When Hakulia was felled by the Saahein, and Seclya rose from the ashes, a countdown began.
It was only natural that the Hakulic humans would want their homeland back from the elves.
The clock was ticking towards midnight, and a reckoning for both the Hakul and the Saahein.
War was really the inevitable drawing card to be played in at the last, for war defined them.
Only a fool would have thought bloodshed could be avoided; it was preordained to have war.
The question now became not who would win the Second Blood War, but who should survive?
— Mirthal Virran, Biographer and Historian
It was only natural that the Hakulic humans would want their homeland back from the elves.
The clock was ticking towards midnight, and a reckoning for both the Hakul and the Saahein.
War was really the inevitable drawing card to be played in at the last, for war defined them.
Only a fool would have thought bloodshed could be avoided; it was preordained to have war.
The question now became not who would win the Second Blood War, but who should survive?
— Mirthal Virran, Biographer and Historian
ＤＥＳＣＥＮＴ ＩＮＴＯ ＨＥＬＬ
ＴＨＥ ＳＥＣＯＮＤ ＢＬＯＯＤ ＷＡＲ ＣＯＭＭＥＮＣＥＳ ＢＥＴＷＥＥＮ ＳＣＡＩＬＡＮＤ ＡＮＤ ＳＥＣＬＹＡ
The Royal Estate of Ruven I Achax and Issarel Rothilion-Ermys, Syva Aethel, Seclya
1930 Hours Syva Aethel Time
Elkhazel Bihice was running late, as per his usual this time of day; evening meetings at the royal estate were always a troublesome affair for him. The hustle and bustle of Syva Aethel had delayed him in reaching the estate at the proper time, and though his compatriots all knew him as ‘the one who would arrive late’, it still did not ease the sting of shame. All he had to show for his recent excursion to Culiacan was a bad tan and some sunburns on the top of his shaved head. He had arrived back home in the capital just that very morning and was already being called to a rendezvous with the Ostrax and some of his top advisors, defense minister Ninleyn Yesraeli and development minister Kieran Aramaris. Personally, he liked both Ninleyn and Kieran, though he felt that their responsibilities often paled in comparison to the needs of the foreign ministry. They were apt to discuss matters of importance in their respective fields, however, and he generally found the two to be combative, yet strangely pleasant to be around in their own special way.
As he strolled at a brisk but deliberate pace through the outer hallway on the fourth floor, overlooking the botanical gardens outside the portico, Elkhazel thought to himself – and not least the first time, either – what compelled the Saahein Sovereignty to build such a human-esque royal palace for Ruven I Achax and Issarel Rothilion-Ermys. Sure, it was beautiful in a neoclassical manner, but it reeked of human minds behind the architecture; that they had inherited the grounds from the previous ‘administration’ of Seclya was one thing, but to keep the style was another. It was not a matter of taste so much as a matter of common decency not to imbue the capital with remnants of their human slave masters. Whatever had come over the designers of the estate, it had been an exceedingly bad joke in poor taste to Elkhazel and his sensibilities. He had often wondered to himself whether the move was made to appease frazzled human nervous throughout Gholgoth over the appearance of a new Elven kingdom on the political scene, a savvy move perhaps.
In any event, the royal couple were not complaining about their accommodations, and he was not getting paid to discuss them, either. Elkhazel gently pushed open the door to the office study of Ruven Rothilion-Ermys, the proverbial ‘elf with a plan’ as it were. Ruven was a decorated war leader and the adopted son of Queen Maeralya in Amador, which made him nigh untouchable in the grand hierarchy of the Saahein Sovereignty – his word was law. Not that he adopted power universally or singularly; he shared that prestige with his wife, a daughter of Amador named Issarel Ermys. Together, they formed the crux of a powerful marital dynamic in Seclyai politics, wielding tremendous influence over the government that served them and their constituents. The two even loved one another, as rare as that was these days, truly a storybook romance come to life under the pretense of hot passions and political intrigues between the Amadorians and Seclyai. Their children were going to be quite powerful brokers in their own right when they came of age.
