Published at 3rd of October 2023 12:04 pm

Chapter Bonus 15: In Which the Gears Begin to Turn

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It was all so gratifying, and never ceased to be no matter how many times he had experienced it. The roar of the crowd as the handful of Blessed adventurers scampered around the enraged khorodect, their magic permitted only within the arena itself. And, above all, his own place on high, overlooking it.

“I did not expect to be disappointed, but you impress even beyond expectations, your Excellency,” said Ambassador Iritius from his right. “Even in Novarum we rarely have the opportunity to make sport of such beasts. How did you even get it into the arena?”

“Now, now, Ambassador, you know my rules,” Rab Sioni chided, smiling and offering the human his wine bottle to make it plain he had taken no offense. “We mustn’t ask how feats are achieved in Godspire.”

“Of course, of course, my apologies. Pardon an old man’s idle curiosity. Obviously it needn’t be indulged.” Iritius held out his mostly-empty goblet and Rab Sioni added a generous amount of wine. He was a craggy-faced old buzzard of a human, his hair gone pure silver and aggressively thinning. The man’s terse demeanor was, counterintuitively, a great asset to his diplomacy, enabling him to flatter, cajole, and dissemble without ever sounding less than starkly sincere.

Below, a light elf with an artifact greatsword managed to sever one of the khorodect’s legs, sending the monster staggering drunkenly to the sands and prompting howls of approval from the crowd. The adventurer immediately had to dodge back, narrowly avoiding an impaling strike from one of the great pincers, and the maimed beast attempted to pursue him even as his comrades swarmed it. This was not the end, but the first step toward it, and it promised to be a particularly dramatic climax. Perfect.

“I hope the entertainment is to your liking, Ambassador Mneraven?” he added politely to the woman on his left. “I can’t always tell the difference between that fetching Savin reserve and genuine displeasure. If there is anything else I can offer you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Rab Sioni gestured, and one of the attending slaves slipped forward with a tray, bowing deeply and offering the ambassador a decadent array of fruit and slice cheeses.

“Your Excellency’s hospitality is as always without peer,” Mneraven replied. She was lounging against the provided cushions in a relaxed posture, but her face remained woodenly expressionless. Still, she had the courtesy not to bluntly rebuff his offerings, reaching over to casually caress the slavegirl’s rump before gently waving her away and then taking a sip of her own wine. “It is, of course, not your presence which sours the otherwise delightfulspectacle.”

On his other side, Iritius exhaled softly through his nose, eyes fixed on the combat below.

“Ambassador,” Rab Sioni chided with genteel reproach, “come now. Can we not set work aside and just enjoy the moment? After all, it is these little social activities which make the difficult part proceed so much more smoothly when we return to it later.”

Mneraven inclined her head in acknowledgment, shooting him a fleeting glance but continuing to ignore the existence of her counterpart. “Forgive me, your Excellency. All patriotism aside, the Empire’s concerns are my own, and not so easy for me to set down. It is that quality, after all, which keeps my at my post, and able to enjoy the splendid diversions you are so generous as to arrange for us.”

Iritius glanced over at her, his view of the dark elf barely impeded by their host between them. Rab Sioni disdained goblin-sized furniture and lounged on exactly the same style of cushions as his two guests, making himself not much of a physical barrier between them.

“That is saddening to hear,” the human said in the offhandedly stern tone which was as close to lightly conversational as he got. “I am distressed that such a minor issue as the Imperium doing normal business with a sovereign state which happens to exist in our mutual vicinity is sufficient to spoil Savindar’s enjoyment of an excellent match.”

He chose an unfortunate moment in the excellent match to speak, as a limping but still deadly khorodect was now chasing its opponents around the periphery of the arena in a borderline slapstick display.

“Well, if we must talk business,” Rab Sioni said with a sigh, “let’s just please remember to keep it polite while in my booth.”

