Ecdysis

“How smart are Things, really?”

Albin stopped twirling the vizier piece in his hand and glanced at me. “Smart? They are monsters, Erf.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “It was afraid of me, Al. Well, it was cautious, but that is already more than quite a few wermages I’ve met in my life. Are you telling me that they are more dimwitted than a monster? Or is there some sort of Forest public board with threat rankings written on it?”

The recovery after the fight was quick and left me impressed with the arm healers. Despite their rudimentary knowledge of medicine, they were adept at setting bones and affixing splints. As such, I mostly acted as an alchemist and provided the wounded with drugs to ease their pain and speed up recovery while covertly making sure that none of their wounds would get infected. I had no intention of stumbling into yet another petty rivalry by accidentally revealing that most of the wound dressings were nowhere near good enough by my standards. Some of them tried to question my expertise due to my apparent age, but my painkillers shut up both the wounded and the healers.

Albin laughed and placed his piece on the board. “Forest public board? What a way to call it! Yes, there are wermages as wise as chickens. All they do is cluck and lay eggs.”

I locked it with my knight, forcing the play back into the graveyard. “You know what I am talking about. I am being serious here.”

While the grub could be chalked up to a very unlucky accident since I did some rolling on the ground during the battle, the alien’s treatment of my poisoned weapon was quite telling. The Creature slammed into spears of others with little to no regard yet deliberately avoided mine even when doing so put it into a less favourable position. The situation changed significantly if I assumed that the alien went for my grub intentionally. The damage was significant, but it wasn’t living-tech just to be a morbid joke on life. Rather than break like some sophisticated watch, the grub underwent rapid pupation to reassemble itself. It would regain most of its functions once it emerged, but it would be inert for the time being and unable to produce any compounds that I might need. It would be faster than growing a new one, but it would take time nevertheless.

Despite the First Spear’s concerns, I had stocks of various ‘medicines’ prepared exactly for something like this. I couldn’t slobber the regenerative gel on every nick, scratch, and nosebleed, but I could perform my duties as a healer long enough for Chirp to bring more supplies from Samat if that was necessary. I also wasn’t solely responsible for the well-being of every single person in this campaign. What I found myself suddenly lacking was poison.

The very same poison that the Creature refused to deal with.

Albin pouted. “I think we have different opinions on what should be called a monster. It does not reason like you and me, despite how it might look. It is simply aware.”

“Aware? Aware how? Did it find its inner Zen?”

“It is a creature of Flow, Erf. Magically aware.” He pushed one of his towers for me to take and tapped on it. “It does not think ahead; it acts ahead.”

I glanced down at the board. “So it uses Flow to get out of sticky situations just like you are doing right now? Okay… I mean it sounds ridiculous, annoying, and unfair, but that is what magic is to me in general, so at least it is consistent. What about bad eyesight? Where did that come from if Things are so… aware? Did my trainers lie to me?”

“A sticky situation? This game is a matter of life and death! Your trainers didn’t lie — they just didn’t expect you to be, well, you. Plenty of murks had their lives spared simply because they were still and quiet when a Thing passed by. Farmers, Collectors, spears. If they could see everything, there wouldn’t be any fields past the Border Wall. No one would dare to step out.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic; Mushaf Davlat is a strapping young lass. What do you mean, me being me? Are you telling me that I am the first alchemist that tried to test poisons on them?”

I could hear Albin’s eyes rolling. “Your vile tricks won’t work on me. Poisons are largely useless. When they work, they don’t kill Things fast enough to prevent casualties, yet they change how monsters act in response. Tell me — what were your thoughts when you saw the Thing right in front of you?”

I pushed one of my spear pieces forward. “Don’t die.”

He replied with his bishop. “How?”

I sighed and drained my mug of ale. Now that Albin got serious with chess, my brain needed additional calories. “Pretty much how other spears are taught, I think. We have shields to block the attack, while the cross-guarded tips of our spears are good at fixating the enemy in place or outright disrupting its charge with the pointy bit. You can even say that the consistent rebuke diverts the attack. We both know that running away or surrendering is out of the question, so those four methods are the standard static means of defence. Unless you are implying what I think you are implying.”

