043 – Fractures
***
The capital grew livelier after sunset in the entertainment district. Businesses put out colorful paper lanterns. Musicians played on the street corners for tips of copper coins. Groups of rowdy young stormed up and down the streets. Noblemen walked arm-in-arm with their mistresses. Drunken merchants stumbled from tavern to tavern, wasting in a night the coins they had worked so hard to collect the week before.
The district became a playground for the city’s wealthy elite, but not so much for the average citizens. Many of the young people out on the streets had swords at their belts, which signified they were the descendants of swordsmen to the third generation or young sparks training in the hopes of becoming swordsmen. Actual magi were rare, maybe they had better things to do. We four disciples did not stand out much for going armed in this place. Not for our swords anyway…
“Strythe. Why are you carrying that damned staff with you? It makes you look like a pilgrim,” Zambulon grumbled.
A group of angry men stood in the plaza before the palace gates. They shouted and waved torches in the air. One of them dragged around a scarecrow in a woman’s dress with a rope around its neck. The honor guards watched this scene nervously, afraid they might actually have to use their decorative polearms to fight off the crowd. Other people, out for a night of relaxing entertainment, shied away from the plaza and the shouting.
“Down with the Fripps!”
“Burn the witch!”
“Bring back the prince.”
“Out with the foreigners.”
“Frorn’s our boy!”
“No eastern foppery for Sandhurst.”
We stopped at the edge of the plaza, and Zambulon caught a man leaving the riotous scene by his sleeve.
“Excuse me. What’s all this? What is this mob?”
“They’re a bunch of drunk Stodges angry about the King’s proclamation. Today old King Grelloq proclaimed his youngest son, Prince Lan, as the rightful heir of the realm. What you see here is just a foretaste of what’s to come when the news spreads to the midlands and the frontier. People won’t be happy about this.”
“I see. Thank you.” Zambulon nodded to the man and turned back to us. “Now we know why Luniquial rushed off in such a hurry. It seems the king has sparked a succession crisis by naming his youngest son as heir to kingdom.”
I said, “I was unaware kingdoms were passed down. I assumed when the king died, the next strongest swordsman declared themselves the new ruler, and anyone who didn’t like it got a taste of cold steel.”
“That does happen sometimes. But generally the monarch’s children inherit their titles. In the kingdom of Sandgrave, long tradition states that the eldest son inherits, whereas in the eastern colonies, the monarch has the right to name their heir. King Grelloq has become weak willed in his sickness, and his wife has grown in power and influence over the court. She’s managed to elevate her own son, Lan, over the king’s eldest son from another marriage, Frorn.”
“Sounds like a defective system for appointing leaders to me. How will they arbitrate who gets to be king–?”
As the angry mob of protesters screamed slogans and whirled around the rag-doll effigy of the queen, another group of people entered the plaza from the far side. They also carrying sticks and torches.
“For the king and queen!”
“Lan’s the true prince.”
“The king’s will is law!”
“Queen Veffiana forever.”
“Out with the rebel Stodges!”
The two groups clashed near the middle of the plaza. They mostly yelled slurs at each other. A few at the edges threw rocks, and some in the front swatted each other with sticks. Two men got in a wrestling match over the effigy and rolled around on the ground with it. Despite the noise and aggression, none of them drew bladed weapons.
“I’ve heard about this. Zambulon, is this a war?”
“Not yet. This is just a small riot. But it could be a spark to set a fire. Come on. Let’s get away from here. Some of the king’s mage-knights will be watching this from the palace, and it’s best for us not to be seen.”
We hurried away from the battle between the Loyalists, who endorsed the king’s chosen successor, and the Traditionalists, who demanded the rule of primogeniture be maintained. Or, as they called each other, the Fripps and the Stodges. Friction between the political groups often caused disputes within the king’s court, but rarely did it erupt into violence in public spaces. The unexpected proclamation inflamed the passions of the capitals’ regular citizens.
“They’ll really go to war? But they’re a family. Brothers. Half brothers anyway,” I said.
“History has shown that fraternal bonds count for very little in power struggles. And keep in mind this isn’t strictly a family affair. Some of the nobles back Frorn, and others back Lan and the Queen. Should their chosen prince become monarch, those nobles will be rewarded with favors and influence in the new court. So outside forces push the two sons into conflict.”
