[h2]Grozny[/h2]

"Miss Dratcheva, the Emir will see you now"

Aysha Dratcheva lightly dusted off her skirt as she got onto her feet. Her arrival in Grozny had been a rough one. Two days prior, a skirmish with Ichkerians resulted in the complete destruction of a major road leading from Argun to the capital. Escorts were capable of keeping a traveling party safe between cities, that was until they entered the Emir's demesne. These were lands where no teip was granted direct access. 

Aysha followed the usher at a distance as they made their way through the courtyard of the Emir's Redoubt. When the Russians abandoned Grozny, the Chechens were quick to retake the city, and slaughter any Russians left within. What was left of the kremlin built in the city's heart was turned into another aul first, the inventive Chechens quickly reshaping the Russian fortress into their own image. Warlords holed themselves up in the fortress as Grozny changed hands like a whore being passed around. What was once a reflection of the Slavic domination of the Caucasus was no longer anything of its former self, and the kremlin was a reflection of this. Where once stood Byzantine onion domes, and murals of Christ and the saints, now saw calligraphy and verses of the Qu'ran inscribed into the walls.

Aysha was caught by the lifelessness of the courtyard as they walked through it. Empty plots of dirt divided by cracked stone pathways. Twisted bodies of flowers curled lifelessly, clinging to steel cages that once held their bodies as they grew. The death-filled courtyard complimented with stone engravings of flowers and birds all over the walls and pillars of the once flourishing center. Her concentration was broken with the loud creak of the usher opening the door to dark office on the other side of the court. 

Behind the door was a large, robust man dictating something to a scribe, who was fast at work codifying his words into a twisted, neigh unreadable script. Duq'an, the court hand. Even for herself, she found the penmanship of this secretary difficult. A sudden sharp call to attention drew her head back to the man at the desk. His hand extended forward, motioning for Aysha to take a seat in front of his desk.

"Assalam Alaykum, Miss Dratcheva. How are you this day?"

Aysha made a small motion as she sat down, "Valaykum Salam, Alhamdulillah." She glanced up and spoke again. "You are Mr. Osman Masaev?"

"Indeed" the man replied, as the secretary bent over to the side to grab a new bottle of ink, motioning to the warlord for a moment's pause before he could return to the stenographing. Osman cleared his throat before the scribe motioned to him once more, and he resumed speaking. "I assumed you would have a wali with you"

Aysha coughed slightly into her hand before speaking once again. "Ideally I would have, but circumstances left me unable to afford to bring another with me."

Osman replied monotonously, "It does not reflect well on a woman who may potentially be in service to the Emir to be associating with men freely." He leaned forward as he spoke again, "She may be too loose to be trusted as his secretary."

"I assure you, Mr. Masaev, I have come as promptly to your service, being only in the company of men in my own teip the whole time."

Osman nodded sagely as he scanned her up and down. "Miss Dratcheva, may I ask you, what do you know of Emir Ramzan?"

"The Emir?" Aysha said, pausing to probe her mind. "I know he is young, that he took over from his father. But I cannot say more, I know not even what he looks like?"

"Of course, Miss Dratcheva, that is no accident. Ramzan prefers his image to be outside of the mind of the people of Grozny, that they know him through his associates. That the name Ramzan Umarov brings images of armies and order."

Osman motioned for his scribe to cease recording and stood up. 

"Follow me, Miss Dratcheva, I will take you to him."

Aysha stood herself up, once again following Osman from a distance as he led her through another decorated corridor to a large, gilded door. Motioning to the guards, he had them open up a door.

"Commander, I am pleased to introduce the candidate for your secretary. Miss Aysha Dratcheva, a young scribe from Argun."

Aysha blinked a few times as her eyes set onto the Emir. She had heard that he was young, but she did not expect him to be as youthful as he was. The young man pushed himself back from his desk, walking up to the pair that had entered into his chambers. 

