Gift
Throughout the history of the Golden Empire, whom the Shah names to the wise council has always been a defining feature of his reign.
Kazem made his way up the spiraling stone staircase. Though it was only a modest climb, he had always wondered why the wise council’s meeting room was situated atop one of the royal palace’s towers. It was an easy journey for the likes of Kazem, himself only in his mid twenties, but what about those of advanced age or with physical ailments?
What was more, the wise council’s meeting room doubled as the meeting room for Tel Kellah’s satraps, the legislative body that governed the city’s eight octant districts. Kazem couldn’t imagine half of those satraps making it up these stairs. Satrap Dana, for example, was already nearly ninety. Could such a man even hope to make a climb like this? The only reasonable explanation that Kazem could think of was that it must be on purpose, that the stairs had been put there to tire visitors out, encourage them to bother Provost Hamed rather than the Shah.
Kazem reached the top of the stairs, where, to his chagrin, he was greeted by even more walking in the form of a long, beige stone hallway. The walls and ceiling were embellished by murals depicting the pantheon of gods. His eyes wandered over the variegated paint, settling upon the governing god, Mithra. In this mural, Mithra took the form of a vigorously built man with a thick beard of fire, holding a golden bident in one hand.
At the end of the long hall there was an ovular, matte black door. Armed soldiers stood at attention on either side, one with a scimitar the other with a spear. They performed a one-handed salute as Kazem approached, raising their fists to their hearts.
The door slid open on Kazem’s approach, making no sound at all as it folded into a groove situated further into the wall and ushered Kazem into the chamber.
The meeting room was, as far as Kazem knew, the smallest chamber in the royal palace. It was less a full chamber and more a big rectangular box with brown, wooden floorboards. The walls were built in patterns of crosses and squares, with slight indentations and scratches informing Kazem that most of the squares in the wall were actually small cubbies. The room was illuminated by a mix of candlelight to one side of the room and a skylight window overhead.
In the middle of the room rested a long, rectangular table that was littered with objects: ignited candles for light, maps of different parts of the realm plus one large map of the continent, and goblets and pitchers for wine. Most of the other members of the wise council were already present: four men and three women, making seven, plus Kazem, his father, and the Shah, for ten people total in the cramped room.
Kazem’s father, the Lord Advisor to the Shah, sat alone at one of the table’s ends. Shah Bardiya sat on the other end, pensive. The Shah’s elbows rested on the table, hands folded into a bridge upon which he rested his chin. Ashezama nodded as Kazem entered the room.
“Kazem,” the Shah greeted. “Please, take a seat. We’re just about to get started.”
Kazem bowed low to the Shah, nearly perpendicular, then grabbed an empty chair from the corner of the room and carried it to the table. He placed it next to a middle aged woman and took a seat, nodding to her.
“Lord Diviner,” Kazem said.
Yasmeen Irvan, Lord Diviner of Promises and Magic, bowed her head in Kazem’s direction. “Lord Commander.”
Yasmeen filched a goblet from the middle of the table and placed it in front of Kazem, then filled it with one of the pitchers. Smooth, dark red wine flowed into Kazem’s cup and filled his nostrils with a sweet, fruity aroma.
“Is everyone settled in?” the Shah asked.
All eyes turned to the Shah expectantly. He looked older in the dim illumination, the lines in his face made more apparent by soft candlelight. Even while only approaching his fortieth year, the Shah looked so much like his father, Shah Xerxes. Shah Bardiya had thin, wiry features: high cheekbones, long limbs, and an elongated torso. While his predecessor had worn a long beard, Shah Bardiya kept clean shaven, his dark hair neatly cropped. This had the effect of making him appear more intense, ominous even.
“Let’s get started then,” the Shah said. “We’ll begin with you, Cyrus.”
All turned to Cyrus. The Lord Counselor of Finance was an aged, portentous looking man, dressed in gaudy, violet silk fashioned into a tight fitted shirt that buttoned up the center and ended in a collar encircling the whole neck. When he opened his mouth to speak, he began to cough and sputter violently. He gripped the table until his knuckles were white and turned his face away, hacking loudly for several minutes, until his face went purple. The Shah frowned.
Cyrus cleared his throat. “We-We’re ahead of schedule, your grace. As you already know, harvests have been exceptionally good this year.” Cyrus coughed again before continuing. “And, um, taxation has thusly required more manpower, on account of th-the increased load we’ve had to carry. However, I am, um, pleased to report, your grace, that this period’s taxes will be completed four days early.”
