The great hall of Atesh-Gah is never an intimate place, and on this torchlit evening the emptiness of its vaulted spaces is almost palpable. The usual crowd of suitors and attendants has been carved away; only the Agni-Haidar -- standing as always in expressionless silence-- a few dignitaries of greatest note, the Queen-Maharani, and the God-King himself populate the marble expanse. Khalid Atar is on his throne, still as ancient stone, his luminous, purple-blue eyes unfocused, his attention turned inward upon his own thoughts. Tonight, uncommonly, several of the chamber's chairs have been drawn away from the walls, and stand arranged about the foot of the dais.

Making his way into the chamber hall with a lazy, heavily booted stride, the immense Warlord of Messala looks around the chamber with his olive-brown eyes. His garments, curiously, not steeled, rustle and shimmer in silvers and navies of his clan colors. When he gets near the foot of the dais Sumai kneels on one knee, the lengthy braid on the back of his head falls across his shoulder and touches the ground. Silver ribbons bound within glimmer wondrously in the lighting of the chamber; the Master of Messala is otherwise silent.

It is certainly true... that in some cases, silence can be deafening. The flicker and dance of the torches are what sound, playing off the acoustics of the enormous hall and echoing resonate, even despite the quiet murmurs perhaps of those already present, throughout its vast expanse. Thus, the footfalls which sound from the Entrance Foyer, as the doors glide open, are easily audible. Rhythmic and steady, they belong to that of Geridan Kentari Rashid, who with his crystalline gaze set straight before him, passes across the marbled floor to join the small assemblage of chairs about the dais, to take his place beside one of them, to fall to a knee with his head bowed, fist planted to the floor, and palm upon his hilt, and waits, without a word, for permission to rise and be seated.

Thalia is attended by one of her secretaries, who with pen, ink and paper is preparing to take down the words which will pass between the rulers of the Varati kingdom and those who will attend this council of state. The Queen-Maharani is likewise silent, an alabaster statue placed beside the brooding dark lord. She does not speak as the notables arrive, but waits for her liege to take the lead.

As the last few of the great men arrive, the God-King does not stir; indeed, he seems an onyx image of his own strange grandeur, an object of art rather than a leader of state. Then, with a faint rustle of dark wings, Khalid Atar comes to life. "Rise, my children," his rich voice sounds, carrying warmth with it into the cool expanse. As if by way of example, Atar himself comes smoothly to his feet; his vivid eyes return to the moment, tracking across those in attendance. "We have much to discuss. The Delphic order has overstepped its bounds, and in this there is opportunity."

"A long overdue scolding for children who do not understand their place." Sumai comments in his indifferent, emotionless, basso-thrumming voice after rising. Even in silks he glimmers. He glimmers everywhere he goes, like a multi-faceted mirror. Those same eyes look at the Amir-al as he descends his lofty heights, awaiting the continuance of the commands while his own monolithic height holds fully aloft.

And so does rise Geridan, the motion steady and sure, his head and gaze following the ascent of his form to level. His hands clasp behind his back, and as the Varati Warrior, he stands at a proper attention, his gaze intent, his ears sharp and undivided. He settles in to stance, and waits, following the words as they roll forth from the lips of his God and King. Opportunity, a dangerous word, but... one whose meaning he knows well. Firm, he remains silent.

Thalia likewise rises from her throne. Though her race is known for its grace, she is not entirely silent as she follows Khalid. Her feathers catch the air, rustling with a sound not dissimilar to that of Sumai's silks. The wings, as if with a mind of their own, spread slightly to aid her passage down the steps, then relax once more against the flat of her back.

The Queen-Maharani's secretary has seated herself at the edge of the dais and as words begin to flow, the scratch of the pen also adds its singular noise to the confluence of sound.

