Aside from a late breakfast with Hayan and Nill—served by the ever hospitable Ko’nagar—Aralim and Miresh had had little chance before the Emperor’s lunch to reminisce their differing years. They had talked while they walked, but the city was too noisy for an earnest conversation. As they had approached the Palace grounds once more, Miresh told Aralim she wished they had had more time.
Now, the Aura guided them through the Iron Palace once again. Aralim, Miresh, and Nilless met Devran, who was being similarly led. The Eternal Emperor sat cross-legged at a low wooden table adorned with food. Muria, the Foreign Minister, sat at the left end of the table, while the Emperor’s Blade stood near one of the enormous iron columns nearby.
Tag’na spread his hands as Aralim and his friends entered the space. “I must make sure my Ambassador remembers Rema hospitality after such a long absence.”
Aralim smiled as he examined the table. The main course was an enormous heap of roasted pork, thoroughly seasoned and garnished with cilantro, while two long loaves of sorghum bread accompanied on either side and melted slices of berry butter. “The climate alone almost assures that, but this meal is also quite impressive,” he said, spreading his arms. Flasks of wine and jars of honey gave shade to the oasis-like meal. As Aralim and his friends sat along the table opposite the Emperor, the Aura began to pour tea from a large clay pot; soon everyone had been served and the bread was passed between them.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Nill said, looking around the various other dishes.
“Aralim,” Muria said amiably. She raised her cup from the end of the table and Aralim returned the gesture in kind. “How was the journey? The Emperor told us only that you were well-received in Tal’lashar, that you were endangered by the undead and by bandits, and that you safely avoided both.”
Aralim shrugged. “It went well. Every challenge gave me something to ponder. Though the last encounter with bandits was rather unfortunate, Tal’lashar was very good. The language was a bit of a barrier, but I quite enjoyed the pragmatism of the people.”
“Pragmatism?” Muria asked. “In what way?”
“Pray tell,” Nill asked, with a smirk.
The Emperor had been looking at Aralim for his response, but smiled at Nill’s remark.
“Even when faced with an opinion they disagree with, the people of Tal’lashar will always allow you the opportunity to defend your reasoning,” Aralim explained. “And often, they honour your own views so long as you permit them to continue their own beliefs.”
Devran looked down at his meal.
“Of course,” Nill responded, adding her own thoughts. “Our people know the world is full of many fascinating beliefs, each with enough merit to them to help get men and women through life’s hardships.”
Tag’na leaned forward. His short eyebrows rose. “If I recall,” he said, “Your home generally accepts the existence of several gods.”
“It’s true,” Nill agreed, grinning. Aralim knew how delighted she was to speak with a man of Tag’na status and apparent power. Nervously, she added, “I hope I am not taking away from the Ambassador’s job, simply by being his guest.”
Aralim raised his tea cup politely. “It’s no issue. I hardly know what I’m doing anyways.”
A few chuckles went around the table—but Muria laughed the hardest.
Devran cleared his throat. “In the spirit of sharing beliefs, I did my best to share that you were one of Gethra’s gods, Your Ascendance. I can show you what I wrote.” He rummaged into his pack and withdrew one of his pamphlets.
The Eternal Emperor sat there quietly, looking at the chronicler. The Aura, standing amidst the metal pillars, made no movement to retrieve the brochure. Tag’na leaned back from the table and said, “I know you travel away from here more than you stay, Devran, but have you ever heard me tell anyone I am a god? Those who see the truth, believe it.”
The meal table grew uncomfortably silent. Devran looked down from Tag’na’s powerful gaze and his lips moved wordlessly. Aralim had heard Tag’na say it once, but he didn’t offer this information as an interruption. He had heard the Emperor say to Ovoe the Keeper, “I am a god. You are a termite. This is all you ever amounted to,” before snapping the spymaster’s neck.
Instead, it was Nill who broke the uneasy silence. Blissfully unaware, she said, “If I might be so bold, what do you believe, Your Ascendance? Are you a god?”
One would not have thought the room could get any more uncomfortable, but it did. Tag’na’s face had not turned from Devran and his expression remained unreadable. But those who had spent time in Rema—Miresh included—knew that you did not ask such things, not even in the quiet corners where the Aura reached.
Aralim answered the question in an attempt to prevent Tag’na’s response. “He is the Eternal Emperor—the core of what is Rema.”
