September 3rd, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Duremar Plains, Fort Roanoke Refugee Center

Green particles swirled from her hands across the unconscious serpentfolk's long body. Ellinda was wrapping up another healing session with the serpentfolk. Even with her efforts during the amputation, he still lost a dangerous amount of blood. With help from Dr. Lynn, she's been using life magic to stimulate the natural production of new blood cells. She was ecstatic when Dr. Lynn first suggested combining her magic with American knowledge and the results spoke for themselves.

Teos'Khat was recovering nicely. He was laying in a long hammock some of the soldiers jerry-rigged from cargo nets since they didn't have any beds long enough for him. Their large serpent-like bodies were proving to be an inconvenience. The whole hospital tent she was in was custom built outside the refugee center just for him.

The flowing particles faded into nothingness and she immediately felt light headed. Mana exhaustion. The treatments took a lot out of her. She's never used healing magic this advanced before. She reached for her pocket and pulled out one of the chocolate bars Elmot introduced her to. It really did help with mana exhaustion. Dr. Lynn said it was probably the amount of sugar in it. She eagerly munched down on it, its sweet flavor melting across her mouth.

Feeling better, she started recording his vitals. They were using the other three serpentfolk as a baseline for comparison. Teos'Khat was trending towards that baseline faster than expected. As she put the clipboard back in its place she heard a mumbling voice.

"W-water… Water…"

He startled her so bad she almost jumped into the air. "You're awake!"

"Water…" he mumbled again.

"Oh, of course!" She grabbed a water bottle off the table and handed it to him.

He took it, looking at it confused.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She had the same reaction the first time an American offered one to her. She took it back and unscrewed it for him. He took it in his only remaining hand and gulped down the entire bottle. That's when she remembered he only had one arm and couldn't open it himself.

"More…"

She got him another bottle. After he finished that one, he started coming to his senses a bit more and looked around. "Who are you, elf?"

"My name's Ellinda. I'm a Red Cross nurse!" She beamed proudly. Technically she was still in training, but her recent contributions had to count for something, right?

"What are all these… things? What is this place?" He tried to get up, but couldn't find balance on the hammock.

"Hang on there, you need to lie still," she insisted, gently pushing him back down. "I'd better get Dr. Lynn."

She turned to leave, but he called out after her. "Wait… Where am I?"

"It's okay, you're safe. You're at Fort Roanoke, in the United States of America. That's right, Lord Commander," she said with a smile. "You made it."

September 3rd, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Fort Roanoke Refugee Center

Teos'Khat was baffled. How did she know of his quest? Or his title? She was an elf, so perhaps psionic magic? If she invaded his mind while he was asleep, that put him at an extreme disadvantage. And what were all these strange implements around him? What was this strange white tent made of? It didn't look like fabric, it was too solid, too smooth. What were all these magic lights?

The elf, Ellinda, quickly returned with another American in tow. She was dressed just like the soldiers. He remembered meeting them. They arrived in huge flying machines. That felt like so long ago. She wore the same ugly but admittedly practical clothes as the soldiers they sent to bring him… here? He could only assume that this was their fortress. What did the elf call it? Fort Ro-an-oh-ck? The name was strange.

To his surprise, his companions Mahrak'Nesaht, Gheso'Fhor, and Nik'Dhish followed the Americans in as well. Another American came in behind them, this one he could identify as a human because he didn't wear a helmet. He was wearing a black suit suggesting he was someone of high status.

Teos'Khat suddenly felt as if all the world's eyes rested solely upon him as everyone gathered around him. He lifted his head and looked down at his sorry state. Tubes and wires ran along his body, he was at the mercy of his elven nurse, and there were bloody bandages where his arm used to be. This was not the likeness of a Lord Commander.

"You're awake," the American soldier said. "Thats good. We weren't sure you'd wake up. How are you feeling."

"Weak," Teos'Khat admitted. "Tired."

"Well, that's to be expected," she said. "You lost a lot of blood. We're still analyzing your species's blood to determine if any of your friends here are compatible donors. Luckily, Ellinda was able to help us out. She saved your life. Or at the very least speed along your recovery."

