The Last Experience Point

Chapter 87: An Offer Too Good to Refuse

In a city where very little out of the ordinary ever seemed to happen, something highly unusual was going on today: something that caused Pack Dolan to glance curiously out of the classroom window across from the desk where Zach Calador used to sit and into the streets of Whispery Woods, where columns of armored tanks were now streaming down the typically congested roadways, and uniformed soldiers bearing the insignia of the People of Virtue were taking up positions all over the city. It appeared that Whispery Woods was being…captured?

Seriously?

Pack was far more surprised by the fact that anyone would want to capture this city than he was by the fact that they were doing so. After all, everyone knew Whispery Woods was worthless as dirt. It was to such an extent that the Guild of Gentlemen didn’t even bother to defend it anymore, as it was a money-sink to them. Everyone understood this. The streets were in dire need of repair, the infrastructure was crumbling, and diseases not seen for centuries were again beginning to spread. Rats were a common sight, crime was at an all-time high, and it was nothing short of a miracle that they even had a functioning, decent school to attend, albeit one that had lately begun to experience rolling, heat-related blackouts.

“Everyone, please be calm,” the teacher said. “I’ve already been assured that no one is in any danger, and that no one will be hurt.”

Pack didn’t doubt her words. So far, not a single shot could be heard ringing out, nor a single blast. After all, who even was there to shoot at? No one wanted this broke, failing city. By all means, if a guild wanted to take a stab at actually ruling over the place, who was he to second-guess them? Pack didn’t know a single person here who was loyal to the Guild of Gentlemen, as they’d all but abandoned the city a few years ago, not leaving a single leveled defender in place; they’d also pulled back much of their funding and nowadays gave far fewer resources than were required to actually keep everything running. As a result, more than half of the peacekeepers and fire-fighters on call were volunteers. In fact, the city was in such a state of absolute disrepair, that despite encountering no resistance whatsoever, there were already multiple casualties of their invasion.

As though unfamiliar with the terrain, one of the tanks had foolishly decided to break off from the rest and travel down Leviathan Drive, which any local could have told them not to do. The result was an implosion of the concrete followed by an entire section of the street plunging down into the depths below, the tank along with it, likely killing anyone who was inside. But aside from that one incident, this was an otherwise calm occupation, and already, residents of Whispery Woods were showing signs of shrugging the entire thing off and going about their day, utterly indifferent to the entire affair.

Even now, Pack could see several citizens beginning to emerge from their homes, cautiously walk past the numerous soldiers, pause a moment, then shrug and continue on as though nothing at all had changed. And before long, with a similar shrug, his teacher also began to ignore the situation as well, instructing the class to once more pay attention to today’s lesson, as she was standing in for Mr. Oren, who had mysteriously vanished around the same time that Zach had somehow become a world-famous, dragon-fighting hero and joined the Royal Roses, which was now basically the only thing anyone ever talked about during lunch.

I can’t believe I almost got into a fistfight with him, he thought.

Pack shifted nervously in his desk as he recalled how close he’d come to trading blows with Zach—the same kid who’d turned the sky dark and caused all those horrible, awful noises an hour or two ago. It had been just before the People of the Virtue rolled into the city. Pack had been in math class, sitting in his usual seat in the second row to the front. They were supposed to be learning calculus in order to get a jumpstart on college, but instead, given that something “historic” was taking place, the school had decided to wheel in a single large viewing screen, and the teacher had then begun streaming live coverage of some kind of “special operation” Zach was taking part in to “weaken the dragon.”

So anyways, there he’d been, watching Zach-freaking-Calador of all people rush in to take on a pack of beasts, the existence of which the media could not seem to explain, when out of nowhere, all the lights in the class had turned off; at the exact same time, the bright summer sky had become pitch black, submerging the world in darkness. Then, just a few seconds later, he’d started to shiver as all the heat in the room seemed to vanish.

But then things had become even more terrifying, because it was after that point when a loud, explosive banging had begun to ring out from everywhere and nowhere, causing the entire school to shake as though in the throes of a violent earthquake: something not known to happen in this region. All at once, every student in class had cried out in alarm and had hidden under their desk: all except for a really cute blonde who happened to be walking back to her seat on a return trip from the bathroom. She’d practically jumped into Dolan’s arms for comfort.

Long story short? They were going on a date tomorrow night. So he owed Zach one for that, didn’t he?

At any rate, with a sigh, he quickly grew disinterested in the spectacle going on outside and instead returned his attention to his studies. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t possibly make things any worse. How could it? From a one to a ten, Whispery Woods was already a zero. At this point, Pack felt like he could speak for everyone in the city when he said he’d be willing to give anyone a shot, no matter who. Didn’t even matter.

In just a short while from now, he was going to wonder if maybe he’d have to eat those words.

*********

There was a very good reason that Abram Gespon, third-in-command of the People of Virtue, was not currently the first in command—and it was not due to any barriers in his path. Truly, if he had any real inclination to usurp his aging, senile guild-leader, who sat in the seat beside him and blinked confusedly at Fylwen Vayra while he sipped on a glass of water with a shaking, unsteady hand, he could do so with nothing more than a spoken word. Not even a drop of blood would need to be spilled: that was the extent to which Abram’s power over his guild had grown.

Certainly, Sir Goron Revel, the High-Chief of Virtue, might have once been a strong, powerful guild-leader, but he was pushing a hundred-fifty years of age, and only a sliver of his personality or sense of awareness still remained within him. And in these past few weeks, he had mostly stopped communicating entirely. Thus, for all intents and purposes, Abram had recently begun to act as the de-facto leader of the People of Virtue in all but name. And this went totally uncontested by the second-in-command, Goron’s eldest son, Tyson Revel.

