Practical adept book 17.., p.83
Practical Adept: Book 17 of the Spellmonger Series, page 83
Good lad.
Chapter Fifty
Revolution
One must commend the gallant Farisians on their resilience in the face of adversity. The architecture of the city is reflective of the number of times it has been devastated by the frequent storms, flooding low-lying areas to the point of destruction while the hilltops are encrusted with temples and palaces and the institutions of the city like barnacles bravely clinging to the hull of a ship in a storm. There is no greater example of this than the magnificent Citadel of the Doge, the central hub of administration that towers over the stately buildings around it. By local tradition the selection of a new Doge, the title of the Imperial Governor, is announced with the release of a cloud of smoke from its rooftop in glorious Farisian green. It is a solemn spectacle that the Farisians anticipate with great reverence.
Explorations of Farise, Enshalada, and the Shattered Isles
Author Unknown
The storm lessened as dawn broke over the broken city, giving a brief respite to the Farisians and allowing them to take stock of the damage. Many of the combatants in the previous nights mayhem had slunk away at twilight, beaten, exhausted, and demoralized by the intense struggle in the stormy streets. Those who remained clung to the strong points they had seized the previous night.
But there were no Alshari in the streets anymore. There was no one trying to restore order. Neighbors banded together to clean up the mess, or escort the wounded to safety, or fortify their shops and homes against more violence, but those efforts were localized. The city, as a whole, was leaderless.
At least, for the moment.
Thankfully, the Electors were meeting for the final vote to elevate Rellin Pratt to Doge that afternoon. That would, theoretically, re-establish Farisian sovereignty, inaugurate a new government, clear the streets of mobs and gangs, and usher in a new era of prosperity and splendor. If someone didn’t stick a dagger in him, first.
The vote was to be taken at the Citadel, of course, but getting there would prove difficult. There were still plenty of lawless thugs wandering around, looking for opportunistic victims or members of rival gangs. The Farisian People’s Army still clung to a number of checkpoints and crossroads, particularly around the Porsago and Cesshaven Districts, and they controlled the Sea Lords’ District all the way to the bridge. They technically controlled the bridge to the harbor, too, but of the four great spans that joined the two sides of Farise, the Harbor Bridge was the least well-traveled.
I wasn’t terribly concerned for my safety – any thug dressed as a clown or a tribesman or a marionette would regret such an encounter – but I did want to ensure that as many other Electors made it in safety as well.
At dawn I sent Ruderal to fetch Darriky and asked Atopol to slink over to Alperrik’s mansion on the east bank and escort him to the Citadel. Tirkia sent Lemari to bring Adept Jakin to ensure the theurge was able to attend. I knew there had to be at least three hundred Electors to make a quorum, under the rules, and I wanted to ensure every one of them who had survived the night’s violence made it to the Citadel.
“I think it would be appropriate to bring guards,” Mavone suggested, as we prepared for the day over breakfast and tea. “Plenty of other Electors will be escorted by their security. It won’t look amiss if you had a couple of tough-looking fellows with you. Sandy and Curmor, perhaps?”
“They’ll do,” I agreed. I knew that having public security could extricate you from all sorts of situations just by their presence. “That will be interesting. The last time we were all together at the Citadel, we were trying to kill a doge. Now were trying to elect one.”
“This business is filled with irony,” Mavone, agreed. “Like making an alliance with a group that was trying to kill you fifteen years ago. The Contramara is dangerous, Min,” he reminded me. “We barely know anything about them.”
“We will learn a lot more as allies than as opponents,” I pointed out. “We’re going to have to work closely together to support this new regime. With Merwyn coming, they really don’t have much of a choice but to cooperate with us, if they truly have a free and independent Farise as a goal. I like having that kind of leverage.”
“I’m just concerned about their trustworthiness. Apropos to that, how are we going to explain all of this to Rard?”
“With small words and short, easy-to-understand sentences,” I chuckled. “Let’s see how all of this plays out, before we try to explain it. There is a lot that is still up in the air,” I reminded him.