The elf beamed proudly. He was confused. What did they want with his blood? What did she mean by 'compatible donor'? He didn't understand much of what she said, but he did know that he owed them gratitude. "You have my thanks."

"I bet you're wondering what happened to your arm," the soldier-doctor said.

"No," he replied. He remembered the amputation. He remembered the sweet merciful pain of the magic blade cutting through his arm, severing the demon's poison and saving him from Hetho'Dehkt's fate. During the demonic hell he endured, the amputation was downright pleasant. "I remember it all."

She nodded solemnly and continued. "I've been analyzing the musculature in your species' arms, courtesy of Nik'Dhish, and it's not too different from ours. With a little bit of time, I think we'll be able to fit you with a fully functional prosthetic!"

Again, he didn't know what that meant. He looked at her with a blank expression.

"It means you'll get your arm back!" Nik'Dhish explained.

"What? How can that be?" He exclaimed. Even if some magic could restore his tainted appendage, he could never trust it. Fear of the unbearable agony returning would always linger in the back of his mind. "My arm was corrupted by the demon! I would never take it back!"

"No, no, a new arm," Nik'Dhish clarified. "They can give you the arm of a mechanical golem!"

"There's still a lot of work to be done before we're ready to try that," the soldier-doctor reiterated. "And even if it works, you'll need some physical therapy to regain full functionality."

"How can you do that? Is such a thing possible, Mahrak'Nesaht?" He asked, turning to the archmage. If anyone could explain such magic, it was him.

"That is beyond my ability to answer. The Americans are not the powerful mages we thought them to be. They accomplish all that they have through mechanical wizardry, not magic."

"Nonsense, Mahrak'Nesaht," he countered. No magic? How can that be? He saw their machines produce gales of wind from nothing. He saw their magic staves, though strange, they were certainly for casting magic. And all the magic lights in this small tent. He could see it with his own eyes. They did use magic. He would even go so far as to say that they had a supreme mastery of it. "Just look around you. The evidence is plain to see."

"It is true, sire," the archmage insisted. "They explained to me how such constructs can function. They have a power called electricity that sustains most of their machines. It is the lifeblood of their mechanical creations."

Could that really be true? What was this electricity? Why go through the trouble of using it to mimic magic instead of just using magic? He could sort all that out later. A much more important question lay on his mind now. "What of your conflict with the Rontak Empire?"

"Mahrak'Nesaht told us why you came all the way out here," the man in the suit said. "It's remarkable that you made such a long journey just to make contact with us."

"It was no small feat," he replied, not so humbly.

"Well, I'd just like to assure you of a few things. First, my name is Ambassador John Reynolds and I'm eager to begin diplomatic talks with your people. If you have the authority to speak on their behalf we can start as soon as you're well enough. Otherwise, we can arrange transport back to the Sandorian desert to meet with your leaders. Secondly, we've reiterated to Empress Maribelle that the Rontak Empire is to respect the sovereignty of Serpentfolk territory."

"It's true, Lord Commander," Mahrak'Nesaht said. "The new Empress has decreed that no Rontak soldier shall enter the Sandorian desert under pane of death."

"New Empress?" He asked. Did the Rontak Emperor fall in combat?

"As part of an agreement with the Americans, Emperor Rontus abdicated and Princess Maribelle took the throne," the Archmage explained.

"A lot's happened recently," Ambassador Reynolds said. "Get some rest and we'd be happy to fill you in later. For now, just know that you, your colleagues, and your people are safe."

Teos'Khat mentally sighed in relief. That was his biggest concern upon finding out that the Rontak Empire and the United States weren't fighting each other. Why these two powerful empires stopped fighting was still a mystery, but the Americans must have powerful armies to exert so much influence over the Rontak Empire's highest echelons. They hadn't even conquered much of their territory.

His relief was cut short however. He felt a dull warmth in the stub of his arm. It was faint, just a barely noticeable warming sensation, but it was there. He remembered it. He remembered the raging inferno it grew into, one that tortured not only his body, but his mind and very essence as well. He remembered every excruciating second of it.

He frantically tore off his bandages. "No, no, no!" he exclaimed, panicking.

