Soul of the Fire

Chapter 22

Musicians up in the gallery piped a nautical tune while ushers unfurled lengthy blue banners down into the dining hall. The pairs of men holding the banners flapped them in time with the music, giving the effect of ocean waves as the fishing boats painted on the banners bobbed upon the blue-cloth waters.

While the Sovereign’s own servants catered to his table, squires in estate livery eddied around the Minister’s head table, bearing silver platters arrayed with the colorfully prepared fish course. The Minister selected crab legs, salmon belly, fried minnows, bream, and eels in saffron sauce, the squire placing each item between the Minister and his wife for them to transfer as they would to their shared trencher.

Minister Chanboor swirled a long piece of eel in the saffron sauce and offered it, draped over a finger, to his wife. She smiled affectionately and with the tips of long nails plucked it from his finger, but before putting it to her lips, she instead set it down and turned to Stein to ask, as if suddenly taken with curiosity, about the food of his homeland. In the short time he had been at the estate, Dalton had learned that Lady Chanboor disliked eel above all else.

When one of the squires held out a platter of crayfish, Teresa told Dalton, by the hopeful lift of her eyebrows, that she would like one. The squire deftly split the shell, removed the vein, fluffed the meat, and stuffed the shell beneath with crackers and butter, as Dalton requested. He used his knife to lift a slice of porpoise from a platter held out by a squire with his head bowed low between his outstretched arms. The squire genuflected, as did they all, before moving on with a dancelike step.

Teresa’s wrinkled nose told him she didn’t want any eel. He took one for himself, only because the Minister’s nodding and grinning told him he should. After he did, the Minister leaned close and whispered, “Eel is good for the eel, if you follow my meaning.”

Dalton simply smiled, feigning appreciation for the pointer. His mind was on his job and the task at hand, and besides, he wasn’t preoccupied with concern about his “eel.”

As Teresa sampled the gingered carp, Dalton idly tasted the baked herring with sugar as he watched the Haken squires, like an invading army, sweep down on the tables of guests. They brought platters of fried pike, bass, millet, and trout; baked lamprey herring, haddock, and hake; roast perch, salmon, seal, and sturgeon; crabs, shrimp, and whelk on beds of glazed roe, along with tureens of spiced scallop bisque and almond fish stew, in addition to colorful sauces of every kind. Other dishes were served in inventive presentations of sauces and florid concoctions of combined ingredients, from porpoise and peas in onion wine sauce, to sturgeon roe and gurnard flanks, to great plaice and codling pie in sauce vert.

The abundance of food presented in such elaborate profusion was intended not only to be political spectacle wherein the Minister of Culture manifested his power and wealth, but also to convey—to protect the Minister from accusations of ostentatious excess—a profound religious connotation. The plenty was ultimately an exhibition of the Creator’s splendor and, despite the seeming opulence, but an infinitesimal sampling of His endless bounty.

The feast was not convened to oblige a gathering of people, but a gathering of people had been called to attend the feast—a subtle but significant difference. That the feast wasn’t held for a social reason—say, a wedding, or to celebrate an anniversary of a military victory—underlined its religious substance. The Sovereign’s attendance, his being the Creator’s deputy in the world of life, only consecrated the sacred aspects of the feast.

If guests were impressed with the wealth, power, and nobility of the Minister and his wife, that was incidental and unavoidable. Dalton incidentally noticed a great many people being unavoidably impressed.

The room droned with conversation sprinkled with the chime of laughter as the guests sipped wine, nibbled food of every sort, and sampled with different fingers the variety of sauces. The harpist had started in again to entertain the guests while they dined. The Minister ate eel as he spoke with his wife, Stein, and the two wealthy backers at the far end of the table.

Dalton wiped his lips, deciding to make use of the opening offered by the relaxed mood. He took a last sip of wine before leaning toward his wife. “Did you find out anything from your talk earlier?”

