Chapter 3
Zungher Dol looked out over the capital city of Valdrin from the top floor of his tower. It was a grand sight. So much had happened in the forty-three cycles that had passed since he’d won the right to be Chieftain of the Merlain people, and so much left to do before he passed his rule to the next Chieftan.
When he arrived, the Merlain people were poor, uneducated, and so close to the dirt they tilled for food that they might as well have been the bugs who lived in it. Under his leadership, Merlain was a powerhouse across the other realms. He had progressed these grubby people from soil-smelling farmers to builders and warriors. Because of what he’d accomplished, he was easily able to make similar progress in all of the other realms save one. In all of these lands, he had brought them under his care, under his watchful eye, which in turn had benefitted Merlain.
Valdrin was the crown jewel in all of the realms he controlled. More than any other capital city in the Seven Realms, she was a beacon of innovation and efficiency. He gazed down on Valdrin’s market square, where farmers in times past would trade their hard-earned foodstuffs, now transformed into a state-of-the-art complex of government buildings, highrise dwellings, and technological advancement. From his window, Chieftan Dol could see efficiency, dedication, and purpose in the posture of every Merlain citizen below, traveling to and fro in the updated city center. Beyond the footprint of the old town was established a regimented grid of dwellings and shops. Everyone had a place to sleep, and everyone had a place to advance the best interests of Merlain.
A satisfied grin began over Dol’s face. There was only one more major push, and then his reign would be complete. He had to bring Coellum, the last realm to contest his rule, under his control. He was not worried. His best minds were even at this moment working out how to crush the king of that realm. Coellum was outgunned, less advanced in every way, and led by a fool king who believed that each realm should be ruled by its own people. It baffled the Chieftan why anyone could tolerate such incongruence.
He had said that very thing to the king’s face when he was an undersecretary there. It was his disdain for his king that got him ejected from court, sent away to exile, disgraced, and humiliated. But by making, or should he say re-making, Merlain, he had proved to all Coellum that his way was superior to theirs. Dol must get the final victory over his former king. He must shame the king into exile or the grave. This thought spread the smile even further. How delicious it will be to send the king to the great beyond, to make him pay dearly for doubting.
“Chieftan?” Dol heard someone say from behind him. His thoughts returned from his conquests to the matter at hand. He turned and faced his advisors. Five men sat in a semicircle facing their Chieftan. They included the heads of the army, prisons, labor, communication, and finance.
“Sorry,” Dol said, removing the smile from his face and returning it to one of gravity, “I let my mind wander. What are we talking about?”
“Read it back,” barked Tavik Rylar, director of labor to the diminutive aide taking notes.
The aide nodded and scrolled back a few lines in his report. “Secretary Zelus: What are we going to do about Venomar? This can’t be allowed to continue. Commander Tharn: “It may not be prudent, but it would feel good to go down there and have a show of force. I agree; we can’t let any weakness be perceived. Isn’t that right, Chieftan? Chieftan? Chieftan Dol: -”
“Yes, thank you,” Zunger waved at the aide to stop the reading. “Venomar is not paying its tribute again. Is that it?” The other men adjusted in their seats as Dol stepped to the front of his audience. “You are correct. Though you know me and how benevolent I am,” the Chieftan said, placing his hand over his heart, “if you do not hold a strong line with people like these, they will take advantage of your kindness and destroy you with it.” He turned to Commander Tharn, “I know this might put a strain on the forces, but -”
“Consider it done, Chieftan,” the Commander said, bowing his head up and down like a switch.
“What’s next?”
“Let’s see,” said Tavros Fen, Director of Communications. “What do you want to handle next, your lordship? There is an update on the upcoming maintenance to the Central Processing Unit, your forty-third gala, and -”
“How is the gala coming along?” Dol asked.
“I’d say fifty-fifty,” hummed Keldon Solari, Minister of Finance.
“That sounds clever,” Dol monotoned. “Be clear.”
Solari cleared his throat. “Meaning, Chieftan, that current projections say we are on schedule but over budget. Obviously, I’m in favor of spending whatever is necessary to honor your great rule and reign, but it is also why the missing tribute from Venomar is more crucial than normal.”
“I see,” Dol said and turned back to look down on the market square. He spun about swiftly and pointed at Commander Tharn. “Send a handful of troops to Venomar and extract the tribute by force if needs be.” Tharn nodded. “We cannot let our standards fall below expectations.” Dol clasped his hands behind his back and turned once more to gaze upon his jewel. “These galas are important, you see. Does anyone know why they are important?”
A silence fell on the room. Dol turned his head to gaze over his shoulder. He enjoyed watching his leaders squirm.