The Shah nodded. “Go on.”
“Um, this period we’ve a surplus in grain and apples... and we have wheat, barley, pork, in the following measurements...” Cyrus began listing off items and their amounts for a few moments, finally ending with, “...And, um, we’ve managed to set aside a half million gold honorables for the upcoming tourney.”
“That isn’t enough for us to cover expenses.”
“No, your grace.”
“If it please, your grace, the Davani family can make up the difference.” Ashezama offered.
The Shah turned to Kazem’s father, raising an eyebrow. “And how much does the crown owe the Davani family already?”
Ashezama’s face remained passive, voice level as he replied. “Approximately eight million gold honorables, your grace.”
“Eight million,” the Shah breathed. “Ahura Mazda...” he swore. “Fine. Apparently we already owe you the eight million. What’s another two hundred thousand?”
Ashezama nodded. “It will be done, your grace.”
“Bah!” the Shah exclaimed. “Six million people in this country, where does all the fucking gold go?” The Shah turned. “Yasmeen. Give me some good news.”
Yasmeen was a large, late middle aged woman, a tad younger than Cyrus, but certainly older than Kazem’s own father and older than the Shah.
Yasmeen smiled wanly. She looked pale, weary, eyes sunken and ghoulish. “I’ve made progress on your request, your grace, but ah... I believe you’ll want to see that for yourself. Perhaps, ah, eh, an appointment for another time? Tomorrow, if your grace has the time?
“Fine, fine!” the Shah waved his hand dismissively. “Now. Ashti, speak to me of this fledgling war with the Scarlet Kingdom.”
Kazem stiffened. The fledgling war that had sparked because his fiance had fled the capital with another man. Official reports claimed that Princess Ariana had been kidnapped. The real story was known only by a select few - himself and his father, Executioner, the Shah, and two guards who had been close with the Princess. Still, with even that many in on the secret, it was only a matter of time before it became public knowledge, especially once Ariana herself reached the Scarlet Kingdom’s capital of Babosar, and, presumably, announced a formal engagement with Prince Vahid. Kazem gritted his teeth at the thought.
Ashti Rahbar, Lord Counselor of War, turned to respond to the Shah. She was young, barely five years older than Kazem was. She had a powerful, athletic build and razor sharp features, cropped black hair, and had mastered the steeled glare indicative of a hardened soldier.
“Shah Iksander hasn’t returned any falcons yet, as far as I know,” Ashti explained. She looked around the different faces in the room before finally meeting Kazem’s eyes. “I believe that we should assume they have no intention of returning the princess to us.”
“Calling that usurper a Shah...” Bardiya hissed. “What a fucking joke. Doesn’t he know that wars swallow gold like quicksand?”
Ashti and Kazem exchanged a look. When push came to shove, it would be the two of them who really led the war effort. As Lord Counselor of War, Ashti was in charge of the overarching grand plan and planning detailed logistics when wartime came. Kazem’s job as Lord Commander of the royal army was to execute those plans, making real time battlefield decisions as circumstances changed. In simplest terms, Ashti’s job was strategy while Kazem’s job was tactics.
“And we’re certain they’ve received our falcons?” the Shah asked.
“We sent half a dozen falcons, your grace,” Ashti said. “And all of them returned, but returned empty. Our note was taken, but no new note was placed. It seems they’re reading our messages, but ignoring us.”
The Shah sneered. “Infidel savages who don’t even use the caste system,” he spat. “If it’s a war they want...” He trailed off. “What about Gen? Can we count on them to stay in line?”
“The Queen is there now, ensuring their loyalty,” Ashezama said.
The Shah nodded. “Good. We’ll hold off on any military action at least until my wife returns.”
Ashezama cleared his throat. “Your grace, if I may...” he began. All eyes in the room fell upon Kazem’s father.
“You may speak,” the Shah said.
“Thank you, your grace.” Ashezama cleared his throat again, this time more forcefully. “When I advised your father during the Long War, the most crucial mistake we made then was holding out hopes for peace. There was an opportunity to deal Gen a decisive blow, an opportunity that we missed. That error extended the war another several years, costing us lives and gold. That’s why, your grace, I urge you not to repeat the mistake your father and I made. The mistake that cost him his life. We have to attack Babosar now. We cannot afford to wait a few more days.”