He saw the look on Mahrak'Nesaht's face. The archmage could sense it too. However, the Americans and his other two companions were left in dismay. "Lord Commander!" Gheso'Fhor exclaimed.

"Stop!" Ellinda the elf cried out. "You'll start bleeding again!"

He unraveled the last of the bandages and revealed the bloody remains of his arm and the skin hastily rearranged to cover his stump. At the very tip was a faint glowing orange crack in his skin. The poison persisted.

"The amputation… it… it didn't work," Ellinda said, dejected.

September 3rd, 2053

United States, Washington DC, White House

President Bennett was in a conference room to discuss the status of the serpentfolk delegation. On the screen, coming from Fort Roanoke, was Lieutenant General Reed accompanied by Ambassadors Smith and Reynolds. Their images were blurry and the occasional static blotched out part of the screen, but it was sufficient to hold the meeting.

"The leader of the Serpentfolk delegation had a relapse, Madam President," Ambassador Reynolds said through slight garble. "The amputation didn't work. The doctors tell me that there's nothing more they can do to treat the poison."

"That puts us in an unfortunate diplomatic position," the President commented.

"Indeed it does, Madam President," Ambassador Smith agreed. "I think we should consider launching Operation Elrond ahead of schedule."

Operation Elrond was their planned diplomatic initiative to make contact and establish relations with the elves north of the Vushfall mountains. They wanted to extend the range of their mana comms and make remote contact before formally arranging a face to face meeting. The diplomatic staff didn't want to violate their airspace or risk an unpredictable confrontation on the ground, and the President wholeheartedly agreed.

"Operation Elrond?" The President asked. "What does that have to do with the situation with the serpentfolk?"

"All accounts agree that the elves far surpass the Rontak Empire in magic. They might know how to treat or even cure the demonic poison," Ambassador Smith explained. "And if we facilitate getting their Lord Commander the help he needs, it will put us in a much more favorable position with them, on top of serving as a suitable pretext for seeking out the elves."

"What about the Rontak Empire?" President Bennett asked. "Haven't they encountered similar situations with demons?"

"Yes, but they don't have a treatment," Reed answered. "We've asked General Rallek and Lord Kushmon in our custody about how they handled these situations in the past. Their usual 'treatment' amounts to a mercy killing."

"Thats obviously not an option here," President Bennett said. There was no way in hell she was going to condone killing a foreign emissary on American soil. Forget first impressions, it would be a media shitstorm. The backlash would crush public confidence in her handling of the entire Tempestia situation.

"Given what the demonic poison does, we shouldn't rule it out, Madam President" Ambassador Reynolds countered. "We should be prepared for the diplomatic fallout if that's what the serpentfolk decide to do."

The President sighed. "Operation Elrond it is, then," she said firmly. "Lieutenant General Reed, I'm authorizing you to move forward with it ahead of schedule."

"Yes, Madam President," Reed responded.

"We'll need to act fast," Ambassador Reynolds added. "The doctors don't know how much time Teos'Khat has left before the poison asserts itself again."

"Then you'd better make it fast, General," the President ordered. "The clock's ticking."

September 3rd, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Fort Roanoke Refugee Center

After hours of undignified attention to his wound, the elf and American doctor finally left, leaving him alone with his companions.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I apologize for my current state," Teos'Khat began. "It is unfitting for me to address you as I am currently, but I need to know everything you've learned about our hosts."

"There is no shame in it, Lord Commander," Mahrak'Nesaht replied swiftly. "You've suffered much and still carry out Pharaoh's will."

"We are all honored to serve you, Lord Commander," Gheso'Fhor added. All three of them bowed their heads in a sign of respect.

"Even still, I cannot complete our task. Soon the poison will take hold again and I will be lost," he said somberly. "Until then, I will fulfill our quest as best as I am able. After that, Mahrak'Nesaht, you will take charge. Now, what have you to report about our hosts?" His eyes drifted over to Nik'Dhish, who lifted his head and was beaming with excitement. "Very well, Nik'Dhish, you may speak."

"They are a kingdom of merchants!" He exclaimed. "They've already pledged to introduce me to their merchant guilds!"

