Adversaries Together (4 page)

The altar, a long table with a metal surface
so highly polished it looked almost like a mirror reflected the
light sending blinding flashes all around. Before the altar,
worshipers were compelled to close their eyes, and even then, the
light penetrated their eyelids filling their vision with a soft
redness. This day Stilbon was alone and down from the lectern
kneeling where his congregations would. His body was consumed by
the glaring light. Suddenly the heavy wooden swung open ushering in
a clean white light, which for a moment seemed to resist the yellow
hue thrown by the great window and shimmering surfaces.

Stilbon knew the entrant
was Ebon for the friar walked with a shuffle betraying to any
astute ear his girth. As Ebon ambled up to the altar, Stilbon’s
prayers turned to thoughts of disgust. The friar was a gyrovagi, a
wandering evangelist who spent far too much of his time among the
rabble.
An earthy smudge in my pristine
sanctum
, Stilbon thought cursing his
alliance with Vicegerent Sinclar, which had brought this man to
him. Standing and turning, Stilbon glared at the squinting friar
when he reached the altar, “Friar.”

Ebon was not out of breath but definitely a
bit panicked, “I have word of the man Canon Pallas suggested.”

Stilbon raised an eyebrow, “And there is no
issue?”

“
The hireling understands
his task, seems to have no qualms with the directives.” Ebon raised
one hand to his forehead to shield his eyes so to see Stilbon
better while his other dabbed at his sweating face with a rough
swath of cloth.

“
Good. I would hate for him
to develop some heretic tendencies.” Stilbon’s tone and face
betrayed no emotion.

Nodding Ebon turned slightly holding his
cloth just above his upper lip. He belched then wiped his cloth
across his sweaty face, “He is no believer, but he is no heathener.
Simply a mercenary, promised coin and he agrees.”

“
His ruler is greed, friar.
As many man.” Ebon nodded as Stilbon’s voice took on a lecturing
tone, “And that greed must be used as the means to purge him of his
failings and cleave him to our true, clear vision. We will use his
weakness to chart a course and it will right not just his path but
that of so many more that have drifted.”

Ebon nodded seemingly exhausted, “Certainly,
yes, certainly. I’m sure when all is said and done he will be quite
devout. Quite loyal to the Light.”

Stilbon smirked and returned to his prayers.
Ebon was a craven toady, but he made quick work of the tasks
assigned to him.

“
I doubt that. But I am
certain in the end,” Stilbon waved Ebon off, encouraging him to
leave, “there will be fewer lost souls for us to guide thanks to
him.”

The Cathedral of Sulecin,
5
^th
of
Lammas

The entire wall was a mural of the known
world, and Pallas loved to gaze upon it. A mixture of fresco and
bas-relief, it was certainly an achievement of craft. It was
unfortunate, he thought, that the artists had been forgotten.
Journeymen artisans had updated the wall every time nations emerged
or fell away, when new lands were discovered, when cartographers
had returned from their sorties with more accurate maps, and when
the Patriarch (of whatever era you chose) dictated certain places
be more elevated than others.

Pallas was certain the great map would soon
be altered yet again. He followed a shining golden seam west from
the Cassubian capital of Sulecin, home to his Cathedral, to the
Essian city of Heveonen where it turned onyx with a gorgeous
scrolling script along it reading “Flyde Road” as it lead to its
southwestern sister city Rikonen, the largest port in the world.
Or, at least, it had been. Unlike the narrow Adrenine harbor of
Dystos along the southern coast of the great Novostos Sea,
Rikonen’s bay was wide and deep. Whereas Anhra Harbor on the north
coast of the Novostos was ramshackle, Rikonen was systematized.

The other Essian port, Paraonen, was merely a
long series of whaler piers, and the free city of Far Port (as its
name suggested) was too northern and frozen for more than half the
year, it had carved out a more reliant trade upon the Falkstone
river. Bandra and Elvos were tucked away in the eastern pocket of
the Novostos, and although they did a good amount of trade, it
paled in comparison with Rikonen’s volume.

