Succession Crisis

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The Speakers claimed it to be a sign from their three faced God, a divine message calling for a return to the Ecclesiarchy. But few listened, and those that did died in droves.

City Watch patrols were doubled, their powers temporarily increased, ostensibly until the crisis was passed. Of course, the crisis did not pass. Instead, other sects, each one crying their own version of the river’s omen, rose and were put down. And once the religious fervor died away, more significant powers rose in their stead.

Watching as the city burned from atop the Palatial Hill, Councilman Reynard Volker mulled over what had been said since the day that Queen Deeana disappeared. It was the kind of thing that rarely happened; and was almost never solved. No body, so they could not confirm that she was dead, nor yet was there any proof that she had disappeared save her conspicuous absence.

And, there was always the fact that no hordes of monsters had emerged from the ground to wreak a god’s bloody vengeance on the world. It could therefore be assumed, at least for now, that the different holy orders screaming their fear and hate into the world, were wrong. Or at least, that the specific god responsible had not yet been sufficiently offended to warrant the death of human kind.

“Won’t be too long, though,” he muttered, too low for his guards to be able to hear him. “Eventually one of them is going to work out the trick and we’ll all be damned.”

The trick, according to his understanding of philosophy, was to gain a critical mass of genuine believers. At which point, the will of the god would be made manifest, and the slaughter could begin. But, it was important not to overstep that golden number, whatever it was, and thus keep the divinity impotent.

Few things in the world make perfect sense, even when one has a sufficient understanding of it. Magic, being by its very nature one of the least comprehensible elements of the world, was chief on the list. Reynard had seen what the followers of the Unity called miracles more than once – of course, those miracles had been blasphemies instead, belonging as they did to what the Unitarians called heretics.

At least the majority of the largest faiths were too busy with their own wealth and power to consider the risks of their expansion. Too many gods in one place, too diverse a set of believers, and their whole arcane system could collapse. And most of the folk religions were too small to be cause for concern. But there was always the chance, always the possibility that enough believers would unify their faith and thus…

It was not impossible that something of the sort had spirited the Queen away. She had never been an entirely popular figure. Not to the common or patrician populations. But she had been reasonably fair, everyone except those who were caught in her reforms thought that. Unloved, but respected.

“Who said ‘it is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both,’” he asked aloud and one of his guards responded with a shrug.

“Not sure, sir. Sounds like the kind of thing a despot’s lacky might spew.”

“You’d be right and wrong there. From what I remember, the book was rather harsh on the concept of despotism. Damned if I can remember the name, though. And damned again that the only known copies were lost in that fire in Lithelle a decade back.”

“Yes, sir. A true shame.”

“Speaking of fires, these are entirely unacceptable,” Reynard waved vaguely at the burning city beneath him. “Who authorized the use of fire siphons?”

“That would be Councilwoman Lyssa Torend, sir,” responded another guard. “Motion was seconded by Calian Salt.”

Yes, Calian would approve this kind of resolution to civil unrest. Considered to be among the best of men, he was nonetheless graceless. A hammer of a man with a hammer for a brain, extremely skilled at his role, and not much good for anything else.

The Council needed him, sadly. There was always a need for soldiers, even in the highest decision making body in the Republic. But he generally had the good manners to recuse himself from anything to do with the civil order. One did not use a hammer to mend a porcelain bowl, after all. Instead, his role was to act as a counter weight, throwing in his voting rod only when the votes were tied.

“Getting above his station, I think,” again Reynard spoke only for his own ears. “Yes, but what can be done about it? Nothing drastic, not when the city is balanced on a knife’s edge. But still, fire siphons in the city itself? Mad as eating plague rats.”

He turned to regard his escorts. Ten soldiers in mail, steel breastplates and helmets, with short swords and shields perfect for street fighting or corridor work; four also carried small recurve bows. They were formidable, having served his family well before the disillusion of true House Armies, but they were just as much hammers as was Calian.

Perfectly crafted tools for a specific purpose.

“I need you to do something for me,” his voice was cool, steady, a commanding tone that he had forged in years of watching his father lead the family through two distinct succession crises. “Gather the rest of my men, go down there,” a wave at the burning city, “and silence those siphons. There’ll be nothing left to govern if we don’t stop laying siege to our own city.”

“Respectfully, sir, I must refuse,” Aeros stepped forward and bowed low. “I cannot leave you unprotected.”

“And I,” two others echoed him. One of the bowmen included.

“Too true. Very well, you may remain at your post. As for the rest of you, take my ring and present it to the Clerk. As Prime Regent I command the siphons be not only silenced, but removed from the city at once. You are not to move them but observe that it is completed. Return to me once this is finished and I’ll give you further instructions.”

His guards saluted him, left hands curled into fists over their hearts, and retreated to do as commanded.

“Now,” he said to his remaining soldiers, “let us go and see Councilwoman Vesper. Lyssa rarely stirs without her lover’s command, so if we want to bring the city to order before next Solstice, we’ll need her on board.”

-0-

Finding Lyssa and Vesper took the better part of two hours, but Reynard did not resent the walk. He enjoyed exercise and found that his position left far too little time to indulge in it. Feasts and assemblies, parties and Council meetings seemed to take up all of his time. And that was without counting the seemingly endless stream of petitioners who managed to argue that their grievance was important enough to place before him.

How so many achieved this result was all but incomprehensible to him. Surely these people had better things to do than chase after his shadow all day. But then again, perhaps they didn’t. The infinite divines gave their favour with a randomness that dicing games could never match, and their recipients were no less varied in their mental capacity than in their physical or economic ones.

“Reynard,” trilled Vesper’s voice before he even caught a glimpse of her. “What’s this I hear about you dousing the fire siphons? Calian told me they were working wonders.”

