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A Dreamed-Of Peace

Prologue

Sponsored by FyacinTia

By Draconicon

Emperor Hulro Jadar, the fourth of his name, stood on the southern balcony of the Whitestone Palace, and from there, the zebra observed the parade of soldiers, nobles, and more. The emperor's robes of purple silk and sapphire wraps hung about him, and at either side, his concubines swayed, their hands running along his thighs as he watched his subjects make their way up the wide stairs towards the great gates of the palace. The zebra smiled slightly, his eyes flicking towards the standouts in the crowd, the heads of the Great Families that would, along with him, decide the fate of the country.

Near the front of the congregation rode the red stallion of the Mokri, Robert, and behind him, his wife, Amari. They moved as one, the cheetah guiding her husband with touches upon his elbow, subtle things that looked more like loving taps than anything, save if you knew their secrets. Emperor Hulro chuckled to himself, turning to one of his women - a peacock, a gift from another family - and lifting her to her feet with his fingers below her chin.

"Look at them. Obvious, is it not?"

"To you, oh Emperor, all things are," the peacock said, her transparent silks running down her arms as she stroked his hand, her fingers drifting over his rings. "For are you not the master of the Rings, and all that they offer?"

"It is not the rings, but mere fact. See the way the cheetah holds his hand, see the way that he looks to her before making his move?"

"Could it not be looks of love, oh Emperor?"

"Ah, is it love when you look to another for commands? Is it love when you look at me, before I tell you to swallow my rod? Ha!"

Dismissively, he pushed the peacock away, observing the heads of the Mokri. Oh, but the horse carried himself as if he were the head of his Great Family, but any that dealt with the Mokri knew that it was nothing but a smokescreen, a thinly-veiled deceit to allow their women to wield power. Few regions of his Empire would allow such things, but with their names not-quite involved, the Mokri women were able to deal as they would.

And deal they did, showing off the proceeds as they ascended the steps to his palace. Silk nearly as rich as his own, with designs that outclassed what he had upon his person glittered upon their frames. The zebra Emperor shook his head, and the ring of gold upon his right pointer finger shimmered ever so slightly.

Four hundred gold pieces, and another seventy silver. That was what was spent upon the dress that Amari Mokri wore, and double that had been spent on her husband's jacket and tunic. He stood tall and proud in their colors of gold and black, and showed no sign of being a bought man.

The glow upon the ring faded, and the Emperor smiled. One family, at least, was bringing their best goods, if not their best people. The daughters and heirs of the Mokri, cheetahs by the name of Marietta and Branna, followed their parents beneath and through the gate. They would critique everything, and he would return their disdain and mockery. The Ring of Wealth had already told him the value of their clothes; should they try and tear him down, he would tell them their value as people.

Then he turned, looking upon the next arrival. Pushing through the crowd was gray-maned Kesir, Commander-General of the Strok family. The aging lion rode upon a beastly thing of the swamps, gray-green in color with scales that ran from its head to its tail. No other in the capitol could have ridden it, but he imagined that such beasts were used out on the Great Marches quite often. He had seen it brought to the capitol before, once as a show of force, and several as a trick to display before him and his court. Each time, the minor nobles ate it up, and he allowed himself to be pleased.

At the Commander-General's left side - his bad one, of course, though the gray-maned lion hid the nature of his crippled arm with a well-padded sleeve - was Gara, the second general of the family, and trailing just behind, each on beasts of their own, were the heirs of the family, Rothil and Rotha, twin lions that he had heard ever so much about.

"Stand, my pet, stand," Emperor Hulro said, guiding a bear to his feet, gesturing to the crowd and forcing the great, bulky beast to stare down at the lions approaching. "Do you see them? Ah, but the Great Chain of the South seems to be splintering, does it not? The heirs may not hold what their father has made for them."

"Hmmph. The Strok have never fallen."

"Ah, but would it be right to call it a fall? Or would it be better to call it a broken line?" The Emperor laughed, almost madly, but shook his head. "Yet, they may still change their minds. Just as you have changed, sweet one."

"I changed for you, oh Emperor."

"Yes, and grew...grew bountiful..."

The zebra turned to her, hefting her breasts in his hand before letting them fall.

"But no, let me watch. Let me see my guests as they arrive..."