“No, I don’t believe they are capable of reading murk thoughts, even after witnessing your altercation. But intentions? Maybe. The difference between you and your finger is that more than half had their eyes closed during the attack. When it comes to Things, spears aren’t taught to seek weaknesses and retaliate — they are drilled so their weapons remain steady even when they are shaking from fear. They are taught to stand strong and keep Things at bay for a wermage to save the day. Sounds familiar?”

“Yes, I was taught in a similar manner. I thought that murks were taught this way because they are assumed to be incapable of anything more. Whether that assumption is malicious or not is a separate discussion.”

“And you would be largely correct. Most commanders do teach murks this way because they see them as relatively weak. And they are, but we are not here to discuss the opinions of First Spears, Manipulars, or Generals. We are discussing Things and their behaviour. Your finger was passive; you weren’t. And it felt that.”

“So Flow gives them something akin to a danger sense,” I grumbled. “Then how do wermages kill them? They are both active and in possession of a Spark.”

As if I didn’t have enough hassle with the uppity wermages around me and the ‘barbarian horde’ that we were marching towards. Well, said barbarians were mostly Sophia’s problem. Emanai arms had a lot of inertia when it came to modifying their strategy, and I could understand why. You don’t upgrade engines on a flying plane or replace wheels on a speeding train.

This campaign wasn’t just a small party, set off to clear a wolf den in the wilderness. Twelve thousand were marching through the Forest, with many more assisting us on the sea. It took an hour for our column just to march into the new camp every day. It took just as long to leave it in the morning. Our current camp was built on a river where we would spend two days unloading food and fodder from the Kishava supply ships that arrived here at the same time as us. An enormous task of two separate forces was executed in unison, and it would still take us two days to restock our supplies. This was a complex mechanism with twenty — perhaps even thirty — thousand individual pieces working at once. Could I use my knowledge to somehow improve it? Possibly. Could I do it while this ‘machine’ was ‘driving’ in the middle of the Forest without any accidents that would result in us spectacularly crashing and burning mid-way? I wasn’t that arrogant.

Likewise, quoting ancient Chinese wise men wouldn’t even phase Sophia. I wasn’t dealing with cavemen here, and my theoretical knowledge of ancient and even medieval warfare couldn’t compare to their practical experience, accumulated over centuries of fighting in the alien environment. The Emanai war machine was operating at peak efficiency and capacity, and any groundbreaking improvements would need to come not from me whispering ideas to the General’s ear but from factories in the rear. Just like my balloon.

And just like my balloon, they would take time to implement. If I was willing to offer them in the first place. The last thing I wanted was to send Kamshad into a power overdrive with my inventions or spook them hard enough that they would prefer to wipe me out no matter what and deal with the consequences later.

For now, I had to put that part of the looming threat on my life aside and rely on Albin being here and content with his sister leading. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a military career longer than some ancient Terran civilisations.

The current danger of the day was aliens with a magical danger sense.

“Something like that.” Albin nodded and tapped on the chessboard. “They are not invincible, and that is the reason why I believe they don’t think ahead and merely act as they do. There is always a difference between a move that takes a vizier now or a sacrifice that will give you a matriarch later. One just needs to survive until that later. Wermages tend to do that much better than murks. Things are consistently inconsistent.”

I hummed in contemplation. Albin had managed to tell me much, but this information was rather tricky to use. Especially when I wasn’t moving tokens on a checkered board but trying to keep myself away from the glowing writhing mass of worms that was a Creature’s mouth.

“So Emanai uses the passivity of spears as a lure-”

“Emanai does not lure Things with murks.” Lita’af Hikmat walked over to our table with a servant carrying a large jar of wine. “They do not attack more often, thinking that the prey is weak. They attack when they are nearby. In the past, a single Thing could devour an entire maniple if it managed to claim war mages as its first targets. It was through the arm reforms by my ancestor that we stopped losing hundreds to every passing Thing. The row of murk spears at the front keeps deaths to a minimum among the entire column, including the murks themselves.”

