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A Dreamed-Of Peace

Chapter 1

Sponsored by HandofBlades

By Draconicon

Vadru slumped against the wall, struggling to speak as the blood flowed from his shoulder. His injury was not what stilled his voice, but rather a feeling, a suction in the wound that felt like it was pulling something out of him. The buffalo gritted his teeth as he watched as, with sword and dagger, claw and fist, the assassin was beaten off of the Emperor, too late to save their ruler.

He clutched his hand against the wound in his shoulder, feeling blood pour through his fingers. Pressing his fingers through the sticky flow, he forced himself forward, making his way to the table. He had taken worse wounds than this in battle, and the Emperor...

How did he get through the palace guard...

The assassin had come from nowhere, appearing as if summoned from the shadows themselves. If Vadru hadn't been looking in the right place at the right time, the stranger would have taken him unaware, and then the assassin would have had the chance to run through the room, killing everyone before they were aware of him. He had seen what had happened to the Emperor, even with the Rings of State. No other could have kept up with the assassin if the stranger hadn't been too busy killing the zebra.

But how...

It didn't matter now. The assassin was dead, attacked on all sides by the heads of the Great Families, and the gray-garbed stranger slumped over the map table just as the Emperor did, the mysterious killer laid side by side with their former monarch.

Vadru thrust the heads of the families out of the way, leaning against the table with his good arm. The dagger that had slain the Emperor was the same as the one that had been stabbed through the table, down to the thorns in the grip. He shook his head; there was no doubt that the zebra was dead, with no chance to save him.

The heads of the Families whispered to each other, and the buffalo snorted as Kesir berated everyone.

"You have no respect...no respect for our departed Emperor. And you, Dashid of the Radid." The lion turned to the eastern dragon, who was putting away a dagger of his own. "You could not have foreseen this?"

"I told you already. Events surrounding the Land of Whispers are cloudy to my eyes. I cannot see everything."

"And yet, you foresaw war between us if we followed his orders."

"I can speak only of what I see."

"And not all of that," Kesir muttered, the lion flicking his saber, cleaning the blade before putting it away. "And you call yourself a diviner."

"Everyone, let's focus on the important thing," Barakat said, the maned wolf holding his hands up for attention. "The Emperor is dead."

"And?" Robert of the Mokri asked. "That is obvious."

"And he has no heirs."

Barakat's statement silenced the room, though to Vadru, such a statement was as obvious as the first. It was only a fact that the others had forgotten in that moment. The buffalo, however, had not.

He slowly brought his arm down from his wound, one bloody hand and one clean one slowly folding the Emperor's arms across his chest as the Families watched in silence. Linking the zebra's fingers together, he lowered his head across the Emperor's torso, giving him one last bow of respect.

The Families gradually did the same, starting with the maned wolves of the Haafal, followed shortly after by the Strok and the Mokri, in unison. As ever, the Radid were the last to bow, and when they did, it was a small, lazy thing.

Nothing was said of it.

When Vadru lifted his head again, he looked between the gathered nobles. They looked back, not saying a word, and he knew that they were all considering what to do next. An Emperor with no heirs meant that there was an empty throne, and for all that the dead man on the table had been...peculiar...he had been the force that had forced the Empire together. Without an Emperor to guide it, there was no Empire to speak of. It was merely a set of lands that were ostensibly under the same flag, run by the regional governors...and Vadru knew that at least some of them understood how dangerous that was.

The General of the Imperial Army, the head of the Imperial Bodyguard, stood as tall as his wound allowed. He tried to speak, again, but the words would not come. He coughed, tried again, and still nothing came.

"The Whispers have silenced his tongue," Dashid said, and only the Radid did not flinch.

Gritting his teeth, the buffalo gestured, writing in the air and holding out his hand. From the Mokri, from Amari, a piece of paper was given, and a pen followed. Unsurprising; she had likely been ready for any sort of contract she could draw up on the spur of the moment. He wrote on it, and then pushed the paper back to the Families.

