I've decided to start a new site on a server I manage myself, using the flexible TextPattern package. As such, while I won't be deleting this blog right away, no new episodes will be posted here.
Instead, check out Satellite Five.
[Prologue: Some Days, Episode 1, Episode 2a, Episode 2b, Episode 2c, Episode 2d]
Worldweavers Guildhall and the Renara Council Chamber, Atharin City, Kingdom of Renar, 4 Alana 1507 AC
The duke rose at this point, and gestured to one of his retainers, who placed his cloak about his shoulders. "Well you're going to have to figure your own way out of this one, Ambassador. You might convince my colleagues to bleed themselves dry for you again, but Athar will not give any more than it already does on a daily basis."
While the duke was finishing his oration, two other councillors, including the other youngster and the older sceptic from earlier, rose and gestured for their cloaks. When he was done, the three walked out in near-unison.
Rather predicatbly, the council dissolved into something less than orderly at that point, and the justiciar wisely realised that nothing more was going to get done. That was all right. Tezhla had stated from the outset that he wasn't looking for solutions or help -- he was just being neighbourly.
Krisa and I watched the chaos for a little while, but it wasn't all that interesting. I looked over and noticed that Krisa was looking somewhat sadly at the bottom of his empty popcorn bucket. Here was one of the people who secretly manipulated events in this world -- one of the mythical "They" that feed all the conspiracy theories -- looking like a forlorn child because he was out of popcorn.
I interrupted his solemn contemplation of greasy cardboard. "That was a bit of an overreaction from the Young Duke, wasn't it?"
Krisa started a bit, as if he'd been lost in deeper thoughts -- and maybe he had. "A bit, but not much. Duke Korza was a nephew of the Old Duke. The Old Duke and all his heirs died from the plague the Korza mentioned. While Korza and his retainers fled to the deep north, the Old Duke and his family waded into the fray of actually trying to help, both north and south. Thus we have one of the classic, sad ironies of history: a good, wise man and his enlightened household were largely destroyed doing the admirable thing, while his cowardly relations survived to inherit."
I noticed Tezhla making his farewells and preparing to depart the chamber. "I suppose you've already asked the ambassador to come here, next?"
Krisa smiled. "There was no need. At this point, it's habit. He'll deny to his dying day that he's an agent for anyone but his own government, but he does like to keep us informed. I imagine we'll be seeing the justiciar, as well."
"Really? I thought you avoided such direct involement with high-level government officials."
"The justiciar found us."
"I'm not all that surprised. The Guildhall is not that hard to miss."
"Hiding in plain sight has worked very well for us for several thousand years, William. Most people see what they expect to see. The apothocary and bakery storefronts are all most people notice about this building. The justiciar, however, is one of those clever folks who puts together the clues and hints she sees and hears over the years. She's a skilled huntress, and she neatly tracked us down about three weeks before she was appointed to her current post."
"And she didn't immediately try to run you out of town?"
Krisa laughed. "Hardly. She's also an ambitious woman. She immediately saw the value of being cooperative with our order. She even knows about the talisman embedded in the chandelier in the council chamber."
"Cooperative indeed. The Crown would skin her if they knew she was in bed with you, you know."
Krisa blushed -- a bluish flush to his pale cheeks. I think he's slipping. He never used to blush that easily.
"You realise I intended that as a figure of speech."
Krisa cleared his throat. "Yes, well, anyway, they should be here soon." He banged his staff and muttered again and the council room went away, replaced again by his office.
I smiled and took his emtpy popcorn bucket from him, nesting it my own, and wandered off to dispose of them and let him recover his dignity.
[Prologue: Some Days, Episode 1, Episode 2a, Episode 2b, Episode 2c]
Worldweavers Guildhall and the Renara Council Chamber, Atharin City, Kingdom of Renar, 4 Alana 1507 AC
"When he was done, his mouth was a bloody mess with bits of rope embedded in his gums and lips and at least two teeth missing. If he noticed that, he gave no sign, either. Once freed, he resumed his walk."
Everyone was with Tezhla at this point. The younger one who had earlier been unimpressed earlier still seemed to be wondering why any of this should matter to him, but he was ensnared by the tale. I pointed him out to Krisa, who nodded. He'd give me details later.
The exchequer broke the silence. "You say the phenomenon is moving northward. How fast?"
"It varies. The border seems to undulate like waves on the sea, but the sea is rising.
"When I took ship, the last report was that about a third of the territory across the southernmost principalities was...no longer accessible. By itself, it might not seem a great loss. A lot of the land is tundra, with few villages and only three real population centers. All told, we believe perhaps 100,000 individuals are on the wrong side of the line.
"But the effect shows no sign of stopping, and clear signs of gradually accelerating its northward migration, as if the more territory it covers, the more it's capable of covering.
