Cold Iron, Empty Throne

Her outer defenses are not intended to keep out one such as you. They can't really be; dumb local kids on a dare and thrill-seekers, not to mention legitimate visitors, may run afoul of them, so they can't be too aggressive. That is the downside of her placing her mansion and laboratory in the new capital's outer district this way.

For you, the defenses are less than nothing. Your own insight ensures you hardly put a foot wrong, and your buoying Contracts enhance your physical ability beyond that.

The inner layers are more tricky, but still entirely within your power. Alarms don't ring. Trap spells don't trigger as you brush past, but not quite within, their detection range. The bound demon overseeing this wing remains locked safely within its magic circle. Heavy doors of intricately hand-carved wood open at your touch. Deep carpets of rich fabrics absorb all noise as you pad across them, your dusty sandals sinking deep into them. You'd feel bad about the mess, if you weren't here to cause even more of one.

There is only one point in your entrance where you grimace, a too-late premonition coming to you. You open the last door, into the primary lab, coming face to face with antiseptic white work surfaces and the occasional shelf with neatly-labeled ingredients of a largely unsavory nature. Zahira is here, facing away from you. Her long, dark hair is pulled up into a high bun, the sort of practical concession she'd never let herself be seen in public with. It's the proof you took her by surprise.

Still, she speaks first, without facing you. "Azer. So you've come."

You know how this part of the conversation will go, having just foreseen it, but you gamely play your part. "Archmage. I didn't make any noise."

"You didn't need to. Your detection limit is still about two minutes for non-dangerous things, right? All I had to do was put one detection spell you'd trip over that did nothing but silently alert me two and a half minutes before you'd get here." She seems delighted in her cleverness.

That was the end of your latest glimpse of the future. You strike out into uncharted territory. "I'm hoping we can still talk things out."

Now, finally, she turns. She still gorgeous, no matter how much of a monster she's turned herself into, and your heart beats just a little faster as she locks her eyes on you. They're not quite the same eyes. They're golden, and shine with an inner flame. It's the outer mark of her Subjugation magic, the vile perversion she's unleashed on the Shallow Ocean. "You're harder to read with that blindfold, you know," she remarks, conversationally.

You touch your fingertips to it lightly. "It makes it easier to see. My physical eyes are a distraction."

"'The Blind Prophet', they're calling you on the streets. Preaching tales of woe and ruin if we don't repent, if we don't give up our wicked ways."

"It's not worth it," you say, gesturing at her eyes. "You might win, or you might lose the war, but in the end you're only making a tool that will create a poisoned new order, at best. It's going to cause untold suffering."

Zahira sneers, her painted lips curling up in a categorical dismissal. "Easy for you to say. You abdicated responsibility, left it for someone else. We had no other tools to defeat Granny, and there's nothing better to fight Governor Duilio. After I saved us and provided hope, you don't get to come in and judge the way I saved the day."

You shake your head. "I can hear them. Can't you? The pained whimpers of the innocent spirits you've pressed into service."

"If not them, then someone else would've suffered instead. If I pick, I at least can see to it that those who care for me can be spared. I thought that included you, once."

You cross your arms. "Don't give me that, Zahira. You know you can't lie to me."

She shrugs. "Okay, you're a sanctimonious prick." You don't respond, letting silence stretch on until she continues. "Fine, you win," she eventually says. "Yes, one set of innocents suffers instead of another. I kind of prefer if I get a say and can pick the ones who like me, but all else being equal, I'll always pick the option where I gain power!"

Zahira grows an ecstatic grin as she begins to summon power. Gale force winds explode from her body with a series of screams as the Subjugation magic forces bound spirits to englobe her. Heat, hotter than your family's forge, blazes to life as she calls the flames that were her first and still greatest magic. Other magical sources in the mansion gutter out as she reclaims the power distributed to them. Contingent spells of various types, tome magic she's mastered and engraved into her clothing or jewelry, lash out, seeking purchase on you to hinder your ability to stand up to her. It is a terrifying spectacle. Zahira has grown. Her magic is now on par with all but the greatest of the old angels. Neatly labeled jars and boxes shatter and crumble, their contents scattered and savaged by the scything winds even as the shelving it's on is snapped and stripped from the walls. The carpet in the hallway behind you catches fire. The heat-resistant tile you're standing on now blackens and the top layers begin to curl up.

