Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 111
"You want me to do what?!" Rogue Trader Crovin blurted in shock.
"This is the will of the Smoke Jaguars," Damchak replied coolly.
"It's raving lunacy," Crovin scoffed, "If you get caught then it's all our heads on the chopping block."
"Our troth is not yet set, refuse me and the riches of the Boscage shall never be yours."
"Bribe me all you like, money is no use to a dead man," Crovin retorted.
"He who stands against me shall be my enemy," Damchak hissed.
"You don't scare me. The worst you can do is kill me, the Inquisition has punishments that make one crave death."
Damchak leaned back in his reinforced chair, scowling furiously. He'd returned to the Most Profitable Venture to enlist the Rogue Trader's aid in his schemes, only the man had paled at the proposal. Damchak's revenge plotted against Marcher could not continue without the Rogue Trader's assistance, but the risks involved seemed too great for Crovin's stomach. Damchak toyed with the idea of slitting the man's throat and taking over the ship, but that would not further his cause, he needed Crovin to be a willing conspirator in this affair.
Damchak drummed his left hand on the armrest then mused, "Do the Sun-Emperor's Headsmen have eyes everywhere?"
Crovin sighed, "Not everywhere, but anywhere. The Inquisition has ways of finding things out, and to plot against a Lord Militant is not something they will ignore."
Damchak nodded, "Our Headsmen too are keen of eye but they do not see all. Prowls often test their patience, pushing to the limit of what is acceptable. Oft we dart over the line and back, when we know they are elsewhere."
Crovin confessed, "I've tempted the Inquisition's wrath on occasions, trading across the border between Novans and Terrans. The Inquisition frowns upon it, but both sides need some trade in order to function, though they'd never admit it. In truth the greatest weapon of the Inquisition is fear, the feeling that they are watching prevents more treacheries than they ever could in person. Many ambitious Adepts will abandon their schemes at the merest mention of an Inquisitor. The various Departmentos would be in open war if not for that ever-present threat."
Damchak sensed a thread of resentment in his tone, but did not press the point. The Rogue Trader had no love of the Sun-Emperor's Headsmen, but needed to be guided rather than driven. Threats would be of no use this day, Damchak must lure the prey must snare with a tempting morsel. This was a hunt as perilous as any other, and a single misplaced word or gesture could scare the quarry away. Damchak must be as cunning as Xavaar the Founder.
"Can I tempt you to a game?" Damchak asked lightly.
Crovin's lip twitched in interest, "Cards or board?"
"I hear the Imperium has a game of kings."
"Regicide?" Crovin sniffed dismissively, "I can't be having with Regicide, far too cerebral. I prefer Trawla. You know of it?"
"A stranger in a strange land am I, but I do learn fast," Damchak conceded.
Crovin pressed a button on his table and summoned a servant to bring them a board. Damchak took a moment to inspect the Rogue Trader's quarters, sumptuous and refined as one would expect. There were fine collections of wines and hunting trophies, a large bed and a walk-in wardrobe filled with frilly clothes. Yet the most prominent items were trophies, large and small, in bronze, silver and gold. Cups and plaques, medals and statuettes. Each bore an emblem of how they had been won, swords and pistols for duelling, flyers for racing and engraved dice, cards and spindles for gambling. Damchak had not considered the man's tastes important until now, but this was a clue he could exploit.
A servant in a powdered wig brought in a Hexagonal board, divided into six coloured sections and dotted with small holes. A table was dragged between the two and the board was laid out. Damchak lifted an eyebrow as two-score ivory pegs were drawn, crowned by animal heads, twenty black jackals and twenty white hounds. Three chunky dice were laid upon the table, as Crovin pulled back his frilly sleeves. Damchak found it awkward to bend down far enough to play, and he could only use his left hand, but he forebore the indignity.
"White or black?" the Rogue Trader asked.
"First the rules," Damchak rebuffed.
"It's very simple; you lay out your pieces along your edge and try to eliminate your opponent's forces. You roll the dice and can move up to three pieces that many places, in any direction not blocked. To remove a rival piece you must trap it between two of your own. White goes first."
"Black suits my mood," Damchak allowed.
Crovin smiled as he set up the board, then rolled three dice. He advanced three pieces in a wedge formation, heading for the centre board. Damchak rolled the dice and made a flanking manoeuvre, advancing up the left side. Move and countermove soon followed, dividing the board into a swirling morass of pieces. The disharmonious nature of the game rubbed against Damchak's instincts, the logical course was to keep your pegs close together for protection, and yet the random nature of the dice meant keeping any kind of formation was impossible. Minutes passed in intense concentration, then a bad roll left Damchak's right flank lagging and exposed. Crovin smiled wickedly as a lucky roll let him sweep three pegs across the board, neatly eliminating a pair of Damchak's pieces.
Damchak looked up as the pegs were removed, "It is a game of opportunity, not logic."
Crovin leaned back, "Trawla is the great leveller. The most skilled player can be undone by poor luck; the meanest novice can achieve mastery if the dice are with him. You must learn to navigate the fickle tides of fate, seize whatever opening you are given and exploit it to your advantage. Expect nothing and embrace the smallest prospect whenever it presents itself."
