The Third Internecion

by Erik A Otto

  The ride with Zahir was far from pleasant. He was surly and uncommunicative the entire time. Moreover, he often fingered the short sword at his belt. Paulo was getting a kink in his neck from looking over his shoulder too often.

  They only encountered a few Thelonians. Most of these were rebuilding homesteads along the eastern road that had been burnt out by Sambayans or torn apart on the Day. Paulo felt some concern for them, knowing their efforts would prove to be in vain. These people would almost certainly be slaughtered when the horde of Cenarans came over the border, but he couldn’t warn them. He must pick his battles, and he had a more important one to fight.

  They did encounter several pairs of Fringe on their way to Spoons: two from the camp north of Thelos, two from a small camp in southern Belidor, and two from Niknak. When they met them, they shared a meal and bandied words. Then he and Zahir would ride ahead of them. They couldn’t stay in groups of more than two for long.

  Tidings from Niknak weren’t good. Almost all the Fringe were staying, citing their newly minted contract with the Cenarans for a waiver from the Internecion. Paulo told the two travelers they were wise to emigrate to Spoons, but nothing more.

  The Thelonian border was marked by a large sign that read: Beware! You are entering savage lands! Paulo marveled at the attention to detail in the sign. The Thelonian colors and brand were used perfectly. Whoever in Spoons had posted it should be commended.

  The eastern road plunged into a blend of evergreen and deciduous forest covering rolling hills, and the warning signs continued along the path;

  Trespass at your own risk!

  Beware of savages!

  Paulo watched Zahir as they passed the signs. He must have read them but seemed to be more wary of Paulo than any savages. They broke through the forest and encountered grasslands, which eventually gave way to small farms. The Fringe farms, as well as the mountains they could see in the distance, let him know they were close. There was one mountain in particular he recognized from the drawings; the Savage Mountain. And soon after they saw the Savage Mountain they could see the town of Spoons.

  Paulo had seen the topography before, but maps and prints were only two-dimensional. The two ridges descending from the Savage Mountain were nearly identical, both with sharp cliffs falling off the smooth downward slopes. There was more vegetation on the one closer to them, but that was the only difference. The spines of these ridges arrested into two dark, perfectly circular lakes, like handles descending into spoons filled with water. These waters were being fed from streams that ran down the sides of the ridges. In the easternmost lake, he could see the waters had been half drained, and large tracks of the ground had been excavated from the shorelines.

  The tracks taken from the shorelines must have been from clay mining, he figured. And judging by the amount of clay excavated, plans must be on schedule.

  Paulo felt a brief rush of excitement.

  The road twisted up toward the base of the mountain. It was from here that the best view of the town could be seen. “This is a Fringe town?” Zahir asked from behind him.

  This moment of incredulity was the first sign of any affect other than cynicism from Zahir. Paulo had to smile. “Yes, Zahir, a savage Fringe town.”

  The town of Spoons was on a plateau buttressed between the mountain in the back, the two descending ridges on either side, and a cliff face at the farthest advance of the lakes. These natural borders made it accessible only from the road that cut deep tunnels through the base of the ridges.

  Tall wooden towers and numerous many-windowed, multistory buildings dominated the center of the plateau. Sprawling in a significant radius from the center were thousands of brown Fringe tents and other wooden buildings in various stages of completion. Paulo judged there to be thirty or forty thousand people. It was no Esienne, Thelos, or Judud Jawhar, but it was a respectable town by any measure, and an order of magnitude greater than any other Fringe settlement.

  “I see you finally want to behave more like people rather than rats scurrying about the feet of great nations,” Zahir remarked behind him.

  “We are far from rats, Zahir. One could argue that the people of the great nations are the rats. We’re the ones who provide the building materials to put roofs over their heads, the silverstone to keep them armed, and the wyg lamps to keep their homes lit. Did you know that the Fringe were enlisted to help build the great dikes on the northern plain of Belidor? If it wasn’t for us, many of the people of Belidor would perhaps not be rats, but maybe fish. The Old Keep may not even be where it is today if it wasn’t for our industry on the dikes.”

