NationStates Jolt Archive

The city of Khefas. They say the gleam of it can be seen much earlierthan the walls of it. A walk through the Hefon Imperial Capital wouldproduce many gasps and gawps – the capital could only be described asgarish with its liberal application of gold and colour – a vulgardisplay of wealth for an Empire which housed many who lived in extreme poverty.

The scene was all the more excessive by the fact that today was no ordinary day – it was coronation day. Many of the city's rich turned out to support their new ruler, eager to please the new Emperor – or the Senche, as he was known in the local language. The last one had been, in their eyes, a good one, one not to impede on their freedoms, and one to even assign them a little bit of political power – yet there were rumours about this young Emperor, about a dark and perhaps most worryingly modest soul. Yet, for the moment, a crowd of sycophants stared at the man who was to be perhaps one of the best known Senches in the annals of history. He certainly intended it, and it was not just associations with the global crisis that would bring this fame. This was a lizardman with a plan.

And that lizardman was Kueher Remoh.

The young prince sat in his litter, eagerly waiting for the door to open and his destiny to present itself. His mind contemplated many things – would his plans lose him his position? Was there really a revolt brewing? What was that feeling he had felt a number of days ago – a strange, perverse, dark feeling that had radiated around him, and almost seemed as if it was trying to take over him before it dispersed. The booming voice of the high priests overrode them, however – Kueher tuned into the speeches by the mad priests about the gods and magic and the coming darkness.

"…the coming darkness, that had touched the Mummy Senche of 100 years ago, has claimed the last Emperor's life, as a terrible cancer ate away at him, and stole from him his life…"

The prince quietly chucked to himself at this. 'The Idiots have no idea…'

Almost immediately, the doors of the litter swung over, and out stepped the new Emperor himself. He was dressed in traditional Hefon noble grab – gold bands, colourful robe and feathered headdress. He removed the latter, and walked up to the high priest to receive the crown. The soon-to-be Senche bit his tongue – half out of worry, half out of excitement and anticipation. He closed his eyes, and heard the priest chant the final lamentations to the gods.

He felt the cold gold upon his head – the brush of feathers from the rarest and most exotic birds of the jungle, the sigils of thousands of years ago. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer a mere prince. He was the Senche of the Hefon Empire, the ruler of all seven million of its citizens.

His eyes glinted with a sinister light. 'Yessssss…'

* * *

'Four hundred gold pounds worth of fish from the river, to be sold via the Fisherman Colony, for provisions from the Journey to the free ports amounting to 17 days, plus nece… or was it 18 days? Guh, I need to rest…'

Pepeh was tired already. Several hours of complex calculations were
bad enough, but the knowledge that many of his fellow slaves were free
to do as they pleased on this national holiday were steadily getting on his nerves. Senses dulled, he lifted himself from his seat, and walked into the garden.

He would not be blessed with a clear afternoon. The first terrible clouds of a storm were forming, and the air felt electric. Both counted toward a storm that would no doubt be considered by the Temple as an omen of some sort – but no one but them understood what for. Pepeh could only guess it was a bad one.

Pepeh would soon find out what it meant. There was a stirring inside the house…

* * *

Pepeh awoke to find himself bound, gagged, and blindfolded. He could fell a sharp pain on his head, and could hear soft voices. He couldn’t think straight. The voices got louder, finally becoming decipherable. All he heard were thanks, the sound of money, and references to a ‘List’, before they came to address him.

“Let him speak. I need to have a heart to heart.”

The voice had a definite air of authority about it – more so than his master’s, being forceful, and having a guttural feeling about it, yet being quite at the same time. He felt the gag slip away, and without thinking immediately remarked:

“Who are you? My master will hunt you down”
“That is not for you to know at this point. All you need to know is that I am your new master. All necessary paperwork has been done.”

Again, the forceful, commanding, yet quiet tone. Pepeh retorted:

“B-but my master made no indication of wanting to sell me!”
“Why would he tell a lowly slave like you?”
“Because I handle his Finances”
“My, my, my. We are a wily one aren’t we?”