The room was quiet after Kazem’s father finished speaking, quiet except for a few light coughs from Cyrus. Kazem went for a sip of wine, but found his goblet empty. He took hold of the pitcher and refilled it.
“With all due respect, Lord Ashezama,” Ashti said. “We don’t have enough reconnaissance on the Scarlet Kingdom’s forces to attack yet. Not to mention we’re currently down two commanders, both Azadeh and Executioner.”
Kazem bit his lower lip, though he caught himself before he drew blood. It should be him going after Ariana and Vahid, not one of the Paladins. The tattoo on the back of his hand pulsed, as if answering his feelings.
“So we still don’t know where Executioner is?” the Shah asked.
“No, your grace,” Ashti replied.
“Destroyer!” the Shah swore. “Confounded woman! Where the hell could she be?”
“Mm... Your grace?” Ardeshir hissed softly.
All heads in the room turned to Ardeshir Kevan, the Lord Counselor of Whispers. He had been silent throughout the meeting, watching and listening. Ardeshir tended to be the quietest of those in the room, always drinking in what was happening around him rather than actively participating in it. Perhaps that was what he owed his advanced age to. Ardeshir was easily the oldest member of the wise council. A shrunken man with a white beard, Ardeshir was over a hundred, if rumors were to be believed, and had served under four different Shahs in his lifetime.
The Shah regarded Ardeshir. “You’ve heard something? Out with it, then.”
Ardeshir bowed his head. “Rumors, your grace... a massacre in an alley in Makhun a week ago. One man decapitated, one man with his jaw crushed like a melon... and strange reports of thunder without clouds or lightning. Sound familiar?”
“Executioner...” the Shah hissed.
Ardeshir nodded. “If these rumors are to be believed, then is it possible that Executioner fled to join Princess Ariana? She is promised to the princess’s service, after all.”
“Her primary allegiance should be to the throne...” the Shah muttered, mostly to himself.
“She would lose many of her enchantments if she were to violate her pledge to the throne,” Yasmeen noted.
The Shah looked up. “Is there any way to verify that?”
“Short of finding her ourselves? No.”
Kazem gulped. If Executioner was a traitor then that was bad. Very, very bad. Executioner was supposed to be the most formidable warrior in both the royal army and all of the Golden Empire. If she had joined forces with the enemy, Kazem expected he’d be meeting Executioner on the battlefield soon. Icy daggers singed his spine like dragon’s breath as he considered the possibility. Kazem had to force himself not to shudder.
“I see,” the Shah said.
“Ahhhmm.. Your grace?” Ardeshir asked, somehow plaintive, like a child tugging on a parent’s sleeve.
“You have more?”
“In fact, your grace I cannot take credit for this information. I heard it from Lord Counselor Kohler...”
The Shah spun around to face Kohler. The Lord Counselor of Medicine had been quiet all evening, though to be fair to him, Kazem supposed most of what this meeting was about hadn’t had much to do with medicine.
Kohler cleared his throat. “Some of the bodies came through our local morgue, your grace,” he said. “They were killed cleanly enough to be used as a partial cadaver by the royal university’s medical students, so the officials in Makhun sold them to us.”
The Lord Counselor of Medicine spoke with an accent, Camduren, if Kazem had to guess, though he had never thought to ask. Kohler’s demeanor was prim, poker faced, and his voice was always level and his words well pronounced despite the foreign inflections. The man was otherwise unremarkable - early fifties perhaps, unruly brown hair that curled around the edges, morning stubble that somehow made him seem fatherly.
“...So you spent some of my gold,” the Shah remarked.
Kohler chuckled lightly. “I did, your grace,” he admitted sheepishly. “Though you will appreciate my findings.”
“Oh?”
“There were four dead, but we were only able to collect three bodies. When we inquired why, they told us that one of the dead had been burnt to the bone. I decided to investigate further, so I had them send us the bones. The burns were consistent with those incurred by Stormwall’s victims.”
The Shah stood up, as if his seat had grown piping hot. “What are you saying?”
“I believe that Executioner is in possession of the emerald-studded blade,” Ardeshir cut in. “The wounds are the same as what we saw during the war.”
“Ahura Mazda...” the Shah groaned, sinking back into his seat in exasperation. “It was bad enough to inherit the throne in the middle of a war... Will leftovers from the war be spearing my backside for the rest of my reign?”
“Your grace?” Ashti asked.
“No, no, no... That will be enough for today.”
“But, your gr-”
‘Out!” the Shah bellowed. “Everyone out!”