  “I think you give the Belidorans too much credit as fish. Maybe you aren’t rats, then, maybe bone chuckers, wallowing about near your bone mounds and other dark places. But it doesn’t matter. Even with towns such as these, you will never live a fulfilling life without faith. You will continue to be aimless heathens.”

  Paulo shrugged off his companion’s cynicism with a sigh.

  Two Fringe men guarded the tunnel that cut into the nearest ridge. Paulo extended his arm to them so they could examine his crest.

  “Purveyor, welcome,” they said deferentially.

  “Why is the gate not up?” Paulo asked.

  “It will be up soon, Purveyor. The council thought it best to wait until most of the Fringe have arrived, so as to not slow down the entry of all their carts.”

  “I see. Well, I come here to recommend expediency. Where is the council meeting? I have urgent news for them.”

  The guard looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, sir. We aren’t allowed to speak of the place. Perhaps I could summon one—”

  “No need. I know the place, and you’re right to be silent.” The guard looked relieved. Paulo urged his mount ahead, followed cautiously by Zahir.

  Once through the tunnel they made their way to the main street that led through town. He couldn’t resist the urge to stop and inspect the construction of one of the taller towers, even though Zahir fidgeted on his horse behind him.

  Paulo traced the pattern of bone and wood along the main crossbeams near the base of the building. They were interwoven together using the method he’d recommended. It brought back memories of its conception, and his old carpentry master, many years ago.

  His master was a great teacher, at least at first, but Paulo wasn’t like the other apprentices. He asked too many questions. He did experiments. He didn’t cuss or drink mulled wine or eat huge servings of potatoes like the others. So the master would ignore Paulo, and eventually came to mock him. He told him he would never amount to a good carpenter. He didn’t have the grit, as he called it. And when Paulo showed him his method, one he developed over months and for which he had tabulated reams of test records in the hopes that he could prove its worth, the master laughed at him and expelled him.

  It was such a shame, but perhaps it was a good thing, in the end. Perhaps he wouldn’t be Purveyor if he hadn’t been cast out. Perhaps this sturdy tower wouldn’t be standing in front of him.

  Many other buildings nearby had elements that Paulo had designed; some were modeled after the pavilion in Round Top to allow for common spaces and trade, but with multiple levels, and made entirely of wood. Others were different and less familiar, more boxy and utilitarian. At least the general city layout was consistent with the original plan.

  It was satisfying, but the town of Spoons wasn’t why he was excited. It wasn’t what he longed to see.

  He guided his horse rapidly through the rest of the towers and tents, and soon enough they were at the tunnel that went through the opposite ridge. The guards let them by without delay.

  The road hugged the mountain for a while and curved upward in a semicircle as they gained altitude and crept around one of the great folds of the Savage Mountain. They passed a number of horse-drawn carts pulling supplies on the road heading in their direction.

  “We are leaving? Isn’t this Spoons?” Zahir asked from behind him.

  “It is, but the council
is meeting in another place nearby. You’ll see it soon.”

  As they rounded the mountain, it was revealed; the Child of the Savage.

  Dominating another plateau, and surrounded by treacherous cliffs, walls ten times the size of a man rose up in a great square. Piercing the sky from the interior of the square was a much greater tower, rising up as much as thirty times the size of a man. This tower thinned at the top and then expanded out again to an enclosed circular arcade. An arched bridge reached out to the mountain before the tower thinned, making it look vaguely similar to the outstretched arm of a child steadying himself against a leg of the mountain.

  Most of the main tower structure was finished, he could see. There was additional Brickstone needed here or there, but it would function. It would be ready in the event the Cenarans came for them.

  He looked back to see Zahir’s reaction. It gave him great pleasure in seeing the gaping look of awe on the man’s face. When Zahir noticed Paulo looking, however, the sneer quickly returned.

  “How is it possible to build so high?” Zahir asked.

