Ch. 2.19 | A Warlord’s Ultimatum
PoV: Aisha
Leaving their camels a few minutes behind at a nice pond, Aisha and Fazl walked into what was almost definitely a trap.
Why, yes, they were stepping into a massive war camp of enemies—just the two of them. No, they were not going to meet the warlord Zulfaqar half way or anything sensible. They were walking right into the heart of his army to negotiate—one last attempt at diplomacy before the army would sweep through Glorestra and take it for their own.
Aisha did not even control Glorestra, just influence and hand out help at most, and attempt to keep it out from other reaches. Aisha could bypass Glorestra entirely on the way to Hope, keeping north of the city, once glorious, now crumbling to a slow death.
Why would anyone want the city anymore? There were reasons. Aisha's were mostly . . . humanitarian though. Tens of thousands of people lived on the lake that was once the city, and the newly constructed one around it. Tens of thousands that needed food, supplies, and, well, were kind of in a central position of the old tempest area.
Aisha dropped the temporal bubble around her and Fazl as she came as the war camp came into view. Tan and brown tents of animal hide and basalt cloth sat scattered along an open field, where hills rolled calmer and trees kept away. Banners waved lazily in the wind, declaring the presence of Zulfaqar and his army. Soldiers and workers bustled through the camp. Most of the warriors were out of armor, except for the dozens on patrol or watch. Metal armor dominated here, limb and body covered with plates. Spears stood taller than the people that wielded them.
Aisha even saw siege weapons of stone, and even some wooden devices.
As she came closer, she heard camels snorting and the voices of hundreds of people. It smelled of animal and sweat, but also grease and fire.
A group of eight guards departed the camp towards Aisha and Fazl. They stopped mere paces away from each other.
“You must be the diplomats from Calderae? . . .” One of the guards asked.
Aisha nodded. “I'm Aisha Of-Jinan, and this is—”
“Fazl Of-Salama,” he gave a light bow.
Aisha reached into her robes and produced her insignia, as proof that she was who she said she was—and before they asked, as well. It was better to be on top of these sorts of things. She pretended she hadn't seen the flinching and guarded expressions from the troops as she had made the movement, as if she had been about ready to reveal some concealed weapon.
The grim truth was that she barely even needed to open up her mouth to kill them all.
The guard glanced at the insignia for only a moment, then nodded. “We will escort you to the liege.”
Aisha shrugged, mostly for herself. She had expected a much more thorough inspection of her item than a spared glance. Were Zulfaqar's guards untrained in that regard? . . .
Maybe they didn't know what it was, but did not want to admit it. It could have been that people from down south wouldn't recognize it. First, Speleothem guards, and now those from the south. Aisha might as well not have her insignia, either she was recognized in an instant or the insignia held no weight. Bah!
“Right this way, please,” the guard stated. Four took the front, and four behind Aisha and Fazl.
The ten of them walked through the camp, taking a meandering route among the tents, siege weapons, and other items. The whole camp appeared disorganized, without any clear thoroughfares or anything of the sort. Siege weapons were scattered about, probably by their designated crews and not in any sort of gathering where they were all together.
Soldiers glanced at Aisha and Fazl, most of whom immediately went back to whatever they were doing—polishing armor, eating lunch, talking, heading from one point to another.
Organized and disciplined or not, this army was far bigger than any Aisha could muster. She thought that Sanya could probably wipe the army out with a single word, though. Depending entirely on one person did not seem like a sound military tactic. Better to avoid the war in the first place, anyway.
Zulfaqar, of course, probably had his own powerful mages. Aisha hadn't seen anyone wearing the mage robes of Glorestra and the north. Maybe the culture in the south was different. Mages in the same armor as mundane troops, perhaps? That would help hide their strongest assets and give an element of surprise—similar to when the Royal Slime would swap around the robes and staves of his entourage. An entourage Aisha never had the pleasure of fighting, because the First Prince had sacrificed them all to his Necrotic Magic. A power Aisha now had.
Predictably, the group made it to what appeared like a part of the camp for important people, somewhere near the middle of it all. The round tents came in increasingly larger sizes until they came upon the largest of them all. A hundred animal hides must have been needed to create such a tent.
A split in the hides marked an entryway into the abode. The four guards in the front headed inside the tent. The fourth beckoned Aisha and Fazl inside with a gesture.
Aisha and Fazl shared a glance before following. Aisha noted the footsteps behind stopped there, those four probably deciding or ordered to wait outside. Not that eight guards would be able to intimidate or stop Aisha and Fazl, nor would they be able to protect them from anything meaningfully dangerous to them. They could have been mages in plain gear, although the chance of random guards being mages seemed low. Unless they had been specifically chosen and watching the north in Aisha and Fazl's inevitable advent.
This tent was not the personal tent for Zulfaqar in any sense. There was no cot or sleeping bag or what have you—there was barely anything in the way of personal items. There were merely some chairs for resting on, surrounding a table with a loose map unrolled across it. The chairs weren't even carved from stone, but were actual wooden chairs. Which brought up the question of why did Zulfaqar bring tables and a chair on a campaign? Wasn't that, like, a waste of wagon space or something?
