Everyone Compromises Eventually

The meal ran late but the barbarians were not as boisterous as Aliana had expected and mostly ignored the people of the temple as they crept around the edges of the hall and nervously gathered food for themselves. Finished dining and conferring with his men, Ferich had Aliana show him to Isarius' quarters. Aliana had never been to Isarius' wing of the Temple, but she, like everyone knew where it was. The two great doors in the throne room--plated with gold and situated just behind the largest altar--lead to the holiest of places where the Great Isarius lived and ate and slept. 

The doors were abandoned now, no soldiers stood guard and the doors opened easily at a touch. Aliana couldn't help a fission of fear as she stepped through them. But she was not smote down for daring to enter where she should never have been granted passage. Indeed, there was no immediate consequence, and why should there be? Ferich had no patience for her hesitancy and strode briskly through the sumptuous rooms, an expression of pure disgust growing on his face. When they came at last to what had been Isarius' sleeping quarters, he shook his head at the massive bed swathed in silks and velvet.

"No, I cannot sleep here. You must show me other quarters."

Aliana glanced between Ferich and had to admit that next to the rough utility of the warrior, all the costly glamour of the room did seem a bit...gaudy. She could not imagine him living in these rooms any more than he seemed able to. It was an absurd notion.

But. She remembered the first bloom of chaos after Isarius' death; how everyone they had looked to for guidance had fled, or embraced death themselves. She was tired of fighting to achieve the simplest of goals, and she remembered that there were people starving for no other reason than for want of a leader. The Temple Priests had killed themselves, but there were other priests, further afield, and plenty who were still devout enough to cling to whatever empty symbol they could. Isarius had many sons, and many former lords who would want to keep their power. It was easy to imagine what an empty set of holy rooms could come to symbolize. It was easier still to imagine the successive bouts of chaos that would follow. Aliana was tired of chaos.

"I think," she said, "it would be better if you did sleep here."

"I cannot. This is," Ferich gestured broadly about, seeming at a loss for words. "This is foolish. Insane."

"Then change it," Aliana shrugged. "If you leave them empty, the people will say these rooms are waiting for another god to fill them."

Ferich sneered at her. "You want to turn me into a god like the one you lost."

"If you like."

"You are faithless."

Aliana pressed her lips together and bit her tongue. It was true she had never been very pious, did not spare long, rambling thoughts for the meaning of sacrifice and the confluence of divinity and flesh that was Isarius. Her mind tended toward practical matters, but she had carried out the daily rituals without fail. She had loved Isarius in her own way, and she, too, felt lost without him. 

"You have killed my god and my king. If you do not replace him, someone else will." 

Ferich scoffed. "A man cannot be a god."

"Then don't be!" Aliana snapped, perhaps unwisely. "You don't have to be a king either, let the people hate you for all I care, but at least tell them what to do because they certainly haven't been willing to do it for themselves." 

Ferich stared at her as Aliana crossed her arms in front of her chest and refused to take back her words. Finally, he said, "The rooms must be changed."

Aliana sighed. "Tomorrow."

She turned to go, but his voice stopped her. "There must be other sleeping chambers somewhere in this maze. Find one for yourself."

Aliana blinked at him. "I have a room."

He sighed at her, as if she was the one being obtuse. "I do not understand your people." He looked around him with a renewed sense of derision. "You do. You will remain close so you can tell me what I must know."

Aliana opened her mouth to suggest that there were others more suited to such a position, but closed it when she realized that, no, there really weren't. Instead, she nodded, and went off to find a place to sleep.

Castle Wode

Lord Alfric was a thin man, as tall as Egan, but severe. He kept his castle in strict care and the knights under him well-disciplined. Roderic liked him. He understood a man who set goals for himself and his people, who believed in the high ideals of knighthood. Egan did not seem to share Roderic's opinion. In all fairness, it seemed a mutual disdain. Alfric had taken one look at Egan and decided to address himself to Roderic instead. 

"Castle Wode is at your service. We've not seen hide nor hair of this supposed beast, but the herders insist it exists, and  we will provide was aide we can."

Roderic dismounted and bowed, handing the reins of his horse off to a stable-hand. "We are in your debt, Lord Alfric." He winced at the sound of Egan flailing himself out of his saddle behind him. Alfric raised an eyebrow in question and Roderic shrugged sheepishly. After all, he had no idea why His Majest had insisted that Egan accompany him. He'd just as soon come alone.

"Well," said Alfric, "one of my men will show you to your quarters. This is a working castle, so do not expect the lavishness of court. They'll be dry and warm, though." Alfric walked as he spoke, and Roderic followed him into the common hall where knights and soldiers and other working men were taking their evening repast at long wooden tables.  "If you like, you may eat first. We don't muck about with sending words to a person's rooms so if you want to eat, you'll show yourselves here at the proper times."