“So, are your contingencies ready?” he asked. I smiled and pulled the satchel I had spent all night filling out from under the table.
“I should have everything I need, since Bendonal returned from the Gray Dome. But I’ll need some men ready, in case I need reinforcements.”
“The other half of the strike force will be ready,” he promised. “And Azar and Noutha have decided to stick around to see what happens. Hells, we have Durgan Jole sleeping in our library. If you need an extraction, we should have the talent to do it. I’ll prepare them for that.”
“Just make certain they’re ready. All of them. I suppose the only thing left to do is to take a leisurely walk through the city, get into the Citadel, and do our civic duty,” I sighed.
“I can’t wait for it to be over,” Mavone admitted. “It’s been fun – one of the best intelligence operations I’ve ever been involved in – but it’s draining. I want to see a good conclusion to this one.”
“Anything is possible,” I agreed, as I went to go collect my colleagues.
I’d given Lady Tirkia a room and a bed of her own so that she could get some rest before our important day. Her sister’s family had taken over two rooms on the second floor, temporarily, and Larask was hard-pressed to convince them to stop touching things. The entire place was starting to feel crowded, and I suddenly wanted to be underway.
“It’s still morning,” complained Darriky with a yawn. “The meeting isn’t until this afternoon.”
“The entire city is ravaged,” I pointed out. “There is no telling how hard it is going to be to get there. Half of those costumed idiots out there are specifically looking to obstruct the proceeding. The other half . . . I’m not much sure that they care, they’re just looking for an excuse to beat someone up. So, an early start is advisable.”
“Why does the voice of wisdom always have to be so uncomfortable?” he sighed. He looked around at the crowded practice, as Lemari’s cousins tumbled down the stairs for breakfast, Larask trying to herd them away from anything breakable. Curmor was going up the same stairs wearing a battle harness and carrying a war staff over his shoulder. Darriky stared, until Curmor grinned and waved. “Forgive me for noting it, but a wise man would notice that there seems to be more going on at your practice than one would ordinarily presume,” he observed.
“Isn’t that always the case in Farise? Yes, I am more than I present myself to be, at the moment, Darriky. There is much happening that you don’t know about, that would be difficult to tell you, and which might genuinely endanger you to know. A lot is happening, and there are forces at play here even I don’t understand.”
“I just wanted some confirmation,” Darriky nodded. “You seem like an honest fellow for a . . . whatever you actually are,” he conceded. “Tirkia likes you, and I’ve always respected her opinion. Alperrik likes you, and I never respected his. I like you, the gods alone know why.”
“I have Farise’s best interests in mind,” I promised him. “And I will tell you everything, after this is over. You deserve that much.”
“Thanks,” he nodded. “I’m just a—”
“You are a civic-minded mage who runs an honest practice and doesn’t like politics,” I finished for him. “That’s why you’re approaching this Elector business the way you do. You are largely uncorrupted. There aren’t any strings on you. You don’t want a bribe, you don’t want a cushy position in the government afterwards, and you don’t particularly want to stab anyone in the cloakroom. I’d say you’re as an important player in all of this as anyone.”
“I wouldn’t mind a cushy government job,” he shrugged. “Apart from that, you’re about right. I just want things to get back to normal.”
“Then we’re going to have to build that ourselves,” I declared. “Are you ready?”
“I’ve got my wand, my sphere, my ring, and a flask of brandy,” he agreed. “Whenever you are.”
“Then let’s collect Tirkia and go do something historic,” I said, hefting the satchel across my shoulders and grabbing my staff. I chose my everyday working hat, despite the importance of the occasion. The beat-up cone and brim was far more usefully enchanted than my more formal hat. I didn’t know what the day would hold, but I wanted to be prepared for just about anything.
That was the proper attitude to have, as it turns out.
***
Feelings of paranoia were rampant that morning, with twice the number of guards visible at the Citadel as were present during the last meeting of the Electors. A very nervous looking official stopped us at the gate to verify our identities as Electors, search us for weaponry, and pass us inside.