Your Contracts blaze in response. Borrowed, lent, and freely given power emerges from you, various spirit aids to blunt the worst of Zahira's magical might. You draw your sword. Present you is bothered by how comfortable this grip feels; this long, straight two-handed weapon is not the forward-curved single-handed weapon you feel comfortable with. The blade is one of the new-forged magic items, a black metal razor meant to carve any of the threats that still exist in this post-Great Dying world. "You weren't always like this," you shout at her. "You used to be--"

"I never changed!" The screams around her all pause, suddenly, to echo her three word cry. "I never changed! You did! You wavered, you hit a point where you said 'someone else fix this for me'. This was the only option, and you didn't accept it. Now you're here to kill me, as if that will put the lid on this can of worms. News flash: it won't! I'm not the only Subjugator in this world any longer, and even if I were, people know it's possible now. You're just going to have to accept that the world isn't as nice as you'd like, not as tidy and clean and clear-cut."

You hold your sword up, its tip pointed at her with murderous intent. "It didn't have to be this way, Zahira. I'm trying to fix my mistakes, and you're here making more." Zahira flicks her wrist in response, and bullets of compressed inferno fly at you. Your sword, woven through with spellwork meant to fight other magic, lets you slice apart and evaporate the first few, but she slings more, varying speed and power and size and how dazzlingly bright they are. You take a step forward, then another, even in the face of the building firestorm whipping up around you.

Zahira gives ground. Her magic is all focused on you, and she's shaping spell after spell with uncanny speed and variety. Still, she is no close combatant. This fight will end if you can cut her. This fight will end if she can work past your defenses and incinerate you. Proud as she is, as entranced as she is by the sheer pleasure she feels in channeling magic, Zahira will give ground if necessary, and here she only gains more time and chances if she backs to the far side of the lab.

Even without that, your chances here are... slim. You knew that coming in. You didn't come in intending to fight alone against her. You're the frontal attack, the one that pulls all her attention, all her magic on you.

The real deathblow, if things go as intended, will come through the now unwarded window. Samir--

--Zahira sees your slight head turn, and even with your blindfold, she makes the connection.

--She's whirling, but the arrow is in the air already, there's a frozen moment where you don't know which will make it in time--

- -

You wake up shaking. You sit up, put your face in your hands, and give a heartfelt groan to the empty, still-dark room around you. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths and let your heartbeat slow to something normal.

That wasn't a normal dream. It was... it was a future you don't want to see.

You jump as Ant appears on the foot of your bed. "Well, that was weird," she says.

"'Weird'? Wait, you're spying on my dreams?"

"Oh, it's not the first time. It's otherwise boring when you're sleeping. I think that's the first premonition I've ever seen first hand, though. I liked the part where you were fighting your friends to the death."

You groan. "In that dream, Zahira was using some... I don't know, some completely unknown type of magic, and I think it was hurting spirits like you. Didn't that phase you at all?"

"Not really. I've always known that my probable final fate is being killed horribly when I pick the wrong fight. You, however, have a full day ahead of you, and no time to rush around doing anything else between now and then, or trying to confront Zahira about some potential crimes a maybe-future self of her committed."

"Ant, I say this with feeling: go away."

Ant vanishes, but she's right about one thing: you do have a busy day, and it already needs to start.

- -

Lady Adara's delegation is the first to arrive, showing about five minutes prior to the scheduled time. Lady Adara is unmistakable. She's tall, whip-thin, and clearly a healthy sixty-plus. The scowl on her face could have been there for the last thirty years by how deeply it's lined in. She strides in in an outfit that was clearly expensive once, but now has been worn to the point that it just looks lived-in. She's flanked by two people, exactly as promised. One of them is a gently smiling woman who looks ten or fifteen years younger than Adara. In contrast to her general plump, grandmotherly nature, this woman has a pair of short swords, one at each hip. By the name list, this must be Nokomis. The third is a sour-faced young man, about your age, carting an ostentatious tome along with him, as if he's afraid people might see him and not realize he's a mage. By process of elimination, this is Talib.

