Prospero was led to the gate tower by two military guards. As he went, he tried to appraise how long Southaster had been under siege, and what toll the encirclement might have taken on its people. But the guards intended to keep him on a very short leash, at least until they knew the attitude their lord took against this strange mage-warrior.
Standing on the edge of the wall, just in front of the tower, stood those military officers Prospero had spotted from below. One of his escorts stepped forward and bowed.
“Reporting! The mage Prospero has requested an audience with your lordship!”
A rigid, harsh-faced man peered from the corner of his eye at Prospero. His black hair had begun to gray, and he grew a narrow, pointy beard from his chin. His glare was frigid, and Prospero quickly judged that this was a man who could not easily be moved to friendliness, even in moments of great service or success. He was one to placate and ultimately avoid, if not dispose of.
“Very well. Let him step forward.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The guard stepped back, and gestured for Prospero to join the officers.
“Good evening, Lords and Ladies. Forgive my intrusion. I saw an opportunity to break through the encirclement, so I thought I would introduce myself before returning to my camp.”
Though some of the officers turned and bowed their respects, Count Gaynes himself did not. He kept his eyes fixed on the flames below his city walls. The ghost of a satisfied smile lingered on his face, but it was almost impossible to see. His expression was only made more gruesome by the glow of flames reflecting in his eyes, and the screams of terror and agony of the soldiers dying below.
“Your stratagem worked handedly, Young Mage,” Gaynes said. Even his honest compliment sounded too wry to be entirely genuine. “I understand from your letter that you are in the service of Izra Eurytus.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Prospero answered, bowing formally.
“And yet you are a man with no surname, no office, and no reputation. It is no wonder that you were unable to find employ in the service of a greater man than that miserly pedant.”
That stunned Prospero into silence. Gaynes had requested Izra’s presence as an administrator personally. Izra characterized Gaynes as something of a would-be tyrant, but this open hostility defied even Prospero’s least generous expectations.
“It is as you say, my Lord. When a person of skill wants for reputation, they may well be overlooked.”
One of the robe-clad scholars flanking the Count chuckled derisively at the statement. “You are quite audacious, Young Mage, to say you are a person of skill in the company of Count Gaynes and his highest retainers. What skill do you claim to have?”
“When I happened upon Master Eurytus’ village, it lacked proper industry to support the scale of its population. In the month that has elapsed since joining his service, those amenities have been constructed, and a surplus of food is available.”
The scholar arched a brow, surprised by the answer, but perhaps also not convinced by Prospero’s claim. A second retainer, a woman dressed in a shining suit of armor, was the next to speak up.
“Surplus food and industrial amenities are good, but we are involved in a great military campaign against a usurper. My Lord, perhaps this commoner would be suitable as a supply officer or a rural administrator, but I do not think he should be given a position in our army. What skill has he to offer our troops?”
Prospero’s brow knit. What is happening here? he wondered. Each of these officers, gathered tightly in formation with their liege lord, seemed to identify him as an enemy instead of an ally the moment he appeared. Their blatantly antagonistic maneuvering and posturing began so immediately, it bordered on childishness. Surely, this middle-aged Lord had to recognize this for what it was.
“Just as Master Eurytus’ village was saved from its lacking position by my arrival, I’m sure it will not escape your notice that it was my arrival at your city, my troops, and my stratagem that reversed your own fortunes.” Prospero said. “The forces that gathered in this city have arms, armor, and training, and together they could do nothing to break the siege that contained you. But in one hour, my meager force of lightly armed, unarmored, untrained peasant conscripts managed to communicate my stratagem to you in secret, raze the enemy supply depot, and raid their camp, while the deception I proposed to you allowed you to break the encirclement at its weakest point and rout the enemy. How can you say I have no skill to offer your troops?”
This caused the military officer to fall silent as well. Slowly, the pieces began to click together in his head. These retainers were not grandiose scholars or military officials with virtues or merits of their own. They were wealthy aristocrats of either erudite, military, or noble peerage posted to rural stations in this Count’s fief. To them, the arrival of anyone with the skill necessary to expose them as mediocre or struggling officials posed an existential threat.
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Count Gaynes eyed Prospero coldly. “My retinue has no space for an agitator, Young Mage. As a commoner, you will remember your place and your duty. Your talents are owed to the service of your betters, and it will be for me to decide if your merit is enough that you should deserve to stand on the command platform beside them. Do you understand?”
Prospero lowered his head to hide a grimace in what appeared to be a bow of chastened acquiescence. “As you say, my Lord. Your servant merely wished to attend upon you to greet you and announce that the Canthari contingent has arrived, and has honored their owed duty to you by breaking your siege rather than fleeing in the face of the overwhelming enemy force. I ask you to consider our contribution when my Master, Izra Eurytus, presents himself to you formally.”