I had Sandy and Curmor wait for us with the rest of the guards. They weren’t the only ones wearing the battle harness of a warmage, either. Everyone was concerned about the violence of the last several days, and the Executive Committee wanted to ensure the vote happened without interruption or disruption. The possibility of some faction deciding to attack was just too real to be ignored.
Solemnly, we donned our yellow baldrics and ascended the six flights of stairs that brought us to the roof of the great structure. Traditionally, it had been pointed out, the election of the Doge was done under the open sky. Considering there was a brief break in the rain, we had a few dry hours in which to make our decision.
But there was no real decision to make. Rellin Pratt was the only candidate who had made it through the rigorous selection process. Either we voted for him, or we didn’t – and too many people had had their arms twisted to vote for him to see his bid fail. The Congress of Electors was a formality. Pratt was destined to become the Doge of Farise.
But that didn’t make us unnecessary. We were, legitimate or not, the only group that had decided to assert the sovereignty of Farise. I’d learned a lot about government, despite myself, during my service in the various committees. Sovereignty was created when one man or group had the will to use force to establish it and then defend it. That’s what we were doing when no one else was doing anything. As biased and corrupt as the Congress of Electors was, it was the only game in town. We might be establishing a dictatorship, but it was a legitimate dictatorship.
“How many made it, do you think?” Lady Tirkia asked when we were gathering on the rooftop.
“More than three hundred, so far,” Darriky decided, as his eyes scanned the crowd. “That’s a quorum. We can hold the vote, now, and be done with this madness.”
“It’s still going to take a lot of work to see the new regime succeed,” Tirkia reminded us. “Selecting a Doge is just the first step. He must form a government, then. That’s going to be a nightmare,” she predicted.
“The only way it won’t be is to take politics out of it,” Darriky mused, shaking his head. “And you can never take politics out of it. Oh! Prince Rat has arrived!” he noted, as there was a stir at the head of the stairs. Four well-dressed nobles in Sea Lord style finery escorted the tired-looking former pirate onto the roof, as a round of applause and some cheers broke out. Rellin smiled, that fake politician’s expression he’d perfected, but I could see he was truly relieved to have finally made it to this point.
This was the culmination of his life’s work, after all – he’d always had Orril Pratt as his uncle as his biggest claim to fame. The name alone hadn’t brought him to the roof of the Citadel, however. He’d had to put together enough power and influence to come to the notice of the elite of Farise, and he had chosen the perfect time to press his case.
“I call this meeting of the Congress of Electors to order!” Adept Nandus called out. “The Secretary affirms that there are three hundred, twenty-one designated Electors present, which is sufficient for the business at hand. The matter before us is the selection of a new Doge of Farise. Do we have a candidate for this office?” he asked, formally.
The Secretary of the Congress, a thin man with a high, warbling voice, stood forward. I didn’t even know the Congress had a Secretary, to be honest, but I suppose someone had to keep track of everything.
“We do!” he reported, solemnly. “Captain Rellin Pratt, an accepted Adept, a captain of note, and a duly qualified candidate for this office has been examined by committee and has met all of the requirements set forth by this body,” he assured everyone in a loud voice. “I hereby certify that he is an acceptable candidate.”
There was a bit of murmuring amongst the crowd, as well as some applause – clearly, not everyone was pleased with the candidate or the process.
“Then he shall be submitted into consideration of this body for final approval,” Nandus continued. “Should any present take issue with this and wish to challenge the candidate, risking their lives and their honor in mortal combat, stand forth now and issue your challenge,” he directed. It was a casually delivered line, a formality – like this entire Congress.
I waited a moment to see if anyone was brave enough to do so. Pratt tried to look formidable in his finery, and even put his hand on the hilt of his scimitar to indicate he was ready for a challenge he did not expect to hear. Indeed, it appeared that no one would object.
“I challenge him!” I said, quietly, but loud enough to be heard.
Darriky looked at me, astonished. Lady Tirkia’s mouth was agape in horror. I ignored them and pushed my way to the front of the crowd.