Sometimes he managed to forget that Vesper was Blessed. Her inhuman ability to know where he was, or at least to hear him coming, was a gift from the Huntress, but he did not know the full extent of her power. Given the relative size of the Cult in the city, he supposed it wouldn’t be tremendous – not to mention the fact that all Blessed tended to hide their power as one might a treasure map. For fear of the Unitists if nothing else.

“Calian told you the truth, Vesper. They were, in fact, working wonders. I dare say the citizens wondered at why their own army was torching their homes.”

“Put some more respect on her name,” grunted Lyssa, glaring at him over the rim of a wine glass. “And don’t play your silly word games. What do you want?”

“I would call them rather pedantic, Lilly,” the woman’s face darkened at the nickname. “But no matter. They have been doused and the City Watch put to cleaning up the mess they made.”

“A waste of their efforts, wouldn’t you say?” Vesper smiled thinly, she had also noticed the nickname apparently. “Why have them doing that when rebels still infest our streets?”

“The rebels are defeated and captured; those that we missed will tend to melt back into the shadows, with the overwhelming force we applied. I confess, the trick with the siphons might well have helped our enemies. Reprisals turn the uninterested, sympathetic, the sympathetic, involved and the involved into rebels. So, I hope you’ll agree now is time to change tactics and show the people the Crown’s benevolence again.”

“Benevolence towards rebels? My, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Rather towards the people we are sworn to defend. The rebels are not likely to rear their heads again, and if they do before we re-establish the trust of the citizens, then they will not want for recruits.”

“Alas you make a valid argument.”

“I’m glad we agree. But perhaps we can leave off the small matters a moment? I wish to speak about more pressing issues.”

“Such as?”

“The throne, of course.”

Lyssa choked on a sip of wine, earning a glance from Reynard and a worried frown from Vesper. The woman had not yet grown tired of her partner, interesting. Reynard filed the information away for later consideration. It was always important to know who had his rival’s ear.

Vesper graced him with her full attention, plucking up a peeled grape and eating it with slow, methodical movements before speaking. “Such a shame that the Queen vanished as she did. Gone away with the Fey, so the rumours in the town go.”

“Spirited away by the Unitist Inquisition, according to others,” Reynard took a seat once it became clear that his hosts would not be polite enough to offer one. “Or else gone to join the Huntress in the heavens.”

“You imply…”

“I imply nothing, I assumed we were listing the rumours before we begin. A little… friendly conversation, that’s all.”

“Indeed. I always look forward to such chats with you, but I must sadly insist on your being more direct. You see, I have many things that require my attention today.”

Remaining silent, Lyssa watched him carefully. She had been a Captain in the army before her father’s death had opened a Council seat. Then she had successfully lobbied to claim what was her family’s right by tradition, if not by law. But she was aware of her limitations when it came to politicking, and left the majority of those tasks to the other Councilwoman.

Reynard knew enough about her, though, to know that she was never to be underestimated. No Councilmember would be without guards even in the Palace, and yet, neither woman had any with them now. It might have been a statement of relative power, removing or secreting their guards while his waited on his order. Or perhaps, each knew that the other was the only additional protection they required while in the safety of the Palace.

Oh the webs we weave, he thought, keeping his face smooth and neutral. The nets within nets and plans withing plans. How do you plan to catch me, little spiders? And what threads can I break without you noticing?

Out loud, he said, “we must come to an understanding about the Elevation. Time ticks on, and we have not yet found a suitable candidate.”

“In case you didn’t notice, there was something of a revolution going on.”

“I’d call it a revolt, not a revolution.”

“The salient difference being?”

“The latter implies a desire to change to a new and unified ideology. It might even be just a riot. The death of monarchs tends to make people feel violent.”

“I see. And you’re worried about the throne sitting empty?”

“The occupier of the throne is, as I’m sure you’re aware, our legitimacy in the world. Cities and Kingdoms alike will only speak to one of the Crowned, despite their limited position here.”

“And why should not we change that order? Have them speak to the Council instead? Certainly, I feel it would make more sense than leaving governance up to the randomness of bloodlines, don’t you?”

“Our system is what it is for that reason. We must open the voting, show the people that, though we mourn the Queen’s disappearance, we are working to maintain our traditions. Or, at the very least, demonstrate that we are following procedure and enforcing order. Those things matter a great deal to peasants and nobles alike.”

“And where would you suggest seeking this Divines Anointed One? Do you already have a successor to a Queen who might not even be dead in mind?”

Naturally, Vesper would imagine that he had a specific heir in mind. Certain schools of thought believed that one of the Queen’s own children would take the crown. After all, there had not been an election to the throne that went outside that bloodline in nearly eighty years – and in that time there had been more than a few such elections. But Reynard did not believe it would do so again.

Thanks to the disappearance, the public distrusted even the name of the Queen. And there were whispers of war. None of her children were yet old enough to sit the throne, to lead them through something they had only heard of through the mouths of their teachers. Instead, he did have a plan, but not one he would put before these two. Nor anyone else, to give it the best chance of success.

“The election cannot be influenced by us.”

“Of course not,” her voice betrayed her excitement. She knew now that he had a favoured successor, but then, so did everyone else. His having one wasn’t special. But hopefully, his hesitance to name one would make her think that he himself was who he meant to name. Or, at least, that it was someone else to whom he was intimately connected.

That was good. It would help to prevent his true choice from being found out. And anything to allow his choice a greater chance at ascending the Silver Stairs was a benefit. Anything at all.

He would never allow a weak monarch, even with the protection of the Council, to open his city up to the Unitists and their Inquisition.