The bear woman stepped away, grumbling under her breath, but the Emperor had already forgotten her. The urge to use another of the Rings and leap from his balcony, to run through the crowd and see them now, to greet his guests in person rather than wait was almost overpowering. He was Emperor, and by rights, he could have leaped from the balcony with the Ring of Swiftness, undressed or not.

Yet, even as he twisted the ring of white marble upon his left hand, he resisted the urge. Such a thing would be disgraceful, at best, and utterly mad at worst. He had restrained himself this long, summoning his vassals from the four corners of his realm, and he would wait that little bit longer.

Again, again, he shifted his attention, looking upon the next to come. From the far West, from the coastlines and the forest, came the Haafal, and their leaders rode upon bucks from their lands. Long-legged maned wolves, they were, red in fur from their faces and down their spines, with slender black-furred arms and legs. They were spindly compared to the lions of the Strok family, but such slender frames did not deter the people.

Indeed, the people stepped forward, calling out to Lord Barakat and Lady Dema, thanking them for their shipments of food from the west, calling out their thanks for the schools that had been opened, academies across the West funded by Haafal money.

They were loved, and they loved in return. In many ways, he saw, as Lord Barakat reached down and goosed a woman walking by, and Lady Dema pinched a young man's bottom. They were shameless, and they did not care.

"Such arrogance, to do that upon my steps...and such brilliance, to be so unafraid," he said with a happy laugh.

"They act as if they were you, oh Emperor," a pair of dolphin twins said as they approached, speaking as one. "They take such liberties with your people. Should they not be punished?"

"If the people consent, they do no harm!"

He turned, pulling the smooth-skinned females closer, his hands wrapping around their hips, his fingers plunging into their depths. They moaned for him, their beaks parting, their mouths opening.

"After all, see them? See them as they come to me. They touch, they squeeze, they hunt their next quarry, but look at their eyes. They have no killing intent. They see none as a prize by right. They are not like my closest cousins..."

And such were the ones that came next, and his attention became fixed on them, his eyes narrowing at the dragon with scales of burnt gold riding forward.

Radid. The Great Family of the Radid, so close to his in their bloodline, so close to him in power. 'Great' Dashid rode at the head of their column, the eastern dragon looking as if he had ridden out of the Northern Lakes - Lakes, when there was but one! - in a robe of white and red, the colors of the Radid family. Yet, the Emperor would imagine that he had been carried in a covered litter, hidden from the world. Dashid, Dashid, his cousin Dashid had seldom been seen in the open lands, hidden away under this pretense or that. Perhaps he was ill, or perhaps he had duties to fulfill, or, oh, he might have been in a trance, seeing the future for the good of the land.

Oh, how the Radid claimed to see the future, but were they ever willing to do it without cost? Cousins, indeed, trying to charge him out of the Imperial nose for what they were able to see...

Even on the streets, Lord Dashid and his family - Shiasu the general, Tabid the accountant, Wistu the spymaster - were given greater space than any other family. Even the fearsome beasts of the Strok did not drive the people further back than the Radid reputation, and it was well-earned. No other Great Family had claimed their lands by drowning it out first.

He looked upon the parade once more, having no words for the diviners and fortune tellers of the Empire. Instead, he looked for signs of a representative of the Al-Khan Principality, curious of the great warriors of the swamp lands would have sent someone, or perhaps someone from the tribes far to the north, in the Land of Ashire.

Neither appeared, and he knew that the parade, such as he was interested in, was done. He turned from the balcony, holding his arms out, and his many concubines took his robe from him. The zebra walked on bare feet towards the far end of the room, his shaft swaying lazily from side to side as it slowly slunk towards his sheath.

"My robes of state! Bring them, shine them, polish them. Will you force me to meet my subjects in such a state?"

"Great Emperor, to be seen without them would bring glory to your subjects; they would know the pleasures that you visit upon us daily," one among his many wives said.

"They are not worthy of that knowledge. Bring me the robes of state. I have my Rings! Bring forth the robes, or better, leave, and I will fetch them myself!"

The many females left the room, leaving the Emperor alone in the chamber of red and purple. Silver beads hung from great silken sheets, each one carving out another illusion of a chamber throughout the great hall. The Emperor stood among them, huffing to himself, rolling his head back.

