Of Love and Valor

43: Strategic Thinking

"Announcing His Excellency, Zaikarit Fenrikir of the Molongun tribe of Kedar-Jashun and his associates!" the Yrivvior's designated herald declares grandly. I sit up a little straighter and my hands find their way into my pockets, ready to seize and throw knives at a moment's notice. Up to this point, most of the Yrivvior's appointments have been banal matters of trade and finance. My interest was piqued by a family of refugees fleeing the Erivim; they requested not only a place in Orenxiao, which the Orenfior handled deftly, but that the Yrivvior devote more time and resources to eliminating the scourge of the Erivim from his realm. The Yrivvior was very reassuring to them without revealing any particular plans or strategies, but more than once during this conference he glanced in our general direction, most likely at the Orenfior, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

I wish that any of my family had survived to make a similar plea. Will I get a chance to work on their behalf?

The zaikarit and the other Molongun emissaries to Kedar-Jashun enter the Hall of Public Audience and make their way, somewhat reluctantly, to face the Yrivvior in his magnificent chair. Their hair is more disheveled and haphazardly cut than the last time I saw them, and all of them look like they haven't encountered a good night's sleep since they arrived in Orenxiao. The slightest of smirks is playing about Zelphinon's lips, and I focus on a particularly dour-looking salor in the opposite set of tiered seating to avoid smiling, myself.

"I'm proud of you," I breathe, barely a whisper.

"Thank you," he replies in kind. The air between us feels a few degrees warmer than it did before.

All of the emissaries bow to the Yrivvior, even the zaikarit, which is better than I expected of him.

"Welcome," the Yrivvior greets them briefly. His face is mostly impassive but I can still tell that he is scrutinizing them closely, perhaps wondering at the cause of their dishevelment and apparent exhaustion.

"Zank you for receiving us, Your Imperial Majesty," one of the zaikarit's associates, the one who was most reasonable in their meeting with the Orenfior, responds. Meanwhile, the zaikarit's gaze has fallen on Zelphinon and me, and he is quietly fuming and sputtering. "Ve are most honored by zis opportunity—"

"Begging your pardon, ansohn," the Yrivvior interrupts, "but what seems to be the matter?"

"Vhat are zey doing here?!" the zaikarit demands, pointing rudely in the general direction of the Orenfior and his Fiorzhanim.

"The Orenfior and his associates are primarily responsible for your case coming to my attention and for this interview taking place. It is the right of the Orenfior to be present, and to bring with him whatever personal guard and other associates he so chooses."

"Fenrikir, please. Not now," one of the other emissaries hisses, exasperated and weary.

"Demons should not be afforded ze honor of existing in your presence, Venerable Yrivvior, and zose two guards—" The zaikarit's hateful spew abruptly ends with a sharp elbow to the ribs from one of his comrades.

"Your Excellency, would you care to comment?" the Yrivvior asks the Orenfior.

"We addressed this in my conference with these emissaries, Venerable Yrivvior, and all I will say is that the honorable zaikarit is mistaken about the Fiorzhanim. The ones to whom he is referring have proven themselves quite respectable and very talented for the positions they occupy, hence my insistence that they accompany me here today."

"There you have it. Ansohni, I do not have the leisure to entertain any further unfounded, hateful whims. If your plight is as important to you as I am told it is, and if you truly seek my aid, you will present your case forthwith, leaving out whatever nonsense you might be inclined to include."