"The United States?" He asked, questioningly. "A kingdom of merchants?"

"Yes! They pride themselves on free trade! I'll be the first to do business with them!"

"While Nik'Dhish has been expanding his imaginary trade empire, I have been studying their lack of magic," Mahrak'Nesaht said. "Their machines are all marvelously crafted by other machines functioning without any kind of magic to sustain them. Entire fields of study we know nothing of, they mastered long ago. It's… Intriguing and unsettling at the same time."

"As are their weapons," Gheso'Fhor added. Teos'Khat shifted in his hammock to better look at the battlemage. "They showed me a small selection of their weapons and I cannot fathom how the Rontak Empire put up as well of a fight as they did. If they wanted to, the Americans could reduce their entire empire to cindering ash with little effort."

How could this be? Master mechanics and demi-god-like warriors that no one has ever heard of before? Why didn't they conquer all of Kraffnia long ago?

"Where do they hail from?" Teos'Khat asked. "Why haven't they revealed themselves until now?"

"That is the most disturbing part about them, sire," Mahrak'Nesaht answered, leaning in closer. "They come from another world through a portal created by the Rontaks."

"A-a portal?" Teos'Khat stammered, suddenly alert. "Where is it? Is it still open?"

Like studying demonic magic, portals were absolutely forbidden by the serpentfolk, and with good reason. They were not to be trifled with. The threat of demons always lurked whenever one was created, and so they were outlawed long ago. All knowledge of their magic was thoroughly destroyed, leaving no serpentfolk mages alive today that knew the secrets of how they worked. If the Rontaks were toying with portals, the demon in the Kashir forest was starting to make sense.

"Yes," Gheso'Fhor answered. "It is here, at this fortress. They foolishly keep it open, sending columns of land barges through. They are the ones responsible for the demon by their own short sightedness."

The battlemage didn't say it, but he blamed the Americans for Hetho'Dehkt's death. He didn't need to. Teos'Khat could see it on his face and hear it in his voice.

"It is hardly their fault," Mahrak'Nesaht said. "If anyone is to blame, it is the Rontak Empire."

"No, Gheso'Fhor is right," Teos'Khat asserted. "The Rontaks created the portal, but the Americans are keeping it open and sending all this through to our side. How big is this fortress? How many Americans have come through?"

"I do not know sire," Mahrak'Nesaht replied meekly. "Many thousands at least. And I suspect they plan on sending many more."

"In the name of Mukhwana…" Teos'Khat said, trailing off. If this had happened back home, anyone who was even lightly involved would be executed. The knowledge of how to create portals had to be erased. "Are they willing to discuss terms for closing the portal?"

"We've already tried, Lord Commander," Gheso'Fhor said. "They refuse to listen to us."

"They do have a way of dealing with demons though," Mahrak'Nesaht said.

"Not well enough," Gheso'Fhor retorted.

Teos'Khat ignored Gheso'Fhor's comment and nodded for Mahrak'Nesaht to explain. Perhaps they were not as foolish as it seemed.

"They've armed some of their droids with mithril weapons," he began. "Whenever their flying machines find a demon, they send these droids to kill it."

"And it works?" Teos'Khat asked.

"Usually," Mahrak'Nesaht answered. "They didn't know about the demon we encountered because their flying machines can't see under the forest canopy well enough. But they can slay demons without setting foot near them. They have moving picture devices that showed me their droids successfully killing several demons in encounters on the Duremar plains."

"That's…" Teos'Khat trailed off, not sure what to make of it. "Quite a feat."

"Indeed," Mahrak'Nesaht agreed. "It would explain why they consider the risk acceptable."

They continued discussing the current situation with the American portal. It would have to be handled delicately to avoid angering the Americans. Ultimately it wasn't an immediate threat though. The portal was a great distance away from the homeland. But the longer it was open the more demons would come through, and the more likely it was that one of them wouldn't just be an animal. Something had to be done, but that sort of decision belonged only to Pharaoh.

After some time passed, Ellinda the elf returned, poking her head into the tent. They immediately hushed their voices and turned to face her. "S-sorry to interrupt, but Ambassador Reynolds is back. He wants to see you."

