Storm somehow managed to wander to the back of the tent, following the flamboyant leader in a complete haze. Watching Elite rise with his mask and command the demon before him like a child’s toy was both awe inspiring and genuinely terrifying. Demons couldn’t be commanded, he had thought; to have them at your beck and call would make an army that would be nearly unstoppable.
And certainly one that would run roughshod over Etherea, and Ettermire, for the matter.
“Come, sit, relax, have a drink. I’m sure you have a thousand questions. We know all about you, we’ve done our homework, and your team is going to change the world.” Aratmus spoke with a direct, albeit gruff tone that Storm would have appreciated under different, less psychotic circumstances.
This tent seemed to exist on a different planet, the wizard considered, as his head continued to spin and he took a seat in a large, comfortable carved oaken seat with a down pillow cushion. Across a large desk, the stout leader perked within his propped chair, which was elevated to bring the two men to eye level. That the king didn’t insist on looking down upon him was refreshing.
Or perhaps with this setup he usually -is- looking down, upon other dwarves.
Heart still racing, Storm took a mug from a soft looking dwarven lad that had dutifully scrambled in with the two of them. The tin stein was sweating and cold, the amber lager within capped with a lovely head of foam.
“To saving the world!” The regal little fellow offered a toast as he reached across the big desk, his chubby hands bracing as his beard brushed crumbs off the wood. Reflexively, the wizard pushed his drink forward, the full steins spilling slightly upon the dark wood grain of the desk before both men took a sip.
Although usually the skillful politician, Storm merely stared ahead, resting the drink on the desk and waiting on an explanation for this madness.
“I’d be confused in your shoes too, m’friend. We have Cazri drag you halfway across the world, on the word of the Council, and do so under the pretense of war. My apologies, although war is afoot.”
Storm crossed his fingers on his lap, a stoic gaze on his face, noncommittal and apathetic.
“And I’m… what? A pawn? A battery? I saw some of your motors have the heavy brushes; with the right storage system…”
“Oh, stop, speak plainly!” Aratmus laughed as he interjected. “We both know damned well that you’re the only source of power like THAT outside of lightning rods and good luck. But we need more than just the electricity. Since the days of the great meteors, we heard of how you and the Osiris fellow led the raid on Radasanth. You overcame significant technological and numerical disadvantage, and as I’m told damn near had the city taken before the skies opened.”
“Perhaps you have done some of your homework!” Veritas smiled, sipping again. “But so what? Once Elite turns the demons to your side, why do you need me? Hell; why do I need YOU?”
Storm finished speaking as a pall hung over the room for a minute. His eyes darted about to find many metal trinkets and weapons on the wall; if the dwarf king called for his men, Storm could conjure weapons to go down swinging in a hurry. Fortunately, this was not necessary.
“Mr. Optic will be a force the likes of which the world has never seen. Still, he’ll need an advisor, and Sorian doesn’t have the resume that you do. Specifically, Cazri doesn’t trust him at all. I say this in confidence, of course.”
“As for you, Mister Veritas, you don’t need us, but we can do well by you. History will be written by the winners, and with you, Elite, and the demons, we will be unmatched. There will be lots of power to divvy. We agreed to stay out of Corone, paying this favor to the Radasanth Council in exchange for your sponsorship.”
Shit, and here I thought I had shrewdly negotiated a huge price on a fucking sword.
“I already held Whitevale. Tylermande was on its way, too. I sneak out, or use one of your metal-suited henchmen as a cannonball, and I can be back in my manor getting drunk and smoking pipe in a month. Why do I need a few extra coins, or some acreage you’ve negotiated?” Storm felt nervous now, and hid this by displaying confidence. He slid back in his chair, crossing his right foot over his left knee as he exuded power.
“Come, now, I’m told you’re the pragmatist!” The smiling face of the dwarf was betrayed by stern, cold eyes now. His teeth shined white while his glare cut daggers; it was a skill that Storm was proud to share. “We don’t need to talk numbers here; that way lies unpleasantness. I prefer to build relationships. Don’t worry about acres or little half-assed port towns. Think bigger.”
Storm leaned forward at this, listening carefully.
“Think about calling Corone yours.”
The weakness returned to the knees of the wizard. Was he being offered a chance to commit genocide? How could he trust a leader with such a monstrous plan? Was he signing up to rule the ashes and help end the world?
Sweat was forming at his brow as a series of genuinely terrible decisions lay in his immediate future.