Abram and Tyson had something of an unspoken understanding with one another. Tyson’s only ambition in life was to be as degenerate and debaucherous as humanly possible, and he had absolutely no interest in anything other than gambling, drinking, and women—behaving more like an adventurer than an esteemed member of society. Except, in his case, his perversions went far beyond the ordinary. He routinely engaged in practices highly illegal in Varda’s lair, where modesty was enforced by rule of law, and a strict dress code was imposed upon the public while within the city limits. For this reason, in exchange for Abram’s silence—and complicity—Tyson was more than willing to delegate all of his responsibilities and power to Abram provided he would be left to continue his hedonistic existence.

Now, to be fair, Abram himself engaged in highly unethical acts with numerous women as a way of relieving the stress he accumulated while serving the public. But at least in his case, his salacious acts consisted of fulfilling the typical desires a man was expected to have and in an ordinary way. Tyson Revel, on the other hand, engaged in downright disturbing acts of self-humiliation. Nearly every day of the week, the man spent his father’s considerable fortune hiring young, beautiful women to degrade him in ways that were revolting and so far beneath the dignity of how a man ought to behave. It was sickening, really.

In fact, as far as Abram was aware, the man wasn’t even having sex with these women despite the vast amount of coin he was paying for their service. This, Abram believed, as he had once had the misfortune of walking in on Tyson in the middle of one of his depraved moments of perversion. His entire face had been under the boot of a woman barely a day older than eighteen, and as payment for this act of disrespect, he had likely been charged thousands of gold.

And I keep having to quiet these vultures whenever they try to blackmail the man, Abram thought, disgusted. That he performs these ‘acts’ is one thing: that he records them is another matter entirely.

Nevertheless, it all ultimately played in Abram’s favor, for he not only did not wish to take over as the leader of the People of Virtue, but on several occasions, he’d actually had to take active measures to deliberately avoid doing so. Simply put, from his current position as third-in-command, he could now exercise total, unilateral control over his guild while being simultaneously protected from the brunt of public scrutiny. And while sure, this approach might not work with regards to the other guilds, who had all begun treating him in a way that was virtually indistinguishable from how they’d treat the actual guild-leader, the real benefit to Abram was in deceiving the general public. If the need ever did arise, he would be able to use Goron Revel and his eldest son as a convenient shield.

For the moment, though, he did not dwell on the possibility of failure. Things lately, on numerous fronts, had been splendidly going his way. He could scarcely believe how fortunate he’d been. If the Gods really did exist, he must have earned their favor, as everything was falling into place so perfectly that he could not have hoped for a better turn of events.

“Can I offer you some more wine?” he asked the Elvish queen, who swirled around the ruby-colored liquid in the glass she was holding. It came from a rare, vintage bottle of Humanité Délicate that fetched around twenty-thousand gold: and that was by the glass, not the bottle.

“Not just yet,” she said, sipping slowly at it. “Although I must say: it seems that, at least on the promise of wine, you’ve delivered.” She set the glass down on the table in front of her, then folded her hands on its surface and leaned forward, a confident grin on her face. “But as I’m sure you know, I did not accompany you here for the excellent wine, Sir Gespon the Virtuous. I’m here because you claimed you had an offer so good that I’d have to be mad to refuse it. An offer so irresistible that I would willingly risk the lives of my kin aiding you with your dragon problem in exchange for it.”

Abram smiled at her. Though she’d put on a show of strength by beheading Varsh, and though she might have believed she currently had the upper hand, he knew that he had her. In truth, when first setting out to speak with her, he hadn’t even known what he was going to offer her. He’d needed to first get a read on her personality and behavioral patterns. Yet he’d known that he would be able to find something she wanted—even if, at the time, he hadn’t known just quite yet what that might be.

Thankfully, he’d been very quick to get a grasp on who he was dealing with by observing her back-and-forth with Sir Peter Brayspark, in which she had shown herself during their confrontation to be highly territorial. He’d also noted that she displayed expansionist tendencies. Had she been the isolationist type, she would never have chased the boy back to Galterran territory regardless of what he’d done—or what she perceived him to have done. The impulse to invade another territory to achieve what she wanted, combined with her fierce defensiveness over her territorial integrity…these two pieces of information had been all he’d needed.

Now, with an intentional, confident grin of his own to match hers, he said to her, “I do, indeed.”

“Then tell me,” she said to him. “Enough with the suspense. What is it you could possibly have that would make any of this worth my valuable time?”

Abram snapped his fingers, and one of his aids brought over a map of North Bastia along with a red marker. Without saying a word to the queen, he waited for the map to be placed flat down onto the table they shared, and then he removed the cap from the marker and began to draw a circle around a region. He then gently slid the map over to her side of the table, and still without speaking, he tapped his finger against the spot that he’d circled.

Immediately her eyes widened. ”You’re serious?” she asked, releasing an actual gasp. “This is a genuine offer?”

“That’s correct, Your Majesty,” he said.

Her mouth falling open in awe, she lifted her head and met his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“There is no lie,” he said.

“Am I failing to see something correctly here, or are you implying that your offer is to give me the entire region of Whispery Woods, city and all?”

“That’s exactly right.”

She laughed. Then she tapped her finger against her chin. “And if I were to accept, then I’d be forced to help you with the dragon regardless, as the admittedly honest vampire claims that it will eventually attack every region in Galterra—including what would be mine.”

