by JD Byrne
~~~~~
After supper, Antrey grabbed the supplies she bought that afternoon, left the apartment, and made her way across the compound in the moonlight. Like the city itself, the Triumvirate compound was built around a central point. The Hall of Unification sat in the middle of the compound, with all paths and courtyards funneling traffic to it. In addition to the elaborate room in which the Grand Council held its sessions, the hall also contained countless offices and meeting rooms.
Alban’s office was a complex labyrinth of adjoining rooms, connected to both the main public lobby of the hall and the Grand Council’s meeting room. Most of the small rooms along the route were filled with papers and other official records of the Grand Council. One of those small rooms, with only a few nooks and crannies clear of books, had become Antrey’s office when she came to work with Alban. From her notch in the wall, Antrey was able to hear anyone coming into the public entrance to the clerk’s office on one end, while keeping an eye on Alban’s office on the other.
Only three of the rooms that made up Alban’s office were of any real size. One was the entry foyer, where members of the public could be received and contained. It was spare, but tasteful, as befitted an office of such authority. In truth, it was hardly ever used. The Triumvirate had no real constituents, aside from the three nations that created it. There was no need for ordinary citizens to come and request documents or seek to review the official records. Only the occasional scholar or journalist would make their way there. Antrey understood well that, were it otherwise, she probably would not be able to work there.
Another of the larger rooms was Alban’s office itself, where he did most of his work. It was here that he took the hastily scribbled notes he produced during Grand Council meetings and transformed them into the official record. The office was dominated by an immense wooden desk that sat in front of a large set of glass-and-steel doors. The doors opened out onto a small balcony that looked out over one of the courtyards. It was just big enough for Alban to drag a chair outside and work when the weather was pleasant. Along one wall stood a locked cabinet, in which Alban kept a few particularly important books and papers. Then, in the corner next to the desk, Alban’s pikti was propped up, a souvenir from his time as a Sentinel. Antrey took the paper and ink out of her bag and placed them neatly on the desk. Alban was nothing if not well organized, and she knew the importance of things being just as he expected them to be.
Then she walked into the third large room in the office, the one that was Antrey’s favorite. It was Alban’s professional library, with hundreds of books about the history and politics of the Triumvirate, its member nations, the Neldathi, and other subjects. Bookcases lined each wall, all of them stretching from floor to ceiling. There was one small, high window on the outside wall. A smaller bookcase, custom built to fit the space below it, ensured that no storage opportunity went to waste. Every book Alban owned, save for the few in the locked cabinet, was kept in this library. In the center of the room was the large, comfortable chair where Alban would sit for hours reading. Short, round tables on either side of the chair held small piles of books pulled from the shelves. In Alban’s fashion, the stacks were neat and, in some way, precisely organized.
One of the hardest things Antrey had done when she came to live and work with Alban was learn to read. Neldathi society relies on oral traditions, with stories and histories passed down from person to person. It was not that she lacked the basic skills to read when she came to Tolenor, it was simply that it had never been necessary. Reading and writing would be essential if she was to work with Alban, however. He had an almost infinite patience with her as she learned. Once she made a breakthrough, however, she became a voracious reader. The Speakers of Time in her clan had always fascinated her as a child. Now she had a room full of books to tell her stories from all over the land.
Alban did not continue Antrey’s formal education once she learned to read and write. He encouraged her, if possible, when she pursued things that interested her, but he did not go out of his way to help her find new things to learn about. At least not on purpose. What he did do, perhaps without thinking, was give her access to the treasure trove that was his library. Part of her job was to keep the library neat, clean, and organized. Although she would never dare to move any books that Alban had set out, even just to glance at them and put them back, all the others in the shelves she could review at her whim. While dusting the library, she would carry a book in her free hand and read it. Not only did it make the time pass quickly, it broadened and deepened her knowledge of the world around her. If she wanted to know something specific, she would pull down a volume of the Encyclopedia Altreria. More usually, she just picked a book at random and opened it.
Antrey’s reading had taught her about how the great Kingdom of Telebria had once been two separate kingdoms, Greater and Lesser Telebria, that fought each other constantly. She learned about how the land between the two great rivers that fed the Water Road, the River Adon and the River Innis, was not a single nation but rather a confederation of independent city-states. She learned about the lands to the far west, where the Guilds ruled the land instead of a king or parliament. And she learned about the Badlands, the dry, desolate, empty lands in the far north and the Azkiri who roamed there.
To her surprise, Antrey was drawn to military history and tales of the great wars. She was particularly interested, naturally, in what the Neldathi simply called “the Rising,” which led to the founding of the Triumvirate. She had read Xevai’s History of the Suppression of the Neldathi Uprising several times. It explained how one of the Neldathi clan leaders, Sirilo, brought several of the western clans together under his leadership. They struck north across the Water Road and unleashed a wave of violence and destruction. Sirilo sacked Innisport, the great Guild city at the confluence of the rivers, and marched east, through the Arbor and into Telebria. Altrerian forces, often ad hoc groups from different states and cities without any real coordination, posed little opposition and were unable to stop the Neldathi force.