  “See what it’s made of, Zahir. This isn’t wood, nor is it bone.” Paulo went to the side of the road where there was a barrier that had been erected. The pathway to the Child and most of the walls of the Child were constructed of the same material. “This is it here. We call it Brickstone.” Paulo spoke with pride, showing him a brick that was inlaid in the barrier. “In places we use silverstone in columns of these bricks, and it allows for greater load-bearing.”

  “You have this in Niknak?”

  “Yes, Zahir, and I assure you the Cenarans know nothing of it. I can tell you more about this later. Perhaps we could even work out a way of supplying Jawhar with the new material.”

  Zahir nodded thoughtfully. He could be evaluating what potential the Brickstone might have for Jawhar. Paulo made a mental note that this might be an opportunity to exploit later. He may have finally found something that his enigmatic travel companion was actually interested in.

  “If you’re willing to work with me, of course—a lowly bone chucker,” Paulo added.

  Paulo didn’t look back to see Zahir’s reaction, but he knew it would be a sneer.

  The path led to a huge gate that was offset from the battlements. Paulo showed his crest to the gate guard. “I understand the council is here.” Paulo said, without introduction. “When are they meeting next? I need to speak with them.”

  “A moment if you please, Purveyor. I will collect a council scribe who will ensure all your needs are met during your stay.”

  Paulo scanned the walls and felt at the crevasses between bricks while he waited.

  A wiry youth came out the gates to meet them. He was holding a scroll for note taking. “Purveyor Paulo, it’s a great honor to be your scribe, sir. How may I assist you?”

  “I need a meeting with the council immediately.”

  “They meet next tomorrow morning, sir. I’m sure they will be glad to see you, but they have much to discuss. You may want to seek time at the following meeting, next week.”

  “No. This is more important than whatever they have on the agenda. Tell them I insist. Plus, I will need access to the library this evening and lodging for me and my companion. My companion will also need immediate medical attention for his wounded leg. And, if time permits, I should like a tour of the premises.”

  The scribe was taking notes. “Yes, yes, Purveyor. Come with me.”

  And they were escorted through the gates.

  Of Paulo’s requests, the library was perhaps the most urgent. He needed to be updated on the latest developments. Plus he wanted to seek out the Trader’s Guide for more information about Zahir and his possible allegiances. Maybe most importantly, he needed quiet time to prepare for the council meeting. He had much to say, and the outcome of the meeting could decide the fate of many.

  The council chamber was in one of the main complex buildings sitting adjacent to the hulking tower. The room was so large that it took a good fifty steps to reach the circle of high-backed council chairs from the entrance. One side of the room featured an array of windows where open shutters had been put in place, but eyeglass windows hadn’t been installed yet. It allowed for decent lighting but also for chilly drafts of air to frequent the chamber.

  Paulo had hoped to arrive at the meeting first, but three others were already in attendance; Waltham the trade chief, Norbert the Purveyor of Spoons, and Nevena. They were exchanging hushed phrases until they saw Paulo approaching.

  Waltham brightened and stood to greet him. He offered both his hands in a firm handshake. “Ah, Paulo, what a pleasure it is to see you. It’s been too long. You have to tell me, what do you think? We’ve been productive, yes?”

  “Yes, Waltham, I’m mightily impressed. It gives me great pride and hope to see Spoons thriving and the Child nearing completion. We are well protected here.” Paulo smiled in earnest.

  “Good, good. I’d hoped you would be pleased. Much of this is of your inspiration, and we thank you.”

  The others came to greet him. “Norbert, good to see you again, have you been well?” Paulo asked.

  “Yes, yes, sir, and you?”

  “Well, sir, thank you.”

  “Always a pleasure, Paulo.” Nevena smiled wispily, a hint of something in her eye. How would she unhinge him this time, he wondered.

  “The pleasure is mine.” Paulo nodded.

  Two more joined them, and Paulo greeted them.

  “You must be Carsen, of Low Plains.” Paulo said. Low Plains was cut off from most major trade routes by the swath of diseased Valderan lands that separated them from Pomeria. The Purveyorship of Low Plains changed often, and many times Paulo had lost track of who was in charge. He’d never met Carsen in person, but he was said to be missing an eye, as this man was.