Pepeh couldn’t tell if that line was a sarcastic insult or a compliment said in a patronising tone. The male voice continued.

“I will show you the documents later – now, you are to aid me in management of my…property. Work will begin immediately. All work is confidential. Of course, the usual stuff, don’t leave the household without my permission, and so on and so forth. I think I can trust you without restraints.”
“But…”
“Of course, if you don’t feel ready to begin work immediately, I can have you sent to the dungeons, clapped in irons, and lashed. Perhaps worse if you persist. I do not piss around, you are only here and not in some godforsaken farm because I’ve heard about your superior intellect. But first, what is your name?”
“Pepeh”
“Incorrect. It is Yepehque. And in future you will address me as ‘Your Eminence’ or ‘Master’. Other titles are not acceptable…” He paused briefly, as is turning to address someone else”…Remove the blindfold and the bonds”

What Pepeh, or Yepehque as he was now known, saw astounded him. A mid-sized figure, but one with the unmistakable colourful robes of nobility, the many gold bands of affluence, and of course, the magnificent ensemble that was the Imperial Crown and Belt – gold bands around the Waist and the forehead, the latter with feathers of countless colours adorning it.

It was the Senche himself.

“Welcome to the palace. Follow me”

As if independent of him, his legs sprung him up and began to follow the Emperor, the person who had untied him following closely behind. He questioned the reliability of the man’s great claim – Khefas was a city of Forty-Four Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy Seven Souls, and a sizable proportion of those would be slaves, a few out of them being educated ones – but that still left a good number for him to excel in – what made him so special?

Kueher halted, and beckoned both persons to a stone table. He signaled to a pile of wax tablets on the table, explaining them as he picked them up. The line that really caught Yepehque’s attention was:

“Here is a list of Forty-seven names. I want them all dead.”

Yepehque automatically questioned “What?!”

“You heard me. These are traitors…”
“B-But your siblings are on this list!” He remembered to add “Your Eminence”
“Exactly. Siblings are the first suspects in treason. Best eliminate any potential enemies before they get any power, don’t you agree? Your former master is on there as well.”
“Wait… I wasn’t bought…”
“You were confiscated”

As the Senche explained the slave’s job for that evening – to write the death warrants, sans signature, for all the victims of Kueher’s purge – he came to a sickening realisation, that would take many others another Twenty-Four hours to realise. Senche Kueher Remoh was a tyrant, and consdidering his young age and paranoia, one that could remain in power for a long time. He felt vomit crawl up his throat, as he found his job was to do the dirty work for him. His former master had hardly been a saint – but this one was most certainly a demon. The disturbing matter-of-factly way he delivered his sinister decrees, the almost psychotic grins he let loose, they all pointed toward a coming dark age. He was a smart man. But he was a tyrannical one. One that, tomorrow, would be burnt into the minds of the by Hefon People for a long time…

They say absolute power corrupts absolutely. In Yepehque's head, Kueher didn’t need power for that.

A strange night. The dark clouds hung over the city without a raindrop for some time – only by the time the great sun had set did the first great drop. I have heard crazy rumours, how the god's fingers have ravaged cities across Hefon. How does news travel so fast? Magic? Perhaps. But that is the least of my concerns tonight.

Tonight I rest with a great weight upon my heart. I have consigned to death no less than forty-seven names – a shameful amount – to horrible deaths barely within the realms of our imagination. I know not the details, but the Senche's assistant, the one that untied me (and I suspect kidnapped me in the first place) hinted toward how the warrants would go about causing death – "Senche's going to see to it that some of the high profile guys get a long death" I believe he said. Time will tell, I suppose. But ideally I shall remain ignorant of what is to happen.

