AR Chapter 496 (Patreon)

Djallma

“You would open our borders to the ravages of barbarians and beasts!” Leiteli, that fool, thundered. “Do you think that if we were to cripple ourselves, suddenly the cows and monkeys to the east or ravening subhumans in the southern waters would leave us alone? No, they would pour over our borders, destroy our homes, and eat our children! I don't know what idealistic, idiotic hole you have crawled out of, but you seem to have forgotten that we have only maintained our sovereignty through the strength of our speaking. If we did not remind the savages that we control the heavens and the earth with the strength of our will, the little skirmishes we experience in the south and east would become full slaughters as they invaded our lands.”

“High Veran Leiteli, you misunderstand. There is no way to maintain our position as the strongest nation in this world without occasionally engaging in violence,” Djallma agreed, just to twist the knife. “However, an occasional reminder of our complete superiority is not the same as the complete slaughter of every Sunkindred to be found within a hundred miles of the Thnufir River! That border has been contested for over a century. The arrival of a leviathan in the river and the use of its control over water to wash away every defensive establishment on the other side of the water was enough to remind the Sunkindred that their continued presence there is a consequence of our largesse.

“The Sunkindred rely on the sun and heat to wage war. The arrival of High Lord Alniyh was enough to remind everybody of our overwhelming strength. To instead plunge the forest into a storm of fire, lightning, and death for an entire month was unnecessary. As a result, all of our Weatherspeakers have been working feverishly for months to try to re-stabilize the weather throughout the entire southern half of the continent.”

“And that is a price that I and our citizenry are willing to pay to ensure that we remain safe,” Leiteli snarled back. “A minor inconvenience to remind not only the beasts of the Wilds, but also every other country of what we can do? An easy price.”

“If that is the price that you are willing to pay,” Djallma replied, keeping her tone reasonable even as her fury made her stomach twist on itself, “then join me in my reduced rations this winter.”

“What?” The Flamespeaker High Veran couldn't help but glance down at his rotund belly as he tried to understand what she was getting at.

“As two members of the Five,” she replied, spreading her hands towards the assembly all around them, reminding Leiteli that they stood in the center of the Synod in session, “we are not at all susceptible to the ebbs and flows of supply and demand like the citizens of the Veratocracy are. This anomalous weather that you claim to be of little import has reduced the output of our crops by nearly half. As a result, most of the inhabitants of every one of our major cities have been forced to comply with strict rationing until next spring.”

Finally, what she was getting at seemed to become clear to the angry man, with sparks flickering into existence around him. His emotions, as always, were entirely out of control, and he glared at her as she delivered her coup de grâce.

“As you said, this is a price you're willing to pay. Join me in limiting ourselves to the rations that will be provided to our people. Show me that your words mean something, or show the rest of us that, in fact, you mean to wield the weapons of the Veratocracy but refuse to bear the brunt of the consequences.

“Tell me, and show us,” Djallma smiled in a kind way that she knew he hated, “are you a true patriot? Or are you a hypocrite?”

The sparks all around her fellow member of the Five threatened to explode into a true conflagration, a pillar of fire that would attempt to burn her into cinders, but a soothing wind rushed through the chambers they stood in. Every other Speaker's presence was dimmed as Salmar, the head of the Five, forced the power of his presence to shut down the frustration and fury that filled the faces of every one of the Veran and High Veran. The Synod had been meeting as a whole today, so everybody was present, as well as quite a few representatives from the great families.

“Silence.”

His presence was overwhelming, more so than usual. As the man who had directed her training, Djallma retained reverence for him that was nearly as strong as what she held towards the Gran Verat. She immediately bowed her head and settled into her seat as her master continued to speak.

What he said, however, took her by surprise and shook her to her core.

“There is news regarding the escaped keelish, news that all of you must hear, and that the Gran Verat has commanded be delivered now. The specifics of this report are not known even to him, as he is in attendance to hear this momentous news.”

At that, Djallma realized that she wasn't sensing Salmar's presence and strength. No, it was the Gran Verat, even as he tried to hide his presence. His august presence was here! He was here to give and receive information. With that revelation, she didn't care about continuing to beat down her longtime rival in a battle of wits and words. Instead, she sat down to receive whatever information was so important to the continued survival of her beloved country.

Every other member in attendance joined her in looking for the Gran Verat. As usual, he didn’t walk among the rest of the people, showing mercy to not overwhelm them with his majesty and strength. Even here, Djallma could feel his presence threatening to oppress her. At the top of the room, she knew, a private chamber was open for the Gran Verat’s use. It was always empty, what with the Gran Verat spending the majority of his time in seclusion. Now, though, she was sure she could see a faint outline of him up there.

She wanted to push her attention up, to see him physically for the first time in at least a decade, but instead, she forced herself to be calm. He would notice her, and it wouldn’t do to shame herself here. Looking at the floor, a Windspeaker stood, seeming to shiver where he stood. Of course he was nervous, he was giving news directly to the Gran Verat!

Instead of waiting any further, though, the Windspeaker began to give their report.

“The war on the eastern coasts has finished,” he said simply. “The keelish, now calling themselves the Saharliard, gained total victory over the Misti Hawar about three weeks ago. The keelish are pushing south, slowly, to beat back any remnants of the Misti Hawar. Meanwhile, the Beastkin seem to be assisting, though only halfway. Their navy remains nearby, and, to the eyes of our scouts, each ship is fully manned by lupine, ursine, mustelid, and even the rare otariid. As such, we can consider the Beastkin ready to wage war at their earliest convenience.”

His report was greeted by muttered whispers and conversations, but nobody interrupted, not with the Gran Verat present.

“What we’ve learned about the keelish is that, according to what propaganda they’re spreading,” he continued, “they have become ‘Keel’, as some histories explain the keelish used to be. Reports state that there are many magically inclined among their number, with various different types of magic represented among them. Flame and emotional manipulation seem to be particularly common, and while each of the ‘Keel’ is said to be nearly as powerful as a weaker High Speaker, their magic doesn’t seem to compare. Instead, they rely on the strength of their bodies, which are well over ten feet tall. More than the more basic magics, though, of greatest interest is their leader’s magic.

“He is called the ‘Zaaktif’, and is able to use magic that stuns, rips, and breaks things in his vicinity. He has also been seen strengthening hundreds of his people at the same time with his magic, so we cannot say what exactly his limits are. He personally leads his people to battle, and seems to be a charismatic despot.”

“So Zaaktif,” Salmar said, the word obviously foreign in his mouth as the Windspeaker trailed off, “is powerful. Does he compare to one of our strongest High Speakers?”

“Apologies, Lord Salmar,” the Windspeaker corrected, “but his name is not ‘Zaaktif’, but Ashlani.”

A mighty pressure descended on the room at that. From above, a voice, a divine voice, clarified, “The name of this keelish… is Ashlani?”

“Yes, Gran Verat,” the messenger bowed, shaking visibly.

“The name sounds like one of our own,” that overwhelmingly wonderful person mused. “Tell me more about this… Ashlani.”