"Marsha Oyllah to you both," The Emir gestured to them, as both Osman and Aysha made a movement of respect towards him. Ramzan glanced over at Aysha, who was tense, keeping herself restrained and at attendance in the presence of the Emir. "Miss Dratcheva, Aysha, please" he said quite informally, "relax, you don't have to keep up that high society shit around me." 

Aysha's face contorted into an expression of shock and confusion at these words. This was the Emir? A man so young he didn't even have full facial hair yet. The long blond hair hanging out under his navy blue train conductor's hat and his large, round eyes gave this military commander an even more boyish look. 

"Aysha, please sit wherever, you look uncomfortable standing like that." Ramzan said as he strutted back to his desk, "You too Osman, loosen up a bit" he added in, turning around as he stopped and pointed at the Grand Warlord as he pulled out a chair and reclined back into it. 

The Emir's chambers were perhaps more befitting of a child than they were of the supreme military commander of Chechnya. The walls of the bedchambers were intricately decorated, with paintings of animals found in the mountains of Caucasia, and depictions of trains across them. Trains were a theme, as it was immediately obvious to anyone that locomotives were a favorite of the young ruler. Even on his personal desk stood a small toy train on wooden tracks, with a wind up key placed into the hood of the train car. 

But what stood out the most to Aysha wasn't the trains, it was the other toy he had. Plush animals in glass cases in the far end of his room, meticulously groomed and posed in their containers. Beanies, a line of cheap childrens toys filled with plastic beans and stuffing. They were relatively popular, but Aysha never knew anyone could like them this much. Enough to have them in cases, and in displays. 

"Do you like them?" Ramzan queried to Aysha, catching her attention. "They were a chore to collect. Beanies are rare enough as it is in Europe, let alone in a war zone like this." Aysha stared blankly at him as he continued. "I give my soldiers special bonuses if they bring me back a Beanie when they siege and capture a place. A real weapon in place of a Scorpion, Stinger or some other pipe-gun. Osman says I shouldn't ransom weapons for toys, but I can't just afford to be giving out what precious little professional firearms we can salvage, now can I?"

Aysha remained silent, prompting Ramzan to push her further. 

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here, aren't you?"

"I was told that you were in need of a scribe," Aysha responded, "That is why isn't it?"

"Yes, of course" Ramzan replied, "But it's more than just a note-taker, oh no, no, no. I need someone who can help me with something spectacular. I'm in need of a very talented individual who can lend a hand in making my dream come true."

Aysha tilted her head, "I'm not sure I understand"

"I'm sure you do, at some level," Ramzan responded, before twisting the key in his toy train a few times, letting it go around his desk as they spoke. "It's hard running a country, miss, especially a place where, as they say, it's more guns than government. I have a few pet projects I'm looking to get off the ground as we start bringing this unruly mess under a true leader instead of a bunch of ragtag men with pipe guns and stolen carbines. Warlords are not an effective basis of government, and I'm looking to phase them out. But I can't do it alone."

"So how do I fit into all this?"

"Simple, Aysha. You will be my second body, my new pair of hands and my second brain to start planning out how to fix this mess and get everything going to unite the mountains." 

Ramzan grabbed onto the train, stopping it. "Trans-Caucasia"

"Excuse me?"

"Trans-Caucasia, Aysha. The conquest of the mountains, and the technology to break through the once impregnable walls of our enemies." Ramzan lifted the toy up, shoving it into Aysha's face. "Trains, woman, trains"

"Trains?"

"I'm looking to build the first comprehensive system of trains to cross the mountains of this land. To unite the Caucasus both figuratively and literally. I need an organized mind to help me plan this out. I've already got the foundation working in Grozny, but I need to expand outward, and give us an advantage in movement over our enemies in Ichkeria. With any luck, we could expect to take the south, and drive that Egyptian and his fundies out of the northeast with ease if we can conquer the mountains. And once we have that, we will be uncontested, unchallenged in our supremacy over the Caucasus."

Ramzan grinned widely, "And you, Miss Aysha Dratchva. You are the cornerstone of our success!"