Taking a deep breath before the plunge into a political caucus of some import, Elkhazel gently pushed the door open to the Ostrax’s office study, the soft chandelier light filtering through the doorway in the darkened hallway. He stepped inside the room quietly, taking note of several guards standing by in the corners of the room, a security measure holdover from the Blood War to be sure. The king and his counsel were sitting across from his desk in leather chairs that matched the coloration of the onyx marble floors. Ruven was seated at the head of the arrangement, wearing a crisp business suit with matching vest and tie over a red undershirt. His neatly kept hair was barely touching the base of his neck and slicked back, a larger-than-life personality in the humblest and intimate of settings without thought to the enormous political and realpolitik power he wielded with his wife. If one did not know any better, they would have assumed Ruven was some young, hotshot lawyer or businessman, not the leader of the whole damned Saahein Sovereignty.
The Ostrax was busy sipping on tea, listening intently to an argument being waged between Kieran and Ninleyn. Kieran Aramaris was something of a folksy hero from the Blood War, becoming the leader of his own battalion of engineers that had distinguished themselves with distinction for their tenacity and willingness to work under heavy duress. After the conclusion of the revolution, Kieran had gone into urban planning fulltime and become something of a policy freak. His diminutive stature – he was only about 1.6 meters tall – betrayed none of the fire that burned inside his soul for Seclya. He was sitting with his arms folded across his chest, wearing a black vest over a while dress shirt, his tie and jacket already pulled off and thrown on the floor haphazardly behind him. Whatever the argument was between himself and Ninleyn, it was obvious that Ninleyn had the advantage at this particular juncture. Kieran would not let that fester for long; he was intensely proud and unwilling to backdown easily from his positions, however flawed or accurate they might be.
Compared to Kieran and his animated facial features, the lovely Ninleyn Yesraeli was the model of calm and composed stature. Elkhazel did not know Ninleyn on a personal level to the same extent like he did with Kieran, but he was well versed in her own personal rise up the ranks of power in Syva Aethel. A military lifer, she had been an early convert to the revolutionary uprising and led a daring aerial assault on Hakulic forces at the Battle of Marrona, leaving the humans incapable of counterattacking on the vulnerable flank of the Lacerta legions. Nicknamed ‘Skyhammer’, Yesraeli became a policy hawk of her own accord in the defense of the nation, rising up the ranks of the military to become one of the senior policy instructors at the main military academy at Navis. Ruven had personally tapped her for the position of defense minister thanks to her understanding of armaments, logistics, and modern combat tactics. She wore a feminine business suit that clung tightly to her figure, cutting an alluring presence in whatever room she entered.
As he walked towards the gathering, he caught the tail end of one of Yesraeli’s rants unfolding, something he was well versed in dealing with. “–I still think it deserves attention! We cannot keep putting this off forever, damn it!”
“And I keep telling you, if we do not consider the needs of our transportation network, the military may be the least of our problems! We need that budgetary surplus more than your soldiers do, sorry. It is a fact of life that you must deal with.”
“Deal with it hell,” Ninleyn angrily retorted. “I must insist on this plan!”
The duo were well and truly going at it tooth and nail – as respectfully as they could, of course before the Ostrax – over this one, as they had for days. Ruven heard the footsteps clacking on the marble floor behind them and turned to greet the foreign minister. “Ah, Elkhazel, the voice of reason I hope in this maelstrom of madness. Welcome!”
“Hail, Achax,” Elkhazel said boldly as he approached, saluting his Ostrax dutifully. “And how might the king of the Saahein be feeling today?”
Rothilion-Ermys shook his head incredulously, having talked with Bihice about this before. “You know you can call me Ruven, it will not kill you. We do not stand on ceremony here, friend. Come, have a seat with us, we were just about to talk shop.”
“Eh, too improper,” the foreign minister replied, taking a seat across from Kieran and Ninleyn and plopping down in a huff. “Some order of civility is needed for the station, is it not?”
