by James Peart
“Nothing can stand before my magic, my Lord.”
“I guess not. Now what news have you brought at the expense of spoiling my dinner tonight?”
“A little late for such a heavy meal, is it not?”
“You’re welcome to it. I myself haven’t eaten since noon as I’ve spent the time between then and now tending to affairs of the Council.”
“Thank you, my Lord, but no.”
“Then you don’t mind if I do?” He sat down at the table on a small stool and began to cut his food and eat, saying between mouthfuls “could you please explain the reason for your visit?”
“I am here because I must tell you that the creatures of Faerie we have dispatched to Fein Mor have once again failed in their task.”
Longfellow glanced sharply at the other man. Was he a man, though? He seemed immune to the usual inducements- bribery and women-that he hung before members of the Council. Then there was his use of magic: it was different to any form of sorcery he had previously heard of, even the Druid’s, and in its own way was just as powerful as that of the current inhabitant of Fein Mor. It seemed to work its influence more on weak-willed men, less so on men like himself, though he was too wary to test that proposition. Wrock called it the Thrust, the way he manipulated objects and people without any obvious exertion other than a mere thought. It was a hidden sorcery, distancing by its nature the user from its effect and therefore it was of benefit to Longfellow. The Steward could not be seen by the Council to condone the employment of magic, especially not by those who worked for him, even and perhaps especially as they suspected its use within the walls of the citadel. It was the reason he tolerated Wrock’s unannounced visits in the way in which the other conducted them, coming and going to and from the tower in the depth of night.
Longfellow signalled for Tan Wrock to continue by rolling his finger.
“The Furies were all of them dispatched, dead upon contact with their attacker. My scouts reported that it was not the Faerie Whorl that put an end to them, like the last time with the Windwalker. It was a new form of sorcery that was used. Here’s the interesting bit, my Lord: it was not the Druid who killed them; it was someone else. The Druid has help.”
Longfellow bit at a forkful of meat and chewed. This news did not surprise him. It was only a matter of time before Daaynan enlisted support, but from where? “How many of them were there?”
“Two, as far as the scouts could see. One baited the Fury King, while the other, the one with real power, stepped in before he could attack and put an end to him.”
“How did he achieve this?”
“He only had to touch the Fury, it seemed. This sorcerer must have great power, yet it does not seem to work unless he is close to the victim, hence the deception carried out by his assistant. However, as soon as their leader went down the other Furies surrounding him fell like dominoes.”
“Hmm. Where did the Druid come upon such a sorcerer? He has no friends, little family to speak of, even if they were a help to him which they would not be. He’s alone in that castle.”
Wrock shifted his stance marginally and Longfellow felt the intensity of his gaze suddenly. “That fire of his accomplishes almost anything. Perhaps he dragged something out of its own time and place and set it to work against the Furies. One thing’s for sure, the sorcerer he enlisted does not hail from the Northern Earth.”
Longfellow considered what the other said. “He’ll have pieced it together by now that it’s me who sent those Furies. That one doesn’t waste time. He’ll be coming for us.”
No, Tan Wrock thought, he’ll be coming for you, but maybe that doesn’t matter. If that other sorcerer gets within a mile of the citadel it’ll all be over anyway and I plan to be very far away by that time.
“Have you tried to reach him with your magic?” Longfellow said, breaking into the other’s thoughts.
“I have. He’s too powerful, or just too different. Whatever the case, the result is the same. He’s beyond my influence.”
Longfellow nodded, unsurprised. Wrock looked at him. You are not beyond my powers, however, my Lord Steward. I could finish you right here, on the spot.
“Perhaps when they get closer you’ll be able to do so,” Longfellow said dismissively, ignoring his gaze.
“How are your plans for the Drague Territories coming along?” Wrock asked him.
“I’ve rounded up as many of the tribes there as I could and sent the Northern Army in with them to push further East.”
“Drague tribes and Northern Army soldiers,” Wrock mused, “that’s a volatile combination, I would say.”