“That’s exactly it,” he said. “If you do not assist us, then your region will be turned to ash the same as ours. I am in essence offering you the only thing that would make it logical for you to risk the blood of your kin: a real stake in the game.”

“But isn’t this one of Peter’s regions?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “No. We conquered it recently.”

Abram saw no reason to mention just how recently his guild had conquered it—as in, within the past few minutes—nor did he feel the need to include the fact that the Guild of Gentlemen had basically abandoned it and therefore all he’d had to do was march an occupying force inside and raise a flag. These details were immaterial, after all. Yet, for some reason, he was starting to get the impression that she already knew all this. Worse: he was starting to wonder if her reaction to his offer thus far was even sincere.

With a devilish snicker, all the surprise that had been on her face vanished, and a cold, sharp, and calculating determination entered into her eyes. In an instant, she transformed herself. The brutish, impatient woman who had walked in here with the threat of killing him if his offer displeased her or if she felt he’d wasted her time—that version of her disappeared. Now, what he saw in her eyes was an intellectual, shrewd, and devious politician. It was almost like…like she’d been the one stringing him along all this time as opposed to the other way around.

“I suppose you’re using the term ‘conquered’ a bit loosely, no?” she asked him. “By my estimation, you couldn’t have encountered much fighting. Though I haven’t been there in many years, it wasn’t hard to see the trajectory the city was on. I’d be surprised if, all these years later, Peter still hadn’t pulled his forces out.”

For the first time in the negotiation, Abram became nervous. Yet he did not let even the slightest shred of it show on his face. Always, he remained confident. Always, he maintained his grin and his smile. The upper hand was half psychological, half material. Though he’d lost his material advantage, she could not be allowed to sense blood in the water.

Yet, somehow, she did.

“Relax yourself, Sir Gespon the Virtuous,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting into a sly, sneaky smirk.

“I assure you I am quite well relaxed, Your Majesty.”

“Really?” she asked, questioningly raising her left eyebrow. “The tightening of your shoulders seems to suggest otherwise. Is it because you realize that I’m not a fool? That I know you’re offering me a broken city in a destitute region that needs a great deal of work and likely won’t be profitable even under the right leadership for two decades or longer?”

Abram stared at her a moment. Then he half closed his eyes and, despite himself, released a genuine laugh. “Okay, Your Majesty. I can see your angle here.”

“You can?”

He nodded. “You still want it. I can tell. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you didn’t. The only question is what it’s going to cost me to seal the deal, as it’s clear that the region alone is not going to sate you.”

“No, Sir Gespon the Virtuous, it will most certainly not,” she said. And upon those words, her tone became less amused and shifted almost as much as her expressions had. Now, she spoke in a way that was serious, matter-of-factly, and stunningly business-like. “Given the substantial investment in time, coin, and effort that it would require for me to address the numerous human failures caused by gross negligence and an indifference to suffering, anything less than fifty-billion gold is simply unacceptable.”

“Fifty…billion?” Abram asked, shaking his head.

“Yes. Fifty-billion gold.”

He turned over his palms. “Your Majesty, that’s absurd. Twenty seems far more reasonable. I understand there’s a lot of work to be done, but with the hotter and rainier summers we’ve been having lately, the harvests have been more bountiful than ever, and the price of corn is on the rise, too. You can easily recoup your—”

“And remind me,” she interrupted, “which town it is that runs adjacent to the fields that provide the most corn out of the farmlands in Whispery Woods, Sir Gespon the Virtuous?” she asked, smirking at him.

He sighed. “The Den of Ziragoth.”

“And what is this dragon’s name? The one you’ve asked me to spill my blood fighting?”

He sighed a second time, knowing he’d exposed himself unnecessarily to attack and had taken a hit as a result of it. “Ziragoth.”

“That’s right, Sir Gespon the Virtuous. And for the record, the boy, Zach, has already told me in great detail what happened to that town. Based on his story and nothing more, I estimate that the people there are looking at five-billion gold in repairs alone. More than three-quarters of the town has been leveled.”

Abram held up his finger to signal that he’d like to politely interject, which she allowed him to do. “Ah, if that’s a concern,” he said, “you don’t need to worry about that, Your Majesty. I’ve already been in contact with the banking institutions in Shores of Wrath, South Bastia. They’re willing to offer low-interest loans to the civilians who live there in order to—”

“Disgusting!” she snapped at him, and Abram was taken aback by the animosity in her voice. Once more, her tone had shifted, and now there was anger laced in each one of her words. “You would have these people, who have just lost everything, in some cases their families as well, become indebted to the banking institutions? That is absolutely abhorrent. This is exactly the kind of human behavior I’d expect from your kind.”

Abram looked at her a moment and tried to puzzle out why she was saying these things—and why her anger looked so genuine. This…this was just another negotiation tactic, surely. Right? It had to be. After hearing how ruthless the queen was from Zach, there was no way she could be any less cutthroat than Abram or any other political leader. It was all part of the negotiating game. It had to be…right?

“What happened to these people was not their fault,” she continued, tapping the spot on the map where the Den of Ziragoth resided. “If anything, it is the fault of you and those in this tent with you. It was your responsibility to keep them safe—to protect them from just this kind of disaster, and you failed miserably in that responsibility. If I had been in charge, my Elves would have been there in seconds! But more to the point is this: are you seriously telling me that after everything those unfortunate souls have suffered through, you now want these people—soon to be my people—to shoulder the burden of it? You will not treat my citizens this way.”

Gods, he thought, a shiver traveling through him. She’s already acting like these people are her own.

