If Aralim had thought the First Tower was busy during his initial visit, half a month ago, it was nothing compared to it was now. With the quiet army of risen still surrounding Tal’lashar, the Quebs spent their days in full-tilt activity. The guards at the gate of the tower were even more hesitant about permitting his lantern staff inside, but it entered nonetheless.
Surrounded by the chaos, First Queb Garashi was alternating her dialogue between the soldiers, servants, and advisers that surrounded her once clean meeting hall. Books of history, maps, a wild assortment of letters, and seemingly forgotten refreshments littered the table. When the Queb saw Aralim, regarding all the clamour with wide eyes, she allowed herself a small, tired smile, and called out to him. “Excuse the anarchy, Ambassador. Can we speak here, or should we find some privacy?”
Aralim shrugged and walked to her side of the table, so as not to shout at the small platoon of staff in the room. Grendar and the Aura followed. “This is well enough. I’m not much of one for schemes, so I rarely need privacy.”
“Good. Just today, we at last received their demands. A rather rotten man shambled out of the army waving a blood-stained letter, you see?” She showed Aralim the letter; despite a few dark smudges, it was scrawled across with a neatly written script he had to assume was Asha.
Though Aralim had learned a few dozen words in their language, he knew nothing about the written characters. “What do they demand?” he asked, passing the letter back.
“Forty carts of stone, twenty-five of wood, fifteen of textile,” she said, matter-of-factly. Seeing Aralim’s surprise, she went on. “I know, I was also suspecting something more sinister. But, it is truly a fortune in resources.”
“It seems like a lot of work for what is essentially robbery.”
Garashi smiled wearily again and nodded. “The last time anyone saw inside Yarik, it was a view of massive castles the size of our towers, grand statues, and sprawling courtyards. It seems the only thing that is done in Yarik is work,” she explained. “Now I am faced with deciding whether I ought to bow to their demands and lose wealth, or attack them forthright and lose people. Both options have a long list of other consequences.”
Aralim considered if he could afford the materials. While the Eternal Emperor certainly could, they had only carried a certain amount more than was gauged necessary for the journey to Tal’lashar. It was a lot more than Aralim had ever travelled with, but he knew it wouldn’t be close to the demands. “It’s a choice between unending demands and unending war.”
“Essentially, yes,” Garashi agreed. “King Prathar once said no war could be unending, but ambition is always unending.”
“If you go to war and lose, it’s the same result as if you give into their demands,” Aralim pointed out. “Not that I dare advise you, Numa being too distant to provide aid.”
“The timing of your visit to Tal’lashar is both ill-fated and incredibly providential. Would that your patron be a closer ruler, this chance visit of yours might make me a firm believer in your friend Devran’s pamphlets.” Garashi seemed to take her current plight with enough perspective to still exude a sense of dry humour.
After a moment of looking at the maps, Aralim turned back to the First Queb. “By our original schedule, we’re due to depart soon. I’m torn between rushing our journey to see what aid we can send, and staying to see this through. Admittedly, I haven’t been able to accomplish much in my time here, but I have grown attached to the Asha.”
“And we to you.” Garashi bowed her head. “Whiteleaf will not close his mouth about it. I think he’s already put aside some money for a journey that way, but we may need to confiscate that for this undead robbery.”
Aralim looked around the room, at all the advisers—some other Quebs, without a doubt—and then back to her. “How much of the needed funds would you have if each Queb put forth ten percent of their wealth? After all, this is a danger that faces you all as a whole.”
“We would have enough, but dealing in percentages is tricky. Ten percent of my wealth is many times over ten percent of the 47th Queb’s wealth,” Garashi assured him. “I’ll pay that, but my fierce competition at the Second and Third Towers may insist on paying only what the last Queb would. I can enforce it, for the sake of Tal’lashar, but I may make enemies as a result.”
“If everyone has lost ten percent, no one has lost anything in relation to the others. But I’m sure the higher Quebs could not see it that way,” Aralim said. At least two of the counselors in the room were eyeing him in a less than happy manner.
“They could,” Garashi said, meeting those disapproving gazes. She said her next word brazenly. “But until the dead are beating down their doors, they’d prefer to pay as little as possible. It doesn’t matter. I think my hands are tied on this matter. We are not a warful people; despite King Prathar’s wisdom, we must meet their demands if we can. Perhaps we can then prepare for the next time.”
Aralim bowed his head. The courageous leader was facing a truly difficult decision. “If there is something I can do, please don’t be afraid to say so. Perhaps I can contact someone nearby upon our departure?”
“I cannot rightly recommend that you leave in the midst of this. There is no telling what dangers might await you on the road if you make it past the siege lines,” Garashi warned him. “But, if you must risk leaving, please do so at night so as not to stir a panic. If you come upon Highwaymen, tell them what is going on. The local garrison have retired from being the town drunks and offered their aid already.”
Then she smiled, as she thought of something else. “Or, if you’re a man of faith, seek out Ebireen to the north. Perhaps Prathar’s god can help break these two ‘endless’ options of which we spoke.”