The result of Sirilo’s success was that the Altrerians realized they would need to unite in order to defeat him. Traditional differences about government and culture were set aside in the face of a common threat. Survival was critical, and not at all certain. Everything else could be worked out later. As the alliance that would become the Triumvirate came together, Sirilo’s army continued to pillage. The cities of the Arbor joined together to form the Confederation, which less than a year later joined with the Telebrians and the Guilders to form the Triumvirate.
The first act of the Grand Council of the Triumvirate was to appoint someone to put down the Rising, someone with authority over all the forces fighting from the different nations. Halbart, the master of the Guild of Soldiers, was appointed, given the title Quashal, and ordered to drive Sirilo back across the Water Road.
Over the next four years, Halbart and Sirilo clashed across the land. Each side had victories, and at times it seemed that a long stalemate was inevitable. In truth, Halbart had learned a great deal about his unified army and how to use it in that time, particularly in defeat. The Neldathi were superior in close combat due to their size and strength. However, their tactics were simplistic and predictable and their forces only loosely organized. Halbart learned that what his men lacked in brute strength they made up for in speed, strategy, and discipline. They moved more quickly, moved in larger numbers, and could attack in force in ways that gave the Neldathi fits. Altrerian cavalry, in particular, proved vital as the war went along.
As a result of Halbart’s refinement of strategy, Sirilo found himself on the losing side of a string of significant confrontations. His army’s strength had been drained by those clashes and dissent in the ranks was growing. Facing him was a well-drilled enemy making the most of its weaponry. Sirilo decided to consolidate his forces and make a stand on the Plains of Terrell, in the Guildlands. The resulting battle, which lasted from dawn until dusk and ranged across a batt
lefield that stretched for miles, left thousands dead and wounded. It utterly crushed Sirilo and his army. Its remnants slipped away under cover of night, back across the Water Road.
The people of the Triumvirate at first breathed a deep sigh of relief and then launched into great celebration. The Neldathi threat had been vanquished and the savages sent back to dwell in their frozen mountains. Halbart knew better. He was certain that if Sirilo had the winter to lick his wounds and reassemble his army, the Neldathi would strike back in the spring. Rather than stop his advance, Halbart followed Sirilo across the Water Road. The Altrerians trapped what was left to the Neldathi host in the Hogarth Pass, where it was completely destroyed. Sirilo was taken prisoner and, legend had it, was beheaded by Halbart personally. The uprising was over. The Neldathi returned to their clans and began once again to fight with one another. Halbart returned north a hero. The Triumvirate, having dealt with the threat it was created to address, shifted into an alliance built to maintain the newfound peace.
Antrey had read every book Alban had about the Rising, most more than once. She knew the details of major battles by heart and could, if asked, plot them out on a map. Tales of heroism, particularly cleverness in battle, intrigued her. Antrey was always more impressed with a general who outthought his adversary, rather than simply beating him down with brute force. The books angered her, however, in their portrayal of the Neldathi as nothing but savage, simple-minded, slow, lumbering brutes. They were portrayed as little better than animals, distant relatives of the great forest apes of the Arbor.
Antrey’s experience had been different. Yes, Neldathi society was outwardly very simple. But her clan had not been at constant war with any other, as one would expect from the portrayal in the books. And while Antrey’s clan had never been warm to her personally, she had seen enough of their interactions with each other to know how close and supportive they were to others in the clan. That was the only reason she sometimes regretted having been forced to leave, to be denied a chance to partake in that warmth.
~~~~~
Later that night, Antrey was back at the apartment, tidying up a few things in Alban’s study before going to bed. She heard him come in downstairs, say a few words to Onwen, and then rush to the third floor to kiss the girls goodnight. She had forgotten about him completely when she turned around and, startled by his appearance in the doorway, jumped and dropped a book on the floor.
“Antrey, I’m so sorry,” Alban said, swooping in to pick the book up off the floor. He handed it to her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Antrey smiled and shook her head. “Not frightened, sir. Merely startled.”
“Long day?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled at her, shrugged his coat off his shoulders, and laid it across the back of the chair by the window. “You might have another long one tomorrow.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“You know that the opening session of the Grand Council meeting will take place in a few days,” he said, collapsing into the chair.
Antrey nodded.
“Tomorrow night there is a gathering—I hesitate to call it an event—here in the compound to mark the occasion. A social event. Members of the Grand Council will be there, along with some of the more highly placed administrative personnel.”
“Yes, sir,” Antrey said. She remembered Alban and Onwen going off to such things in the past, but knew little about them.
“Well, my presence at such things is required. Unless I were on my death bed, it would be a grave offense to the Grand Council members if I didn’t make an appearance.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Trouble is that Onwen is ill, as you may have noticed.”
“The coughing, sir, yes,” Antrey said, fishing that detail from her memory. “Is it very bad?”
Alban shook his head. “Nothing a little rest won’t fix, I’m sure. However, it does mean that she can’t go with me to the reception tomorrow night. Would you like to go in her place?”
