RE: Monarch
Chapter 87: Sanctum XII

“My wife was...” He trailed off, his eyes glassy. “They called me dwarf-fucker, behind my back. You’ve learned a little about the tension between the races, yes?”

He was far drunker than I thought. The thoughts felt disconnected, non-sequitur. I paused, just long enough to ensure the question wasn’t rhetorical.

I started reciting a version of what I knew. “The elves as a whole are mildly xenophobic, tend to keep to themselves. Not that we have room to talk. But of course, the stances of a people don’t really apply to the individual. They’re unique in that they generally keep themselves apart from others of their kind. Light, dark...” I thought of the elves I’d seen during the invasion along with the others, golden skin, red eyes, and fought down a shudder. “And others. They don’t interact much, from what I understand. Dwarves are the most open, welcoming. Almost mercenary in it. Anyone who is ready and willing to further the collective is embraced with open arms. Kind folk, from all reports.”

Easy to manipulate, my father had said.

“That they were.” Saladius nodded. “For all the good it did them. Less so now, but you compare them to us, or Elduin, that child despot trying to unite the elven tribes? Might as well be holding hands around an obelisk, singing folk songs. You know they used to have kings before your father stripped them of that?”

I winced. “They’re called Thanes now, if memory serves.”

“Thanes.” Saladius repeated the word, snorted. “Yet another entry on the long list of indignities. But maybe we share the blame for that, to some extent. We didn’t help them when they asked. Not that I take any personal responsibility for it. I was just a soldier then. An Evoker, with my own command, but a soldier just the same. Tied to the whims of the council.”

I tried to reconcile what he was saying with my own internal knowledge. “I didn’t even know the dwarven leadership was in contact with the infernals at all. Everything in our records says all three of the races were fairly isolationist.

“Aye,” Saladius said. He swiped at the air and images began to form. Three points of a triangle, a dwarven, elven, and infernal figure standing next to each.

There was something I’d never been able to replace a clear answer to. “It was predicated with violence, from what I understand. The isolationist stances between the races. What was the source of the conflict before?”

“You mean before your kind arrived at our shores?” He leveled a cold gaze at me.

I shook it off, took it in stride. “Before my people, yes.”

“He drew words in the air, written in jagged demonic. Magic, for the infernals. Mysticism, for the elves. “This was the balance of power for thousands of years. The dwarves were something of an unwanted bastard amongst the races.” He grimaced. “There were periods where they were enslaved by one of us, or both. We didn’t treat them well. Sins of the fathers. A concept you are rather intimately familiar with.”

I kept my face neutral.

Saladius continued, “This is where it gets a little fuzzy. There are multiple conflicting accounts. Some say a god came down to free them. Others say the god was a man, a once-in-a-lifetime mind, a charismatic leader and genius all rolled into one. The most popular is that a cadre of slaves, forced to labor tirelessly in the depths of a blood-mine, eventually found something. Something that catapulted them years ahead of all of us in terms of science and technology.

“Something?” I asked.

“Something,” Saladius repeated. “That’s the crazy thing. No one knows what it is. You know what they say about secrets? This is the exception. My wife thought there was no one alive that knew. Makes more sense than a secret society of dwarves hiding secrets for centuries.”

“Then the adage holds.”

“Huh?” He looked up at me.

“Two can keep a secret if both of them are dead.”

Elder Saladius made a noise, more grunt than laugh. “I suppose it does.” He drew a third word in the triangle. It now read Magic, Mysticism, and Technology, the latter ascribed next to the dwarves. “Anyway. It played out the way you might expect. Rebellions, conflicts over what the painfully uninformed considered to a natural resource to be tapped, wars. By the end of it, the Dwarves stayed standing, just as strong of a power as the rest of us, reborn with a chip on their shoulder and an almost overtly hostile stance towards anyone looking to make a dent in the platform they built a kingdom on. Time passed. Bigots died. And eventually, someone was smart enough to do simple math.”

I thought of the dwarven device that was used within Mithral’s estate. How the effect had felt latently magical, if not directly. “They needed magicians?”

Saladius pointed the tip of the bottle at me. “That they did. One in ten thousand dwarves awaken. No second awakenings. Not a single one. And in terms of talent, well, they tend to be closer to a red than a blue, if you catch my meaning.”

I did. In other words, their magical abilities were muted at best.

There was one question I wasn’t able to reconcile. “What did the elves have to offer? More magicians?” With the wealth of magic I’d seen around the enclave, not even counting the massive swath of population they had locked away within the dimension gate, it stood to reason that the infernals would have provided more than enough for their needs.

Elder Saladius smirked. “A window to the gods.”

My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course not. But that’s what the average elf would tell you. Assuming they didn’t kill you first.” Saladius chortled at his own joke. “They have a different way of seeing, the elves. I’ve never understood it. There are a few infernals with in-roads who have tried to learn, to document, but it all seems a bit too superstitious to put credence in.”

