In the Dragon's Maw

Dardan Behe had been a corsair, once. He had sailed the great Bay, plundering the wealth of countless nations and selling the crews of captured ships as slaves in the Seven Cities. He had been a terror then, his name known to strike fear in the hearts of many. Including those in Izhen. How many of his compatriots would now believe that Izhen had made him an admiral following his retirement from piracy? Only those he had sold out to get here, he imagined. It had been a good plan for retirement. The Empresses treated him well, and he was paid generously. It was a good ethos Izhen had, to turn its enemies into allies.

He cut an imposing figure, out on the deck. Though he wasn’t much taller than a normal man, his frame was wide and dense. Where there weren’t deep, pitted scars on his coppery flesh, there were tattoos. All sorts, some intricate and some plain. His face was obscured by a thick, wiry black beard with a curling moustache that was starting to show patches of grey, and his hazel eyes were sunken deep in his head. He gathered his long black hair up in a turban that he pinned with an emerald brooch taken from the belt of a king he had killed long ago. He wore a long, silken coat that he kept open so that his bare, hairy chest was exposed, and he wore loose cotton pants. He wore nothing on his feet.

He smirked as he saw the white flag raise over his quarry. “Smart, smart,” he mused to himself in his bass. “Alright, prepare to board them.” He waved for the men to get to work.

Rapidly, the great ships of Dardan’s fleet moved to surround the interloper, their men watching the foreigners with malicious interest. Then, Dardan’s ship pulled up next to the surrendered vessel, dropping the gangplanks.

Without hesitation, Dardan crossed onto the ship.

“Alright, who am I supposed to talk to here?” he said. “Don’t have all day now.”

Someone chattered to him in some language he didn’t understand, and he responded by freeing his talwar and separating the man’s head from his shoulders. “Don’t speak to me in gibberish, don’t like it, don’t like it one bit.”

Dardan nodded along. “Right, right,” he said, switching to thickly accented High Trevastine. Then, he took the bottom of Aznar’s doublet, and wiped his blade off on the fabric. “I see, I really do. Unfortunately, my services are no longer for sale, but I can definitely take you to meet the Empresses.”

Gently, he patted Aznar on the cheek. “Got lots of jewelry on you,” he said. “So I’m inclined to believe your story, for what it’s worth, but it’s not really up to me whether you ring true or not.”

He grinned. “So, here’s the deal. You come back to port with me and my boys, then I take you on up to Tuman Tabar and you can squawk about your noble nonsense with the big ladies in charge. Er, lady, her sister is out on business.” He grinned at the nobleman, revealing that many of his teeth had been replaced with gold replicas. “So, what do you say, Edgar? Work for you?”

Dardan raised an eyebrow at the man. At the very least, the ponce seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. How many men had he killed because they thought that whatever station they held mattered at sea? Probably not enough. He’d feel much better if he managed to get all of the bastards. Still, this one showed sense. That was something to be admired in a man these days.

“I’ll accept a boon,” he said. His eyes searched the deck of the ship, looking for anything he might want. Then his eyes settled on a woman with pale skin and deep brown hair, quaking lips like roses. She was young, too. A feral grin crossed Dardan’s face, and he extended his arm, pointing at her.

“I’ll take that one,” he said. “Old wife’s dead and I need a new one.”

The woman looked at him incredulously, then looked at the other nobles, waiting for the inevitable rebuke of the upstart seadog that was surely to come. She huffed and folded her arms, glaring at the admiral, which seemed to only make Dardan grin wider.

Dardan blinked slowly as the woman was just handed over. Whoever this pompous arse was, he didn't seem to care much about his crew. He would have at least respected the man if he had the balls to look pained about it. 

His eyes followed the woman's, looking at the man he assumed to be her beau. He gave the man a wink as he wrapped an arm around the woman given so willingly to him and looked down at her. He smiled down at her, showing off his many gold teeth, but there was no smile in his eyes.

"Well, miss," he said, leering at her. "It seems your captain has given you up. You might as well make your introduction to me and be polite, eh?"

He looked back at Aznar. "Give us a bit and we can head off, right right?"

Dardan twirled the woman, and then brushed back her hair, pulling her against him. He leaned down, whispering in her ear.

"I have no designs on you, miss. Just wanted to see how much of a scoundrel your captain was, I did. You'll be back in your boo's arms in a little while."

He then released her from his embrace, though he still held onto her arm. The truth was that in his advancing age and following certain injuries, such pleasures of the flesh no longer really interested Dardan. He was more focused on his food and drink, these days. He grinned at Aznar.

"You are quite agreeable, Rasnart," he said sunnily. "She will make a lovely bride indeed."

He straightened up, looking behind him. He then walked over the gangplank, moving back onto his ship with Katy on toe. Based on the look the Orieux fellow gave him, he imagined the man might run his ostensible lord through. That would be amusing. He wondered if the man would believe him when he said nothing had happened to Katy while she was in his care.

