> The transition between professional armies and the modern practice of hereditary Bonded lineages was a turbulent period of modern history. The dramatic shift towards an isolationist policy left many soldiers without economically productive cards. That this transition coincided with general public unrest, economic instability, and small-scale ecological disasters created a ripe environ for many of the disaffected to turn to banditry.

>

> Conservative estimates put as many as one-in-seven of the former soldiery engaging in some form of banditry, revolutionary action, or independence movement. In many cases, the account is muddled as bandit-lords would often claim territorial aspirations in an effort to garner legitimacy, and genuine political groups engaged in banditry to finance their burgeoning forces. Some scholarship puts the numbers as high as one-in-four—a figure that renders an already embarrassing policy failure into nearly catastrophic proportions.

>

> Regardless of the true figures, the nobility of the time were hard pressed to maintain law and order. They were forced to make concessions to many of the martially capable in order to suppress the growing unrest. Foremost of these was the founding of multiple Martial Orders—elite organizations of those with particular martial capacity, given official recognition and working closely with established noble houses to reestablish control over the floundering state.

>

> These tightly organized and proficient organizations cut a bloody swathe through their rebellious former comrades, using every tool at their disposal while allowing the nobility to keep their hands relatively clean in the eyes of the public. Having learned from their mistakes, the nobility had astutely made membership in the Orders require noble sponsorship, a policy that allowed for a clean and gentle dissolution of those martial institutions and prevented a second round of violence. The final brilliant maneuver was to uplift the most capable of their members and integrate them directly into the noble households, becoming the earliest Bonded. This opportunity was made competitive, and offered a multitude of material rewards, and so served as a sufficient distraction until the power of the Orders naturally waned.

>

> This legacy of near disaster, but ultimate stability informed the politics of the nobility for generations. They learned the painful lessons of overreach and blowback.

>

> Excerpt. True Politics: The Founding of an Age

Calre and Vasala had returned. The pair of them looked much the worse for wear, still streaked in blood and grime. Vasala stood unsteadily, palely nursing her broken arm in a makeshift sling. The poise Jack had originally associated with them had been entirely supplanted by exhaustion.

“You can wait to satisfy your curiosity, I hope,” said Grant.

“On this occasion I can show restraint. Vas, it’s your moment.”

Calre gave her a supporting arm and carefully shepherded the girl onto a bedroll next to Jack.

Reclined and burdened by her injury, she still spoke carefully, drawing on the forms of trained elocution to overcome what was obviously a position of extreme discomfort: lapsing only occasionally to measure out a rallying pause. She made no effort to address anyone but the open air above her head.

“Jack, of his name, in recognition of the service rendered in defence of my and others persons… Your character has been deemed honourable, your deeds worthy… And so, as representative of your home city of Calamut, I grant admission into the Order of the Meritorious. Is there a Second?”

“I will stand in recognition of his true and noble character,” Calre replied, clearly following the dictation of whatever script shaped this pantomime.

“Are there Objectors?” Vasala asked.

Grant leaned in close to Jack, having been silent until then, “this next part will get a bit silly,” he whispered.

“I object!” Calre exclaimed.

“And your name sir?”

“I retain my anonymity, as is my right.”

“Your case?”

“I abstain.”

“Then we shall proceed... A Nomination and an Objecting has been heard. Would they who claim purest blood guide our hand?”

“I, Calre of the House Re, am foremost of those present. Having heard the arguments and given them careful deliberation I decide in favour of Admission into the Order.”

“Your guidance is recognized and embraced. Jack, you are admitted, may your—”

“That’s all you need, Vas. The rest is just pageantry.”

Relieved of her obligation, and clearly exhausted, she fully settled down.

Grant offered her a vial—not one Jack recognized, but she waved him away.

“I’ll stay clear-headed for now, when it becomes too much I’ll call on you. Jack?” She waited for his acknowledgement, “I was wrong to press the Censure upon you...but I cannot say I regret doing so, when I consider the outcome had I not. Now I imagine there will be some talk between all of you, for which I care very little. I’ll give you all that license, but be forewarned: I am enduring a great deal of pain in order to hear about your escapade in the first telling. Don’t be too long.”

Then she settled down and closed her eyes, seemingly content to wait for now.