Teresa used her knife to part a piece of fried pike, then picked up her half with her fingers and dipped it in red sauce. She knew he meant Claudine. “Nothing specific. But I suspect the lamb is not locked in her pen.”

Teresa didn’t know what the whole matter was about, or that Dalton had enlisted the two Haken boys to deliver a warning to Claudine, but she knew enough to understand that Claudine was probably making trouble over her tryst with the Minister. While they never discussed specifics, Teresa knew she wasn’t sitting at the head table simply because Dalton knew the law forward and backward.

Teresa lowered her voice. “While I talked with her, she paid a lot of attention to Director Linscott—you know, watching him while trying to act as if she wasn’t; watching, too, to see if anyone saw her looking.”

Her word was always trustworthy, never embellished with supposition without being tagged as such.

“Why do you think she was so brazen before about telling the other women that the Minister forced himself on her?”

“I think she told others about the Minister as protection. I believe she reasoned that if people already knew about it, then she was safe from being silenced before anyone could find out.

“For some reason, though, she has suddenly become closemouthed. But, like I said, she was watching the Director a lot and pretending as if she wasn’t.”

Teresa left it to him to draw his own conclusions. Dalton leaned toward her as he rose. “Thank you, darling. If you will excuse me briefly, I must see to some business.”

She caught his hand. “Don’t forget you promised to introduce me to the Sovereign.”

Dalton lightly kissed her cheek before meeting the Minister’s eye. What Teresa had said only confirmed his belief in the prudence of his plan. Much was at stake. Director Linscott could be inquisitorial. Dalton was reasonably sure the message delivered by the two boys had silenced Claudine, but if it didn’t, this would end her ability to sow her seeds. He gave Bertrand a slight nod.

As he moved around the room, Dalton stopped at a number of tables, leaning over, greeting people he knew, hearing a joke here, a rumor there, a proposal or two, and promised to get together with some. Everyone thought him a representative of the Minister, come from the head table to make the rounds of the tables, seeing to everyone’s pleasure.

Arriving at last at his true destination, Dalton presented a warm smile. “Claudine, I pray you are feeling better. Teresa suggested I inquire—see if you need anything—seeing as how Edwin is not able to be here.”

She flashed him a reasonably good imitation of a sincere smile. “Your wife is a dear, Master Campbell. I’m fine, thank you. The food and company has put me right. Please tell her I’m feeling much better.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Dalton leaned close to her ear. “I was going to relay an offer for Edwin—and you—but I’m reluctant to ask this of you not only with Edwin out of the city, but with your unfortunate tumble. I don’t wish to force work on you when you aren’t up to it, so please come to see me when you are fit.”

She turned to frown at him. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. If you have business that involves Edwin, he wishes me to hear it. We work closely and have no secrets where business is concerned. You know that, Master Campbell.”

Dalton not only knew it, but was counting on it. He squatted down on the balls of his feet as she scooted her chair back to be out of the table’s circle of conversation.

“Please forgive my presumption? Well, you see,” he began, “the Minister feels profound sympathy for men unable to feed their families any other way but to beg food. Even if they can beg food, their families still go for want of clothes, proper shelter, and other necessities. Despite the charity of good Anderith people, many children go to bed with the ache of hunger in their bellies. Hakens as well as Anders suffer this fate, and the Minister feels compassion for both, for they are all his responsibility.

“The Minister has labored feverishly, and has at last worked out the final details of a new law to at last put a number of people to work who otherwise would have no hope.”

“That’s, that’s very good of him,” she stammered. “Bertrand Chanboor is a good man. We are lucky to have him as our Minister of Culture.”

Dalton wiped a hand across his mouth as she looked away from his eyes. “Well, the thing of it is, the Minister often mentions his respect for Edwin—for all the unsung work Edwin has done—so I suggested to the Minister that it would be appropriate to somehow show our respect for Edwin’s hard work and dedication.

