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From the Desk of the Nagaraja, Part Three
From the Desk of the Nagaraja, Part III
The Naga have existed for over three hundred years. During that time, the various whirling death-traps that litter the Spire of Torment have claimed as many as six hundred lives. Over a thousand mortals have passed through the Spire itself, perhaps a quarter doing so willingly. The various items of furniture around the building are replaced every few dozen years, some more frequently than others. The desk in the Nagaraja’s office, for example, is replaced only at his express order.
Jinso reflected on this as he tried in vain to pull his dagger from the table’s surface. The weapon was already badly blunted – every time Jinso looked at his desk, he saw the letter on it. Every time he saw that letter, he was overcome with some emotion – regret, frustration, guilt - that always resolved itself into a blind homicidal rage that ended with him plunging his dagger into the letter’s tattered and torn remains.
Betrayal was simply a fact of life for a Naga; it was business as usual. There had been several occasions over the past century and a half when Jinso had been forced to make an expedited tactical withdrawal – or so he told his then-superiors – because a contact had blabbed, or a deal had gone sour. Betrayal from within was harder to cope with. Lord Visteon had been more than a subordinate – he’d been a good subordinate. He’d worked with passion and patience, eagerness and care. And more than that, he’d been something that Jinso only know appreciated the value of – a friend in hard times.
Four Naga had walked out, Jinso noted. Visteon – and suddenly the impulse to prepend ‘Lord’ was gone – was the only one to leave a note. It was apologetic, but written in the distinctive style Visteon had been known for. He’d thought about this, planned his actions carefully. He was out of Jinso’s reach, now. If it weren’t for the fact he’d been betrayed by his most useful subordinate – and Jinso admitted, his close friend – he would have admired it.
Nagaraja. Do you have a moment?
Xie. Ever professional, though she would be hurting just as much as he. Jinso knew she and Anteion had been close. Jinso felt a momentary pang of guilt, which he ruthlessly clamped down on. Anteion was a traitor now, as was Visteon. Business as usual.
Of course. I’ll meet you at the Crossroads.
Jinso took the long route leaving the Spire. He didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment – though that was hardly unusual. He realised just how close he was to losing his patience in a completely unprofessional manner when a slave, carrying what looked like half a tree on his shoulders, accidently showered him with dirt and leaves.
It was a few minutes later that Jinso walked into the Crossroads, whipping the blood from his dagger. Hopefully, no one would have heard the screams. He kept out of sight, hood raised, and slipped around the usual gathering of citizenry with nothing better to do until he could take a seat on a bench next to Xie.
“You wanted to talk?” He whispered.
“Anteion is gone, isn’t he?” She whispered back, no preamble.
“Yes.” There wasn’t much more he could say, and nothing he wanted to. The silence stretched out between them for several minutes as they let the ambient noise of Mhaldor wash over them. Almost subconsciously, Jinso started a basic listening exercise and started eavesdropping on the various conversations around the square. He lent back against the wall and closed his eyes to aid his concentration.
“So all in all, the Implacable should be seaworthy in a few days…”
“… and then the sternum, that way you don’t damage the chest cavity overmuch…”
“… one of them in Manara the other day, we should clean them out…”
“… only we could bait Salis into making a move…”
Nothing out of the ordinary. Jinso let the conversation flow around him, thinking hard and continuing to listen. His eyes snapped open as one voice caught his ears, repeating a single line over and over.
“Truth seven. The spirit may be made stronger by enduring hardships, both self-imposed and externally-imposed.”
Jinso looked sideways, moving his head only a tiny fraction. Normally, Xie wouldn’t have missed even such a small motion, but her eyes were tightly shut. Her hands were balled into fists, Jinso noted, and her lips moved in sync with her mantra. Out of respect, Jinso pretended he hadn’t noticed; Xie would regain her composure without his help. That was the point of the seventh Truth, was it not?