One larger chair sat at the back of the camp, currently being graced by the presence of who could only be Zulfaqar.
An ornate circlet of gold and inlaid gems sat atop a bald head—a red oval in the center, with smaller circles of orange flanking it. Etchings of waving lines detailed the circlet. Zulfaqar had sharp, piercing eyes of blue. A scar trailed down the brown skin of his right cheek, cutting into what was otherwise an immaculately kept beard of black hair, stopped from growing where the scar ran down. He wore robes unlike the administration robes of Glorestra, but with gold and silver embroidery lining them.
His face lit up into a warm grin as he gazed upon Aisha and Fazl, which managed to send a shiver rippling down her spine.
“Ah!” Zulfaqar exclaimed. “Yes! My friends from Calderae! It's such a pleasure that you have decided to grace me today. Perhaps we can make this much simpler, yes?”
Aisha bowed her head and her torso slightly. Fazl took the hint and did the same.
“Please, sit! I apologize that we did not know the exact time of your arrival—I would have set out some tea and snacks if that were the case. Would you still enjoy those arrangements?”
Aisha and Fazl returned to their normal postures.
Aisha wanted to decline, yet, would that make her seem like a bad guest? Perhaps she should say yes, but would it then be bad to have Zulfaqar push his people around for them? Did Zulfaqar want tea and crumbs on his map? They could always put it away when the tea arrived. He was offering, after all, but was it an offer she was supposed to accept? . . .
Aisha headed towards the war table and made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. As she sat down and the chair creaked, she wondered if the wood would be able to support her weight.
“Hopefully this meeting does not run, but if it does not inconvenience you, perhaps refreshments would indeed be nice,” Aisha tried.
Fazl took a seat next to Aisha.
“Rusul! You got that, yes?”
“Yes, Honored Leader,” one of the four guards inside left.
“Now, where do we begin?” Zulfaqar scratched at his beard. “As you know, I am Zulfaqar, Sovereign of the Coalescence.”
“Coalescence being—?” Aisha started.
“Yes, the united cities under my rule, to the southeast. How might you two introduce yourselves?”
“Aisha Of-Jinan, guildmaster and co-founder of the Adventurers’ Guild, acting leader to Calderae and Hope.”
“And who are you introducing?”
Aisha blinked. What did he mean by that? Of course she had been introducing herself. “Myself.”
“You mean to say that you are Aisha Of-Jinan, yes?”
“Um . . . yes?”
“The question! You don't sound convincing, mmmm?”
Aisha sighed. It was obvious what this was. “You're playing with me.”
Zulfaqar made a show of pausing to think for far too long. “Perhaps. Who are you, my other friend?”
“I am Fazl Of-Salama, co-founder of the Adventurers’ Guild, second leader to Calderae and Hope.”
“Great! It's a pleasure to meet you two in the flesh, Aisha and Fazl. If we are good with using first names?”
“That is fine,” Aisha said.
“Now! I believe we are having this meeting because my very impressive army is marching up towards Glorestra, to incorporate it into Coalescence. In which you have put in a vested interest in keeping my people out of it? Yes?”
“We have . . . influence . . . over Glorestra, and do have an interest in it. We are also worried about your extension into our territory. Was it you who sent that thief to take some of our grimoires?”
“You indeed have had a puppet string or two over Glorestra, despite them having ousted you three months ago. I simply want to help the city bring it back to its—heh—glory days. I can help it much when directly under my strings.”
“What comes after that? Do you march on Calderae? On Hope?”
Zulfaqar took a deep breath. “Aisha, Fazl, let me get directly to the heart of the matter. I need your Voidwitch dead.”
Aisha tilted her head. “I—can you elaborate? And what would that even have to do with your army marching up north? Do you need an army, what about assassins?”
“Hmm. A grimoire in your collection? I have yet to come across that in Coalescence, nor any innate assassins.”
“How about, like, the old way? Without magic?”
“I simply cannot. Some birds and wolves have been dispatching all of them.”
“Ah, Nadiyya. She does good work. Anyway, why do you need Sanya dead?”
“Do I have your permission to cast some magic?”
Aisha and Fazl exchanged a glance, then shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Wordlessly, and without a staff, Zulfaqar channeled some sort of mana—blue and gold. It danced in front of his eyes. After a few seconds, he released it. “I am a Diviner mage—an oracle, if you will. There are forces you don't understand breaking through the world as these portals appear. Simply, your Voidwitch is one of the ones responsible for what will eventually break through into our world. If we kill her, we help stop that.”
“So—”
“This campaign is putting pressure on you—and on the Voidwitch. There is a low chance we kill her on the field of battle, but the threat of my forces can push fate through other means. It is better than sitting back and watching as fate takes its course to the destruction of our world. By doing this much, we push an extra percent or two into the preservation of our society.”