"Send him in," Teos'Khat called.

The Ambassador hastily pushed his way through the cloth opening and hurried through the length of the tent. Whatever this was about, it seemed important. "I apologize for the sudden intrusion, but we may have a solution for your condition."

"With respect ambassador, there is nothing that can be done without substantial knowledge of demonic magic," Mahrak'Nesaht said.

"If you've found a way to heal me, I would personally be in your debt," he said. He spoke calmly, but in truth he was fanatically hoping whatever this solution was could save him. Whatever it was, he'd do it.

"We don't know how to treat the poison," the American ambassador said. "But we might be able to take you to people who do. Are you feeling well enough to travel, Lord Commander?"

September 3rd, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Fort Roanoke Refugee Center

Daniel and Benny were on their way to Uncle Sam's Tavern, a new restaurant in the boom town that used to be the refugee center. It was started up by some of the locals who tried American food. They were taking classic staples of American cuisine and remaking them with ingredients from Kraffnia and a bit of local flare. People all over the base were saying the remble burgers were the best things they've ever eaten.

Sadly they were on call so they couldn't try out the local booze. Command wanted everyone to start interacting more freely with the refugees while off duty. The hearts and minds program was still going strong. All around them Americans and locals talked and mingled. Things were looking up.

Along the way they walked past some new construction being done. Heavy machinery dug foundations while bots prepared construction materials. These wouldn't be 3D printed emergency shelters. They'd be proper apartments.

"I hear some of our guys are moving into the new housing units," Benny told him. "Shacking up with some of the locals."

"Oh, well in that case I guess I'd better help you pack your things," Daniel shot back.

"No way!" Benny exclaimed. "I'm staying right where I am in the barracks. Bunk number eight would miss me if I left!"

"Really?" Daniel exclaimed. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to get with some elf chick."

"An elf?" Benny replied incredulously. "Pfft. You know I'm holding out for a cat girl!"

"Benny, I hate to break it to ya, but cat girls aren't a real thing here," Daniel said.

"Shut up! You don't know that for sure!" Benny remarked. "Let a guy have some hope!"

"You're impossible," he laughed.

"What about you?" Benny asked. "Got your eye on anyone? Any Princesses turned Empress?"

Before Daniel could dignify that with a response, the radio crackled to life, cutting off their banter. "Lieutenant Ramirez," Captain Farnsby began. He was in command of all the deep recon teams. "Have your platoon report to the command center ASAP for a mission briefing."

"Yes sir!" Daniel replied into the radio. "That was the captain. We've got a new assignment."

"Saved by the bell," Benny replied. "Think it's got something to do with those snake people?"

"If it does, you gotta stop calling them snake people," Daniel said as they turned around. "Let's get going."

"Alright, but this conversation is not over," Benny said.

"It is so over," Daniel shot back as they raced back to the base.

"Nope," Benny said, gesturing with his hands while magic particles swirled. An image of a red thumbtack manifested into existence and slammed into Daniel's arm, forcing it to dissolve into nothingness. "See? I put a pin in it. We are coming back to it."

September 3rd, 2053

Jakklobian Island Outpost, Grebian Archipelago

Makklok was busy in his office coordinating the logistics of sailing to Kraffnia. Food had to be stocked and preserved, munitions loaded onto the ships, sails and rigging checked, hulls inspected for leaks… It was a herculean effort to coordinate it all. The stack of papers on his desk already reached eye level, and Wilag hadn't even brought his afternoon workload yet.

Knock knock knock

"Enter," he said passively as he stamped his approval for a proposal to have all mages pull double shifts until their departure. It would eat away at the mana crystal reserves, but hopefully they'd be underway to Kraffnia soon.

Wilag opened the door and walked in. "Commodore, the slave convoy is settling into port."

Makklok looked up. "Already?" He closed the file he was skimming. "Is Colonel Bekklen in position?"

"Aye sir," Wilag answered. "I just came from his office. He's assembling his men as we speak."

