by Jean Johnson
That caused an even louder uproar than the debate over Rexei’s manifestation of the Goddess and abrupt Guild Mastery. The uproar was so loud, it took Grandmaster Toric several smacks of his gavel to get everyone to quiet down again. Alonnen seized their reluctant quiet to assert his reasons, rising to his feet as he did so. He spoke sternly, staring down the men and women across from him, and the men and women seated to either side of him.
“This is not negotiable! Heiastowne alone released one hundred fifty-three prisoners, and every other Precinct with a temple that released its prisoners wants to send them to my guild. We do not have the resources for that. More than that,” he stated, pulling out a sheet of paper from his coat. “More than that, I have here a document signed by our predecessor Guild Masters to acknowledge that all guildmembers of good standing, current or former, have the right to call upon every guild they ever served in for succor in times of great need, whether that’s one guild or twenty, whether it’s illness, injury, or whatever . . . and these men and women have been grievously injured.
“And of these prisoners who have been released?” Alonnen added tartly. “Of all of them that we’ve taken in so far, nearly a hundred that you’ve tried to foist off on me, when we have neither the room nor the supplies to care for them? Only three were actual, registered members of my guild. The rest were taken off the streets and out of their homes long before they could ever take refuge with my predecessors and me. The responsibility is yours, gentles.”
Another session of outbursts and counterarguments echoed off the walls. Rexei, tired, overwrought, and now angry, shoved to her feet and smacked her fist onto the table with a thunk. “Enough!” she roared, her high tenor cutting through the babble. “Breaking them up into small numbers and spreading them out across all the guilds means that each guild with a large member base only has to support three or four people—which your guilds can do easily—and each guild with a small membership, save for the tiniest, can equally easily handle one or two.
“You will not abandon your responsibilities to your fellow guildmembers, is that clear?” Rexei demanded. She thumped the table with her fist again. “You will not abandon your responsibilities. You are the guilds of this land. You are the power, and the responsibility, that has kept the False God’s priesthood in check. But even though the False God is now gone, you are still responsible for maintaining order, for abiding by your own charters!
“And if you try to refuse your rightful responsibilities, then to the Netherhells with you! You will not abandon these people, nor force one guild alone to take up the entire responsibility of helping these undoubted thousands of Mekha’s victims learn how to live again!” She glared out across the stunned, silent crowd, then turned her furious stare on the Guild Masters seated elbow to elbow along the length of the curved table. “Because if that’s how you feel, then take off your guild medallions and get out, right now! Get out of this land! You don’t deserve to live here! Get out!”
Her other hand jabbed hard at the main doors into the meeting hall, the ones that led straight to the front doors of the Consulate building and the snow outside. No one moved, and no one spoke. She lowered her arm, giving everyone a hard look.
“Since you’re one and all sitting there instead of leaving,” Alonnen stated in the silence that followed her words, “I’ll take that as unanimous consent that each and every guild will accept responsibility for however many ex-prisoner mages they can handle. As I said, my guild literally does not have the resources to host more than a bare handful, so the remainder will be sent back to Heiastowne and its guilds . . . and by your unanimous consent, you will all send word, particularly the Guild Masters, that it has been decided that all other towns shall retain and care for their own mage-prisoner populations, and protect them from the ex-priesthood still in our midst.”
Rexei sat down as he spoke, leaving him to hold the floor, but he was not uncontested. One voice did speak up.
“You may have shamed them into silence, Guild Master Tall, but the two of you cannot unilaterally make that kind of decision for the entire span of Mekhana . . . even if Mekha is gone,” Captain Torhammer stated. “I will continue to uphold the laws of this land for as long as I remain a Precinct captain. These contracts may be valid, but the scale of responsibility is far greater than anything we have ever seen as a nation, and the corresponding impact will be as great. The law states that any decision which affects the entire kingdom requires a quorum vote, the minimum for which is twenty Guild Masters. Even if we include Toric as a Grandmaster-ranked Gearman and myself as a Precinct captain, both of which do have full quorum-level votes at our ranks . . . we still have only nineteen assembled in this hall.”
“Then I move that we vote to acknowledge Master Longshanks as Guild Master of the incipient Holy Guild.” The man who spoke up had not said much, if anything, before now. Rexei had to squint to see the symbol on the Guild Master’s medallion. It took her a few moments to realize it was a lute crossed with a flute, the mark of the Luthiers Guild, instrument makers.
Toric quickly smacked his gavel, cutting off the start of the next round of conversational chaos. “Order! Be seated and be silent. This proposal is valid and fair. Incipient guilds have one year and one day to prove themselves, up to and including gathering a sufficient body of apprentices to learn the specific craft of that new guild.
“Since we have acknowledged that the Goddess Guildra did manifest in conjunction with Longshanks’ expressed beliefs in Her, and given we all witnessed Her giving Longshanks a Guild Master medallion, we shall take it as moot that She wishes Longshanks to be the Guild Master of Her Holy Guild. Whether or not She will be our Patron Goddess, and thus whether Longshanks shall be the permanent Guild Master of the new priestly order within the borders of our land, is a discussion for another day.
