“It’s days like this I almost wish I was mortal,” said Diomed, chuckling to himself and taking the glass the girl had just poured for him. “Not really, of course. Being mortal is a curse, you understand. Of course, you might know more than any other.” The girl looked at him with no expression at all. “But then, listen to me, chattering on like you understand a word I’m saying. Off with you now, silly little thing. But stay near. I may wish your company later.” The girl hurried off.

Diomed tittered again and took another look out on the view from his terrace. He had not been serious about wishing to be mortal, but days like this were made for mortals to enjoy. Like his brothers and sisters, he was neither bothered nor pleasured by the warmth of the sun. It seemed to shine on Il Scavo far more than any other mortal territory. Gluf probably designed it that way. He waved a hand and his chariot moved forward onto the terrace. Another handwave and it raised itself so that he could look down at the Pits. He was looking so forward to this afternoon. He had bet Gohr five slave girls on a match.

“Deciding how best to fix the match?” said a voice from his room.

He turned and frowned at the newcomer. “You know, Kaone,” he said. “You really should watch how often you decide to enter the locked bedchambers of your brethren. Rumors get started that way.”

“And if I cared what anyone else thought about me,” said Kaone. “I would have met Shulric’s fate. As it is, my silly grand-nephew, I would be more concerned about your own reputation. Dear ancients, how is that thing still holding you up?” He indicated the chariot.

“Gohr is a marvel,” said Diomed. “He designed this with my body in mind. I could grow to the size of Mount Califros itself and yet this thing would grow with me. Practically a part of me now.”

“You almost sound proud,” said Kaone. “Did I ever tell you that when we lived in Caladhym, it was impossible for a god to be anything less than the ideal physical specimen?”

“Must have been a very boring time, then,” laughed Diomed, taking another grape.

“You don’t even recall,” said Kaone. “You were little more than a child, then. And now…now I’m not even sure what you are.”

“Rich,” said Diomed. “Well-fed, and happy. And you, Kaone, why are you never happy? You seem only to moan about the old days in Caladhym, as if life here is so much worse.”

“We are gods who live on the mortal plain,” said Kaone. “You know as well as I that we don’t belong here.”

“Well, we’re practically back in Califros, as tall as this mountain is,” said Diomed. “Don’t be so gloomy, Kaone! Have some wine. Have a girl. Or boy, if you prefer. Live a little. Enjoy being a god for once.”

“Believe me, my young friend, not a day passes that I am not thankful to have been born a true immortal. But complacency is a weakness, and one unbecoming of a god.”

“If you’re trying to offend me, seek other avenues,” said Diomed. “Nothing offends me. I have no shame left.”

“And that,” said Kaone. “Is part of the problem.”

#

Kaone left the fat god still slurping wine and enjoying the heat and wandered the palace for a time. He had much to think about. He paused at a mirror and adjusted his suit, changing it from the dark black it had been when he put it on to a heavy purple. He added a thin brimmed bowler to the ensemble, and a red death’s-head mask. He liked this look, even if his kin thought it a trifle ostentatious. He was not in the business of impressing others. Keeping them guessing, however…

Toom and Vasteen turned a corner, talking to each other in whispers. He turned and listened, smiling in a way that made the mask turn into a gruesome rictus. Neither of them had noticed him, yet.

“But more to the point,” said Toom. “His kind still clings to an old, dead god and see us as interlopers. This is not a good sign, Vasteen. Mark my words.”

“Your words are what I hope to use,” said Vasteen. “You and Gruul always seem to know just what to have the Seraphim say in order to ensure a pacified populace. Are you telling me that just because this isn’t a mortal, that you cannot twist this in some manner?”

“They do not listen to Seraphim and you know it!” said Toom. “They are not as easily mollified as the main populace. I cannot stress enough that this will only cause a problem.”

“A problem?” said Kaone. Both stopped when they realized he was standing there. “I love problems. I love watching them turn into opportunities. Tell me, Toom, what is this issue?”

“An elf problem,” said Toom. “Stirrings begin in an elf community below.”

“A Nephil came to me a few hours ago,” said Vasteen. “He told me of an elven community on Crook Haven where a young warrior has been charged to live up to the edicts of Sovari.”

“This again,” said Kaone. “There have been elves in the past who have gotten it into their heads that they ought to try and honor that poor woman. They never get very far.”

“This one is different,” said Toom. “I just talked to Borlock, and he was all smirks. Whenever he gets like that, you know that he knows something we don’t.”

