Statecraft

     "Your mother loved magic as you do," Uncle Hagan said when she opened her potionery. "I think she'd be proud."

     And yet he had done everything he could to ensure she would be a diplomat. "I suppose."

     Uncle Skarl, embarrassing as he was, could be counted on to be more direct. When she had announced to him that she had finally realized her dream to study magic, his acrid demeanor alkalified. "Ah, well, that's nice. You wouldn't happen to know a potion that makes court jesters funnier, would you?"

     "I'm afraid I'm not quite at the level of Meridell's potion-master."

     "You'll get the hang of it. There's nothing she can do that you can't."

     "Seeing as there's nobody else in the family who can do magic, I'd certainly hope so."

     "It's not hereditary. And if it were, there was always our sister. You're better off blazing your own trail."

     "Really?"

     "Your mother was quite secretive. You have no choice but to."

     For several years, Roberta did. She studied under Seradar, turned her potionery into a successful business, became a part-time student at Brightvale University, everything that would be expected from a mage like her.

     It was not until she had been cleaning her house in preparation for a move that she thought about her mother again.

     She had Sir Tormund Ellis deal with the heavy, nonfragile stuff. Fyora only knew what trouble he would get into with glassware and rare ingredients. The yellow Lupe was best suited for moving bookcases, desks, and sofas, but he insisted on helping with the small odds and ends.

     "Hey, you never told me you were into board games."

     "Hm?"

     "This," continued Tormund, presenting her with a boxed game mottled with old dirt and dander. Behind it was the word Statecraft.

     "Right." Roberta rotated her wrist to encourage the formation of a small whirlwind and spoke the words to her dust-banishing spell. In moments, the box looked as good as new, never opened--because, in effect, it was. "That's Statecraft. Most entertaining game ever made."

     "That bad?"

     "That bad. It's less of a game and more of a government simulator." She examined the box. "Uncle always tried to teach me, but I never liked it."

     Tormund placed the box on an island of clear space on the floor. "It's heavy. I need to see the rulebook for this thing."

     "Sure. I don't see why not."

     It wasn't just Hagan who enjoyed the game; a lot of the nobility did, too. Statecraft tested one's mental, emotional, spiritual, and psychological mettle, in addition to being a great way to introduce young future diplomats to just what was involved with running a state.

     When a young future diplomat found the game tedious, her uncles would give her a version which belonged to her mother, hoping that this association would encourage her interest.

     In fact, Roberta had only ever opened it once, stared at the pieces, and put them back. Now her knightly friend Tormund was sitting on the bare floor, taking the various boards, decks, and pieces out one by one. A slight gleam reflected off the rim of the box.

     "Hey, look at this map, it's Meridell. There's Cogham, and Hope River... and Havister. That's been a dead place even before the war. What are all of these numbers?"

     "Base resource tiles--how much they net you per turn."

     He waved the rulebook about and leafed through the first few pages. "This thing is longer than a novel." After he set it down, he moved onto the figurines. "King Skarl, King Hagan, Seradar, Illusen... these are pretty realistic."

     They were uncannily verisimilitudinous except for their doll-like faces, she supposed. Something about how their limbs moved gave the impression that they really could jump out at you. "I can't imagine any expense was wasted."

     "People really spend this much money on a game?"

     "Well, sometimes, a turn can take several days."

     "Oh." Tormund went back to inspecting the figurines. "Hey, look--there's a bunch of others. Here's Hanso, here's Captain Brynn. Here's Sir Borodere. Here's the fabulous four"--his name for Lisha, Morris, Boris, and Kayla--"But we're not there. So much for gratitude."

     Roberta mumbled, "Of course we're not there. My mother wouldn't have known what--"

     Her mother had died before the first Meridell war, so Jeran and the fantastic four should not have been included with the game. And even if Uncle Hagan had simply lied about this set belonging to her mother, then Brynn and Hanso should also have not been there, since the Faerie Petrification Crisis had occurred much longer after her childhood.

     "--Drop that and walk away. Now!"

     The box ignited; fire spouted from the opening, engulfing her friend within its flares. It caught on to the miscellany of objects strewn about the room. Roberta could only mutter a ward to protect herself against the heat.

     The flames bounced harmlessly around her, though they engulfed all that she could see. Sweat took some of her eyeshadow and passed it to her eyes, prompting her to shut them closed. The turbulence of the air sputtered around her.

