Chapter 255 - A Matter Of Force

Niya had to check for herself that everyone truly was out of critical condition before she allowed herself to take a break. Jiran revealed both their taps, then left to track down Mayalyn and Olive. The latter had rounded up the surviving clergy and was none-too-kindly soliciting their assistance in gathering anyone who was sick—a foreign concept for people with mana in their bodies. Since the experience was so novel, getting them to come forward at all was a task that took half a day.

While waiting, Jiran drained the ambient density. There were indeed many who needed venom’s cleansing, so many that Jiran was forced to drain their mana as compensation. He didn’t see his parents in the healing commotion that followed and he was glad for it. Leaving that chapter of his life open-ended felt like the right call.

When the last family was treated, the three of them left Sanctum for the army’s encampment. Mayalyn sagged in his aura, allowing her Obfuscation to drop for the first time in hours. Even her ears and tail drooped in utter relaxation as she snuggled in.

Jiran was the opposite. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so awake. Not only did he get to sleep for the first time in days, he also saved many lives from a gruesome death. Most of them weren’t thankful, having no idea how bad it would get; in fact, their feelings were quite the opposite as he took their mana. Jiran didn’t care. Him feeling amazing about healing them had nothing to do with their feelings on the matter.

As soon as they were airborne, Olive had snatched his hand as though it might be her last chance to hold it. He sent her a reassuring smile, suspecting where her thoughts were headed. Fortunately for them both, Jiran had no intention of letting that future come to pass.

They arrived to find the meeting of the rankers well underway. Olive held him back before they entered the large command tent that currently housed every powerful aura left across both Sanctum and the army. She locked gazes with both him and Mayalyn, releasing a held breath, “You need to know that what happens in there has no bearing on the way I feel about both of you. Always, my heart and duty have been with my people. Though my heart may lie elsewhere today, my duty must come first.”

Jiran gave her the same reassuring smile, then entered the tent without responding. Olive and Mayalyn were quick to follow on his wings. Over twenty powerful sets of eyes locked onto them. Each was accompanied by an aura that did its fair share of suppressing their advance.

Jiran pulled his aura tight. Combined with Olive’s, they managed to cover Mayalyn and continue without difficulty. Feeling their flawless and instant teamwork, both Lenton and Ardon grinned approvingly. Jiran swept Gaze of Pediamus over each of them in turn, eliciting either prickled hairs or outright shivers. While the tier eights and nines couldn’t fully detect what he was doing, each of them felt ‘something’ pass over their skin.

Facing down Ardon last, Jiran bowed politely, “My Prince. I’m glad your recovery has progressed so well.”

Ardon nodded sagely, “I hear you’re to thank for that, Jiran of Feylon,” Jiran didn’t miss the glimmer of amusement in the seemingly young man’s eyes, “While I appreciate your efforts, perhaps next time, you and your master could conclude a battle without placing my life in danger?”

Jiran held a hand to his chest, replying with utmost gravity, “I’ll certainly hold your advice close to my heart, Your Majesty.” Directly to the prince’s right, Lenton released a pained groan that perfectly matched the one coming from Olive.

Meanwhile, Ardon released a bark of laughter, “Well said, well said. I’ll remember that, Jiran of Feylon, Savior of the Empire.” Jiran flinched at the title and Ardon’s grin grew predatory, “Enough formalities, we’ve much to conclude. We covered most of the empire's issues before your arrival, so I’ll briefly summarize.” He flicked a finger toward a trio of finely crafted and painted chairs.

Ardon continued the moment they were settled, “The most critical issue is one we have little power to manipulate. Since we continue to draw density, it is unlikely that Jiran’s methods were passed to Palo and Loro as they were to Andross. When they return, they are certain to go wild upon seeing the state of their city. If that comes to pass, the only hope for the empire will be Jiran’s portals.”

Not standing on ceremony or propriety, Jiran shook his head, his voice firm as it carried through the tent, “That’s not an option. By the time we realize they’re upon us, it will be too late to escape. If a portal were opened then, it would only give the wild emperor access to my allies’ lands. I won’t accept that risk,” Jiran silenced their whispered frustration with a lifted hand, “However, if there are any who wish to leave the empire in advance, that can be arranged.”

Ardon nodded, clearly having expected as much, “I understand. Then we can only place our trust in Lostrifar’s ability to manage them. She has never let the empire down before.”

“Our next issue is the Voicers, and subsequently, the Graymin. The Voicer’s standing army at Morothin—formerly the 3rd corps, is under the command of Archbishop Daleese. Her reports, gathered from Andross’s belongings, detail the Graymin have once more retreated. This has been corroborated by the 6th and 7th corps stationed in Mortan and Havel's Fjord respectively. Whether or not their movements are the prelude to the appearance of another king is currently our highest priority. Secondly to that objective, is peacefully removing the archbishop of her command.”

Ardon gave everyone a chance to speak, when none did, he continued, “My dear sister Malaniea is currently the most suitable Diviner in the empire. Unfortunately, she is bereft of mana and… not in an optimal state of mind. I understand how unprecedented it is to ask one of you masters to donate so much mana for the task. However, with Jiran’s ability to recover your mana, it seems an apt solution, so long as he is willing.”

I need to check in with daughter after the corruption was all over my soulwall anyways.

The rankers stared at Jiran hungrily, no doubt hoping he would recharge their mana again as he’d done several times already. He casually waved off their hopes and dreams, “I’ll do it. The Divination that is.”

“I was not made aware that was an option,” Ardon glared to his side and Lenton had the decency to cover his mouth when he coughed lightly.

“Ahh, yes. One of Jiran’s earliest lessons was Divination. Though untested, his skill is likely suitable for the task.”