Kaone paused a moment. A thought crossed his mind. “Actually, Toom,” he said. “This is less of a worry than you might think. Yes, the elves serve a dead god. But that doesn’t mean they’re against us. In fact, a passionate disciple of Sovari will believe anything, as long as he believes it is Sovari who tells it to him, am I right?”

Toom frowned. “But what could we tell, a violent, volatile elf?”

“Why, simply to do what comes naturally to him,” said Kaone. “Walk with me.” He started down the opulent corridor at his dancing half-step. Toom and Vasteen followed warily. “Mortals have started, shall we say, speaking out of turn, of late.”

“I’m aware,” said Vasteen. “That’s why I have ordered my Nephilim to be more aggressive.”

“Naturally,” said Kaone. “But it’s happening more often than it usually does. There’s even a movement among humans to destabilize our regime. Sometimes what is needed is to actively encourage the wilder element, in order to disrupt the activities of another.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Toom.

“Well, of course, I am merely a humble servant of our ruler supreme Kaldorion, as are you, so there’s little I could enact. But if I were in a position to say much to Kaldorion, I would tell him that one of the best ways to fight chaos is with greater chaos. You are familiar with this movement, the one that openly calls Seraphim liars in the streets?”

“Yes,” said Toom. “Already we are instructing the Seraphim with a new decree to control rabble-rousing such as that.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Kaone. “I don’t doubt that you can cut off a few fingers of this movement. But to really silence them? That takes more than making it illegal for them to speak. We must use this crisis with the elves.”

“How?” asked Vasteen.

“On one side,” said Kaone. “We have a violent people who have always claimed to live by the edicts of hunting, killing and eating mortals. On the other we have a mortal movement that detests elves and finds them to be disgusting, filthy creatures.”

Vasteen made a tut-tut noise. “I only wish that were true. If it were, it could be used against them. But not only do they not detest elves, they actually have elven members.”

“Do they?” asked Kaone. “Such Blood traitors are not true elves. No, trust me, Vasteen, the Hand of Dawn despises elves. All elves. They may keep a few of them around who parrot their nonsense, but they are, rest assured, elf haters.”

“But they are not.”

“Does that matter? Really?”

A slow smile crossed Toom’s face. “Yes,” he said. “The Hand of Dawn is a movement to remove elvenkind from Róthysia. They may not openly state their hatred, but there can be no doubt that they stand against elves!”

Vasteen had caught on now, as well. “Be that as it may,” she said. “I fail to see how this addresses the elves in Crook Haven.”

“Perhaps we could do something to stir them up,” said Kaone. “Plant a seed, a germination of an idea, in the minds of one or two of them. All we really need do is play up the guilt they feel at not truly living by the edicts they set to all their warriors. Who knows what could happen if they actually were to start…living by them.”

Toom’s smile grew. “It truly would be chaos. They would likely invade the mainland.”

“Yes, forcing mortals to stand against them. And then we turn the screws. Some Tribunes have started to get slightly uppity. Here’s an opportunity to put them in their place. We simply associate them with the hate-filled Hand of Dawn, and say that they speak out against all elves because of their hatred for them. It quashes the Hand of Dawn, it makes anyone who might speak against the murdering elves afraid to do so, and it creates a chaos greater than any these humans could possibly create themselves. And who do mortals turn to when chaos strikes?”

Vasteen laughed. “Us,” she said. “But how do we convince them that the Hand are mere hate-mongers when they have said nothing of elves at all?”

“Come now, Vasteen. Spy-master, you call yourself? How do you convince anyone of anything? Repeat it often enough until it becomes common knowledge. And where better to start than in the education of the young?”

A rapacious look crossed Vasteen’s face. “I’ll speak to Scaal,” she said. “She will have her Praeceptors teaching against the Hand all across Róthysia!”

“And Gruul and I will direct the Seraphim to speak against the group as well,” said Toom. “Gruul will know how to phrase it so that humans will believe.”

“Now, now,” said Kaone. “You’re forgetting. You cannot move on this until you have Kaldorion’s approval. Just remember to remind him that a crisis we create will always cause the mortals to turn to us to solve it.”

“I’m certain he will approve,” said Vasteen. “Come, Toom. Let us speak with Scaal and present our idea to Kaldorion.”

“Indeed,” said Toom. The two of them hurried off.

Kaone chuckled after the two of them. Our idea, she says. Perfect.

Next Chapter: Pyrallan