“If you say so. Be careful though.” But Scorio felt halfhearted about giving the other Flame Vault a warning. “What’s done is done. But look. There’s a lot happening right now that I don’t understand. Maybe you can explain it for me.”
“Yeah, of course, sure. If there’s one thing I’ve got lots of it’s information. Well, nothing incredibly secret, but I’ve overhead a whole ton. What do you want to know?”
Scorio slid down the wall to sit, forearms resting on his knees. “What’s the Iron Tyrant’s angle? What’s he want from the Seamstress?”
“Oh, man, cutting right to the heart of it. He’s sitting on a mother lode of Gold mana. He’s been stockpiling for ages.”
“I thought he rewarded the Iron Vanguard with Gold mana?”
“Sure, but it’s a trickle of what he’s been importing, and the lower ranks can’t even use it till they level up, so he holds it for them in trust. He’s got this crazy vault filled with the stuff. He’s been choking down the amount he’s been sending to Plassus and Vermina while telling them he’s sending them everything he’s got. Nobody outside of Valdun, Amity, and maybe one or two of his Dread Blazes know where it is.”
“And you.”
“Well, I know the stockpile exists, which is something. I’ve a good guess where it’s located, too, but I’ve never gotten close. Too dangerous, even for me. The Iron Tyrant would just cut off my head if he found me poking around there.”
“So what’s he planning?”
“It’s his leverage, you see.” Alain inhaled vigorously from his cheroot then stabbed it in Scorio’s direction. “Now what I’m going to tell you is pretty secret. I’ve only told Moira. So, ah, you know. More proof that you should take me with you when the time comes.”
“Sure,” said Scorio affably. “Still up for dispute, but you’re moving in the right direction.”
“See, he’s been negotiating with the Seamstress. Know who she is?”
“Crimson Countess, head of Basilisk, way down in the Emerald Reach?”
“That’s right. Important lady. Calls a lot of shots. A lot of people owe her favors. I don’t know the details, but I overheard…” Alain actually looked up and down the hallway as if expecting to spot someone lurking close, and then sat against the wall opposite Scorio and leaned forward. “I heard Valdun telling Amity that even the Seamstress couldn’t get Endergrast to grant the Iron Tyrant that request.”
Alain raised both brows as if this was significant.
“Endergrast. That’s Crimson Earl Endergrast? Lord of the Golden Star? Down in… damn it. Where’s Lianshi when I need her?”
“Scorched Swale. Level beyond the Emerald Reach. But right. That’s the guy. I don’t know what Bravurn wanted, but he’s reaching for something big all the way down there. Which, if you think about it, makes sense, right?” Another violent inhalation. “He’s a bloody Blood Baron. He could be down in the Scorched Swale right now with all the others. But no. He’s up in the Iron Weald, and has been for decades. Decades!” Alain shot out his arms as if to encapsulate the magnitude of such folly. “And why? I don’t know. But one thing I’ve figured out about Bravurn is that he’s this crazy guy. Did you know he plays chess by himself? That he’s got three games going against himself all at once?” Alain shook his head pityingly. “Crazy, right? But also crazy sharp. And so I think he made a big wager, something that he thought would allow him to leapfrog all the way to the head of some bloody Blood Baron line, but it required Endergrast to agree, which he doesn’t want to do, so the Iron Tyrant tried to apply pressure on the Seamstress.”
“And it didn’t work,” said Scorio softly. “Which is why she’s sending her Blood Barons.”
“Aezryna Frostborn and Charoth.” Alain gave a knowing shake of his head. “They’ll set Bravurn in his place.”
“What do you know of them?”
“Not too much. They’ve been too deep in hell for the most part, you know?” Alain squinted at him as he inhaled again, his voice deepening momentarily for the smoke in his lungs. “Aezryna is supposed to have made some kind of crazy sacrifice a while ago that made everyone really impressed. And I think Charoth can turn into this really deadly tiger.” Alain made a face, then blew smoke out his nostrils. “Bravurn has been really upset since he heard they were coming.”
“And Plassus?”
“Man, Plassus. That’s one sorry excuse of a Charnel Duke. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“I won’t.”
“Depends on how you look at it, you know? On one hand, he’s kept things together and fought the Blood Ox for the past three years. On the other?” Alain grimaced. “He’s ready to snap. I heard some visiting Dread Blazes say he talks to himself now, gets all emotional, acts out things he wished he’d said to the Blood Ox. But he’s still a Charnel Duke, so he’s more powerful than the Iron Tyrant or the new Blood Barons.”
“And Vermina’s for the Seamstress?”
“So I heard.”
“And Moira?”
“Moira’s cagey. If I had to guess?” Alain stared over Scorio’s shoulder at the wall. “I’d guess… she’s working on a way to force Plassus to bend knee to Aezryna. Because that would isolate the Iron Tyrant, and he’d be forced to hand over his Gold mana. Which would cripple his power, and lead to his no doubt quitting the Fury Spires to just head deeper into hell.”
Scorio studied Alain. “I don’t know. You seem pretty sharp to me.”
“Right?” Alain grinned toothily. “I keep telling everyone I’m this really smart guy, but nobody listens.”
“So the Iron Tyrant has to realize this, and is probably working on bolstering Plassus since he knows he’s not going to get what he wants from the Seamstress.”
“That’s right. Which probably means promising him the Gold mana. What else does he need the stockpile for now that the Seamstress has called his bluff?”
“Right.” Scorio pondered. “And the Blood Barons just arrived?”
“Whole big procession and welcome going on. The Iron Tyrant’s a stickler for ceremony. He takes it really seriously. If you ever want to really upset him, break some hallowed tradition. He’ll receive them, have them escorted to their quarters - probably a queen’s suite in another spire - and then host them for a feast. After that the Blood Barons’ll probably head back to their rooms and begin the backroom negotiations. You know, sounding out alliances, sending secret messages, whatever Blood Barons do before official meetings. Those will be tomorrow, but I reckon by the time they take place everyone will already know what’s going to happen.”
“The Iron Tyrant will be wanting your services, I’m sure.”
“Right?” Alain grinned. “It’ll drive him mad that I’m not around. But I’ll have to show up eventually or he’ll know I was avoiding him on purpose. He thinks I’m a fool, but not an out and out idiot.”
“More fool him.” Scorio rubbed at his chin. “Moira made it sound like who I decided to support was a big deal.”
“I mean, yes and no.” Alain considered. “It depends on how you do it, I reckon. If you declare for someone right out the gate, nobody will really care. But if you hold out, make yourself noted, but refuse to say who you’re in favor of, people will start to care, start courting your vote.”
“Fine, but why? Shouldn’t I be beneath the notice of these Blood Barons and Charnel Dukes?”