After the warrants, I was commanded to a rather familiar job – organising a expedition to an island I'm quite familiar with. It's a sizable place, used by fishermen, slavers and other people of the river to pool goods, sell them duty-free, and if necessary ship them in bulk through Hefon customs. Kueher doesn't like that – too much tax dodging, which quite honestly, the island engages a huge amount. After working with the island under my previous master, quite a avid boatman, I am quite familiar with its workings. It's probably richer than a good deal of the cities on the continent. No wonder Kueher wants it.

So, he's sending a messenger, with a force of men not too far behind – obviously he is not content that diplomacy will the day, and neither am I – these lot are a proud people, who detest the absolute rule of the Emperor. He will probably arrive to an empty port. They will have sailed off or ran into the jungle. It is likely that the damn fool will chase them right up the river. Hints of a forward force have been going around, but the composition points toward one with less militaristic intents. That said, I have heard so little of this force. Who knows what His Eminence is up to?

* * *

The effects of the last couple of storms had most certainly been felt here, one hundred and thirty leagues away from Khefas. Qhespeh was in ruins, torn and twisted by a vicious torrent of tornadoes from the previous night. The few dead were being buried, the many injured being nursed, the countless homeless rebuilding their lives, the Free Port was a hive of activity. Few noticed a small ship pull into the barely standing dock, to offload a small picket of lizardmen. They advanced quickly up the jetty, wearing informal clothes similar to what Hefon fishermen would wear.

They began to offer their services to the locals – extra hands to aid in the reconstruction effort, a questionable charity in the eyes of the locals. They cited a vested interest in the settlement as their reason, few were fooled – but nonetheless accepted the help. Their leader asked to see the head of this settlement, hoping to ask permission for his partners to come and aid. He was lucky in his choice, and got the answer he wanted from a young boy who didn't really have the authority to invite him. Nonetheless, the lone lizard made his way to what used to be the building of administration. It was a ruin, with a small shelter made of wooden pickets and large leaves from the forest. A guard stood outside the sheltered area and behind a wall of rubble. He asked the incoming person his identity and intent in a monotonous and tired tone, and after hearing what to him was a relatively satisfactory sounding answer, he stood to one side.

It did not take long to find the head of the Freeport – a lizard the Plutocratic leanings of the town demanded was an affluent fellow. He was a busy lizard, working tirelessly with others to organise the reconstruction effort, on top of the usual admin that went with running several businesses and a settlement. The stress that came with so much work was beginning to show.

One more addition to his workload did not rest well with Mekeh. In the most menacing, irate way he could, he greeted the intruder with a long “Yessssss…?”

“I see the great storms have done much damage to Qhespeh. I know many whose lives depend on this place. All I seek is your permission for them to come, and their hands to help get Qhespeh on its feet again”

“Is that so? Seems a little too charitable to me. Especially when it’s close to the next fishing season.”

“How are we meant to fish when we have no port to dock at? Is today really an age were even those willing to work for the good of all are suspects?”

“It is.” Addressing another in the tent while keeping an eye on the intruder, he asked “What do you think, Cehter?”

A young, yet somehow old fellow made himself known. He wore traditional tribal clothes, those of a shaman. Gazing into the intruder with piercing eyes for what seemed forever, he said in a harsh voice “He lies”

Those words affected all in the tent in different ways, but in general a feeling of awkwardness prevailed. Breaking the tension “He comes from Khefas, his aim to have us bow to the tyrant king without a fight. He comes under the guise of a fisherman, hoping to gain our trust so we can be occupied without our knowing.”

The intruder opened his mouth, as if to deny this, but found he couldn’t say a thing. He clawed at his mouth, panicking as a throbbing headache began to take hold.

“He hopes to deny what I say – ask you if you wish to join peacefully. He threatens you with force, saying there is no chance for you to win, or to escape. And that you can come back to Khefas in Iron or Gold, in irons or free. And that the emperor will torture you day and night like he does right now to his enemies, how he will humiliate you as his slave.”

The headache had become an intense, piercing pain in the head, as if it was about to burst, forcing the messenger to his knees. A muffled scream echoed around.