Let the Emperor be taken into state. Let nothing be said to the city until we have decided how we will handle this.

One by one, the heads of the Families nodded in agreement. On this, they could all agree.

"I will take my leave," Dashid said. "I suggest that we all do the same. We have our apartments in the palace; let us rest there until we are needed."

"I second that motion," Amari said.

"I concur," said Barakat.

There were no words from the Strok, but that was unsurprising. They were the sword of the Empire, and the buffalo knew that they were in a similar state as himself. One by one, the other families left, departing the chamber to their apartments. He knew that they would be silent, but planned to dispatch soldiers of the Imperial Bodyguard to keep an eye on them, regardless. It would be best to be sure that they were following orders.

Soon, only the Strok delegation remained. Commander-General Kesir, General Gara, the twins Rothil and Rotha. They stood at their end of the table, their hands clenched tight at their weapons, their faces downcast. Vadru tried to find the words to write, his hand hesitating over the edge of the page, until Rotha, the lioness heir, laid her hand on the Emperor's shoulder.

"He followed the chain."

"He followed the chain," her brother said, his voice shaking and weak.

"He followed the chain," General Gara said, nodding his head as if to punctuate the sentence.

"...In the end, he followed the chain," the Commander-General said. "We will see to his honor."

The buffalo nodded, letting them leave. They shut the door, and he heard the Strok taking up positions at the edge of the door. They would guard the room, keep the secret, just as they had kept guard for centuries.

Finally alone, the bull looked at the body of his monarch. His responsibility. His charge. He laid his hand on the Emperor's bloody chest, and silently, he wept. He wept tears of grief for the man he had served, wept tears of loathing for his failure...and tears of fear for the whispers of the Emperor's voice that came from the dead man lying on the table.

The quarters of the Mokri had always been gold in color, with black spirals running through them. Their private rooms were bright yellow, shining as the sun, with black curtains hung like veils between the different parts of the room, sparkling with the remnants of stars and shimmering in the low light of intimate candles. Amari Mokri, the head of the family in all but name, sat upon the edge of her bed, the cheetah tapping her foot against the hem of her gown, her eyes staring straight ahead but her mind anywhere but there.

Her husband, the stallion Robert, was in the process of unpacking their things. Great trunks of luggage, containing clothes, gifts that would have gone to the Emperor, and more were being placed where they belonged. He had been silent since they left the map chamber at her unspoken request, giving her time to think.

The Emperor is dead. This...will be interesting for business.

The Mokri holdings were diversified enough that the chaos that would come from the lack of a central authority would not hurt them too badly. The shipping of cargo would have to be augmented with greater protection due to a probable lack of Imperial Army guards, and she would have to start turning the family gold towards the hiring and dispensing of mercenaries. That was a monopoly that she had been planning to start anyway, so it would not be a bad idea to get started on that.

But what were the other opportunities here?

She tapped her foot again, her tail twitching as she thought the situation through. In her fifty years in the Empire, she had never imagined that they would be presented with a situation like this. She had aimed high, seeking status, wealth, power for her family and Family, but always with the thought of what would happen if she failed.

"Well, that was a painful sight..."

Amari blinked, pulled away from her thoughts as she turned to her husband. The stallion had seated himself beside her at the edge of the bed, crossing his legs as he looked down at her. She pulled at her memories, dragging out what he'd been saying as he unpacked everything. It scarcely took a second.

"Yes...painful to see the Emperor die...and Vadru, as well."

"He was always so strong. I didn't expect him to..."

"Yes. He was on the verge of breaking."

"No. He's broken."

The cheetah blinked.

"You're sure?"

"He could have been a Strok with his sense of duty, and he failed. He was holding it together, but..."

"Hmm..."

An interesting possibility, that. The head of the Imperial Guard, broken. Tradition held that the General keep the Rings of State until the official heir was ready to collect them and take the throne. However, in this case, lacking an heir, it was not unlikely that the General would be pushed forward as a candidate for it himself.

And a broken man was easy to drag concessions from.