“Percentages? What exactly are you looking at, in terms of outcomes?”
“A recent conflict between the Voidwitch and another oracle has tipped the scales largely in the favor of destruction. The entity within her has started to meld with her, becoming stronger and placing a need for its own preservation and survival. Any of the options of her ending herself or offering another to sacrifice her are reaching near zero percent of timelines. The total annihilation of our world is somewhere around sixty-five percent right now. Another twenty percent that the Voidwitch is the one that does it, and not these otherworlders, due to a dear individual dying to the entities. We are looking at ten percent where the Voidwitch dies and the entities never arrive—my efforts here help five percent of that. Four of the last five percent is the death of an important individual to her, she avoids becoming a villain, but still ends up causing major damage and losses to our society before she keeps the entities at bay. The last one percent is the Voidwitch becoming powerful enough in time to defeat any and all entities that breach the barrier, and keep the one alive that avoids the scales tipping into the fifteen.”
That was . . . a lot to take in. Could she trust Zulfaqar? “Hey, what’s that about keeping someone alive? Can we send them far away and keep them safe?”
“She will choose to stick with the Voidwitch, and nothing will stand between them for long. If anything, any attempt at taking her away will tip the scales towards destruction.”
“With your whole oracle thing, can't you guide us all through that one percent miracle ending?”
“No. It is far from that simple. There are too many moving pieces and too much left to chance. The visions and pathing are vague and overwhelming as well. To check how the chances change after every single action is too much, not to mention we won't know the exact decisions needed to get there.”
“So, there is a five percent chance here that this meeting leads to Sanya dying? That will save the world from some disaster?”
“About four and a half percent, yes. The last half percent is her dying to my army.”
“Will you kill the Voidwitch, save the world, and make my army turn around? Or will we have to do this the hard way?”
The tent opened and some camp worker or servant arrived, carrying a tray of tea and pastries. Yes, tea and pastries in the middle of a war camp. It was the one in attendance to the sovereign of a rising empire, after all.
“Ah, wonderful! This tense air and concerning stakes was giving me a sweet tooth!” Zulfaqar exclaimed in what was a very far deviation in mannerisms and personality from the last few minutes.
They placed the tray on a chair, then rolled up the map and set it aside. That done, they picked up the tray and set it onto the table.
“There you are, Honored Leader and guests,” they bowed.
“Very good, you are dismissed.”
The servant nodded and left.
Zulfaqar reached for a pastry and began to eat it.
Aisha reluctantly poured tea from the kettle and into one of the porcelain cups supplied on the tray.
If it was poisoned, it wasn't like it would kill her, considering she was already dead, and everything. She sipped on her tea and waited for Zulfaqar to talk . . . Unless he was waiting for them to say something.
Fazl reached for the tea, too. He was not undead, and would be able to get poisoned. He took a sip of his own. Aisha watched as he drank.
Fazl set his cup down onto the table—
—and died.
Just kidding—of course! He was fine, probably. Or maybe it was a slow acting poison and he'd drop dead an hour from now?
Or, perhaps, it really wasn't poisoned at all?
Zulfaqar cleared his throat.
Aisha's attention returned to him. “Are you waiting for something? Can you repeat your question?”
“Of course,” Zulfaqar took a bit out of his pastry and chewed for what felt like way too long. He smiled. “Will you kill your Voidwitch, or will we have to do this the hard and bloody way?”
He was asking for Aisha and Fazl to kill their best mage—an eighteen year-old. Practically a child, still. Someone who had gone through tumultuous years, where the pain and suffering had finally seemed to be letting up. To condemn her to death? . . .
Aisha groaned. This was terrible. How should she even consider this? What had Zulfaqar said? A four percent chance his actions result in Sanya's death? One in ten odds where she dies? How much of that would change with her decision here and now? And did those odds mean that Aisha had only a slim chance of killing Sanya? Or was there a dice roll for her success? Would it better to let fate run its course and see if Sanya could save them all?
Argh!
She glanced towards Fazl. “Fazl?”
He stared down at the table, averting both gazes in the conversation. “Can we have some time to decide?”
“Time is not exactly on our side. We have a week at most before the first entity breaks through the barrier,” Zulfaqar said. “One day. I will give you twenty hours to decide. If you decide your Voidwitch shall live, then I will march on Glorestra, then on to Calderae.”
Aisha swallowed. She couldn't do it. There was not a single chance in which she would sacrifice Sanya. Was it foolish? Maybe.
So, she knew in one day time, Glorestra would fall to Zulfaqar. War would come to Calderae.
She was half-tempted to murder Zulfaqar right here and now. Surely he saw that chance in his visions?
“Thank you for the tea,” Aisha said, standing up. “If that is all. A raven will send our decision via note in twenty hours.”
“I do hope for all our sakes,” Zulfaqar said. “You make the correct decision.”
Aisha and Fazl left the tent, the camp, and headed back to Calderae under a time bubble. A half a day ride via camel for them, reduced to a mere hour ride to the outside world.