“I would not dream of disturbing your Excellency’s fun,” Mneraven assured him, granting the goblin a warm smile and a light touch on the arm with her fingertips. In presentation it fell short of flirtatiousness—that wasn’t her political strategy, anyway—but it warmed him a bit regardless. By the glitter of gold, she was beautiful. Rab Sioni was quite fond of dark elves, and had only two in his private collection, which he sadly was unable to show off; it would greatly antagonize the Savindar Empire were it to become common knowledge that he owned them. Not that they were shy about keeping slaves, but Savin law and custom decreed it unacceptable for their kind to be property of any but their own.

“In point of fact,” the Savin ambassador continued, finally sneaking a look over Rab Sioni’s head at Iritius, “this thoughtful tableau is a splendid display of the principle in question at work. Great empires get along best when there is a secure buffer between them. It is thus relevant when another such polity launches an aggressive campaign of influence peddling in a former province of Savindar, which remains uncomfortably upon our border.”

“You make it sound, Ambassador, as if Savindar regards Vairoth in a…proprietary manner,” Iritius rejoined. “I would expect the Vai to have their own perspective on the matter. One which would seem more relevant than that of your government or mine. Not to mention that the Imperium has done nothing but open new avenues for diplomacy and trade—things Savindar could do in the same place, far more easily given its proximity.”

Rab Sioni held his peace for the moment, watching carefully. At least he’d got them talking, rather than ignoring each other or issuing threats. Godspire had no direct stake in any of this, but the city-state’s position as arbiter of the diplomatic foibles of its larger neighbors was a great source of its own soft power. Having examined every report on the border tensions in question that his diplomats and spies could furnish, Rab Sioni had concluded that the outcome was irrelevant to his interests, so long as it was he who guided it to an outcome. Now, he silently caught Ambassador Mneraven’s eye as her body language began to stiffen.

The elf subsided, pausing before answering in a calm, controlled tone.

“It is more…the sudden change in foreign policy which causes vexation in Ilsavel. The Imperium’s isolationism is its most famous trait—the characteristic which has historically made it such a good neighbor, even despite the requisite religious frictions. And then, abruptly, Novarum begins expending all its political capital in Vairoth—a place far from its own borders, but directly against ours. Tell me, Ambassador, how is Savindar to interpret that, except as provocative?”

Rab Sioni raised his eyebrows slightly, shifting to watch Ambassador Iritius for his response. Now that had been unusually direct, for an exchange between diplomats that was not openly caustic. That was what made it a clever move, though; the issue of the Imperium’s sudden aggression was now out in the open, and that put Iritius on the spot. If he attempted to deflect or dissemble, it would be tantamount to admitting his government’s intent was hostile.

Below, an adventurer was flung against the arena wall with a bone-shattering crunch, prompting a massive outcry from the audience. His companions succeeded in diverting the khorodect’s attention, but it didn’t look good for the fallen Blessed; no healers would step onto the sands until that beast was slain. The absolute uproar was both an oddly poetic backdrop and a stark contrast to the tense silence in the lord governor’s booth.

Iritius was staring the direction of the blood sands below, but with a pensive frown which said he wasn’t watching the match anymore. Recognizing the expression of a man choosing his words with care, Mneraven just watched him in return, patient as a hunting cat. Rab Sioni lounged back into his cushions, giving the two of them a clearer view of each other and waiting to see where this would turn next.

“I take it as an offering of good faith, Ambassador, that you would speak so plainly to me of your people’s concerns,” Iritius finally said, turning his head to look at her directly. “In appreciation, I shall take the risk of offering the same in kind.”

Mneraven cocked one eyebrow, but gestured with her goblet for him to proceed before taking a sip. The last, apparently; she then held it out to one side. Instantly, another of the slaves in attendance glided forward and refilled it from a bottle of the same vintage Rab Sioni had initially opened for them.

“The Imperator’s control over the Legions remains absolute,” Iritius continued, “and firm over most aspects of the Imperium’s government. It goes without saying, however, that any sufficiently large and complex polity will contain numerous internal factions of varying degrees of influence. I can promise you, Ambassador, upon the honor of the Nova Imperium, that my government’s foreign policy is still to defend our own landbridges and attend to no business beyond our borders.”

Mneraven restored the symmetry of her face by raising the other eyebrow, and did not sip her wine.

