"Go and speak to them," you say to your secretary. "Tell them the Baron is cast down. Tell them
I am lady. I'll be along shortly."
The secretary scurries off; a few minutes pass in silence. You descend from your dais, and approach the taxman and his retinue with words of greeting.
7
A gasp rises from the imperials at your appearance, and a few guards step back with hands on swords-- but the taxman himself steps forward, his eyes gleaming with delight!
"You are
magnificent, lady ZENDRAKIEL!" He's a tall man, richly-dressed with a pointed beard. "Your scales, they-- they burn like the dawn!"
"--I'm getting ahead of myself," he continues with an ecstatic bow. "I am Cornelias, and I have always wished to see a dragon."
What a charming and
perceptive human! You invite him into your hall.
Alas, business is business.
"Lady ZENDRAKIEL, I will be blunt," says the taxman. "The Baron was a scoundrel, but he was a
predictable scoundrel. You are not. In happier times, my king would send many knights to part you from your holdings and your life."
"In happier times," you murmur, eyes narrowed. "What stops you now?"
"We are at war," says the taxman. "Castle Grebbish has fallen to savage lopers from the north: even now, they lay waste to field and thatch! My king cannot afford the loss of a barony, nor the soldiers to recapture it, when an alliance may be had."
Lopers-- you remember the loping tribes, who made war over the distant plains. You remember their auburn hide, their greenish hair; their crooked legs, that leap so swiftly into battle.
"...you offer
amnesty," you whisper. "A claim to what is mine, by the laws of your people... for a price."
"The price is simple and time-honored," says the taxman. "
Men, or money. Soldiers, or gold. Your choice."
A) Men.
B) Money.
C) I'll give nothing to you.