“That’s enough.” Ordered the leader. The intruder began to bang his head on the ground. Cehter simply looked on with a expression of deep concentration.

“That’s enough, Cehter!”

The screaming stopped, and thus the spell. Cehter breathed out, as if he had been holding his breath while he tortured the messenger, and looked at the disturbed faces around the room. For a moment, it was silent.

“…is there any chance of us winning against the Empire?” someone asked.

Cehter replied“…no. No. We must head into the forest, and get a canoe to the mainland. There is no hope for Qhespeh.”

The people nodded – Cehter had an air of authority which challenged that of the Emperor. He would not deny the fact that they feared rather than respected him. He was a powerful shaman – he had got into the administration of Qhespeh by his own hand. And now, he would be the leader. He would take these lizards to the mainland. And then?

He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He was a woodcutter, which gave him a good reason for heading East, into the wetter and woodier lands where the Hefon lived. He was also highly paid, and kept his coins in a hidden container buried out in the middle of nowhere. You never knew when a stash could be handy, not in these uncertain times.

The King of Ssan was powerful, but couldn't hide his power. You didn't just send a hundred Warriors out of the city and expect no one to notice. He noticed. And he had his interests spread around. One Empire was very much like another.

Not far up ahead, his contact was to be waiting for him in a cabin. A Hefon who paid well and who'd pre-arranged all of this, or so he'd said the last time. We'll see, though the woodcutter.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me just jumping in like this. Who exactly this guy is meeting is up to you - obviously someone who might be interested in the goings-on of Ssan, and Ssek High Council leaders.

The condition of the cabin spoke of its owner's personality - a spartan, dark place that was a long way away from Khefas both metaphorically and physically. The first visitor was a man of relative, but not massive wealth, and a commoner. He too was a hired lizard - hired by powers unknown, but a rich employer nonetheless - there's a certain niche in the market for those willing to get things without asking questions.

The second was a lizard of the West, one likely to be called blind by Hefons in jest, and a 'Hummie' in earnest. Those expecting the lizardmen of the south inland sea to be similar, mere ethnicities, were sadly mistaken - tails and a lack of them were just one of many issues the lizardmen could not see straight over.

But business demanded civility, and thus with begrudged grins and handshakes East met West.

The topic swiftly turned to business, with the Easterner beginning "There are a number of books in Ssan which interest my employer. Perhaps you may not know where I can get these books - but you may know of some who may. These are very special, expensive books. And most importantly, no questions must be asked. Now. Do you have any information right now?"

"I do have information," the woodcutter stated. "But I wouldn't know much about books... except that the Great Library of Ssan has all ever written (or so they say)."

He had drawn the process out, speaking in the slow, sibilant drawl of reptilian peasantry everywhere. But he quickly lost enjoyment in it. This cabin was cold and uncomfortable.

"I do know someone, a dealer in special goods, who might know something about magical or mythical tablets and books and such. I could tell him what to look for."

The answer pleased the agent, and he grabbed a wax tablet and wrote down several lines of the Ssan language, in the compact and tapering handwriting of a typical Hefon lizard. "I presume one who deals in books is able to read and write" he remarked.

He made a movement to give the tablet to the lumberjack, but stopped halfway, to ask "I am guessing that your...irremarkable life has not taught you to read?"

It was a silly question. But in the lizard's mind, you couldn't be too careful when couriering books of questionable legality.

* * *

The Jungle was a harsh place. One of Cehter's group had already been claimed by a poisonous snake and a weakened liver from years of the world's finest alcohol. By now, Qhespeh had already been beaten - the Emperor's troops marched through a ruin, however, and many had fled from what remained - some into the jungle of the island, some up the river into a picket of Hefon Ships intended to catch refugees - it would be likely that groups would be sent into the forest to capture any refugees they could find.

