15th of Cylus, 721
Peake was to meet Kenntin atop the Ydalir Watchtower, the highest point in Fensalir and at the very core of the main fort of the city. It was supposed to be a great honor and somewhat of a privilege to climb the steps of the watchtower. The Dragon, on the other hand, found it a harsh walk with a prosthetic leg that was mostly meant for show. The stone steps lead, in time, atop the first level of the watchtower, the battlements, wherein soldiers took turns looking out the arrow loops. Peake was half amused by the thought of some Melrathi peering out the window for a moment then bringing their head back inside with beards, eyelids and eyelashes frozen solid. The thought amused him, indeed, even if it never happened. Instead, those very same soldiers, rough as stone, regarded him with suspicion and unease, circling that gigantic alarm bell in the middle of the battlements like vultures a sheep’s corpse. Peake waved at them to no response, then continued his climb. Atop the battlements was a more civilized section, one in which arrow loops and wooden shutters were replaced by a wooden keep, equipped with a fireplace, windows on all walls, and a comfortable and exotic office. It was also an extremely healthy office apparently, for the walk up had made Peake break into an immodest sweat.
The office was particularly cozy, and saturated with items. There was a strange orderly disorder, like a scene from a painting wherein all the objects were placed in a manner most harmonious. Books and scrolls gathered everywhere, some laid open and other gathering dust, placed and tossed and pampered atop chairs, rugs, fancy shelves and even cupboards. A desk gave the square space a sense of center, a small, humble and yet quite appreciated fireplace allowing its embers to burn slowly. The windows were not damp as Peake would expect, instead allowing the view of Fensalir to come into full sight in the clear Cylus afternoon. From up there, every corner of this forest-turned-city was visible, the faint houselights sometimes managing to shine bright enough for his eyes to detect. The snow and ice had trampled most, if not all, of the forest, and yet the city seemed just as alive as an ant’s nest. The stars above the horizon stretched everywhere, their cold light faint and yet magical. Behind them, an unimaginable cosmos contorted with shapes and colors and grand designs Peake failed to imagine, let alone name. Andaris had a great sky, but the Melrathi was so vast and detailed it seemed otherworldly. A ghastly, colorful ocean of light flooded past it all, the aurora as hypnotical as limelight. In fact, Peake grew dizzy from staring up, as if the roof was to peel and he’d trip up into the cosmos, doomed to float forever amid distant stars.
“Don’t worry,” said Kenntin from somewhere. Peake spotted him bent over some sort of long instrument, his pearly denture as bright as a lighthouse from a derelict ship. “I made the same face the first time I climbed the steps. Here, come look through this.”
Peake approached, and placed the eye over one of the instrument’s ends. Through glass, he saw that very same sky, amplified tenfold. Past the faint light of the stars hid hundreds, perhaps thousands of other unseen stars, cosmos within a cosmos, a midnight sky behind a mere single star. Peake maneuvered the telescope somewhere else, and the pattern seemed to be similar for all those gaps in the sky. Soon enough, he stopped, knowing full well his growing dizziness would make him sick.
“I’ll admit the climb was worth it,” Peake confessed.
“I told you,” Kenntin replied with a quaint chuckle. “And you’ve yet to see it midway through Ashan.”
“True.”
Peake regarded Kenntin. He hadn’t changed much since the day of the execution. He was still small, still old, still well-dressed, and still reminding Peake of some sort of small swine. Were it not for that dignity to him, that air of authority and that attitude of a self-made man, Peake would’ve branded the politician a weasel like all the rest. Then again, the nobleman had not completely discarded that possibility.
“That execution went well enough, did it?” Kenntin said, moving away from the telescope and, instead, moving to a cabinet nearby, wherein he poured himself a drink from a fancy-looking bottle. “Gave the people just what they wanted to see.”
“I don’t appreciate being put on the spot for the show,” Peake replied.
“We’re always on the spot, Peake. What would we be without public opinion? It’s the people who give us the power we have.”
“The power you have,” Peake corrected. He stood on the spot, unmoving, watching Kenntin like a predator watches his prey.
“Well, I am a politician. My wages depend on the people’s needs; you know how it goes.” Kenntin, from the cabinet, turned around and leaned back against the wood. He rose a glass of what Peake imagined was either gin or vodka and gave it a polite sip. “Oh,” he exclaimed. He then offered second-handedly: “Can I offer you a drink?”
“No, I won’t keep you long,” Peake replied. “I have some questions for a men of your talents.”
“Ah, flattery,” Kenntin replied, unmoved, but still smiling. “A good tactic, but unfruitful if used at the wrong time. Is this about the execution?”