She sat near me and did a double take at the chatrang board. I couldn’t judge her — the scuffle between a time mage and a nanite-enhanced brain left the board in a rather messy state. I wasn’t sure how much time Albin was spending on each move, or if he had other divination spells to assist him in the process, but he was the one to propose this match to resolve the Mushaf debacle. As such, I wasn’t feeling guilty if my nanite tricks were a bit exhausting for him.

His magical tricks were blatant cheating, and he should be ashamed of himself for using them on someone like me. Obviously.

It was also possible that he was using a similar danger spell since his skill skyrocketed just as I was finishing my trap. A lot of Emanai runes drew obvious inspirations from Creature markings and Creatures themselves were likely the first ‘teachers’ of magic when humans arrived on Tana. If that was the case, I could rein in my righteous anger and use this game for training.

Considering where we were and Creature’s attitude toward me and my living tech — I needed any practice I could get.

“Of course, Lita’af Hikmat, your ancestor is indeed wise. I was not trying to imply that Emanai was throwing her warriors away. Does your presence here imply that the wermage drills are over?” I offered an appropriate level of backtracking to our accidental eavesdropper and shifted the conversation. I could afford to be candid in front of Albin, around others — not so much.

Lita’af managed to peel her eyes away from our game and shook her head. “Forgive my sudden intrusion. Azhar Mesud, congratulations on your quick promotion. I am certain that your maniple will make itself well-known within Ulastai. Erf, you have my congratulations as well. It is very rare for a new warrior to earn their first badge this quickly. Especially the Bloodied Carapace. Your wives have longer drills as this is their first campaign.”

I nodded and glanced down on my kaftan with a new silver brooch pinned to it. My first medal in this campaign. “You have my thanks, but I did not do it in the quest for glory. I merely fought for my survival.”

“Good. When it comes to Things, glory-seekers tend to die and die quickly.” She pushed her cloak aside and tapped on a similar silver brooch. Hers was of a much better make and even had a large ruby in the middle, cut in the shape of a droplet. “This badge is not just a recognition of your accomplishment but also a warning.”

“Just because I managed to hurt one once does not mean I could do it again.”

Lita’af nodded and waved her servant closer. “Precisely. Getting a second badge is even more dangerous than the first. I am pleased to see that you remain cautious.”

I watched him fill my mug with wine. “Azhar Mesud and I were discussing the dangers of facing them in battle and their irrational behaviour during our friendly spar at chatrang. I am certain that my wives would not be pleased with me giving my life away for another badge when I have a Gestr of Kiymetl on my neck already.”

Albin scoffed. “A friendly spar? This is a brutal assault on my chastity! I will complain to your Manipular for those underhanded moves!”

“I will complain to your General for blatant cheating, then!”

“Where did I cheat!?” He had the gall to look offended.

“There,” I jabbed at the piece, “I knew you were cheating when you moved the bishop. Who does that? My knight was open!”

“Erf…” Lita’af sighed. “That piece is called an elephant.”

“Uh,” I glanced at the symbol, “right.”

Her tail twitched. “Where did you learn how to play chatrang? Your style is… eccentric.”

Albin nodded emphatically. “I personally think he is just moving pieces around to hear them clack.”

“My clacking got you into a corner.”

“Almost.”

I smiled. “Are you sure that I did not account for your timely luck, Azhar Mesud? Where is your next move going to be?”

He pouted. “I am thinking.”

“Sure. Take your time. You have plenty of it.” I leaned back and turned my attention to Lita’af. She was the Lady of the Kamshad House but ‘Azhar Mesud’ was a Manipular of Ulastai. Even as we were having our ‘down time’, ranks mattered. “I’ve read quite a bit about the game when I was younger, but I rarely play. Almost never, as I don’t find enjoyment in it.”

The wine she brought was quite delicious, especially the honey in it. Lots of calories.

Lita’af glanced at the board and then at Albin. I think I saw her eyes twitch.