Roderic nodded. "Of course, my Lord."

They sat down with Alfric at the head table and availed themselves of the simple but hardy fair on offer. There was roast meat, bread, and wine. Nothing lavish, as Alfric had said, but filling and warm in the coolness of the mountain climate. After supper was finished, Roderic and Egan were shown to their shared quarters. The stone walls were bare, the furniture heavy and plain, but there was a fire going and their belongings had been brought up from the stables. Roderic smiled in satisfaction. 

Egan flopped himself into a chair close to the fire, the expression on his face far from the satisfaction Roderic felt. "Well, here we are then." 

"We can start looking for the dragon first thing tomorrow. Lord Alfric said he would have some the peasants come up to the castle to speak with us about what they've seen. That should give us a good idea of where to start." Roderic began to strip off his light armor almost cheerfully. "With any luck, we'll have a sighting within a few days time."

"Yes, well. I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you," said Egan, sourly. "You heard Lord Alfric, no one here at the castle has seen anything of the sort."

Roderic raised his eyebrows at Egan. "Yes, of course. Because if a dragon has any intelligence at all, the last thing it's going to do is show itself to a castle full of knights."

If anything, that seemed to push Egan further into his uncharacteristically black mood. Roderic shrugged if off and washed what he could of the road from himself in the room's basin. He was tired, and one of the two beds in the room was certainly calling his name. Egan could sulk all he wanted to, Roderic had every intention of getting an early start come morning.

Mortimer Sprill, Character Rambling

Mortimer Sprill was not a good man. Good men were constrained by laws, and morality, and intangible things like compassion. They gave of themselves, sacrificed for others, and when they achieved greatness, they shaped history.  Sprill was not a good man, and he had no interest in trying to be. 

What Sprill was, was a survivor. He saw no innate value in goodness, but there was a tangible reward in survival. It was the first and basest instinct of Man, and if it wasn't exactly noble, well. Sprill saw no innate value in nobility, either. Every being in the Universe wanted to survive, and most were willing to do so at the cost of others. Luckily, Sprill was also clever.  He had a whirring, sinuous mind, with an ear for sound and a talent for observation. These natural talents he used with a surgeon's precision to make himself necessary. If not trusted, he could at least be invaluable.

When he joined the Royal Naval Academy, he did so with no illusions as to his place. He was there on a charity scholarship, reeking of poverty and Border-born classlessness. He had grown up hungry and desperate, and he was never going to win approval, certainly not by faking a patriotism or gratitude he did not feel. So he didn't. He was sullen, and quite, and still, very, very clever. 

Eventually, the restrictive discipline and hierarchy of military life ceased chafing and Sprill found it much to his liking. It was as though someone had thoughtfully laid out a map detailing the expected behaviors of everyone around him and provided a helpful key of the most common motivations. It was a restful paradise after juggling the explosive and unpredictable hierarchies of the gangs. Sprill had always been a manipulative bastard and the Fleet was almost too easy, allowing him to develop a degree of subtlety he let himself be proud of in quiet moments.

Sprill was not good, or compassionate, or loyal, or grateful. He was driven, manipulative, clever, and, very occasionally, the best man to have in your corner.

When the barbarian Tribes came down from their mountain strongholds, the Great Isarius sent his armies to protect his people. The marched from the Sacred City with chariots and horses and gleaming armor. The women tossed flowers in their path, the priests chanted prayers, and Isarius himself granted them a blessing, standing over them on his high balcony in the Royal Temple.Victory was assured.

But the hill country was ill-suited for chariots and horses. Their gleaming armor was heavy, it weighted them down when they had to climb and was cumbersome in the damp. And all the blessings in the world could not make the mountain trails less winding. Too often the soldiers of the Holy Kingdom found themselves lost and separated, chasing shadows in the mists as the barbarians harried them. The barbarians wore little armor, rode no horses, owned no chariots, and ran along the mountain trails as though they were wide, paved roads. The barbarians advanced, and the soldiers retreated.

Long months were spent with no victories to celebrate and more land lost than held. The people of the hills were simple. They herded goats and tended small farms, lived by the land and without the land they had nothing. Their homes were burned, crops trampled, herds stolen. They fled to the Sacred City, wept allowed to the priests, and offered what meager sacrifices they could to Great Isarius, begging him to save them. Seeing the plight of the hill people, the people of the Sacred City grew afraid, and they too wept before the priests and sacrificed for their soldiers' victory.

Victory remained elusive.

Great Isarius heard the cries of his people, and because he was a compassionate God, he readied himself for war. He donned his own armor, took up his great sword and rode from the Sacred City in his golden chariot. His elite guard attended him, and a legion of soldiers rode after him. The people cheered, sacrificed in joy, and waited eagerly for his triumphant return.

