Chapter 381: Fabricating an Easy Choice

To speak to a king was not to know a king… and to know a god was not to understand a god.

The emissaries of Erlebnis knew this fact well. Though an extension of His will and bound together in an inextricable network of individual cognizance, they could never claim to understand how their Lord thought. To deliver His will was a step removed from the mind that bore it… yet over a millennium, and all those years before it, his emissaries knew He could not be doubted. Indeed, they existed still only because they fostered no doubt in Him. Doubt was death.

The emissary standing alone in the grove of redwoods was as unshaking and stable as the trees which stood around him. His fleshy humanoid form differed from humans and elves in subtle, unsettling ways, as though he was a figure spotted in a mirror within a dream. He waited, waited, and waited.

And when a distant blackness cut through the trees, descending like settling powder, the emissary knew he needed not wait any longer.

“Lady Onychinusa,” he greeted before she had taken form.

When she did gain physical form before him, her face was indignation halted by surprise and anxiety. She declared with desperate anger, “I need to know what’s happening. I need to be told who I deal with, what I do. I will make mistakes, otherwise.”

The emissary stared at his Lord’s mortal champion. This woman was a product of centuries of preparation. Many cycles of judgement past had proven that gods alone were not in total control of their destinies. Mortals had made gods and broken gods in equal measure. Argrave alone was demonstrating this fact. This woman was their lord’s answer.

She was raised coldly, dispassionately. It was not because the Lord was ignorant of the fragility of mortal mentality—He had seen emotions and mentality in raising children and had enough of a base to construct what most mortals would agree is a good childhood. The Lord, however, did not care for her happiness. It was irrelevant in the face of the cycle of judgement, where the lives of all hung in balance—preeminently, His.

The Lord needed only a mortal tool. And millennia of observation concluded that what is broken and battered is easier to direct.

Highly emotional, highly insecure, ignorant where it was important… the emissaries had seen this woman’s like time and time before. Though ill-liked in society, they were predictable. When wronged, they grow hysterical, desperate. When confronted with a rival for a position, this desperation amplifies.

“Please,” Onychinusa pleaded when the emissary stayed silent. “I cannot work under that man. I am the Lord’s most faithful servant, his mortal champion. Why must I do this, at the most important hour?!”

And when given one drop of affection from those who raised them…

“Child.” the emissary said, emotionless as ever as it raised a hand with six fingers to her head. “The Lord wishes only for a mortal servant accustomed to dealing in the society of men and elves. All those beneath you.”

Her amber eyes wavered, and water showed on the edge of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Dimocles is but a portal for you to act upon the mortal world without experience in it,” the emissary continued. “Knowledge and experience are separate things entirely. To know is not to know fully.”

“I don’t understand,” she shook her head, tears already flowing.

“You must box in the king. We told you this,” the emissary continued, brushing away some of her long white hair. “We cannot fight him, hurt him, harm him, as it is not the Lord’s way to crush those who might benefit Him at later dates. But at the final hour, when the elven gods strike against Kirel Qircassia, he must make the decision best for the Lord.”

“What decision?” she pressed further, utterly enraptured.

“When the die is cast, it must be desirable for the king to step away from the elven gods and allow the Lord to reap all benefits from this battle. Argrave must have no love for them. Indeed, he might come to hate them. And there must be no consequences in his power base for this abandonment.” The emissary moved his hand away from her head. “Having lived at the Lord’s side all of your life, He decided a mortal such as Dimocles would be best suited for deciding what will turn another’s heart to stone even as their allies are slaughtered around them. You cannot be asked to predict the king.”

“I can learn,” she promised hopefully.

“You are sorely needed elsewhere,” the emissary told her flatly. “After all, you are His sole mortal champion.”

With the drop of affection, bitter indignance and insecurity morphed to utter submission in less than half a second. Onychinusa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the back of the emissary to Erlebnis. He put his six-fingered hand on her shoulder. And his fingers were cold and strong.

“The world outside, and the mortals within it, are beneath you. Listen to His words and stay at His side. Because, for now… there is much you can do that he needs you for.”

#####

“I am the genocider. I am the defiler. I’ll kill your children… and your children’s children,” Argrave said, rubbing his hands together.

“But not the parents?” Anneliese raised a brow.

“No. They’ve gotta watch,” Argrave turned his head to her. “I’ll, uhh… snuff out of the last fire of hope in their hearts before taking their life. Something like that.” He looked off to the side and started shaking his head. “Now I’m thinking about how centaurs even have kids. And I’m thinking I don’t want to know. The stomach, would it be…? Never mind, I’m done.”

Argrave walked away, shaking his head. Anneliese inquired after him, “If you do draw the ire of all the centaurs, will that have lasting effects?”

