6.3 Agenda 330

Part VI: The Great Escape
Chapter 3: Agenda 330
Timeline: AO 295

Hecla stood ready to give herself to her brother – yearning to reconnet with her twin and take on the world!

Unfortunately for her, Hacktor did not accept Hecla’s invitation and the princess was left to feel like a fool standing before him. As a deep red appeared in his face around his manicured beard, the prince grunted, “It was naught but a childish dream. Cover yourself, sister. Don’t remind me of my sin.”

“Your Sin — is that what you’re calling me now?” Hecla sat back upon the divan, yet left her dress open. Have I really lost him? A fear took hold in her tummy. She worked hard to keep it together yet purposefully let fall more tears. “Even…if you don’t want me. I still want to help you.”

“Why?” Hacktor was cautious.

Do I see a tear forming in his eyes too? Hecla wondered. “Because we still want the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“Power.” Hecla said passionately. “The power of our family — our star is fading.”

“What are you talking about? Is father sick? Has he foolishly eaten of Duktyr’s herbs?”

“You’re talking nonsense, Hecla.” Hacktor was getting annoyed. “War is war. Men fight. Men die. One side wins, the other loses. End of story.”

Hecla’s eyes softened as she leaned closer, her tone shifting to one of vulnerability. “Hacktor, I need you to understand. This isn’t just about battles and victories. What you know as war may match Garrick’s idea – you both want war because you believe in the cause. You want to defeat your enemy, gain their lands, and expand your kingdom. But the shadow elites of both the Derkka and the Drokka think differently. The Rukstinz, the Gaatz, and their ilk are already at the top of the food chain – they don’t want that chain to break. To them, war is but a tool to maintain the status quo – they convince the Kon-Herr’s to tax the people, using pawns like Monty and Thork to convince the rabble that their taxes will support the war effort, when in reality the battle is but a ruse to hide the truth.”

“Which is?”

“While your men are dying, the Ruks, Gaatz, Klyntz, and their friends are taking all the money for themselves.” Leaning forward, Hecla’s eyes narrowed as she locked onto Hacktor’s gaze. “Let me be clear, Hacktor. This isn’t mere speculation. We have documented evidence. Remember the mysterious fire in the Blackwood District two winters ago? It wasn’t an accident. Reports from my spies confirm that it was orchestrated by the Ruks to eliminate rival merchants and consolidate their control over the blackwood trade. Witnesses conveniently disappeared, and those who survived were silenced with bribes or threats.”

Hacktor’s eyes widened slightly, a spark of interest ignited. Hecla continued, her voice lower and more intense. “And then there’s the matter of the plague. The Zarz plague that ravaged the lower quarters years back wasn’t just a random outbreak. We now know the Gaatz clan caused the problems, with the Ruks’ blessing. This was their original test – the one neither your nor father know about – it was the test to control the masses through fear.” She let the weight of her words sink in, watching Hacktor’s reaction. “These are calculated moves, part of a larger strategy to undermine our family and take over the kingdom. If we do not act, they will succeed.”

For whatever reason her brother was still fighting against believing her so Hecla took a deep breath, shifting the tone to a more reflective one. “Our family, the Busz clan, has a long and storied history, Hacktor. The Ruks and the Gaatz have always been our rivals, dating back centuries. The Ruks have always controlled the financial veins of our society – Lord Aric and his family possess the power to make or break kings – and father know that. I know your don’t want to believe it, but if you pressed him, even Mirkir would admit that the Ruks were instrumental in Ajax’s downfall – they betrayed him in the end.”

She paused, letting the weight of history settle over them. “The Gaatz are no better. And Rhokki forbid but you and I both know we can’t let that crazed lunatic Fukbyl go through with this depopulation plan – he’ll kill us all!”