"Good," Makklok said, standing up. "Then I'll go and greet our guests. Please prepare refreshments for the captains in the officer's dining hall, Wilag, and then join Colonel Bekklen."

"Very good sir," Wilag said, as they both exited his office.

As Makklok left the administration building he looked down to the ports. There were seven new ships flying the flags of Bermia, Kellordo, and J'rem; all lesser barbarian kingdoms. Those nations didn't have water engines or sophisticated magi cannons for dealing with sea monsters. No one would question their disappearance, let alone suspect the Jakklobian Empire of wrongdoing.

He walked through the bustling pathways of the outpost. Mages levitated massive spools of rope down to the docks with their wands, gemsmiths carefully cut mana crystals for magiket ammunition, and what few wyverns he could bring were gorging themselves on meat for the long journey.

He was pleased at how fast his men sprung into action to make all this possible. Soon even the enlisted men would be rich off the spoils of colonization. Their lazy days of fishing and listening to silent mana comms were almost over.

As he approached the waterfront, he saw seven men arguing with the port sentries on duty. He deduced that they were the ship captains. Behind them a crowd was gathering on the walkway as the merchants disembarked their ships. Six of his own men armed with magikets stood rigid, blocking their way onto the island.

"There is nowhere else to make port! You have to let us through!"

"No one sets foot on Jakklobian ports without paying the requisite fees," one of the sentries droned.

"This is outrageous! You invited us here and now won't let us leave our ships? AYE! You there!" One of them shouted at Makklok as he approached.

The sentries turned to salute him. "What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" He asked with hands clasped behind his back.

"Ah, finally, a proper officer," the apparent leader spoke before his own men could answer. "These imbeciles won't let us or our crews pass."

Makklok turned to his men. "Corporal Fellek?"

"They haven't paid the docking fee, sir," Fellek said dryly. "We're following standard procedures."

"Good man, Fellek. But we can make an exception today. Let them pass!" Makklok announced to his men. To the captains, he continued, "There's no reason we can't be civilized about this. Your crews are welcome to disembark and enjoy our meager amenities."

"Thank you, mister…"

"Commodore Makklok," he corrected. He didn't like having his rank neglected, least of all by barbarians. "And you are…?"

"Lead Trade Captain He'lop of the Oceanic Trade Guild. Commander of our convoy."

"Its a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he cordially replied. "Come, I've prepared refreshments for you and your captains. We can discuss a suitable form of compensation in a more comfortable environment."

He'lop and the other six captains followed him through the outpost. Ten of his own men marched at a respectable distance behind them.

"It seems quite busy around here, Commodore," He'lop observed.

"We have a lot to prepare for," he said ambiguously.

"What exactly is there to prepare for on such a remote outpost?" One of the captains questioned.

"We will discuss that shortly," Makklok replied curtly as two sentries opened the doors to the administration building for them. "But we are rather pressed for time, so let's get down to business."

Makklok led the captains of the slave convoy to the officer's dining hall. They sat at an ornate wooden table, with Makklok at the head, of course, just underneath his portrait hanging on the wall. Artwork, ceremonial daggers, goblets and other trinkets lined the walls while chandeliers burned candles overhead. Orderlies came in from the kitchen with tea, fruits, bread and cheese.

"We thank the Jakklobian Empire for your hospitality," one of the captains said, taking a sip of his tea. "The journey back home is long and dangerous. Our crews appreciate the generous shoreleave."

"After we're done here, I'll give you each proper letters to present to your guild master so that the Jakklobian Empire can be properly compensated."

"Of course, Commodore. I'm sure the guild will be happy to reimburse you for your kindness."

Jakklobian docking fees were not exuberant nor unreasonable. These fools refused to pay despite returning with nearly full cargo holds, based on the waterlines on their ships. He was sure that they were happy that the bill would be footed by the guild and not them personally.

"In the meantime, I have a more immediate form of payment," he said with a sly grin. "I'm quite curious about your adventures in Kraffnia. All I've heard so far are rumors passed from your sailors to mine by mana comm. Do tell me about these mysterious otherworlders."

"They call themselves the United States of America," one of them said. "Or just the Americans."

"I heard that they slaughtered an entire Rontak army in mere seconds!" The youngest captain chimed.