The members of the council stood abruptly, sheepishly almost, and nudged their chairs back into place. They began to file out of the room one by one, quietly. Kazem stood to do the same.
“Not you, Kazem,” the Shah said, causing Kazem to freeze. “Sit.”
Kazem bowed his head, then obeyed. He didn’t say anything, instead waiting for the Shah to speak.
“And close the door on your way out!” the Shah snapped to Ashezama, the last one out.
Ashezama bowed his head. “Your grace,” he said, then left the room.
The Shah sighed. “Ahura Mazda... Rule is exhausting, Kazem. Don’t ever get into the business.” He waited for a moment. “Good gods, man!” the Shah exclaimed when Kazem didn’t respond. “Unclench your jaw a little. You’re so tense. It’s fucking awful...”
“Apologies, your grace,” Kazem said. He did try to relax his shoulders. He wasn’t sure whether he succeeded.
The Shah sighed again. “Fuck...” Bardiya stood, walking toward the far wall. He pressed in on one of the tiles, fishing out a hidden cubby built into the wall. He withdrew a glass decanter suppliant with rich, scarlet liquid. The Shah returned to the table. He nodded to Kazem’s goblet. “Finish whatever swill you have in that.”
“Your grace, I’m not sure I should-” Kazem protested.
“No no,” the Shah cut him off. “You are pledged to the throne, you swore an oath to the empire, Destroyer strike you down if you violate these pacts. That means you listen to me, the Shah, when I tell you what to do. Now drink your fucking wine and loosen up. You need it, anyway. You’re down a fiance as it stands.”
Kazem couldn’t argue with that, so he downed his goblet in one gulp, then shoved it back onto the table with a clang. “So it seems, your grace,” Kazem sputtered. He tried not to grit his teeth in annoyance.
“So it seems, your grace...” the Shah mimicked. He poured some of the new wine into Kazem’s goblet, filling it. He did the same for his own. “Well, believe it or not, what you’re experiencing now is basically what marriage feels like, anyway...” he noted sourly. “Cheers, I suppose.” He touched his goblet to Kazem’s, then downed half of it.
Kazem sipped lightly on the wine in his own cup. His eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected pleasure of the cool liquid, a variegation of impactful flavor that ended in a soothing sweetness, washing down smoothly. Kazem was so surprised by the magnificent flavor that he swallowed some of the wine down the wrong pipe and coughed.
“Damn!” Kazem exclaimed. “That’s... That’s good.”
“I know, right?”
“What is that?”
“You’ll never believe it. It comes from some hole in the wall near the docks in Ibrahim. The ambassador brought me this bottle last time we met.”
“Aren’t magi in Ibrahim sworn to sobriety?” Kazem asked, frowning.
The Shah huffed. “Right, because every magi wants to uphold that one,” he said derisively. “Most of them don’t even bother to make it a simple promise, let alone fold it into their oaths. They tell you they’re sober, but really... What kind of magic could you extract from sobriety?”
“Resistance to toxins?” Kazem suggested.
The Shah paused, raising an eyebrow. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “I suppose that’s why you’re Lord Commander and I sit in an oversized chair and yell at people.”
Kazem chuckled. “Perhaps.”
“Finally, a smile of some kind!” the Shah said. “I know your fiance just left, but trust me, man, it’s like I said. You will find that marriage is always this complicated. We’ll get to the bottom of this and things will work out in the end. In fact, that’s why I asked you to stay back...” The Shah sipped his wine.
Kazem sipped too. “Oh?” It was just as refreshing on subsequent sampling.
The Shah stood, wandering over to the other side of the table. There, a map of the region lay partially folded in one corner. The Shah grabbed the map and splayed it across empty space on the table. He dabbed his finger over the map. “Over ten years since the Long War ended,” he mused. “You didn’t fight, am I correct?”
“I was still a squire,” Kazem said.
“Well believe you, me. It was a fucking nightmare. Brutal. Savage in a way I had never seen before. Do you know how we put an end to those decades of violence?”
“You sacked the Fortress of the Twin Moons and killed Arash Shara Stormwall. The remaining lords in Gen were forced to sue for peace.”
The Shah nodded. “That we did. But not just that. That’s just what the public knows.” He sipped his wine again, urging Kazem to do the same with a subtle nod toward Kazem’s goblet. “The secret is how we sacked the Twin Moons and killed a warrior as accomplished as Stormwall.”
“So what happened?” Kazem asked, leaning forward in his chair a little.