“You?” Adept Nandus asked in surprise. “You challenge him? Why? What is the nature of your challenge?” he asked, confused.
“I find him unfit for the office and suspect he will be corrupt,” I agreed. “His character is dubious, at best, and he may be allied with certain disreputable organizations. I cannot in good conscience allow him to take the title when I believe his reign will be disastrous for Farise.”
Pratt’s face contorted in rage as I calmly insulted him to his face, and in front of the public.
“You challenge me? The Ice Wizard?” he finally choked out.
“I do,” I agreed, leaning on my staff. “I will fight you to the death to spare Farise from the burden of your rule. Are you surprised?” I asked, approaching the young mage. “You shouldn’t be. When you ask decent men to decide who will lead them, it’s uncommon for them to pick a scoundrel. So I challenge you for the office,” I declared. “Declare your seconds, and I will summon mine.”
“You know I’ve killed hundreds of men,” Pratt boasted. “This will be a trial to death, or surrender,” he reminded me. “Killing one more won’t bother me.”
“A man who is not bothered by death has no business leading a nation,” I dismissed. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Mirkandar! What in nine hells are you doing?” Lady Tirkia asked.
“I’m living up to the oath I took as an Elector,” I argued.
“And you’re willing to pay for it with your life,” Pratt said, regarding me evenly. “I suppose that’s noble. Suicidal and naïve, but noble.”
“I care not what you think,” I snapped. “Do you accept the challenge? Or do you withdraw?”
“You know I have irionite,” he boasted. “I will not hesitate to use its powers to end your life.” To prove it he dug his shard out of the little silk bag he wore around his neck. “There will be no rules to this contest. And I will not spare your life,” he cautioned.
“Then you accept it,” I nodded.
“Of course,” he said, sizing me up. “A seasoned corsair and shadowmage against the Ice Wizard of Bluestem? I like my chances.”
“The challenge has been accepted!” Nandus called out.
“Of course, Mirkandar is not my real name,” I revealed, as I handed my staff to Darriky, who was still in shock.
“I don’t care whose name you use,” Pratt dismissed. “I’ll kill you just the same.”
“Back in Castal, before I came to Farise, I was known by another name. I was called Minalan. I was a spellmonger,” I revealed, as I extracted the Magolith out of its hoxter and set it flying over my shoulder. “I lived in the mountains, the Mindens, up in the Alshari Wilderlands for a while. But then a goblin shaman gave me a piece of irionite.”
“Minalan?” Adept Nandus asked, confused.
“Minalan the Spellmonger, Count of the Magelaw, Baron of Sevendor. But in Farise I go by Mirkandar the Magnificent,” I explained, as I brought Avalanche out of its hoxter. The sleek, deadly-looking battle staff immediately made an impression. “The Ice Wizard, as you call me. But I’m actually a pretty decent warmage, by all accounts. Have you selected your two seconds?” I asked as I shrugged off my long sleeveless coat.
“You are an outsider!” objected one of the Electors I didn’t know, clearly someone who had their heart set on Pratt’s ascension.
“Then you can challenge me, after I kill Rellin in front of you,” I said, cheerfully. “He’s killed hundreds of men. I’ve killed hundreds of men . . . and tens of thousands of gurvani. And some undead lords. A couple of dragons,” I added. “Probably some other stuff. And how can I be an outsider? I was born in Castal, the same as he.”
Pratt stared at me as I kept pulling items out of thin air in front of everyone – my helmet, my fighting harness, a few pieces of dragonscale armor – I would forego the cuirass I usually wore into battle. This was a duel, not an assault. But that reminded me of something. “You might want to clear some of these people back,” I warned Nandus. “This is going to get bloody.”
“My seconds shall be Lord Haramine and Captain Pallus,” he informed Nandus, his confidence clearly failing. I closed my eyes and reached out to Mavone, mind-to-mind.
It’s time. Send them. Use the Magolith’s Waypoint, I ordered.