It was a good few minutes before Xie spoke at a threshold Jinso could politely admit to hearing. “Now what, Nagaraja? What are your orders?”
That was his Mistress of Torment. All business. That was why Jinso had promoted her so highly, fifty-eight years ago.
“There can only be one recourse. In the memory of our Lady Keresis…” Jinso hissed and clenched one hand into a fist so tightly that his nails started to break the skin on his palm. A few drops of blood dripped to the ground. “… we shall have Vengeance.”
***
New Hope was surprisingly pleasant. The sun shone almost every day. The sky was blue, not red. He’d always wanted to live somewhere with blue skies, even when he’d been a true devote of the Truths. The architecture was rather more aesthetically pleasing, though he felt he would miss the gargoyles. He’d spent more than a few hours in conversation with them on rainy nights, trying to pass the time. He shivered, despite the morning sun.
All was, of course, not good. Visteon was used to the hostile stares already – he’d received more than enough of those in his life. He was used to the feeling of paranoia, trusting only those he knew. Anteion, standing at his shoulder, felt the same – they were the only two Naga on New Hope. That set them apart from the priests of Good and paladins of Righteousness, and the divide was tangible.
I suppose it’s *former* Naga, now. A thought of alien as to almost be foreign, but one Visteon was having with increasing frequency. He couldn’t go back – even the small part of his mind that kept a track on the members of the Naga, which kept telling him to reach out though the telepathic link that all Achaeans shared, knew that full well. If he, or Anteion, stepped onto the Red Isle, they were dead men walking.
Lord Visteon. Do you have a moment to talk?
This was another strange thing. People still addressed him as Lord Visteon, though he’d left that title behind him, along with his family name. Strange how that was never mentioned. Although, he mused as he slipped into an opulent tent, perhaps this one had some right to use such a title.
“Lord Sathen. You wanted to… talk, yes?” Visteon was still unused to announcing his presence in the company of the Light warriors, but he swore to get used to it.
Lord Sathen turned from the low table he’d been leaning on. Visteon had always been amused by the man – he looked very little like his reputation would lead one to believe. Occult energies had made a home in his flesh many years ago, and the process of burning them out had left scars all over Sarthen’s body. Dressed as he was in his typical armour, only the few around his eyes were visible – but they were enough to unsettle even someone who had lived as a Naga for a hundred and twenty years.
This is a man reviled across half the world as the Traitor Lord. I’ve spitted his head on a pike more times than I care to count, and now I’m going to talk to him over some light refreshments. For laughing.
True to form, Sarthen bowed and waved Visteon towards an unoccupied chair. Anteion, slipping around his companion, reached it first. Visteon scowled at him, and then took the next seat along. It was only then, as a cup of tea was pushed in front of him, that he noticed the other occupant of the room.
“Salis. I didn’t notice you there.” Visteon kept his voice level, respect and dislike and confusion warring in equal parts to make it quiver.
The thin, middle-aged man widely regarded as one of the greatest orators on Sapience smiled softly. “Apparently, I have Naga-level hiding abilities. I shall add that to the list.”
Sarthen and Anteion both snorted in laughter. Visteon declined to acknowledge the joke. “I suppose, then, you have something more in mind than casual conversation? We’ve been here almost a week with nothing to do but hunt down some small-fry thieves.”
Sarthen glanced at Salis, indicating it was going to be the older man’s request. “I’m going to be perfectly blunt with you, Lord Visteon. With the dissolution of the Dawnstriders, we’re without an effective method of information gathering, of espionage. I want you to bring it back.”
For several long moments, the only sound in the tent was Sarthen’s ever-so-slightly laboured breathing, the ambient noise of a city-worth of refugees and the echoes of Anteion’s cup smashing on the floor.
“Ummm.” Visteon was, or once, lost for words. His thoughts turned, unbidden, to Jinso – was that what he wanted to be? Cold, distant? Uncaring? These were the reasons he’d left the Naga, and Mhaldor – did he want to recreate them here, on this warm island with its pleasant if distant people and its bluer-than-blue skies?
