Buy the full book at www.halcyonchronicles.com
The Circle
Part 3
Once the ship disappeared from view, the crowd quieted down and began to disperse. The crimson-robed woman watched Governor Lessander wave absently at the troops on the pier to dismiss them. The regional militia-general who was on hand for the honor guard shouted a command and the soldiers headed for their nearby steeds. Lessander mounted his own animal and the guards formed in around him to escort him to the district keep.
The city of Rugen was built on a steep incline and at its summit lay the home of the governor of the Great Sea District. As they wended their way through the curving streets, merchants and commoners stopped and stared at the escort. Periodically, a break in the tightly packed buildings revealed a glimpse of Lubec, which lay across the River Odra. That city was practically identical to this one and was the seat of power for the regional mayor. They were both densely populated, with two- and three-story buildings crowding the edges of the cobblestone roads. As the main street snaked its way uphill, other arteries branched off at regular intervals. These roads made roughly even circuits around the giant hills upon which the cities were built, giving Rugen and Lubec a layered appearance. Larger intersections tended to boast fountains and small stands of trees, though most of the time the only greenery to be found in either of these cities was in the gardens of the wealthier families who lived near the keeps at the two summits.
The escort continued in silence. Presently they arrived at the keep. It consisted of a large, plain building that functioned as the main audience hall. A single tower stemmed from one end of it, from which an observer could see just past the city and into the surrounding countryside. It also provided a clear view of the River Odra and Lubec on the opposite bank. Three rectangular wings were attached to the main keep, two of which housed the governor’s family and his personal guard. The third one included the kitchen and a mess hall. This was all enclosed by a defensive wall that was two stories high. Surrounding the keep were a handful of large stone buildings that were used as offices for the district government. The district’s Praetorian garrison was also stationed there in a walled compound of its own.
Two bronze plaques on either side of the arched entrance commemorated the keep’s construction. The robed woman kept pace with Lessander’s group, all the while keeping her presence secret, her movements feeling like little more than a passing breeze. She glanced at the plaques as she passed by. Written in Old Ghaultic, the one on the left read: “Completed at the behest of Olaf Fenn Brelinner, Patriot and Separatist, first leader of the city-state of the Great Sea, Year 218 After the Appearance.” The other plaque was written much later in the Hansic dialect: “Strength of the mind derives from a sense of the just; strength of the flesh, from the unjust.”
The robed woman grinned inwardly. Verse ninety-one from Ahenak’s First Codex. What would Olaf Brelinner have thought if he’d known that the words of a man he called ‘murderer’ would one day greet those who entered his keep?
Soldiers from the district garrison kept the mob of petitioners at a distance while the governor and his escort dismounted in the keep’s courtyard. Their steeds were led away while a frenetic clerk rushed to meet them. A little man with a portly physique, he was huffing from a shortage of breath as he bustled his governor inside to open the legislature.
The unseen woman augmented her hearing again so she could listen to the governor’s conversation.
“Sir, representatives from several regions have been awaiting your return.”
Lessander’s tone barely concealed his annoyance. “Let them wait.”
“They’re angry, sir.”
Lessander stared at him impatiently.
The clerk took a step back. “Very angry.”
The militia-general chuckled and led her troops away. The governor walked briskly towards the audience hall with the clerk scurrying along beside him. “We also have important petitions from the masonry, smithy and cobbling guilds. They all seem to be very miffed about the tax issue.”
They entered through a side door to avoid the crowd. Lessander was only half-listening as the clerk continued. “There’s also this written request for a private audience.”
“I don’t have time for private audiences.”
“It says that it’s urgent.”
The clerk thrust a sealed envelope at the governor. Lessander broke the seal, removed the letter and scanned its contents. He stopped abruptly.
“What is it?” asked the clerk.
Lessander looked up. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?”
The governor handed him the note. “See what you make of it.”