“With your status and recent achievements, many are planning to get close to you. Despite them having nothing to offer but empty praises and a false sense of worth,” she murmured, hugging her tail close to her face. Her fingers twirled the brooch. “Make sure that the people offering you life-saving advice know what they are talking about. Sycophants will get you killed.”

I felt my eyebrows rise. It was quite bold of her to use the spell of silence to relay her message while Albin was distracted with the game. Lita’af was careful not to point fingers, but her opinion about our game was hard to miss. “I will heed your advice, but I have my own to offer. Know that many things are more than they appear, Lita’af Hikmat.”

She blinked in surprise and glanced back at Albin, who was busy trying to blow my piece to a nearby square. “Have you faced a Thing in battle, Azhar Mesud?”

“If only you whispered for a little bit longer,” he grumbled and flicked a golden brooch on the table. “I have.”

Lita’af sucked air through her teeth as her tail doubled in volume. “I see… My apologies for asking.”

I craned my neck. His medal made mine look like a lump of silver in comparison. “Looks like you hurt it really bad to earn something like this.”

“That is not the Bloodied Carapace,” Lita’af corrected me. “It is the Shattered Carapace. Your chatrang opponent killed a Thing. Alone.”

I nodded in understanding. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Albin had killed one of them himself. The Speaker of Shebet had plenty of battle accolades on his sash when he wasn’t in disguise. What was more surprising to me was the badge having the name ‘Azhar Hatay Mesud’ engraved on it. He was prepared.

Albin pushed the board aside. “We can continue this game at a later time. I am sure that the esteemed Lady of the House didn’t come here merely to toast to our growth.”

“I came to inquire whether you wish to postpone our fight, Erf, but I see that you are in great health. Please don’t stop your game on my behalf. I admit, I am now curious to see how your game ends.”

I glanced down at the board with a sigh. Despite Albin making a fool out of himself and dragging me along for the ride, his moves promised me nothing but a drawn-out slugfest to the bitter end. Yes, the current exchange would cost him, magic or not, but it wouldn’t kill him. “I do not think that this game will end tonight, I am afraid. I might be exempt from the most mundane tasks of my finger, but I still have wounded to check upon. While this game is still in its opening moves.”

Lita’af sat silently for a moment, nodded, and threw her cup of wine into her mouth. “I have a favour to ask, then. One that you offered before we reached Uureg. I wish to send a private missive to Samat, and I wish to send it fast. I am willing to offer a small favour of Kamshad for it. Are you willing?”

XXX

“Albin?”

“Hmm?”

“Wouldn’t Kamshad figure out who you are by that badge? There should be some records somewhere, or there would be plenty of fakes around. Or did you intentionally kill one as Azhar Mesud for this exact purpose?”

“Records do exist. What House do you think is in charge of those records.”

“…Let me guess — the House of Records.”

“Precisely.”

“I see your point, Albin Shebet Chasya.”

 

 

Roshanak Kamshad Gulnaz

“Enoch is stirring.” A scribe read the missive from one of her agents. “More than a hundred messengers left Samat after the meeting between Kiymetl and Enoch Matriarchs in Aikerim’s Manor. We’ve managed to inspect some of them without messengers noticing. Zamindar Azrin is summoning her kin.”

“Are they bringing forces?” Parusatis Aminah, the Kishava Matriarch, asked with a frown on her face.

Roshanak raised an eyebrow at the scribe. The slave quickly inspected the rest of the scroll and shook his head. “Missives sing praise to artisans and ask for young daughters that lack inheritance and wish to prove themselves.”

Parusatis chuckled. “Looks like Zamindar paid close attention to you, cousin. And close attention to what the Esca were doing with their delegation.”

Roshanak crumpled the scroll that she was holding. “The Censor betrayed us.”

The smile on the Kishava Matriarch’s face vanished. “What happened?”

“My daughter confirmed that the murk Alchemist is the true daimon of Kiymetl. She tested his prowess in personal combat and discovered that he has the strength and toughness of a warformed Kamshad wermage. Muramat, despite his clear distaste for the murk, supported her claims.”