He was spared the trouble of answering when an arrow flew in through the entrance of the tent and buried itself in Sarthen’s kidney. Salis sighed, placed his teacup on the table, and flourished his hand to draw an enormous mace into existence with a brilliant flash. Visteon glanced up at him in anger from where he had thrown himself to the floor – he had no weapons whatsoever, not even being allowed to retain his personal dagger – and scowled deeply when Salis smiled mockingly down at him.
“No need for that, Lord Visteon. Stay here whilst we deal with his, please.” Sarthen rushed out from the tent as Salis spoke, pulling the arrow from his side and casting it away in his haste to meet this unknown foe. Salis followed him in moments, leaving Visteon and Anteion alone in the tent.
Visteon crawled over to the arrow Sarthen had left. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. Ignoring the blood that slicked his hands – Naga training had some transferrable skills, at least – he checked the colour of the shaft and the make of the head.
“Well?” Anteion crept over to him, equally unwilling to stand up and make himself a target.
“Hashani. From Veyn’s bow, if I’m not mistaken.” Visteon hadn’t seen the Seneschal in action in a long while, but the man was nothing if not consistent. And a deadly shot, too. Best stay out of sight.
“On your feet, traitors.” The sharp voice echoed from the rear of the tent.
Comments
***
Veyn stepped over a corpse and started marching onto New Hope. The serious fighters would no doubt be arriving momentarily, and he’d need to pin them down if he could. Akinan followed at his shoulder, fending off fully armoured knights and priests with little more than a few swift kicks and a little Kai energy.
“I’d have expected more resistance at this point, Seneschal.” Akinan spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather.
“Indeed. Perhaps we were not entirely misinformed.” A mysterious letter had arrived on Veyn’s desk this morning, pointing to a flaw in the defences of New Hope today.
“Let us continue, then.” The Seneschal glanced around, and smiled a little. “We cannot pierce the sanctity of the Temple on the hill. Burn the rest.”
Akinan nodded, all professional disconnection. Veyn was pleasantly surprised that he did not object, but then there was only so long one’s patience could stand when you viewed each dawn from a different pike on the shores of New Hope. He smiled as his subordinate spread the mental command to the rest of their citymates.
Hashani. We burn everything, from shore to shore, until the smoke turns day to night. Onwards!
***
Jinso’s patience was like an ocean, vast and unfathomable. He could wait for an eternity, planning and plotting and waiting for the opportune moment.
The end of eternity must be coming close. Perhaps the Ashtani have it right.
He’d been stood at the back of this tent for nearly six hours now. Xie stood next to him, similarly patient. They’d watched as Salis and Sarthen took their usual appointments, listened to discussions of troop movements and supply routes and other nonsense that they cared not for. All waiting for this moment.
Xie’s intake of breath as Anteion entered was almost unnoticeable, even to Jinso. He was sure that no-one else had heard it – if they had, they’d not reacted. Visteon didn’t even scan the shadows the way he had back in Mhaldor, and Jinso felt an unexpected pang of contempt. Already, this traitor was forgetting basic strategy? Unforgiveable.
The mention of the Dawnstriders did not stir Jinso in the slightest – there was no way a rival intelligence organisation could compete with the Naga. If Visteon ended up leading it, then it would only be easier to subvert anyway.
The arrow came right on time – Jinso had worried about Veyn dismissing his letter as misinformation, but apparently the Hashani had swallowed it hook, line and sinker. Perhaps they were desperate, or greedy, or just stupid. Jinso found he didn’t care as Salis and Sarthen fled the tent. He watched in amusement as the two former Naga scrambled over the floor, and listened as they discussed the arrow’s origins.
Well, he hasn’t reverted to complete stupidity yet.