"Do not try my patience!" Makklok snapped. He looked the man over. He was a boy really, chowing down on his bread in a way even the other barbarian captains could restrain themselves from. He was probably only made captain by appointment or lack of any better options. "I have no interest in petty sailor's tales. Give me real information about them."

"They have great wealth," one of them finally said. "They present lavish gifts to bribe village after village into turning against the Rontak Empire."

"So they're rich in coin?" Makklok asked.

"Not exactly," the captain corrected. "They trade slaves for plentiful gifts of food and water."

They were more insidious than he gave them credit for. The deal was beneficial in the short term, but would ultimately make the villages dependent on them. The immediate aid and protection was to tempting to resist, but the sudden loss of their workforce would prevent farming villages from being able to produce enough food on their own to survive, let alone trade for other things they needed. The Americans were planning for a long term occupation of the Rontak Empire.

That wasn't ideal. If they took notice of him too soon and decided he was a threat, they could bring their main force to bear before he was ready. Perhaps he could send agents to foster unrest and keep them occupied in the territory they've already seized. He was getting ahead of himself though. There would be plenty of time to plan out the logistics of his colonization efforts en route to Kraffnia.

"Keep going," he mused. "Tell me more."

"I have it on good authority that they have an armored wyvern force. A member of my crew that I trust well said he saw a flying wyvern covered head to tail in armor."

As the captains divulged everything Makklok absorbed everything. He listened intently, separating fact from fiction, exaggeration from reality. Their arms definitely resembled black powder weapons. He didn't know what to make of their armored wyverns though. Maybe some kind of superior breed? Or a different animal entirely, perhaps from their homeland? But what kind of animal could fly with rigid armor affixed to it?

He was still deciding whether or not to discard that as mere hearsay when he heard the thud of heavy footsteps approaching the dining hall. The doors swung open and Colonel Bekklen ducked his head as he stepped in so his horns wouldn't scratch the wooden frame. There were already chips and scuff marks in the wood from where he previously failed to do so.

Unlike his personal assistant, Bekklen's uniform was disheveled. A few buttons were unfastened, his Colonel epaulets were crooked, and his white trousers were visibly covered in his grey fur. Bekklen might not have been a respectable upper class officer, but he knew how to do his job–when he wanted to at least. Makklok only tolerated his poor attire because on the rare occasion that there was actually something important to entrust to the Colonel, he got results. But because the Greebians were such pathetic pacifists, the army detachment was hardly ever needed.

Wilag trailed loyally behind the hulking minotaur, followed by twenty soldiers carrying magikets fixed with bayonets. They filed in around the perimeter of the room, magikets held vertically in iron grips, still and unmoving. The slight blue glow just above the trigger indicated that they were loaded and ready to fire.

"Ah, Colonel Bekklen," Makklok said. "I take it you've finished searching their ships??"

Dismay and anger flashed across He'lop's face. "You searched our ships? On what grounds?"

"On whatever grounds I like," Makklok snapped back. "Colonel Bekklen?"

"Aye, Commodore," Bekklen replied, deep and raspy. "In their cargo holds we found 300 minotaur slaves, 500 crates of mana crystals, and some mithril artifacts from Kraffnia."

"You have no right to inspect our cargo!" The young captain lashed out, swiping his fist across the table, sending fine glassware shattering to the floor. Makklok motioned for two guards to restrain him. "Unhand me!"

"I suppose an example is in order," Makklok sighed. "Twenty lashes. Make sure their crews watch."

The guards dragged him away kicking and screaming.

"By my authority as Commodore granted by the Grand Jakklobian Navy, I'll give each of you, minus that ruffian of course, the opportunity for commissions as junior officers. Furthermore, your crews will be offered positions as landsmen in my fleet. I suggest you take my generous offer and advise your crews to do the same. I would hope that it is plainly obvious, even to you barbarians, that you all report to me now."

"This is utter nonsense!" He'lop exclaimed. "The Oceanic Trade Guild has a treaty with the Jakklobian Empire expressly forbidding the impressment of our ships and crews!"