Damchak cocked his head, "It is your life story writ in wood and ivory."
Crovin agreed, "Caught that did you? Yes, I despise the indolent and the feckless, those whose lives are set out for them at birth and never waver from the road already trodden. Such mediocrity bores me, I crave excitement and adventure."
"Then we are of one mind," Damchak concurred as he rolled a good hand and swept up three white pegs.
Crovin frowned as the game advanced and bent his full attention to the board. In a handful of moves the pair decimated each other's boards, removing half the pegs in as many rolls. Damchak's mind tried to build strategies and feints, but the random nature of the dice made it impossible. Chance was the determining factor in a game of Trawla, a contest where nothing was secure and every gambit laced with risk.
"Was your life destined for such drudgery?" Damchak asked lightly.
The Rogue Trader sighed, "The Crovin line has been plying the space lanes for centuries. Not the oldest dynasty by far, but prosperous enough. My father and his father before him plied the same trade routes, grinding out the same profits year on year. I despised it, as soon as I assumed my title I took the Warrant to new sectors, to seek out adventures and glories of my own. It has cost me on occasions, many called me a damned fool, but when I have succeeded the rewards are lavish enough to silence my detractors. Running the Interregnum border has made me rich, now I stand on the cusp of triumphs beyond the dreams of my forefathers."
Damchak took another peg with a swift lateral strike, "And Marcher is of like mind?"
Crovin's nose curled in disgust, "A grasping schemer, who has no scruples taking other's glory for himself. He was born into one of the wealthiest families of Terra and raised to believe everyone else exists solely to further his own greatness. He's never had any issue with using others and then swooping in and taking all the credit at the last minute. A glory hog inside and out."
Damchak mused, "You sound bitter, have you crossed swords before?"
"Not directly, but I know his legend. While you've been running about on the planet I gathered rumours and whispers, and I tell you his underlings are not happy, not at all. All of them expect to die on this mudball, their lives spent for Marcher's cause. Billions have died in this meatgrinder and few have ever made it out alive."
Damchak took another peg, "Tis surprising the Serviles of Terra have not removed him already."
"Many have tried, but those who come to Tellaris seeking glory end up dying on the front line. Many would-be Lord Militants have come thinking of usurping Marcher, and yet none of them lasted six months. Somehow Marcher always comes out squeaky clean, admirable ruthlessness, in a fashion."
Damchak mused, "In the Boscage there are kings who hunt big game. They love to land the hunt-kill, but always the beast is tied down and drugged before they touch a spear. They crave the crown of victory, but abhor risk."
Crovin moved his pegs in a sweeping counter, "You can't get Marcher there. He's spilled blood on occasions; those Augmetics were earned in combat. He's no coward; he merely can't stand to share the laurels. If he sees a chance to claim the victory outright he'll be found at the front. He knows glory is far more dazzling with a daring tale behind it."
Damchak moved his pegs left and took another white peg, "And you, do you seek glory without risk?"
Crovin rolled a good hand and took three more pegs making it seven and seven a piece, "I am not so boring. I love risk for its own sake, the thrill of dancing over the abyss. The rewards come and go, but I love the chase."
Damchak smiled coldly, "Then you should accept my proposal."
"You're serious?!" Crovin scoffed as he concentrated his pegs in the centre.
Damchak countered by spreading his pegs up the sides, "Our alliance offers great wealth, but if you agree then the pact between Smoke Jaguar and your bloodline will be eternal. The rewards are
lavish, but the danger is keen. Discovery could end us all, peril will stalks your heels, your heart shall beat quicker than ever and your blood will sing with thrill."
"Your Chapter thirsts for danger," Crovin snorted as he manoeuvred his pieces for a final strike.
"We call it sport," Damchak countered as he rolled the dice.
In one sweeping move Damchak drove his pegs into the centre of the board. Three pieces appeared in the middle of Crovin's pegs, which were bracketed by the static blacks, pinning four whites in an instant. The heart was torn out of Crovin's forces, leaving him with three black pegs to seven white. Worse the whites were isolated and divided, unable to come together. The game had been won with one lucky turn of the dice and victory belonged to Damchak.
"Ha!" Crovin laughed at the sight, "You understand what it is to be bold!"
"Faint hearts earn no esteem," Damchak commented.
"I get your point, and I have to admit your proposal does titillate me. It would be the greatest risk of my life, but the rewards are even sweeter when they come with danger. I would be tempted for the thrill alone, but I expect greater recompense than your Chapter Master has offered."
Damchak smiled coldly, he had the prey in the snare, all that remained was the hunt-kill, "Shall we play again?"
"By all means," Crovin agreed, "And let us discuss my rewards."
Damchak set up the board again as they talked. The Rogue Trader had committed to the plan, the rest was merely haggling. The Smoke Jaguar had the drag-blind and the rope for his trap, all he lacked now was suitable bait to lure Marcher's foot into the noose. Fickle chance would provide, Damchak was sure, all he needed to do was to wait for the ripe moment, and then to strike without hesitation.