Matt looked up from the sketches he was making when the knock sounded at his door. He frowned slightly and reached for the heavy iron poker that he had laid carefully next to his desk. The simple, improvised weapon was likely going to be his only comfort until Nikles delivered his actual mace, and even then, it was going to be a long time before he let himself be more than an arm’s length away from a weapon.
He had sent Gorfeld home quite some time ago. The little Imp had been determined to stay glued to Matt’s side, but the journey back from the barracks had started to take its toll, and Matt had finally persuaded him to go home and tend to his own family for the night. There had been plenty of other servants on the castle’s staff willing to fetch and carry for him, and Matt had directed them to bring him several large stretches of parchment, a large bottle of ink, and then to leave him alone until daybreak.
The fact that they hadn’t listened to him said that either something terrible had happened, or there was some other duty he’d forgotten. Either that, or Tek was moving against him earlier than Matt had expected. No matter what it was, it was not a good sign that they weren’t doing as they were told.
Matt opened the door carefully, peering outside in a way that likely wasn’t the most regal of behaviors. Luckily, it didn’t seem like there were very many people present to witness it, just a pair of elderly looking servants. He couldn’t quite remember their names, but one was an Ashrock Imp and the other a Copperflame Goblin. Neither looked particularly like an assassin, so he finished prying the door the rest of the way open. “Yes?”
The Goblin spoke up first, her voice a little creaky with age. “We are sorry to disturb you, sire, but it came to our attention that your steward has forgotten a portion of his duties, and we did not wish to delay their execution.”
He couldn’t help but frown. “Gorfeld has been very busy the past few days and has served me quite well. I don’t think there’s anything that he hasn’t already done for me.”
The Imp was the next to speak, his voice surprisingly deep. “Your pardon, sire, but there is one small matter he has neglected, among all his other responsibilities.” There was a slight tone to the elderly man’s voice that suggested that it was more negligence than anything else, but the Imp continued on before Matt could respond. “In his absence, we would be more than happy to begin procuring a royal consort for you, sire. You need only specify what characteristics would be acceptable.”
It took a couple of moments before Matt’s brain caught completely up to the words, and when it did, he took a couple more just to process what his response would be. “A…royal consort? I don’t believe I asked for anything like that.”
“Nor should you need to, sire.” The Imp’s voice had taken on something of a fastidious lilt, as if he was terminally disappointed by Gorfeld’s obvious lack of diligence. “It is traditional for the monarch to secure at least one consort, though occasionally they do take more.”
Matt fell silent for a little while. He knew it would be important to preserve some of the traditions they had here—he was already undermining some important stuff like the nobility and their stranglehold on power—but he wasn’t quite willing to go along with something this awful. Serfs were bad enough; a ‘consort’ that was being coerced to be by his side seemed so much worse.
Aside from the moral dilemma, of course, he really didn’t want to have to kiss any of them. It was something that defied most fantasy and science fiction stories he’d seen, but the uncanny valley impression was going to put a damper on any romance in this world. He’d have to wait until he got home before he went looking for love, apparently.
When he looked up, he saw both servants peering at him expectantly. He tried to keep his voice even. “I don’t believe that I have time to make a fair choice at the moment. Between my plans for the capital, the rebellions, and the wars at our borders, such concerns can wait for a more peaceful time.”
“But sire,” The Goblin’s voice was almost quavering with repressed disapproval. “The fact that you’ve taken a consort is far more important than the consort themselves! You can always choose another later.”
They couldn’t have done a better job making the whole process sound distasteful. “And how do the former consorts feel about being displaced?”
The Imp cleared his throat. “They are normally not…available for comment, sire.” Matt fixed him with a stare, and the servant shifted his feet. He seemed suddenly unable to meet Matt’s eyes. “The Red Sorceress had a habit of changing those who failed her in that regard into Grim Hounds. The Obsidian King before her usually simply executed those who failed him.”
“Yeah. No.” Matt shook his head. “If I don’t choose a consort, what happens then?”
There was another uncomfortable silence. The Imp was the first to break it, still occupied with studying the nearest window. “The people may grow restless over it, sire. There is a tradition that a monarch without a consort may have the habit of simply…acquiring partners from among his serfs or vassals.”
“Or that he might go looking for consorts among our enemies!” The Goblin actually started wringing her hands. There was a desperate frustration in her voice as she continued. “Many a ruler can be seduced into foolhardy decisions by a foreign mistress. A proper consort would prevent that from becoming a problem!”
“Oh, really?” Matt thought back over the history of monarchy in his own world. It was not exactly replete with examples of fidelity. “There’s never been any monarchs that have been unfaithful to the consorts they selected?”
The hesitation was instructive, particularly in the way that the Goblin went from staring intently at him to looking at the Imp. Her sudden need for backup was completely disappointed. “Well, sire, there were rumors that the Sorceress and Lord Teblas were—”
“Stop.” The order came out a little terser than he had expected, but to be fair, the situation was not great. He’d already put a massive amount of pressure on the nobility by introducing a society of free serfs. Ignoring too many more traditions would stir up rebellion too quickly for him to manage; at this point, he needed to provoke only a few of the nobles and none of the common folk to oppose him, so that he could cut them off at the knees as he went along. If the nobles could point to his lack of a consort and say he was a threat to everyone’s young wives and daughters, things could get that much messier, that much quicker.