"You'll find that we are very far away from the nearest Guild controlled port," Makklok asserted. "And even if there was one within mana comm range, what good do you honestly think it would do? You're a small flotilla on the fringe of the civilized world. The Guild wouldn't risk its contracts with the Jakklobian Empire for your sake."

He'lop was fuming. He could almost see smoke coming out of the man's ears. No, actually it was coming from his palms. Red particles swirled around his hands as the man's face turned red with anger. "I highly advise you not to try anything stupid," Makklok said, deliberately insulting the man further.

He'lop looked around at the twenty men holding magikets. "We will not be intimidated by the likes of you," He finally said, calming down. The other captains muttered their assent.

"Very well then, I suppose I shall have to deal with you lot before this gets out of hand." Makklok said, as he pondered what to do with them. Then he had a hilariously nefarious idea. "Colonel, present their crews with the offer. After they've made their choice, take those that refuse and maroon them on the far side of the archipelago. Make sure to find the most densely populated Greebian beach."

Bekklen smirked. The burly minotaur seemed to find as much amusement in it as he did.

"And what of their cargo, sir?" Bekklen asked.

"Hmm…" Makklok pondered. "Give the water mana crystals to the fleet and use the basic mana crystals for ammunition. Use the rest to pay the new hands, they're of no real use to the fleet. Have the artifacts melted down and use the mithril to reinforce the magic plating on our ships if we have time, but it isn't a priority. Give the minotaur slaves the same offer as the merchant crews; service to Jakklobia or a slow descent into madness among the Greebians"

"Yes sir!" Bekklen said with a salute.

"Those are priceless historical relics!" One of the captains objected.

"I doubt any 'priceless relics' that find their way into hands such as yours are authentic," Makklok contested. "You call yourselves merchants, but no doubt you acquire your slaves through raiding and pillaging. You're no better than simple brigands. You're lucky I don't have you all hanged on charges of piracy. And I assure you, that is within my power to do if you don't behave yourselves."

He grinned victoriously and sipped his tea while the merchant captains sulked in their seats. "If any of you change your minds and decide to accept my offer, let someone know before your ship gets underway," he said. "After that, consider the offer void. There is nothing else, you are all dismissed."

Wilag remained behind as Bekklen and his soldiers attended to the merchants and marched them out of the room. "Sir, foreman Gakkar had an interesting proposal," Wilag said. "He thinks that the slave ships might be able to transport the land dragons to Kraffnia with a few modifications."

"The land dragons…" Makklok muttered. He'd almost forgotten about them. They were just a drain on resources and his own ships could hardly handle them, so he hadn't given them any thought beyond releasing them into the jungle. "An intriguing idea. Go on."

"The deck is large enough to fit two land dragons and sturdy enough to hold their weight. The only problem is the mast. We'd have to cut it down and remove it."

"Cut down the sails?" Makklok retorted. "That's preposterous!"

"We can't have the beasts waking and knocking them down in a rampage at sea anyway," Wilag explained. "Plus, with land dragons sleeping on the deck, it's too risky to have sailors working around them, we'd have to tow the ships anyway. The sails would be nothing but a hindrance."

Makklok considered the idea. It was outlandish–almost desperate. But it might just work. And if it didn't, he'd hardly lose anything of value; just the land dragons and a handful of useless barbarian ships. But the prospect of landing on Kraffnia with his own land dragons was too tempting to resist. It might give him an edge should the so-called Americans seek an early decisive engagement. "Very well. Gakkar has my approval to get started on it right away. Rescind the offer of commission from the minotaurs for the time being and use them as labor for the project so it doesn't delay our departure. I want it done as quickly as possible."

"I'll relay your orders right away, Commodore," Wilag said as he saluted and left the room.

Makklok pulled an old scroll from his pocket and laid it out on the table. It was an old map of Kraffnia's western coast. The thing was tattered and barely holding itself together; it was as old as the first attempt to colonize Kraffnia. If he didn't rely so much on Wilag, he would have had him copy it onto new parchment by now. But alas, his personal assistant was much too valuable to push such menial work onto. If he was going to bring his own land dragons, he could accelerate his initial landing plans…

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