It was always this way. They would find ways to ignore him, wishing to keep him to themselves. It was nearly time for them to be pushed out, for new women to be brought in. None had borne him a child in all these years, save for two, and they were long-gone.

What were their names again? he wondered, thumbing the Ring of Swiftness, the ring of white marble upon his fingers. They had...they had names...and then they were gone, but their names. What were their names?

They did not come to him, and the zebra left out a soft, gentle whinny. He should know them, but he had lost it using the ring. Before he had mastered it, he had lost many things. Memories, pieces of himself. Oh, but to find them again. Perhaps, perhaps, then he would have patience again.

Shaking his head, he pulled his fingers away from his ring once again, pushing the thought away. He would remember, this time. He would remember to address his ministers, to remind them to look for the children. Or...were they children? Would they, perhaps, be adults by this point, adult and grown, ready to take their positions in his Empire?

Questions, too many questions, he thought, pressing his hand to the side of his head. No. For now, I must...we must rule.

There were standing cabinets aplenty through the quarters of the wives, and in one he found one of his many robes of state. Lush purple silk with a silver belt, complete with a necklace of jade and sandals of the finest leather, burned with the sigils of state and his line. The Jadar symbols of the stripes and the rushing wind were clear upon the bands, and he took a soft breath, allowing himself and moment of calm contemplation as he slid them on.

"I am...the Emperor. And my will...is law."

He could bring his will to bear again. He had done it before, when he had ascended the throne almost two decades ago. Now, in his forty-second year, he was a man of power, but not a man of focus. And for this...for this, he must focus.

The zebra looked at his hands again, turning them palm-side up. The Rings of State glistened upon his fingers, but there were only five of them. Five, where once there had been seven.

One, taken by a concubine who wasn't...one, sold away for a debt, too long ago, he thought, curling his fingers tightly. But I still have five. Five rings, to hold a throne. Five rings, which needs no less than four...

The Rings of Gold, Purity, and Might rested upon his right hand, the Rings of Swiftness and Steadfastness on the left. Merely to look upon them invited him to use them, reminded him of their power, of what they could do for him.

But he had no use for them now. Not here. Not yet.

The zebra clenched his hands together tightly, palms hidden within fists, only to release it with a gasp. Time. Time was running away from him, and he needed to catch up.

To the great hall. To my subjects.

Once, the Ring of Swiftness had been a danger, but no longer. He had mastered it six years ago, and now, it served him. The Emperor glanced at the ring of white marble, and whispered its word. Swiftness of foot, swiftness of mind, swiftness, the very concept of speed. He took a step, and he was off, running down the halls faster of foot than the fleetest stallion, darting forward with the abruptness of the greatest wind.

The servants darted to his left and right, dodging out of his way, leaving the Emperor grinning despite himself. Perhaps he was pushing things too far, but he was Emperor. Perhaps he was even a trifle mad from all that the Ring of Swiftness had cost him earlier in life. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

It mattered not. If today went well, little would matter again.

He found the cluster of servants outside of their chosen meeting place. Doubtlessly, the servants of the Great Families - those of Mokri, Strok, Haafal, and Radid - were gathered there to serve their masters, but they were not needed. The palace staff would attend.

The zebra looked about them, seeing if there was a way past them to the fourth Grand Stateroom of the palace, but there was not. The Emperor shook his head.

"Your Majesty."

And then he turned. Behind him stood General Vadru, a buffalo of near-mythic proportions. He wore upon his shoulders the Smoke-Metal of the Al-Khan Principality, the same armor that the rest of the Emperor's bodyguard wore. It clicked softly as the general bowed before him, standing up again with the aid of his great spear at his side.

"General. Remove these servants."

"To where, oh Emperor?"

"To wherever they might fit!"

The Emperor swept his hands out, gesturing again at the foreign servants. The buffalo nodded, and with a whistle, armored guards descended as if they had clung to the walls themselves. Horses, bulls, and other buffalo, all great and tall men in their own right, lunged for the servants of smaller species. They were grasped and pulled away, even those of his Radid cousins. Those, of course, were the most indignant, yet the most silent. Their eyes were narrowed, but their heads held back, aloof.