“A lieutenant scimitar from the warrior caste got her captain to propose something ludicrous,” the Shah said. “They asked me to give them leave to steal Stormwall’s empyrean blade. Apparently they had a way to tame it for themselves.”
Kazem’s interest was piqued. He leaned forward more. “How does one tame an empyrean blade?”
“I’ve no idea,” the Shah admitted. “What I do know is this lieutenant was able to use it to kill Stormwall.”
“The lieutenant was Executioner, then,” Kazem guessed. “And you think she still has the blade.”
“Funny thing, that,” the Shah said. “See, in order to keep our newfound peace, we gave the blade back to Gen as a token of good faith.”
“Reasonable.”
“I thought so. That was supposed to be the end of it. I even sent Stormwall’s apprentice gold as restitution, and an enchanted shield.” The Shah groaned. “Ahura Mazda, I hope Executioner doesn’t have that, too...”
“If Executioner somehow got hold of the blade again, why hasn’t anyone from Gen come looking for it?” Kazem asked. “And, if Executioner has it, why hide it all this time? Why not use it in service of the empire?”
“Those are all things I’d like to know. That’s where you come in.”
Kazem raised his eyebrows.
“Your father won’t like this, but I’m sending you on an extended assignment to find Executioner and bring her back here,” Bardiya explained. “We’ll get her to explain what she knows, and what the fuck is going on. Then maybe we can get my daughter back.”
Kazem blinked. Had he heard Shah Bardiya correctly? “Let me get this straight...” Kazem said warily. “You want me to fight Executioner-”
“Bring her back!” the Shah corrected.
“Bring her back here,” Kazem said, nodding slowly. “Which may involve fighting her. And you expect me not only to fight her, but to take her alive and transport her here?”
Kazem grew cold. Impossible. No way. It was a death sentence. He had thought Shah Bardiya to be his friend. But would any friend order something so unreasonable? Is this why he brought out the wine? To get me too drunk to say no?
The Shah sighed, this one lengthy, nearly draining his lungs, like a dying frog’s croak. “I know... It’s a shit assignment. That woman’s hardly human sometimes... more like a machine of war my father commissioned to slaughter people for the realm. And she might have an empyrean blade on her, too. I’m sorry to put you in this position.” He put a hand to his temple, which was growing shiny with sweat. “But you’re the best spearman on the continent, the only one I can trust for something like this.”
Normally Kazem might divine some smug satisfaction out of that comment. He’d have loved for Ashti to hear it. As it was, the grim pit developing in his stomach threatened to swallow that and all other feelings but despair.
“I’m not sure I can help here, your grace,” Kazem admitted. “Compliment me all you’d like, but I don’t know that I can defeat Executioner. To be honest, I’ve never met anyone who can.”
“Alright, well... I won’t force you,” the Shah said. “If you don’t think you can do it, well.. That’s to be expected when it comes to Executioner, I suppose.”
And yet, hadn’t Kazem pledged himself to defend the empire, no matter what it took, no matter how hard the task? Hadn’t he pledged that so long as he was Lord Commander, he would always give everything he had? He had sworn an oath of protectorship, praying over the god Mithra and seeking the wisdom to govern the royal army. What good was giving up on any of that now?
...And, in a more sinister sense, would refusal to pursue Executioner constitute violating those oaths? If so, what divine and sorcerous consequences might befall not just Kazem, but his house, should he refuse? Surely, Shah Bardiya wasn’t ignorant of this fact. Even if he said he wouldn’t force Kazem, asking this put Kazem in an impossible situation wrought with uncertainty.
“...I’ll uphold my oaths,” Kazem said. “I’ll do it.”
The Shah breathed a visible sigh of relief, though as he inspected the Shah’s movements Kazem couldn’t tell whether or not it was exaggerated for his sake.
“Thank you, my friend,” the Shah said. “You have no idea the service you’re doing the empire.”
“I think I have some idea, your grace, given the assignment.”
“Fair point.”
Kazem stood, finishing his wine. “If that’s all, your grace...”
The Shah stood, too. “It’s not, but we are leaving this room.” The Shah downed the rest of his wine. “Come with me.”
“Your grace?” Kazem asked, puzzled.
“The position I’ve put you in isn’t lost on me, Kazem,” the Shah said. “But I do have one way of perhaps making it up to you.”
“Oh?” Kazem raised an eyebrow.
The Shah smiled. “Let’s call it a gift. Now come with me.”
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