The Winter War: Part 6 - The Golden Spinning Wheel (Patreon)

Nazgrel did not like Silverpine, even with shamans keeping the muck and mist away it was too dim and dank, oddly lifeless and closed in. Snow was thicker the deeper they went, and roads had to be cleared by armored rhino stomping at the front of the legions as they trailed behind in a great column that stretched for what felt like ages.

Xex’Mon rode at the front and the sounds of a clipped exchange hit Nazgrel’s ears, compelling him to urge his raptor forward.

“We shoulda searched the villages more,” Burx groused.

“We inspected the nearby villagers, Burx,” Xem’mon answered tiredly, “We found no more weapons or people than we should have.”

“You can’t trust the humans to not be lying, they are tricky scum,” the warrior groused, tugging on his snarling mounts reigns.

“Mind yourself commander,” Xex’mon said, in a tone Nazgrel thought very like a parent. “Raptors don’t take to rough handling and as to your claim, we are hardly trusting them. Under the steady guidance of Oracles, our Hunters search, they are swifter, stealthier and more silent than we. The truth shall not escape them, and nor shall the butchers.”

“Their heads belong to us,” Burx said again, and privately Nazgrel agreed, but he could not say so and be loyal.

Piping up he said, “We swore to repay the Drakkari Empire for not just freeing us, but giving us homes, equipment, food and more. If those we swore ourselves to say we are needed elsewhere, then that is just how it is. Or do you want the humans to rally and strike at us from behind while we chase down cowards?”

“The humans rallying is just my fear,” Burx argued.

Xex’mon looked to speak before silencing himself, as if thinking on his words in a very un-orcish way before nodding and continuing. “The humans pose a problem and delayed justice is always a terrible thing to suffer, But we have not ignored them Burx, and what’s more, we now ride to liberate more of your kindred.”

That stilled Burx’s tongue for a moment and Nazgrel leaned on that silence, “Where is this camp, Chieftain, and how many do we expect to free?”

“Many,” The troll answered, glancing down at a map laid out across his lap from atop his small, throne like seat on his rhino’s back. “This place is one of the largest internment camps and we know for a fact those within have not yet been harmed, but we need a strong force and surprise to take it, that is why we move with haste.”

“That is good at least,” Burx said, grumbling, “I see wisdom in your plans, even if it irks me.”

Xex’mon nodded, “It does I as well, but know that this course was charted by our Frost King. His vision is grander than any of ours, surely, at this very moment he plots the downfall of the Alliance in a crushing blow and when it comes our justice shall be sweet!”

_____________________________________________________

‘I want to go home and sleep these last few days off.’

Malakk kept his manner tightly neutral as he watched his collaborators and advisors’ bicker and snipe about land, titles, stipends, and tax rates in a way that made his mind ache.

‘Days of this, days and still a deadlock, still grasping for mere understanding, it is madness!’

He saw Alexi and Zol'Maz looking ready to jump one another and repressed a sigh, ‘Or perhaps stupidity.’

“You talk with too much authority for one so ignorant,” Zol'Maz growled.

“Bold words from one who does not even manage his own peasantry, and you call yourself a noble among your kind?” Alexi snapped.

Each slapped their hands on the table, teeth bared and Malakk saw his out.

“Enough, do not make me separate the two of you like squabbling children, again.”

Both men drew back, expressions tinged with embarrassment and boiling frustration.

Kel’thuzad tapped his stave, “The bickering is indeed pointless, but this discussion is dragging on terribly. Why it is so difficult for you and your advisors to settle on a tax and tariff rate?”

“You want to count tokens while Alliance forces marshal in the East,” Gal’Darah hummed, “I think you have skewed priorities wizard.”

Lianne coughed delicately, “It is true that War can impact tax, but never before has tax ceased, without their revenue, the nobles cannot support a war effort.”

“What would you even be using the gold for now,” Arctikus groused, “You have all you need and if not, it can be procured, dallying over gold or livestock seems trivial.”

“Once again we enter a circular discussion,” Perenolde hummed, taking a sip of his wine.