“No, something else. I’ve come across some work and I have some people under my supervision. I’m trying to, eh… evaluate them, so to speak.”
Kenntin raised a lazy, half-expecting half-amused eyebrow.
“Manage them. You know, sway them,” the nobleman elaborated.
“Manipulate them,” Kenntin corrected. “I’ll admit, I’m feeling somewhat offended, Peake, that you came to me for such advice.”
“You roused the crowds in the execution perfectly,” Peake pointed out.
“I gave them what they wanted,” Kenntin repeated, his tone annoyed. “In fact, I only voiced what they were thinking.”
“You tapped into their sense of justice and pointed it at Falcon Company.”
“Because they were guilty of it,” Kenntin concluded. “Is there a point to this?”
Peake sighed. A sense of discomfort knotted in his stomach. He hated his hand being forced. “I’m with the Mountain Pride Reserves. I’m running their accounts.”
Kenntin took a sip, still staring at Peake. He then shook his head, sighed, and moved to the desk. He placed the glass on it and sat on the chair.
“I warned you once, but you didn’t listen, Peake. Mercenaries are not welcome in Melrath. I got you absolved once, but I can’t work the same miracle twice. Do you need coin so badly as to mingle with those undesirables? The military is always recruiting, you know that, even men with disabilities.”
The word disability made Peake want to grab the fat, fancy-dressed pig and throw it out the windows, maybe bring some glassy snowfall onto the Fort’s courtyard. Something about his intent must have shown in his eyes or in his expression, for Kenntin diverted his eyes and looked in the depths of his drink.
“They’re clean in comparison. If they’re not, I’ll make sure they are,” Peake argued. “There won’t be another Three Sisters.”
“Three Sisters. Did you know they’re opening a place with that name in Raelia?”
“Quite the coincidence,” Peake replied.
“Quite so.”
There was a lull in the conversation, and Peake knew the rules. Whoever talks first loses. Peake had come to ask for the favor, and were he to pry again, he’d be met with a kick in the ass and a false farewell. And so, he stared back at Kenntin, who seemed comfortable enough to match those eyes of his once again, without a hint of fear or being intimidated in the slightest. In fact, Kenntin had a little smile on his lips that made it seem he was all too comfortable with such courtroom mating dances. Moments stretched and distorted out of their length, as if time itself functioned differently in an unforgiving northwestern Cylus. Peake promised himself he’d neither look away nor talk first, and even if he doubted himself at first, he finally committed to the deed by thinking of his dragon blood. This sleazy pig was no match for an Andaris.
“Fine,” surrendered Kenntin eventually, maybe just to entertain Peake rather than waste his oh-so-precious time completely. “What do you need specifically?”
“I need a way to sway them into my side of thinking, to convince them I’m not their enemy.”
“Are you?” Kenntin asked suddenly. Seemed like a legit question.
Peake thought about it. “I don’t know.”
“Honesty will get you far,” Kenntin pointed out. “I’ve been a politician long enough to know an honest word will take you further than any lie, no matter how supreme. Then again, blunt truth is much akin to club to the groin. Nobody likes the truth.”
“So how do I go about communicating with them?”
“I’ve told you twice so far, but I’ll tell you once again: give them what they want. If you’re in a position of defense against them, then sway them to join your side. If you’re in a position of authority over them, and know you can make them do anything, understand they can change their mind at any time and part your side. That is called politics.”
“So I lie to them until I’ve got them by the balls?” Peake queried, annoyed at the simplicity of what he interpreted was Kenntin’s message.
“Nooooo…” Kenntin replied, somewhat frustrated. “You don’t lie; you compromise. Why do you think politics are so infamous? It’s not about what you want, it’s about what you can get, so get anything at all and you’re already winning. Understand you’ll never get exactly what you want no matter what King you are or how many armies you control. Half a gift is better than none, especially in this business.”
“So I should negotiate with them? What if they refuse my offer?"
“You negotiate in an unspoken manner,” Kenntin pointed out. “Comply with their utmost wishes then take something back from some other front. They want bigger wages? Give it to them, then raise their hours and explain their wages have a cost they’re to pay with time. As long as they get what they specifically want, they’ll be willing to sacrifice a much bigger price from what they’d usually negotiate.”
“Anything else?”
Kenntin stood up, drained his glass, then approached Peake to give him a pat on the shoulder. “The best advice I was given was to always show people respect. Treating someone that is of the most utmost unimportance as if he were your equal… that is the way of Kings. Careful with the steps on your way down, okay?”