He ignored them, just as he ignored the amiable smiles of the Haafal men, the calculating stares of the Mokri attendants, the stubborn shouts of the Strok soldiers in attendance. They were cleared from his way by the Imperial Guard, and General Vadru knelt before him in obeisance.

"Your will is done, oh Emperor."

"Indeed. A fine weapon you are, as ever."

"Who shall stand with you today, oh Emperor?"

"None."

"...None?"

There was no 'oh Emperor' at the end of that sentence, was there? No, there was not, and the Emperor Hulro Jadar, fourth of his name, turned to face the general once more. The buffalo's eyes were still resting on the floor, which was to the good, but he had questioned the Emperor. That was most definitely not.

"You believe you know better?"

"It is tradition, oh Emperor," the buffalo said, shaking his head. "You are to speak before the Families. Do you not wish to remind them of your power?"

"My power resides in my hands, and my blood; whatever you give me is no more than leaf upon a book, dressing upon a window."

"But it is expected, is it not, oh Emperor?"

"Then I shall surprise them. They are due one such."

"Please, oh Emperor. Allow me to assign at least two. As decorations, no more, a mark of your state."

There was a lie in the tone of the general, and even he could hear it. Yet, he knew what it was, and he paid it no heed.

He believes that there is danger...

It was almost laughable. With the Ring of Might upon his finger, he could drain the strength of any before him, becoming a hero of legend if he so chose. The great heroes in the land these days, mighty as they were, stood as nothing before the one that had the Ring of Might. There were those that might slay a hundred in a battle, five hundred, a thousand. With the Ring of Might, the Emperor could slay a hundred in a single swing.

There was nothing to fear. There was nothing that could harm him, least of all those that stood in the room before him.

"I have nothing to fear, and I will not let them think that I bear the slightest fear of them."

"...I feel that it is unwise, oh Emperor."

"Then you will see me as unwise? Ha. Then watch at the door if you must, General. Take the position yourself, if you believe it so deadly."

"I shall."

He had expected Vadru to argue out of pride, but almost immediately the zebra knew that he should have known better. The head of his guard was always one to lead by example, and he had offered the man a loophole.

It was a moment to remember.

"Fine. But you will stay at the door. I will handle any threats; I have always been able to do that much."

"Yes, oh Emperor."

It was hard to believe that a single phrase could sound so very self-satisfied.

The zebra pushed his way forward, entering the room. Wood-paneled walls surrounded a single oval table, upon which was a map of the entire continent in miniature. Carvings of mountains and forests, the dips of seas, lakes, and rivers, the rising spires of towns and cities were present and accounted for, the masterpiece one that was renewed yearly as new towns were built or forests consumed.

Each delegation stood at the corner of the table that closest matched their lands in the four corners of his Empire. The Mokri stood at the northwest end, between the Radid and the Haafal, while the Strok stood at the southeast of the map, close to the door he'd passed through. To the north, the Radid, and to the west, the Haafal, with a large gap towards the northeast and southwest, for none had come from those lands.

The Emperor strode forward, glancing down at the table as he did. The missing delegates of the Al-Khan Principality had been expected. They seldom came when they were called, save for the purpose of war. Their clans, or Cors, as they called them, were a fragmented people at the best of times, and few - certainly not he - understood how their nation functioned with so many voices shouting into a vacuum.

As for the people of the Land of Ashire, it had been a fool's hope that they would send anyone. His messengers were likely coming back empty-handed, with nothing to show for their trip to the northeast. The border tribes might have come, but the tribes of their heartland would never come to the south. They were suspicious of his Empire, and perhaps with good reason. His great-grandfather had attempted to subdue them, and it had been the greatest defeat that his family line had ever suffered.

Only one land abutting the borders of his Empire was not accounted for, and that was the land whited out and shaded gray on the table. The Zebra leaned forward, resting his hands on either side of it.

The Land of Whispers, it was called. It had been known as such for as long as anyone could remember, and few knew why. Some said that it was because the last and only thing one would hear from the inhabitants of that strange land was the whisper of your death before it came. Others said that it was a land of inhuman creatures, where only a whisper of life could exist. Those legends and more were borne from the ancient fears and long-sealed borders of that land.

Only the Stroks had ever pierced the barrier at the edge of the Great Marches to the southeast, and they had never reported what they'd seen. He turned, looking the gray-maned lion in the eye.

"Lord Kesir."