“Indeed,” Malakk said, before anyone could get a word in. “I declare a recess on this matter and an end to this meeting, debate amongst yourselves if you wish, but I will broke no further childish caterwauling. Think upon your words, your plans, and outline a draft of your expectations over the course of the next two days and we shall reconvene on this matter.”

Illucia waved her hand, “A wise decision my king, but I must ask what are we to do in the interim? If our coffers run dry, of the flow of gold begins to stall among the peasantry they will starve and eventually riot. We can hardly discuss strategy when the future is so uncertain.”

“I imagine those in the city and towns are more concerned with food than they are with gold,” Zol’Maz countered.

“They are one in the same, or does that concept confuse you troll?” Kel’thuzad said.

Malakk pushed his throne back and rose to his full height, casting a shadow across his advisors and stilling their tongues.

“I declared this matter done for now, I caution each among you to think upon your words before something foolish is said in exhaustion, now go. Rest,” he said, his voice echoing.

Each among them slowly rose and left the chamber. Malakk studiously kept his gaze of Kel’thuzad but he listened after the man bitterly mumbling as he left.

“That one is more trouble than he’s worth,” Kutube'sa spat.

“His informant in the Alliance High Command and knowledge of Dalaran's defenses is too useful though,” Bith’Sa said.

“When he speaks the truth,” Kutube'sa argued.

Malakk turned, motioning for his guards and Lianne to walk with him, “I need to consult with your tax records, again.”

Lianne curtsied, “As you say, Frost King Malakk.”

The journey was made in silence until they were greeted by the sound of bustling scribes and scholars, as inks of many types were etched onto scroll and bark paper. The hall of records stretched out around them with row after row of once sealed documents, scrolls and ledgers on shelves. Those within stirred but having grown accustomed to his unannounced visits kept to their tasks, as Malakk marched by a shelf he stood taller than.

He was careful to avoid the nervous humans who scurried about, while confident Wolvar carried on in their work and troll scribes tried to keep pace with their Rageclaw brethren.

Finally, Malakk found whom he was looking for, fur sheered white and bedecked in comfortably loose pants and similarly loose shirts in royal blues and blacks, was an Elder of the Rageclaw Tribe. The aging Wolvar clacked their teeth at his approach and bowed from their high, cushioned chair, “What can this illustrious servant of the empire do for their liege this evening?”

“You are enjoying your greater grasp of this new language far too much elder,” Malakk said with some humor.

The Wolvar cheerfully waggled a claw, “A trader’s trick, Frost King Malakk, languages come easy to us, even if annunciation is hard,” the Wolvar’s words occasionally dropping in articulated growls to substitute the needed sounds.

“I hope then you have had similar luck with translating these documents for our needs?” He asked, glancing over the shoulder, and seeing the familiar Drakkari script laid out next to several other languages he had a passing familiarity with.

Tugging at their ears, the Wolvar rumbled, “You ask so much so quickly. We are working hard, very hard and improving at all times. It so happens the syntax and sentence structure are different here, it lacks our efficiency or trolls poetry.”

Malakk noted Lianne’s sharpened and mildly offended expression at that remark and cut in, “Your personal views on language aside. Have you anything to aid me in resolving this matter of taxes?”

The elder tapped their claws, little feet wiggling, even in old age Wolvar never seemed to grow tired.

“Some progress, troubles hail from different systems and values as much as language. This is why the first translations were bad. So now we begin translating things back to Azotha to see if it still made sense to our aids,” the Wolvar looked down and whined, “Often there is a struggle…”

“But!” They perked up, “That has made us closer to real understanding, here, here,” they said, offering him a messily scrawled in ledger. “Trying many translations, and I have a reference guide for you too, this will help you understand what you need.”

“As always thank you for your service elder, I will send down some prized foods and drink as added thanks,” Malakk said airily, already skimming through the ledger.

“Ooh that will be nice, now must work! I will die in a year or so, cannot stomach more interruptions,” they said, waving him off.

‘Stomach?’ Malakk wondered, before shaking it off as another human term the Wolvar had picked up. He motioned for his guards and Lianne to follow, they began the march back to the royal parlor.