Khalid inclines his head in answer to the Messala Warlord's words, takes a step down towards the ring of seats below; his dark wings flare gently, held slightly outward. "Delphi has been a dangerous notion from the outset," he continues, his murmur carrying easily -- oddly -- to all who will listen. "A congeries of mages with no culture, no creed, dedicated only to the pursuit of arcane power." Mild but distinct distaste is evident in his tone. "The city they have made has had a certain utility as neutral ground, a crutch for the exigencies of international diplomacy. But for some time, the Delphites themselves have intimated their disinterest in -- their lack of respect for -- our sacred faith."

One great fist curls closed, dark tendons standing taut in the firelight. Fighting off the faintest snort, Khalid says, "Now they have presumed to punish -- to brand -- one of my own Lions of Fire, for the 'crime' of defending the honor of my house and name, the good name of my queen. And so I have withdrawn the faithful from within their walls, to the very Estrels themselves." Hard eyes fix for a moment upon Sumai, then shift to take in Geridan Kentari. "You whom I have gathered here are great among my people, and hold places of dignity and trust. I would hear your thoughts on how we should proceed."

Bowing his head faintly, the huge Warlord looks at the god-king once again while his immense arm motions across the room. "I think, my Lord, that whatever is decided that it should be made clear that the Varati will suffer no more of their threats and disrespect," Sumai expounds easily. "Whether aggression and violence are chosen, or not, the point should be driven home that they exist solely at the whim of this nation," he says in his cold, dispassionate voice. "That spoken, I believe some physical retribution is the best recourse. My engineers are capable of some interesting feats."

Words that burn in his ears with the searing fire that is the power of his God and King until the pain is obsolete, and only the flowing melody, smooth and deep, claims the attentive ears of Geridan. Such is their effect. Sumai's words are heard as well, of course, and the Varati Warrior's head turns to hear, just slightly, his gaze completing the rest of the journey so that he need not draw completely away from the Amir-al. Patiently... still standing strong and silent, he awaits his turn to speak.

On the floor of the room, Thalia pauses before her secretary and holds out one hand, palm up. Without pausing in her stenography, the secretary hands a piece of parchment to the Queen-Maharani. The parchment appears to be a letter, whose wax seal has been broken. Thalia closes her fingers about the edges of the parchment. "I have a report from the Atlantean Ambassador regarding her meeting with the Orman Decemvir. In regards to this discussion, the results of her meeting may be useful to consider." Having spoken, the Queen-Maharani now seats herself in one of the chairs which rings the area before the dais, inviting others to do so as well.

Stepping forward, the former-Estrel Niamh bin Mazat waits to be acknowledged by his deity before speaking, his bespectacled eyes respectfully downcast. Another bow is offered before he speaks, "While it is necessary that they learn a lesson, I don't know how effective physical force might be. To begin with, while many have forgotten the cultures of their race, they have created another one...a Delphic Culture, which ties many of them deeply. They may not be able to fight back with weapons, but they have magic."

That is not to say that the magic the Varati have at hand could not defeat them. He is merely stating what he has learned in his time there, perhaps to open up more options. "Also, I believe that any full, obvious attack on Delphi would anger the other races here at Haven... and we would begin another war. Is it really so important as to begin something like that? Perhaps they have been punished enough by our leaving them." The Nabi glances up briefly, "I do not believe it is worth a war against three other races." There is a glance flicked to the Queen-Maharani. "If we attack Delphi, the Atlanteans may want nothing to do with us." Yet another possible view on this. Niamh has had no visions as of yet... at least relating to this situation, but he seems to expect one any night.

Khalid turns one of the wooden chairs round, seating himself casually there, one forearm draped over its back. Eyes of flame track between the speakers as the God-King listens with calm interest; his lips twitch just slightly at the mention of 'Delphic Culture,' but he does not comment, either positively or negatively. Lifting a hand -- and an eyebrow -- in Thalia's direction, he instructs, "Tell us what the Ormani have to say."

