Donal shuffled through the papers on his desk.
It seemed to him that if he could just find a different order, there might be a way in which they could sit that would make the future look a touch more palatable.
But no.
Regardless of how he considered things, the end was very much nigh. In a few days, the armies of the King — under the direction of General Souit, no less — would begin scouring the West. Of all those Towns and Cities that had seceded, Swinford would be at the very top of the list of those to be pacified. Quite apart from the propaganda victory in the capture and, presumably, execution of Mayor Elm, most of the trading routes to the Capital ran through their lands. The longer Swinford stood in rebellion, the less money flowed into the King's coffers. That would be a powerful motivation to crush this uprising at birth.
Donal blew out his cheeks and brushed the papers away from him. He flattered himself that he was no minor talent, but in the face of this approaching doom, even his box of tricks looked increasingly bare.
Across his long life, this was certainly not the first time he had found himself marshalling the defence of a City under the approaching shadow of overwhelming forces. Although, he acknowledged, it was somewhat of a unique situation to find himself objectively on the “right” side of the argument. It was troubling that the outcome looked much on the same track, though. That did not seem quite fair.
Still earnestly searching for potential solutions, he cycled through the Class Abilities he possessed. As a Secretary, he was an outstanding administrator — with exceptionally high Intelligence and no little Wisdom upon which to call. Moreover, he had
Considering his long and exotic history, it still surprised him to how much he had liked being a Secretary.
He enjoyed the feeling of power that came from a carefully constructed agenda and the judicious use of minutes. From behind a desk, he had been able to frustrate assassinations and bring down great Lords with little more than a flourish of his quill. The attraction of soft power was great for a man who had spent much of the last century elbow-deep in the blood of heretics.
But, he feared, his time in this Class was coming to an end.
No matter how carefully he rearranged and ordered things, the gaps in Swinford's walls would not be closed any faster. His skill with a ledger could not conjure additional troops from thin air, nor could he ensure the forces they had were appropriately fed and equipped.
Ignoring the three figures looming over him, he stood and pottered towards the window that looked out on the courtyard of the Keep. From this vantage point, he could see the Lady Darkhelm preparing for her task beneath the City. She had insisted on undertaking the mission alone, for which, secretly, Donal was very grateful. Had she wished for support, he had no idea where he would have found the men to accompany her. Suicide missions were hardly attractive for anyone but a Knight of the Road.
Now, that was a thought. Would a second Knight of the Road be helpful for the City in the coming strife? He possessed the necessary prerequisites to make that Class change, of course. And it had been a while since he had fought on the front line.
Don't you dare!
He smiled at the hurried distaste in the Goddess's voice. It had been a while since a deity, at least one from this realm, had directly addressed him. "Don't worry, my dear. I wouldn't force you to be my patron. As much as I think the Darkhelm would welcome the comradeship, I fear I must turn my talents elsewhere."
If there was any response, he did not hear it.
No. As attractive as the thought of a young, strong body was — with a suitably long sword, of course — Swinford would need something different from him in the coming weeks and months.
Taelsin had disagreed when he had explained his plan to swap Classes. Of course he did. It was one of the benefits of youth that the man had not yet seen enough to completely shed his cloak of idealism. The Mayor felt sure they had not exhausted all other options and wanted to maintain their current dynamic.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Donal, on the other hand, with regret, knew differently.
Sighing, he turned away from the window and looked back at the cosy room that had been his office for all these years. Yes. He had enjoyed his time in this Class. Things had been so much simpler.
"Well, Master Secretary?"
The three armed figures who had burst through his door a few moments earlier were starting to feel anxious. There were many responses to the sudden, and unwelcome, appearance of masked assailants, and this trio had thought they had seen them all.
Complete and utter indifference was a new one.
In answer, Donal flashed his brilliant white smile. "I'm sorry, sirs. I was miles away. I believe you may have asked me a question?"
