one at a time because there’s so much going on, or at least, that’s what it feels like. I had to work my way up to understanding what I let happen to you.”

         “… I really don’t know how to say what I want to say right now. I’m about to ask you… I’m just gonna ask you something.”

         “What?”

         “Are you… Do you like me?”

         “That's--”

         Lord Ryūjin entered the room authoritatively. Seiaryū jumped up from her bedside chair and bowed before the king. “Greetings, my lord,” she said. “You found him?” Ryūjin asked.

         “Yes, I did.”

         “Why were you out there?”

         “I saw him pass overhead in the city, so I chased him.”

         “Why were you on that side of town?”

         “Thievery training, my king.”

         “Hm. I must talk to the boy. Leave us.”

         “As you wish.”

         Seiaryū walked briskly around Ryūjin to the door, leaving the king to speak with the Rain Dragon. Ryūjin stepped toward her chair as she left and took a seat. He asked, “Do you know why you were spared after the trial?”

         “Uh, no,” Kōryō answered.

         “King Alexander is using you in place of a Sacrodragon. That is the sole purpose to your existence today. If you cannot fulfill your purpose, there is no reason to keep you alive. If you--”

         “King?”

         “What?”

         “I know that I’m not a good soldier, and I’ve been trying to catch up. But… I just--”

         “Perhaps, I haven’t made myself clear. I don’t need a good soldier out of you. Your purpose is to be a Sacrodragon.”

         “…”

         “If you cannot wreak the havoc a Sacrodragon wreaks, you are not worth the gold spent to train you.”

         Sobbing as the tears broke forth, Kōryō said, “I… I’ll never be able to do something like that. If I can’t even… make a good soldier… how am I supposed to--”

         “I didn’t come here to tell you about the consequences of your failure. This is to motivate you.”

         “… Motivate?”

         “All signs indicate that you can rival the power of a Sacrodragon. It was King Alexander who decided to spare you for specifically this reason.”

         “Did you… agree?”

         “I felt it was asinine.”

         “Oh.”

         “And I was right. Nothing is more ridiculous than this situation; however, the second best warrior I’ve ever had was Shugoryū.”

         “M-my dad?” Kōryō asked with a snivel as he looked up at the king.

         “That was the first sign. The second was your JG. Do you know what it is?”

         “No.”

         “Do you know Hiryū’s?”

         “65GJ, I think.”

         “A student’s answer. You kids have yet to don the minds of soldiers. You gave me his base JG, which soldiers never do unless asked specifically for base JG. Soldiers always know that the only answer anyone is ever looking for is the armored JG. In armor, Hiryū’s JG is 10GJ.”

         “I get it.”

         “Yours is 900JG.”

         “…”

         “Armored. Your doctor just informed me of that. That was the second sign. The third sign is what you accomplished earlier today: four wings and a fairly large fireball. All this, and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. The average Sacrodragon reaches adulthood with a Joule Grade only about a hundred times greater than your own, which is Teragrade, and the early development of a warrior’s power is always the fastest. In a year, every one of today’s rookies will have multiplied their Joule Grades by seven or eight, and I’ll push Hiryū for nine or ten. If the growth is at all proportional, though…”

         “Even still, that’s not enough, is it? Besides, if it takes me a year--”

         “That is why you will be doing the rest of your training with me. I haven’t time to waste on you learning how to wield a damned sword or jumping into front-lining drills. You need to learn two things: transmutation and respiratory conflagration. Learning them will increase your JG, and so will practicing the concepts after you’ve learned them. Both are like muscles, you are made stronger by working them often and consistently challenging yourself.”

         “Wow… Thank you, Lord Ryūjin.”

         “And if you fail, you die.”

Author's Note

This is meant to be a very informative chapter. From it, I intend that readers glean knowledge about the mysterious Oracle, general thievery, Kōryō's personality (heretofore quite one-dimensional) and more specifically his motivations, and the unknown group(s) plotting against Alexander behind the scenes.

Please tell me if there are things that are too difficult for the average reader to be inclined to grasp. In my attempt to avoid being too overt, I'm hoping I didn't veil things too thickly.