The cheetah leaned against her stallion's arm, thinking it through. There were possibilities there, but there was a greater drive to the Mokri than profit. The kingdom would be shocked if they ever understood it, but she had always remembered it. Even greater than the pursuit of status, wealth, and power, there was the lesson of the golden wings...

And what happened when one flew too high...

In the quarters of white and red, smoke billowed from a great fire in the center of the room. Dashid and his offspring knelt beside it, with the burnished eastern dragon sitting at the northern corner of the fire, and the others sitting at the various compass points. His hands rested on his knees, and his eyes were closed to slits.

Allow the mind to slide away, he thought, the ancient dragon breathing in the perfumed smoke that billowed upwards. Allow the sight of the mundane to go with it. There is naught to be found in the logic of this world. The secrets lay beneath, in the moment, in the eye buried in shadow...

Around him, his sons - Shiasu, the general, and Tabid, the accountant - and his daughter - Wistu, the spymaster - breathed in the smoke with him. Three dragons, one stallion, all gathered for the same purpose.

As they breathed in the smoke, subduing themselves beneath certain substances that were of a less than sobering variety, they sunk into the realms of the dark-mind. The depths, where the understanding of the world was different than the thinking, light-mind. There, where the shadows crept, where the secrets danced, where understanding beyond conscious thought could be found, they stayed.

In the shadows, shapes danced. Dashid watched them, stored them, examined them in the detached way that the smoke allowed, his eyes fluttering beneath the lids. He saw the dancing blades, the clashes of tooth and claw. He felt the ripping and tearing, the fires and smoke. He saw expansion, he saw shrinking. The tapestry of empire ripped to pieces. The peace shattered.

He saw wholeness, and he saw nothingness.

At the agreed-upon time, a servant entered the room. A lion, and one that he recognized even in the dark-mind. The feline knelt, covering the fire with a dome of metal, and choked it. The windows were thrown open, and the dark smoke left.

Tea followed, and the heads of the Radid sat with legs crossed and tails turned, forming a circle between them only broken with the hair-tail of Tabid. Dashid glanced at the lion, nodded at him, promising his attention within the hour, and the feline left with a bow of his head.

They drank, and they discussed what they had seen. War, opportunity, and more had been spotted, and Dashid was as near to proud of his children and heirs as one could be. But they had not seen everything.

"The Land of Whispers...moves," he said once his children had had their time. "It struck down the Emperor, and it will strike those that raise their head too high."

"Do you see war, then, father?" Shiasu asked, his eagerness no longer disguised; why should it be, between them? "Should I summon the men?"

"No...no, not yet..."

Dashid sipped at his tea, looking at the leaves that rose and fell within. Another symbol to be stored, perhaps, or merely reality being real once more? The dark-mind was not absolute truth; there were reasons to have both minds, to use them both, rather than to rely on only the former. His father had learned that the hard way, after his thoughts to take the throne through his deep plots.

"We will wait." Dashid set his cup aside. "Until such time as things are clearer...we will wait."

Barakat and his wife, Dema, collapsed into bed together. Surrounded by the greens and blues of the Haafal colors, they would normally have fallen together for aggressive coupling. Such was their way after a long journey, but after the bloody events of their meeting, it felt wrong.

Not that Dema wasn't up for a challenge, but Barakat stopped her hands before they could reach for his trousers.

"We'll have to take this one seriously, dear," he said.

"Hmph."

"I know you're not in the mood. Let's challenge ourselves in a different way, hmm?" he asked, turning his head to kiss her cheek. She returned the gesture with a lick, and then sighed, laying on her back.

"You constantly challenge me, my love."

"And you, my Al-Khan huntress, love me for it."

"So long as the challenge remains greater than the love."

"You would leave me?" he asked teasingly.

"Only if you became too easy." She smiled, fixing her eyes on his. "And you, dear Barakat, are anything but easy."

The two maned wolves smiled at one another, him stroking her face, her taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. They rolled their heads back, dark-red fur splaying out over their pillows as they looked at the ceiling, at the painting of a sea coast that had been left there for hundreds of years. The colors had been restored since their last visit, he saw. It was a pity that such a vibrancy only welcomed them after the loss of something else.