“The Minister fervently agreed and instantly sprang to the idea of having the new law headed as proposed and sponsored by Burgess Edwin Winthrop. The Minister even wishes it to be called the Winthrop Fair Employment Law in honor of your husband—and you, too, of course, for all your work. Everyone knows the input you have in the laws Edwin drafts.”

Claudine’s gaze had already returned to meet his. She put a hand to her breast.

“Why, Master Campbell, that is very generous of you and the Minister. I am completely taken by surprise, as I’m sure Edwin will be. We will certainly review the law as soon as possible, so as to allow its most expeditious implementation.”

Dalton grimaced. “Well, the thing is, the Minister just now informed me he is impatient to announce it tonight. I had originally planned to bring you a draft of the law, for you and Edwin to review before it was announced, but with all the Directors here the Minister decided that in good conscience he must act—that he couldn’t bear to have those men out of work another day. They need to feed their families.”

She licked her lips. “Well, yes, I understand . . . I guess, but I really—”

“Good. Oh, good. That is so very kind of you.”

“But I really should have a look at it. I really must see it. Edwin would want—”

“Yes, of course. I understand completely, and I assure you that you will get a copy straightaway—first thing tomorrow.”

“But I meant before—”

“With everyone here, now, the Minister was set on announcing it this evening. The Minister really doesn’t want to have to delay the implementation, nor does he want to abandon his desire to have the Winthrop name on such a landmark law. And the Minister was so hoping that the Sovereign, since he is here tonight—and we all know how rare his visits are—would hear of the Winthrop Fair Employment Law designed to help people who otherwise have no hope. The Sovereign knows Edwin, and would be so pleased.”

Claudine stole a glance at the Sovereign. She wet her lips. “But—”

“Do you wish me to ask the Minister to postpone the law? More than the Sovereign missing it, the Minister would be very disappointed to let the opportunity pass, and to let down those starving children who depend on him to better their lives. You can understand, can’t you, that it’s really for the sake of the children?”

“Yes, but in order to—”

“Claudine,” Dalton said as he took up one of her hands in both of his, “you don’t have any children, so I realize it must be particularly difficult for you to empathize with parents desperate to feed their young ones, desperate to find work when there is none, but try to understand how frightened they must be.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. He went on, not allowing her the tune to form those words.

“Try to understand what it would be like to be a mother and father waiting day after day, waiting for a reason to hope, waiting for something to happen so that you could find work and be able to feed your children. Can’t you help? Can you try to understand what it must be like for a young mother?”

Her face had gone ashen.

“Of course,” she finally whispered. “I understand. I really do. I want to help. I’m sure Edwin will be pleased when he learns he was named as the law’s sponsor—”

Before she could say anything else, Dalton stood. “Thank you, Claudine.” He took up her hand again and gave it a kiss. “The Minister will be very pleased to hear of your support—and so will those men who will now find work. You have done a good thing for the children. The good spirits must be smiling on you right now.”

By the time Dalton had returned to the head table, the squires were making the rounds again, quickly placing a turtle pie in the center of each table. Guests puzzled at the pies, their crusts quartered but not cut all the way through. Frowning, Teresa was leaning in staring at the pie placed before the Minister and his wife at the center of the head table.

“Dalton,” she whispered, “that pie moved of its own accord.”

Dalton kept the smile from his face. “You must be mistaken, Tess. A pie can’t move.”

“But I’m sure—”

With that, the crust broke, and a section of it lifted. A turtle poked its head up to peer at the Minister. A claw grasped the edge, and the turtle hauled itself out, to be followed by another. All around the room surprised guests laughed, applauded, and murmured in astonishment as turtles began climbing out of the pies.

The turtles, of course, had not been baked alive in the pies; the pies had been baked with dried beans inside. After the crust was baked, a hole was cut in the bottom to allow the beans to be drained out and the turtles put in. The crusts had been cut partly through so it would break easily and allow the animals to make good their escape.