Despite having only just found out that she was being offered an entire region of Galterra, the queen was displaying behavior that was beginning to look like real, actual concern for the people who lived there. It made no sense to him. What did she care about the people of the Den of Ziragoth? They weren’t even Elvish.

Wetting his lips, he said, “50-billion gold is astronomical. I can do 30.”

“Ridiculous,” she replied immediately, giving Abram a look of disgust. “There is no way 30 will be enough to repair the damage to the city’s infrastructure as well as to the town that has been ravaged and the surrounding fields. Let alone the cost of funerals and compensation paid to the survivors so that they can get back on their feet and have some kind of life left to live after what’s happened to them and their families. A number of them will likely require lifelong aid as their injuries are too severe for them to work or live unassisted.”

“Lifelong aid?” he asked her, confused. “Are you making a joke, Your Majesty?”

She slapped her palm down onto the table, angrily. “No, human filth! Let me make myself perfectly clear: I’ll not allow a single citizen under my rule to be living on the streets and hungry because they were mauled by your human failures. I expressly forbid it. So no: thirty-billion gold will not put Whispery Woods back on a path back to prosperity and recovery, nor will it address the suffering of those who just had their lives shredded and destroyed. At least 45 at the bare minimum is required.”

Abram scoffed at that. “45-billion and my own city will turn to dust.”

“Oh? Well in that case, I can always retreat back to Archian Prime if I must,” she said. “And if I do, you will be stuck here dealing with the dragon all on your own. As I hear it, the beast is far, far more powerful than originally thought.” She pointed her finger at him. “I’ll take not a coin less than 40 billion. That is the furthest I can be pushed. If you cannot offer that, there is no way this deal can work.”

He eyed the bottle of wine on the table, and he poured himself a glass. “Very well,” he said. “Forty billion gold pieces it is.”

“Good. I’m glad we can agree.” Her anger faded, and a polite smile returned to her lips. Though she now regarded him with a constant, ever-present look of disgust that suggested his words had actually offended her for real.

“Your Majesty. I must, however, warn you that the 40 billion you ask for cannot, by necessity, come without any strings attached. There will be something…something significant I’ll need from you in order to possibly be able to pay you that large of a sum.”

The way she smiled at Abram had him worried, as now, there almost seemed to be something of a twinkle in her eye. “I know what you’re going to ask of me.”

“You…you do?”

She placed her finger on the map, tapping the Whispery Woods region. Then she moved her finger all the way to the east—and then beyond, settling on the edge of the map. “You want me to help you restore the trade relations with the global trading community after Peter IV shattered humanity’s relationship with the rest of the world. And now, with a real, Elvish-controlled territory located right here in North Bastia, you believe that, with my help, the other races will be moved to renegotiate humanity’s entry back into world trade: doubly so if I personally call upon the global community to move past the wounds of your human king and vouch for you.”

“That’s right,” he whispered.

She locked eyes with him, and in this moment, Abram felt like a cornered mouse. “Well then, if those are your strings, then I will have some strings of my own, human.”

Abram resisted the urge to swear under his breath. He was dealing with someone far, far more intelligent than he had expected. He’d underestimated this woman so, so, so fucking badly. “Name your strings.”

“From you, Sir Gespon the Virtuous, Whispery Woods will receive a fifteen-percent discount on the steel and lumber I’ll need to rebuild my region, and from you, Sir Alazar, I’ll want a fifty-percent reduction in both the freight tax and cost of shipping containers both domestically and foreign when we inevitably ship our produce overseas.”

“Whoah, whoah, now wait just a Gods-damned minute!” Vim Alazar snapped, slamming his fist down onto the table.

Abram shot him a look of warning, but he ignored it. The other guild-leaders had assured Abram that they would keep quiet and let him handle things, but sadly, that seemed to only apply so long as their own territories were not wrapped up in any deal. Now that she’d involved Giant’s Fall, which belonged to the Royal Roses and had an economy that revolved almost exclusively around shipping, cargo, and reselling, Abram supposed that there was no way Sir Alazar could remain quiet.

In truth, Abram was also less than enthusiastic about her demands. Forty-billion gold might be a lot, but most of it would inevitably come back to his region, as the vast majority of things she would need to buy in order to rejuvenate Whispery Woods were goods that just-so happened to be produced in Varda’s Lair, such as lumber, steel, and other types of construction materials. She would also likely need to hire Varda’s Lair laborers and construction workers.

Even still, it would be a huge loss, but one that he could weather thanks to the massive profit Varda’s Lair would stand to make if they could normalize relations with the other races: just like the way things used to be before Peter IV fucked everything up with his profoundly stupid and deranged speech declaring all non-humans to be the same as farm animals while announcing his intention to subjugate the world to human whims.

“Is there a problem, Sir Alazar?” she asked.

“You know damn well there’s a problem,” he replied. “What you’re asking me for is horseshit and you know it. Now, look: I’m not against giving you folks a little discount to ease the passing of this deal, but I can tell just from sitting here listening to all this that you’re a very well-educated woman who knows a lot more about how shit works than she lets on, including why I can’t do what you’re asking.”

“I thank you for the compliment,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He leaned back in his seat, annoyance on his face. “I’m mentioning this because I’m sitting here, thinking to myself…you know damn well why I can’t possibly do this. Giant’s Fall’s entire economy is based in shipping and retail sales. Both here and on South Bastia, every shipping truck, freight train, and cargo jet is us. It’s what Giant’s Fall does best. And a big slice of our revenue, almost fifteen percent, comes from moving produce out of Whispery Woods to the rest of North Bastia and Shores of Wrath in South Bastia.”

