BECMI Chapter 157 – Grifting by a Graf

“Wine, Lady Edge?” Iberon’s Crimson-Blue Aura’d general in the north asked me politely.Brage Lukovar, appointed Graf of the North and General of the Ninth Legion of the Empire of Iberon by the Emperor thereof, had been nicknamed ‘The Iron Graf’ by northerners for his skill and daring at holding together his army in the face of some devastating Darkmoor attacks and still withdrawing in good order from the battlefield. He was a tall, dark, and athletic human male, handsome enough to give women in the capital ideas, an extremely capable warrior, and had managed to marry into one of the three Imperial families whose members were the only ones eligible for becoming Emperor (upon the deaths of said previous Emperors, of course). He was very intelligent, capable, charismatic, and ambitious, coming from middle-nobility that had nowhere higher to ascend without ‘marrying up’, as it were.

Both of us were keenly aware that a common past method of climbing to the Imperial Throne involved an outsider marrying into one of the Imperial Houses, amassing wealth and power outside of the capital, then marching on said capital with loyal forces and claiming the throne for themselves. It was something that this situation was virtually made to deliver to him as a possibility… except the Emperor was also aware of such things, and so was strangling the Graf’s supplies in men and materials to not only make his job of putting down rebelling provinces impossible to accomplish, but any attempt to build a faction that could take the Imperial throne, as well.

The thing was, he had been a loyal noble of Iberon, willing to do the job he was assigned to, and had proven capable of it. Then the paranoia came in and stabbed him in the back with his throttled supply situation, as the Emperor realized that if his chosen general did succeed, he could march on back home and usurp the throne. Leaving him flapping in the wind unable to do the job he was sent to do while blaming him for it was naturally Iberian politics at its finest.

“Something mild that won’t overwhelm my tongue. That Kvenni White will do,” I replied evenly. I had a great deal of experience with wines of this era from the Thisbean Inn’s extensive wine cellar, after all, and had taken a serious hand in developing the elven, dwarven, hyn, and dragon-centered side of its collection.

My Disk swirled up and settled into a floating chair for me as the Graf personally went to get my wine. He was painfully aware not to use any poison, although I could sense some right on hand there if he was inclined to try. He poured a silver goblet for me and one for himself, came and handed it to me as I sat there, and then pulled out his own chair from behind a working desk to sit across from me.

“Thank you for responding to my request, Lady Edge,” he first greeted me again. “I was somewhat surprised you never came to discuss matters while in the underground there, but after some reflection, I came to see that you wanted me to draw my own conclusion on matters, and give me time to think on them.”

I inclined my head in mild agreement, taking a sip and finding the wine tolerable, at the high end of taste deluge for elves before it became relative swill. “Indeed. You watched, you listened, you fought, you measured. What manner of conclusions did you come to?”

“That my emperor is a fool and insane, and that his orders to reconquer the North are an exercise in deluded madness,” he stated grimly.

“There was an entire civil war and rebellion about that very issue. It’s like tens of thousands of people had the same idea years and years ago, and nobody listened to them because demanding loyalty without thinking duty must come with it never occurred to the powerful clinging to their scraps of relevance,” I mused blandly.

The nobleman took a deep drink to hide his resignation. “The only way to stop the Emperor would be to seize the throne myself, and I have not the men or materials to do such a thing.”

“Are you actually fishing for financial support for a rebellion of your own?” I had to wonder aloud at his chutzpah.

“I cannot supply my men without Imperial gold, and the Empire has cut it to the bare bones so that with it, that is ALL I can do,” he admitted sourly.

“Then it is time to demobilize your men, get them to work producing instead of consuming, and maintain a core you can sustain actively as you lie profusely to the Emperor. If he wants to send another legion north to fail like yours, you might wish to let him, and then turn it around on him.

“The Iberon Empire is going to die, Graf Lukovar. Its own Immortals are basically standing by and waiting for it to perish. The Khirifi were supposed to be the tool to do that, but now they are off the board.

“Something else will come to purge it from the land so matters can start anew. The powerful and vested in Iberon will fight it with all they can… or try to subvert whatever replaces it, however they are able. Either way, it is going to die in fire and blood. If you are wise, you will pick up and move far away from it… whether after you pillage it before or after is up to you.”

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“Iberon is truly doomed?” the Iron Graf asked, his dark eyes glinting.

