The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

They saw Sentinel well in advance, the city cutting a massive figure on the horizon that made Wheat Valley look like an insignificant patch of dirt in comparison. The outer walls, made from sand-hued bricks, were colossal and spread out for a considerable distance. Even from afar, Coin had been able to see an abundance of great weapons positioned atop certain towers and turrets. Fields of arable land lay beyond, with smaller clusters of buildings dotted about.

From on high they had seen a sea of buildings of varying sizes. The vast majority were modest structures, houses and stores akin to those in Wheat Valley. But much greater in number. Yet more than a few buildings were quite larger, bigger even than the guild hall had been.

The largest structure, by far, was the massive white spire that stood near the heart of the city. It loomed high above every other building, near as tall as the walls that bordered the city. Elijah said it was officially known as the Grand Imperial Palace. Unofficially, nearly everyone else called it the Obelisk.

As the group travelled nearer, Elijah trailed off into describing the history of Sentinel. The story of Sentinel was, in itself, the story of Arcadia as a whole, essentially the birthplace of the kingdom.

According to ancient legend, he had said, Old King Sentinel was a divine ruler sent by the old gods to bring their holy word to the land of Arcadia. He had sailed at the head of a host of 500 ships, astride a rainbow bridge that ferried them from the land of the gods. A chosen champion, fostered in the womb of the goddess of war, who would destroy the false idols who had taken root in the land.

From there, he had conquered the heathen barbarian clans one by one, uniting each one in turn under his banner. Until, eventually, Sentinel had consolidated power over the entirety of Arcadia. The ancient tales never explained why his holy mission never expanded into Eldergard to the east, or detailed the many failed invasions repelled by that neighbouring land, but ancient tales of heroism would be rendered far less heroic if the failures were recorded so vividly.

Sentinel was still spoken of with reverence, the greatest hero of Arcadian history. Just about every kingdom had at least one ancient legend of his calibre, the 'true king' that every other monarch lived in the shadow of.

The reality of Sentinel's life was much more mundane, as is often the case with reality. Elijah had explained that Sentinel had indeed been a real man, and that he had indeed conquered and united Arcadia centuries ago. But rather that cross the sea on a rainbow bridge, he had merely hailed from the isles off Arcadia's northern coasts.

And after becoming the king of the coastal reavers, he had simply decided to keep going to see how many men he could unite under his banner. He had certainly been astute as a warrior and tactician, and had doubtless come to relish in his own deification as his legend grew.

But said legend, quick to speak of him as the literal avatar of the divine, glossed over the countless massacres and atrocities he had used to forge the building blocks of his kingdom. That, too, was something common in many kingdoms.

"Well, Sentinel's family reigned for several centuries. Quite a long lineage, as far as dynasties go. But they collapsed eventually, as all dynasties eventually do." He looked over his shoulder at Essine, who was watching him with rapt attention from her seat in the back of the wagon.

"What happened?" the kobold asked, her whiskers twitching. "This one, she has never been able to learn much about the kingdom. Humans are rarely... giving me information."

"Then I'm going to be the one to change that," he said, turning to face forward. Coin, similarly, was listening intently. But he kept his gaze on the road, wanting to act aloof as if he already knew the finer details of Elijah's tale.

"Now, where was I? Ah. Well, a few years back the country was embroiled in a rebellion of sorts. King Sirian was... a mad bastard, to put it politely. Few generations of inbreeding has that effect, no matter how divine your bloodline supposedly is. And eventually that madness got to the point that nobody in Arcadia could stick it. Civil war is always bloody business, worse than a war between nations on an emotional level. And the battle for Sentinel was a true nightmare to live through."

"You... were there?" Coin asked, genuinely surprised.

"Not near the front line or anything like that, but I had been in the city when the chaos truly began to unfurl. I never was one for fighting, you know," he admitted, a sad smile appearing on his face. "Nobody is entirely clear on who actually did Sirian in, and there's about a dozen different songs giving different accounts of how it happened. Regardless, Sirian's old adviser, Velasco, took the reins of the land and became the Archchancellor. There are folks that say being ruled by someone other than a king or emperor is unnatural. But I have seen what kings can do, and gladly welcome the change."

"Archchancellor," Coin repeated, rolling the weighty syllables on his tongue. He thought back on some of the stories he had heard eavesdropping on adventurers. And, as he thought back, he could recall more than a few tales about how awful the king was supposed to have been.

It was odd, Coin thought, how humans gave absolute power to individuals who could go as mad as a drunken goblin. But, in order to get anything done, he supposed someone had to be in charge. Even goblins had rulers. Usually it was the largest goblin who could punch the hardest. Or a lady goblin who could skin the bark off a tree with harsh words alone.

Wordlessly, he reached into a bag at his hips and tossed a few chunks of meat ahead into the road. Dancer's probing tongue scooped each offering up in passing.

From where he sat, their wagon slowly rolling downhill, he could see the myriad of roads that spread out from the various gates of the city like a system of veins and arteries. And when he strained his vision just enough he could make out the line of the river. Fog was slowly rolling in from the horizon, mingling with columns of smoke being belched from Sentinel's industrial quarter.

The city only grew larger as they moved closer, and Coin found it impossible to even conceptualize the scale in his mind's eye. Wheat Valley had already eclipsed the old temple in size, and he felt one could stuff three Wheat Valleys into those walls and still have plenty of room to spare.

Essine jolted where she sat, her ears flattening against the sides of her head. "I... I can hear something up ahead. Sounds like fighting."

Coin stirred and sat upright, straining his ears. Sure enough he could hear shouts, the same harsh language used by the goblins, and the thwanging of bowstrings. The road ahead grew winding and serpentine, flanked by bushes and trees that made it hard to tell what lay ahead. Elijah frowned. "I don't think I can hear much of anything," the old man murmured. "But then again my hearing has gotten rather poor of late."

"Maybe halt here for a bit," Coin murmured, rising to stand. "Think there's goblins or something causing trouble down that way. You stay here, I'll check." He decided not to mention that he too had heard some worrying sounds ahead. He would have seemed less... human if he did.

Elijah gave the reins a tug, and Dancer's many legs halted their movements abruptly. "If you're sure. Essine, lass, keep low. Oh, but first, fetch me one of those swords from the container beside you. Picked those up before we met you, though I was hoping we wouldn't need to use them."

Essine lifted one of the swords in her trembling claws, and Coin gently took it from her grasp. He slid the blade from its sheath, and in the hazy sunlight it faintly glinted. Having had his fair share of swords jammed into him over the years, he could tell these weren't high end blades. Likely would have snapped against his hide back in the old days. But they were likely as good as a person could get in a backwater village. In most places the quality of steel and iron reached the lofty height of 'take what you can get.'

Fortunately, Coin could get by just fine with his bare hands. He donned the belt all the same, gripping the handle. Elijah halted him with a hand on his shoulder before the mimic could disembark.

"Try to avoid a fight if you can help it. Whatever is ahead, it could be rather dangerous," the old man firmly told him. "But if there are goblins blocking our way, they need to be taken care of. I have faith in you, my lad."

Coin gave the older man a nod. He hopped from the wagon, pat the top of Dancer's head in passing, and pressed on toward the noises of snarling and swinging steel.