You meet them on the top of the temple's front steps, with Kalju and Zahira flanking you. You do your best to greet them politely, but you're rather guessing on etiquette. It was never taught to you, and you haven't had a chance to read up since, and the exact power balance today is not anything any standard text would describe in detail, either.

A side glance as introductions complete shows you that Zahira and Talib have instantly locked eyes and are giving each other death glares that they think are subtle. No special magical sight is needed to tell you that you've just seen two wannabe archmages mutually identify the rival at first glance.

You take the trio inside, and help them find their assigned seats at the table your group has set up. As they do, you notice Adara giving you a piercing look. "Something's bothering you," she states.

Well, that was blunt. You try to play it off. "Merely curiously, my lady. I was wondering why you only brought two aides, instead of four."

She rests her elbows on the table and hides her mouth behind intertwined fingers. "Three fighters, two negotiators, was the deal. I have developed some shadow magic, and my adviser Nokomis came out of retirement. She was the old Untouchable Blade grandmaster's wife. Lost her husband and child in the Great Dying." Nokomis gets a slight faraway look in her eyes at the reminder. "You have something I need. I wished to impress on you my sincerity. Perhaps you would have accepted the two of us are not here as warriors, but this way there can be no claims of duplicity." You nod, keeping your face more even after her reminder she could read you. You didn't know Adara was a conceptual mage.

The Regency Council, on the other hand, is twenty minutes late, presumably making some sort of point that you aren't really in the mood to try to decipher. Right now, it's just annoying and little more. You repeat the greeting on the steps with the five of them. The clear leader of this group is Councilor Omar, who is not yet middle-aged but already going a little soft and broad across the middle. He makes it very clear to you that he is one of the moves and shakers on the Regency Council, so you should probably listen to him. He barely bothers to cloak it enough to give you enough cover to justify ignoring it. The other negotiator is a very quiet man named Kusuma, whom you sort of get the impression is not here to do actual negotiation so much as to be ears for another person or persons. Their bodyguards are an elementalist and a pair of Viper's Kiss warriors. The elementalist is masked and wearing shapeless clothing, so you can't tell much about Paris, and they don't speak to give you any hints as to who they are, either. Tanis and Tanith, the Viper's Kiss fighters, are clearly not sisters, but it's also clear that someone really liked the idea of hot twin warriors, so they're done up as if they are twin sisters, each with a sling dangling loosely from the opposite hip as the other woman's. You suspect that the names are also not their given names. They stick close behind Omar, so it's clear who their patron here is.

Both groups brought their own refreshments. It was just the easiest thing to do to avoid fears of poison. Plus, it lowered your duties as host. Talk doesn't start right away. Both groups have breakfast first, and your squad... well, you all ate before anyone got here. Such as your breakfast was. Day-old fish wasn't the most appetizing thing, but it was what you had. Omar and Kusuma have a much nicer-looking, fresher fish. You suspect they probably had it prepared just before they started out to join you. Adara has some greens and some hard cheese. The greens probably are from somewhere here in the capital, and the cheese is the type that will keep for long periods.

Omar is the first to try anything that isn't just a pleasantry or vague, non-committal non-answer. "So, your group managed to find a mighty old treasure. Snatched it right out of Adara's hands, according to Ariel." He's looking at you.

You nod, slightly. "We did secure a large number of very powerful potions."

"Mm. Enough to burn the island to the ground, or maybe turn every living human here to stone, according to rumors about the vault."

"Close enough to true. It's not my intent that we use it, but it's my hope that it can... help us find common ground. Everyone here."