"Sir," the lion said, somehow finding a way to stand straighter than he already did. His right arm went to his chest in salute, while his crippled left arm continued to hug a helmet to his side.

"Did you have a pleasant trip?" the zebra asked with a slight smile.

"...There is never a pleasant trip through the Marches."

"Oh? And did you happen to lock the door before you left?"

"Sergeant-Major Wettar has been left in charge of the defense. The chain holds."

"Oh, you have faith in him, do you? Faith that nothing will get through?"

"You obviously don't. Why?"

"Is that how you talk to your Emperor?"

"I talk how I like to people that look down on my family."

Emperor Hulro clenched his fist, then let it go again. He smiled, smiled, letting the anger fade.

"Yes, yes, you have always been angry. Always a fighter. Always - always so focused on them..."

He jammed his thumb into the emptiness of the Land of Whispers, wondering if they knew what he didn't. Did they know where his children were? Had their assassins already been dispatched? Were they coming, rushing, darting through the whispers of the wind and the empty echoes of the mountains and the inland seas?

"And you are right."

"...Sir?" Lord Kesir asked.

"He's always been right. Your family...has always been right."

The zebra slowly stood up, looking the rest of the nobles in the eye. He stared into the soft brown eyes of Lord Baraket until the maned wolf could no longer meet him. He glared into the white-bronze eyes of 'Great' Dashid, and the eastern dragon lazily looked away. He turned, staring down Amari Mokri, and the matriarch slowly looked down with a sigh.

"He has always been right," the Emperor repeated.

"Perhaps, oh Emperor, it would be time to tell us what you've summoned us for," the maned wolf said, smiling slightly. "After all, you are being quite enigmatic, and that's usually Dashid's job."

"Hmmph," the eastern dragon muttered, crossing his arms and seeming almost to coil about himself.

"Yes...I should. I should."

The Emperor nodded, leaning back from the table. He reached into his robes, knowing that he had stored something in the pockets. Something - yes, that something. One of four different somethings, one in each robe, so he would have it regardless of which the servants brought. If they brought it. He pulled it free, and then stabbed the dagger into the table.

It was a most elaborate thing, made of the same Smoke-Metal that the Imperial Guard wore. The blade itself was dark, rather than bright and gleaming as many daggers would have been when cleaned. It seemed to shift to the eye, flickering, losing its form when one stared at it for too long despite being buried in the table. The guard was almost nonexistent, the blade rising from the grip as if it was one long needle, and the grip itself was marked with spikes, as if it was meant to stab the hand that held it.

Indeed, the Emperor cupped his wrist, pinching it as blood flowed from his hand. The same blood oozed from the tip of the blade, running out over the table.

"The Land of Whispers...is no longer contained."

The silence that spread across the table told him much. Who knew, and who did not. Silence was not merely the lack of something, but different forms of suppression. Little conversations with disgraced scholars from a far-off academy had told him that.

The married Haafal? No, their silence was of shock, of sympathy for the pain. They had no words for their words had been shoved to the side by new ones.

The Mokri? No, theirs was the silence of opportunity and consideration. Perhaps of protection, perhaps of what could be made of this, but certainly of opportunity.

The Strok? No. Theirs was the silence of fury, and Kesir looked as if he might explode, either at the Emperor or at his own family for not telling him of this.

It was the Radid's silence that was different in the wrong way. Dashid looked at him, not in surprise, but in boredom. His silence was that of annoyance, of being summoned so far for something that he already knew.

But the others did not.

"This dagger...was found buried in the chest of one of my guards. Dead. Quite dead. Along with three others around him. The body of the assassin was found not far away, bearing four more daggers of this sort."

"How do you know it was them?" Amari asked, the cheetah's tail flicking. "No assassin from the Land of Whispers has been seen in the Empire for generations."

"He was dead, yet still whispered." The Emperor shook his head. "The whispers came even without a breath, without a heartbeat. If he wasn't from there, then I do not want to imagine where he came from."

There was a stiffening, a look of shock from one of the lions. The daughter, Rotha. She knew, she understood. It was confirmation that he'd been lacking.

"If one could get out, more could. And the whispers...they had the voices of my guards among them."