Kieran spoke up, nodding in agreement with Elkhazel. “For once, I agree with my bald friend here on matters of policy. It would do you well to remember your station, Majesty; others around the world are watching you, after all. You cannot be expected to shepherd a people to prosperity without a modicum of pomp.”
“I disagree completely,” Ninleyn said plainly, her penchant for pragmatism showing through. “Having a leader that is down to earth without his heads being stuck in the clouds sets a good precedent for Seclya. Ruven should not be penalized simply because the royal family does not want to be considered hoity toity.”
“Hoity toity? Good grief,” Elkhazel said sharply, leaning forward in his seat after getting comfortable in it. “It is not a matter of being up in the clouds, it is a matter of establishing authority. The Saahein, the Lashein and our Lacerta friends have a hegemony that needs shepherding by a qualified shepherd, our Ostrax.”
“I am sorry Elkhazel, Kieran, but I am of the same opinion as Ninleyn,” Ruven addressed the group, taking an authoritative tone. “I want to be relatable to my people, not some distant force from on high that commands the plebes down below. That is not what we fought for, and it is not what I signed up for. Keep it informal for me, please?”
Bihice slowly nodded in the affirm. “As you wish it, Majesty… Ruven.”
The Ostrax politely smiled in his direction, the reaffirming grin of a friend trying to placate another with good humors. Ruven slid towards the edge of his chair, steeping his tea in the porcelain cup that set upon its coaster on the table between the lot of them. The Ostrax was well known for his addiction to green tea; the foreign ministry had to work out a special arrangement with the Wishtonian island nation of Kusatsu just to import the blends he preferred along with his wife. Teatime in the royal estate was developing into a sacred, and tasty, tradition that Elkhazel was there for, to be certain. It beat having gruel served in metal tins in the trenches, that was for damned sure. Everything about their setup in Syva Aethel was preferable to the olden days of servitude or the conquests of the Blood War. As foreign minister to the Saahein Sovereignty, he had held a front seat to many of the changes happening to their newly won country. Some of the changes had been for the worse, but most were for the better; life was constantly improving.
“Anyway, as I was saying before our friend the foreign minister joined us,” Ninleyn resumed talking, “I believe that we need to address the issue of recruits to the war academy at Bryleth with our budgetary surplus. Bryleth is a holdover from the Hakulic period and was built with humans, not elves or Lacerta in mind. Overhauling the infrastructure and building a new facility would help our military immensely with recruitment and training goals.”
“Sorry, I just cannot accept that the military needs more funding than it already has,” Kieran said bluntly towards the defense minister, turning next to speak directly towards Ruven. “Our civic infrastructure is still in the process of being brought up to code, and transport gates between Syva Aethel and Ifa Serine are not cheap to maintain!”
“I understand that our infrastructure needs are great, but so too are our defensive needs,” Ninleyn replied to him, singling him out. “Right now, our national defense plan relies too heavily on the assistance of our Amadorian allies. What if they could not come quickly to our aid? We are in no shape right now militarily to prosecute a war.”
“You hold our Gothic neighbors in a poor light if you think we are at risk of invasion,” Elkhazel interjected, weighing in on the side of Kieran. “We have no ill will engendered towards us right now from our neighbors; Seclya is as secure as it has ever been under the Hakulic peoples. Civilian infrastructure can support military development as well.”
“We are not so strong as you might think,” Ninleyn responded. “The Gothic Lords of the region will pounce on any sign of weakness, and Seclya is still very much on the long road to recovery from the Blood War. Our military must meet certain standards for our ensured defense, and right now I cannot guarantee that our numbers match up to the cause.”
The Ostrax decided to weigh in on the matter, offering his own qualified opinion. “I am of the same mind as Ninleyn on this, gentlemen, I apologize. Rebuilding the military must be of the utmost importance if we are to survive as a people on our own. Amador has been tremendous to us, but we must be able to carry our own weight in the world, you know?”
“Is this a confirmation that the military is getting our budgetary surplus then,” Ninleyn inquired.
