12. The Price of Power #3
“From the back of a dragon, the world is a simple place, is it not?” Matharius clasped his hands behind his back.
“There is right and wrong, black and white. And you are the arbiter of which is which. But down here, in the mortal world, things are not so plain. Do you have any idea what it costs to feed your dragons? To maintain livestock at that scale? To grow the crops to feed that stock? To build boats for the fisheries? To construct cities large enough to accommodate the glory of your ‘soulkin’? The world is simple when you do not bother yourself with the minutia of its operation.”
Matharius shook his head, looking up towards the statue of Varyn.
“The giver of light and life, creator of the sun, and father of the dragons. It is a pity he is not the giver of coin and grower of wheat. You see, Eltoar, you talk as though you are better than us. You are stronger, in that you will find no argument. But you are not better. You think us callous that we speak of Orinhale in this way? But we do not have another choice. There are new wars in Epheria every moon. The continent is in a state of shift. Do I wish that I could stop the armies of Aerilon from marching upon the city? Yes, of course. But at any cost? Orinhale’s prince chose his path knowing the consequence.
And Aerilon? The kingdom of Aerilon sits atop the largest sapphire mine in the entire southern continent.
They pledge more coin to The Order in a summer than Orinhale does in a century. ”
“And so they can they slaughter whomever they wish?” Eltoar asked.
“No. But their coin has earned them pause and thought, because that is what diplomacy is. Not that you have ever had a care for such things, but your Archon understands.”
Both Matharius and Eltoar looked at Alvira with two very different expectations on their faces.
“There is diplomacy, Matharius,” Alvira said, without her expression shifting, “and there is corruption.”
“Dangerous words, Alvira.”
“We cannot act based on who pays the most coin.”
“I did not say we should.” Matharius gave the slightest of shrugs.
“I simply say that we must dance a delicate balance in these matters. If we send dragons to Orinhale and King Inthisar decides that is an act of war, then we will be accused of manipulating the situation so that we can seize Aerilon’s sapphire mines.
The people that you are so desperate to protect, that is how their whispers work. ”
“That is ridiculous.” Alvira clasped her hands behind her back, and Aeson could see her knuckles going pale as she squeezed.
“Is it? Is King Inthisar not within his rights to seek vengeance for the humiliation of his family?”
“To some degree, yes. But to burn a city to the ground along with every soul inside?”
“And if we stop it, if we set dragons in the skies above Orinhale and the void breaks loose, what proof do we have that was ever his intention? Other than our word?” When neither Alvira or Eltoar spoke, Matharius laughed.
“You cannot play Tarkat when you do not know the rules,” he said, wagging a finger.
He looked to Councillor Theron. “Aerilon is allied with both Lunithír and Kavathíl, is it not?”
The councillor nodded. “Along with several smaller kingdoms. They also have a trade brokerage with the dwarves of the Rolling Mountains and of Mt. Helmund. And they are one of the only nations who remain on trading terms with some of the Karvosi Margash.”
“And what would be the combined numbers of such alliances, should they choose to enter a war on Aerilon’s behalf, Councillor Hectari?”
Another elf that Aeson didn’t recognise stroked her chin for a moment.
“With the forces Aerilon can mobilise, along with roughly six hundred thousand warriors shared between Lunithír and Kavathil and similar numbers amongst the Dwarves, we are likely to see fighting forces that would far outweigh that of The Order. And if the Karvosi were to see that as an opportunity… That is another thing entirely.”
“You see, Draleid.” Matharius opened his arms. “What you see as black and white is in fact fifty shades of grey. The choices you make on the flip of a coin are the choices that would affect millions. Forty thousand might die if Orinhale burns, but what of the hundreds of thousands who would pay the price for a war of that magnitude? Did you think of that? Or how we might feed your dragons should half of the gold that flows into our coffers simply vanish overnight?”
Matharius turned his gaze from Eltoar to Alvira. “What say you? Which innocents deserve to die more? Seeing as the Draleid are the compass of all morality. No answer?”
“On one path we are simply choosing to let thousands die,” Alvira said meeting Matharius’s gaze. “And on the other we have the potential to not spill a single drop of blood. Can you see that?”
“I see a risk that outweighs any potential reward. I do not weigh the lives of forty thousand souls in Orinhale above the millions that would go to war if you are wrong.” Matharius drew in a long breath and let it out as a heavy sigh.
“I grow weary of this. I call a vote of the council. All those in favour of intervening in the war between Orinhale and Aerilon, raise a hand.”
Aeson watched as Alvira lifted her right hand. To his surprise, so did two members of the council – a Jotnar and a woman with blonde hair down to her elbows. Every other councillor kept their hands firmly at their sides.
“It is decided then,” Matharius said. “The Order will not intervene in this matter.”
“That is it?” For the first time since Aeson had known Eltoar Daethana, he saw true rage in the First Sword’s eyes. “Two of you raise a hand, six of you don’t, and forty thousand people die? It is that easy for you?”
“It is how it must be.” Councillor Hectari clasped her hands before her, giving a slight shrug.
“Because you will not see their faces.” Eltoar’s lips pulled into a smile that dripped with malice. “You command an axe to fall from a thousand miles away and return to your beds while the world bleeds. You are cowards, each and every one of you.”
Alvira rested a hand on Eltoar’s shoulder. He paused for a moment before whispering, “Alvira, we cannot stand with this.”
“You rally against us,” Matharius said. “But if you stood in our place, you would have crumbled long ago beneath the weight of it. To lead, Eltoar, one must be willing to shed their own ego, to make the hard choices, the choices that might sully their legends but protect the greater good.”
Eltoar rested his hand atop Alvira’s and slowly lifted it before narrowing his gaze at Matharius.
“You are infatuated with the sound of your own voice, Councillor.” He looked around at the Battlemages and Highguard.
“You act as though you possess strength and yet you bring an army to this chamber. For what? Protection?” He took a step closer.
“There is nothing in Epheria that could protect you from me if I chose to take your life. I do not obey you, I tolerate you.” He pointed at Alvira.
“For my Archon. You breathe by her grace. You stand by her honour. Step aside. Orinhale will not burn because six cowards did not have the strength to raise their hands.”
Eltoar had taken ten paces when Matharius spoke again.
“Fly to Orinhale, First Sword, and the Draleid’s position in this order is nullified.”
“The Draleid are The Order!” Eltoar roared back, turning on his heels. “We are The Order. Without us you are nothing but cowards who parade around in silks bought with money earned in other people’s blood.”