When Isarius died, the barbarians advanced into the plains. Here, the armies of the Holy Kingdom might have defeated them, with their chariots and their horses, and their sturdy armor. Instead, the barbarians found a neatly paved road, leading them into the Sacred City.

Aliana was uncomfortably full by the time she had proved none of the food was poisoned well enough to satisfy Ferich. She was prepared to return to the Secretaries' Hall but Ferich insisted she sit next to him as he ate with his me.

"You said you were the one that ordered meals prepared." 

Ferich phrased it as a statement, not a question, and it had been more like groveling, but she answered anyway. "Yes."

"You are the ruler here then."

Aliana stared at him, confused. "No. I'm an..." she trailed off, realizing she didn't have the word in the language of the Tribes, so she finished in Tavari, "undersecretary."

"Undersecretary," repeated Ferich. "I do not think we have these in the mountains."

Aliana smiled slightly at the thought. "No, probably not."

"An undersecretary is a leader."

"No," Aliana corrected cautiously. "I was one of fifty, who worked under the five Secretaries of Great Isarius. I copied notes, sent missives. Solved small problems that did not need to see greater eyes."

Ferich seemed to mull this over for awhile. "Where are your leaders?"

"Great Isarius is dead, his Secretaries died with him. When they heard, the priests killed themselves. The lords all left."

Ferich scoffed at that last. "Cowards."

"There are more dead in the women's quarters." Aliana said, remembering. 

"Women's quarters?"

"Great Isarius' wives. Some of his children." Aliana shrugged.

"Wives." Ferich snorted. "Foolish the man who would seek out more than one. It is no wonder he did not care to keep them close." Aliana bit her tongue and he continued. "I will see to it they are cleaned, if they have not been already."

There Are Not Many Opportunities to Bathe on the Road to Conquest

Ferich was not as tall as Aliana had thought from a distance, Cosmas topped him by a good inch or two. And he stank; sour sweat and the metallic tang of blood. But he was broad across the shoulders, muscular and terrifying as he glowered at the tables in the dining hall where they were laden with food for the evening meal.

"What is this?" he said, turning his scowl on Aliana.

Aliana glanced at the tables. "It is a meal."  She thought that was fairly evident but perhaps he meant that the fare was too plain?

"You think to poison us when we have already conquered you?" 

Aliana gaped, even as her heart raced. "No, it is just a meal."

"No man offers to feed his enemy."

Aliana's mind twisted around that, trying to think how to answer. "I had the kitchen start preparing meals again days ago," she said, because Ferich did not seem to want to wait for her to gather her thoughts. "We... Isarius is dead. But we remain. Tavarin remains. And everyone must eat."

"You expect me to believe there is nothing wrong with this food? That it is freely given to the men who slayed your king."

God, Aliana wanted to correct, but there seemed little point. Instead, she shrugged. "You're early. We didn't know when to expect you, and you're ahead of our best guesses. We wouldn't have had time to arrange so much poison even had we wanted to."

That seemed to be a more plausible explanation to Ferich's mind. But he remained suspicious. "You will sample each of these dishes."

Aliana nodded. She had skipped the morning meal, and she did not actually have anything better to do than to allay the barbarians' suspicions. 

Invasions are Tiring

Aliana watched Ferich arrive then retreated to the Secretaries' Hall where she sat with Cosmas, Mirissa, and Ormato. The four of them were quiet together, each lost to the privacy of their own minds as they slumped at their desks, absently fingering old missives. It was a relief almost. The Temple was no longer a temple and no longer any business of theirs. The barbarians would take it over and it would run smoothly or not.

"I have family," Mirissa said. Aliana looked up, surprised. She had assumed that they, like her, had stayed because they had no better option. "I could learn to be a farmer again." She looked at her hands. They were not fine and soft, but they bore only the callouses a pen would make and the small wounds of paper.

Ormato snorted. "My Da was a rat-catcher. I'm too old to learn that business even if I wanted to." He shrugged. "Still, they always need someone to help settle accounts at the docks."

Cosmas wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I think I'd rather be a rat-catcher. Or a farmer," he added like an afterthought.  The three of them turned to Aliana. She blinked, unsure what they wanted her to say. She had no where to go, no plans for herself.

The door to the Hall opened before she could answer them. One of the barbarians strode in. His braids were short and underneath his beard and the dirt, he looked young.

"Who here has understanding of the Tribes?" He spoke in his native language and glared as if he expected cowering.

Aliana was too tired to cower. She glanced at her compatriots. It was a bit of an open question. all of them had some understanding of the Tribes, spoke at least a little of the language. Still, of all who were left if seemed that she was the only one without immediate recourse, so she stood. "I have understanding of the Tribes. What do you need?"

"Come." He strode from the room, clearly expecting her to follow. Aliana waved of the vague noises of concern and strode after him.