“I would think so, defense minister,” Ruven answered. “There may be some bureaucratic red tape to sort through, but in general I am okay with developing military resources to be used in our national defense stratagem. Civilian infrastructure projects will simply require the levying of new taxes to complete. People will just have to swallow the painful costs.”
“Painful costs is one way to put it,” Kieran spoke candidly, shaking his head. “The people will not like it one bit.”
“Progress is thirsty work, unfortunately,” Ruven answered, taking a sip from his green herbal tea before continuing. “Our magicks can only do so much; we need to levy taxes and raise elven power to continue constructing our homeland the way it is meant to be. If the people are willing to suffer in the short term for future gains, we can make it all work to our benefit. There is also the matter of our Lacerta allies to consider as well, you see?”
“As you say, sir,” Kieran kind of gently replied, not really feeling the Ostrax’s enthusiasm but going along with it nonetheless in a token show of support. I do hope we can find a budget allotment for more transport gates between Ifa Serine and Syva Aethel. The more we pump into our infrastructure and transportation networks, the more economically viable we become. And I find it difficult to process that anyone here in the room finds that unpalatable.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Ruven acknowledged, sitting his porcelain cup down on its coaster on the table. “The magicks which sustain our teleportation grid to and from Amador is high on the list of priorities. Having that umbilical cord to Amador is a necessity for our nation right now as we continue to improve our infrastructure and recover from war damage.”
“I am also not immune to the needs of our civilian sectors,” Ninleyn addressed Kieran, trying to paste a sympathetic look on her face to soften the blow against his idealism. “We must consider the needs of our constituent groups as well as our military needs. I simply think we need to prioritize what resources we have into the areas of highest need.”
“Hey, you won this round, kudos to you,” Kieran chuckled, reaching forward for his own cup of tea. “The military getting the budgetary surplus will produce some dramatic results, and I am not inherently against the move on principle. I just have to advocate for the department that I was assigned, to the causes of my constituents across this land we now call our home.”
Elkhazel nodded, crossing his right leg over his left and grabbing at his ankle. “You never know, maybe we will draft an extra budgetary surplus and have another discussion on transportation or economics or what have you. We did well to create a budget with a surplus once, right? Who is to say we cannot perform that same minor miracle again?”
“Elkhazel Bihice, the pragmatist as always,” Kieran chided him jokingly, looking back towards Ruven for moral support for his position. “Maybe you should have been assigned development minister instead of I, you old scoundrel!”
“Oh, no thank you, I am quite well adjusted to my current role and desire no other, be It demotion or promotion.” Elkhazel leaned over towards Ninleyn, smirking: “Kieran here has an inferiority complex next to elves of true stature and nobility. He cannot comprehend that a highborn elven lord could know as much as the plebeian commoner that ate bugs and surreptitiously threw the shackles off and liberated themselves.”
Kieran laughed boisterously. “That might be the most elegant fuck you in recorded history.”
The four of them laughed loudly at the quip, feeling some of the tension from the debate lift. Elkhazel shook his head and held his hands up: “I only call it as I see it.”
Their laughter was suddenly curtailed by the sound of a door slamming open behind them, back from whence they had all entered the office study of the Ostrax. A pair of soldiers barged in shortly thereafter, brandishing sidearms and looking for all the world like a duo of assassins. For a brief moment, Elkhazel nearly considered the possibility of an armed coup taking place, but the arrival of the Miax, Ruven’s wife, Issarel sequestered those thoughts into the dustbin. The armed guards looked around as though they were scanning for any threats, moving in stride with the deliberate, slow steps of the distressed Miax, she who was wearing the scowl of someone in deep discomfort. The group turned to her, feeling the negative energy radiate off of Issarel in an almost-palpable fashion. It was obvious that something was dreadfully wrong, but to what extent or reason behind the distress, Elkhazel nor his compatriots could answer. Her disheveled look was extremely out of character for Issarel and disturbing to the lot of them.