He paused as if to take a breath, then continued. “Since that Gods-cursed dragon showed up and scorched the Den of Ziragoth, we’re already taking a massive hit to the number of orders placed for shipping containers in that region. In fact, as of this morning, we’re down by around twenty-five percent since this whole thing started. So, you’re basically saying you want to burn us for half of what revenue we still have coming in from the Whispery Woods. We’ve got mouths to feed too, Your Majesty. There’s no way we can give up that kind of coin from Whispery Woods without mass layoffs. That’ll create a spillover effect that could hurt the whole Gods-damned economy: including in Whispery Woods.”

“So that’s a no, then?” she asked him, her expression now guarded.

“I can’t do it, Your Majesty. We can’t afford it. It’s that simple.”

“Why not? How’s Spider’s Eye Oasis doing these days?” she asked, coldly. “Have you stopped putting out hits?”

Abram sighed. Her quip was totally unproductive. The Royal Roses currently controlled three regions: Dragon Squire, Giant’s Fall, and Spider’s Eye Oasis. They’d likely soon control Shadowfall Coast once the invasion began after the dragon was dead, but putting that aside for now, it was clear what Queen Vayra was implying by mentioning Spider’s Eye Oasis.

Undoubtably, the queen was clearly referring to the fact that the Royal Roses operated the entire entertainment industry out of that region. If a movie or TV show was made, it was typically either made there or produced and funded from there. And while it was true that Spider’s Eye Oasis was an incredibly profitable region that more than covered its own costs while enriching those who lived there, the entire region had only 1.2 million people living within its boundaries, with more than a million of them living in its glamorous, but relatively mildly sized city that circled the body of water after which it was named; the remainder of its population resided in the few towns that the terrain could support. Everything around it aside from that was an unlivable, inhospitable desert.

Giant’s Fall, on the other hand, was the second-largest city in Galterra after Whispery Woods. It also had some of the largest and most-expansive towns and suburban communities on the entire planet, as well as a smaller, secondary city called “Ogre’s Axe.” In total, around 20-million people lived in Giant’s Fall, with roughly 3 million living in its main city, and another million living in Ogre’s Axe. Thus, the cost of living for twenty-million lives far eclipsed the surplus revenue from the Royal Roses' entertainment industry. Hell, even on a great year, it could not possibly cover the kind of shortfall Queen Vayra’s demands would create: no matter how much the entertainment industry was taxed.

And as if to prove this point, Sir Alazar did something that he would not have normally expected of the man: he showed the queen proof of his claims. “Here, take a look at this, Your Majesty,” he said. “Because I can see you don’t believe me.”

Ordering one of his staff to produce genuine documents containing sensitive economic data, he passed over a bundle of files. Queen Vayra, half-standing up, leaned over and whispered something to the young Elvish woman who’d been silently waiting at attention beside her, and with the nod of her head, she quickly departed the central command tent. She returned around two minutes later with three older-looking, green-cloaked Elves by her side. One of them then handed Queen Vayra a pair of reading glasses, which looked genuinely amusing on her Elvish face.

For the next ten minutes, Abram, along with every North Bastian guild-leader aside from Peter Brayspark, who unsurprisingly had decided not to attend, remained in complete silence as Queen Vayra and the Elves with her began poring over the various documentation, until finally, removing her glasses, they began to enter into a lively, animated discussion with one another. Throughout it all, they spoke Elvish, which Abram doubted anyone here knew.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the queen eventually said, once again speaking Human. The fact that she spoke Human without any appreciable accent was, on its own, proof that she really had been born right here in North Bastia, which was why she had such an advantage in these negotiations.

The Elves who had entered the tent spun around and left, and now, the queen took another sip of her wine then began glancing down at the map again. “I’ve decided I’ll show you a bit of mercy, Sir Alazar.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“That’s correct. As I’m sure you know, if I assist you in normalizing relations with the global trade community, Giant’s Fall will experience a great uptick in business. For this reason, I’m willing to lower my discount demand to thirty percent, and in addition, and also so that we can move forward without any lingering resentment, I’m also willing to forgo having it come into effect until after we’ve successfully restored North Bastian and South Bastian trade relations with the rest of Galterra.”

Vim Alazar raised his eyebrows. “That…that’s actually quite reasonable. Assuming I accept your proposal, would you be willing, at a later date, of course, to renegotiate the twenty-year-old deal we have with the Whispery Woods regarding the tax on grain? I’m not sure if you’re familiar with it. It was signed in—”

“I know what you’re referring to, human,” she said. “And I’m absolutely willing to consider it. The terms seem counterproductive for both regions. I assume, of course, you’re referring to the fee on each shipment of grain that is only allowed, contractually, to be spent on maintaining the Basilisk Way, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“Yes, we can discuss this at a later date. That would be agreeable to me.”

Abram was surprised she knew about that. He himself only barely recalled the deal they were referring to, which wasted money every year attempting to introduce hover lanes to the ancient roadway that connected Whispery Woods to Shadowfall Coast and was extremely lightly used. Thus far, it had produced little results, and even if it had, it would still likely not change the dynamics of how irregularly used it was.

Fylwen wiped her mouth with one of the fancy cloth napkins on the table, and then she clapped her hands together. “Well now, humans. It looks to me like we’ve reached a preliminary agreement and can shortly have our representatives begin the process of drawing up the paperwork. I’m sure I can trust you to honor your commitment to this deal—given, of course, that the dragon must be dealt with tomorrow, and it will likely take several months to have all the paperwork in order.”