"So..." Dema squeezed his hand. "What now?"

"You're seeing opportunities, I'm sure."

"I know Amari has. If I know her, she's deciding whether or not to aim for the throne right now."

"She'll hold back; it's too risky just yet."

"You never know. She might decide it's worth chasing."

"She's not like you, dear." He smiled, licking her muzzle gently. "She's close, but you're more aggressive than she'd ever be."

"And you...are my leash."

"And you, my guide."

He took her licks in good spirit, then sighed, looking at the ceiling. The Emperor was dead, and he knew that the Mokri were not the only ones that would see opportunity. The Radid doubtlessly were looking towards the future, seeing what path would benefit them best. If he guessed, he would bet that Dashid would be seeing the best path as being the one of patience, to see who would make the first move.

And he had to agree with the old dragon. Anyone to step forward now would unite the rest of the Families against him, and the Land of Whispers would be able to slip through in the cracks between the conflicts.

The question is, how do you maintain an Empire without an Emperor?

The question lingered...but as he laid there, his wife's hands against his chest, an answer slowly began to form. A smile followed, and Dema chuckled.

"I know that look."

"As well you should."

"Will your wild idea lead to killing, husband?"

"Hopefully not..."

After all, if his idea went as planned, then perhaps the gifts to the other Families would sooth the hungers and egos of those involved. Otherwise...

"But be ready regardless."

"My teeth are sharp, husband...and my weapons sharper."

"Watch for Kesir. He'll be the problem, tomorrow. If there's anyone that will be a problem, it'll be him."

"I will. Now..."

"You may have snuggles, dear...so long as I may have them, too."

"I may be persuaded along the easier path...if you use your claws..."

#

The Strok were used to standing a night's watch, and Commander-General Kesir had stood more than his share during his lifetime. The lion had long-since learned how to ration his energy, and as he leaned against the door to the meeting room, as he guarded the body of the Emperor, he embraced those lessons. Allow the wall to support him, to save energy, but find an uncomfortable spot to keep him awake. Let his eyes be half-closed, so that they didn't burn, but never more than that, so that he could still see. Appear lazy, to tempt the unsavory, but never be unready.

Those were his lessons, and his brother and children embraced them as much as he did. Well, most of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rothil shifting around more than the boy's sister or Gara. He kept looking down the hall, following the passing noblewomen as they passed by, his stance the stance of a man that did not wish to be there.

More, Kesir remembered his son's voice, the shakiness in it, and saw that it had spread from voice to posture. He looked afraid, and if the Commander-General could see it, then it was possible that an enemy could, as well.

He shifted his position, his padded left arm clenched tight to his side. The fingers of his armored gauntlet flexed, and he deliberately dropped the helmet that the armor was made to hold against his side. It hit the floor with a clang, and everyone walking by jumped...except his daughter, Rotha, and his brother, Gara.

"Rothil."

"Yes, Commander-General."

His son knelt, taking the rounded helm in hand. As the younger lion leaned in, tucking it into his arms, Kesir leaned forward.

"Where's your grip?"

"Slipping," Rothil admitted.

"Firm it up, son. We have our duty."

"I know. I know."

"Hold until morning. Follow the chain."

"...Follow the chain, Commander-General."

Distaste, yes, but the boy followed orders. For now, that would do. Rothil took his place again, and this time, he had the right stance, and if he still felt the nerves, he didn't show them. Kesir nodded with some pride, and turned his attention back to the hallway, even if his mind was back on the events of earlier that day. The moon shone through the windows of the corridor, throwing the hallway into a stark white and black coloration.

Such was the way that he was forced to see the world. Such was the way that many of his line were forced to. Against the Land of Whispers, you could not be in doubt. They struck too fast, too hard for anyone to hesitate. If someone was not willing to stand with them, then, at least to him, it meant that they were not willing to fight for their safety.

And with the Emperor gone...