“There are, however,” Iritius added with a faint grimace, “those within Novarum who prattle about the glory of conquest. Some of the more well-placed have sufficient weight to initiate actions that certain other governments might find provocative, but the demands of so doing while also shielding themselves from internal rebuke are considerable. This is done in the hope of goading a response which justifies further escalation—at significant political risk, I might add. If it were to be ignored, the matter itself would not only fizzle out, but the instigators would find their entire households politically hobbled for a generation at least.”

“So the hand of the Imperium reaching for the Empire’s throat will probably be withdrawn if it is ignored?” Mneraven shook her head and then turned it to stare out over the bloodsands, where the khorodect had finally been pinned down and was in its last desperate struggle. “It seems telling, to me, that when stripped of all the careful speech and phrased plainly, the core of your ‘assurance’ is so very…slender.”

Iritius cleared his throat. “I understand your perspective, Ambassador. It is thus that I am grateful to his Excellency’s hospitality for more than the usual reasons. So often, these delicate matters benefit from the intercession of a neutral party.”

Rab Sioni smiled with his lips, not showing his teeth; the sight of goblin teeth tended to be taken as a threat by tallfolk on an instinctive, animal level. “You said the magic word, Ambassador. Godspire is always pleased to provide a venue for amicable discussions between neighbors. And we are always neutral.”

The Imperium ambassador inclined his head. “If I might be so crass as to acknowledge a personal preference…well, I do so only because on this matter, my opinions align perfectly with the Imperator’s policy. It is both as a citizen and as the voice of my government that I assure you, your Excellency, Ambassador, that any foreign action taken to hamstring the ambitions of Imperial provocateurs, in Vairoth or anywhere else, will earn the necessarily quiet yet nonetheless sincere gratitude of the Imperator.”

Slowly, Mneraven tilted her head to one side, and finally took a sip of her refreshed wine. “In the spirit of, as Ambassador Iritius said, good faith, I will affirm the general correctness of his observation concerning the nature of empires. There are always factions. I’m sure I needn’t emphasize to you gentlemen that the idea of territorial expansion is an utter taboo for Savindar while there is not a Dark Crusade in session—as the ‘free people’ of Vairoth have cause to know very well. Still, there are those within Ilsavel who are eager to, let us say…proactively defend our borders. In a poignant parallel to her counterpart in Novarum, the Empress would be nothing but pleased were circumstances to pull the teeth of these agitators.”

Both of them looked at him. Rab Sioni sipped his wine, projecting contented calm while he reveled in the sheer jubilation. The power. The great empires came to Godspire, to him, to settle these contentious affairs. Let them rule over islands by the hundreds from their vast thrones. So long as he had the Spire, it was in the hands of one little goblin that the fate of all Ephemera rested. He barely even noticed the roar of the crowd as the great beast was finally felled in the sands below. Neither did his two guests.

“I like to think of Godspire as an island of eternal constancy amid the shifting winds of politics around us, you know,” he said aloud, indulging in a little grandiloquence. He deliberately did not make a habit of it, but once in a while, when the moment was right… Well, a person had to have a bit of fun now and then. “The tranquility of this island vastly predates me, and mindful of this legacy, I intend to ensure that it stands long after I am gone. As such, you must know that I am unwilling to exert the influence of the Spire upon my neighbors. Truly, it is because of the hard-earned trust of the nations of this archipelago that I am able to offer the humble services of my city as mediator and host.”

“It goes without saying.”

“Your reputation is justly earned.”

They were professional diplomats; their solemn expressions were quite convincing and their meaningless social platitudes featured more syllables than necessary. As if everyone here did not know exactly the sort of influence Godspire had always exerted on its surroundings.

“Of course,” Rab Sioni mused aloud, “the other side of that coin is that I feel a responsibility to preserve the tranquility of my city’s environs. I think, lady and gentleman, it is a good time for me to express to you, in my official capacity as lord governor, that Godspire takes a dim view of any attempt to agitate the surrounding islands. If a pattern of such develops, there will be consequences for the freedom of those responsible to move in, or through, my domain.”

Both settled back in their own cushions, permitting themselves to look openly satisfied.