Abram was amazed. He was truly, utterly astounded. In all his life, there had only been two people he’d ever met who could negotiate on his level. The first had been Peter Brayspark the Fourth, before he had gone mad, and the second had been his father. Now, he had to add a third to that list: Fylwen Vayra. Queen of the Elves.

She knew exactly what she was doing this entire time.

Abram thought he’d been luring her in. He’d seen her as a warrior and a savage, someone who could be easily sweet-talked into accepting the Whispery Woods and then later being saddled with the expenses and debt that came with it. But, to the contrary, at least some of her violent rhetoric and talk of slaying Abram, along with her seeming lack of patience, had been partially a performance. After all, she did know who he was, and given how much she knew about Galterra, she likely knew his reputation.

As it turned out, she was entirely, almost spectacularly capable of engaging in civilized diplomacy. And not only was she capable of it, but she was clearly better at it than anyone at this table aside from himself. How much of her display of eagerness was simply to give him the impression that he had reeled her in? Had he been the one on the hook this entire time? Practically from the moment she’d sat down, all pretense of using violence or intimidation on them had vanished. It had all been a ruse to conceal the fact that she’d wanted to be here doing exactly this and had almost certainly never intended to resort to violence in the first place.

In fact, now that he thought on it, he was beginning to realize that, if not for him and the other members of the political guilds showing up on the beach earlier, she likely would’ve turned around and gone home the moment that Kalana had stopped her from killing the boy. He had no way of knowing if his theory was correct, and of course, this was all just a guess, but based on her stunning display of shrewdness and statesmanship, he now strongly believed that, if Kalana and Eldora had shown up alone and saved Zach by themselves, her mother would have reluctantly and begrudgingly returned to Archian Prime, leaving Zach and his friends alone out of love for her daughter, whose heart would be shattered upon seeing him dead.

But seeing them all there, and learning about the dragon—it must have been at this point she’d begun to plot. Fuck! It was so obvious in hindsight. She’d played it so well. She’d acted so naïve, angry, and impatient. When he’d threatened to walk away from the deal, she’d run after him, asking him to wait, making him think he had her in the palm of his hands. Just how far ahead had she thought? Gods-damn her.

She’d known what I was going to offer her before she even sat down, he thought. I’m sure of it.

“You’re…very good at this,” he said at last. “I see what you’ve managed to do here. I must admit I’m impressed. I never thought…”

“Thought what?” she asked him. “That an Elvish woman would know how to play your games? That she could beat you at them?”

He pursed his lips. “You tricked me.”

“You’d be shocked how often I hear those three words said to me on a weekly basis, Sir Gespon the Virtuous. But let this be a lesson: you should not assume things about people based on their ears.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a low groan.

Now, with a laugh, she grinned at him. “Oh, don’t look so down. In the long run, everyone here is going to profit as a result of this deal. And I assure you the people of Whispery Woods will be treated far better as my subjects than they have been treated in the past five decades. And though she doesn’t know this yet, I intend to appoint my daughter, Kalana, as governor of the city itself. She has lived there for most of her adolescent life, and I know she will care for the people of the city and attend closely to their needs, as in many ways, she is one of them.”

At this, Vim Alazar, Fiona Darkmae, and even Kolorn Besh all exchanged excited glances with one another. “Kalana is beloved in North Bastia,” Fiona said. “The people will accept her. I’m certain of this.”

Fiona looked so out of place among the otherwise all-male guild leadership. She was also only twenty-one years of age, and she dressed completely inappropriately, wearing a pair of booty shorts and a skimpy top. Abram hoped to one day invade her territory and take her as his personal prisoner. He found her absolutely egregious. The fact that she thought it was okay to dress that way in front of men—to flaunt her body and not expect some kind of reaction. It was insufferable.

I can’t stand that woman, he thought. Or the way she…agitates me.

Seeking to keep things on track, he took his mind off the girl and said, “There is just one more matter of business we must discuss before we conclude things for now.”

“Oh?” Queen Vayra asked. “Concerning what?”

And it was at this point that Abram formed a genuine smile and became elated. This was the part of the conversation he’d been most looking forward to, as it provided him a unique opportunity to get some revenge on Donovan Iseldar, the leader of the God Slayers Guild who had destroyed his office. Abram rarely ever lost his cool, but Donovan had provoked him so much that he’d assisted Varsh with putting the bounty on Zach Calador. If only he had known that he’d get his revenge later on, he would have avoided all that unpleasantness. Especially if he’d known how…how satisfying it would feel.

Shortly before this meeting had begun, Donovan had approached him just outside the tent, and the man had looked absolutely miserable, as Abram knew that there was nothing in this entire world that would upset him quite like having to beg Abram for help: which was exactly what he’d done. Gods, he could only imagine how much the man had been dreading it. Truly, if literally anyone else in this entire world had done to Abram what Donovan had done, there was no universe in which a simple apology would be sufficient to quell his rage. But Donovan? Now that was a different story.

Given how much it must have ripped him apart on the inside to have to not only come up to Abram and apologize, but then beg him for help…it was more than enough to satisfy him. But only because he knew how much that must have wrecked the man’s ego—which was also why Abram had accepted. If he had denied Donovan, it would have hurt the man less, as it would have made Abram look petty and childish. But by accepting his request for aid, he not only got to save the day, but he would put the adventuring guilds in his debt. Of course, he had a vested interest in helping as well, since adventurers did make up a valuable part of the overall ecosystem. Regardless, in addition to revenge, Abram had also earned something even more valuable: confirmation of a long-held suspicion.