And offered his warnings in turn.

“You place a lot of trust in your children. Where would he gain such strength without Spark? Potions? I can see a murk getting as strong as a wer, but a wermage? A warformed wermage? I would be ashamed to say that out loud if I was you. Even among us.”

“Lita’af believes that it was dimmed from use. Used to gain his strength or spent on something else. Or someone else. If you can’t trust the word of my successor then we can wait until your messengers deliver news about the ‘mere’ murk effortlessly wounding a Creature in battle. Perhaps in a tenday or so. We can continue our conversation then — I am sure that Nanaya Ayda and Zamindar Azrin will appreciate our patience.”

“Very well,” Parusatis grabbed a seared pheasant and ripped a chunk of meat with her teeth. “So the daimon hid himself by tainting his soul-”

“Or it was taken from him.”

The Kishava Matriarch gave her a sharp gaze. “If Spark was taken from him against the will of the Goddess, the Censor would have taken the daimon from Kiymetl a long time ago. The fact that she didn’t means the sudden sadaq wasn’t just a fluke. Aikerim Adal properly staked her claim with her daughter. Likely kept it secret for as long as possible to make sure Anaise Hilal had the time to enrapture the daimon.”

“Yet Sophia Chasya is still planning for something,” Roshanak argued back. “You think she seeks to break one of the Divine Accords and dissolve their sadaq? Or do you think the proud Censor of Emanai is suddenly eager to join the sadaq of a child as a third, fourth, or even fifth wife?”

Parusatis scoffed.

“Exactly. In the meantime, Aikerim Adal keeps growing faster than her daughter; she keeps doing so while the daimon is no longer in Samat. And then there is Isra Haleh, one of Zamindar’s dimmest, suddenly crafting near-artefact swords. I’ve made my inquiries — that girl couldn’t steal a wer husband from a murk girl, let alone insert herself into that sadaq. The daughter of the future Kiymetl Matriarch would eat her alive. But she is a decent smith. Then there is Esca with their delegation of artisans, and now Zamindar Azrin is summoning hers. That is something worth paying attention to.”

“Don’t tell me that you are willing to send your artisans? Or give one of your daughters away. Lita’af Hikmat, perhaps?”

Roshanak rolled her eyes. “He is also unable to use Flow directly. No active runes, no spells. Lita’af felt nothing even when she was scorching him with fire breath. Nothing but the growing strength of his body. He is not just a daimon but a crippled daimon. And physical strength is cheap — there are plenty of desperate wer around, willing to offer their life to a worthy patron. The only way he could gain the influence that he currently has was by giving his daimonic knowledge away. That is why a more experienced Aikerim Adal is growing faster than her younger daughter. Or her surprising willingness to send the daimon north, as long as he kept a swift critter by his side and sent missives almost daily. His worth is in his knowledge, and the sadaq is his covenant.

“His knowledge is what Sophia Chasya seeks. This is why she oh so graciously ‘withdrew’ from the question of Anaise Hilal’s future marriage and proclaimed that Shebet isn’t interested in tying themselves closer with Kiymetl. She knew that one of us would act immediately, and she expected that he would follow Anaise Hilal to the north in response. The Censor used the Houses of War to push him away from Samat and straight into her hands. The General will have plenty of opportunities to influence him during this campaign.”

Parusatis finished cleaning the bone and threw it on the ground for a slave to pick. “No spells, you say? Quite intriguing. I can see why Collectors failed time and time again with this one. I can also see how a few well-trained war mages can succeed. He is a curiosity and not a threat for me to send my men.”

“Indeed, he isn’t. At least for now. But I invited you here not to discuss how to keep Aikerim Adal in check — that topic should be discussed among all four involved Pillars — but how to gain leverage over the Kiymetl daimon without significant risk.” Roshanak snapped her fingers, and a scribe gave her the scroll she had prepared in advance. “Whether he is doing this at the request of Aikerim Adal or of his own volition, there is an obvious demand for artisans. Isra Haleh, the Esca’s ships, and now — the Enoch.