“Which I shall. Izra is a noble at least, which I will honor, despite his laziness and the subversive friends he keeps. Did you know, Mage, that your Master’s illustrious friend, Duke Roark, refused to contribute even a single troop or cart of provisions, to our coalition against the usurper?”
He did, as a matter of fact. The question was, was that the right thing to say in this moment?
“I did not, my Lord. I know very little about the affairs of court and state. Are you concerned that the coalition may not succeed in Duke Roark’s absence?” Prospero asked, putting on a friendly, genial voice.
“Most certainly not,” the Count growled. “We will trounce the Usurper’s armies and parade his corpse through the streets of the Capital. I could manage it even if half the Coalition went home tomorrow.”
Prospero laughed haughtily and nodded. “I believe so too, my Lord. Your reputation as an able minister precedes you even as far as the Northern frontier. I would think you should be pleased that Roark is not joining the fight.”
Count Gaynes’ energy began to shift now. Prospero watched as the gears turned in the old man’s head, and he realized he was about to receive good political counsel for what might well be the first time in a long time. “Why would I be pleased about it?” he asked.
“When the battle is done, rewards and punishments will be meted out by those of higher stations to those of lower stations. Just as your retainers are so obviously attentive to their own political need to compete with one another for merit and your attention, you yourself will soon need to compete with your peers among the Coalition for merit and the attention of the King and his Court. Duke Roark holds a vast, wealthy fiefdom with many soldiers. It would not be hard for such a man to swoop in and take all the merit—and commensurate rewards—for himself. Right now, with Roark idle in his home Duchy, he is where you should want him. That is, if you are indeed a man of great ambition, as I have heard.”
No one spoke. No one dared to disagree with the words which—judging by the smile on Gaynes’ face—clearly struck the man as good counsel. His entire attitude shifted then, from open hostility to Prospero’s lack of station or peerage, to a genial welcoming attitude.
Even wicked peoples’ behavior toward you will change for the better if you convince them that you can make them richer or more powerful, Prospero thought ruefully. A shame I cannot dress this man down for his unbecoming personality. For now, I must use him as he would use me.
“So… Izra got lucky and procured himself the services of a hidden gem amongst commoners, did he? Very well, Prospero. Your words match my thoughts exactly. If you mean to continue serving him so that he may stand out in my service, that is all the better for me. But I cannot help but feel that your talents are wasted in the service of a man whose only ambition is to lay idle in such meager wealth and comfort in a backwater like Canthari. Maybe in time we will have other opportunities to discuss that.”
“Maybe so.” Prospero took a glance over the edge of the wall to see the embers of battle dying down. Now, carts were coming out of the city, onto which the wounded of Count Gaynes’ force were loaded and wheeled back into the city. As he watched, Prospero saw that the wounded among the usurper’s forces were dispatched on the ground where they lay, even as they pleaded for mercy.
Real winners wipe garrisons, Prospero remembered with disgust.
“Well, at any rate I know that I have outstayed my welcome and imposed upon your illustrious company long enough. With your leave, I’ll return to the camp of the Canthari Contingent.”
“You are dismissed,” Count Gaynes said officially, turning his cold gaze back toward the broken siege camp and the routed enemy.
Prospero walked himself out, evidently having earned enough trust in the space of his first conversation with the Count to warrant walking around the city without an escort. Though his mood was low in the face of tonight’s brutality, he found a measure of moral reprieve in the relief and happiness on the face of the city’s residents, who no doubt faced starvation at the hands of the besieging army. Prospero had no doubt that provisions within the walls were probably hoarded, and priority given to the army over the people. At least now, things would be better here.
Small solace when disarmed combatants were being slaughtered all around him as he walked back out through the ashes of the siege camp. When he was finally back in the woods, he leaned against a tree and took a moment for himself. The oppressive cruelty of war was something he simply would not be able to avoid. It was already endemic in this war-torn kingdom. Building water mills wouldn’t suffice to stop marauding warlords and their bloodthirsty retainers. All Prospero could do for the common people was represent their interests as he hastened the conflicts to their ultimate end.
Such was the name of the game, literally, he thought bitterly. Unification and dramatic systemic change was all that could be done to free the people from the brutality and callous disregard for human life that went hand in hand with a feudal organization of the government and economy.
In that moment, as Prospero sighed and pushed himself back up to his feet, he spared a moment to wonder how the others like him were faring in this brutal world. Though before now he’d only hoped to avoid them, now he secretly wished to encounter the more agreeable ones among them. Enlisting the help of other heroes and indoctrinating them to his ideology might be the key to tipping the scale.