"You're an idealist," Omar tells you, bluntly. "You came in hoping too much would just be something you could sweep under the rug." He takes one more bite, chews slowly, and swallows before continuing. "I assume from your behavior that it's fair to say you weren't here in the capital during the Great Dying? Good. Let me tell you something of what it was like. Everyone with a view less myopic than a street vendor or fisherman knew what a disaster it was, but we are a minority, and we needed to keep a lid on things to prevent chaos. I'm not sure you ever fully appreciated how important various mages and friendly spirits were to much of our production. Spirits of fish encouraging them to spawn in large numbers to allow large catches. Seers passing along important news and business updates to allow the economy to function. Elementalists and their ilk to speed cargo and allow safe travel and some reasonable consistency in how long trips take. Gods and heroes to maintain order and prevent rebellions and wars. We lost all of that, all at once. The Regency Council was formed as a stopgap. We need to rebuild, make things to replace the old order. We're operating on behalf of Prince Ketut--"

Here Adara, hands still hiding her mouth, interjects. "--who is probably illegitimate, and the ruling was expected just before the--"

"Irrelevant." Councilor Omar waves a fork at Lady Adara. "Let's not pretend Ketut is anything but a pawn, not here where we're all men and women of the world. The point is, we can fix this. That's what we're trying to do. We just need support so we can get temporary solutions in place before people start starving. We've had our quartermasters and others look at this. We can do this, if we don't waste time and lives fighting each other. And assuming that the outer provinces don't decide to go into full revolt from the capital. Which is where Ketut has value; the everyday people will be leery of throwing away the one connection we have to the now sadly deceased Queen of the Gods. For all that Governors like Anong, Duilio, and Wattana presumably have their own ambitions, as do some of our far-flung military commanders, they still need people to follow them. Continuity provides stability, and that stability will allow us to find ways to make it through."

"While lining your own pockets," Adara adds.

Omar doesn't even look abashed. "Yes, once the minimums have been surpassed, why shouldn't the Council and those of use to it see some reward for their hard work?"

"Because it's not enough!" Adara's sudden vehemence changes the flow of the conversation. "It's not anything but a bad excuse to do the minimum while grifting everything you can. We have a once-in-an-era chance to make something genuinely new, something that will actually be better than what we had in the old world. We sent countless people to be blood sacrifices, justifying it to ourselves that it was necessary, or our god would fall behind other gods in power and prestige. We accepted restrictive Contracts that pushed good men and women to bend to strange whims of their patron gods, even when they knew it wasn't for the best. We just assumed we couldn't do better. Now, we have a chance. Why can't we at least aspire to something better than we were before?" She's still scowling, but Adara looks deeply passionate about this possibility of a better world.

Councilor Omar leans back in his chair, unmoved. "If you really wanted to do better, you should have done better. How many riots here in the capital seemed to be driven by agents provocateurs... who I rather suspect reported to you?"

Adara shakes her head. She's lost her full passion; you can't tell if she's telling the truth as she says "We did no such thing. The only thing I and my allies have done is try to gather people who believe we can do better, and try to do so. We can make something better than we used to have, but not if we're simultaneously trying to implement the same mistakes we had before. That's what I'm hoping to see: people who can make something new, make a better world for my grandchildren to live in."

You've made a bit of a mistake, you realize. Lady Adara and Councilor Omar aren't here to talk to each other. They're here to try to sway your group. The potions are the prize that comes with convincing you, and the other side is still seen as just an obstacle. You don't think your allies are showing their leans too much yet, but you can't know that for sure and Lady Adara's shown a certain strength of insight already. You, who know them better, can tell by how she's resting her weight that Dawn is finding something compelling in Councilor Omar's words, while Kalju's eyes aren't resting on Lady Adara just because she's speaking, but because he's really listening to what she's saying.

You're going to have to find something to do to direct this summit, and the wrong move is only going to make things worse.

[] Refuse to let this discussion get anymore philosophical; try to keep it entirely focused on hashing out mutually agreeable terms.
[] Gum up the proceedings; they can't sway your team if the discussion stays petty and pointless until they leave for the day.
[] Show favoritism to Councilor Omar.
[] Show favoritism to Lady Adara.
[] Write in