Elkhazel, Kieran and Ninleyn all rose first, the Ostrax slower to turn to see his wife in distress. There were suddenly the machinations of prognostication swirling in Bihice’s head, ideas swirling into dreaded fears over what might be the matter. For whatever reason, he felt as though he knew what the Miax was going to say before she said it, for there was only a litany of reasons for her to be so distressed. Something major had happened, perhaps to the nation itself, and things that had been sailing along smoothly would be upturned on its head in short order. He pleaded internally with himself to be wrong, that maybe something less serious was going on, but as Issarel continued apace towards them, her distressed look growing more forceful by the second, Elkhazel knew better than to hope. He could read the look of deep concern on the Ostrax, Ruven’s face at the sight of his disconcerted wife. He froze up for a second, as though he were gripped by the same invisible fear, but it quickly broke and necessity propelled him into action.
Ruven quickly rose from his chair, moving to intercept his wife before she made it over to their small cadre. He gently grabbed a hold of her, feeling her quake beneath his touch. “My love, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost – what is the matter?”
Issarel looked up with watery, pleading eyes that glistened in the soft lighting of the study. Her words were slow to form, as though some insidious force was suppressing her spirit. Finally, she managed to utter the words that dropped like a hammer in the room: “War, love! Seclya is going to war – we have been attacked!”
As he strolled at a brisk but deliberate pace through the outer hallway on the fourth floor, overlooking the botanical gardens outside the portico, Elkhazel thought to himself – and not least the first time, either – what compelled the Saahein Sovereignty to build such a human-esque royal palace for Ruven I Achax and Issarel Rothilion-Ermys. Sure, it was beautiful in a neoclassical manner, but it reeked of human minds behind the architecture; that they had inherited the grounds from the previous ‘administration’ of Seclya was one thing, but to keep the style was another. It was not a matter of taste so much as a matter of common decency not to imbue the capital with remnants of their human slave masters. Whatever had come over the designers of the estate, it had been an exceedingly bad joke in poor taste to Elkhazel and his sensibilities. He had often wondered to himself whether the move was made to appease frazzled human nervous throughout Gholgoth over the appearance of a new Elven kingdom on the political scene, a savvy move perhaps.
In any event, the royal couple were not complaining about their accommodations, and he was not getting paid to discuss them, either. Elkhazel gently pushed open the door to the office study of Ruven Rothilion-Ermys, the proverbial ‘elf with a plan’ as it were. Ruven was a decorated war leader and the adopted son of Queen Maeralya in Amador, which made him nigh untouchable in the grand hierarchy of the Saahein Sovereignty – his word was law. Not that he adopted power universally or singularly; he shared that prestige with his wife, a daughter of Amador named Issarel Ermys. Together, they formed the crux of a powerful marital dynamic in Seclyai politics, wielding tremendous influence over the government that served them and their constituents. The two even loved one another, as rare as that was these days, truly a storybook romance come to life under the pretense of hot passions and political intrigues between the Amadorians and Seclyai. Their children were going to be quite powerful brokers in their own right when they came of age.
Taking a deep breath before the plunge into a political caucus of some import, Elkhazel gently pushed the door open to the Ostrax’s office study, the soft chandelier light filtering through the doorway in the darkened hallway. He stepped inside the room quietly, taking note of several guards standing by in the corners of the room, a security measure holdover from the Blood War to be sure. The king and his counsel were sitting across from his desk in leather chairs that matched the coloration of the onyx marble floors. Ruven was seated at the head of the arrangement, wearing a crisp business suit with matching vest and tie over a red undershirt. His neatly kept hair was barely touching the base of his neck and slicked back, a larger-than-life personality in the humblest and intimate of settings without thought to the enormous political and realpolitik power he wielded with his wife. If one did not know any better, they would have assumed Ruven was some young, hotshot lawyer or businessman, not the leader of the whole damned Saahein Sovereignty.