Thalia unfolds the letter in her hand. Looking down at the words Ayska has written, Thalia reads, "I believe the meeting with Decemvir Riva was successful... at least I have learned as much as I could from her. She claims her concern is that the meager pocket of peace... remains... and those within it have a place [where] we can freely meet...speak, [and] interact. Upon asking Decemvir Riva what she thinks the Atlanteans would do about the Delphi, she promptly replie[d], 'What we do depends largely on you and the Empyreans and your actions. If we think they are well thought out and planned and in a nature that allows for others. [If it] is aimed at pulling the corruption out, we likely will support you. If we think actions are being taken that will lead to subjects of one race or freeborn being taken at whim for slaves, or if one seeks to provoke another by offering haven to thieves, runaway slaves or criminals from other races, or move to sever the flow of trade and travel that is the lifeblood of the city, we might have to rethink what we would do and take a less than supportive position.'

"She seems quite concerned about the safety of her people, and rightfully so. Decemvir Riva also claims to want an environment of safety and one which fosters fairness and compassion, [and] that the past proved that the Delphi is lacking that. She believes since Delphi has the strongest mages with them... whether we like it or not, she says that we will all need them at one time or another."

Khalid betrays a little frown at the news from the sea, but besides this he does not enact any very great concern; his wings settle slowly against his strong back. Shifting his glance in the direction of the Rashid representative, he calls, "Geridan Kentari Rashid. I have yet to hear your thoughts."

"My Lord," Geridan pauses, inclining his head just slightly and awaiting permission to proceed. "From what I can gather, Delphi is in a state of both disarray and reconstruction. While the withdrawal of our people has dwindled their numbers, it has in turn given them a sense of unity, " His lips curl ever slightly in a snarl... "United against us. I feel this leaves doors, opportunities, open to them and others that are now closed to us, and suggests, probably most importantly, that we keep an eye on Empyrean activities. I suspect they shall try to sweep in and arrest as much control of the Delphi as they can." He too speaks well, a quiet thunder rolling off lips which move sure of every spoken word, held by a stance that resonates strength. Now he stops, waiting for any questions or comments... as well as permission, before continuing further. This was just setting the stage. There is more.

"Someone has forgotten their roots in their Delphi stay, I fear. They have forgotten that the way of the Varati is that of war and conquest. Not sweet honeyed words and coddled mewling." Sumai says quite simply at the other man's words, not bothering to look at him, "How one with so little understanding of what this culture's goals and motivations are, rose so high I do not understand. They were not punished by your exit, priest, unless you loved them so dearly."

The large Warlord continues in an indifferent manner, "Their mages may be strong, but I know how top fight mages. They are not so fearsome as many of them believe." The Warlord comments indifferently once more, "The Atlanteans are nothing to fear. Their power extends a very short reach from the sea, they will no more stop trade with us than they would travel deep into our mountains. They need much of what we have and, likewise, would suffer greatly without it. The candala tower challenges our faith, it must be punished or we are lessened in the process."

Pausing, Sumai adds, "Again, I have little fear of pathetic, soft Empyreans. They are less than boys, their Praetorian lordlings quiver at the very sight of me and their war machine is long past its prime. They were broken once and could be broken again easily enough."

"I happen to personally agree with the Nabi," the Warrior of Rashid continues, glancing briefly to Sumai, "Physical recourse at the moment, unless carefully planned, I feel could lead to further conflict than is necessary right now, 'baring our blade before it is sharpened.' United, they are stronger, though do not misunderstand, I have little fear of them." His gaze sweeps about, those crystalline orbs burning softly and dancing with the torchlight before returning to the Amir-al, his voice ringing forth again. "It has also come to my attention that the current Provost has been... negligent in his duties of late. While only a figurehead position of little power within the city, it is one that is still viewed by some as a position, and therefore can be of strategic importance in establishing a chord within the minds of the citizens. I do not know how much longer he will remain, but I am certain that already the Empyreans are endeavoring to put someone in his place." Another pause, waiting to continue.

