------------- Chapter 6 - Part 2: The General

"General, I understand you have just arrived from the north. What news of the Tarkanians?"

The Hobgoblin slurped his wine and curled his massive lips. Elven brews had never quite sat right with him. He would have preferred a thick Dwarven or Khangan ale just now, but he had never been one to be choosey. Soldiers took what they could get and liked it, even a mercenary general such as he. He turned his attention to the serving girls scattered around the room. Prince Pentelikon was well known for his old world tastes, what many would call a barbarian streak. Brock had no opinion one way or the other about the Prince's socializing. Personally, he would have preferred Hobgoblin women, tough, cut with military discipline, and true to a cause. Some were even considered attractive by Elven standards. There were Human women as well that would have drawn Brock's eye, but not these soft, weak, one dimensional creatures.

"I would rather not speak in front of the help, Prince. It has been my experience that one never knows where a pair of curious ears might be found."

Pentelikon smiled his political smile, the one which said everything and nothing at the same time. Brock wondered how much of the Children of Apep had rubbed off on the Prince during his long sleep in the Tower of the Serpent. He had very definite snake-like qualities.

Pentelikon motioned to the closest slave, "Leave us, ladies. The general has weighty matters to discuss."

The throng of a half dozen nearly naked slaves streamed out of the chamber. From Brock's vantage, they seemed to appear out of the shadows until he was left wondering where they had all been hiding. As they passed the soldiers at the door, they winked or smiled or licked their lips invitingly, knowing that this detachment would not always be stuck here guarding the General and the Prince.

Brock watched as the last disappeared around the corner and down the hallway, and listened until they were merely echoes of laughter and catty gossip fading into the stone. Such women were little more than a distraction for troops. He wondered at Pentelikon's command capabilities if he had not realized that. As if in response to his thoughts, or perhaps his face was that easy to read even though he wasn't human, Pentelikon snatched up his wine glass to fill it again.

"They are a pain sometimes, but indulge me a small diversion from time to time General. I have over eight thousand years to make up for."

Brock snickered. It sounded more like an animal snort than any kind of laughter. The High Priest's appetites and social adventures had already become a thing of story, but told only within the ranks of his own forces. To most of the rest of Atheae, he was just another adventurer that held the Queen's ear. He had done a very admirable job of keeping his true part in the running of the Kingdom a tightly guarded secret. And though he moved amongst the ranks of the nobles of the Kingdom, it was obvious to all that he was not one of them. Outwardly he had showed no interest in joining their ranks or accepting any kind of post or appointment. His trusted cohorts, and a few who served him within the Atheaen government, knew that his real goal was the crown. The coming war would cause a rallying cry from the people for a strong military leader to crush the Symballan fanatics. The man to answer that call had already been chosen. And when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, that man would have the throne of Atheae and the newly annexed Symballan lands, and maybe even more. That was the plan, at any rate.

Brock thought back on his recent adventures along the Al'Tarkas river valley, and organized his report to the Prince.

"First, Prince, I should say I do not trust the Tarkanians. They have fallen back to their old ways, the barbarism and feudal in-fighting that was so prevalent before the rise of the Black Witch. Getting any kind of agreement from them as a people is all but impossible. I could find no more than four war chieftains willing to sit down with each other for negotiations, let alone cooperate in any kind of military campaign. I think we can completely discount them. They are less than useless. And I have far too few forces in the region from my old Q'llani days to be of any use, a battalion at most, perhaps five to six hundred berserkers. They would be no more than a moment's distraction for the Symballan Army."

Pentelikon rested his goblet on his thigh and stared off into the dark of the chamber, appearing to be bored and not even listening. Brock knew better. The Prince was merely playing out several dozen possible strategic scenarios in that calculating mind of his. He took that as a sign to continue.

"I was able, however, to find all the contacts necessary to establish a worthwhile spy network along their northern frontiers. If our Chia'Khan alliance fails, we will still be able to gain the information we will need. Which brings me to my most burning question, Prince. How can you trust the Dragon Kings to turn on their alliance with the Symballan Empire?"

Pentelikon smiled. It was a predatory smile, one which belied his true heart, dark, hateful and full of lust for battle and bloodletting.