“I am not a fool, cousin, nor am I a brute warrior. I know how deals are made. I am not desperate enough to compete with Zamindar Azrin on who will offer Aikerim Adal more artisans. Something like that will cost me greatly and yield very little. I am certain that you aren’t eager to compete with Esca with those outrageous slave deals either.”

The scroll left her hands and floated toward Parusatis. “But there is something else they will need no matter what.”

The Kishava Matriarch quickly glanced at the scroll contents and nodded in understanding. “Resources.”

“Indeed. An artisan is but a starving beggar when they have nothing to craft with. And I am certain that the daimon will need a lot of everything in the very near future.”

She slammed the scroll on the table. “Are you suggesting that we purchase every single mine in Emanai!? For a single daimon? My House is quite wealthy, but this is preposterous!”

“Are you willing to beg the Kiymetl for every skyship that they make? Are you willing to beg Esca for every looking glass? How about begging the Enoch for those new swords and armours? Your House is wealthy, and so is mine, but is it going to keep that wealth?” Roshanak waited a few moments for her words to set in and then shook her head. “You are correct — purchasing every mine would be outrageous. Shebet controls most of the gold, silver, and copper mines, and the Censor will gladly use them herself. Trying to get those would be a waste of time and money.”

She leaned over and tapped on the scroll. “No, we will go for things that he needs the most. Things that he will buy ships worth of cargo at a time, if not more. Iron and coal are first on that list. Look at the numbers — this is based on the amount of tax Aikerim Adal paid just to bring that ore into the city. In a single season.”

Parusatis whistled. “Those are impressive numbers. Does she have an arm workshop in her Manor?”

“She has a single smith.”

The Kishava Matriarch rubbed her chin. “If she has ten such smiths, it would be quite a challenge to ship all that ore into Samat. Or wherever else she decides to move her workshop. I know I would — that city tax is uncomfortable to even look at. She would need a handful of mines at the very least as well.”

“The volume of ore needed will force Aikerim to seek them close to rivers and shores. And that is where we come in. Coal mines are few and iron mines are cheap. Most of them in the north belong to our three Houses already, while the two of us can easily grab the rest, closer to Samat, and claim the mining rights on iron everywhere so that Aikerim can’t build mines herself. The daimon might be able to make blade steel from any ore, but he can’t make it from thin air.”

“And if she does not need that much ore?”

“Then the Enoch will. Maybe not this year but the year after, at the very least. The little fox made sure of that. There is also plenty of bronze and brass on that list. We might not control copper, but only we have zinc and tin from Bayan Gol. With those mines, we don’t need to chase the daimon — he will come crawling to us himself. We don’t even need to worry if he dies or not on this campaign. Since Aikerim Adal made sure that his knowledge remained behind, the demand for those resources would persist even after his death.”

Parusatis lifted her eyebrow. “And how much are you planning to demand for a pile of ore?”

“As much as I can get. The mines are necessary to keep us abreast with the daimon. I would rather pay with piles of ore for his trinkets rather than gold. I can do this myself, Parusatis, I have the gold to do so. What I need is speed. I need to do it faster before Kiymetl and Enoch can secure their supply for years to come.”

“Make sure that the daimon does not surprise you again.” The Kishava Matriarch chuckled. “We might know of his true status, but Kiannika does not. For them, he is but a murk. A murk that, by your own words, managed to wound a Creature. Didn’t Lita’af plan to challenge him to a mock battle? You know what is bound to happen when he shows himself strong enough to withstand a war mage in front of everyone?”

Roshanak smiled. “He will be expected to be one of the challengers. He might even gain more than his freedom if he comes back. And that is now… an acceptable outcome for me.”

The daimon was too cautious, despite his strength. Too slippery. Even wer wouldn’t lower themselves to be called murks, yet this daimon was content to smear himself in dung just so others would ignore him. If Roshanak wanted to sink her claws into this ‘Erf’, she needed to get him out in the open. Or get to him through someone else.

And if neither of those was available to her — she would make them herself.