Did he just hear what he thought he heard? The Nabi turns to Sumai... the Nabi appointed to his post by His Holiness Khalid Atar, who is sitting before them... and does not believe what the man just said. "This is not war, Warlord..." his jaw is clenched as if it is all he can do to not envelop the man in flames, "And our people do not solely fight as their existence. Our people go deeper than that, but perhaps you do not care to see that since it does not suit your own purposes." Niamh takes a deep breath before continuing, "I lost nothing during my time there... if anything, I gained a deeper appreciation for our culture... and I know if I had failed in doing such, His Holiness would have seen to my removal." The removal of his life. "Our fight is not with the Empyreans. I doubt they could have a thing to do with Delphi as they have so little magic among them. The Sylvans and Atlanteans are the most magically powerful after us... and no, I don't think that only my departure from the Citadel hurt them, but the departure of many students still loyal to the Amir-al. Those who remain are very few."

As if unable to contain his fury any longer, the torches about the chamber all flare at once. It is not a complete release, for that would be too dangerous for those in the chamber, but it is something and it helps relieve the pressure of Niamh's anger.

Geridan's head bows deep as he addresses his God and King. "Because, My Lord, their hatred for us flows deeper than that of the Delphi. They cannot control us. They never have, nor will they ever. But before them they see an abandoned tower, waiting for their hands to take grip of and strangle, to be used against their blood enemies, their betters. The very reason this poses a threat to us at all is because of the fact that the other races have taken on a passive role. The Sylvans are too few to have enough control in the first place, and the Atlanteans, as we have heard, are more concerned with watching out for their own. This leaves room open for those who wish to maneuver. We must move first. And believe me when I say the Atlanteans will withdraw further from the conflict, for unfortunately I come bearing more news than detailed in the report the Maharani was given." He pauses, nodding to the Nabi slowly before setting his gaze back to the Amir-al again.

Thalia's soft voice rises out from between the angry words being exchanged by the Warlord of Messala and the Nabi. "Geridan Rashid, what other news do you bear? Do not keep us in suspense."

There will be a faint unsteadiness in Zahrah's hand at that point in the transcription. Her gaze lifts briefly from the stack of parchment before her, faintly widened as she flickers a look toward first one torch and then several more in rapid succession. But as Geridan speaks, her head slowly lowers again and she returns to her duties. One assumes the throne room is safe enough with the God-King present, even with flaring torches and rather strong undercurrents of anger.

Sneering at the priest for the moment, the Master of Messala seems unafraid. "Yet you mewl and attempt to dissuade us from attacking those who have mocked your god. Or what you claim is your god. You know nothing of conflict, all you have was given to you. You know nothing of our people, your life in the Delphi has proven that. Instead of fighting candala and kafir who mock our sacred ways, you spend you time attempting to undermine those who have shed their life's blood, lost their wives even as you defend desecrators of our faith. Unless you have something to offer that is not in defense of those who have defiled the holy words of your god before a thousand, thousand people, mocking his righteous wrath and his might.... then I believe you are out of place here. Priest."

The last is spoken with notable disdain. "The Sylvans are pathetic, they have no organized force and so long as we do not invade their forest they cannot harm us. Their advantage is guerilla warfare, a battle that I have prepared tactics for which will alleviate our forces of having to fight as well."

"This very morning, a trio of Atlanteans came upon the shores of Haven, carrying with them a burden of a mangled and ravaged corpse, one of their own race. Secured in a bag they let it fall to the sands at the feet of Ayska and myself, and with defiant words, attempted to retreat back in to the waters." His gaze roams again, but other than the shifting and churning of his eyes, Geridan Kentari Rashid has remained immobile and solid in his stance. "It was not our business, they had told me, and before I could stop them, they vanished in to the ocean, escorted by another twenty of their kind, each and every one bearing a weapon. But upon the corpse was a note meant for the eyes of the Korallian, a note that read, 'Do not tread waters that are not your own. We do not suffer fools.'"

The Ambassador to Rashid pauses however, turning to the Warlord of Messala. "Warlord," his voice is calm. "What I am discussing is tactics. But what I speak of is a sharpened blade, heated and folded to perfection. We will strike."

Khalid does his best to follow Geridan's information, but the cross-current of ire developing between Messala's Warlord and the Atarvani Nabi bears upon his gold-encircled brow; eyes of the hottest flame narrow by degrees, hotter for their compression, until, in the end, the God-King grasps his chair in one fist and thrusts to his feet. "I have convened a council of state, and not an Empyrean battle-game," he declares, and his voice, without quite raising in volume, is almost palpable with contained power.