Sensing she had an opening, Hecla casually ran a finger along the trim of her bust line again. “Babel and the other large cities of Gor are reputed to have high culture and their people are said to live in luxury off the backs of the commoners they use as slaves, but without our people as enemies the Derkka have lost their religion and all that wealth has made them dissolute. Monty says their Parliament focuses on absurd social issues – the latest of which is blurring the lines between men and women. Why even your Garrick is said to be caught up in these scandals.”

“What are you babbling about now? How can a man be confused with a woman?”

“My spies tell me something curious – without a war to occupy his mind, apparently Garrick has become so effeminate that he spends more time in the dressing room than the battlefield. Those who’ve observed him at court attest that he now emits a foul odor of powder and perfume and they say he now looks more like a She than a He!”

“Preposterous. No general would behave so.” Hacktor scoffed.

“It’s true – I’ve read numerous reports that claim every evening he puts himself in the hands of a group of his chambermaids – each of whom has a specific task to help him preserve his beauty with massages, baths, herbal teas, and who knows what else. The process apparently takes hours. It’s enough to make a girl like me jealous.”

“You don’t need any help to look beautiful.” Hacktor said without thinking, then quickly changed the subject. “But I don’t see what any of this has to do with MY war, Hecla.”

“It’s all related. What’s happening in Gor is what could happen here. That’s what Fukbyl Gaatz’ Agenda 330 is all about – if he and his friends can destroy our religion and warp our fundamental truths, they’ll gain even more control – eventually even enough to topple the royal family. Do you want that to happen here too? Does Mirkir?” 

“What our faith demands has not changed. Don’t bring Mirkir into this. Explain further – you believe if we go to war, that will help us to protect the power of our family — but how?”

“Think, dear brother — if we win a real war led by you, the Derkillez will secure our future.  You and Mirkir get your war – a real war, not one manufactured by ancient families to serve their own agendas, but a true holy war! You’ll defeat the Derkka and fulfill the prophecies about you. Power will come in spades and there will be none to dispute you. Think of the wealth we’ll acquire if you claim Blackwood Forest. Think about the money that comes with control of the massive farmlands of Gor. If you win those lands in war, both the merchants and wealthy landowners would be forced to serve you. The Derkillez would then maintain power not just for our lifetimes but for our childrens’ childrens’ too.”

Hacktor was suspicious. “I already told you our dreams of being Kon-Herr and queen were just a passing fancy. We’ll never have royal children together because society would never allow us to wed — even if we both still wanted as much.”

“Which apparently you do not.” Hecla looked away. “But that’s ok. Even if my family dreams don’t come true there are other benefits I can enjoy. You may not know it…because you’ve been gone so long…but I am quite the trader myself now. I deal in exotic grains and overworld fruits. It’s quite profitable. And if you captured the fields of Gor and were kind enough to grant me some control, I’d gain a lot of gold and as you can see by looking around my room I enjoy nice things. So there you have it — greed — isn’t that alone enough to go to war over?” 

Hacktor walked over to the fire and picked up a poker – playing with the flames. Hecla could hear her brother’s heart pounding in his chest, a rhythmic drumbeat that seemed to reverberate through his entire being. She sensed her twin’s thoughts – a tumultuous storm of doubt and hope- and she watched Hacktor’s grip tighten on the poker, his knuckles white with tension. At last he spoke,  “You seem to have it all figured out, Hecla. But again I ask — how does all this happen? Did you forget that I am not Kon-Herr. Baldur is still the king and he’s anti-war last I checked.”

“How could anyone forget that?” Hecla yearned to go over to her brother, to put her arms around him from behind, to feel him pressed against her, yet she resisted the urge.

Hacktor turned to face her, his gaze shifting from the flames to Hecla. She watched a change in his demeanor – his eyes shone with determination and perhaps something more—a glimmer of the old Hacktor, the one who had always stood by her. It was clear that Hacktor wanted to believe her. That he needed to believe her. The idea of reclaiming their family’s power, of securing their legacy, was a siren call she knew he could not ignore. Slowly, he nodded, the movement almost imperceptible at first, but then more resolute. “Alright, Hecla,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I will trust you. We will do this together. Tell me how do we make father take action?

