In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

*Estan*

Estan turned at the knock on his door. He placed the goblet of wine on a nearby table, covering some open letters with a tablecloth. He took a breath, then opened the door to usher in his friend. His co-conspirator.

Yander, the dark-skinned son of Sultan Tallow and heir to the Sultanate, walked in swiftly before shutting the door behind himself with a quick glance out into the hallway.

As usual, he was dressed impeccably with colourful silks on display. They were light blues and deep greens today, and Estan grimaced internally. Bad news then. Yander, despite his belief in the cause, was still deeply invested in the cultural practices of his homeland and chose to display his displeasure openly through his dress. Something Estan’s venerable father would no doubt miss entirely.

“Yander. A pleasure. What is the issue?” He asked, cutting straight to the point.

The dark-skinned man cast a brief glance around the room, lingering on the bulge beneath the tablecloth and lips twitching in response. “Estan, as always. The Sultan has interfered. Francis D’Sware has been assigned to Colchet, alongside a few other minor movements within the Lions and the Sultanate’s Al’Asakir.”

Estan hummed to himself, “Colchet, Colchet….remind me?”

“A small city state within the Copper Canyons, the Lions have a presence there. It is their regional base for lack of a better term. If their quarry escapes the Unclaimed Peaks on the side of the Wandering States, it is from Colchet that the Lions would re-group and strike out.” Yander’s reply was swift and clipped, as always.

“Frustrating, but not catastrophic by any means. Besides, Francis is loyal to our cause anyway. What makes you concerned enough to come to me now? Breaking protocol I might add.” Estan allowed a little of the frustration he felt to enter his tone, but if Yander noticed, he paid it no mind.

It was unlikely that this meeting would be reported to his father, but Varice was a resourceful spymaster, and he would have to decide if he’d share the information voluntarily or hope it was ignored. More headaches for him later then.

“The problem, Estan”, the heir to the Sultanate explained blandly, “is that we still don’t know how your father is getting his information on The Butcher’s whereabouts. It conjures to my mind the possibility that the Sultan may know something of his plan and is taking steps to counter it. Steps that may stand in contrast to our own desires.”

Estan pondered for a few moments. He was smart, he knew that, but Yander had a way of making him feel a fool. He was keen not to embarrass himself in front of the taller man, and desperately sought a way to rebalance the scales in their exchange.

Before he could speak, Yander spoke again; “I would also not trust Francis to hold true to any commitments he has made you when the Sultan dangles land and titles before him.”

Estan turned a surprised look on his conspirator. “Francis? Really? You suspect him of treachery.”

“Nothing so dramatic. But I would not trust our plan entirely to his ideological purity, my friend.”

“I disagree. Francis has been a staunch ally to our cause, and the D’Sware house have lost much under the current rulers of the Sunsets. Their commitment to seeing a new dawn is unassailable in my view.” Estan spoke, more confident the more he said.

“Very well, Estan. You are the expert in such matters, and I shall defer to you.” Yander said. “Now, concerning the other matter?”

“Leave it with me. I will sort it out.” He said shortly, giving a confident nod and standing, eager to show Yander to the door. The man simply stood, gaze boring deep into his eyes, as if he could peel back the layers of Estan’s thoughts with nothing but a hard glance.

The silence stretched, and Estan was uncomfortably reminded of how his tutor would look upon him as a child when he answered a question wrong. Disappointed, and expecting more. Ugly rage built in his chest, starting from his belly and curling upwards, winding its way through his lungs and making his chest tight. He wanted to shout, to scream in the man’s face and prove that that he did not need his approval. But he wrestled back a semblance of control with a monumental effort of will.

“I need not explain every action to you, Yander. I have said that I will sort it, and so I shall. That is all the assurance you should require.” His voice was tight with fury, and he was simply pleased he could get through the sentence without warbling.

Yander held his gaze a moment longer before bowing his head gracefully. “Of course, my friend. I do not doubt your commitment nor ability, I simply wish to know if I can support you in this. You are the most pivotal part of this great undertaking of ours, and if anything were to happen to you, our bright future would grow dim.”

The words mollified Estan somewhat, and he stood straighter. It was good that Yander remembered the way of things. He may have been the first to broach the subject to his peers, but Estan was the one upon whom the plan rested. A small voice, buried deep in the back of his mind, questioned if that was simply due to his position as Duke Ryonic’s son, but he crushed that small voice before it could grow.

As Yander said, he was the pivotal point in the plan, and it was due to his cunning, his foresight, that they would succeed. Only he saw the truth his father was so blind to. He was the one who made the grand speeches at their meetings. He was the one who enjoyed the support of the various heirs and shakers of the court’s lower chamber. Estan would use his natural gifts to drive their great nation forwards, and take a position of prominence at its head, alongside a very select group of others.

“Thank you, Yander. Your support is appreciated” he said graciously. “But I must do this myself. I will discuss with my father and convince him to bring me in on his plans. I’ll find out where he is getting his information from, and if it is likely that your father is interfering, we will plan around it.”

Yander nodded slowly, “The Sultan is unlikely to be entirely ignorant of your father’s moves, but I shall endeavour to restrain his interest in them. Until next time then, my friend.” He strode calmly to the door and departed the room in an elegant swish of fine silk.

Estan waited until the footsteps receded, then closed the door and sighed. It was always unnerving dealing with his conspirators. They were united in purpose, but it was hard to pretend that he didn’t have ulterior motives. Sometimes he suspected that Yander knew he was usurping his power, was bitter and resentful of the outsized role that Estan now played in the coming coup.

But he was a good judge of character. If Yander was planning something, Estan would know. Now though, he had to confront his father. Persuade the hardest man in the Marchlands to bring him in on his plans to catch that jumped-up peasant bitch. Despite the confidence he had projected only moments ago, that would be easier said than done.

He sighed deeply once more, and then went to fetch a servant. His father always responded better when he thought Estan had been training, so he’d need his fencing steels to hand. The work never stops.