  “It’s an honor to meet you.” Carsen responded, nodding.

  The other man who took his hand was treasurer Olek. “Nice to have you join us, Purveyor,” he said. Olek was young, his lip adorned with a curvy mustache. Paulo had never seen him face-to-face but he’d corresponded with him via messengers. He’d heard good things about him from Nevena and Waltham.

  As they found their respective seats, Waltham said, “The Purveyor of Bridgewater sends his regrets everyone. He is still managing his domain in Yensun, and plans to make the journey to Spoons in two more weeks.”

  All eyes remained on Waltham. After waiting until everyone settled, he sighed and hit the table twice with his palm to call the meeting to order. “Now, Paulo, I hear from your scribe that you wish to discuss a matter of urgency. We have a full agenda today, with updates from across the realm, the ongoing work here in Spoons, and Fringe migrations as well. Can’t this wait?”

  Waltham’s cheeriness at seeing Paulo seemed to have subsided rather quickly.

  “No, I don’t think it can Waltham. Apologies.”

  Waltham’s forehead creased into a frown. “Fine, Paulo, you have the floor. I know you’ve come far and, from what I hear from Nevena, been through much. I’m sure you have a great deal you would like to share, but please be concise.”

  The mention of Nevena’s name gave Paulo pause, not knowing what she might have told Waltham, but he mustn’t get distracted. Now was the time. He gathered himself and spoke. “Council members, we are in a desperate time, as we all know. We’ve done great work, all of us, to come together and save our people, to save our way of life from the scourge that is coming. You all should be commended for your steadfast efforts. We have a refuge, and there is hope.

  “In what I’m about to say, I ask that you not only look to what we face tomorrow, or the next month, or even the next year. I ask you to see even beyond that. There is little doubt that many will die in the months to come, yet there remains opportunities for us to shape a better world. I say this because what I’ve learned leads me to believe the situation is more dire than previously thought. So dire, in fact, that we must take action or our way of life may be gone f
orever. And yes, I still think this after seeing how tall the Child grows next to the Savage mountain. I still think this no matter how thick we lay our Brickstone walls.”

  The councilors exchanged some glances. They were engaged, at least.

  “Let me tell you what I’ve learned. First, I’ve learned about the barbarity of the Cenarans. Ghopal has been destroyed. They have killed almost everyone and castrated children. They have also taken countless children of Belidoran nobles and held them hostage, threatening mutilation.

  “Second, I’ve learned about the breadth and depth of their offensive. I’ve learned their tools of extortion, bribery, and blackmail stretch even into Jawhar, where a number of high-ranking officials are under their thumb, and tens of thousands of men have been amassed in readiness for war.

  “Third—and this is the most harrowing of all—I’ve learned about where they plan their first foray into Belidor. I believe that should they succeed in this first thrust, not only will hope be lost for all Belidorans, but also for the Jawhari, and yes, even for us. I believe anyone not in the Child will be doomed, in fact.”

  The councilors still listened, but some of them donned frowns of skepticism.

  “The place the Cenarans aim to attack is the Old Keep, and they will do it en masse on the first day of the Third Internecion. As you know, the Old Keep is the heart of Belidor. It has survived countless attacks over the generations, including one by the Cenarans. It has some of the strongest defenses outside of what we’ve now created—and perhaps Judud Jawhar. It also protects the Great Library, which holds wisdom from many hundreds of years and is the oldest known sanctuary of historical records. If the Cenarans take the Old Keep, they will have ruptured the heart of Belidor. It will crush Belidoran morale and there will be nowhere for them to flee, no center of leadership. This is important for us as well, because if the Cenaran domination is quick and easy, they could look for other populations to exterminate. Other populations such as ours.”

  Waltham interjected, “Purveyor Paulo, your intentions cannot be questioned here, but we would want to verify these claims. How does one come by such disparate and yet specific information about matters from Jawhar to the Old Keep to attacks in Sambai, especially when our scouts, traders, and immigrants have none of it chronicled?”