The Aureate War

[Wil Nider]

Though winter gripped Goldshire, the sun still shone, and the Ducal Palace gleamed in its reflection. From the Interior Palace a man dressed in a newly-tailored uniform of the Order of Vajra stalked, surrounded by aides. He ignored most of their paper-waving and pleas, instead staring fixedly ahead in furious contemplation. When the small crowd had reached the Great Lake, he turned to them, glowering.

"If you don't leave me be you and all your precious paperwork will go into this lake. With lead weights for companionship."

The palace mandarins quailed at that, and the more cowardly elements of the ensemble meekly proceeded back to their heated offices. The lake behind the man steamed as the weak sunshine melted the top layer of ice, and every so often one of the enormous trees around its shore shed another load of snow, which hit the ice with a splatting sound.

Of those who were brave enough to stay, only one was dressed similarly to their quarry. This man, whose insignia marked him as a Jaal of the Parvatvana Brigade, stepped to the fore. The Jaal's name was Avi Aritoko, and he regarded the belligerent fellow. Steward barely a day and he was already terrifying the bureaucrats. Usually it took about a week. But then again, Wil Nider had become Duke...no, Steward, in somewhat different circumstances.

"Steward," the Jaal began, his pleasant baritone disturbing the Hyperborean's reverie. The Steward looked up, and met his military liaison's eyes. "What do you want, Jaal Aritoko?" Nider asked matter-of-factly, not to say rudely. "Just that I think you might listen to me, since I am a military man, and know a thing or two about war." "Go on." "Elwynn outnumbers us, easily three to one. The Order is an elite force, save for the Ducal Militia of course, but against such odds we will soon find ourselves overwhelmed. Besides, should we be waging war against a fellow Duchy? Goldshire has a name to defend, and some of us had hoped that in these days of the Codex we could surpass our warlike past."

Nider's brow knitted in consternation, "What is the matter? I saw injustice, I saw the laws bent by those with ulterior motives. Ynnraile belongs to Goldshire, and Goldshire deserves to live. Is this not true?" "Of course, but we had hoped that the Kaiser-" "The Kaiser has left the matter to the discretion of Elwynn and Goldshire! Elwynn is rapacious, home to those notorious for such under-handed tactics. You think the Kaiser can rely on the advice of his councillors, when my former countrymen have poisoned every ear? No, Jaal, there is but one way to make it clear that Goldshire belongs to the living. That is to live!"

"Save disease, war is the greatest cause of death, my liege." Nider's face turned red at this, and he turned his back on Jaal, looking over the frozen Great Lake. "Aritoko, before my return, the Order of Vajra was dissolved. Had you hoped to return to Parvatvana? To your wife and children? Do you curse me now, a stranger from Kai-Raikoth who is a traitor to his kin?" Avi shook his head, "You are Steward, rightfully by the Duke's decree." "Yet there must be those who curse me, name me a warmonger. They should, I am." Nider turned back, and his eyes blazed, "I wish only to return the glory that I saw in the Codex. Snuffed out after such a little span of time. My own country is poisoned for me now. Our Duke sits drunk in his palace, the great race of the Ohl'tar has abandoned us. Who really controls everything? Between the Khan and Allot's daughter, the land of the Fair Child is divided between brutality and treachery. I had to answer them, else I too would be complicit. Do you see?"

Now it was Aritoko's turn to look out to the Great Lake, anything to look on that desperate face. He could not provide this man with the redemption he looked for, and neither would bloodshed. A shiver ran through him, though his military training refused to let him show it. To think of the deaths that could follow. Young men and women scattered across a field of battle while the crows contended with the pall-carriers. He had seen it before. Too many times. And yet.

