The Steward and the Sorcerer James Peart (read my book .TXT) 📖

his reasons for his continued expansion into the Drague Territories.  Longfellow sat at the head of a long, narrow oak table with nine representatives of the Council seated to his right and nine to his left.  To his immediate right sat the Vice-Steward of Brinemore Scrot Manch, facing across the table the General of the Northern Army Silt Bron to Longfellow’s immediate left.  To Manch’s right were seated the Vice-General of the Northern Army, the chief of the Home Guard, and the Steward’s principal trade adviser.  Seated opposite them were the Council’s chief military strategist Drak Poel and other representatives of the Council.

The representatives exchanged uneasy looks as Longfellow spoke.  He wore the crested insignia of office on his Steward’s tunic, a carved image of a dove, the city’s coat of arms representing peace, an inscription beneath the insignia underlining this sentiment.  Longfellow’s cropped blond hair was fringed to one side of his forehead, his eyes and face, like Lord Christopher Went’s, brown and pliantly soft.  Nothing in his expression gave truth to the mind that lay behind it.  Only the words he used and the tone in which he delivered them did so, the language and delivery reflected in the wariness or resignation of the eyes of the Council members.

When he had finished speaking, there was a long, protracted silence amongst those assembled.  Finally, Drak Poel leaned forward in his seat, shaking his head.  “This is a bold strategy you have presented us with, my Lord, even for you.  I might add that it is also a bit foolish.”  There were reluctant nods and murmurs between the other representatives.

Longfellow smiled.  He had expected this from Poel.  The man spoke his mind, regardless of what others thought.  As chief military strategist he viewed his role as a simple one, to advise his Steward of the safest and most convenient way to win battles.  The Northern Army’s continued expansion into the Drague Territories was to his way of thinking hazardous and unnecessary, serving not the good of the city state but merely the ambition of its Steward.  He had for some time thought Longfellow was overstepping the boundaries of his office, yet strictly speaking it was not his place to openly voice this opinion.  Longfellow had sensed his Vice-Steward’s influence on Poel, before he had used Tan Wrock to confirm it.  The irony was that Scrot Manch did not care in the least whether all or none of the Drague Territories were conquered.  He merely wanted the seat of Steward for himself and straightforward men in key positions like Poel were useful pawns to have on your side to achieve this goal.  He glanced at his Vice-Steward now to gauge his reaction, but Manch was keeping his own council, his expression neutral.  “Our expansion into territories east of here,” Longfellow said, turning to Poel, “are not the cause of foolish whim but an opportunity to safeguard the citadel and the city state against forces that might use the east as a staging point for battles waged against Brinemore.  All we seek is protection against those who view us as an emerging power in the Northern Earth and thus a threat against which they would focus their aggression.”  He switched his gaze to the assembly.  “Do not delude yourselves, noble gentlemen, that we have no enemies either in the Northern Territories or outside and can remain where we are.  This is wrong thinking, this idea of resting on our laurels, and it serves to weaken the state we have fought so hard to build and maintain.”

“But the Drague tribes are primitive and unsophisticated.  They don’t have the proper means to defend themselves.”  It was Poon, a Home Guard assistant, who spoke. The other representatives turned to look at her.  Longfellow was not phased, however.  He smiled at the normally demure assistant.“These aren’t peaceful natives we’re talking about,” he said.  “They demonstrated their aggression a year ago when several tribes crossed over into the Northern Territories, carrying bows, arrows and torches, and began to pillage and burn villages close to the border.  The inhabitants didn’t stand a chance, according to our scouts.  Those who survived became refugees in the larger towns of neighbouring regions.  If we had ignored this development and not gone to the aid of those towns, they too would have been destroyed.  What would you have us do, wait patiently until they arrived at the gates of the citadel and ask them politely to go home?”

Poon lowered her head, saying nothing.

Brinemore’s principal trade adviser then spoke.  “I can add good news to this discussion, namely that we have initiated the development of commerce with a handful of tribes deep within the Territories that produce and sell certain textiles that are needed in the city.  Those we have talked with have a good understanding of the uses and benefits of trade and have already committed to placing large orders with us.”  An excited murmur rose and fell among the ranks of the assembly.  “What materials are they using?” asked one member.  “How many orders have they agreed to?” asked another.  “Who in the citadel will this benefit?”  The questions continued- those who posed them met with answers to varying degrees of satisfaction- until the Speaker called for order and the second topic of the day was presented for the Council members’ consideration.

Longfellow tabled the discussion briefly before the issues presented in the topic were raised by asking for a majority vote to support the criminalisation of the practice of sorcery in the Northern and Eastern Territories, including certain outlying areas that presented a threat to the city state such as Fein Mor, the seat of the Druidic order.  It was passed unanimously, the council members eager to get on with the other matter.  Longfellow smiled to himself.  He had slipped this through at the right moment.  The assembly turned its attention to matters south of Brinemore.

Drak Poel asked the relevant question: “Is the Cru Dynasty complicit with Brinemore in its plans