Cehter was awash in mixed emotions - for one, it would be likely that the Kueher estate would find itself in ownership of a huge amount of slaves, a sickening thought especially when keeping the Senche's vengeful personality in mind. But two victories had been won today, slight as they were. For one, Cehter had consolidated his position in the hierarchy of the Free Hefons - even if that order was now powerless. The present leader was already fading into Anonymity, the confidence once rested in him now finding itself at Cehter's feet. One month in the employ of Qhespeh and he had already become the leader.

Secondly, the scheme, while it placed Kueher in control of Qhespeh, had failed. The lizard wanted the port intact, in thrall to Khefas by their own will. He would recieve no tax from here. And he would know exactly who stopped him. This thought placed a devious grin on Cehter's face. He found that fact delicious.

Yet, it was a sound defeat for Cehter. Plan A was a failure. Another week would have seen its success. Plan B was his last one - but bound to be a success. He had a contact to meet on the mainland. A simple canoe ride would find him on the south bank - a couple of days travel later would find himself at his destination. A couple of weeks later, there would be a new order in the Hefon Empire. One that would most certainly place Cehter in its upper echelons.

"Read? No," replied the woodcutter, reaching for the tablet. Technically he did know how to read - just a little, numbers and the important words you found on imperial signposts, but not enough so that he'd ever understand things like books. And not enough so that he felt it would be wise to tell this man right now.

"But I do know how to count. For example," he continued craftily, "The number of warriors who left Ssan in the night. Is your employer interested in knowing in what direction they left?"

The answer satisfied the agent, the tablet leaving his hand easily. He was elsewhere as the lumberjack showed off his numeracy skills - it woudl not be suprising for him to count, after all, his job involved that. Times Tables would be something of interest coming from a person of his occupation. The question the other lizard asked, however, caught his attention. Now what could Ssan be up too...

"My Employer would be interested in not only the direction, but number of the troops, if you please."

"One hundred and two, exact," came the reply, "Mostly Warriors, part of the king's Retinue. One of the last two was a Mercenary - you can tell by the look - and he seemed to be the captain - which is strange. The other was some high-up from the king's agents, I've seen him around when King Ssonak goes out, but no one knows who he is."

He paused. "I can tell you the direction and something else, but ... I would like to be reassured of my just compensation for this. What I'm doing is technically treason."

The agent nodded, and produced the pre arranged payment plus some, and placed the former in a small bag. The latter addition he kept in his hand above the bag.

"I understand your concerns. I often have to worry about the same thing. From one traitor to another, eh?" He allowed himself a small grin, before continuing "So, their bearing and the 'other thing'. Go on."

The hand with the bonus tipped to the side a little, allowing a coin to trickle into the bag, and leaving the others in the hand.

"Right," he said, his tongue flickering between his lips momentarily. "Well, they left through the North Gate, which means they're taking the coastal road heading west. That road goes all the way toward the empire's western reaches."

"The other thing may be nothing, may be something. But that Mercenary was walking mighty tall, and he had some insignia. Now I might not have seen it clearly from where I was, and it was night - but I don't think I've ever seen it on a leader of 100 Warriors before. I have seen it on a leader of a battalion... and, I've always heard rumors that the king keeps a heavily-manned outpost of several hundred Warriors somewhere out in the west."

The woodcutter shrugged elaborately. "Why is anyone's guess. But I know what I know, and now you do, too." He couldn't help but flicker his eyes toward the coins. They sounded like gold to his practiced ear, but of course a Ssek could never be too certain just by looking.

"Hmm. West...". The agent took a moment to think about it. 'West... It is of no concern to us - the force is too small for expansion. Ack, that was a waste. Oh well. I suppose it could come in useful in the future. Especially about this force in the west...'. The remainder of the coins slipped into the bag, and were slowly handed over to the Ssek, as if the hand bearing them was hesitant. It left his hand eventually.

"Now, of course, there are rituals to be held after a transaction such as this takes place, but, er, I'm sure they would make no sense to an outsider like you. And besides, I imagine you are willing to head home, to spend your well earned money and begin to put me in touch with this salesman. Is there anything else before we part?"