Nill glanced at Aralim, eyebrows raised, and then nodded. She didn’t know what else to say, and still didn’t understand the exchange.
Devran and the Emperor smiled at Aralim’s answer. Then Tag’na lowered his glass of wine and looked at the chronicler. “In any case, Devran, you are tasked with writing an account of where Aralim went and what he saw, not a religious doctrine. I expect you will comply with such skill as you have written in your other popular publications.”
“Your Ascendance,” Devran intoned, tipping his head forward.
Miresh broke the uncomfortable tension with an excited exclamation: “Oh, Aralim! Guess what? I sent a letter to Rattar on my own, two weeks ago!” The letters she had sent to Aralim in Crossroads had been teleported by Master Rattar or Master Enarrin, but now Miresh had practiced enough to accomplish the feat.
“That’s great,” Aralim replied. “When do you expect his reply?”
“A month or two,” Miresh said, matter-of-factly. She tilted her head. “Assuming he is able to reply right away.” She took a bite of a broken chunk of bread.
The Emperor smiled and added, “And assuming he feels the need to send a letter at all. He is accompanied by my Aura.” The ageless man used a large two-pronged fork to serve himself a slab of pork. He dribbled gravy onto it from a small glass pitcher.
“As convenient as the Auras are, you have more things to do than relay messages, I’d imagine,” Aralim pointed out.
Tag’na glanced at Muria, and then back to Aralim. “My counsellors may receive information from my Aura if I allow it. For example, the safety of our Ambassadorial team was a matter of debate briefly. There was no sense sending a letter to you and waiting for its reply.”
“It’s true. As a matter of curiosity, was the Aura with us unique? He handled himself well during conflicts.”
The Emperor looked at his meal thoughtfully for a moment. Then he looked up, glanced around the table, and turned back to Aralim. “My Aura’s primary purpose is protection,” he said cryptically.
Aralim suppressed a chuckle. Of course His Ascendance would not speak of such secretive things in front of councillors, writers, and their ilk. So instead, Aralim looked to his left. “So, Muria, how would you like to move forward? You said you would want to speak to me upon my return—how may I be of service?”
“I was going to ask if you would advise some sort of alliance with the people you had visited… but it seems you would,” she said with a smirk.
Aralim laughed. He already had made an alliance with the First Queb in Tal’lashar.
“Was there any conversation beyond what the Aura heard—a talk of open trade and conversation between our peoples?” Muria asked.
“I left it fairly ambiguous. I didn’t want to overstep into your responsibilities too much. I wasn’t prepared to say what Rema is willing or capable to offer over such distances,” Aralim explained. He took another sip of his tea. He had finished a small slice of pork already and reached for another.
The Emperor cleared his throat. “What they need the most—military protection—I will not give.”
“But what of tactical advice?” Muria countered. “Something must be done about the city of Yarik.”
Aralim had another idea. He set down his cup and folded his arms. “Given the route,” he began, “Resources also seem unreasonable. Perhaps an exchange of sciences?”
“We are very good at building,” Nill said, smiling.
Tag’na nodded approvingly. “Nilless, would you be willing to help Muria and another advisor find some aspects your home has not discovered? A few hours and a tour from one of my scholars would be sufficient.”
“Of course,” Nill said. “Anything I can do to help.”
Aralim tried not to grin. He had just changed the world.
For a moment, everyone enjoyed their meals. The earlier discomfort had faded. Muria sipped a glass of wine and then looked at Aralim once more. “If I recall, Dullah of Keb’kres went with you and remained in Tal’lashar. Before leaving, she spoke of sending one of their maps back, so we might gain such knowledge. Perhaps we could offer further explorative details? The map did survive your ordeal, yes?”
“Yes, it’s with my things,” Aralim said. “I’ll bring it by next time I’m in the Palace.”
“Great. I look forward to seeing what lies north of Radregar,” Muria said. Tag’na smiled knowingly at her comment, but did not explain his humour.
They continued eating. Aralim was getting full, but Miresh had eaten more than he had. She was growing quickly, it seemed. Devran ate the smallest amount; Aralim had never cared for the man’s evangelical attitudes, but he did feel a little ironic pity for the Emperor’s dedicated chronicler.
“We’ll have to see about replacing that staff,” the Emperor said, flicking two fingers toward Aralim’s still-singed stick.
Aralim smiled. “Or at least the lantern portion,” he replied.