The palace was well memorized to him by this point, so Malakk could lose himself in thought as he studied the ledger and tried to wrap his mind around his new subject’s world view.

‘There are great houses who oversee the lands, but the church holds influence, yet it is seemingly both far spread and yet delicate in its influence. The people work the land, but the labor is not considered a tax in of itself, but instead they are given tokens to be exchanged for the necessities of life… Why such a roundabout system and why can they not see it is especially foolish in war?’

Maybe he was misunderstanding and drawing comparisons where there should be none or misconstruing the necessity behind the system. Was it a result of such a widespread territory? Did it make a workable bureaucracy impossible?

‘The other tribes and even we have tinkered with money, but I never thought it pertinent to study and even then, it is their way or only history to this one...’

Malakk sat upon his throne, mind wracking for a solution as he read over the translations and reference guide, desperate for a solution.

‘If my understanding is right… How am I to keep the nobles loyal?’

He settled in for another long night of studying this new land and her people.

_______________________________________________

The sun was not yet rising, but Beve Perneolde was awake and alert as she strode down the halls of Lordaeron’s Palace with assured confidence. Richelle at her back and Singer in the distant shadows, as they made their way to the royal parlor.

Beve glanced at the sullen door guards and after a moment of waiting was rewarded with the doors swinging open to grant her entrance to the royal study. There she was greeted by the sight a handful of Malakk’s advisors milling around, talking, or researching while the Frost King scowled at a small book resting in his lap. Nearby the queen mother watched her intently.

‘I wonder if he was here all night?’ She thought, slowly gliding across the plush red carpet towards the towering troll king.

Singer had mentioned the other advisors only making their way to the parlor in the last hour, so Beve knew that Malakk had not been in his fellow trolls’ company all night. ‘But he does still allow them closer than we, let alone Lianne who has not left his side. That is no surprise perhaps but…’ she thought eyeing the fallen queen, ‘Perhaps I can change that, for our family at least.’

Smirking, Beve curtsied, “If this one may approach their liege?”

Malakk looked up, “I am not one not stand on ceremony, Beve, if you wish to be here rather than enjoy the morning you are welcome too.”

Striding closer she circled around on the Troll and crossed a hand theatrically over her heart, “I am honored, and I believe this to be a wise choice, as I have the solution to this dilemma we are facing.”

His smirk was perhaps meant to be friendly but given the number and size of his fangs it would come off as a little predatory. Beve however was growing very comfortable with such things, a fact which disturbed her less than it did her brother. 

Malakk waved her on, “Do please share with me your insights.”

Continuing her little amble around the room she spoke carefully and deliberately. “I have been watching this discussion drag on and wondering so many of the same questions as my,” she scoffed, “noble contemporaries.”

She spun to face Malakk, flourishing her staff as if pulling back a cloth, “And only now do I see through the looking glass so to speak.” Her grin grew as she felt the queen mothers gaze harden on her.

“Should you win this war this world will never be the same,” She shrugged. “The others think this just means saluting a trollish monarch rather than a human one, but I see the truth now. You, and your empire are not like us at all.”

Malakk was watching her with interest, fingers steepled as the room’s focus was solely on her as he said, “And how, may I ask, are we so different?” He said, already sounding pleased.

Beve waved her hand, robe flicking in the air, “Gold has no meaning to you, and should you win it will no longer have meaning in this land either, will it?”

The Frost King was carefully neutral, beckoning her on while Moorabi chuckled from somewhere behind her, “It can make for pretty trinkets, so it’s not worthless.”

“Exactly,” She smirked, staff clacking against the floor, “Your economy is irrevocably different than ours and they do not realize it. But I do, my family and our nobles found what gold we smuggled to be of little worth in the woods. We had to adapt to survive, but the rest wish to return to the old ways and even before used the glint of 'pretty trinkets' to lure the foolish into our service.”

She cast a glance behind her, “The other collaborators are even more deluded than those seeking their old rank and wealth. They think this a chance to garner more lands and wealth; power and money is all that matter to them and they assume the same of you. They are but scarcely suspecting the truth of you Drakkari, for they cannot conceive of it, yet.”