"We all have our rituals. Mine however, is indeed just heading back. I can't think of anything else, except that Ssonak still hasn't left the palace. It's somewhat unusual, to go a few weeks without, as he's very popular. But, maybe he has a scarring disease from all that mating he gets to do." He laughed, in that quiet, hissing sort of way common in the region. He turned as if to leave.

The smell was terrible. A horrid stench hung around the central square, one of death, decay, and burnt flesh. Several blacked corpses were hung in awkward, painful looking positions. It brought a Childish joy to the face of Senche Kueher of the Hefon Empire.

“Can you smell that, Yepehque?”

It took some time for the slave to answer – after all, that had been his name for only a week, not to mention he was presently engaged with yet more work his master had commanded him to do. When his response did come, it was rushed, and slurred. “Yes, I can smell something. A horrible stench as it were. Mast…”

“Horrible?” the Senche rudely questioned “Why, that’s the smell of victory, my servant. It is equal to any glorious victory over an army that our people have done in the past. You will see things my way, eventually.” His eyes moved to focus on Yepehque ‘You will, slave. You might not like it, but you will…”

Not giving him any time to reply, Kueher continued “Yepehque, you work too hard. I swear I have not seen you rise from that desk since you came here! Come, I have something for you…” he procured a small chest, and reached inside. What he took out was a small gold bracelet – ornate and as good as new – and a colourful tunic, much better than the modest one he wore now. He thrust the former onto the wrist of Yepehque, forcing it on with little effort. His and Kueher’s bracelet were very similar – the script was different in places, but the images carved into the gold carried on from each other. The bracelet gave the illusion of tightness, yet it was quite loose, a large opening on the lower side of it so it could be removed at the wearer’s discretion

“A possession of the Senche himself has to look the part, don’t you agree?” the grin from before returned – that Sinister grin that was a warning of terrible things to come “Before you head to your quarters, I need to ask you a question…”

‘Will you give me some pissing time to answer, this time?’ thought Yepehque.

“I have another thing for you.” Kueher reactivated that commander’s voice, ordering him to follow. They walked, heading down all the time until they reached a large door, before which sat a virile guard, his almost garish helmet on a desk which held several wax tablets piled high. He changed from a bored warrior to a disciplined soldier within seconds of seeing the Emperor, standing attentively with polearm in hand and helm on head. At the order of the Senche, he opened the door to the palace dungeon, and escorted them through to other door, which was in turn unlocked and opened – this time, however, the guard remained outside, leaving the Emperor, his slave, and one more inside the cell.

Chained to the wall was an emaciated carcass. Several of the body parts were missing, and burns that looked as if they had come from acid dotted the body. Upon the long head of the beast, blooded, burnt flesh spelled out the word ‘traitor’ on its forehead. But perhaps most disturbing of all were the eyes. Or rather, the lack of them. Where they should have been, were two deep depressions, dark red from the combined forces of the dim lighting of the cell and the bare flesh that the eyes left behind. A sickly feeling rose through Yepehque’s stomach. Only the temperance gained from the past couple of days kept his acids firmly inside his stomach.

The corpse stirred, revealing it was not entirely dead – but near it. It groaned, and began to mumble to itself. Kueher bellowed “This was one of your slaves, traitor. You might know him as Pepeh. In any case, the tables have turned. Now you are the slave.”

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, and coughing for what seemed like an age, he finally replied in a quiet voice “My…Slave…So that’s…why…”

“Silence!” commanded the Emperor. He drew a black dagger from his regal belt, a famous one part of the Hefon regalia, said to be made from pure obsidian. He placed it into the hand of Yepehque, and quietly told him “Kill him. Now”

Gazing at the engraved dagger he held in his hands, and at the sorry soul he was intended to kill, he fought an internal battle of will. A part of him wanted to obey – another part didn’t, and his conscience cried out against the idea. He questioned why he, and not some guard, had to do it.