With no more forthcoming Jack knew it was on him to proceed. “I have questions,” he said.

“I imagined you would,” Calre replied.

“The Objector?”

“That nasty sod? Couldn’t pick him out of a crowd, but he seemed to have it out for you. Ah well, since you’ve already undergone such an intensive tribunal there will be no need for further debate in a Censure court.”

Jack took that in stride.

“The Meritorious Order?”

“The Order of the Meritorious? Oh they are a dignified lot, long history of valorous conduct in Calamut. Special dispensation for cards holding martial capacity you know. They’ve had trouble fleshing out their membership of late, but recently there’s been a period of rapid growth. Of course, as the ranking member, you would know better than I.”

“So all of this was—”

“A legally binding ritual, that two witnesses of character can attest to.”

Jack sat quietly, considering his next question carefully. But ultimately there was only one thing to ask.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Why?”

Calre’s demeanour became serious, recognizing the weight in the question.

“The Censure has its purpose. It is necessary for reasons beyond what is obvious. But it is not for people like you. If there is one thing I abhor it is waste, and to stifle you would be utterly wasteful. You haven’t told us yet how you pulled it off, but I frankly don’t care.”

Grant snorted at that, and Vasala took it upon herself not to open her eyes, but rather to give the gravest impression of the possibility of such.

“Alright, I do care. I want very much to know how you did it. What I mean is, however you accomplished it, you will not be held to account. That’s why I wanted to do this first, to leave you without doubts. Any choice you make from here on is your own, there is no blade at your neck. If you choose to return to Calamut and whatever life you keep there, nothing will impede you. The Censure quite literally no longer applies to you. That is the least reward you deserve for saving us.”

Calre looked uncertain, an expression that Jack had never seen on him, even in the throes of their disastrous effort to save the umbrar’s victims.

“There’s something else?” Jack prompted.

“An offer I’d have you consider, but it can wait. First, the details of your escapades. Truly we are at the edge of our seats.”

'What can I tell them?' Jack wondered, thinking of the worked lumber he'd seen in the nursery, or of the Shaper crafted pheromone hub in the top of the tower. The first could be coincidence, supplies gained from an assaulted caravan. But the second must have been present from the beginning of the hive, it must have been brought. Jack thought back to those false caravans he'd discovered what felt like so long ago, what had they really carried? What had happened to the expeditions that disappeared in this region? A lost ruin couldn't explain the efforts that were being made. Creating a hiver colony such as this spoke to something much bigger.

Jack had come to the wilds chasing a mystery, seeking the cards that he suspected would come to him for unravelling it. However, circumstances had left his ambitious plans in tatters. Beginning with the umbrar he had been swept into events outside of anything he could have predicted. From there the nobles and the hivers had made mockery of his intentions.

But now, somehow, pieces were beginning to converge.

Speaking about them now would mean forgoing whatever personal advantage he still held. Currently, he held more information than anyone else, but there were pieces he might still extract, from both the nobles and Jam. But secrecy had its cost. If he had shared everything from the beginning, perhaps the hivers would have been foreseen.

‘I’ll pull together what I can, on my own. I’ll learn everything I can, and if the puzzle doesn’t fall apart for me then, I’ll invite others in.’

So resolved, he chose to omit the details that revealed the possibility of a greater conspiracy.

Grant offered, and Jack accepted, a pack placed behind his back and another drink of water. Then he began his account, carefully tempering his narrative to downplay the effect the serum had on his mind, knowing any other omissions would be covered for by Grant—who didn’t know Jack’s other considerations.

He detailed his flight through the tunnels, and the advantage the dash-shadow gave him in the darkness; the discovery of the nursery chamber, and its full horrors; his silent interrogation of the hiver, and how its unwilling answers informed his escape to the surface.

His audience was appreciative. Grant nodding sagely along with the expanding detail; Calre visibly restraining himself from adding commentary or questions with a glance at Vasala, who in turn remained largely still, smiling pleasantly at points of particular violence.

When Jack described his run through the city, Grant glanced at Calre pointedly, "the ebb," he said. In response to Jack's questioning look he explained, "we had been separated from Vasala, something they had been attempting to force the entire time, and were quite sorely pressed when their numbers seemed to dwindle. We might have rallied, but the royal guard moved on us—afraid we'd get loose I suppose."