“We are restricted to voting to see if Master Rexei Longshanks will be acknowledged among us as the Guild Master of the Holy Guild, its incipiency to begin today. Guild Masters, grandmasters, and masters, if you are in favor of acknowledging Rexei Longshanks as Guild Master of the Holy Guild, raise your hands now.”
A forest of arms lifted into the air. Some shot up immediately, while others rose at a slower rate. Rexei couldn’t count them all from where she was seated, but it looked like she had a majority vote in her favor at both the head table and among the first five rows of the pews.
“Lower your arms. All opposed . . . ?” Toric asked. This time, the number of arms was easily countable, less than ten. “And those who abstain?” A few more arms raised. He gestured for the arms to drop, consulted under his breath with the Precinct captain, then nodded. “The number of votes for is over eighty, which is where I lost count because it’s too late at night. The number of votes against is nine. The number abstaining is twelve. Motion passes. The Consulate of Heias Precinct grants you the title of Guild Master Rexei Longshanks of the incipient Holy Guild. Don’t let it go to your head,” the elderly Gearman warned her. “You are acknowledged a Guild Master, but you are young, and your Guild virtually nonexistent . . . not to mention not yet fully acknowledged.”
Rexei bowed her head, acknowledging his point. He continued, addressing the others.
“Guild Masters. You have been apprised of your responsibilities locally for those prisoners released from the Heiastowne temple. You have been informed of the release of prisoners elsewhere in your homeland and the fact that the inhabitants of those other towns are attempting to absolve themselves of their chartered responsibility for all members, current and former, of good standing . . . and I shall remind you that being kidnapped by the False God’s priesthood simply for the ability to . . . to cast magic does not make any guildmember a member in bad standing.
“As Guild Masters, you have the right to make unilateral decisions for all guildmembers within your purview. As we now have twenty present, we have a quorum for kingdom-wide decisions. Shall we return these . . . ex
-prisoners . . . into your individual guilds’ care in small groups? Or shall we place them all into the care of the one guild which even now none of us cares to formally name out loud?”
The men and women seated at the Consulate table exchanged wordless, wary looks. It was clear they weren’t comfortable with the idea of taking back into their midst known mages, whom the priesthood could come back and grab at any point in time. Rexei wanted to say something, but she knew this wasn’t her fight.
The one man who knew whose fight it was did not stand up again, but he did speak sharply.
“If they get shoved into my guild,” Alonnen told the hall, “then I will demand tithes from each of your guilds to cover the costs of feeding, clothing, and giving each ex-prisoner adequate medical care and emotional support. And a stipend to cover all further expenses that may crop up . . . and if you will not give those supplies willingly, then I shall have no choice but to command my people to take those supplies, just to keep everyone from starving to death within the first week.”
“Thank you, Guild Master Tall. I will presume that you vote to insist that every guild take up the care and responsibility for at least some of these ex-prisoners,” Toric said dryly.
“Damn right, I do,” Alonnen shot back. “We’ll take in a few, but we can only afford to take in a few—there are five guilds in this town with less than a dozen members, from masters to apprentices, so we’ll take in one for each of them, plus the three who were registered with us before their capture. Any others will require a full-support tithe, and the maximum we’ll take in will be thirty . . . so twenty-two of them would require support tithes.”
Rexei seized the pause that followed his words. “I also must insist that the guilds accept and manage their responsibilities toward each other in this matter.”
“If we will continue from that end of the Consulate bench,” Toric stated dryly, “I shall take that as two votes for multiguild management of the ex-prisoners. Guild Master of Actors?”
“I vote for each of the guilds to take in a few of the prisoners,” the redhead stated firmly. “Regardless of the outcome, the Actors Guild will take in at least three. My fellow guildmembers can manage that much locally here in Heiastowne. In Luxon, the temple has yet to release its captives, but when it does, I know we can care for five or six in the larger arms of the Actors Guild there. We won’t abandon anyone, though we, too, are limited in how many we can accept.”
“Guild Master of Modellers?” Toric asked.
“It is all our responsibility, not just Guild Master Tall’s. We can take in three here in Heiastowne without any strain to our resources. Hollowfeld to the south is a small town. We had only twelve prisoners released total,” the male Guild Master stated, “but the Modellers Guild has a solid presence for its size, there. We, the Tillers, Woodwrights, and Hospitallers all took in the released mages pretty much immediately. We can even take in two more from this area, ship them to my fellow Modellers in Hollowfeld, and see that they receive proper care . . . and wherever possible, we will take in one or two elsewhere as well.”
“Guild Master of Wheelrights?”
“We’ll do it across the kingdom . . . and we’ll take in five here in Heiastowne right away. Or at least when the weather improves,” the rough-voiced man stated. “I saw the snow outside. We’ll all have to take refuge in town tonight.”
The vote continued down the line. Each man and woman questioned agreed to accept responsibility kingdom-wide, and most listed a number, small but significant, which they knew their nearest groups could take in immediately. Hearing so many accept their responsibilities, Rexei started to relax. However, she could see Alonnen tensing, no doubt worried that a single vote otherwise would throw his whole guild into turmoil.