Ebon wings flare; glancing first to Niamh, Khalid continues, "The Varati are a martial people. Make no mistake; power is the necessary core of any lasting greatness." Then his attention shifts, slowly, to Sumai. "And the Varati are a people of faith and wisdom. We have a culture and a code; one vital tenet of that code enjoins respect." Khalid pauses for a settling breath. "The Atarvani are the guardians of that faith, that code, and favoured in my sight. Nabi bin Mazat is faithful in the manner of his order, and he is here, tonight, by my invitation. You may disagree with my ministers, Warlord, but you will not wantonly insult them. That is my command."

Khalid holds the Warlord's gaze in his own hot, hard state for a moment longer, then steps away from his seat, turning to Geridan with a soft sigh. "I thank you for your opinion, Geridan of clan Rashid. Indeed, you have all given me much to consider."

Thalia has managed to maintain her focus on Geridan, despite the increase in vitriol between Sumai and Niamh. Thus, when Khalid finishes speaking, she asks Geridan, "The Atlanteans, and their note, did not indicate their Decemvirate? Do you have any idea to whom these Atlantean warriors owe allegiance? Besides the strange actions of Orcinus Kuronbo several years ago, the Atlanteans profess to being a peaceful people."

Again Zahrah's hand goes ever-so-faintly unsteady for a moment. Her pride keeps it from continuing beyond that. If the others are inured to being in the room with an annoyed god, she is not... and she's no fool, to simply 'ignore' such tension.

"As you wish, my lord," Sumai says very simply to the Amir-al, sparing a single glance for the priest again that says all that needs saying. It is only by the Amir-al's command that further disparagement was not offered. Glancing to the Amir-al for a moment, "I do not believe that the other races have as much bearing on this decision as these two would have you believe. Neither of them are noted, even historically, for their martial prowess and neither is capable of leading a sustained assault on the Varati people. Delphi's mages are powerful, but magic is not the way battles are won when one has time to prepare. I watched the Delphi battle the north wingback invaders recently; even with the aid of a small contingent of Agni-Haidar and Messala's warriors, they were losing their battle and it nearly cost the Emperor his life. Pity it didn't, I say. Their ability to defend themselves is middling, having lost most of their Fire-elementals is is decreased two-fold."

"Of course, my Lord. My blade, and Rashid's, are yours forever." Geridan speaks quietly, his voice dipping along with his head and gaze in to a quiet inclination of solemn respect and humility. "But no, Maharani, it indicated nothing of their Decemvirate, no sign of allegiances, but it was clear they communicated with telepathy, moving and thinking as a single entity. They looked to me to be fierce, and quite peculiar. Each one of them was almost completely grey, appearing scaleless, with black eyes. I can't say I've seen the likes of it before." He shakes his head in apology, falling silent again. But he does do one thing... His bare hand lifts, and in the sight of Sumai, traces the scar that lines his cheek... from mid, back to his ear. He has fought.

Thalia is obviously avoiding involving herself in the disagreement between Niamh and Sumai. Whether it is a mere difference in opinion or something far deeper, Thalia is certainly choosing to leave the matter entirely in Khalid's capable hands. Instead, she nods to Geridan and smiles softly. "Thank you, Geridan Rashid. Indeed, your words leave me with much to think about."

The Nabi says not a word, nor does he look at anyone else in the chamber. His dark eyes are fixed at a point of the wall beyond the two thrones. Deep breaths are still taken as he has never been this angry in his life that he can remember. His lips are pressed tightly shut and his hands are clenched into fists within the sleeves of his Atarvani robes. Once he is able to speak again, he asks, his voice betraying none of his fury, "If Delphi is taken, what do we do with it?" He obviously doesn't agree with the plan. Geridan's words were heard, but they were not able to be processed until now. "It would seem that not all Atlanteans feel the same way about this situation."