     When the smoke cleared, Roberta found herself in what could only be described as a black void. In what she assumed to be the center was a low table, a map, and several decks placed on their own individual floating platforms.

     It was a game of Statecraft laid out in the configuration of the first Meridell-Darigan war. On her side stood King Skarl, King Hagan, and their various forces. On the other side was an illusion of her would-be opponent--a regal, stone-faced yellow Kyrii dressed in simple silks with beautiful lace hems, just like in the portraits.

     "Robbie!" yelled a voice from the table.

     "Tor," she replied, rushing to the game. He was amongst other game pieces, situated in his home town of Meridell Acres alongside his significantly-less-animate sister and parents. "Are you okay?"

     "I feel fine. These things creep me out. Are you fine, my gentle giant?"

     Normally, Roberta would have groaned. "I'm doing better than you are."

     "And who's the other giant person?"

     "It's probably just an illusion of Princess Iselle."

     "Your mom?"

     "The one and only," she replied. Then, completely inattentive of the Kyrii in front of her, said, "Listen, I'll just cast a quick counterspell. You might get dizzy."

     "I'm afraid I cannot allow that," spoke the illusion with no voice. "There is a secret hidden here, and you have already discovered it; only the strong and quick-witted shall escape."

     All talk, thought Roberta as she carved a few glyphs in the wood with her claws. "Long set here, this spell no longer answers to its bequeather. Sever them, and set free the magic to the ether.

     For a moment, the void flickered back into the scene of her room.

     "You ignore me at your own risk," said the illusion.

     "I'm not playing your game."

     "Very well. It is my turn, anyways."

     The illusion of Princess Iselle, as Darigan, commanded a large number of airborne troops that would mercilessly wipe out Meridell in a few short turns. Its legions animated themselves and used one of the three military moves granted to each player per turn to attack.

     As the tiny swords clashed her game pieces, a sharp pain shot through Roberta's chest. She screamed.

     "What's going on?" asked Sir Ellis.

     "Nothing, nothing. Just hurt a little. Stay focused."

     The illusion used its other two turns to attack three other battalions; when they were vanquished, the pieces appeared to dissolve into ash. This time, Roberta could brace herself for the flood of pain that resulted.

     "It's your move," said the Kyrii. "You should know that your turns have a deadline of five minutes."

     "What? That's not fair." A turn of Statecraft, at minimum, took 30 minutes to deliberate over and complete.

     "It is perfectly doable. The timer starts now."

     An hourglass materialized on the illusion's side of the table; she flipped it. Roberta took a deep breath and drew from the Circumstances deck that would give her a card she could play freely whenever she wanted:

     RITUAL

     On your turn, invoke this card to destroy one of your own tiles.

     It was one of the worst cards in the game; one could obliterate their own tiles to prevent an enemy from taking it, but doing so resulted in such horrendous political, social, and economic consequences that you would simply lose when your turn ended.

     What luck. Her main priority was to get Tormund to safety lest he be attacked. Even if he could defend himself, she didn't want his well-being to hang over her head.

     "I'll decommission Tor." She picked him off the board and out of play. In exchange, the game refunded half the resources used to "create" him to her military resource pool.

     The battle's prognosis was quite grim; in addition to the Darigans' air superiority, which meant that they were immune to all terrain effects, they also got a pretty good strength buff from their curse. If she didn't bolster Meridell's defenses, it would be gone in a matter of two turns.

     Roberta proceeded to redirect her remaining two military actions to that purpose. "Perfectly doable," she muttered under her breath.

     "It must be doable," said Tormund. "If you look at the board, it's almost exactly how the first Meridell-Darigan war happened."

     "That shouldn't be possible."

     "Well, I had to read a lot of military history. It's pretty accurate, except for two things. One--Meridell Acres doesn't have the red windmill. Two, there's Champion Gavin stationed there in the Havister tile.

     "And I'm supposed to know who that is."

     "He was the Champion of Meridell, before Sir Borodere. Actually, there's a kid version of Sir Borodere with him."

     "In addition to the main Jeran token," she said.

     Said token was currently in direct proximity to four of Roberta's battalions near the castle, granting them a 25% combat bonus. It could stay right where it is, because she was quite sure the Darigan army would march right onto the castle, just as they did in the real world.