The turtle pies, as one of the amusements of the feast, were a grand success. Everyone was delighted by the spectacle. Sometimes it was turtles, sometimes it was birds, both specially raised for the purpose of popping out of pies at a feast to delight and astonish guests.

While squires with wooden buckets began making the rounds of the tables to collect the liberated turtles, Lady Chanboor summoned the chamberlain and asked him to cancel the entertainment due to perform before the next course. A hush fell over the room as she rose.

“Good people, if I may have your attention, please.” Hildemara looked to both sides of the room, making sure every eye was upon her. Her pleated dress seemed to glow with cold silver light. “It is the highest calling and duty to help your fellow citizens when they are in need. Tonight, at last, we hope to take a step to help the children of Anderith. It is a bold step, one requiring courage. Fortunately, we have a leader of such courage.

“It is my high honor to introduce to you the greatest man I have ever had the privilege to know, a man of integrity, a man who works tirelessly for the people, a man who never forgets the needs of those who need us most, a man who holds our better future above all else, my husband, the Minister of Culture, Bertrand Chanboor.”

Hildemara pulled a smile across her face and, clapping, turned to her husband. The room erupted with applause and a great groan of cheering. Beaming, Bertrand stood and slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. She stared adoringly up into his eyes. He gazed lovingly down into hers. People cheered louder yet, joyful to have such a high-minded couple boldly leading Anderith.

Dalton rose as he applauded with his hands over his head, bringing everyone to their feet. He put on his widest smile so the farthest guest would be able to see it and then, continuing to applaud loudly, turned to watch the Minister and his wife.

Dalton had worked for a number of men. Some he could not trust to announce a round of drinks. Some were good at following the plan as Dalton outlined it, but didn’t grasp it fully until they saw it unfold. None were in Bertrand Chanboor’s league.

The Minister had immediately grasped the concept and goal as Dalton had quickly explained it to him. He would be able to embellish it and make it his own; Dalton had never seen anyone as smooth as Bertrand Chanboor.

Smiling, holding a hand in the air, Bertrand both acknowledged the cheering crowd and finally silenced them.

“My good people of Anderith,” he began in a deep, sincere-sounding voice that boomed into the farthest reaches of the room, “tonight I ask you to consider the future. The time is overdue for us to have the courage to leave our past favoritism where it belongs—in the past. We must, instead, think of our future and the future of our children and grandchildren.”

He had to pause and nod and smile while the room again roared with applause. Once more, he began, bringing the audience to silence.

“Our future is doomed if we allow naysayers to rule our imagination, instead of allowing the spirit of potential, given us by the Creator, room to soar.”

He again waited until the wild clapping died down. Dalton marveled at the sauce Bertrand could whip up on the spot to pour over the meat.

“We in this room have had thrust upon us the responsibility for all the people of Anderith, not just the fortunate. It is time our culture included all the people of Anderith, not just the fortunate. It is time our laws served all the people of Anderith, not just the few.”

Dalton shot to his feet to applaud and whistle. Immediately following his lead, everyone else stood as they clapped and cheered. Hildemara, still beaming with the loving grin of wifely devotion and fawning, stood to clap for her husband.

“When I was young,” Bertrand went on in a soft voice after the crowd quieted, “I knew the pang of hunger. It was a difficult time in Anderith. My father was without work. I watched my sister cry herself to sleep as hunger gnawed in her belly.

“I watched my father weep in silence, because he felt the shame of having no work, because he had no skills.” He paused to clear his throat. “He was a proud man, but that nearly broke his spirit.”

Dalton idly wondered if Bertrand even had a sister.

“Today, we have proud men, men willing to work, and at the same time plenty of work that needs to be done. We have several government buildings under construction and more planned. We have roads being built in order to allow for the expansion of trade. We have bridges yet to be built up in the passes over the mountains. Rivers await workers to come build piers to support bridges to those roads and passes.