“Your meaning is taken, your Excellency. I shall ensure that the Imperator is fully apprised as soon as possible, that he may take appropriate action. Novarum is, as always, grateful for your calming presence. We, too, abhor disruption of our peaceful status quo.”

“I am certain that the Empress shall be reassured by your assertion of peace in our environs, your Excellency. I look forward to conveying her expressions of appreciation as soon as I have been able to update her.”

And so, peace was maintained, and to Rab Sioni of Godspire went the credit. He swirled his goblet, lounged in his chair, and smiled down at the bloody sands of the arena below. The slain khorodect was being dragged away; despite the crowd’s jubilation, the remaining adventurers were clustered quietly to one side around the body of their comrade, who apparently had not made it long enough for the healers to intervene.

Ah, well. No victory without cost.

“And you wish to enforce this peace?”

“Come now, Sinar, I’m disappointed in you. Enforcement is not our style, you of all people know that.”

“And you know what I meant, your Excellency.”

Rab Sioni hummed, wobbling his head noncommittally as he strolled through the dark corridor deep in the Greater Spire. They had already passed the last of the (relatively) modern akorthist construction and were surrounded by ancient stonework.

“I think the prompting I’ve already given should suffice. But yes, in the event that further intervention is necessary, it’s always been my policy to uphold the peace. Unless I tell you otherwise, don’t forget that emphasis as you deal with our avaricious neighbors.”

“Of course, your Excellency. I do know your standing orders, but it is also my job to suggest alternatives. I would be negligent if I failed to point out that while peace is good for business…so is war. It’s not as if any of the potential combatants can touch our defenses, and an unassailable position between warring empires presents vast opportunities. Whether they would be worth the damage to trade is another matter, but… Alternatives.”

“Alternatives,” Rab Sioni agreed softly. “By all means, continue to point them out, Sinar. But Godspire remains committed to peace. It’s about legacy, old friend. Wars happen, they start and stumble along and sometimes eventually end, and there’s always another one a few years later. From a historical perspective, it’s all so very ho hum. But peace? Peace is rare, and valuable, and he who can ensure it will live forever in memory when every book recording the greatest conquerors is dust.”

“You and your legacy,” Sinar said with an indulgent little smile.

The goblin reached up to give his tail a yank. “You really abuse your status as the only man alive who gets to talk to me like that.”

“Right back at you.” The cat man’s muzzle pursed in annoyance as he whisked his tail to the other side out of Rab Sioni’s grasp.

They had arrived, though, and grew solemn again. Somehow, this never became routine, no matter how many times they went through it—twice a day by default for all these years, more when the times were troubled. Pitted old stone and asauthec torches gave way to polished white metal and inscrutable illumination gleaming from hidden recesses in the walls as they entered the deepest section of the vast tower, the Spire itself, built by the same impossibly ancient civilization from which the Goddesses had hailed.

Solemn they became in the face of all this power and heritage, but did not slow, and ahead of them what appeared to be a silver wall flanked by two columns of purple glass parted and slid aside with a hiss, permitting them entry into the central sanctuary.

The dozen scribes in Sinar’s employ—adept spies in their own right, here for their facility with intelligence work more than their neat penmanship—all bowed upon the pair’s entry. Sinar acknowledged his subordinates with a curt nod, Rab Sioni not at all.

He simply crossed the room, dim with its faint standby lighting, and stepped up onto the platform adjacent to the central structure. It took some stretching of the legs; this thing had not been built with goblins in mind.

“Everyone ready?” he asked his loyal subjects.

“Yes, your Excellency!” they chorused, paper and pencils in hand and expressions acutely alert.

Rab Sioni exhaled softly, embracing the sense of power and danger that was always inherent in using the great machine—it was that, or risk beginning to take it for granted, and that way lay the greatest disasters of his forebears. None had erred beyond recovery, but more times than was known to any but him and the records they had left behind, Godspire the city-state had teetered on the brink of destruction. Each time caused by misuses of the Godspire itself, the titanic artifact of the ancient gods, not by any of their mortal opponents.

“This is user Rab Sioni,” he stated, switching to Latin. “Boot up.”