     As much as she was hesitant to admit it, the political side of the game lined up with Tormund's explanation. The Darigans' political situation in the game was tumultuous; the resource-poor citadel was faced with a constant threat of Famine, causing high Stress within the populace that could only be mitigated with more resources.

     Specifically, the political will was such that they would do anything to get the orb sitting in the castle. The obvious strategy for the Darigan side, now that the war had started, was to ignore every other aspect of the game and focus on overwhelming Meridell.

     That pale green Kougra Sir Gavin had good stats, but the two Darigan battalions threatening Havister meant she couldn't use him for her main strategy. Just as well, she thought. It was during the first Meridell-Darigan war that the fabulous four arrived, and fielding at least Kayla and Lisha would provide her with some nice bonuses.

     She just had to save for another turn, and--

     "Time's up."

     The illusion drew a card from the Circumstances deck and used all three of its military actions to attack the forces nearest to the castle. The defenses Roberta put up almost succeeded, but just like before, when the Darigans' halberds clashed with her pieces, they melted into little ash piles.

     Roberta's muscles seized up in preparation for the shocks that came with each unit felled.

     "Your move." It flipped the hourglass again.

     Roberta drew a new Circumstances card. Her fingers were almost sealed around it.

     DISSIDENTS

     Status effect: reduces the number of available military actions by 1. Increases Gross Political Relations with all other nations by 10%. Use a military action to Crush Dissidents and remove this card from the board.

     In a normal game, Dissidents was an amazing card. It smoothed over so many political interactions. Right now, however, it had limited utility. Sure, getting slightly more passive resources from Brightvale was nice, but it wasn't worth it.

     If Roberta had one more military action last turn, she wouldn't have had to suffer--literally--the losses that she did. She took a deep breath. At this point, the war was a battle of attrition. Her military and institutions just had to endure, not thrive.

     With each unit defeated, even the muscles surrounding her eyes felt weaker. Her heart pounded against her ribs when she thought of what would happen the next time she lost a battalion.

     As she picked up the card to activate Crush Dissidents and dismiss the effect, Tormund raised his objection. "Wait!"

     "What is it?" she breathed.

     "Don't get rid of that card. You need it."

     "Listen, I've thought it over. Brightvale doesn't give enough--"

     "It's not about Brightvale. It's about Darigan. In reality, the Yellow Knight spoke out against the war and managed to rally Darigan's advisors to turn against him."

     "You want me to try diplomacy with the nation I'm actively at war with."

     "We know what actually happened. I think it might be the only way."

     "Tor, there's no time."

     Tormund shuffled over to her pinky finger and used all the might in his tiny body to squeeze it. "I know, Robbie, I know."

     "I can't."

     "I'm with you. We can do this. Come on."

     She smiled weakly at him and steeled herself once more. Her two military actions once again went directly into her defense. But that wasn't all--with her new diplomatic boost from Dissidents, it was technically possible to send the Yellow Knight into the Darigan Citadel with one of her political moves.

     "Just in time, the turn's over," said the illusion. Again it attacked three times with measured abandon, and again two of Roberta's units fell.

     Each time, it felt like an anvil had dropped onto her head. She pressed her fingers against her temples, leaned on the table, and closed her eyes. She imagined the pain pulsing weaker and weaker until she could think again.

     Each turn, Darigan's political situation would get worse, and Meridell's would also get worse at a slightly slower rate thanks to the attrition from the war. That meant she needed to keep on the pressure, trivial in normal circumstances, but...

     "One minute." Tormund roused her by poking her finger pads with his sword. "Make a move."

     Roberta opened her eyes just long enough to spend a few political tokens on the Yellow Knight and to bolster her defenses two times; it wasn't ideal, but she concentrated her defenses on one unit to reduce the stings of defeat.

     The hourglass turned again, and she could scarcely tell what the illusion did on its turn. All she knew was that it felt as though a burning, acidic spade poked at the back of her head.

     "Your turn, come on," prodded Tormund gently.

     Her loose hair framed her opponent like two frayed black stage curtains. Princess Iselle was not quite known for any particular sense of cruelty, but then again, this was not Princess Iselle. This was some sort of enchantment, a curse--who's to say what the difference was--taking her as its avatar.

     But why? thought Roberta.

     She continued to spend political tokens on the Yellow Knight and her defenses. This turn, she had managed to summon Kayla, who raised the defense of all mounted units within her vicinity. Then she reinforced a battalion.