Jaal Avi Aritoko saluted the Steward, "I see, sir. I will inform the Lord." As Nider flashed a wolfish grin, Aritoko's heart broke. What ruination would this Raikothlin bring upon them? "Yes, inform the Lord of my purpose." "And what purpose is that?" "I go to muster more troops." "But the Order is already mustering, my lord. They will be assembled at Aurambre by tomorrow evening at the latest." Nider smiled at that, "Ah yes, my dear Jaal. But as you said, the Elwynnbrigaden outnumber us three to one. I go to find other troops." "There are no other troops, my lord." "Of course there are. In Demonsfall." Aritoko's brows rose. The Forbidden City? Truely this man was mad, "It is forbidden for you to go there, my lord. The Duke-" Nider shot up a hand, cutting the Jaal off mid-sentence. "You forget yourself, Aritoko. I am not of noble blood, I am merely Steward. I will go to Demonsfall and speak to the people there. They will fight for me, and Elwynn shall know the meaning of fear at last."

With that Nider turned once again, and began to walk out across the sheet of ice atop the Great Lake. Aritoko watched him go, and then he too left, heading for the Exterior Palace and Ausambre. The Lord of the Order must be informed. Perhaps she could make their maniac Steward see sense.

[Wil Nider]

Ausambre Base, Goldshire Hamlet, Two Days Ago

Jaal Avi Aritoko sat in the waiting room outside the office of the Lord of the Order of Vajra. For the last few months, the central headquarters of the Order had been busy, yet sedate. Yes, thousands of military personnel needed organising, but the various secretaries and office workers were capable dealing with such problems as might arise. A new ruler, bent on waging a war? That caused some ruckus. Therefore Tracey, the receptionist who usually exchanged flirtatious glances with the Jaal despite the wedding ring he prominently displayed, was out on some errand. Aritoko had glimpsed her briefly, in a flurry of skirts as she ran through the hallways, leaking dossiers from the huge pile in her hands as she went.

He had been waiting for ten minutes when the door to the Lord's office opened. Miran Achyatup poked her head out into the hallway, and frowned when her eyes alighted on the Jaal. "How long have you been here. Where's Tracey?" "Running an errand I think." "Tsk, two leaderships changes in as many weeks and everyone suddenly loses the plot. Well, come in Aritoko, I have something you should see." She left the door open, and Aritoko quickly entered, closing the door behind him.

The Lord's office was grand by the Order's standards. No doubt a visitor would have found it oddly utilitarian, considering the extravagance to which Goldshirithian interior design normally subscribed. Aritoko's own office in Parvatvana (and when was the last time he had visited it? M'oll only knew) was a plain plywood desk with bare walls and floors, but it served his purposes. The Lord's office had quilted wallpaper, a rug draped across the floor, and a large mahogany desk. Behind her chair was a large landscape painting, of high-prowed ships landed on a golden beach. "The Arrival of Tandaric of Istvanistan", if Jaal's single semester at art school still served. Lord Achyatup caught him looking, and smiled.

"Yes, my particular favourite. Reminds me....well, it just reminds me," she looked down at the desk again, brusque once more. "Take a look at this, Aritoko," she proffered a bulky dossier. Aritoko took it, and glanced at the title before opening it, "Nider." "Yes, Nider. Or Steward Nider as I suppose we should call him. Read through that and give me your thoughts." Aritoko obeyed, his eyes flicking through the first page. Speed reading was a valued skill amongst the Order. His eyebrows rose, and he looked over the table at the Lord of the Order. "But...this is unbelievable."

She stood up from her chair, and began to pace around the room. Aritoko remembered she regularly lectured at the Military Academy, and readied himself for a few minutes of dense information. "Not if we consider the history of the individual involved. He's a strange one. He was born in New Bruges, to Treesian parents, which was unusual at that stage because the United Baronies didn't exist. Left for Blackrock in his teens, trained in their Diplomatic Corps. Emigrated to Attera, where under an assumed name he was granted a noble house and became Prime Minister for a brief period. Was involved in the occupation of Treesia by Blackrock, a tale you've no doubt heard. Treesians will mythicise anything, of course. Married the eldest daughter of Kaiser Yarad I, and had three children. If you'll flick to that section, you'll see that his youngest enrolled in the Paladin Academy at Hyfrost just a few weeks ago. And now....he's here. Under yet another assumed name. The gods only know why.