The sail back to the mainland was a peaceable one. The weather was calm, the sun bright. Yet the distinct aura of threat never quite dissipated, the reminder that at any moment, the Grand Serpents could be beset upon by their guides and slaughtered wholesale. Yet the slaughter never came. The boats pulled into the port of Hegra, a place made of adobe and sandstone, where the majority of the force would be required to stay. However, the journey was not done for the leadership.

They were lead from the port north, up the River Tayd, towards their destination. The first part of the journey was taken upon Dardan Behe’s personal barge, sailing up the river. The leadership were provided any comfort they requested. The lands seen from the river were lush – incredibly so. The most fertile regions of Alendron were as deserts compared even to the least fertile regions seen here at the great delta. Lush greenery dotted the side as men and women walked the roads beside the river, dressed in colourful garb that was flowing and meant to accommodate the warm weather of region. Indeed, even though it was only spring the temperature had risen to what would have been the height of summer in Rjillund.

Then, they departed the barge in a small fishing town called Zhdal. It was little more than a few shacks and a boarding house, not comparing remotely to what had been seen before. Then, after a night’s rest, they began their journey onto the Imperial Highway. They rode upon the backs of thoroughbred horses, not dissimilar to the kind rode in war. The trip brought more interesting sights: Men riding upon the backs of great grey-skinned beasts with long noses that Dardan called elephants, and men carrying their goods upon the backs of camels. Merchants sold their goods from the side of highways, peddling gems and spices and incense.

Then, they came upon it. Tuman Tabar. The greatest of Trevastine cities were but shanty towns before it. None of the glories of the northern lands could be remotely compared to what was seen here. It rose up from a low hill, surrounded by a series of four concentric walls. Great limestone spires rose up from the walls, painted in the symbolism of the Miruvid rulers. Within were great sandstone buildings painted in glorious frescoes and topped with gold, electrum and silver roofing, great statues staring out at all visitors. It stretched out a great distance, and could have held a million people, maybe more. If there were to be a capital of all the world, Tuman Tabar was the clear choice. Nothing else built by mortal man would ever compare.

After a brief chat with the guards at the gates, they were lead down the Imperial Road towards the palace. As amazing as the rest of the city was, the palace was a wonder under itself. It was built in the style of a great ziggurat, atop which was situated the Snake and Sun of the Merov dynasty, cast in rose gold. People watched from the sidelines as they cantered forward on horseback, lead to the great building. Songs emanated from the palace, great exultations of their Empresses in the tongue of the Trevastine-Izhen.

They were stopped at the bottom of the steps, dismounted and then lead up. They were guided into the interior. The smell of soporific incense wafted through the air, the smoke leaving it hazy. Servants inclined their heads to them, dressed in gilded silks. Then, they were lead to the imperial chamber. It was a great hall, so vast that if one were to walk to the other side, they would not be able to clearly hear what was shouted on the other. At the very middle sat a great pair of thrones, one of which was unoccupied. On the other was the form of a woman, herself wearing silks, staring at the newcomers. She was dressed modestly, but the men and women at her feet were not. It was clear that she was smiling as the newcomers were brought forward.

“Hello,” Empress Mirun send, staring down at them. “and welcome to the Empire of Izhen.”

For a brief moment, the Empress of Izhen stared down upon her latest petitioners, saying nothing. She lazily rested her head on one hand, her knees brought up to her belly in a thoroughly comfortable, relaxed position. Idly, she curled a lock of her luscious black hair around her finger, intertwining it with a spiralling gold ring. Then, a slow cat-like smile crossed her face, and she spoke.

“Aznar de Seguin,” she said, rolling the name off of her tongue as she used the High Trevastine tongue. Her voice echoed, the acoustics within the throne room clearly designed to give her an almost godlike quality when she spoke. “You speak of the lands of Arno de Merov… Rutilia. You ask us to take action against our wayward cousin.”

She turned in the throne, moving so that she was laying down across the armrests. She stretched, craning her neck back and pushing her chest upward, delighted to hear the ripple of pops that sounded from her back before she looked back at Aznar with an almost sleepy expression. Her eyes briefly flickered over the entirety of the procession, and then they moved to Dardan, who smiled politely at her, inclining his head. Her gaze then returned to the Grand Duc of Navir, and she tapped her chin.

“You have an interesting proposition, you know. Long ago, the Merovs of Routaille abandoned our ancestors, their kinsmen, to these lands. Though we have done quite well for ourselves, as you can see… such a betrayal hurt. And now you tell me that he is a puppet of the peasantry. This is distressing to us.”

She then sat up straight, folding her legs. She patted the top of her thighs. “Come, lay your head in my lap and tell me what you would need and we can discuss finer details.”