Everyone but the Strok and the Radid swallowed hard, at that. For all that the Land of Whispers was a mystery, everyone feared it. Until Commander-General Kesir's ancestor had fought to the border of the Great Marches and the Land of Whispers, their monstrous assassins and strange apparitions had spread across the Empire. Wherever they went, countless deaths followed, disrupting both Imperial actions and the rule of law everywhere that they touched. The Strok family had given them two hundred years of peace.

Now, that peace was shattering with just one man through the border. One assassin that had killed three guards, and who knew how many others.

"I called you here...so we can finish this. My Empire will not...will not be threatened by this. We cannot allow this to pass. We -"

"And if we bring about a worse future? What then?"

All eyes turned from the Emperor to Dashid, the head of the Radid crossing his arms over his chest. His head was down, his eyes up, looking across the table, and Emperor Hulro snorted softly.

"You knew this was coming. There are no surprises to you."

"Not at this table...not yet."

"Yet?"

"...The powers of the Land of Whispers mean that the world is...cloudy, when they are involved," the eastern dragon admitted. "But I knew that you would mention this...and I came, not to hear the news, but to make one thing clear."

"And what is that, cousin?" the Emperor asked, chuffing on the last word.

"What has been seen. By all of us."

Even the Emperor hesitated at that. To hear that the Radid had seen something was always worth questioning, particularly considering some of the choices that the Great Family had made in the past. However, they also had contacts among the Librarians of the Mind, as well as the great mystics of the Northern Lakes, both of which were skilled diviners. If all three agreed on something...

"And?" Amari Mokri asked, the cheetah gesturing, her façade of hiding behind her husband forgotten. "What was seen?"

"War."

"With who?" Dema, wife of Baraket, asked. "Who will we fight?"

"Everyone. Everyone in this room..." The eastern dragon paused, then slowly extended a claw. "Except...him."

Dashid pointed right at him, and Emperor Hulro's eyes went wide. His Empire had been at peace, save for the border skirmishes with the Land of Whispers, ever since he had taken the throne. That peace had been in place for nearly a hundred years, with only minor fights with bandits to break it up. And if they declared for his cause, to deal with the Land of Whispers permanently...

"We'd sooner fight the Emperor than the rest of you," Robert Mokri said, the stallion spreading his hands. "But why would we break? This is the Jadar Empire. Our families came together to build it. Why in the world would we fight each other?"

"I cannot say," Dashid said.

"Cannot, or will not?" Kesir asked, the lion's hand slowly falling to his sword. "Your kind have always held back. Your family nearly ended mine before it could begin."

"Or it gave yours the chance to become," Dashid said dismissively. "It matters not. This was all the divination I had time to find before we departed. More may come, in time. What I can tell you is this; to unite against the Land of Whispers will draw them out. A whisper of a whisper will take root among each of our families. Our own voices will disappear, drowned out, until the furor of a perpetual scream will be all that is left.

"This, I foresee."

The Emperor shook his head slowly, yet he still took that moment to study the other families. The Radid's predictions had seldom been so direct; there was a possibility that it could be wrong. If they could just stop this, preserve the peace -

Yet, he could see he was already losing them. The Strok still stood with him, he could see in the angry glare that Kesir held for Dashid, but in the rest, there was doubt. Not yet a rejection, but doubt. They would not come to an agreement in this meeting.

But perhaps, perhaps, he still had time. Perhaps -

"Sire! Behind - ulk!"

Vadru. The Emperor turned, the Ring of Swiftness endowing him with speed well beyond that of a mortal man, the Ring of Might bringing him the strength of a hundred soldiers. The world slowed as he spun in place.

Blood rose from the buffalo's shoulder, the general's polearm falling to the floor in slow motion. The red droplets were still rising, drifting, drawn through the air in a line of purest crimson, leading to the shadowy tip of another dagger. The zebra Emperor lunged for the dagger in the table, but even moving so fast, with the strength of a hundred men, he could not beat the trained assassin.

Smoke-Metal pierced his chest, down to his heart, and he slumped over the table, pinned in place. The Great Families were already moving, darting in to kill the assassin, but it was too late. The assassin, masked, faceless to him, leaned in.

The last thing the Emperor heard was his own voice whispering back to him.

"You are too late," it wheezed, and Emperor Hulro Jadar, fourth of his name, died heirless and voiceless.

The End