An eager debate began among the rankers, demanding he either be tested or to let one of them handle it. Having better things to do than listen to them argue, Jiran interrupted with a touch of mana lacing his words, “I brought reinforcements to save the empire before the battle for Morothin. If that doesn’t qualify me, then I don’t much care for what anyone thinks will.”

That was thanks to the MotherTimberling, but they don’t need to know that. I’m sure Daughter can handle it.

Ardon smoothly resumed control of the meeting, “Very well. I’ll trust your judgement. This is our most pressing issue, so I hope your report arrives in the most expedient manner. As for the issue of Archbishop Daleese’s forces. I believe Oliviala would be a perfect candidate, with proper support from Master Filibree, of course.”

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Olive’s response, though she did briefly grab and squeeze Jiran’s hand under the table, “I accept.” Jiran didn’t have any reason to object. He had no intention of letting them be separated any time soon, and as of yet, nobody had asked them to.

Ardon dipped his chin graciously, “Excellent. Assuming the king does not return to annihilate us, our final matter is one of force. As of this moment, the people in this tent represent a majority of the remaining power within the empire. The devastation of the rankers could very well lead to the collapse of everything we hold dear. With the emperors’ whereabouts unknown, our chances of surviving densoon season are less than modest.”

Jiran could tell he was trying to impress the severity of the situation on them, but he couldn’t feel it. If anything, Ardon’s words filled him with a burning desire to rally his forces. Protecting the empire while it was down was the perfect opportunity for the Forkara and Timberlings to grow in power. They would even earn the hearts of the Imperials while doing it.

Unaware of his feelings, Ardon continued, “That is not to say we are without hope. Each of the surviving rankers should theoretically be capable of what an entire party struggled with in the past. If we can pass along those teachings to the lower tiers, and survive densoon season while they ascend, the empire’s defenses could swell to the most powerful state in its history.”

His rousing speech had the rankers sitting with their backs straight, clenched jaws refusing to display the emotions roiling within them. Jiran got his first taste of Ardon’s will when the man pinned him with a steely glare that practically demanded acquiescence, “For our survival, for the future of the empire, it is my proposition that the Imperial Academies of Havel’s Fjord, Skorahda, Sanctum Santorum, and Cruex be combined into one. Under the protection of the remaining rankers, we will nurture our best and brightest, guided by our new Minister of Education: Savior of the Finlest Empire, Jiran of Feylon.”

Jiran considered his proposal for all of two seconds before responding with a snort, “Not a chance.”

Ardon’s fingers dug into his chair, the wood creaking ominously. He leaned toward Jiran, doing a decent job of imitating his father’s overbearing demeanor, “I would like to hear your reasoning for declining before we consider alternatives.”

“Sure. Among the many reasons, there’s two that are absolute deal-breakers,” Jiran held up his fingers, counting down, “First, the best place to learn isn't surrounded by walls and rankers capable of saving our prospective ascenders from the slightest danger. With so little time on our side, we need to send them to the only classroom that matters: the battlefield.

“Second, and no offense, Your Majesty, but you weren't at the battle for Morothin. You didn’t get a chance to see that the empire is no longer alone. We have powerful allies, more than capable of defending our borders while we nurture the next generation. And I’ll be right there with them, on the front line, not stuck in some academy dealing with paperwork until I’m old and gray.

“As for your alternative, go ahead and combine the academies then send those kids to me. I’ll forge them in the fires of war until they’re more powerful than you can possibly imagine. Oh, and we're not going to merely survive densoon season. We're going to push the graymin back a thousand kilometers. They've been farming us for generations. It’s long past time we return the favor.”

***

Ardon tried several times to get Jiran to accept the official mantle of Minister of Education. Jiran understood his insistence, as having his new title thrown around would go a long way in convincing the academies to set aside their long histories to join under a common banner. It was Lenton’s truly diabolical suggestion, which Jiran immediately agreed to, that eventually convinced Ardon to relent. 

Mayalyn, Olive, and Jiran left together shortly after the details relevant to their assigned duties were decided. The moment they were free from the oppressive atmosphere of the tent, Mayalyn clung to his arm. Her tail wrapped around his bicep and her soft ear tickled his chin as she leaned into him, “That was sooooo boring! Next time, do me a favor and leave me out.”

Olive tutted, leading the way to their next destination, “Nonsense. You are the most prominent member of the People, an ambassador in name and deed, and I refuse to suffer through that alone while you’re out enjoying yourself!”

The girls laughed and Jiran was momentarily stunned by how much their smiles uplifted his spirit. He took a deep breath, inhaling a perfect memory of the moment, “I’m just glad we convinced your brother without pissing him off too much. I wasn’t about to let us be separated so soon. Everything we need to do, we can do together, and that’s how it's going to stay. At least for a while.”

“Too much?” Olive’s nostrils flared cutely, “He looked near to bursting a vein at Lenton’s suggestion. And you agreeing to it so readily.” She shook her head in disbelief, “Honestly, I’ve never seen him so furious. Filling father’s aura is taking a toll on him. I hope you’re nicer in the future. He did save your life after all.”

“I won’t forget. I’ll repay him soon. I’ve got the perfect thing in mind,” Jiran wore a broad smile as they reached a small, unassuming tent. The guards posted at the entrance pulled the flaps aside, revealing a seated woman who could have been Olive’s twin. There were deep bags beneath her eyes, and fresh tears stained the backs of her hands.

Malaniea’s head lifted, seeing Olive, a flicker of recognition crossed her expression. She was halfway to her feet when Olive stepped to the side and Jiran came into view. Malaniea stiffened, her eyes widening in horror. She lifted a finger to point at Jiran and screamed at the top of her lungs.