My sister’s face bubbled up into my mind, the image of her electrifying guards in the courtyard. She would have been taught by human mages, instructed to focus on the raw elemental side of casting, but her instruction couldn’t be all that different from the infernals. I doubted, knowing what I knew, that my father would have let an elf within fifty miles of her, let alone allowed one to teach her. Or was that her mixed heritage? I contrasted what I’d seen with what Tamara had said.

She brought the mountain down.

“Surely they can’t be that different. At the base level.” I said.

Saladius shook his head. “Not at the base level, no. There have been a few elven children allowed to live in the enclave.”

Political prisoners?

He leveled that cold stare again, as if he’d read my mind. “Orphans, mainly. A few decades ago they were everywhere. Groups of children that escaped by chance when entire tribes were wiped out. But before that, there was the occasional child sent to live as a ward. They lived, learned, and awakened much the same as us. It’s when they grow and age that things start to differentiate. Then it's all cryptic and whispers. ‘Window to the gods,’ and whatnot.

“I know their souls are different,” I said, “Fundamentally.”

“That’s part of it. Anyway, they took longer than us to warm to the dwarves. Elves do everything slowly. But when they eventually did, the dwarves were more than happy to take them up on whatever it was, exactly, they were contributing.”

“The dwarves were the bridge.”

The picture he was painting was different from what I expected. It didn’t feel right. What Elder Saladius seemed to be describing was the process of reparation. A history of hostilities finally coming to a close with the introduction of a new variable, giving way to trade and cautious cooperation. I tried to divorce myself of personal bias and put myself in my father’s predecessors. Invaders of a new land, come to replace that the folk they intended to conquer were not so divided.

The answer came to me swiftly and terribly. An anger welled up within me. I tried to contain it, but I saw Elder Saladius shift, watching with wary eyes. I put a hand to my brow.

Gods, all that bullshit about conquering, about being warriors, destiny, and we’d predicated our war with backstabbing and subterfuge.

“They played you against each other.” I said. It was the only logical solution to the problem.

“Aye. From the accounts, there were reports that the dwarves had decided to ally exclusively with the elves. They had magic and mysticism, so it didn’t seem all that hard to believe. The elves were led to believe that we’d been supplying the dwarves with demons. And the dwarves were getting the general sense that neither side was happy with them and began to buckle down. It wasn’t completely successful. We communicated. Tried to smooth things over. But that chance? The nascent society that had begun to form? It was scattered to the winds.”

I could almost fill in the blanks from there, but I wanted to let Saladius tell it.

“Things were separate, and stayed separate. When your father began his campaign against the elves, there was some justification. Some incident at the plains that had gone too far. The council watched as he conquered the elves. That suspicion never really died. There was an undercurrent of thought, never directly stated, that he was doing us a favor. Eliminating the competition. Fools.” He spat the word.

“The dwarves never got involved with the first conflicts.”

“No.” Saladius shook his head. “They were too confident in the neutrality of their position. In their ability to offer something that was invaluable. There was some enmity there, the memory of slavery too recent in their minds. When your father conquered them, I suspect it was as much of a surprise to them as it was to the rest.”

“Why didn’t you fight?” I asked. “When it was clear what was happening?”

“We were going to.” Saladius’s words began to slur. “But a man came to us, with an envoy. Bringing tidings of peace, not unlike a certain someone.”

I knew the name before it was spoken. I’d heard a version of this, though the details and the timeline were different. Thaddeus.

His face was grim. “The spymaster sat down with the high council behind closed doors. He explained, in great detail with ample evidence exactly how the dwarves had been supplying the elves with siege weapons and deterrence. How the technology they’d supplied us could be used to supplant us. He demonstrated it. A little lamp that caught fire and exploded when the correct spell was cast.

“And they believed him?” I asked, incredulous.

“It is known, in some circles, as the greatest lie ever told. Husith, a high councilor with a great deal of respect at the time—not so much after—was on record calling him a kind and agreeable man. He convinced them that the humans had no grievance with us. That once the issue was settled, things would be return to the status quo. He was even kind enough to offer his assistance with the search for dwarven technology that could backfire. And the fuckers actually took him up on it.

I felt a shiver go down my spine.

“They wanted to believe it, I think. Wishful thinking and hubris. There has never been a more dangerous combination.” Saladius seemed to grow smaller. “I met my wife while stationed in Thegria. A little city outside Vam Furum. They called me a dwarf-fucker, did I tell you that?”

I shook my head, though he had.

“Dhordeala Borderfelt. What a fuckin’ name.” Saladius rubbed at an eye. “She worked with runes. Little shop off the main thoroughfare. I’d been in a minor scuffle a few weeks back and the runes had been damaged. Evokers, they gave us this armor. Pure Xescalt, back when it was common enough we could afford to do that. Anyway, Dory hated me at first sight. I mean she hated me. Called us all eyesores. As a joke, I started recommended the place to the soldiers under my command. Said it was friendly to our kind, that they offered a discount.

“And then you married her.” I said, trying to subtly move things along.

“Aye. Have you ever met someone who just fits into your life? Just casually slips in and turns it all on its head?”

