Revolutions

164 - The Gathering Storm

The storm is coming.

It can be felt in the salty air, the electricity of it. The wind carries the sound of drumbeats—not the rhythmic pulse of ceremony, but a jagged, uneven pounding. Discordant. Unnerving.

Captain Lema stands at the edge of the encampment, staring down at Haqiliqa. The Sanqo capital sprawls beneath the cliffs, its narrow streets winding like veins, clogged with the movements of Pahua's loyalists. Their ranks are thin and ragged, a patchwork of spears, shields, and grim faces that look more suited for fishing boats than battlefields.

It's a mess. A fractured kingdom pretending it can still hold itself together.

Lema stands at the cliffside fortification's edge, stoically watching the disorganization with disgust. Below, the rebel forces gather in uneven clusters, frantically moving about the encampment. Crude weapons glisten in the dim moonlight—axes sharpened from repurposed steel, spears tipped with obsidian, and slings loaded with stones that appear too jagged to fly smoothly.

"Desperate," Gartzen grunts from behind him. Captain Lema barely hears him over the distant sound of voices shouting orders in Sanqo tongue.

Gartzen's boots crunch softly against the gravel. He gestures toward the activity below, his face nearly entirely concealed by the light of the torches. "That boy's warriors are desperate, the rebellious Sanko nobles are hungry to seize control for themselves, and we're sitting in the middle of it all like fools."

Lema exhales slowly, nonchalantly watching the chaos unfolding. "Desperate people can learn to swim. If they want to survive, that is."

Gartzen folds his arms, shaking his head at the analogy and standing rigidly now. "He thinks everyone's plotting against him—including us."

Lema's lips twitch into a faint smirk. "He's not wrong."

"That's exactly my point," Gartzen presses. "He's going to snap. He's going to turn on us, and when he does, we'll be stuck fighting both sides of this little skirmish at the same time."

Lema finally turns to face him. "What would you have us do? Sail back to Xiatli empty-handed?"

"If it keeps us alive a little while longer? Yes," Gartzen says bluntly. "Pahoowa is a sinking ship, and we're clinging to the mast. You promised him our aid, if you happen to forget. I told you, we should just let him drown. Let this whole damned island burn. It's not worth dying for. We can explain what happened to us to Xiatli."

Lema's gaze hardens. "Xiatli won't listen to us if we return with nothing. However, Sanko has resources, and a strong position. If we play this right—"

"Play this right?" Gartzen cuts him off, thrown off by the remark. "You think this is a game? They're going to keep fighting each other until there's nothing left. These people are going to kill each other for scraps. There won't be nothing left here, Captain. Nothing worth saving. So what could we possibly salvage from all that?"

Lema doesn't flinch. He looks back toward the Sanqo city, and his mind turns over the possibilities, the risks. Gartzen isn't wrong. But there's more opportunity here than his right-hand man realizes. What this island contains may not be what Xiatli directly commanded he retrieve, but there is something more precious here, he can sense it.

"This place is more than just a kingdom heading toward ruin," Lema says finally, quietly now. "It's an opportunity."

"An opportunity?" Gartzen's laugh is bitter. "What could possibly be an opportunity in this place? All that remains are a handful of Legido sailors and a boy who can barely hold his throne. These people have little to offer us; if they did, we could've been rid of this stinking place long ago."