“And are you any different?” The Queen Mother spoke up, “You came to him seeking power and rewards, little Beve. Why are you any more reliable than those who make up this court of traitors.”

Beve rested a hand over her heart and bowed, “Because I am loyal,” She looked up, “And I am smart enough to know that death awaits all who fail here. The others are foolish enough that if they realize the truth, they will try to break ranks, believing their wealth will spare them, I know the only path forward is with the Frost King. Thus I will ensure the Drakkari Empire’s supremacy at any cost.”

“Supremacy is not the word I would use,” Malakk said, voice chipper, but eyes steely and focused. “But still, this is an interesting theory to say the least, but as of yet, it is merely you’re understanding and not advice as you so assured,” Malakk offered gently.

“My advice is simple,” she held out her hand open as is offering him a gift. “Play them, reward them, feign that the Drakkari run on money as we do, or did. War is a convenient enough excuse for our trade to have ended and the treasury is bursting with wealth. Prop up your new nobles with splendid glamour while sparing the common folk and then when your enemies have been crushed,” She balled her hand into a fist.

“You can reveal the truth with no fear, they will play along so long as they think they are gaining both the power and wealth they so crave. It matters not that they cannot use it for anything right now. Simply hoarding it will please them and then, before they even realize the truth, it will be worthless, and you shall be emperor.”

Malakk chuckled, leaning back in his seat, idly tapping one of his giant tusks, “You are a sharp one, Beve Perenolde.”

Beve lightly thumped her fist against her chest in the manner of the Drakkari, “Thank you Frost King Malakk.”

______________________________________

After such a fruitful meeting with the young Beve, Malakk found himself in good humor as the company in his parlor dwindled leaving but he, one other and his guards.

Queen Lianne had taken to the windows to stare upon the garden, and Malakk hovered by the next window over, wandering if he saw as she did, though a part of him doubted it.

Hands clasped behind his back he rolled his shoulders and spoke gently, “You had realized the truth of our problem even before she did but remained silent.”

It was not a question, and wisely, the queen did not treat it as one, only half glancing at him to utter, “I saw it as your matter to resolve, not my own,” Her voice grew sharper by only the barest octaves, but it spoke volumes, “You may forget this, but I do not want you to win this war.”

A grin spread across his face, “Haha, I see, it seems as I had hoped you no longer fear me, which is good, even if it could have come at a more convenient time.”

Hands clasped ever so slightly before her dress and gaze wide and wary, Queen Lianne spoke, “What is to become of us then? If I am no longer reliable?”

Malakk huffed, flicking back his head in a dismissive motion, “Your advice still has merit, but less so now.” Seeing her gaze was unwavering he added, “Which means depending on how things proceed I may move forward in ways I had not planned to just yet, but this changes nothing in the long run. You and your children will live well enough if I have anything to say about it.”

Queen Lianne’s expression was inscrutable as she matched his gaze, as if trying to peel back the layers of fur and skin to stare into his very soul seeking some answer she could truly trust.

“What use do you have for me if Beve plays my role?” She asked slowly.

“Beve is a smart one, but she is not of Lordaeron or its royal family, thus she cannot replace you,” his tone grew weary with disappointment. “Before this I had thought to make your rank as Queen Counselor intertwined with creating edicts and policy. I see now that you cannot be trusted in this, so you will stay, in a sense, but only to advise and inform. But that is all, lest my trust is regained.”

The woman’s expressions remained impossible to read, her posture tense as she wracked her mind for some new question or solution, for something she could not grasp.

Sighing, Malakk said, “Get some sleep, Queen Lianne, there will be more to be done on the morrow.”

___________________________________________

Clothes sewn from gold shall weigh heavy on their bones.

Bangles & jewels shall be chains adorning their frames

False crowns will cast their gazes down forevermore.

After the last few days of drawn-out meetings and mind-numbing debates, Illucia Barov was welcoming the sudden shift in their schedule gleefully.