The Ostrax was busy sipping on tea, listening intently to an argument being waged between Kieran and Ninleyn. Kieran Aramaris was something of a folksy hero from the Blood War, becoming the leader of his own battalion of engineers that had distinguished themselves with distinction for their tenacity and willingness to work under heavy duress. After the conclusion of the revolution, Kieran had gone into urban planning fulltime and become something of a policy freak. His diminutive stature – he was only about 1.6 meters tall – betrayed none of the fire that burned inside his soul for Seclya. He was sitting with his arms folded across his chest, wearing a black vest over a while dress shirt, his tie and jacket already pulled off and thrown on the floor haphazardly behind him. Whatever the argument was between himself and Ninleyn, it was obvious that Ninleyn had the advantage at this particular juncture. Kieran would not let that fester for long; he was intensely proud and unwilling to backdown easily from his positions, however flawed or accurate they might be.
Compared to Kieran and his animated facial features, the lovely Ninleyn Yesraeli was the model of calm and composed stature. Elkhazel did not know Ninleyn on a personal level to the same extent like he did with Kieran, but he was well versed in her own personal rise up the ranks of power in Syva Aethel. A military lifer, she had been an early convert to the revolutionary uprising and led a daring aerial assault on Hakulic forces at the Battle of Marrona, leaving the humans incapable of counterattacking on the vulnerable flank of the Lacerta legions. Nicknamed ‘Skyhammer’, Yesraeli became a policy hawk of her own accord in the defense of the nation, rising up the ranks of the military to become one of the senior policy instructors at the main military academy at Navis. Ruven had personally tapped her for the position of defense minister thanks to her understanding of armaments, logistics, and modern combat tactics. She wore a feminine business suit that clung tightly to her figure, cutting an alluring presence in whatever room she entered.
As he walked towards the gathering, he caught the tail end of one of Yesraeli’s rants unfolding, something he was well versed in dealing with. “–I still think it deserves attention! We cannot keep putting this off forever, damn it!”
“And I keep telling you, if we do not consider the needs of our transportation network, the military may be the least of our problems! We need that budgetary surplus more than your soldiers do, sorry. It is a fact of life that you must deal with.”
“Deal with it hell,” Ninleyn angrily retorted. “I must insist on this plan!”
The duo were well and truly going at it tooth and nail – as respectfully as they could, of course before the Ostrax – over this one, as they had for days. Ruven heard the footsteps clacking on the marble floor behind them and turned to greet the foreign minister. “Ah, Elkhazel, the voice of reason I hope in this maelstrom of madness. Welcome!”
“Hail, Achax,” Elkhazel said boldly as he approached, saluting his Ostrax dutifully. “And how might the king of the Saahein be feeling today?”
Rothilion-Ermys shook his head incredulously, having talked with Bihice about this before. “You know you can call me Ruven, it will not kill you. We do not stand on ceremony here, friend. Come, have a seat with us, we were just about to talk shop.”
“Eh, too improper,” the foreign minister replied, taking a seat across from Kieran and Ninleyn and plopping down in a huff. “Some order of civility is needed for the station, is it not?”
Kieran spoke up, nodding in agreement with Elkhazel. “For once, I agree with my bald friend here on matters of policy. It would do you well to remember your station, Majesty; others around the world are watching you, after all. You cannot be expected to shepherd a people to prosperity without a modicum of pomp.”
“I disagree completely,” Ninleyn said plainly, her penchant for pragmatism showing through. “Having a leader that is down to earth without his heads being stuck in the clouds sets a good precedent for Seclya. Ruven should not be penalized simply because the royal family does not want to be considered hoity toity.”
“Hoity toity? Good grief,” Elkhazel said sharply, leaning forward in his seat after getting comfortable in it. “It is not a matter of being up in the clouds, it is a matter of establishing authority. The Saahein, the Lashein and our Lacerta friends have a hegemony that needs shepherding by a qualified shepherd, our Ostrax.”
“I am sorry Elkhazel, Kieran, but I am of the same opinion as Ninleyn,” Ruven addressed the group, taking an authoritative tone. “I want to be relatable to my people, not some distant force from on high that commands the plebes down below. That is not what we fought for, and it is not what I signed up for. Keep it informal for me, please?”
Bihice slowly nodded in the affirm. “As you wish it, Majesty… Ruven.”