“But none of those proud men who are willing to work and who need the work can be employed at any of these jobs or the many other jobs available, because they are unskilled. As was my father.”

Bertrand Chanboor looked out at people waiting in rapt attention to hear his solution.

“We can provide these proud men with work. As the Minister of Culture, it is my duty to our people to see to it that these men have work so they can provide for their children, who are our future. I asked our brightest minds to come up with a solution, and they have not let me, nor the people of Anderith, down. I wish I could take credit for this brilliant new statute, but I cannot.

“These scholarly new proposals were brought to me by people who make me proud to be in office so that I might help them guide this new law into the light of day. There were those in the past who would use their influence to see such fair ideas die in the dark recesses of hidden rooms. I won’t allow such selfish interests to kill the hope for our children’s future.”

Bertrand let a dark scowl descend upon his face, and his scowls could make people pale and tingle with dread.

“There were those in the past who held the best for their own kind, and would allow no others the chance to prove themselves.”

There was no mistaking the allusion. Time meant nothing in healing the wounds inflicted by the Haken overlords—those wounds would always be open and raw; it served to keep them so.

Bertrand’s face relaxed into his familiar easy smile, by contrast all the more pleasant after the scowl. “This new hope is the Winthrop Fair Employment Law.” He held out a hand toward Claudine. “Lady Winthrop, would you please stand?”

Blushing, she looked about as people smiled her way. Applause started in, urging her to stand. She looked like a deer caught inside the garden fence at dawn. Hesitantly, she rose to her feet.

“Good people, it is Lady Winthrop’s husband, Edwin, who is the sponsor of the new law, and, as many of you know, Lady Winthrop is his able assistant in his job as burgess. I have no doubt that Lady Winthrop played a critical role in her husband’s new law. Edwin is away on business, but I would like to applaud her fine work in this, and hope she relays our appreciation to Edwin when he returns.”

Along with Bertrand, the room applauded and cheered her and her absent husband. Claudine, her face red, smiled cautiously to the adoration. Dalton noticed that the Directors, not knowing what the law was about, were polite but reserved in their congratulations. With people leaning toward her, touching her to get her attention, and offering words of appreciation, it was a time before everyone returned to their seats to hear the nature of the law.

“The Winthrop Fair Employment Law is what its name implies,” Bertrand finally explained, “fair and open, rather than privileged and closed, employment. With all the construction of indispensable public projects, we have much work to do in order to serve the needs of the people.”

The Minister swept a look of resolve across the crowd.

“But one brotherhood holds itself to outmoded prerogative, thus delaying progress. Don’t get me wrong, these men are of high ideals and are hard workers, but the time has come to throw open the doors of this archaic order designed to protect the special few.

“Henceforth, under the new law, employment shall go to anyone willing to put their back to the work, not just to the closed brotherhood of the Masons Guild!”

The crowd took a collective gasp. Bertrand gave them no pause.

“Worse, because of this shrouded guild, where only a few meet their obscure and needlessly strict requirements, the cost to the people of Anderith for public projects they construct is far and away above what would be the cost were willing workers allowed to work.” The Minister shook his fist. “We all pay the outrageous cost!”

Director Linscott was near to purple with contained rage.

Bertrand uncurled a finger from his fist and pointed out at the crowd. “The masons’ vast knowledge should be employed, by all means it should, but with this new law, the common man will be employed, too, under the supervision of masons, and the children will not go hungry for their fathers’ want of work.”

The Minister struck a fist to the palm of his other hand to emphasize each point he added.

“I call upon the Directors of Cultural Amity to show us, now, by their raised hands, their support of putting starving people to work, their support of the government finally being able to complete projects at a fair price by using those willing to work and not just the members of a secret society of masons who set their own exorbitant rates we all must bear! Their support for the children! Their support of the Winthrop Fair Employment Law!”

Director Linscott shot to his feet. “I protest such a show of hands! We have not yet had time to—”

He fell silent when he saw the Sovereign lift his hand.