“We have the full cooperation of the Drague people,” Longfellow sniffed. “There’s no problem there.”
“And the Cru Dynasty in the Southern Territories?”
“That’s proving more difficult, but it doesn’t concern you.”
He could see their meeting was coming to a close. They talked on for a bit, skating over subjects that ranged from the strength of the Home Guard to various Council members that were giving Karsin a difficult time, the Vice-Steward in particular. There had been times when such members had posed a genuine threat to Karsin’s rule, when Wrock had been employed to ‘mediate’ the situation. Longfellow enjoyed such terms as ‘mediate’ and ‘resolve,’ when what they amounted to was plain murder and Wrock had been his cat’s paw in such times.
Wrock left as he had come in, passing by the guards unseen, stealing out through the Citadel, headed toward his residence on the outskirts of Brinemore. He reflected on what he had told the Steward tonight. What he’d said had been true, but he had left things out. For example, the impression he had received from this newly arrived sorcerer when his mind had reached out to his with the Thrust. It was a unique impression, the mind of the other cold and imperial, born to command, able to see into the minds of men like himself and yet...it lacked compromise, as if it were used to utter subservience from those it came into contact with, without ever once being challenged for its power. Whatever place and time he came from, he would find the Northern Earth a little different, Wrock felt sure. Tan had on occasion, and without the other’s knowledge, used the Thrust against the Druid Daaynan and found the experience to be very different. The Druid’s mind was equally tempered yet cautious and, beyond a point, unyielding. Wrock had received the impression that if he had pushed further, a powerful shutter would descend and block all further contact. This block was not present in the mind of the other sorcerer. Interesting indeed. He would wait before employing the Thrust again to see what would happen when the sorcerer was closer to Brinemore.
The Druid did not enjoy the full cooperation of this sorcerer, he thought, despite what had happened to the Furies. Such a Magus did not assist anyone unless it was done with more than a degree of self-interest. So now the Druid and the sorcerer were headed this way, the sorcerer armed with the knowledge his magic had gleaned from the Furies that Longfellow had sent them to Fein Mor, the Druid having likely worked it out on his own. Perhaps they would confront each other before they arrived, and if so, who would prevail? If what the Thrust had told him was correct, he had better hope it was the sorcerer who did. He brushed aside a feeling of sudden impatience. It was time to wait. Knowing when to do so and when to act could mean the difference between life and death.
18.
Late the next morning Karsin Longfellow strode across the courtyard toward the halls of the Confederation Council chambers like a visiting dignitary. Everywhere he walked, he drew attention, men, women and children making way for him, offering flattering words and gesticulating as he went past. He acknowledged them with a terse nod and an occasional wave of his hand, smiling faintly, his expression otherwise neutral. His head was lowered in a seeming act of deference, yet he felt neither deferential nor fondly aloof. He viewed those he passed, indeed the entire citizenry of Brinemore, as nothing more than subordinates, there to do his bidding. They counted for little with him other than the uses to which they could b
e put. He would take from their number to expand his great Northern Army, be it to extend his influence in the Drague territories East of Brinemore or to push further south and conquer the Cru Dynasty. They were merely pawns in his campaign to extend his power over the Northern Earth. The subtext of his speeches underlined this, if not the general content, which was delivered with an unrivalled eloquence amongst his former peers who currently staffed the Council. A gifted orator, he could move the minds of men with a single statement or opening remark. He had a politician’s talent for distilling the essence of a complex idea or sequence of ideas into a simple word or phrase. Not that he carried the politician’s burden of having to constantly prove his worth to the public as an elected official. His stewardship of Brinemore was now effectively permanent. Yet it was important to maintain the appearance of gratitude of his high station, especially as he never wanted them to see how he used them. The blanket of conditioning he provided them with served at one and the same time to protect the citizenry and smother those who would act in ways that might threaten to undermine his selfish plans for advancement. Under the mantle of his leadership, he made it all seem logical. The dawn raids into the Southern Territories, the pillaging of tribes East of Brinemore, communities whose members held little more than sticks with which to defend themselves. The widescale stripping of forest land to build more and more garrison towns to station troops in regions his army had conquered. He made it all seem natural, as inevitable as ordinary fate.