It was Imperial tax money that helped to pay for half of their equipment, that paid for the recruiting drives, that paid for their defenses against the Land of Whispers. It was the Imperial forces that helped man the ships that crossed the inland seas, keeping the patrols running that prevented the Land of Whispers and the Academy of Silence from joining forces. Without the Emperor to keep that tax going, to collect it and distribute it, his family would be back to fighting without support. It would be a return to the days of his ancestor, when they first entered the Marches, when they fought alone against an unrelenting enemy.

It would be back to madness, a madness that they had taken generations to claw their way out from.

For all his relaxed posture and faked ease with guarding the door, Kesir feared what the next day would bring. They no longer had an Emperor, and without a solution, they would be facing their enemy barely half-armed.

Thinking was not his strong suit; his advisors were back in the Marches, keeping an eye on things. But for tonight, he had to think. He had to plan.

The hours passed, and in that time, Vadru fulfilled his duties. The buffalo stripped the Rings of State from the Emperor's body, and, through the use of quiet servants, arranged for the body to be removed, taken to the Mausoleum that was beneath the palace. The body of the assassin was removed, as well, but it was taken to the prison. Throughout the night, it had continued muttering, whispering despite the lack of air or a heartbeat, and the General had decided that it would need to be studied rather than burned like the first one. If nothing else, it might inform him more of their enemies.

When the noontime hour arrived, the Families were summoned again, this time to the throne room. Children were not permitted; only the heads of the families and their spouses, if they were present, were allowed.

Dashid came alone. His wife, as far as Vadru knew, remained in the Northern Lakes, maintaining it against his return. Barakat and Dema came together, of course, the maned wolves arriving in one another's arms, somber, but tight to one another. Robert arrived, the titular patriarch of the family led by the arm as Amari dragged him forward. Finally, Kesir, the lion marching forward with no sign of the tiredness of being up all night.

The throne room was vast enough to make their gathering feel all the smaller. It was a great hall, sweeping out in a long corridor, with a violet carpet stained purple at the edges forming the great path that led one to the throne itself. It crossed a stone floor, then led up steps of cobblestone towards the throne, which itself was framed in red, gold, and white. The high-backed chair loomed over the rest of the chamber, with two equine heads on either side of it, and a third, striped head looming over whoever sat in the seat itself.

Vadru sat on one of the steps leading up to the throne, looking down at the heads of the Families. They looked...determined, for lack of a better word, as if they had made decisions in the night. The buffalo did not know what to make of that.

He opened his mouth, then stopped himself, shaking his head. His voice still would not come. A commanding officer without a voice; what was one to say about that? He reached for a sheaf of papers, pulling a length of it free before writing on it and ripping it off, passing it to the nearest of them.

We need an Emperor. What heirs might exist have been missing from the palace for years, and there's no way of finding them. We need someone to hold the throne. I ask, who can hold it? Who among you could?

Dashid read it first, shaking his head before passing it along. The paper made its way between one family and another, and none of them showed any sort of shock as it went along. He wasn't surprised; they must have understood this was happening.

It was Kesir, however, that first spoke.

"I nominate the General," the lion said. "A soldier is needed; we are at war."

"Not yet, we're not," Robert said. "It seems dangerous to go against what the Radid have already seen."

"The Land of Whispers killed our Emperor. If that is not a declaration of war, I don't know what is."

Vadru shook his head, holding out his hand. It took the Families a moment to realize what he was doing, and he pointed to his throat. His lack of ability to speak meant that, as an Emperor, he would have a softer voice than most. That was not what was needed. Not now. He would not take the throne.

Before Kesir could push his point, however, the maned wolf Barakat, head of the Haafal, raised his hand.

"I propose...no Emperor."

All eyes whipped around to him, and Vadru stared with his eyes wide. There had to be more to it, and sure enough, there was.

"At least, not yet. There is a chance that someone might be found, either of the Jadar lineage, or among those that were close to him. A search should be conducted through the Empire, to find those that might be at least of bastard lineage of the Imperial line. And to give time for such to occur, I propose that we share out the Rings of State, to pre-empt the ambitions of any to take the throne before it is time."

