Einsdee, the 1st of Snowing, 768 A.E.

  Iago stroked his chin thoughtfully as he eyed the last in a stack of missives he’d prepared in regard to Corydon and the measures that were to be taken to right certain wrongs within the Aurean nation. Of course, some of those measures wouldn’t and couldn’t be taken until Corydon could be defeated soundly and the lowlander nations had expended most of their resources and manpower to do so.

  With Gandahar’s help, things would end in such a way that benefited not only the Aurean people, but himself as well. There was nothing like well-laid plans with a dozen contingencies readied to make sure that the God of Luck’s input in the situation was more of a congenial blessing than a definitive decision in matters. Trusting fate and luck blindly was like asking for a knife in the belly. Iago had long ago decided that a man had to help guide events along and that even if the Gods were to make events happen otherwise, there was still a way to come out ahead if enough forethought and prior consideration into the matters had been done. It simply would not fit in his plans to accept failure. Setbacks were a part of life, but failure was the way of death.

  Iago glanced over at the looking glass he kept at the corner of his desk, not out of vanity but out of a need to look himself in the face and make sure of his own resolve. The face he saw looking back at him was the same one he saw every Dee, each Yarre made imperceptibly older. He, like most Aureans, aged well. It’d be Decayarres before he noticed any real change in his features, but he fancied now and then that he saw a bit more wisdom in his own eyes and a bit more determination in the set of his chin and jaw.

  Realistically, he knew he was probably no different than the Dee before. The light hair of his head, fine strands tinted silvery green, was neatly coifed in a manner shorter than most Aureans preferred. Iago was ever a man who chose functionality over mere appearance, and if it was also an attractive look for him, then that was all the better. His thin eyebrows arched inquisitively over eyes that glittered like expensive crystal, parted by a sculpted nose that presided above thoughtfully pursed lips and a sharp chin that matched the angular cheekbones on either side of his face. His was a face that many found predatory, almost aquiline. Many men had wilted before his gaze, an event pleasing to him no matter how many times it happened.

  He glanced away from his reflection, pleased with what he had seen in his own eyes. He’d seen the cunning and brilliance that none other would appreciate, none except for Corydon perhaps. That man was a worthy foe, a man who knew the value of patience and timeliness, yet a man who was failed by worthless underlings. His weak links were ultimately the other people in his plot. No one could be counted on as much as oneself, Iago knew that much.

  So, would that be the deciding difference between him and Corydon? Iago frowned to think that the entire game had to be played from a distance, even if there was a certain level of intrigue that factored in when a duel of wits was fought by pulling strings and using one’s pawns against another’s. Like puppeteers, they would duel from the shadows.

  Kaneitha would appreciate that analogy, Iago thought with a smile. The Goddess of Shadows was the queen of subterfuge and assassination, even if many did not realize it. The darker arts of diplomacy were her trade. Thieves and hired knives all knew her personally, as none of them worth their weight in any currency whatsoever did not carry some token of her with them.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Iago stood abruptly, clutching the pile of signed and stamped missives in his deft, bony hands. He passed across the broad floor out of his airy chambers, dimmed by gauzy curtains of emerald. His feet whispered across the carpeted floor to the door behind which two of his most trusted men waited.

  The pair would spread his words to their intended recipients, who would begin to enact his plots in Cenalium, the other Grancittas, the lowlands, and Aetheline itself. It would be a lot of work for a lot of people, many of whom would probably not live through the next few Munths, but it was a plan that Iago felt sure would work, either in whole or in majority.

  Of course, that might have just been blind confidence, but Iago felt it was not. A properly layered plan like this, plots within plots clouded with careful misdirection and believable falsehoods, was hard to defeat. Any number of his servants may fail, but if just one succeeded, the payoffs that fell into his lap would be well worth the expenditure of effort, coin, and manpower.

  “This is it, Councilor?” One of the pair asked, a purposely nondescript Aurean with no ties to anyone. He was untraceable and almost impossible to subvert. The second of the pair held a questioning look that mirrored the first’s words.

  Iago grinned. Eagerness to serve was an invaluable trait among employees. His eyes swept across the pair. Each was unremarkable in appearance and seemingly harmless, but Iago’s trained eyes could pick out half a dozen weapons concealed on each of them. “That will be it for now. Return post-haste and I may have more for you to do. I fear what I’ve given you will take the better part of a Munth, if not the entire Munth.”

  The two nodded, each accepting a carefully separated pile of missives to distribute, which they tucked away in document bags strapped across their shoulders. They bowed in unison, waiting for a full three Saycunds before straightening up once more and starting off down the hallway.

  When they were both gone, having rounded a bend in the vaulted hallway that carried them out of his line of sight, Iago turned around and re-entered his offices. When and only when the door was safely closed behind him, he allowed himself to break out in a soft chuckle.

  “The game is afoot. Things have just been started that cannot be stopped, Corydon. There is no one among our people that can halt this now.” He whispered to himself, and in his mind, he imagined what it would be like to stand over a defeated Corydon and put an end to the heretic with his own arc-sword. “Life is too sweet sometimes.”

  The rest of the Dee’s activities, meeting with minor functionaries and various advisors to the Grand Helion, flew by. He restrained himself from showing the giddiness he felt within himself. He was bubbling over with anticipation, like a hunter on the verge of taking down a great quarry. This is not to say that he neglected his other duties, he was simply of the sort of man who operated best when considering weighty measures. He had a mind for details, one best used on matters of great import, not trivialities the Grand Helion was too inept to delegate properly.

  Still, even those small irritations could not interrupt the symphony of intrigue and plotting going on in his head. With each passing Ouer the plans thickened, and his mind tracked down dozens, even hundreds of possible diversions and problems he might encounter, and he developed a contingency for each.

  As he lay down to sleep that night, he was certain that he had been born for this very conflict if nothing else. This would be the pinnacle of his existence. It would be the mark he left on Elegia’s history - his world-changing event.

  With that in mind, pleasant dreams were not hard to come by.