The Withered Land, THE EMPIRE FALLS: HELL'S AVATAR

HELL'S AVATAR -- PART TEN

Aff'Zeqabbah shook his head and wrinkled his lips as if he'd tasted a foul flavor, looking away from the diplomat's face. It was apparent he was impatient for this discussion to be finished.

"Fine," Tanzamia said with a slap of the flat of her hand upon the table's surface. "The plan is in place. Arrange a meeting with the main lieutenants of these warlords and send out our covert operatives to meet with them, presenting our offer to immediately elevate their rank in command. We'll take the next steps as needed."

"So on to other, more important business?" Aff'Zeqabbah suggested.

Tanzamia nodded her assent. "Something highly unusual has happened at the dead fortress-city of Shi'draih-Hakaba... the Foreknown, my oracular viewers of the timestream, have told me we have had a visitation from a Messenger, one of 'the Beautiful Ones', a term we popularly use for the mythical Celestial Empyreans. Is such a thing even possible?"

Aff'Zeqabbah's expression was unreadable as he replied. "Your sect of Precogs are indeed talented. Usually, no human mind within the Withered Land would be able to detect such a presence. So the answer is, yes, it is possible."

"And why would this happen?"

It was Ambassador Czuek who answered. "We have no facts. There is only conjecture at this point. All that we can share about this is that it is an affair that has been deemed 'Utmost Secret' and a matter of State Security."

"Meaning you're not going to talk about it," Tanzamia concluded.

"We're not even going to talk about not being able to talk about it," the Ambassador said.

"So let's talk about the Pilgrim, this alien Offworlder named 'Forynnuhr' and the man you sent to rendezvous with him, the Scribe...," she said, "And maybe one of you can explain to me while we do, why I recently lost fourteen of my best elite soldiers at Annet Galjeshir."

"You mean to say what you want to know is why the Pilgrim is here, on Teshiwahur?" Aff'Zeqabbah countered. "You think we of the Guild of the Black Gauntlet know, don't you?"

"Yes, obviously."

The solemn, reserved Guildsmen Kos'viggat, Chyremdi, and Lal'Pleing all stiffened at her tone of voice, visibly aggravated at her lack of respect towards Aff'Zeqabbah. For his part, the Messenger appeared unaffected by her openly aggressive stance.

"Forynnuhr is here because we Summoned him. There is something we need him to do for us."

"And that 'something' is?"

"Not your concern, dear lady. Suffice it to say, it does not negatively affect either you personally nor the city of Bur'heddam. It is strictly a Guild matter concerning a longstanding, and somewhat heated, disagreement we have with the Emperium."

"That is not in any way a sufficient or satisfying answer..."

Aff'Zeqabbah demurred and sighed. "Be that as it may, it is the only explanation we believe you are due. It is a Guild matter. You are no doubt aware, our reputation is that we keep our business to ourselves and among ourselves. We mean you no insult."

"Is the nature of this 'disagreement' with the forces of the Emperium centered around matters of treasure or of wealth?" Qeskan Wa'entrud asked.

"No."

"Is it about land or territory?"

Aff'Zeqabbah's faced wrinkled into a small, humorless smile. "No."

"Is this affair centered around the repayment of a blood debt? Is this revenge for an unrighted wrong?" Gaddezos Hu'riem queried.

"No."

"I do not understand," Tanzamia said.

"No, you do not. You will not, even were I to explain. I will only say that is an affair of tragic and extreme cosmic circumstance."

Tanzamia fumed for a moment before saying, "Then why involve us at all?"

"Because the Pilgrim is, if what he does is successful, very likely to violently and irrevocably upset the balance of power you work so hard to maintain. The status quo will change. Forever. It will not be stopped. It is only fair and proper that you be made aware..."

"But Bur'heddam will not be affected... Yet you worry about 'being fair and proper'."

"No, I said it will not negatively impact you," the Messenger stressed. "There will be repercussions, ripples in the stream, as it were. It is unavoidable. But we of the Guild do not want to make of you an enemy. So you need to be aware..."

The Dame sighed. "How many people do you expect to die?"

"Thousands," Aff'Zeqabbah said unhesitatingly.

She gave the man a scornful, threatening look. He did not respond.

"You're seriously outnumbered here. If I wanted you dead, you'd die right this very moment," she said coldly.

"True," he responded with a small nod, his amicable manner intact, "but that would change nothing. The Pilgrim would still have his task and it would still be likely he would complete it. He is very powerful and he is relentless and he is merciless. The ramifications of what he is about to do for us has no meaning to him. He lives independent of and immune to those results. He is an Other."

"What are you up to?" she asked.

"The Wound rides high in the skies above. Teshiwahur's destiny has become dark and ashen. Where once we were a bright and mighty icon of power in the cosmos, we are now a dying ember. Every one of us knows this. We are a land withering, slowly dying. The Wound cannot be denied," the Messenger said with grim resolve. "For us, on this world, Time is collapsing, like a stacked house of cards in zero gravity. The Fall is inevitable. We must ensure something survives. The Guild of the Black Gauntlet have assumed the responsibility for that task."

"You are mad." She spoke softly, frightened by his surety.

Aff'Zeqabbah smiled sadly. "I fervently hope that is so. If it is, then my world will go on, my people will survive. But the knowledge I have tells me I am not wrong."

No one spoke for a long time. She could see he was a zealot. Nothing would be accomplished by arguing with him.

"Anything else you want to say to me?" she asked, her gaze cast down, locked onto her hands on the tabletop as opposed to staring across the room into his face.

"Well, regarding the incident at Annet Galjeshir, that was because of the unexpected interference of a young and as-yet uncorrupted Knight of the Outland Marshal Service working for the remnants of Central Homefront Security," Aff'Zeqabbah said.

"You mean to tell me all those silly, so-called 'law enforcement' agencies are still trying to act as if the world has not irrevocably changed? A Knight? A Knight that you of the Guild of Black Gauntlets do not own? What is his name?" Tanzamia demanded.

"Draekasen Se'nurqille Predayas frae'Bluhd, a First Stage Honorman," Aff'Zeqabbah said. "An unusual name, Old World Republic-speak, marking him as something of an outsider from the sub-continent. His squad-mates, finding his true name to be such a mouthful, simply call him 'D'Spayr'."

"Can you find him and hurt him, punish him, grind his bones into the dirt?"

"Of course."

"Then do so," Tanzamia said. "Now perhaps you can tell me what can I do to save my city..."

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