"This much is clear: he needs watching. He's married into an Imperial dynasty, for one thing. For another, if given enough time, he could prove very dangerous. Blackrocker trained, you know. A man like that can find thirteen ways to kill you without leaving his chair, twenty-seven if he's given a single A4 sheet of paper. Defending our honour is all very well, but Goldshire is not some virginal maiden. We need to be ruled by someone with a strong hand, not a runaway with a Galahad complex. No, he needs watching. And you'll be the one to do it."

Aritoko looked up from the photo section of the dossier, which held several photographs of "Wil Nider" in his various incarnations. "Me??" "Yes, you. You'll be put on a shuttle to Demonsfall in an hour. Bring the dossier with you, but for M'oll's sake leave it on the aircraft. We definitely don't want our Steward to know how much intel we have on him. Get going, Aritoko. And give my love to Beatrix when you next see her."

"Yes sir."

Demonsfall, Today

Demonsfall was an ugly city. Perhaps it had started out that way, and had only become taboo when the Dukes of Goldshire despaired of beautifying it. Aritoko coughed as he navigated a dingy alleyway. He couldn't remember the last time he had been here, and had also forgotten how the smog stung the lungs. He had wound a scarf around his mouth as a crude filter, but between the taxi from the aerodrome and meeting his contact, he had breathed in enough pollutants to give him a miserable time. A fair chunk of Goldshire's industry took place in the Big Grime. Rents were cheaper here, and tax amnesties were granted to industries who didn't mind a disreputable workforce that tended to strike at the least provocation.

Aritoko stopped at an intersection, and glanced at a small piece of paper in his hand. Left again. He headed up the street for two hundred yards, and then stopped. Here it was, the Abandoned Liver. The Jaal took the scarf away from his mouth as he walked inside, and immediately wished he hadn't. A miasma of alcohol, smoke and body odour wafted over him, and he barely stopped himself from coughing. Inside the bar was raucous bedlam. Coarse laughter and shouting chimed with the sound of breaking glass and a blaring television in the corner.

Aritoko jostled his way to the bar, and waved at the barmaid. A hefty, red-faced woman, she rolled her eyes from the TV screen and regarded the Jaal in an unimpressed fashion. "Yes, love?" "I'll have a bottle of Orange Beer, please." "Ain't got no OB, just Red." "Red?" "Yeah, Treesian Red." By M'oll's beard! Aritoko exclaimed to himself. "Well....I'll have one of those then." The woman rolled her beefy shoulders, produced a glass tumbler, and filled it from a plastic container she was keeping under the bar. She skimmed it across the wet bar to Aritoko's hand. He dared not drink it, at least until the surface fumes stopped venting in such an alarming fashion. He turned around and rested his back against the bar, and scanned the room for his target.

There he was, in the corner, deep in conversation with four or five skullduggerous looking men and women. Now that he had read the intelligence briefing, Aritoko couldn't believe he hadn't made the connection before. Granted, he was a decade older, but this was certainly the same man who had shown up in the international newspapers when the Jaal had been a student. Scion of the Barons of Treesia, initiate in the deadly military training of the Republic of Blackrock. Proof, if anyone needed it, that there was plenty of Hyperborean blood in the Fifth Isle. Everyone had assumed, and everyone had assumed wrong. Now they had a man who had ruled half the world in his time, and he wanted to protect Goldshire. To do this, he was associating with the worst kind of scum, in a dive bar where the only drink was a blend of narcotics banned in most civilised nations in Micras. To each his own, Aritoko supposed, as he decided to take a sip of his Treesian Red. The entirety of that sip immediately went down to the sawdust on the floor. Gods! He felt drunk already, and he hadn't even swallowed!