Aralim smiled. “Unfortunately, despite my desire to talk to Ebireen, I cannot justify that journey as the Ambassador. I’m going to leave the decision of when to leave up to my group. I’m comfortable delaying a few weeks if it means there will be less corpses on the road.”
“I only meant it in jest,” the senior woman said, bowing her head. “I wish you the very best of travels, despite these conditions, Ambassador.”
Aralim tipped his head to her. “I’ll see what word I can send upon my arrival home.”
The home of Ambassador Whiteleaf was a large building, though not a mansion. Grendar waited in the small yard out front, in the shade of a large eave. When Aralim got inside, invited by the servants, he realized that most of the building was dedicated to functioning as a diplomatic headquarters. Only a small portion of the home was devoid of record keepers, advisers, and staff; Whiteleaf eagerly invited Aralim to sit with him in a breezy balcony area. A thin, transparent cloth kept sand from blowing into the seating area. Whiteleaf also began with an apology for Aralim’s predicament in relation to the siege.
“It’s really only an inconvenience if we wanted to leave,” Aralim said, grinning.
The tall man invited him to sit in one of the armchairs and chose a chair set at an angle to Aralim’s preference. “Well, we’ll hope it doesn’t come to fighting then.”
“Even if it should, I trust the Path,” Aralim said, choosing a spot to lean his weathered lantern staff. The Aura stood near the door, just a silent presence forever.
“I have been in your shoes many times,” Whiteleaf said. “I was in Elpan during the first revolt of 1477. I was in the Eye of Maga when the Queen was killed.”
“Then you know worrying can’t change the course of events.”
Whiteleaf nodded. “Exactly. Still, it can sometimes make for a more stressful stay. In fact, I was a suspect in the death of Queen Zanna, for a time, and I had to flee the city practically on my own.”
“Interesting,” said Aralim. “I’m always happy to hear of people performing so. It’s a sign of progress on the Path. A friend of mine was once a slave. Now he sits on the council of Selected in Rema.”
“That is quite a rise!” Whiteleaf exclaimed, blinking. “How much say do the Selected have in Rema? I have heard only that there are Three Courts and theirs is the lowest.”
“I was a Selected once, and I can’t quite say I ever did anything…” Aralim admitted. “But I was quite bad at the job. The Selected handle all low level legal disputes. Is there is a go-between for the people and the Quebs? It would be similar. They handle most of the day-to-day events, but they don’t create law.”
“I see.” Whiteleaf leaned forward. “In Tal’lashar, each Queb holds court for those on his land. You could say there are forty-seven courts here…”
“And yet they fight so much less than ours, it seems.”
Whiteleaf shook his head and leaned back again. “There is plenty of fighting between Quebs, but most of it is only financial.”
With a frown Aralim said, “That’s unfortunate, but it’s human nature I suppose.”
“Do you think everyone could find enlightenment on the Path without ever rubbing someone else wrong?” Whiteleaf asked. He had certainly been doing his research, since they had not really spoken of the Path yet.
“Traditionally, the Path doesn’t consider morals relevant, so in-fighting shouldn’t bother me,” Aralim explained. “I’m just disappointed with how much more we could be doing if we all just walked the same direction.”
“Have you heard of Koa’taz the Orrene? He was a philosopher in the days before the fall of the Orrish,” Whiteleaf explained without pausing. “He is quoted as saying ‘Without dark we would not know the light; without hate we would not know the love; without strife we would not know tranquility.’”
Aralim nodded. “Koa’taz was often quoted in my homeland. He has his good points. His willingness to leave the world to be observed implies a place on the Path I have yet to achieve.”
Whiteleaf looked at Aralim slyly. “My point is, if we all walked in the same direction, would anyone be moving along the Path?”
A pause and a smile was all Aralim gave him in reply. Whiteleaf knew how to discuss, that was certain. It was something Aralim always appreciated. “Speaking of paths, I hear you’re quite taken by the one to Rema?”
“I’ve thought of such a journey often over the years, but more-so since speaking with you,” Whiteleaf confessed. “Garashi and the other Quebs often leaned away from allowing such a venture, because of the limited political possibilities across so great a distance. I feel after your impression, I might have a few supporters more.”
“Garashi is worried about financing it given our current… siege status,” Aralim explained. “I don’t know your responsibilities here given the situation, but if you can arrange to leave with us, we have coin for one more on our journey. We never agreed on a way to solidify the friendship of our respective lands after all.”
“Oh, interesting,” Whiteleaf piped. He scratched the trimmed grey beard on his jaw. “I don’t like leaving my people in a plight like this, but it depends when the crisis is over and when you leave. Let me think on it, and ask some questions.”
“Of course. We have yet to decide on a departure. We may wait out the crisis.” Aralim stood up and grabbed his lantern staff again. They bowed to one another and exchanged pleasantries, and then Aralim went out to speak with Grendar about his ideas for their continued stay in Tal’lashar.