“On your feet, traitors.” He snapped, pulling a dagger from his belt. He felt, rather than saw, Xie copy the motion.
To their credits, both Visteon and Anteion reacted remarkably swiftly. They both leapt to their feet, hands diving towards their belts – which Jinso already knew were empty of weapons. He and Xie moved in, still hidden from view, daggers drawn.
Perhaps it was the years of Naga training the Jinso had subjected him to, or some trick of the light, or some effect of the Temple that covered New Hope. Perhaps it was some latent weakness that Jinso had yet to expunge. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever the cause, Visteon moved at the last second before Jinso could reach him, somehow managing to grab the Nagaraja’s wrist and pull him back into reality without touching the blade Jinso held.
They locked eyes for just a moment before Jinso ripped his hand free and lashed out again. This time, Visteon leapt away from the strike and brushed past Xie as she buried her dagger in Anteion’s chest. Apparently she was rather distracted as she didn’t notice Visteon lift another dagger from her belt – though she noticed when he plunged it into her back. Jinso was on him in a moment, and suddenly sparks were flying as the daggers met and parted and met again.
Visteon was the first to break. He knocked a strike aside and turned on a heel, leaving the tent in one fluid motion. Jinso glanced over his shoulder at Xie, ensuring her target was down – and saw her straddling Anteion’s body, repeatedly stabbing him in the face, neck and chest. She… probably doesn’t want my help. He ran from the tent after Visteon.
***
Salis’ mind was occupied with the fires of battle, he and his angel tearing through the ranks of Hashani soldiers without a pause. Sarthen fought somewhere off to his right, blade never resting. Fountains of blood arced though the sky with such regularity that Salis could count the seconds between them. He marvelled at his companion’s focus – even in the thick of battle, Sarthen retained his command, calling orders with perfect strategic accuracy.
Salis. Watch your flank.
Salis acted on instinct, relying on Sarthen’s combat knowledge to keep him safe. A swing of his mace on his blind side lead to a satisfying crunch and a monk when down screaming as his leg was shattered. Salis stood over him, looking down in judgement, and raised his mace in finality.
A part of his brain flared with Divine power, and he felt the presence of the Endbringer settle in his mind of a fraction of a second.
ANTEION… XIE…
He paused for a fraction of a second – just long enough for the monk before him to spring to his feet, leg mysteriously healed. A kick to the chest sent Salis stumbling back, a sharp crack and sharper pain indicating several broken ribs. Instantly, his breathing became laboured and painful, and his mace almost slipped from his hands. He renewed his grip in time to intercept a pair of punches from the monk, but another kick slipped through his guard and he felt his mace arm shatter into pieces. The monk stepped in close, grabbing at Salis’ collar before the elderly priest could stop him – and suddenly collapsed as Sarthen’s blade carved through him in a single, elegant strike that left rimes of frost over the corpse and trails of mist in the air.
Salis nodded his thanks, too injured to speak. Even as he reached for a restorative salve, he felt Sarthen’s mind reach out to his.
Salis, if Xie is in New Hope-
Then chances are Jinso is too, and probably more Naga besides. We need to get back.
We can’t. Too many Hashani; they’re burning our supplies!
Salis bit back a curse unworthy of a disciple of the Light. His newest converts would have to fend for themselves for a while.
***
Jinso hauled himself over the lip of the Tavern of Hope’s roof, landing in a roll that bought him smoothly to his feet. The roof was warm, too warm to be caused by the sun – but he didn’t care. Visteon stood in front of him, dagger held warily. Jinso circled closer, just as wary as his opponent. Combat between Serpents was unlike a fight between knights, who could hack and slash with impunity for hours. A Serpent fight could be over in seconds if one combatant gained even the slightest advantage.
“You’re wasting your time, Jinso.” Visteon called. He had to raise his voice over the sounds of battle and the roaring of fire. A few wisps of smoke curled up past his circling feet as he spoke.