The Ostrax politely smiled in his direction, the reaffirming grin of a friend trying to placate another with good humors. Ruven slid towards the edge of his chair, steeping his tea in the porcelain cup that set upon its coaster on the table between the lot of them. The Ostrax was well known for his addiction to green tea; the foreign ministry had to work out a special arrangement with the Wishtonian island nation of Kusatsu just to import the blends he preferred along with his wife. Teatime in the royal estate was developing into a sacred, and tasty, tradition that Elkhazel was there for, to be certain. It beat having gruel served in metal tins in the trenches, that was for damned sure. Everything about their setup in Syva Aethel was preferable to the olden days of servitude or the conquests of the Blood War. As foreign minister to the Saahein Sovereignty, he had held a front seat to many of the changes happening to their newly won country. Some of the changes had been for the worse, but most were for the better; life was constantly improving.
“Anyway, as I was saying before our friend the foreign minister joined us,” Ninleyn resumed talking, “I believe that we need to address the issue of recruits to the war academy at Bryleth with our budgetary surplus. Bryleth is a holdover from the Hakulic period and was built with humans, not elves or Lacerta in mind. Overhauling the infrastructure and building a new facility would help our military immensely with recruitment and training goals.”
“Sorry, I just cannot accept that the military needs more funding than it already has,” Kieran said bluntly towards the defense minister, turning next to speak directly towards Ruven. “Our civic infrastructure is still in the process of being brought up to code, and transport gates between Syva Aethel and Ifa Serine are not cheap to maintain!”
“I understand that our infrastructure needs are great, but so too are our defensive needs,” Ninleyn replied to him, singling him out. “Right now, our national defense plan relies too heavily on the assistance of our Amadorian allies. What if they could not come quickly to our aid? We are in no shape right now militarily to prosecute a war.”
“You hold our Gothic neighbors in a poor light if you think we are at risk of invasion,” Elkhazel interjected, weighing in on the side of Kieran. “We have no ill will engendered towards us right now from our neighbors; Seclya is as secure as it has ever been under the Hakulic peoples. Civilian infrastructure can support military development as well.”
“We are not so strong as you might think,” Ninleyn responded. “The Gothic Lords of the region will pounce on any sign of weakness, and Seclya is still very much on the long road to recovery from the Blood War. Our military must meet certain standards for our ensured defense, and right now I cannot guarantee that our numbers match up to the cause.”
The Ostrax decided to weigh in on the matter, offering his own qualified opinion. “I am of the same mind as Ninleyn on this, gentlemen, I apologize. Rebuilding the military must be of the utmost importance if we are to survive as a people on our own. Amador has been tremendous to us, but we must be able to carry our own weight in the world, you know?”
“Is this a confirmation that the military is getting our budgetary surplus then,” Ninleyn inquired.
“I would think so, defense minister,” Ruven answered. “There may be some bureaucratic red tape to sort through, but in general I am okay with developing military resources to be used in our national defense stratagem. Civilian infrastructure projects will simply require the levying of new taxes to complete. People will just have to swallow the painful costs.”
“Painful costs is one way to put it,” Kieran spoke candidly, shaking his head. “The people will not like it one bit.”
“Progress is thirsty work, unfortunately,” Ruven answered, taking a sip from his green herbal tea before continuing. “Our magicks can only do so much; we need to levy taxes and raise elven power to continue constructing our homeland the way it is meant to be. If the people are willing to suffer in the short term for future gains, we can make it all work to our benefit. There is also the matter of our Lacerta allies to consider as well, you see?”
“As you say, sir,” Kieran kind of gently replied, not really feeling the Ostrax’s enthusiasm but going along with it nonetheless in a token show of support. I do hope we can find a budget allotment for more transport gates between Ifa Serine and Syva Aethel. The more we pump into our infrastructure and transportation networks, the more economically viable we become. And I find it difficult to process that anyone here in the room finds that unpalatable.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Ruven acknowledged, sitting his porcelain cup down on its coaster on the table. “The magicks which sustain our teleportation grid to and from Amador is high on the list of priorities. Having that umbilical cord to Amador is a necessity for our nation right now as we continue to improve our infrastructure and recover from war damage.”