For the past hundred years or so, there had been a very, very strong suspicion among the political guilds that adventurers were able to access secret portals that took them across the world, possibly even into ancient dungeons. Normally, this kind of thing would be dismissed as a silly rumor, but there had just been too damn many reports from too many different people, most of whom were of sound mind, that claimed adventurers would just walk into walls and vanish, or they’d enter a room with no other exits and never emerge again. Now, for the first time ever, the political guilds—thanks mostly to Zach, in fairness—had actual confirmation that what they’d always suspected was indeed true.

He was amazed that the adventurers had found it so important to keep this a secret from them. Did they think the political guilds would be upset? That they would want to leave the safety of Galterra to go waltzing around dangerous planets where grave threats lurked around every corner? Of course not. Even if they’d known, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. But now they finally knew. And they could use this information to their advantage.

Come to think of it, Peter also seemed to know, he realized. He’d even specifically mentioned Archian Prime earlier.

Regardless, the fact remained that despite only just having found out the staggering truth that Elves had a colony on another planet, and that adventurers had been traveling back and forth between Galterra and this “Archian Prime” likely for centuries, it had already become a piece in the political puzzle, and in the process, it opened up the possibility of an entirely new stream of revenue: trade with Archian Prime. There were doubtless resources and other precious things that could be traded. Of course, that was a conversation for a later date. For now, he needed to deal with the Donovan issue.

“Bring him in,” he whispered to one of his staffers. “We’re ready for him.”

A few moments of pleasant silence passed, and then, with heavy footsteps coming from his plate boots, Donovan Iseldar awkwardly strode into the command tent. Queen Vayra, straightening her back and assuming a regal, queenly posture, greeted him. Abram wondered if she had any idea why he was here. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised. She’d already displayed a great deal of prescience regarding other matters.

“This is a surprise,” Queen Vayra said. “I believe your name is Sir Donovan Iseldar, yes?”

He cringed as though feeling out of place. “It’s uh, it’s just Donovan, ma’am. Or Don.”

“Your Majesty,” Abram whispered to him.

“Ah, sorry,” he said with a confused-sounding grunt. “Your Majesty.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said. She gestured with her chin at an empty seat not far from Abram. “Please, have a seat.”

“Ah, eh…thank you,” he said.

Abram exercised a great deal of self-control not to laugh as he watched the large, typically confident moron stumble around awkwardly, clearly having no idea how to behave amongst highly civilized adults. Thank the Gods he was able to witness this with his own eyes. If only he could record this for posterity. He wanted his future children to know how Donovan had looked so foolish in this moment.

“So, what can I do for you? It’s not clear to me where you fit into this negotiation.”

Donovan cleared his throat. “I uh…okay, so…”

“Hm?”

He grunted. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m no good at fancy speaking like these fuckers. Ah, sorry. I mean people.”

She laughed. “As long as you intend no disrespect, speak your mind as you’re comfortable. Believe me, I spent some time with my daughter’s boyfriend. I’m quite well adjusted now to those with a…shall we say, somewhat ‘harsher’ human manner of speech.”

Donovan barked out a laugh. “Yeah, Zach’s great. Love that kid.” Again, he cleared his throat. “Okay, so I’m just gonna be blunt here, all right? I’m part of what’s known as an adventuring guild. Do you know what that is?”

“I didn’t before today,” she said. “But the boy explained it all to me. I never knew there was such a thing.”

“He told you who we are and what we do?”

“Indeed, he did.”

Donovan nodded. “All right, great. So, thing is, we uh…we don’t level like they do,” he began, pointing at Abram and the other guild-leaders. “We go out into dungeons and hunt mobs in the wild. We adventure. We ain’t interested in conflict, or war, or hurting anybody or getting political like that. Basically, we just fight bosses and adventure.”

“I see…” Fylwen leaned forward slightly and poured herself another glass of wine. She then offered a glass to Donovan, who politely declined. “Please, go on.”

He bowed his head. “So, basically, uh…” He leaned over to his right side and removed a crumpled-up piece of paper from the bottom of his boot, which smelled as foul as it looked, though the queen gave no sign that she minded. Unfolding it, he quickly revealed what appeared to be a crudely drawn map that had been made using nothing more than a pencil.

Gods, this is so funny. These fucking barbarians. I love watching them try to be diplomatic.

“So, this is what we know about Archian Prime,” he said. “And if you see here, everything that’s circled is a dungeon floor of one of the dungeons. We don’t know if there are more than these. There might be. But the reason I’m showing this to you is ‘cause I’d like to ask you to please not attack us when we come through.”

“Come…through?”

“Yeah,” he said, sliding the map over to her. She glanced down and took a look at it as he continued to speak. “Here’s the thing. Galterra has like a kind of ‘gap’ in it from levels 38 to 50. There ain’t a whole lot of good dungeons or quests here to get us through those levels. There’s some, but not enough. Truth is, we can’t raise up our new blood without Archian Prime. There’s just no way of doing it. But we don’t mean any harm, and almost all of these floors are just short little trips through it. I mean, they must be, ‘cause you never even noticed us, so it’s clear to me at least we’re quick and discreet and don’t cause any trouble for you.”

“I see,” she said. “Hmm…almost all of these dungeons you’ve circled run directly through our territory.”

“Yep, they sure do, ma’am,” he said, nodding. Then he groaned. “I mean, ‘Your Majesty,’ sorry.”

She held up her palm. “It’s fine.” She continued to glance down at the map he’d drawn. “So, you’ve been entering our land all this time without authorization at these specific points?”