It had taken a long time to arrive at this point, years to build up the Northern Army to a size that could take on Brinemore’s neighbouring cities, regional Kingdoms and trading unions, years before that, before his rise to become Steward of Brinemore when he was a struggling clerk in one of the Council chambers. Times were different then. Brinemore was not yet the force it would become in the Northern Earth. Money was hard to come by and many people bartered for what they needed or went hungry. He came from a provincial town in one of the outlying regions and had had to leave his family behind when he succeeded in getting a job as office clerk. From the outset, he was ambitious, driven in his early years to prove his worth to those he left behind. He had no contacts, or money of his own. He lived in a run-down squat on the outskirts of the city, barely able to afford even that. In his favour, he had a sharp mind and a knack for understanding the politics of the office in which he worked. He could easily grasp new ideas as they came about and explain them to those around him. He was imaginative, but this was worthless in the context of his job. He knew from the beginning that he wanted to enter politics but did not know how to go about this as most if not all of those positions were occupied by individuals with means or friends of the Governor or Steward.
Then two things happened. The Governor of the region that controlled Brinemore decreed that the stewardship of the city- along with positions in the hierarchy that supported it- should be offered in an open system to those who merited it rather than be awarded to members of a closed network. It was the beginning of the modern Confederacy that Brinemore evolved into and a step taken to ensure the city’s survival in the increasingly aggressive Northern Territories. One of the first actions taken by the Governor was to promote Longfellow’s friend and immediate supervisor to the role of Speaker in what would become the first Confederate Council. Threy Tin had long recognised Longfellow’s intelligence and drive and they often talked together about how they would change the city for the better given the opportunity or how they would defend it if presented with the threat of being conquered by a rival province. Tin immediately suggested Longfellow’s promotion to a seat on the Council yet was nearly unanimously outvoted by the other members who feared a swift return of the old system of friends supporting friends. He countered this decision with a suggestion that Longfellow prove his value in a speech made to the Council, which they agreed to. That speech, which later became part of Brinemore legend, ensured him a seat and set a precedent by which future members would be elected.
However, despite this rapid advancement, it was as many as 12 years later before Longfellow would finally become Steward of Brinemore. The city was going through rapid changes. Its population increased ten-fold over the next five years and much of the citizenry emigrated to foreign lands and regions, prospered and returned with great wealth and ideas on how to spend the money to improve the city. The Confederate Council began to mine the lands outside Brinemore and discovered a fortune in metals and natural minerals. The equipment with which to do this was expensive and the city outsourced its mining to contractors who wanted to keep the silver and gold deposits that they excavated from the vast quarries Brinemore owned. This led to war in the Northern Territories, a war which the city could afford as it held the gold deposits and had grown rich selling them to the Southern Territories. Gaining possession of the gold had been a tricky proposition at first, yet Longfellow and his former supervisor had come up with an idea. Threy Tin, by this time Steward of Brinemore, approached the citizenry and told them they would receive a stake of the earnings realised from selling the gold if they stood up to the mining company and prevented it from gaining possession of the deposits. The resultant bloodshed was inevitable but the citizenry, driven by anger and the righteousness of reclaiming what they naturally felt was their property, along with a good measure of old-fashioned greed, won out in the end, and after they had learned how to work the quarries themselves, drove the company out of Brinemore. It was Longfellow who came up with the slogan: ‘A stake for every citizen is a stake in his future.’ It fuelled the war of the Northern Territories and a version of the slogan (‘a weapon for every citizen means a stake in his future’) was later used to build the powerful Northern Army. It reminded some people of the history of the Punic Campaigns some 150 years before when Brinemore was intent at the time on ‘reclaiming’ sacred relics from distant regions of the Northern Earth before the four territories existed.