“I am also not immune to the needs of our civilian sectors,” Ninleyn addressed Kieran, trying to paste a sympathetic look on her face to soften the blow against his idealism. “We must consider the needs of our constituent groups as well as our military needs. I simply think we need to prioritize what resources we have into the areas of highest need.”
“Hey, you won this round, kudos to you,” Kieran chuckled, reaching forward for his own cup of tea. “The military getting the budgetary surplus will produce some dramatic results, and I am not inherently against the move on principle. I just have to advocate for the department that I was assigned, to the causes of my constituents across this land we now call our home.”
Elkhazel nodded, crossing his right leg over his left and grabbing at his ankle. “You never know, maybe we will draft an extra budgetary surplus and have another discussion on transportation or economics or what have you. We did well to create a budget with a surplus once, right? Who is to say we cannot perform that same minor miracle again?”
“Elkhazel Bihice, the pragmatist as always,” Kieran chided him jokingly, looking back towards Ruven for moral support for his position. “Maybe you should have been assigned development minister instead of I, you old scoundrel!”
“Oh, no thank you, I am quite well adjusted to my current role and desire no other, be It demotion or promotion.” Elkhazel leaned over towards Ninleyn, smirking: “Kieran here has an inferiority complex next to elves of true stature and nobility. He cannot comprehend that a highborn elven lord could know as much as the plebeian commoner that ate bugs and surreptitiously threw the shackles off and liberated themselves.”
Kieran laughed boisterously. “That might be the most elegant fuck you in recorded history.”
The four of them laughed loudly at the quip, feeling some of the tension from the debate lift. Elkhazel shook his head and held his hands up: “I only call it as I see it.”
Their laughter was suddenly curtailed by the sound of a door slamming open behind them, back from whence they had all entered the office study of the Ostrax. A pair of soldiers barged in shortly thereafter, brandishing sidearms and looking for all the world like a duo of assassins. For a brief moment, Elkhazel nearly considered the possibility of an armed coup taking place, but the arrival of the Miax, Ruven’s wife, Issarel sequestered those thoughts into the dustbin. The armed guards looked around as though they were scanning for any threats, moving in stride with the deliberate, slow steps of the distressed Miax, she who was wearing the scowl of someone in deep discomfort. The group turned to her, feeling the negative energy radiate off of Issarel in an almost-palpable fashion. It was obvious that something was dreadfully wrong, but to what extent or reason behind the distress, Elkhazel nor his compatriots could answer. Her disheveled look was extremely out of character for Issarel and disturbing to the lot of them.
Elkhazel, Kieran and Ninleyn all rose first, the Ostrax slower to turn to see his wife in distress. There were suddenly the machinations of prognostication swirling in Bihice’s head, ideas swirling into dreaded fears over what might be the matter. For whatever reason, he felt as though he knew what the Miax was going to say before she said it, for there was only a litany of reasons for her to be so distressed. Something major had happened, perhaps to the nation itself, and things that had been sailing along smoothly would be upturned on its head in short order. He pleaded internally with himself to be wrong, that maybe something less serious was going on, but as Issarel continued apace towards them, her distressed look growing more forceful by the second, Elkhazel knew better than to hope. He could read the look of deep concern on the Ostrax, Ruven’s face at the sight of his disconcerted wife. He froze up for a second, as though he were gripped by the same invisible fear, but it quickly broke and necessity propelled him into action.
Ruven quickly rose from his chair, moving to intercept his wife before she made it over to their small cadre. He gently grabbed a hold of her, feeling her quake beneath his touch. “My love, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost – what is the matter?”
Issarel looked up with watery, pleading eyes that glistened in the soft lighting of the study. Her words were slow to form, as though some insidious force was suppressing her spirit. Finally, she managed to utter the words that dropped like a hammer in the room: “War, love! Seclya is going to war – we have been attacked!”
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