"My good General, I have it on the highest authority that the Council of Twelve will be so divided on this issue that they will never think to oppose the war."

Brock ventured a guess.

"Then you have a contact highly placed inside Chia'Khan?"

Pentelikon's expression said two things. First, he not only had an ally highly placed in Chia'Khan, it was probably one of the Dragon Kings themselves. Second, he didn't care that Brock knew that little tidbit of information. Brock began to understand just how well connected the High Priest of Ares really was. Pentelikon said nothing.

"I see, then. So, they are willing to aid us in this regard, even without a Council vote?"

"Ever since King Xeracrysten's death and the installment of Queen Aurora as the first female member of the Dragon Council? Of course, it will be done without a Council vote. King Cyan and his cohorts have all but neutered Emperor Nordrage. Even if he wanted to take the chance, and he probably would, there is no way the Council would ever willingly go along with our plot. Then he would have six entire dragon clans to battle, as well as the Symballans, the Atheaens, and anyone else who wished to eliminate his threat once and for all."

"Carellon, Hergovine?"

"Very likely. From what I hear of this King Vjolund Greymalken, he's been itching to go to war since he took the throne. Your Q'llani uprising was crushed by the Palluerevallans so quickly that he didn't have a chance to put on his armor."

Brock sneered and cleared his throat, "The campaign was ill conceived. I've fought against their Lord Ranger before. The Q'llani leadership did not listen to the voice of experience and they paid for their ignorance and arrogance."

"Well spoken, General, but I'm not casting doubt on your capabilities. I was just pointing out one more nation on the continent that's ready to go to war for almost any reason. It's really quite exciting. But we have to be very careful they end up fighting the right people and not ganging up on Atheae. Ares requires a successful campaign against the Symballans. To do that will require that all other nations remain neutral. They must believe that we have legitimate grievances against the Symballan government. There must be solid and irrefutable evidence in the eyes of the Senate that the Holy Symballan Empire has committed a horrific act of war against us. Then we will be free to move."

"Solid evidence? Where will we get such evidence?"

"Well,... we'll invent it, of course."

"And how do we create such evidence so that it might stand against the light of inspection? There will be priests and mages aplenty looking into any allegations made by the Queen. Many in the Senate already suspect she is under outside influence. Some have already pointed a finger at Ares."

"They are grasping at straws. They have no idea what is going on. And I assure you, General, this evidence will be created by those who have managed to fool the greatest and most powerful sorcerers and the most astute detectives on the planet. There are only a few who have any hope of uncovering the truth of the plot by invalidating our evidence, and they will not be trusted to be impartial, for they are Symballans themselves."

"The Avatars?"

"Yes. Very good. The Avatars. The Pharaoh created quite a little mess when he accepted the Avatar of Ra and then led his High Priests to accept Avatars of their own. The people of Atheae see a bordering Kingdom ruled by a dozen Gods, beings with limitless power and deadly skills. And those Avatars are not of our culture. They are foreign and hard for the uneducated to comprehend. Who would not be threatened by such fearsome power just a few hundred leagues to the north? Yes, General, the Avatars are both our greatest threat, and my greatest ally. For without their existence, I, excuse me, the Queen, would never have been able to rally the people behind her, excuse me, my, anti-Symballan sentiments."

"So, once again, I ask, who will be creating this evidence? How do you plan to fake such an atrocity that the kingdom will rise up and demand war?"

"Well, General, I'm afraid I don't know any way to do that. The atrocity will be quite real. And to everyone who survives, it will be obvious the Symballans were behind it."

"I'm listening," Brock was truly curious about the Prince's plan. He was well aware of an assortment of powerful magics, Krell, Chaos, and Divine, but he was also aware that such things were extremely rare. Even the Avatars could not depend on their divine powers all the time. It was only when their God so chose that such power would flow through them. In that regard, Krell spellcasters were more powerful because the source of their magic was always there and not at the whim or mercy of their faith. But Krell spellcasters were even rarer than avatars, it seemed. There were no more than a dozen on the entire planet, and none that Brock could think of that would get involved in this dispute, with one notable exception. The dawn of realization rose in Brock's jet black eye.