"Yes, sir. As we explained, you have been summoned by the Council of Nobles to brief them on the state of the walls. There have been allegations you have been profiting from the sale of stone and such things. We are to escort you to them with all haste to allow you to explain yourself."
"Summoned, is it? That sounds nicely official. And am I to take it that during my journey from hither to thither, I am likely to experience an unexpected catastrophic accident? Will I slip and fall from the walls, perchance? Will a passing cart veer out of control and trample me underfoot? Or, and this was always my personal favourite, so please do accept the advice, will I accidentally impale myself, repeatedly, on a passing blade?"
The speaker for the group frowned at Donal's verbiage and brandished his club. "Now, none of your jibber jabber, Master Secretary. The Council of Nobles requires your presence, and we're to make sure nothing happens on the way."
Donal nodded thoughtfully. "Well, your arrival has certainly been timely, and I must thank you for making my mind up for me. I had thought to eke out another day or so in this Class, but there's not much this form can do against such lusty youths as yourselves, is there? Not unless we can decide things with a game of chess? What say you? A quick mental challenge? I prefer to play black?" He indicated a chess set that sat ready under a small pile of parchment.
The second man, lacking the social graces of his companion, brought his hand down with a crash, scattering paper and knocking chess pieces flying. "Quit your yammering! You're coming with us now!"
"Oh dear." Donal's eyes flashed at the spilt documents. "Now that was not very friendly, was it?"
And his Class shifted.
Few people, especially outside the great Training Schools of the Kingdom, had ever witnessed a Class change. In a society whose cornerstone was the rigidity of its Class structure, it was an unusual enough event to be almost legendary. And fewer still had ever seen it undertaken with so little ceremony.
For those like the Knights of the Road who sought to ascend from a base Class to something greater, it was a long-term, grueling process by which a patron god was wooed by feats of arms to accept the change.
What happened in this small room, however, was nothing like that.
One moment, the three hired killers faced a kindly-looking, stooped old man who clearly posed them no martial threat. A Secretary might be clever, but no amount of pretty words would save his neck when the wringing started.
But in the next . . .
Donal felt momentary regret as some of his Intelligence drained away — not too much, of course, that would be unhelpful in the coming troubles — but enough that things that were crystal clear suddenly became a touch more indistinct. The knowledge was still there, but no longer as blindingly obvious amongst a wider thread of possibilities. Still a genius, then, but no longer a once-in-a-generation mind. That was a shame. However, that pang of disappointment was a fleeting thing as, with a surge of pleasure, all sorts of other things suddenly became possible.
He was pleased that he had kept much the same body; he wouldn't want his change of capabilities to be too noticeable, after all. It would be far to their advantage if General Souit's spies had nothing remarkable to report about the leadership of Swinford. Mind you, when you stood next to a Knight of the Road, you could probably grow a second head without anyone noticing.
With eyes growing wide, each of the men who had accepted three gold coins apiece to rid the City of this troublesome administrator took a half step back. The figure in front of them was, objectively, still the same man. The same face, the same bent back, and the same comically bright teeth. But whereas before he was nothing so much as an elderly functionary, a terrifying aura now pulsed from him.
"Oh, yes. I must say, I have missed this."
Donal's mind whirled as he considered the problem of the oncoming army from a wholly different perspective. He still had access to the memories of his Secretary Class, although he could not quite follow some of the extrapolations he had made whilst in that form. But that mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He now had a wholly new way of looking at the world.
Speaking of which . . .
"My dear young things, I'm afraid events have rather overtaken you somewhat. I suppose, for form's sake, I should give you the opportunity to rethink this course of action?" Taelsin would expect that of him, of course. And, he was pleased to realise, despite the change of Class, he was still content to serve that extraordinary young man. He had worried about that. When he had been in this Class before, he had often felt the need to . . . restructure things.
The three interlopers bunched together for a moment, sensing the proximity of their end, and then, in desperation, they chose to attack as one.
The Dark Warlord smiled, white teeth now noticeably sharper and opened his arms to welcome them into his embrace.