Lessander entered a door on his right and emerged inside the audience hall. It was spacious, comfortably holding the few hundred petitioners with plenty of room to spare. Windows that were two stories tall lined the sides of the chamber, and sconces with torches were attached to the walls between them for occasions when the light outside was insufficient. Today, the windows let pass a dull white light with streaks of sleet, an adequate reflection of the governor’s mood. Next to Lessander was a ceremonial replica of the chancellor’s throne from Hansehaven. It bore the crests of each of the five formerly independent city-states that negotiated the creation of the Hansic Alliance two centuries earlier. The Hanse’s national crest was displayed above them. An unlit brazier was set beside the right armrest. All this was situated behind a large, raised table. Lessander managed the assembly from here. A dozen meters from the table was a wooden barrier about waist-high.
The robed woman watched discreetly as he moved further into the chamber. A squad of sentries snapped to attention.
Praetorians, mulled the woman, the impartial observers of our realm.
There were only a dozen of them, but the woman was confident that they could wipe out Lessander’s entire garrison if they wanted to. Their steel armor was heavier than anything found in the Hansic Alliance and they wielded their weapons with deadly efficiency. They were few in number but ferocious in battle, making them the perfect peacekeepers. Every year, thousands of Praetorian hopefuls entered training at Valor’s Keep. Very few became cadets. After that, there was a slim chance that they would have what it took to become actual Praetorians.
The clerk had scurried in ahead of Lessander and he now stood at his governor’s side. He held the note out to his governor. “In all my years of service, I’ve never seen the Circle take an interest in local affairs.”
“What do you think they want?”
“Damned if I know. Usually they’re content with keeping to their tests. I’ve never heard of them demanding a private audience with anyone outside of the highest government circles.”
Lessander considered this for a few moments until the clerk cleared his throat loudly.
Setting aside this unusual request for a private meeting, the governor sighed, “Yes, I know. Bring them in. We’ll begin with the regional administrators and guild representatives.”
The clerk hurried off to an antechamber while two enormous doors at the far end of the hall opened wide. Commoners started to file in, stopping at the waist-high wall. The clerk led the administrators and guild representatives in from a separate entrance to stand before the governor.
The governor rose and silence quickly descended over the assemblage. Lessander waited until the echoes of their mingled conversations faded away before nodding curtly. An aide entered through the same back door that Lessander had used. She was carrying a scepter that lay on a velvet cushion. A cleric wearing an azure outfit followed her. Unlike her counterpart at the pier, this priestess was old and thin, though she shared the shaved head and the pendant. She reached into a pouch that hung from her sash and sprinkled some incense over the brazier. She then lit it and a sweet fragrance disseminated through the chamber. The cleric’s voice resounded clearly.
“We extol the Spirits who dwell in the Forum up on high. May Elren’s wisdom prevail as our guiding principle in this, the nineteenth day of L’Xarmonth of the seven hundred and seventieth year After the Appearance, thirty-first day since the election of our governor, William Lessander. May fortune and justice favor him, and let us say, ‘Amen.’”
Everyone repeated “Amen”. Lessander took the scepter from the waiting clerk and held it aloft. “I hereby declare this day in session.”
As he sat, the chamber came abuzz with life.
Three councilors stepped forward. They were dressed in soft brown leathers with heavy wool vests — a stark contrast to the more fashionable black and grays of the city.
“Your Honor,” started the one in the middle, “we represent the Rheine area in the Odra’s highland region.”
Lessander smiled politely and was about ask them to continue when the clerk returned puffing frantically. “Sir, the person who requested the private audience is waiting in the antechamber.”
Lessander rose and placed the scepter on his seat. “My apologies, gentlemen and ladies, but this is a pressing matter. We’ll deal with your concerns when I return.” He stepped down and headed for the antechamber.
The robed woman retreated inside and prepared herself.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
Buy Harbinger’s End: Herald in print or ebook for maps, extra material and a preview of Harbinger’s End: The Time of Meeting.