In place of holding court in the morning, Malakk had placed it on hold for the day, allowing she and Alexi a pleasant lie in before enjoying a four-course breakfast. After which they had joined Malakk and his other advisors in the gardens for an array of performances, from singers, to an amusing little play performed by nerve wracked actors and even some Drakkari Illusionists.

‘Kel’thuzad must still be sore after his first encounter with them given his scowl,’ she thought, hiding a titter behind her sleeve.

What was more, Malak had seemingly banished Lianne from his sight. Which was tragic in that Illucia could not watch the former queen silently fume as she was treated like a secretary but did spare them her constant scowls and glares.

‘Still, this cannot have come from nothing, was her advice the source of the strife between us, or perhaps he simply no longer finds her appealing?’ She wondered.

Alexi perked up and placed down his bourbon, compelling Illucia from her own musings to watch as Malakk rose from his throne and strode forward to stand before them.

His new regalia was a pleasing sight to her eyes, casting off the robes so common among his people for sharp dress pants, forgoing the cape and instead adorning his broad shoulders with an elegant coat. All still lined with elegant patterns but rather than black, white, and blue contrasting, he instead now adorned his clothes with dashes of gold and silver.

With a subtle flourish, the Frost King placed a hand over his heart and spoke gently, but not without grandeur, “My noble allies, your liege must offer you his deepest apologies.”

Their numbers stirred and Perenolde, ever the sycophant spoke up, “Whatever for your grace?”

“For my lack of understanding for your difficult position and the sacrifices you have made to support your monarch.” His words and motions were smooth and made him look every bit the statesmen as he continued.

“For you see, among my people war is something that is strictly managed and controlled, treated more akin to contests than all out battles. We have experience in this too of course, but always it has been surrounding Zul’Drak and never have we suffered an invasion.”

His gaze flew across their number, “This war would be different from the beginning, this I knew. But I did not truly appreciate the pettiness of our foes, nor sympathize suitably with the impacts a war economy would have on your persons.”

He slashed his hand through the air, “That ends now, one’s as gracious and wise as yourselves deserve compensation for your sacrifices,” with that he clapped his hands theatrically and a gasp fell across much of the crowd.

Ornately carved trays of gold were marched out by robed Drakkari, laid atop them were bars of gold, gems, jewels and even tomes that pulsed with power, one of each was offered to each of them with a bow.

Alexi took up a gold bar and happily tossed it in his hands, as Illucia snatched up a familiar tiara and placed it upon her brow, “Oh this is marvelous, your generosity is most welcome my liege!”

“Indeed,” Perenolde murmured, fingers tracing across the golden bars that seemed to shine upon his ratty features.

Malakk offered a bow of mock humility, “Consider this a ‘down payment’ on what you shall be gifted when this war is over, trade and traditional taxes are restored, and your enemy’s manors are laid bare. Until then, I hope you can appreciate this token of my esteem, gifts from the royal treasury and,” he winked at her, “The royal collection alike.”

Illucia traced her hands along the queens crown and marveled at how perfectly it fit as Alexi chuckled, “You are too kind my king, but I am glad to see we are passed that minor hurdle in deliberations. However,” He hummed, “I take it this mean tax will still be on hold for the time being?”

Malakk placed his hand over his heart again and nodded somberly, “Tragically it will be so, for now at least. The increase in raids and with war awaiting on several fronts and none willing to trade there is little the peasantry could offer in monetary tax. After a month or so that would not be trying to get blood from a stone.”

He offered them a cocky smirk and added, “It is better I feel to not inform them of such and to instead focus their energies on work that we might keep things on the right path. We can of course draft plans, but given the nature of war, I expect each of your territories to grow making such things purely theoretical, till the matter is settled." 

He offered a wane smile, "But that of course is no reason to deny my most noble supporters of what they are owed.”

“Hear hear!” Beve cheered, happily perusing a tome with a wide grin that was mirrored by Malakk’s own.

“Now then, my comrades, let us sojourn to the war room. With the finances well in hand, we must turn our attention to the front. But” he added teasingly, “Do not be surprised if another gift awaits you in your chambers this eve.”

Later that very evening, Illucia and Alexi were delighted to find a ballgown and dress suits with threads of gold woven throughout.