“If the other Directors would like to show their support,” the Sovereign said in a clear voice into the hush, “then the people gathered here should know of it, so that none may bear false witness to the truth of each man’s will. There can be no harm in judging the sentiment of the Directors while they are all here. A show of hands is not the final word, and so does not close the matter to debate before it becomes law.”

The Sovereign’s impatience had just unwittingly saved the Minister the task of forcing a vote. Though it was true that a show of hands here would not make the law final, in this case such a schism among the guilds and professions would insure it did.

Dalton did not have to wait for the other Directors to show their hands; there was no doubt in his mind. The law the Minister had announced was a death sentence to a guild, and the Minister had just let them all see the glint off the executioner’s axe.

Though they would not know why, the Directors would know one of their number had been singled out. While only four of the Directors were guild masters, the others were no less assailable. The moneylenders might have their allowed interest lowered or even outlawed, the merchants their trade preferences and routes changed; the solicitors and barristers could have their charges set by law at a rate even a beggar could afford. No profession was safe from some new law, should they displease the Minister.

If the other Directors did not support the Minister in this, that blade might be turned on their guild or profession. The Minister had called for a public showing of their hands rather than a closed-door vote, the implication being that the axe would not swing in their direction if they went along.

Claudine sank into her chair. She, too, knew what this meant. Men were formerly forbidden work at the trade of mason unless they were members of the Masons Guild. The guild set training, standards, and rates, governed disputes, assigned workers to various jobs as needed, looked after members injured or sick, and helped widows of men killed on the job. With unskilled workers allowed to work as masons, guild members would lose their skilled wages. It would destroy the Masons Guild.

For Linscott, it would mean the end of his career. For the loss of the protection of guild law while under his watch as a Director, the masons would doubtless expel him within a day. The unskilled would now work; Linscott would be an outcast.

Of course, the land’s projects would, in the end, cost more. Unskilled workers were, after all, unskilled. A man who was expensive, but knew his job, in the end cost less, and the finished job was sound.

A Director lifted his hand, showing his informal, but for all practical purposes final, support for the new law. The others watched that hand go up, as if seeing an arrow fly to a man’s chest to pierce his heart. Linscott was that man. None wanted to join his fate. One by one, the other Directors’ hands began going up, until there were eleven.

Linscott gave Claudine a murderous look before he stalked out of the feast. Claudine’s ashen face lowered.

Dalton started applauding the Directors. It jolted everyone out of the somber drama, and people began joining in; All those around Claudine began congratulating her, telling her what a wonderful thing she and her husband had done for the children of Anderith. Tongues began indignantly scolding the masons’ selfish ways. Soon a line of people wanting to thank her formed to file past and add their names to those on the side of the Minister of Culture and the courage of his fairness.

Claudine shook their hands but managed only a pallid smile.

Director Linscott was not likely to ever again wish to listen to anything Claudine Winthrop had to say.

Stein glanced over, giving Dalton a cunning smile. Hildemara directed a self-satisfied smirk his way, and her husband clapped Dalton on the back.

When everyone had returned to their seats, the harpist poised her hands with fingers spread to pluck a cord, but the Sovereign again raised his hand. All eyes went to him as he began to speak.

“I believe we should take this opportunity, before the next course, to hear what the gentleman from afar has to say to us.”

No doubt the Sovereign was having trouble staying awake and, before he fell asleep, wanted to hear Stein speak. The Minister stood to once again address the room.

“Good people, as you may know, a war is spreading. Each side has arguments as to why we should join with them. Anderith wants only peace. We have no desire to see our young men and women bleed in a foreign struggle. Our land is unique in being protected by the Dominie Dirtch, so we have no need to fear violence visiting us, but there are other considerations, not the least of which is trade with the world beyond our borders.

“We intend to hear what the Lord Rahl of D’Hara and Mother Confessor have to say. They are pledged to wed, as you have all no doubt heard from the diplomats returning from Aydindril. This will join D’Hara with the Midlands to create a formidable force. We await listening respectfully to their words.