“It seems to me that if they met in person and talked things through, they could work out a compromise.”
“It might be. But keep in mind, Strythe, that we are ‘foreign mercenaries.’ A chaotic civil war is to our benefit, because it brings opportunity for gainful employment. It also weakens Sandgrave to the point that outside powers might take advantage of the situation…”
Traveling as foreign mercenaries was our cover story, and I now understood why. Swordsmen and soldiers of fortune would come to Sandgrave once the fighting began, and they’d sell their services to the highest bidders. No one would find the presence of mercenaries in the country at this time strange, although they might resent us for it.
This brewing crisis had been the key to the Void Phantom’s plans all along. An organization our size couldn’t invade the fortified capital city of Nettlewreath in normal times, much less seize control of the entire country. The only way to conquer Sandgrave was from the shadows. We would wait for the local powers to exhaust themselves in a bloody civil war, and then sweep in at the last minute to claim the prize. Our cunning swordsmen and dark magics gave us an advantage in that brand of subterfuge.
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“Is there a book on conducting war? A textbook or a how-to guide?”
“Not that I know of. But there are history books that describe the wars of the past. Some provide detailed examples of both successes and failures.”
“I’ll put those books on my shopping list. Don’t worry. They can go into a library for student improvement, so you all can read them too.”
The recent news electrified the city of Nettlewreath. No one could sleep. Many drunk people at taverns engaged in furious political debates about the legality of the king’s proclamation and whether or not his authority in life extended to an event that would only happen after his death. Merchants began planning for possible disruptions to their trades and supply lines, while those who provisioned armies with goods took delight in their future prospects. Knights speculated about glorious battles ahead. Sailors fretted about privateers that hunted in coastal waters during wartime. Land owners rooted for Prince Frorn, as he favored high tariffs against the Fripp faction and low taxes for farmers in the midlands. The balcony girls expressed their decided preference for Prince Lan, because the Stodge faction was known to disapprove of their nocturnal profession.
The capital buzzed like a struck hornet’s nest.
“You there!” a young man called out. He pointed at the four of us as we strolled through lantern lit streets. This young aristocrat lead a group of six others with swords at their belts. I could sense their sparks burning within, ready to catch fire. These young men and women were hopefuls training to become swordsmen. They all wore the badge and livery of a noble house. “Which faction do you support?” he asked us.
This man had mistaken us for common sparks, like them, because we carried swords but dressed in a nondescript manner. Most swordsmen and nobles would be more showy.
“We are neutrals who don’t support a faction,” Zambulon said. He didn’t want to be drawn into an argument. Luinquial had given us instructions to keep a low profile.
“That’s no way to live, timid and fearful of the coming storms. The times demand you pick a side and state it boldly.”
“We are visitors to your country who have no stake in your disputes. Our loyalties are to ourselves.”
“How crass and self serving. Anyone with a shred of honor longs to dedicate his blade to a greater cause.”
The young man reached for his sword. He pulled the blade about of a third of the way out of its scabbard when I lunged forward. The butt of my staff struck the pommel of his sword and knocked back into place with a loud snap.
“Ah ah. No need for that, young master. You see, the four of us are mercenary swordsmen. Our honor demands that we remain neutral in any conflict until we receive payment. But afterward we get our gold, we are as faithful as any knight.” I slid in close and put my arm around his shoulder. “Perhaps you would like to share our company? If you buy us drinks, we will pledge ourselves as your allies. At least until sunrise, that is…”
The aristocrat now realized he had accosted four actual swordsmen, not just sparks in training. I graciously gave him a way to deescalate the situation, and he wisely took it.
“Ha ha. Of course! The more brave warriors for the Loyalists, the better. Come with us, bold knights, and we will toast to you and our good King Grelloq.”
Zambulon didn’t look amused by the situation, but at least we kept a low profile. And I spared the Student Improvement Fund the cost of a night out in the entertainment district.