Later, when Longfellow himself became Steward, he ousted the Governor in a swift, decisive coup. The region that controlled the city threatened to become as wealthy as Brinemore and the Governor of that region had begun to claim credit for forging trade alliances with towns and strongholds in the Southern Territories and West Ridden. The Governor was touting the success of these alliances as a model of aggressive expansion while Longfellow, despite being privately in accord with this sentiment, wished the nature in which the alliances were made to be seen as wholly democratic. The former Steward Threy Tin, by now demoted to the role of Longfellow’s personal advisor (later to be replaced altogether in favour of Tan Wrock) was sent to the Governor with a message the essence of which was ‘retire and allow Karsin’s army to take control of the regional seat or face the bloody consequences.’ The Governor, an old man but astute enough to recognise when he had been outmanoeuvred, resigned in a bloodless coup. The citizenry, long resentful of the position of authority the Governor held over their city, applauded this non-violent resolution of the matter.
Karsin Longfellow had taught yet another opponent a lesson in the art of political warfare. He had done so many times in the last five years, turning Brinemore in that time into a formidable power in the Northern Earth.
Longfellow now considered the Confederation Council. There were two principal subjects up for discussion in its chambers today, though Longfellow also had a private agenda that he wanted the assembly to veto: the territory-wide banning of any form of sorcery- already illegal in Brinemore- including the territories into which Brinemore was expanding. If he timed it right, it would be accepted and a new bill drafted. He would place it, he thought, between the two main topics up for discussion. The first, the continued expansion of the Steward’s army into the Drague Territories, was a thorny issue for some on the Council, notably Scrot Manch, Brinemore’s Vice-Steward. He knew that Manch and another official, Drak Poel, were secretly campaigning to remove him from the position of Steward. They had approached other members and had roughly the support of a fifth of the Council. The individu
als they approached had so far agreed to Manch’s and Poel’s proposition and had not leaked this knowledge to other Council members. This was no open secret. Longfellow knew because he had asked Tan Wrock to use the Thrust on Manch without the other’s awareness and knew what he knew. So far, he had not instructed Wrock to dispose of the two but he would deal with them soon, that much was certain. He reviewed the approach he would make when he appeared before the Council today, revising the wording of his opening remarks. It was necessary that those assembled understood the importance of Brinemore’s continued expansion east.
The second topic was the city’s confrontation with the Cru Dynasty in the south. The idea of waging war with the Cru sat uneasily with most of the Council. They consisted of a ruling family which was long established in the Southern Territories (known there as the Kingdom), an ancient royal bloodline that had seen off bigger, more predatory invaders in its approximate 1000-year history, though none perhaps as economically successful as Brinemore. This would be the crux of his argument, he had already decided. Unbeknownst to its citizenry, The Cru King had already visited Brinemore and held informal talks with Longfellow. True, they had discussed much and the other had promised little, yet he knew of a way to force the King’s hand to allow him to exert his influence in the south. The real problem, as with the first motion, was Manch and Poel. They would, however, be handled, sooner rather than later. This way the words he spoke today would have a more significant and lasting impact on the minds gathered in the Council. They would inspire both fear and wonder in its members, tightening his grip on the administration while removing at a stroke any future threat to his rule.
19.
The Confederation Council meeting began shortly after Karsin Longfellow’s arrival, the council members gathered in their assembly listening to the Steward outline his reasons for his continued expansion into the Drague Territories. Longfellow sat at the head of a long, narrow oak table with nine representatives of the Council seated to his right and nine to his left. To his immediate right sat the Vice-Steward of Brinemore Scrot Manch, facing across the table the General of the Northern Army Silt Bron to Longfellow’s immediate left. To Manch’s right were seated the Vice-General of the Northern Army, the chief of the Home Guard, and the Steward’s principal trade adviser. Seated opposite them were the Council’s chief military strategist Drak Poel and other representatives of the Council.