He grimaced as he thought the problem over. There had to be a way to delay things—one that was a bit more effective than just denying the tradition outright. It took him a few more moments to think it up. When he hit on the answer, a grin almost spread across his face. It took real effort to smother it into an expression of utter seriousness.
“Thank you, both of you, for letting me know about this situation. You were correct that Gorfeld should have let me know about it earlier.”
Both servants relaxed; the Goblin actually audibly sighed in relief. The Imp, for his part, looked insufferably pleased. “May I begin sending out the summons for the selection, sire?”
“Not yet.” Matt held up one finger. “The selection is an important part of my reign, but I will need some time to gather my thoughts. I will make a proclamation myself in the morning.”
Both servants seemed ready to argue further, but Matt decided that he’d had about enough of the interruption. He let some steel leech into his voice. “Now, I’m sure you have other business to attend to. I have my own work to do, so be about it.”
They paused as a sudden burst of fear worked its way across their face. With a short, panicked bow, both of them fled from the antechamber as if being pursued by Wargs. Matt waited a moment longer and then shut himself back inside. Now he had one more thing to maneuver around, as if he didn’t have enough already. He shook his head and chuckled at the thought. Who knew that being an all-powerful tyrant was so much of an inconvenience?
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Your work is really are quite good, sire. Your practice is definitely improving your skill.”
The compliment shouldn’t have made him feel quite so accomplished, but Matt allowed himself to feel a little smug. He’d been working away at a map of Redspire. At least, a map of what Redspire was going to look like when he finished his plans.
Whoever had founded the city hadn’t chosen a terrible spot. They had built it on the southern bank of the River Crimson, a large waterway that ran across half the kingdom, flowing from northeast to southwest. The palace seemed to form the anchor for the rest of the city, a relatively tall keep made of dark red stone that rose above the rest of the buildings. Serfs and soldiers had slowly built the city around it, creating a confused jumble of workshops, tenements, and small markets that reminded him of an unplanned, European style city. The city walls provided a sort of boundary along the edges of the place, but there were already signs that the sprawl was going to push people to build outside the stern stone barriers.
He was hoping to introduce some actual city planning to the entire place. Organic development was nice, in theory, but in his experience people had a tendency to think of new additions with a short-term perspective. The haphazard distribution of wells and public latrines was evidence enough of that. It was going to lead to some serious public health issues soon, if it hadn’t already.
Fortunately, he wasn’t exactly going to be arguing with a city council about how to change things. Maybe there was an occasional good part of being a dictator in all but name.
Matt glanced over at where Gorfeld was double checking the instructions he was leaving for the workers to complete in his absence. It was important that they get started on the first part of the project before the ground froze over in the winter. He’d heard quite a lot about the skill of Gnome laborers and their ability to work with tunnels, but he was sure it was always going to be easier to dig when they didn’t have to smash through ground frost.
“Thank you Gorfeld. I appreciate the help.” Matt scrubbed at his eyes a little, glancing out at the early sun. He was certain that people were going to be waiting for another proclamation from him now about the consort thing. Half of him wanted to suspect that Tek was behind it, but he guessed that the wily old Imp was going to be a bit more subtle about undermining him. Then again, he wouldn’t be the first to seize power through a courtesan or a convenient marriage.
The thought brought another question to his mind, and he glanced over at his steward. Gorfeld was still reading through some of the pages that Matt had scribbled out before, going over the figures and plans he’d sketched out for his meeting with the Low Folk. “Hey, I have a question for you. What do the people here believe in?”
Gorfeld looked up. His expression was best described as polite confusion. “What do you mean, sire?”
“I mean, what religions do you have here?” When Gorfeld still seemed baffled, Matt pressed on. “You know, traditions, beliefs about how the world was created, maybe some priests who oversee the sacred rituals and holy texts. You know, that kind of thing.”
The Imp stared at him as if Matt had lost his mind. “May I ask why you want to know, sire?”
He sighed. “It’s the consort selection problem.”
“Ah, yes.” The steward looked briefly unhappy. “I am sorry that I forgot about that issue. I assumed we could deal with it after your…trip.”
Matt chuckled a little. The disapproval in Gorfeld’s tone every time he referenced Matt’s plans to head east was as consistent as it was amusing. Especially considering the little steward didn’t know the half of what he wanted to do out there. “Don’t worry about it. I am mostly looking for a way to avoid dealing with it for a while. Maybe permanently.”
Gorfeld nodded. “That may be unwise, sire.”
“So I’ve been told.” Matt shrugged. “So I would need to find some way to justify it to the people. Some way that Tek or Braden or Suluth couldn’t use to stir up trouble. That’s why I was wondering if there was some sort of religious order I could use to my advantage.”
The steward nodded again, this time absorbed in thought. “I see.” Then he shook his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe that our traditions will help you much there. Each village may have its own Speaker, but few of them have much to say outside of the old histories, and none of them have much influence on anyone but the serfs.”