“It is a test” said Kueher “of your will. This is a man who left you doing pointless work for years. He had you flogged for time wasting…”

He struggled for what seemed like an hour, but was barely half a minute, with the prospect. After that, he dropped his hand, turned to his master, and uttered “I cannot do this. It is wrong.”

“You ordered the deaths of many people, did you not?” retorted Kueher

“You did. I was just a scribe.” Countered Yepehque

“Well, slave. I think it’s time I help you in your decision. Give me your hand”

He grabbed Yepehque’s floppy hand, and moved his hands onto the bracelet he had given him. He tightened his grip on it. Click.

Yepehque tightened his grip on the knife. He raised it. He began to feeling an uncontrollable rage well up inside him, taking him over, a red haze blinding him. He leapt forward. The knife fell down into the shoulder of the prisoner. It fell again, into his chest. It fell again. Again. Again. Blood covered both their faces. Screams began to echo from the cell, one of pain, one of primeval bloodlust.

Upon the face of Senche Kueher Remoh, the devilish grin returned.

"That's the one," a voice said, and before he knew it the woodcutter was rushed by three strong warriors; hulking, quick shapes barely discernible in the low light of the western hefon-forest.

He struggled - until one of them (they were now tying him up and crumpling him like a ball) put pressure on the back of his neck. He ceased completely, for the pain was exquisite and there was obviously no use. "That's right, traitor," one of them said in the dark, as if reading his thoughts.

"Alright, drag him this way. Be quick about it."

Five Ssek carried a now-hooded, bound and gagged woodcutter like freshly slain dinner through the light wood at a quick pace. At least three of them were armed. The other two wore robes. If anyone had heard the laborer's yelps, there would be little time before they reached a shallow cave not far away.

Rage. Thrill. Disgust. Guilt. Auguish. The amount of emotions that went through Yepehque's head were virtually countless. But by the end of it, the emotional roller-coaster had culminated in a yellow puddle of foul bile that mixed with the red of the blood that trickled from the warm corpse of the prisoner, the hot body of the perpetrator, and the cold knife that had done the deed to form a sickly orange on the floor of the cell. The culprit tried frantically to wake up from a dream he wasn't in, clawing at his head to end the nightmare. He couldn't.

And then the Penny Dropped. The clawing stopped. Kueher bursted out into laughter.

"W-what did you do? Kueher, tell me! What did you do!"
"Well, it seems that the slave has forgotten his manners! Ha!"
"You... you controlled me. You controlled my mind!"
"Now why would I want to do that? Why would I restrict my brightest servant to my level intelligence, why it could be so much higher than that?"
"Because your a damned megalomaniac! Your a monster, a tyrant, a B-b-bastard! You will not be satisfied until you've tortured all the souls on this earth to madness!"
"Hoho, you dare insult a lizard known to be the cruelest in the south? At least I know now I can castrate you! HA!"

'This is fantastic! Let's far I can go!'

Yepehque gripped his head again, screaming and shouting incomprehensibly. Blood ran freely from his nose adding to the blood already on his face, veins began to stick out from his neck, the pupils of his eyes began to shrink. He lifted the dagger up, and screamed one last time "STOP IT. STOP MAKING ME ANGRY! I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU NOW!". He sprung up, screaming as his battle crazy ancestors had done centuries before, a rage even the thickest of armours would not stop. For once, Kueher feared for his life, as the slave's reaction was too quick for him to comprehend. For one of the few times in his entire life, he asked himself if he had gone too far.

And then it happened. Yepehque stopped his tracks, fell to his knees, and clutched his chest. Screams of Anger turned to screams of pain.

Kueher had his worrying answer.

* * *

And Coleh had his feeble answer. Good gold was wasted for information of little use, about some obscure expedition by a mere pittance of an army marching away from both Empires. He fought he might have uncovered a possible raid, or incursion, or something. But no. 'One tiny raid. I have been conned'.