I stayed silent, but my thoughts went to Lillian.

He waved dismissively. “Of course you haven’t. You’re a kid. But that’s what she was like. As the conflict stirred, as it became obvious that it was going to come to a head. More and more of us were pulled away, leaving the city to its own devices. Consolidating forces. But I stayed. Ignored the order. An infernal alone in a city full of dwarves.”

It reminded me of my experience with the enclave. Saladius might be one of the few people who could actually understand what it was like. “Is that when you picked up the accent?”

He scowled. “I don’t even know how it happened, really. Dory talked a mile a minute. It was all I could do to keep up. Never tried to get rid of it. My way of remembering her, I guess.”

The conversation died. I picked up one of the marbles from the roof, forcing a flash of violet mana into it. The light renewed, revealing that Saladius was watching me closely. I let the silence drag until it was unbearable.

“Was that when you met my father?”

“Oh no. That was… later. I watched the siege of Vam Furum, from a distance. I recognized it for what it was. The brutality of the attack. The slaughter. It was the sort of thing that was never going to stop. I returned to the enclave, took Dory with me. I tried to warn them. But the humans had already infiltrated, joined forces with us to root out “subterfuge.” I was just the dwarf-fucker that had abandoned his post.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He drained the rest of the bottle, then, holding it to his chin, tossed it off the roof. There was a tinkling of glass as it shattered against the sandstone.

“They turned on us before I could get Dory out of the enclave. Every human present, and hundreds of infernal mercenaries that had been hired without our knowledge. You know how your father deals with innocents?”

I swallowed. “The same way he deals with everyone else.”

Saladius stuck a finger at me, his smile cruel. “Not quite. See. They targeted the civilians first. A systematic strike—belaying or even ignoring larger threats. Any guesses as to why?”

“No.” I shook my head, unable to picture it. It seemed spiteful, unnecessary, the sort of thing Thoth would do.

“Then let me rephrase the question. You have an enemy who has a method of retreat built into their seat of power. The dimension gate. If you attack them, they sequester themselves into it. Become a much stronger, hardier target. How do you prevent them from doing so?”

I felt ill. My stomach turned. “He wanted you angry. Off-balance.”

“What felt like random violence was just ruthless arithmetic. The families of soldiers, officers, administrators. It resulted in a near-perfect breakdown of the chain of command. I should have been helping organize the retreat. But when Dory was cut down…” he shook his head. Again, I was struck by how old he looked. “I snapped. Killed the man. And another. And another. Until I came face to face with him.”

I realized then where the strange sense of familiarity was coming from. My father was the person who haunted Saladius’s every waking moment, the same way Thoth was mine.

Saladius’s fingernails scraped against the soft stone of the roof, leaving divots. “He was just walking amongst the chaos, just a casual stroll, slaughtering anyone in arm’s length. He was being shielded, acting as a lightning rod for every infernal whose life had been shattered. I hit him with everything I had. He threw himself into it. He was enjoying it.”

It made sense that he’d been so wary of me. I remembered what he’d said. That I’d looked like him.

“Did you hurt him?” I really hoped he had, though I suspected the opposite.

“No. I broke through the shielding, eventually, but that didn’t slow him down. Then the dragons broke through the dome of the enclave.” Saladius put a hand to his forehead. “They’re supposed to be isolated creatures. It was like watching someone defy nature, bend it to their will. Any organization we’d managed in the chaos was completely sundered.”

“Any clue on how he managed it?”

“No. I was standing there, beaten half to death, barely able to hold my sword when the dome fractured. And dragons razed the enclave. Melted stone. Most of the infernals that were left ran for the dimension gate. But I had nothing left. So instead of dying there, like perhaps I should have, I ran for the sanctum.”

I finally asked the question that had been weighing on me for quite some time. “Why tell me all this?”

“Because I need you to understand why I’m suspicious. It all seems so calculated. It’s like you’re trying to come off as earnest and humble. The way you simply accepted every chore I foisted upon you. The way you’ve surrounded yourself with common folk and a void magician, rather than enlisting and paying for I need to know if this is another lie, yet another deceit to add to the list.

“They’re my friends,” I said immediately, “not tools to be used. Maya’s a healer. Jorra’s a fantastic magician. And Bellarex is one of the best fighters I know.”

“See, that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually care for them.”

“All I want,” I said, stabbing my finger into the ground, emphasizing each word, “is a kingdom at peace. A place where the people I love don’t have to live in fear. Am I willing to fight for it? Yes. Will I lie for it, act underhandedly, betray? Have I done things I’m not proud of?”

I thought of Erdos, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Of course I have. But I have no desire to conquer. To rule. I want a better world for all of us. And maybe that makes me a fool. But I’d rather be a fool than a monster.”

Saladius chuckled. “Either you are an incredible actor… or you actually believe what you’re saying.

“I do.” I said, my voice firm.

“Then there is a distant possibility I may have judged you too harshly.” Saladius chewed on the words. “And given that, we should really make the most of the time we have.”