"Those were the clever ones? Is that why they captured you? I thought aggressive hivers never kept prisoners."

"Oh, you saw that? How embarrassing! Trussed up like livestock for a fair. We can thank my ancestors for something at least," Calre interrupted.

"What Cal means to say," Grant intervened, "is that once the royal guard scented us they recognized his blood and so were driven to capture instead of kill."

"Yes it's true, I come from a long tradition of being born into a powerful family."

"Shall I just leave it to you to explain then, or are you content with interruptions?"

"Oh, I'd happily clarify, thank you for the opportunity,” Calre blithely replied before launching into his explanation. “The origin of this particular hiver lineage must have been a rival, or perhaps an ally of my family. It's unclear if those elites were seeking to protect us or gather hostages. As you may have ascertained, this city was unusual, even by hiver standards. As conflicts grew increasingly bitter during the middle-late Shaper period, more hives like this appeared, those designed with military purposes. We had the misfortune to stumble upon one optimized for dealing with human threats."

"What was it doing here?" Jack asked, feigning casualness.

Calre focused on him intently then, "That's certainly the question isn't it? We're quite far from the Skittering Lands. Too far for a wandering colony queen to settle. But I have taken too long, our Lady grows impatient.” It was true, a small frown marred Vasala’s otherwise impassive visage, and Calre quickly gestured to Jack to continue.

Jack returned to his account, detailing the major events, until finally he reached the point of his meteoric strike against the queen.

At this point, Vasala rallied enough to speak.

“And devastating firepower to round it out. Alongside your mobility, evasiveness, card synergies, and perceptual advantages, you’re nearly noble quality. You lack just one essential feature if you’re going to measure up: durability,” she sighed, “Next time, dodge more. Grant? I’m ready.”

While Grant tended to Vasala, Calre briefly summarized the noble’s experience after Jack had disappeared from their view.

They had been put through a gauntlet from the moment they entered the tunnels. The hivers had targeted their lights most aggressively, sacrificing dozens just to break the spring-lights the three had used once they were pushed into the dark labyrinth. From then on they had been reliant on secondary card effects for light, but those were restricted to Grant and reliant on luck for their draw. They had killed hundreds of hivers, but the tunnels had been designed to wear down foes exactly like them. The darkness was absolute, a nightmare of pressing bodies and unending assault. By slipping the net Jack had actually guaranteed his own life, as there was no way the nobles could have protected him.

Calre paused to glance at Grant’s efforts to better secure Vasala’s arm, a task that had sent her entirely white.

“Let’s give her some privacy shall we?” And he reached down to give Jack a careful pull to his feet, “walk with me.”

They moved some distance away, and Jack was surprised to find movement came, not easily, but at all. He was quickly running out of breath, and the shattered bone in his wounded arm still ached terribly, but considering how he’d been found, that he was even standing was a testament to the power of the card Grant had used.

Calre broke the silence without preamble, when they were out of earshot, turning to face Jack with a startling speed.

“We were certain you were dead. Utterly certain. Below average, if interesting, cards, isolated in a hiver nest? You were a corpse. I haven’t seen Grant broken up like that since... I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Grant like that. But when the hivers holding us suddenly fell slack, I knew: somehow you’d done it. I thought you were only interesting before, I’m ashamed to say. I realize now you’re fascinating.”

Calre was looking at Jack with a discomfiting intensity, eyes unblinking as he maintained an unblinking stare.

“I-I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Nothing’s needed. I am not often impressed. But you managed with weaker cards to do what a top class bondsman and two nobles could not. So consider me impressed. I mentioned an offer earlier. I don’t want an answer now, in fact I’ll refuse whatever you say. Just listen and consider,” Calre broke the eye contact he’d held with Jack and seemed to forcibly relax before continuing, “It’s obvious there’s more to you, that you have a life back in Calamut. I don’t want to strip that from you, to whisk you away. But if that’s all you return to, there will be one thought that presides over all: ‘What. A. Waste.’” He enunciated each word, pushing each out with a weight of disdain.

“I have plans Jack, ambitions that cannot abide the hollow structures of class. Working alongside me, I can scarcely imagine what we might achieve.”