It seemed the gods had thrown all they had upon Hefon in the past few days. A hot, desert sun, the watchful eye of the gods, beat down on the waterlogged rainforest of the One True Empire of the Lizards through a clear sky. If it weren't for the thick canopy, the agent would fear he was ill covered for his long hike. Instead, all he had to worry about was the blistering, humid oven-hot quagmire that was the Hefon countryside. He thought back to his missions aboard, in the kingdoms of men, where they had great beasts to carry them across distances. To himself, he uttered short prayer to the gods, that one would appear, and take him the remainder of the way. And in a strange way, those prayers were answers.

He heard a rustling in the bushes, and froze where he was, scanning the area for any signs of enemies. Coleh put his walking stick in two hands, brandishing the heavy knob at the end of it like a long club, ready for the skulls of any enemy that sought to delay him.

Out of the bush stepped a giant cassowary, a deceptively deadly bird with no qualms about slicing open the stomachs of any intruders. Coleh's heart raced, ready to back away should the bird step toward him. All it did was stare at him with dumb eyes, occasionally grooming itself with its long beak. The agent returned the favour.

The bird's attention span ran out, and it proceeded to briskly walk through the forest, effortlessly prancing through it, all seven feet of it gliding through the foliage. Coleh had no doubt that the bird could kill a lizard. Or, taking into account its sinewy legs, that it could support the weight of a lizard, for that matter...

A benevolent grin found itself on the agent's face. He took a mental note of his train of thought - one he was proud of, and would certainly parade in front of his employer.

He stood down, and judging by the appearance of the animal, he deduced a village would be nearby. He was correct. Unwilling to walk further, he coerced a runner to take him by rickshaw up the flat road to the north, and thus to the south bank of the great river. He did the same with the next one two miles down, threatening retribution from his master should they refuse. They compiled, and so did the remainder, save for one or two strong-willed ones that demanded money despite the threats. Progress was swift, and although the oppressive heat was still there, the hiking was not.

"Not long before I get to the coast" he thought out loud "then onwards to Khefas, and the Emperor. And the gold..."

Skila was uncomfortably damp to the westerner. He listened with rapt attention as the fruit merchant told him his tale of daring, death-defying and narrow escape from the city of Khefas, even as the crowds gathered for the mass executions...

He wasn't entirely certain just how trustworthy the merchant's account really was. It made a good story, though.

"There's definitely some foulness afoot there now," the trader was concluding, satisfied with the offer which had been placed on his cart. "My elders told me tales about the Fourth Siege, and I believe them. There are lots of those Hefon folk, and they're alright when you deal with one or two- arrogant and cryptic, perhaps - but when they get together and start killing people, I worry."

"I thank you for your generosity," and the six melons went into a cloth sack. Then, of all obnoxiousness: "Do you know where I could purchase some of that Hefon crocodile meat?"

The merchant stared flatly at the well-to-do westerner for a long moment before answering. "Sure. Khefas."

The westerner seemed to be about to continue, but then faded away into the marketplace. The merchant inwardly shook his head. "Though you can't be too sure it's crocodile anymore," he muttered to himself.

---

Two blocks away, in a cool stone cellar and beneath ample coverings, the woodcutter begged and pleaded for mercy, his voice rasping with the effort and pain.

His interrogator held back the torturer with a hand. "So this unknown employer desired expensive and rare books. Tell me more about them."

"I... don't... know," sobbed the laborer. "There was just some books they wanted, and he gave me this tablet, but I don't know where it is, I lost it when you people attacked me."

The interrogator was savvy enough to figure that the woodcutter wasn't lying. He'd been honestly broken. But there was something devilish at play, and they had searched the woods - in the dark, and just two [colorblind] searchers - for the tablet. There was the possibility of being deceived or even controlled by a spell - and it could sadly also be that the poor woodcutter had been traumatized, and had honestly forgotten some important and terrible event.

It had to go on. He gave the signal to the torturer, and the sobs turned to screams again...