Though he knew it was a machine, some unfathomably complex and powerful piece of technology, it always seemed alive to him in this moment when it awakened. More even than because it had a voice; the thing talked in a dull monotone, the way he would expect a clock to speak if a clock could. But in this, there came that inscrutable noise, the soft hum of vitality and power from all around. Like the purr of a vast, slowly rousing beast, if he were trapped within its coils.

The room brightened, large panels along the walls and ringing the central structure changing for featureless blackness to glowing patterns of color and illegible script. The records left by previous lord governors warned sternly never to touch those.

“Acknowledged, user Rab Sioni,” the dull, toneless voice of the machine answered him in the same language. Why Latin? It was just one of the many mysteries surrounding the Godspire, one of the constant reminders that he was an ignorant mortal making use of dangerous equipment he didn’t begin to understand. The voice within the machine could interpret and spit back any language, as if it was Blessed with Wisdom, but multiple previous lord governors had noted in the records that it was rather obtuse and communication with it was less risky in a language it already understood. How Latin was the only one of those that was still in use, none could guess. Nobody except scholars and a few diplomats spoke Latin outside the Imperium itself, and those only in the countries immediately surrounding it. The voice resonated as if echoing from a vast distance like a Spirit’s, yet despite this otherworldly quality it was so…flat. Almost stupid. No Spirit talked like that. “System prepared to boot in safe mode. Warning: Avatar not installed. Warning: network connectivity disabled. Do you wish to troubleshoot?”

“No.” He had never answered anything but “no” to its initial barrage of questions, amply warned by the records left by his predecessors. Messing with the machine’s features was dangerous; allowing it to try to fix itself could ruin everything.

“Do you wish to install an Avatar or other AI matrix?”

“No.” He didn’t even know what that one meant, and neither did anyone else who’d contributed to the records. Not that it mattered; whatever the object in question was, they didn’t have one.

“Do you wish to restore network connectivity?”

“No.”

That was the most dangerous by far. “Network connectivity” meant the ability of the machine’s designers, or even other parties who better understood its workings, to reach in and manipulate it. So long as the lord governors of Godspire were the only registered users, they had sole control over its power, and the ability to turn the entire system of magic off and on at will within their domain of this one island. He, Rab Sioni the goblin, decided what Blessings worked and for whom within his city and even the bridges linking to it. It had been this way ever since the Devil King’s ancient rebellion, when he had been betrayed and his grand plans left half-complete by the first lord governor who seized control of the Godspire for himself, locking out all other parties. Even the goddesses could not tread here now; the Spire itself kept them at bay, likely the only force on Ephemera which could.

The Devil King was not the forgiving type; he would take revenge at the first whisper of an opportunity. And the Goddesses very much wanted their tower back. But so long as the lord governors persisted in an unbroken chain, and never risked stepping off the island, they alone ruled here. No goddesses, no devils, no magic but that which they allowed.

“Booting in safe mode.”

He let out a soft breath. There was no real risk, so long as he simply answered “no” to everything. But to stand in that spot, one misspoken word from ending the legacy of all his predecessors and dooming himself to what would undoubtedly be far worse than death whether the Devil King or the Sisters managed to get to him first…

Well. Rab Sioni preferred to experience the awe and terror fully every time, even if he had to prompt himself to do so deliberately, than risk complacency. It was the closest thing he had to a religion.

“Display the map of the city,” he ordered.

It appeared, projected in shaped light into translucent structures like the faces of Spirits, hovering above the central complex. The entire city of Godspire, sprawling to its outermost walls just within the boundaries of the island itself, encircling the complex at its center. The massive keep with its grand arena built around the base of the Spire, rising as high against its walls as merely mortal architects had been able to build, and still above that, the stark white metal of the tower of the gods itself, soaring upward far beyond the reach of mortal hands to pierce the sky.

He let his eyes flicker across the shape of the city, translucent structures overlapping and interconnecting, different colors representing buildings, waterways, streets, subterranean corridors… It was a confusing mess to look at until you’d had a fair amount of experience with it, and even then took some studying before the jumble of shapes snapped into meaning.

All right, what to check first, today…

“Display all persons identifying as adherent to the Savindar Empire.”