“A little smaller lasting effect than drawing the ire of the QIrcassian Coalition,” Argrave held up his fingers, showing a small measurement between two. “On the long list of my problems, it’s rather low. Probably beneath Order of the Rose liches, maybe above the Iron Giants. But if I can get them to hate me, to hunt me… I can get them to do what I want.”

“They still have brains,” Anneliese held her hands out.

“That just means I have to act the part of genocider well,” Argrave took her hands, swaying her body in a light dance. “We want chaos, right? Pandemonium to distract the Qircassian Coalition while the elves and their gods make the decisive strike, while positioning the centaurs and their Holy Mother to strike the risky final blow. Come on—with the little red trail, the black hair, the cold gray eyes, I definitely look the part of someone who could genocide.”

“You slip into an old habit, Vincenzo,” Anneliese narrowed her eyes. “Acting funny to reassure everyone.”

His half-hearted dance died on the vine. “Name-dropping me, huh?”

She looked guilty at once. “I apologize. I just… dislike that.”

“You and me both,” Argrave breathed out, sobered. “But… acting? Acting funny? You don’t think I’m funny?”

She looked at him with exhausted amusement and said, “When you sing, certainly.”

Argrave laughed and released her hands, stepping away to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t see any other way to get the centaurs to move how I want.”

“…fair, but…” Anneliese stepped around. “You bought time enough for elves in the area to evacuate. That is the important point. The Supreme Myriarch will be grateful for that alone, placing you in his good graces. The centaurs might be drawn into fighting our enemies on their own, but… stoking their hatred, having them chase you, and then coincidentally hurting your enemy? This is no storybook. It cannot go perfectly like that.”

“You make it sound like a cartoon,” Argrave looked at her, almost offended. “I’m not gonna play Tom and Jerry. I’ll… give them a grievous insult by defiling a holy sanctuary of theirs, whereupon their forces will overextend seeking retribution,” he explained in a posh accent. “After their dire miscalculation, forces also diametrically hostile to theirs will engage in armed combat of the lethal variety.”

“Very good, thank you,” Anneliese nodded with a sarcastic smile. “But how will we escape these forces, also ‘diametrically hostile’ to us, without losses? How will you lead the centaurs about by the nose for so long, having them do everything you want them to do, without making a mistake? And going off the theory this is Erlebnis’ doing, can we adapt to his adaptation?” She shook her head, the smile and sarcasm both gone. “This is no Gordian Knot.”

“Sure it is,” Argrave nodded. “Who said anything about losses, anyway? That would imply putting something at risk.”

Anneliese’s face shifted and scrunched as she tried to guess what Argrave meant. Finally, she gave up and asked, “I cannot understand what you mean.”

“We don’t need anybody else where we’re going,” Argrave shook his head. “This is a family matter. Genocide is tradition in the Vasquers, after all. It makes sense.”

As she grasped it, her face hardened. “Do you mean to say that you and Orion are going to do this alone?”

“We’re going to try it alone,” Argrave rephrased. “If I’m honest, I’m just as skeptical as you are. But those centaurs—they’re wantonly destructive. We want to anger the giants, the elder beasts leading the Amaroks and Mishis… so long as me and Orion wrangle the centaurs well enough, maybe it’ll work. If not, I’m confident enough we can escape.”

“Like I said, the centaurs have a brain!” Anneliese explained desperately. “Would they chase two through the Bloodwoods for… hours, perhaps? No!”

“I thought that too,” Argrave nodded. “I can pad numbers with my Brumesingers, maybe even my blood echoes, to make it seem like we’re a bigger party well worth chasing. And if you think that the centaurs might quit because it’s not worth it, I thought of that. People are very comfortable searching and hunting long distances when its thieves or kidnappers they hunt. And… maybe even godnappers.”

“You want to—”

“No, I can’t, sadly,” Argrave shook his head. “Sarikiz can’t leave the realm, so far as I know. But the centaurs don’t know that,” he shrugged. “And with Magisters, one of whom knows illusion magic decent enough to fool our primitive spellcaster enemies… maybe we can whip something together. Hell, they already think I’m a defiler.”

Anneliese rubbed her face with both hands. “Oh, Argrave…” she sighed. “Argrave, Argrave, Argrave… you really push my head to its limits.”

“What else am I supposed to do? My head capped off a long time ago.” Argrave shrugged.

“…we have to make sure that nothing goes wrong at all,” Anneliese said, voice muffled behind her hands. “We have to thoroughly prepare for all three: before, during, and after.”

“We?” Argrave repeated.

“Family matter, you said,” Anneliese lowered her hands. “I am family, correct?”

Argrave widened his eyes, unable to refute that point. “You make a good argument, but…”

“Imagine that. You worry for me.” She gave a bitter smile. “You worry, but when others worry… it means nothing.”