Donovan again nodded, his face now reddening slightly. “Well, yeah, but there wasn’t any disrespect intended, Your Majesty. The Gods strike me down if I’m lying to you. We didn’t even fuckin’ know. Nobody meant nothing by it. It’s why I had Zephyr scribble down every one of them. So you could see we’re being honest with you. There’s nothing in it for us to admit that these places exist and that we use them.”

“I appreciate that. I really do, human,” Queen Vayra said. “And what’s more: I believe you. I believe that you never intended any disrespect whatsoever. Nevertheless, if you’re asking for my permission to continue your unauthorized excursions into Elvish territory, I’m afraid I just can’t allow that.”

Donovan looked absolutely crestfallen. “It’s just…that’s the end of us, then. We can’t…the adventuring guilds can’t survive if we can’t use those dungeon floors safely.”

At this, Queen Vayra met his eyes. “Now, wait a moment, Donovan. I didn’t say you couldn’t use them. I said you couldn’t use them unauthorized.”

He scratched his head. “Meaning what?”

“It is a fundamental right of all sovereign people to be paid fairly for the use of their lands as hunting grounds or to gather natural resources. This has been a practice in the customs of all races since time immemorial.”

“Well, that’s true,” he said. “So…you want us to pay you? I guess we can do that. How much are we talking here?”

“It depends on volume and traffic. We would be paid per border entry only, not exit.”

Donovan frowned. “I don’t know if we can do that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“So, did Zach tell you how adventurers operate?”

“He did.”

“The kid mention how our custom is to let our young figure things out for themselves?”

“He mentioned that, yes.”

“Well, up and coming adventurers won’t know about any deal we reach, so they won’t know to inform you when they cross. Otherwise, for the rest of us, it’s not a problem. It’s only an issue for the new bloods, as telling them about this means telling them about Archian prime, which we don’t want to do.”

Queen Vayra leaned back into her seat and began tapping her chin. “Hmm…then I suppose we’ll have to come to a different sort of agreement. I have an idea, Mr. Iseldar.”

He grunted. “I’m listening, Your Majesty.”

“How does fifteen percent sound?”

“Fifteen…percent?”

“Yes. Fifteen percent of all the sales of your rejuvenation stones and artifact recovery. To be paid once a month in exchange for unlimited free passage through dungeon floors. For ‘raids’—as I believe Zach called them—that require you to leave the dungeon floor and enter further into our territory, we will be paid based on a percentage of the current fair market value of any loot that is dropped from any raid bosses in our territory. We also expect you to follow all of our laws and to treat our land with respect while visiting.”

Donovan did not look happy. Oh, boy, he sure did not. This brought such joy to Abram’s heart. Yet without arguing the case or vocalizing even a word of disappointment, he merely sighed and continued to meet the queen’s eyes. “All right. I understand. Just let me know how to pay.”

“Really?” she asked, once more leaning forward. She looked sincerely awed. “No haggling?”

“Like I said, I ain’t one of these political fuckers in here. Ah, no offense to any of you motherless bastards. But anyway, you’ve said what you wanted from us, and we’ll honor it.”

“You’re not going to fight it at all?”

“Nope.”

She smiled. “In that case,” she said, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“I only want ten percent.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And if it puts you at ease, I want you to know that the only reason I’m charging you that much is so that I can compensate the families who lost their lives to Ziragoth.”

“Do you really mean that?” Donovan asked.

“I do. On the spirit of my mother, I swear it.”

“Well, shit, in that case, we’ll give you fifteen after all. Thing is, I feel personally responsible for what happened to them.” His voice now became a touch quieter. “It’s my responsibility to protect people from this kind of awful shit, and I failed them. We didn’t know it was gonna spawn, and when we found out, we didn’t get there fast enough. So many people died on account of our ignorance.”

“Now that,” Queen Vayra said, widening her eyes, “is not something I see every day. A human being taking responsibility for his actions.” She held out her palm to him. “Now I only want five percent.”

“But what about the people?”

“I’ll get the money some other way. Five is fine with me. But do remember that it will be more if you undergo a large raid and find something truly valuable. And remember: follow our laws and respect our land. Do not litter or harm our nature.”

“We’ll be respectful,” Donovan said. “I swear this to the Gods. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Abram scowled. Was she actually taking pity on these uncivilized, child-like charlatans? Quickly remembering where he was, he was fast to restore a neutral expression to his face. Internally, he burned with anger as Donovan profusely thanked the queen and made his exit. He was hoping she’d bleed him dry.

Finishing a second glass of wine, Queen Vayra again dabbed her lip with the cloth, then stood up to her feet. “Gentlemen,” she said. Then she looked at Fiona Darkmae. “And lady. If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare my warriors to slay a dragon tomorrow. This has been a very productive chat. When the beast has perished tomorrow morning, I look forward to beginning the process of drawing up the paperwork and getting into the finer details.”

And with that, she exited the tent and made her way over to the briefing, which was set to begin any moment now. All things considered, this was still a great outcome, even if it was not quite the one Abram wanted. Yet it was ruined slightly by Donovan getting off easy.

“If she can really get us back into the global trade community,” Vim Alazar said, “this will all be worth it.”

“Indeed,” Kolorn Besh said.

As each of them exchanged a nod, they immediately got back to work. At some point within the next hour or two, they were going to need to call a press conference to announce to the world that Fylwen Vayra, the Elvish queen, was going to stand united with humanity in the fight for survival against Ziragoth.

That alone would be worth its weight in gold.