     End turn. Another throe. She focused on keeping her head in such a way that her hair continued to frame the illusion.

     There is a secret hidden here, it had said. And you have already discovered it.

     What secret?

     Roberta continued converting her resources into political tokens and used her two military actions to summon and attack one of Darigan's battalions with Lisha. The figurine representing her pointed her Wand of Ultranova to the sky and a rain of stars obliterated its enemies.

     The illusion remained calm.

     "You're doing it!" said Tormund. "A lot of their battalions are disbanding. I'm not sure what's going on, but it's just like the history books."

     Another pang. She steadied herself with bent arms and used her remaining energy to stare down the illusion. Now her hair took up more of the stage.

     What were you trying to hide?

     "Hang in there, it's almost over--look, you have Galgarroth and Vex on your side. It gave them to you."

     She could no longer see the hourglass. This game was a marvelous feat of prediction so many years into the future. Was this the secret--the mere knowledge of what would come to pass?

     It was too much of a trivial detail. It stood to reason other royals must have known about the Darigans and what might happen after the events were taken. No use protecting something like that when you were already dead.

     It could not be the details of this battle--that was public knowledge. Tormund--and basically every Meridellian knight--already knew. He could have played this game far better than she did.

     "I'll play Galgarroth," she said, sliding the piece right next to the Darigan one.

     The red Grarrl general raised his sword and struck the Darigan piece. Nothing happened, but his defense numbers dropped. Her Circumstances cards were, until now, unhelpful, but this turn netted her one called Demoralize, which caused additional Reputational damage to the enemy whenever a turned unit attacked.

     The political economy of the citadel, by now, had all but collapsed; the allies, as they once did, converged onto Lord Darigan.

     Darigan was due to fly into the orb on his next turn. No matter. She had won.

     But why? she still thought as she let herself collapse onto the table. Why go through all this trouble to hide a piece of information and magically enchant it, instead of taking it to the grave? Why make it discoverable?

     Only the strong and quick-witted...

     Her moment of respite ended with several jolts of pain hitting each limb simultaneously. She raised her head and considered the board. Lord Darigan had vanquished multiple battalions. The orb was in his hands, glowing with a blinding light. That light crept slowly and made branches into the surrounding terrain.

     "The orb, it's supposed to be destroyed," said Tormund. "That's how the war ended."

     Roberta fielded Master Vex and attacked with both him and Galgarroth; both sustained critical damage, and the light climbed on them, too.

     How the war ended, that wasn't the secret. Neither was the knowledge of what would happen, not now. But there were inconsistencies, she thought as the light spread to half the board, just like Tormund said. A few.

     A young squire named Jeran Borodere with his master, Sir Gavin, stationed in a town called Havister, a piece of dead land even before the war. Not here. Here, it was a city with strategic value, a populace, and a modest-yet-significant amount of resources to yield.

     It shouldn't have been here. That knight and the squire shouldn't have been here.

     The curse signified by the light spread even farther, and Roberta's units became mired in it. The clock was ticking; the sands were steadily falling, and the grains could now be counted.

     No time to consider political, social, or economic maneuvers. No time to consider the state of the game--but there was time to align the state of the game with reality.

     She grabbed a card from her hand and placed it in the active effects area. "I'll play this. Sacrifice."

     For once, the illusion's facial expression changed. As the tiles that Havister composed became grayed out, the curse started to die. First, only the outermost branches were afflicted; then, slowly, the main ones; and, finally, the heart of the curse: the orb.

     Darigan's token disappeared, and the citadel had no good reason to continue the war.

     ***

     Roberta didn't much remember anything that happened after that. The mere act of playing the Sacrifice card on Havister drained her consciousness, and she awoke on her couch. The discomfort and dust were quickly swept aside with Tormund's voice.

     "Hey, I made you something," he said, presenting her with a hot cup of tea and some biscuits in a large saucer. "Also called for a healer. They should be here soon."

     "Good." She sampled the tea. Tormund was at his full, correct height, standing in the middle of three towers of stacked boxes. "You look better."

     "I came to thirty minutes ago. And that game--it's still in its box, like it's never been opened."

     "Interesting," she breathed. A sacrifice...

     "What do we do with it?"

     Until now, Roberta had never had a reason to wonder much about her parents. But no self-respecting mage could ever resist a good mystery.

     "I'll keep it. Put it with the books."

     The End.