“No act of Vengeance is a waste. You should remember that, at least!” Jinso retorted. He let his voice slip a little, as if to indicate he was more emotional than he actually felt. Curiously, he felt almost numb – but that wouldn’t set Visteon at his ease, make him complacent.
“These Truths you hold onto- Jinso, they’re lies! Nothing more!” Visteon yelled, moving towards the middle of the roof, and then backing away towards the far edge. Jinso followed.
“Enough words, traitor. I’ll pike your head on the top of the Spire!” Jinso finally reached his striking range and leapt forwards, dagger extended. Visteon, anticipating his as Jinso knew he would, ducked down and stabbed up, aiming for Jinso’s unarmoured throat. A push off from his front foot sent Jinso moving away from Visteon’s blade, if only just, and let his own attack sink into his opponent’s shoulder joint. Visteon immediately dropped his weapon in pain and lurched backwards. His sudden movement wrenched the dagger from Jinso’s hand, leaving them both weaponless.
Visteon, somehow managing to throw off the effects of Jinso’s envenomed dagger, lunged for his neck with pointed fangs extended. Jinso, expecting the move, grabbed his opponent’s hands and fell backwards onto the increasingly hot roof, secreting more venom as he did. For a few long moments they fought, hand to hand in the dirty, underhanded way of Serpents. A long, ominous rumble sounded a second before Visteon managed to land a solid blow on Jinso’s chest that sent the elder Naga sprawling backwards. Before Visteon could capitalise or lunge for his fallen dagger, there was an almighty bang and the centre of the roof vanished, taking Jinso with it in an almighty fireball.
Visteon, hands thrown up to protect his face, staggered away from the conflagration. He turned his back, leaning over the side of the building to seek a way down – when he felt a foot on his back.
“You’ve forgotten so much, so quickly.” Jinso stabbed his dagger down into Visteon’s back, aiming for a nonlethal blow. The curare venom took hold almost instantly, locking Visteon in a rigid position. Jinso shoved him with one foot, sending him tumbling into a back alley, out of sight of the main battle, and dropped silently down beside him.
“You worked for me for decades, Visteon. I almost though of you as…”
“A friend?” The words were strangled, but recognisable.
Jinso shrugged. “As close to the concept as one can get in the Naga, I suppose. You were always the one I could rely on.” He knelt down besides his victim’s paralytic body. “And now, you’ve thrown it all away.”
Before Visteon could reply, Jinso stabbed him in the throat. Again, the strike was not lethal – though in this case, it was a matter of time, not damage. Jinso looked his erstwhile subordinate in the eyes once more before biting him in the neck, injecting a very exact amount of voyria. Visteon’s eyes widened as Jinso walked away, but the spymaster never heard him scream.
Perhaps there’s hope for him yet.
He took another pace.
Visteon… Jinso…
Maybe not.
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Also, I like the little snippets of conversation at the beginning, especially the vivisection instructions.
EDIT: But it can't be the last one, we never found out what was in that box
The soul of Ashmond says, "Always with the sniping."
(Clan): Ictinus says, "Stop it Jiraishin, you're making me like you."
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The soul of Ashmond says, "Always with the sniping."
(Clan): Ictinus says, "Stop it Jiraishin, you're making me like you."
The soul of Ashmond says, "Always with the sniping."
(Clan): Ictinus says, "Stop it Jiraishin, you're making me like you."
Stories by Jurixe and Stories by Jurixe 2
Interested in joining a Discord about Achaean RP? Want to comment on RP topics or have RP questions? Check the Achaean RP Resource out here: https://discord.gg/Vbb9Zfs
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This Veyn guy seems pretty dumb for getting tricked by Jinso so easy, but he's a crack shot!
The soul of Ashmond says, "Always with the sniping."
(Clan): Ictinus says, "Stop it Jiraishin, you're making me like you."
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Omnomnom.
But seriously, awesome story.
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Oh wait there it is, laughed out loud.