“To show our might?” Solari dared.
“That’s good. And?”
“To commemorate and honor you, our great leader,” said Commander Tharn, shifting again in his seat.
“Yes, but what else?” Dol rotated back to his leaders.
Amnon Saxe, the Head Administrator of Prisons, opened his mouth and paused.
“Were you going to say something, Head Administrator?” Dol leaned toward Saxe.
“I was going to say what I believe I’ve heard you say in the past, which is that these galas are a symbol, a symbol to the other realms of their place and that their place is in our care.”
Zungher Dol’s eyes twinkled in pride. “Very good, Mister Saxe. Very good.” Dol looked at the others. “Yes. These galas are symbols. And if the symbol appears marred, cracked, or unpolished, then one might seek to take advantage of such a perceived weakness. You see, as much as I enjoy, I cannot lie, the praise and honor cast around me on such occasions, I’m not receiving it for myself as much as I’m receiving it on behalf of all Merlain.” At this, Dol stretched his arms to the side, creating a silhouette not unlike a mighty bird of prey, behind which stood the high-rise buildings of Valdrin like an immovable mountain range.
“I’ll dispatch the troops as soon as this meeting is finished,” Tharn said.
Dol, lowering his arms said, “See that you do. Nothing should impede our gala’s progress. What’s next?”
“Another bit of protest art was found in the groundling district,” Tavros Fen said, checking his notes.
“Protest art?” Dol looked at Fen suspiciously. “You mean rebellious insubordination.”
“My apologies.”
“What is it this time?” Dol said, staring daggers at his head of communications. These “protest art” pieces had been springing up from time to time in different parts of Valdrin, and Dol was determined to put a stop to them.
Tavros Fen produced an image of the offending art. Zunger Dol stared at it. Beyond how the painting irked him, he hated to admit he enjoyed the style. Truly a master artist at work. It was a shame these gifts were used in a way that would lead to arrest and likely execution. The offending image was of an aurelis, the symbolic bird of the Merlain people. Its white plumage was protected under the battle armor of Merlain soldiers, and it held under its wing a commonly issued weapon. Tied to the end of the weapon dangled a sign reading, “We Come in Peace.” Just to the left of the aurelis’ back foot was the signature of the artist – Nova.
“Tell me we have some kind of lead on how to track this rebel down,” Dol said, handing the image back.
Fen sighed, “We’re working on it. Whoever this is is able to skirt our surveillance protocols.”
“That looked like it would have taken some time to do,” Dol said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re telling me our surveillance protocols are such that a person can paint that trash, and there is no record of its creation?”
“We’ve studied the archives; we’ve looked at the surrounding area. By all of our calculations, there is no possible way for that to happen,” Fen said.
“And yet it is happening,” Dol scowled.
Fen sat mute.
“Fix it.”
Fen nodded.
“What’s next? Anything? No? Good,” Dol said, not waiting for replies. The leadership stood and turned to leave Dol’s presence.
“Chieftan?” Fen dared.
“Yes?”
“There is some good news. Saw Yatha is back.”
Dol’s eyes narrowed, “Back?”
“Yes, and he has Princess Lillian captured.”
Dol’s demeanor softened by degrees. “Where is Saw now?”
“In quarantine. He’s been away long enough we aren’t sure what contaminants – you don’t care about that, but the story he’s telling – The short version is that he’s been held for a time of evaluation.”
“And the Princess?”
“According to Saw, he has her in a containment device, which is on his person.”
Dol eyed Amnon Saxe, “On his person?”
Amnon took a step closer to Dol. “He’s refused to be searched, and anyone who has tried to subdue or sedate him has been expertly defeated. So, there has been no verification of this device, but I doubt that Saw would return here without having the goods.”
“I agree,” hummed Dol. Then quickly, he clapped his hands together and said to Fen, “This is a great day for all of Merlian. Princess Lillian has been captured! Get that out on all channels. This will spark hope in all of our realms, and I hope fear in Coellum. The end is close, gentlemen.”
The leaders all snapped to attention and nodded at their Supreme Leader. Zungher Dol waved them dismissed. “Oh, Mister Saxe.”
Amnon stopped, “Chieftan?”
“Don’t let Yatha intimidate you. You are the Head Administrator. Process the Princess personally.”
Saxe nodded, turned on his heels, and left.
Zungher Dol stood in his spacious office alone with his thoughts. Saw Yatha was back. He walked back over to his windows and looked at the coming clouds. If Saw were back, he would have to play his hand very carefully. One false move, and he might have more than a rebellious artist to worry about. He rocked back and forth on his heels, contemplating what kind of day it would be.