The throne room fell silent at the proposal of the Haafal, but it was clear that others were considering it. Vadru certainly was; it was rumored that the Emperor had at least two children, though where they had gone since their birth in the palace, or even if they were still alive, was unknown. Yet, if they could be found...

And to split the Rings of State would keep claimants within the Imperial capitol and its surrounds from trying to seize the throne. To try and claim it, one would need a majority of the seven Rings of State, four of them. There were five that Emperor Hulro had still possessed, with two missing in the world.

To divide the five between the families, however -

"And who would hold two, then?" Amari asked. "That would give one of us an unfair advantage."

"Indeed; it would be as if one of us were unofficially in line for the throne already," Dashid said, almost as an aside as he looked down at his claws. "Though, if we were honest, two of us already are..."

"You will never have the throne," Kesir growled. "Your scheming family would only -"

The arguments were brewing, and the buffalo was sick of it. He stood up, striding down the stairs, and put himself between the dragon and the lion. Even with his injured shoulder, he could hold the dragon at bay, and while Kesir was strong, he was still the General, and he had earned his position.

As he kept them apart, Barakat chuckled.

"I believe that we have our fifth man right here."

Vadru looked up, blinking.

"I will agree with one thing Kesir said; we need soldiers. Vadru here commands the Imperial Bodyguard, and is one of the great commanders of the Imperial Army. I believe that he would be suitable man to hold the fifth ring. All those that agree with my proposal?" the maned wolf asked.

"The Mokri agree," Robert said, and one might have almost said it was too fast, if they had not seen Amari nudge him.

"...The Strok agree...but only because of Vadru," Kesir said.

"There is little point in not agreeing; the Radid will abide," Dashid said.

And so, in short order, it was done. All that remained were the dividing of the rings, and that would take far longer.

Over the course of a week, the negotiations continued. They were interrupted by many things, from the funeral of the Emperor to the surging crowds and local nobles that pushed for an answer of what would happen to the Empire, from decisions about what would be done with the Imperial Army and how taxes would continue to be collected. Eventually, however, it was resolved, to the more or less satisfaction of all involved.

Taxes would continue to be raised and sent to the capitol, though at a revised rate, as there was no Emperor to be kept in comfort. Vadru, as administrator of the capitol, would be responsible for sending those funds where they were due. There was argument over that, but when Kesir threatened to withdraw his support - and Vadru backed him - it was given. In exchange, however, the Guard and Army was to be gutted, with every 4 in 5 men sent to the four reaches of the Empire, to be given under the command of the families. Vadru argued, but could not gain support among the Families.

More was decided, but greatest was the assignation of the Rings of State. Such were they given.

Vadru kept to himself the Ring of Steadfastness. The buffalo would hold his duty, and the throne, in trust until one could come that would take it from him. He vowed that he would hold it, and never falter, and with the near-immortality the ring could bestow to the right cause, none doubted him.

The Ring of Gold, unsurprisingly, fell to the Mokri. Amari and Robert fought hard for it, and with no other Family able to muster an argument as to why they should have it instead, they gained it. Amari wore it the moment it fell into their possession, and the cheetah's eyes grew wider than ever before.

The Haafal pushed for and gained the Ring of Might. Dema took it for herself, rather than Barakat, but did not wear it. Few were surprised; the Ring matched the philosophy of the family, of bringing greatness to many rather than many giving greatness to one. It was merely a matter of whether they could master it.

The Radid took upon themselves the Ring of Swiftness. Like Dema, Dashid did not wear it, but instead pocketed it, likely to consider it for later. Swiftness was opposed to the nature of the Radid, so few believed it would become a threat.

And that left the Ring of Purity for the Strok. Kesir donned the ring immediately, and clenched his fist about it, as if he already had many plans.

Such were the assignments of the rings, and such was the splitting of power among the Empire. It remained to be seen if the Haafal plans to delay its collapse would work in the long run, but at that moment, there was hope.

The End