"I said at the beginning that this could well have been going on for a century, and I was not exaggerating. Some experts at numbers have done some extrapolation, and although they admit they can't be certain with the meagre evidence we currently have, the rate at which the...creep is accellerating would be in keeping with something that started small and localised and much slower about 100 years ago.
"They've made some rough estimates in the other direction as well. If the current observed behaviour continues, including the rate of change, the whole of Hiz'ol will be engulfed in eight years."
"And the nature of the phenomenon?" Again, the exchequer, without pause. Apparently all the dramatic pauses earlier had gotten on his nerves. He was a man who wanted answers, quickly and precisely.
"A complete mystery. There is no obvious taint of magic about what's happening, and yet efforts to use magic to sense what's going on south of the line are clearly being prevented, which requires some understanding of magic. There are some who believe that magic is being...suppressed, generally, within the effected area. It would explain both why scrying fails and why all magical links with people and animals fail the moment the line is crossed, but no one has yet offered a hypothesis as to how such a complete suppression might be accomplished."
"Beyond that, we're fairly sure we know what it isn't. It isn't infectious, per se, not a disease. There is no obvious physical effect observed -- no rashes or lesions or sudden physical transformations. Even the strength with which the volunteer in the fourth experiment resisted our efforts to reel him in is not conclusively a result of the effect. Had he been determined enough, he might have been able to resist us entirely on his own.
"It also cannot be passed by mental link -- the time we lost both bondmates we know for certain the border swelled northward and engulfed him rather than the effect being transmitted. We realised later that we came dangerously close to losing our entire party due to the same swell."
The sceptical young councillor let out a derisve snort at this point. Tezhla could have ignored it, but chose instead to give the offender a diplomatic way out. "Good health to you, Duke Korza."
The name was familiar to me -- a common given name in the Ducal Line of Athar. This, then, was likely the new duke, or his representative. The old duke had been an extraordinarily clever, cunning, and utterly unscrupulous individual. I committed one of my earliest intercultural moral blunders by teaching him how to play poker, and I paid for it almost every single visit, thereafter. The fact that he was apparently gone saddened me and yet left me feeling significantly wealthier.
At any rate, the problem with systems of authority that rely on heredity or family connections is that genetics are simply not that reliable.
"I didn't sneeze, Ambassador Tezhla." He rose, beligerent and very sure of himself. "What was it last time, Ambassador? A plague, wasn't it? A mysterious disease you needed our aid in quelling lest it consume the continent and spread north to this one via our frequent commerce. And before that? A religious movement that threatened that commerce unless we gave generously to help the Free City defuse it. And before that? A massive crop failure requiring us to give generously to feed our Southern partner."
"What exactly are you saying, Your Grace?"
"That I find it odd that, despite all the advances and modern conveniences that change our lives almost daily, emanating from your fair city and its innovative philosophers and engineers, you seem so very...accident prone. And so incapable of mustering the resources to clean up your own messes. How convenient that you have such friendly partners in the north, so willing to give of their fields and coffers to make up for your incapacities."
Only someone who knew Tezhla well would realise that he was on the verge of violence. His voice, his demeanour in general, remained overtly diplomatic, but there was a tension to him, a sudden shift in the set of his ears. "Your grace, as far as I'm aware, Kza's account with the Kingdom of Renar in general, and with your duchy in particular, is current. The loans and aid generously granted by this council have all been repaid --"
"-- with our own money. We pay your artisans handsomely for the new machinery that works our fields, for better wagons and carriages, for all sorts of things we got along without for generations. Your city is enjoying quite a surge of inventiveness, lately...and quite a solid monopoly on the manufacture of its inventions. We buy those goods in quantity from you because you're the only game in town, and you tax those artisans from whom we buy, and pay us back with the merest fraction of that revenue.
The duke rose at this point, and gestured to one of his retainers, who placed his cloak about his shoulders. "Well you're going to have to figure your own way out of this one, Ambassador. You might convince my colleagues to bleed themselves dry for you again, but Athar will not give any more than it already does on a daily basis."
While the duke was finishing his oration, two other councillors, including the other youngster and the older sceptic from earlier, rose and gestured for their cloaks. When he was done, the three walked out in near-unison.
Aralla has languished in the midst of episode two for the simple reason that my day-job ate my brain. That, and I'm really bad about imposing deadlines and conditions on myself, even when it's important to me.
Well, while I don't really believe in New Year's Resolutions, as it happens, in close proximity to the New Year (like, yesterday or so), an LJ acquaintence of mine, Elizabeth Bear, started a challenge community: 750 words a day. If one keeps at it for 90 straight days, one has something novel length.
I think I can do this. I hope I can do this. More to the point, I hope I can do it and have it not suck :-)
Episode 2d goes up shortly.