Antrey could feel her face flush, with surprise more than embarrassment. “Sir?”
Alban stood up and walked over to where she stood. “Why not? What you do for me is an important part of my work for the Grand Council. They should have a chance to meet you for themselves, firsthand. Besides, I am truly dismal in social settings like that if I’m left to my own devices. It would mean much to me, Antrey, if you would come.”
She nodded. “Of course, sir,” she said. What choice did she have?
“That settles it,” Alban said in a booming, cheerful voice that put a smile on her face. “Off to bed with you then. You will have much to do before tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and nodded quickly. “If you’ll excuse me, then.” As she said that, he stepped out of the way and directed her towards the door. She stepped calmly onto the stairs, before bounding up to her bedroom.
Chapter 3
There were few things worse than a Sentinel’s tavern, a dive populated by those off duty and retired. One of those things was an empty Sentinel’s tavern. Strefer Quants knew that and had accepted it as a hazard of her profession. It was, after all, her job to mingle with the brave defenders of Tolenor’s rough streets, earn their trust, and pump them for information. If that didn’t work, she was willing to hang around places like The Battered Pikti long enough that the ale, the weariness that comes after a long shift, and the thrill of talking to a pretty—or at least young—face caused someone to let his guard down. She walked a fine line between a trusted confidant and a scheming reporter who would do anything to get a good story. It was not beyond her to burn bridges.
Strefer was long past the point where she might actually fool some Sentinel into talking with her. At first she had done well shuffling from tavern to tavern, talking up Sentinels like she was some kind of obsessed fan. By this point, however, it simply wasn’t possible to hide the fact that anything said to Strefer could wind up printed in the Daily Register the next morning. Her job was to make sure that whoever was doing the talking didn’t care about that.
It was places like this where she did her best work, not sitting at her desk with pen in hand. The writing came easily to her, probably too easily, and her editor knew that. So it was in The Battered Pikti and a dozen other places like it across the city where she proved her worth, doing the down-and-dirty work of developing a story, taking some small kernel of information and crafting it into something people would actually want to read.
Strefer’s official title, Associate Tolenor Correspondent, made her role in the enterprise seem more important than it was. The Daily Register, the widest circulation daily in Telebria, had precisely two reporters in the city, making the “associate” correspondent the de facto underling. Her boss, Tevis, was the Senior Tolenor Correspondent, which meant he got the plum assignment of hanging around the Triumvirate compound and keeping track of the Grand Council’s business. Strefer was responsible for covering the rest of the city, in all its manifold diversity. Tevis had the prestige position, but Stefer felt she did the real work. Tevis had the prominent byline, but Strefer was the one who could find her way in and out of any part of the city at any time of the day or night.
Strefer sat in a table in the back corner of the tavern, surveying its run-down, dingy interior. The crowd looked particularly thin tonight, but she wasn’t sure why. If something important was happening in the streets of Tolenor, Strefer was one of the first people to know about it. That was why she hung around in dumps like this in the first place. She took a small sip of ale as the bartender shot her a long, accusing look from across the room.
“What’s your problem?” she said under her breath.
The crowd tonight consisted, in its entirety, of four persons. Strefer was one. Another was a Telebrian trader who was sitting at the bar. The other two were an older couple, apparently on vacation, who were either very lost or very much in need of a drink. She wasn’t keeping away paying customers, nor w
as she chasing away any who came through the door. Why should the bartender care? Nonetheless, she knew the value of staying in the good graces of servers, wenches, and anyone else who worked in places like this. Maybe it would improve his mood if she bought a round for her select company. She would bill it to the Daily Register, of course.
She was just about to call it a night when the bell over the front door rang, announcing the arrival of another customer. Stefer looked up from her ale to see Rurek, a burly Arborian Sentinel who led a detachment that patrolled the northeast quadrant of the city. She patted the bag slung over her shoulder to reassure herself that her pen and paper were inside. Then she stood up, grabbed her mug, and made for the bar. She timed her arrival to coincide with Rurek’s. He sat down at the bar and Strefer sat down beside him. With one long drink, she emptied her mug.
“Bartender!” she said, loud enough that her voice faintly echoed in the tavern. “Another for me and one for my good friend Rurek here, if you please.” She almost retched due to the forced camaraderie, but buying one drink for a Sentinel would cost less than buying a round. Tevis would be pleased.
Rurek looked at her with weary heavy eyes as she sat down. “Thanks, Strefer,” he said with a sigh. “I can really use it tonight.”
“I can see that,” she said, trying to be sympathetic. “What’s going on out there? Seems like every Sentinel in town is on the streets tonight. Damned few of them in here, anyway.”
“Nothing special,” he said, grabbing the mug from the bartender before it even touched the bar. He took a long drink and set it down. “It’s just that the Grand Council session starts in a few days. The city gets jammed with all those folks coming back to town, plus all the others who want to sponge off them.” He paused for a drink. “Then you’ve got that lot.” He nodded towards the vacationing couple. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why anyone would come to this town for fun and games. Much less when the Grand Council is in session.” In one more drink, his mug was empty.