Motioning dismissively at Geridan, whom he hasn't spoken to yet in this meeting (though mostly because he seems to find no general fault in simple disagreement with the man), "Indeed. There are a hundred or a thousand fish folk tribes. They do not all bend will to the priestesses; many do not even practice anything more than tribal barbarism. They rarely come near surface dwellers because we have nothing they need or want, they find their cousins weak and insufferable for the things they do. I must reiterate, however, that the Atlanteans are not a threat to any plan we may make. They are not a people filled with martial pride, nor are they capable of sustained land warfare due to their physical limitations and lack of understanding of land environments," Sumai offers from his expansive knowledge and readings of all things. "Even granted that we do not wish to engage in open physical assaults, there are other ways in which to deal a blow to them without a single warrior."

Khalid mounts the dais with pensive paces, turning his winged back to the assembly. "The Sylvans care nothing for affairs beyond their forest shadows, and the people of the sea will scarcely move against us," he muses -- in agreement, here, with Sumai ibn Kitsu. "An Empyrean alliance with Delphi is a concern, although I am not convinced that it will become a reality."

Another step up is taken. "I do not covet Delphi, Nabi bin Mazat. I desire only to... breed, within an arrogant order, a due respect for our culture and our faith. If that requires a show of force -- one that may, in its own right, redound to our benefit -- then I am prepared for that eventuality. But the moment has not yet arrived."

Standing before his throne, Khalid Atar turns back to consider the dignitaries below. "Perhaps the Decemvirs can be brought to understand and to approve our quarrel. With such an alliance in place, I suspect that the Empyreans will look to their own rather than throw in their lot with the Citadel. And then, perhaps, we will be able to dictate the terms we desire."

Zahrah has the temerity to glance up from beneath her lashes, once the Amir-al's words are transcribed. It's the terms that intrigue her, after all.

Sumai remains silent, the meeting clearly nearing its end and his advice no longer needed. He awaits what decisions that will be made, or simply a dismissal.

The Amir-al's word is Law, and Niamh will not argue with his deity. He may have his own opinions, but once Khalid chooses what course is to be taken, he will do what he can to see it fulfilled.

Thalia does not rise up from her chair to join her husband. Instead, she places an arm over the back of her seat and angles sideways, watching him. She does not add agreement or disagreement to any of the opinions stated or possible conclusions reached. Instead, it would seem that her purpose has been to gather information.

Khalid settles on his throne -- a gesture repeated countless times, unconscious, elegant -- and betrays a faint, thoughtful smile. Pleased? Eager for the event? It is hard to say. Lifting his voice, he calls, "I thank you, my children. Sumai ibn Kitsu, see that your men are well barracked; if space does not permit here, they may lodge at Behzad's old clan hall. Nabi bin Mazat, see that our Delphic refugees are comfortably lodged within the Temple and in Atesh-Serai. I will inform you when we make our next move."

"Very well, my lord. I shall attend to those matters immediately," the huge Warlord comments in an almost pleasant and dispassionate voice. Turning simply on his heel, he makes his way from the throne hall of the God-King, his silks glimmering in the lighting of the chamber.

Waiting until the Warlord exits, Niamh then offers a deep bow of obeisance once more before making his way towards the doors to the Throne Room. He has managed to find housing for most of the refugees, many of whom are staying in the Temple, but the next goal is to find teachers and tasks for them so they do not feel idle. But of utmost importance is a place where he can vent some of his pent-up anger and magic... someplace that isn't flammable.

Thalia rises from her seat and gestures for her secretary to follow her. She has taken Khalid's last words as a dismissal and is obviously not staying to confer with her liege. Instead, she heads for the chamber's side door. Her next action is as mysterious as the God-King's decision.

Zahrah sprinkles sand on the last page of parchment, aiding the ink to dry faster, as the men leave the room. She keeps her gaze lowered, but somehow knows when she's beckoned, knocking the sand into the provided receptacle. Gathering the stack of documents which comprise the transcription of the meeting, the woman rises and bows as well -- it's nearly impossible to truly curtsey in a sari -- and follows her mistress toward the side door.

FIN  

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