“But tonight we are going to hear what the Imperial Order wishes us to know. The Emperor Jagang has sent a representative from the Old World beyond the Valley of the Lost, which has now for the first time in thousands of years been opened for passage.” Bertrand held out a hand. “May I introduce the emperor’s spokesman, Master Stein.”

People applauded politely, but it trailed off as Stein rose up. He was an imposing, fearsome, and fascinating figure. He hooked his thumbs behind his empty weapon belt.

“We are engaged in a struggle for our future, much the same as the struggle you have just witnessed, only on a larger scale.”

Stein picked up a small loaf of hard bread. His big hands squeezed until it broke apart. “We, the race of mankind, and that includes the good people of Anderith, are slowly being crushed. We are being held back. We are being suffocated. We are being denied our destiny, denied our future, denied life itself.

“Just as you have men without work because a self-interested guild held sway over the lives of others, denying them work and thus food for their children, magic holds sway over all of us.”

A hum rose in the room as whispering spread. People were confused, and just a little worried. Magic was loathed by some, but respected by many.

“Magic decides for you your destiny,” Stein went on. “Those with magic rule you, though you have not willingly consented to it. They have the power, and they keep you in their grip.

“Those with magic cast spells to harm those they resent. Those with magic bring harm to innocent people they fear, they dislike, they envy, and simply to keep the masses in check. Those with magic rule you, whether you like it or not. The mind of man could flourish, were it not for magic.

“It is time regular folks decided what will be, without magic holding its shadow over those decisions, and your future.”

Stein lifted his cape out to the side. “These are the scalps of the gifted. I killed each myself. I have prevented each of these witches from twisting the lives of normal people.

“People should fear the Creator, not some sorceress or wizard or witch. We should worship the Creator, none other.”

Low murmurs of agreement began to stir.

“The Imperial Order will end magic in this world just as we ended the magic that kept the people of the New and Old World separated for thousands of years. The Order will prevail. Man will decide his own destiny.

“Even without our help fewer and fewer gifted are born all the time as even the Creator, with his nearly infinite patience, tires of their vile ways. The old religion of magic is dying out. The Creator Himself has thus given us a sign that the time has come for man to cast magic aside.”

More rustles of agreement swept through the room.

“We do not wish to fight the people of Anderith. Nor do we wish to force you, against your will, to take up arms to join us. But we intend to destroy the forces of magic led by the bastard son of D’Hara. Any who join him will fall under our blade, just as those with magic”—he held out the cape—“fell under mine.”

He slowly swept a finger before the crowd as he held his cape out with his other hand. “Just as I killed these gifted witches who came up against me, we will kill any who stand against us.

“We also have other means beyond the blade to end magic. Just as we brought down the magic separating us, we will bring an end to all magic. The time of man is upon us.”

The Minister casually lifted a hand. “And what is it, then, if not the swords of our powerful army, the Order wishes from us?”

“Emperor Jagang gives his word that if you do not join with the forces fighting for those with magic, we will not attack you. All we wish is to trade with you, just as you trade with others.”

“Well,” the Minister said, playing the part of the skeptic for the benefit of the crowd, “we already have arrangements that commit a great deal of our commodities to the Midlands.”

Stein smiled. “We offer double the highest price anyone else offers to pay.”

The Sovereign lifted his hand, bringing even the whispering to a halt. “How much of the output of Anderith would you be interested in purchasing?”

Stein looked out over the crowd. “All of it. We are a huge force. You need not lift a blade to fight in the war, we will do the fighting, but if you sell us your goods, you will be safe and your land will become wealthy beyond your hopes and dreams.”

The Sovereign stood, surveying the room. “Thank you for the emperor’s words, Master Stein. We will want to hear more.

“For now, your words have given us much to consider.” He swept a hand before the people. “Let the feast resume.”