***
We slept through the most of the day, because it turned out that sleeping in the Gleeful Bachelor at night was near impossible. The loud music continued until midnight, and the singing next door went on until morning. I had thought myself very clever for diffusing a bad situation with the drunken spark, but had not considered that by pledging to be his bodyguards we encouraged him to yell at even more random people walking on the street. Zambulon and I had to break up several fights. The young women in the group of sparks swarmed around poor Yurk, asking him questions and trying to talk to him, which must have been torture for our silent giant.
We came home tired at sunrise and slept past midday. Luniquial knocked on our door in the early evening. The cult’s spymaster looked exhausted. He had been through a much tougher night than us dealing with the results of the king’s sudden proclamation. He hadn’t slept a wink since arriving in Nettlewreath.
“Come, master swordsmen. I have to rush back to my tower to send out more messages. We can discuss your employment there.”
Outside, on our way out of the Gleeful Bachelor, I called up to the balcony girls, “Which one of you ladies is Sweet Djina?” A dark skinned beauty on the third floor waved her silken kerchief to us. “We are big fans of your work!”
Yurk waved back to her until Hwilla punched him in the ribs.
Luniquial had given us specific security protocols for operating in public. We were never to openly speak about the Void Phantoms, even among ourselves. Swordsmen with sharp senses might overhear our off hand comments, and some had even better ways to eavesdrop on people. We never called Luniquial by his title of spymaster. He never called us disciples. None of us mentioned missions, cults, necromancers, the citadel, witches, or any other sensitive topics while in the field – not unless we had our masks on.
Luniquial took us to his tower to give our mission to be sure we would not be spied upon. We could speak candidly within its ivy covered walls.
“Disciples. I have a lot of things to juggle at the moment. The situation here in Nettlewreath is highly volatile, and the king’s ‘Gardeners’ are keeping a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary. So I must proceed with supreme caution. Adult Faceless with secret identities will be working here in the capital for the time being, people trained to work undercover. Using inexperienced swordsmen would draw too much attention to us. The four of you are more useful elsewhere taking care of problems which require less subtlety.
“The Highshield Mountains form the border between the Sandgrave Peninsula and the continental wastelands. The counts in that region defend against any monsters that migrate over the mountains, but the region is still a half wild frontier. Many brave the mountains to work in silver mines there. Because the silver mines are a strategic resource and highly profitable, we want to keep a close eye on the region. My agent Knogule is already there undercover, but he needs assistance in dealing with a local crime ring.”
“You four will travel to the city of Drainditch in Broadgap County. Meet with Knogule, and help in whatever way he requires. He’ll explain in further detail when you arrive. Now be off with you. I have much to do.”
Our spymaster supplied us with maps and then shooed us out the door. He gave us only the briefest explanation of our mission without answering any questions. The political crisis in the palace took up all his attention. There was no time for dealing with a few disciples on a low priority mission.
Outside of the bird tower, we were officially on our own. For good or bad, Zambulon was now in charge of this show.
“All right then, troops,” he said. “Let’s be on our way. We’re off to the northern frontier.”
“Should we take a ship part way up the coast? Let’s go to the docks and take a survey of the prices,” I suggested.
“No need for that. Taking a ship will cost too much. We’ve already put a dent in our funds staying in that noisy closet. So we can travel overland from here.”
“Won’t buying horses cost even more?”
“We don’t have to buy our own. Caravans go up and down the main highways. We can travel along with the merchants for a low price.”
***
Outside the capital, we took a ferry across the river to the nearest shore. Here I discovered why Nettlewreath was so clean and well managed. Those people who couldn’t afford the toll couldn’t get past the gate, and anyone with no money on the inside would be expelled for vagrancy. The poor drifted across the river to squalid suburbs. Ships anchored at the half rotted docks and transferred goods to old brick warehouses. Sailors stumbled into taverns far less pretty than those in the entertainment district. Beggars and poor people lived in an unplanned mess of shacks and huts. And all around grew fields of nettles and thorny plants for which the city had been named.
Even here, the news of the king’s proclamation had stirred up the locals, although the common laborers did not express any preference for one political faction or another. For the coinless wretches in the suburbs, the brewing war did not bring opportunities or a chance at glory. It meant hard times, starvation, emigration to foreign lands, or impressment into military service. The capital’s mighty walls would not protect them from advancing armies.