Matt perked up a little. “These Speakers, though. Are there any here in Redspire?”
“There are some.” Gorfeld made a face. “The Red Sorceress made an example out of some of them, so they mostly stay away. Magic and honor are better guides, according to most of the nobility. Stories are for children and serfs, not those who would rule the realm.”
Magic and honor. The words dovetailed nicely with the idea he’d had the previous night. “How does that usually apply to things like marriage?” The steward gave him another blank look, so he tried again. “I imagine the Speaker is the one who records or authorizes marriages among the serfs. What do the nobles do?”
Gorfeld frowned. “They seal such contracts with magic, of course. Less likely to be used against them, or falsified.”
“I see.” Matt grinned. “So here’s what we’ll do. Announce to the people that we used magic to determine what the best consort would be. The result was that I should remain without one for the time being until I can make the land safe. Until that time, I will need to be sealed to the land, not to any individual in it, so that my people will be kept safe—and that I am bound by honor to comply. Does that sound like something a monarch could do?”
It took Gorfeld a few moments to reply. “Yes, sire. It would certainly explain the delay.” He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Some of them might doubt whether anyone has actually cast such a spell, but with enough details, we could make things convincing.”
“Good. I’ll write something up, and you can edit it for me.” He grinned. “While you’re at it, send out a declaration that says the Speakers are welcome inside the city again. In fact, let them know I would be interested in speaking with some of them to make sure they know they are welcome. Probably not before I leave, but once I get back. Okay?”
The Imp nodded, scribbling something of his own on a scrap of parchment. Matt watched him a moment longer, and then stood. “All right. Time to go get my head beat in again, and then we’ll meet with the Low Folk about the plans for the workers. Anything else I’m forgetting?”
“Not dying, sire.”
“Oh yes. That.” Matt grinned a bit wider. “I suppose we’ll just have to fit that in where and when we can. For now, we have work to do.”
Somewhat miraculously, the next two days passed in relative calm. It was only relatively calm, of course. The entire city seemed to grow more and more rushed as the banners that Matt had chosen prepared for departure. Each time that Matt rode through the streets, he could almost feel the citizens peeking at him with their peripheral vision and whispering the latest rumors about his intentions.
Of course, it wasn’t just the soldiers that were getting ready. Well over a hundred newly minted freeholders had piled into the city, answering his call to come and work. He’d quickly organized them under the newly formed Assembly of the Low Folk in Redspire, who were now getting into the habit of gathering to debate the way they wanted to live in the city. While the Assembly was usually more…vigorous than he was used to seeing back home, Matt thought it was a good sign that they were taking their new rights seriously. He was even seeing more and more of them wearing daggers, though fortunately they seemed to just be using them for a ceremonial mark of their freeholder status.
The foremen of the labor crews were already trying to make sense of the architectural plans he’d dumped on them, which was another good sign. He didn’t think that they could find most of the materials before he got back—the brick was just starting to come in from the Red Plains, and the blacksmiths in the city were having to divide their time between making weapons and tools—but once he did return, he wanted the workers he had all trained and ready to go.
For now, though, he’d simply set the workers to tearing down some of the more ramshackle homes in the northwestern part of Redspire. He’d offered the people who had been living in the area a place to stay in the meantime, and a promise of future accommodations, and most of them had taken him up on the offer. Some of them had even joined the work crews, where he quickly put them to learning how to build walls out of the red brick that came from Braden’s territory. He had big plans for Redspire, after all, and the more labor he could muster, the better.
Tek seemed to be bemused by the preparations that he’d set in motion, but underneath it all, he’d sensed that the old Imp was waiting for something. Nobody had tried to assassinate him yet, but Matt knew the plan had to be in the works. The sooner he could leave, the sooner things would be set in motion, but he couldn’t rush things too much. His men would need supplies on the roads ahead, and the last thing he wanted was to get stranded somewhere with no food and a bunch of armed, angry troops.
It was easy to know that intellectually, but hard to remember it when, on the very last day before his scheduled departure, a messenger came to announce the arrival of a group of ambassadors from the Western Coalition. Matt almost groaned out loud as the messenger retreated. He glanced over at Gorfeld. “Well? Do you think they are taking their chance to announce their own little campaign? Or is it something even worse?”
“I don’t know, sire.” Gorfeld shook his head doubtfully. “We have not had the opportunity to welcome many peaceful embassies in recent times. Mostly they have carried terms of truce or declarations of war. Perhaps they don’t even know what they intend to do yet. At least part of their mission must be to find out more about you and your plans.”
“And they’ve probably already figured out that I’m leaving my capital tomorrow.” Matt grimaced. It couldn’t be helped, but it might give them an opening to attack while he was distracted. “How many of them are there?”
“Eight.” Gorfeld frowned slightly. “Two more than were really necessary; the Coalition is made up of six nations, so the additional members of the embassy are somewhat out of place. Another sign they are not bringing the usual threats.”
Matt nodded. He tossed the quill on the desk and rose from his seat. “Well, I suppose I can’t keep them waiting. Let’s see what this day has brought us.”