Torhammer dipped his head slightly when it was his turn. “As Precinct captain, it is my responsibility to enforce the law. This I have done as firmly as I could. The law says that each guild owes a responsibility to all of its members, past and current, provided they are all of good standing. That means the orphans of lost guildmembers can call upon their parents’ guilds for support and protection. Injured members can request their guilds to pay for their apothecary expenses, and so forth. I am well aware that these ex-prisoners are orphaned and injured, as much or more inside their hearts and minds as in their bodies. My vote goes toward all guilds across the land accepting their share of responsibility.
“However, that being said . . . this and the other Precinct militias cannot accept the responsibility of any of these orphaned and injured mages into its ranks—let me finish,” he added sternly, raising a hand as several in the audience across from the head table started to protest. “Not because we do not care, but because we must manage the Hunter Squads. Some of which are still out there, hunting down mages because they may not yet realize that Mekha is indeed gone from everywhere, rendering their captives unnecessary. I have reached some of them via talker-box in the last day . . . but not all of them have reported in, yet.”
“Mekha doesn’t exist anymore!” one of the female Guild Masters asserted. “There’s no need for them to keep and drain their prisoners.”
“Mekha being gone simply means that there’s nothing to stop these bastards from draining any captive mages for their own benefit,” Alonnen growled. “It isn’t quite blood magic, but it is still a form of rape most foul. I must agree with Captain Torhammer; his support of the law is deeply appreciated, and technically all Precinct militias are a form of guild, and all of captain or higher rank have a vote in this quorum . . . but I also must agree that his reason for abstaining from direct support is understandable in the light of his explanation.
“My guild will take in an additional five mages on top of the original eight in the militia’s name. With supporting tithes from the militia, of course,” he continued, his tone pointed and dry. “I trust, Captain Torhammer, that you will rein in the Hunter Squads within your jurisdiction and inform them in no uncertain terms that hunting for mages is now at an end? And that you will explain to the ex-priesthood in equally blunt terms that they are no longer allowed to imprison, torture, rape, and drain any mages ever again?” Alonnen asked. “You are renowned as the Hammer of Heiastowne. Feel free to invoke that hammer in the name of the law.”
“It would help, Guild Master Tall, if our very next vote after this one is an equally unanimous quorum on decreeing the imprisonment and draining of mages to be utterly illegal,” Torhammer returned wryly.
Toric spoke up, regaining control without using the gavel stone. “That is the very next subject and shall be tabled until this vote is complete. As a grandmaster-ranked Gearman, I have the right to vote in this quorum . . . and I vote for the guilds to undertake their lawful responsibility as well,” Toric asserted. “The Heiastowne Consulate can manage to care for at least one ex-prisoner at this time. Not every Consulate is large enough for a permanent staff, but ours can manage that much.”
Rexei focused on tidying up her papers and returning them to her bag while the vote continued to the far end of the table. By the time the last Guild Master voted, however . . . it was clearly unanimous not only in agreement, but in the voicing of how many freed mages each guild would take. A nonbinding show of hands was called for among the grandmasters and masters with no Guild Master representing them at the head table. Most raised their arms in favor, with only a few abstaining—mostly those with only master-rank members within the city’s walls—and none voting otherwise. Many of them stood up, each in turn offering shelter for the ex-prisoners.
She felt deeply relieved for the sake of the Mages Guild and its rather finite resources at that last revelation. From the look on Alonnen’s face when he glanced at her, he felt the same way. By the time the last guild offered, all one hundred fifty-three mages, and then some, were covered.
By comparison, the vote to render any further capture, torture, and power-draining of mages illegal was a simpl
e yes/no vote. In fact, it passed so swiftly that it was anticlimactic. With one last admonishment for “Guild Master Longshanks” to finish polishing the new Holy Guild’s charter for future ratification and to pick up at least three apprentices as soon as possible, Grandmaster Toric closed the meeting with a rhythmic rapping of his gavel on its matching stone anvil.
Immediately, Alonnen was up on his feet and crossing the distance between him and Rexei. Snagging her elbow, he murmured in her ear, “Let’s go. Out the back, right away,” he ordered, literally pulling her off her end of the bench. “If we don’t get both of us out of here now, we’ll not get free for two hours or more.”
Snatching up her bag and grabbing her coat and cap from where she had rolled them up and tucked them under the bench seat, Rexei followed him. Several of the others tried to intercept both of them for questions, but both were quick and slim enough to squeeze through the barely open side door. Rexei pulled it shut behind her, slowing down their would-be interrogators. That gave them a few more seconds to dodge into the back corridors of the Consulate building.
Alonnen led her out into the alley, quickly shut the door, then pulled her across to a door placed almost directly opposite, and rapped on it in a hard, fast pattern not too dissimilar from the one the head of the Consulate had used to end the emergency session. Rexei had only a glimpse of the trampled snow of the alley, but it was enough to tell her that several people within the last hour had used this particular door, both coming and going.
It swung open within seconds. By the time the Consulate back door started to open, the door to the new building had swung shut. They were let into it by a vaguely familiar man.
“How many?” the middle-aged door guard asked without preamble, watching them stamp off the three inches of snow they had waded through.