“As I said, Baldur would be forced to go to war if he believed the Derkka had a weapon so powerful it could destroy us.”

Hacktor was eager to know more. “Again I ask, do they have such a weapon?”

“Does it really matter?” Hecla laughed. “So long as father and the people believe they do.”

“Again with the tricks?” Hacktor pulled back, annoyed. “These are not childish games, sister. You’ve been on the council. You know Lord Aric wouldn’t let father’s advisor recommend action unless there is a real threat. And I don’t want to hear about Monty’s propaganda machine.”

Hecla realized she had pushed too far, too fast. She tried a different approach. “What if I told you that I have access to some reports that indicate that the Derrka do have such a weapon? And that Lord Aric knows all about it. And furthermore that our rivals are planning to use it in an act of terrorism against us — against The Siq.”

“The twin watchtowers?” At first Hacktor was aghast, then he frowned as if he was the butt of an unwelcome joke. “Hecla, stop your games! This is absurd. The Siq has stood nigh three hundred years. If anyone tried to attack those gates we’d see them coming for a league or more. That’s why The Siq was built. And besides, what weapon is powerful enough to bring them down? None I say!”

Hecla couldn’t resist and played coy, “Perhaps one with the power of a god — namely the power of Zar?” 

[Zar was the Drokka’s name for Gwar (truename: Samyaza)]

“The Priory of Myz? Are they behind this?” Hacktor was all ears at the prospect of taking action against this known terror cell.

Hecla happily stoked his fire. At least he still lusts for something. “Indeed. They are planning this even as we speak — an attack that uses the might of Zar and that could well bring down The Siq — isn’t that a concern that father would have to listen to??”

At that the prince came over to her, embracing her, “Dear sister, if what you say is true then this is our chance! Surely father will want to take action now. Tell me more so I can find this Priory scum and drive them to the ground.”

Hecla kept her head buried in Hacktor’s chest. Tread carefully now. This is the moment of truth. “But, Hacktor, if you foil their plans, then you will not get your war.”

The prince pulled back and raised Hecla’s chin with a finger, “What are you saying? Does Lord Aric know about this and not take action? What about Kel-de-Kaba and the Busz military might? Are they all willing to let the Derkka destroy The Siq? But by Rhokki, people would die, sister!”

“Only the commoners and rubes – those kind of people die every day – that’s what the sheep were made for. But for that matter, I may not be a warrior but I know this – far more people would die in your war than they would from the terrorist attack that started it.”

“To die in battle is a noble cause — the noblest. To die in a coward’s terror attack is a death fit for no one – not even the peasants.”

“Well, I never said anyone had to die because I never said we had to let the Priory do it — only that we had to make father believe they could. That’s the beauty of Lord Aric’s vision. And most importantly, we have to make sure father feels that it’s not just a small terror plot but that The Golden Hand himself is behind all this — only then will you get your war.”

“OK, I’ll bite again.” Hacktor smiled. “So how do we get father to believe your little lie?”

“Naturally he will need to be on hand to witness the attack.” Hecla batted her eyes playfully. “And the right people must be there to stop it.”

“You want me to be a pawn in your game? Sister, I don’t like where this is going.”

“Forget not the end result:  you would get your war — and your glory. But to be clear I don’t want you to be the pawn — that wouldn’t smell right and father might suspect something —  after all, he knows your agenda. No, no, we need you far away – doing something harmless while this all happens. Take a trip to see your buddy Mirkir, visit the orphans at school, or go cut down a blackwood tree in the overworld – just don’t be around the action on the fateful day.”

Hacktor played along – if only because he was willing to deceive himself in order to make her claims true – as is ever the case with people in whom reason has become the slave of their desires. Holding his sister in his arms, he looked down at Hecla, showing genuine admiration towards her and smiling.  “So father witnesses the attack, learns more about the alleged weapons of mass destruction and then sends me to off to war?”

Hecla smiled back, “Something like that.”