“Most assuredly. Within approximately fifty years, definitely sixty, it is going down, even if the Immortals have to bring in tidal waves and earthquakes to destroy it. You might be able to fight it by slaughtering the whole upper echelon of Iberian society and going back to the spirit of innovation and expansion that first empowered it… but since that probably includes yourself, you’re better off just rebelling, taking what you can, and getting out of there, while learning some lessons about the directions you should NOT take an empire in as it ages.”

He barked a short laugh and grimaced at the same time. “Well enough, then. If it be possible, then, would resumption of trade in military goods be enough of a move at this time? It will make management of logistics much easier if I can buy from the north as well as the south in the Empire.”

“I will have your personal word of honor that all aggression from forces under your command will end completely before I recommend such a thing. I am also aware that means that Imperial forces NOT under your control will still be taking action, but if you begin using fine points of language to act against Darkmoor and its allies through second and third parties, I will consider you in violation of your word, and I will end you and your presence in the north forthwith.”

He shuddered slightly, because he absolutely knew I would do just that without the slightest hesitation. I had committed genocide twice, defied Immortals to do it, and I was still here, even with those Immortals likely irked at me, although he did not know that.

Which meant I obviously had my own Immortals backing me, who were forestalling them from directly acting against me, little mortal that I was.

“You shall have it, and the gods help me if I go back on it,” he promised solemnly, offering me a toast. It would not be a good ending for him and his forces.

“Then I propose moving your forces further south to forestall the fools who will inevitably be sent to dislodge you from your new holdings, and turn to developing them instead of trying to take Darkmoor. If you seize the lands between Darkmoor and the Empire, I imagine you could accomplish a great deal without needing the approval of the Emperor… and incidentally would cripple his power and prestige while doing so.

“You will, of course, stir up opposition, but between them and Darkmoor, I believe you are quite capable of picking the fight you will win.”

“Indeed. The Emperor is mad, all know it, and all make moves for the power to be had when he falls. It only remains to see who will take him out, and what will remain.” His brow furrowed as he considered what others might do so, beyond himself.

“The Empire of Iberon exists in name only at this point, the Emperor a figurehead lost in delusions of power and importance. I believe it is time for others to write their own legends, and the Immortals have deemed that will take place over the corpse of Iberon.

“You can lead the way and attempt to guide the tale, or be swallowed as it falls and all is lost.”

“So… you are still advising leaving the Empire behind,” he asked directly.

“There is nothing you want to claim there, Graf Lukovar. You know that as well as I do. Do you really want the imperial, royal, and noble houses of Iberon as your subordinates?” His face twisted as he considered the possibilities. “Do you think any of them will give you their fealty, their loyalty, and mean it? They will make great demands of you for the smallest sacrifices on their part, waiting for you to fall and to take from you. You would think to rule such dark hearts?

“If so, you are a fool, and deserve the fate that awaits powerful, deluded fools.”

“Then… to take what I can, and leave the rest behind.” He nodded once, clearly plotting. “And to steal away, to the west, and away from Darkmoor, the alien knowledge coming to it… and from you.”

I gave him a very thin smile of appreciation. He shuddered only slightly to see it.

“Open the markets of the north, and I will shuffle through the markets of the south in return. I will take the steps needed to proceed in a different direction,” he promised me.

The rest of our talk was more about scheming particulars, and if there was some gossip about the families and houses of old Iberon, well, talking about those one loathed was always an appreciated past-time.

“It seems to have been a much longer time ago than it was since I came here,” Princess Brittabelle murmured, looking at the arrangements of those who were following us back to our own timeline.

The gathering of individuals had been remarkably quiet, as the expanded neo-demiplane of the Thisbean Inn could easily accommodate hundreds of people. There was little talk, and the soldiers and families of humans, dwarves, elves, and hyn had been quietly dispatched through the Portal for the last day.

Time would stop being relative between the places after Belle and I stepped through. Our next return would be ten minutes later, Darkmoor time, but who knew how long it might be on our end.

“It has been most productive on all accounts. The exact opposite of a proper vacation, but then, vacations are there to give you the solace that you need, and shelter from the machinations of your neighbors and peers was entirely the point here.” I dipped my chin at her. “You did manage to mostly stay out of local politics, other than dealing with the very over-reactive elfin competing with you for the attention of Elder Equavus?”

Her smile was a beaming thing on her classically beautiful features. “We share very little history in common other than having to put up with short-sighted fools, and that was wonderful. There is much to discover about one another.” Her amethyst eyes flashed. “I truly hope he can survive the Doom…”