These were peaceful times; it was a fairly quick session. They spent less than two hours in the central core, performing the normal checks for hostile actors within the borders and verifying the activities of all known players. Gradually the room emptied as Sinar’s agents noted down the intelligence relevant to their own orders and scurried out to take whatever action was needed.

It wasn’t much, at the moment. These were interesting times indeed, what with the recent signs and portents, but the world’s attention was mostly focused elsewhere than Godspire.

Some of the earlier lord governors had posited that it was some sort of oracle, able to discern all absolute truth out of the fabric of the universe itself, but the thing proved frustratingly unable to divine any answers about anything beyond this island, or subjects not pertaining to the system of magic or the thoughts of individuals. A later lord governor had waxed philosophical in the sealed records, theorizing that magic as a concept would have to form some kind of bridge between thought and physical reality, since that was basically what spells were: ideas made physical. Thus, he reasoned—and Rab Sioni found the argument compelling—that a machine connected somehow to the function of magic itself would obviously be able to detect and respond to patterns of thought.

So long as they used it diligently and with care, it made the line of lord governors untouchable.

Their vaunted ability to control Blessings within the territory of Godspire was widely known, and it was enough to shut down all attempts to take the island by force. No outsiders understood the means of this power, much less the other functions of the machine which enabled it. They simply thought that Godspire’s intelligence service was unparalleled in effectiveness within its own borders and ascribed its relative mediocrity beyond them to the city-state’s historical neutrality and disinterest in intervening in foreign affairs.

It was impossible to take the city by force when its defenders could use magic and attackers could not. It was equally impossible to topple it through subterfuge when its ruler controlled a device that could see through any deception, identify all spies, and know the affiliations and intentions of persons at a glance.

Not to mention their locations within the city.

At last, all the agent scribes had departed to attend their own duties leaving himself and Sinar alone again, and he stepped down with a sigh, knuckling his lower back.

“Now this has been a good day, old friend,” the goblin proclaimed even as the cat man finished jotting something on his own clipboard and then closed the cover on it. “A good show in the arena and an easy time on the intelligence front. If there’s nothing else on your agenda, I’m going to go relax for the rest of the afternoon.”

“You wouldn’t rather save your indulgences for the hard days?” Sinar asked pointedly, but with a smile that took any rebuke out of the question.

Rab Sioni waved a hand dismissively. “I would, but it’s on the hard days that I don’t have time to. I have to store up relaxation against future stress.”

“Well, don’t go overboard. I know how you like to drink in your arena box, and the morning session will be brutal if you’re hungover.”

“You don’t need to tell me. No, no more wine, just an hour or two in the harem. I feel the need to enjoy my dark elves. Sitting there next to Mneraven always has that effect.”

“Before you do,” his spymaster said in a much more serious tone, “I do in fact have another matter to bring up.”

“And here I thought things were going so well,” Rab Sioni sighed. It was his own fault for relaxing prematurely; they always addressed mundane spycraft after their sessions with the machine. “All right, how bad is it?”

“That is what I wish to find out. I want your authorization and the allocation of necessary resources to launch a thorough investigation on Dount.”

Rab Sioni went still, then turned toward Sinar, narrowing his eyes.

“Dount? The last time we discussed Dount, you were of the opinion that Sakin and Jadrak got themselves killed for predictable reasons in unrelated events. And that the Inferno wasn’t any more significant than the other miracles.”

“So I believed at the time, and that might be the case. But unrelated or not, it was enough interesting things happening closely together in a small area that I took the time to pore over all the reports we have from the island personally. There is…something. I don’t know what, your Excellency, but a lot of very surprising incidents have occurred there just within a short span of weeks. It could be random noise, that isn’t implausible on an island with that much wild space and both Viryan and Sanorite presences. But it’s enough that I would investigate for a pattern if I saw it anywhere, and being so close to our own border, I want to investigate thoroughly.”

Sinar was cautious, as all in his profession were, but Rab Sioni had never known him to jump at shadows. No one succeeded for long in his profession without gaining trustworthy instincts.

“Dount, hm. What kind of incidents?”

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