Stepping closer, Pallas ran his hand over the
smoothed sapphire that had been cut to represent the Novostos. It
wasn’t a subtle decision by the artists but still a pleasant one.
The wealth to make the great sea out of the gemstone mirrored the
wealth that the sea provided for all the world’s nations. Unsubtle,
definitely arrogant, but quite pleasing nonetheless. A city of
priests making their image of the world out of the tribute paid to
them, tribute that they had weaseled out of the all the nations in
the name of the Light. Pallas smirked; his hand paused as it
reached Rikonen.

Such a city, Rikonen was, bright and alive.
He had lived there as a young boy, a supplicant learning the faith.
The buildings covered in a white plaster reflected the high sun
making the city seem clean, if not blessed. The blue of the sea and
harbor were striking. He remembered the thousands of ships that
arrived daily laden with black seed, sugar, golden rice, and, most
vital of all, bithumin. The goods all immediately distributed to
other merchant vessels and onto overland caravans. It was the heart
of the world.

The Flyde didn’t just connect Rikonen with
its sister cities, the road curved east to the Cassubian town of
Havan and the Silvincian outpost of Midhalm that sat near the
headwaters of the Falkstone. The river poured out of the Siracene
highlands flowing north feeding the Novosar nation before letting
out into the North Sea at the top of the world. Speckled with tiny
forgettable towns and villages that had no name outside of
themselves, the river was the nation. Novosy, a marque state,
dependent on the river, exploiting the river, indulging in the
river. A nation of boatmen and shitty shepherds, yet one of the
strategic countries in the world. A collection of stubborn villages
so insistent it had to be granted its own nation snugly fit between
Silvincia to the east and Cassubia to the west.

Pallas glanced up to the darkened ceiling
where a single white quartz stone marked the last refuge of
civilization, Far Port. Black paint representing the North Sea, a
choppy expanse lurking with hidden ice, filled in the wall as it
met the ceiling a good fifteen spans above Pallas’ head. As a
student Pallas always wondered just what the great northern taiga
looked like, certainly there had to be something or someone there.
Empty and cold, the taiga had become a vast expanse that was
littered with degenerates who had hoped to escape north. So it was
Far Port, the top of the world, where the dregs ended up. A queer
inversion, but perhaps Pallas wasn’t looking at the whole picture.
Perhaps this map was only a small picture.

“
Pondering the world,
brother?” Pallas turned his head slightly hearing Vander address
him as he approached from behind; Pallas’ hand lingered on the wall
map.

“
I suppose I am,” Pallas
forced a smile. Now wouldn’t be the time to let Vander under his
skin.

Vander seemed to glide towards Pallas, the
hem of his robes barely graced the marble floor, “It is a fantastic
mural, isn’t it? I admire the craftsmanship of Lydic and his
apprentices.”

“
Do you know when this map
was commissioned?” Pallas asked.

Vander smiled but it was devoid of sincerity,
“I do not. Shall you enlighten me, brother?”

Pallas tapped the pearlescent stone that
marked Rikonen, “Nearly a thousand days this city has been cut-off
from the world. There are reports of hideous events occurring here.
And we have just now finished cutting The Blockade here.”

“
One can’t expect all the
events of the world to be immediately scratched into the wall.”
Vander shrugged.

“
Just so.” Pallas nodded
already exhausted by Vander, “But this suggests that The Blockade
will not be ending anytime soon, that the Patriarch has now
officially sanctioned the Spires’ aggression.”

Vander blinked in faux surprise, “Whatever
makes you believe our Patriarch’s will wasn’t being fulfilled by
the Silvincians?”

Pallas sighed, “Breaking Essia with
Silvincia. It’s unseemly.”

“
The Patriarch knows the
people of the Spires don’t deserve the dregs of goods that finally
reach them once the Essians have cut off the choicest
shares.”

“
I hardly believe the
Spires have ever received the dregs of anything.”

“
Perhaps not,” Vander
chuckled, “But such a stance would hardly rally the faithful. So
long as we have Novosy as a buffer, we shan’t dispute their
claims.”

“
There are millions of
faithful in Essia; the nation is not an enemy of the faith. There
are devout men and women in Rikonen. Our actions…or inaction…has
only validated the Silvincian elites.”

“
If anything, you could say
that we’ve goaded them in to coveting more power.” Vander
nodded.

“
They’ve never been cheated
of anything.” Pallas muttered more to himself than to
Vander.

“
They will never believe
it. Especially now.”

“
Now that they’ve become
the new navel of the world.”

“
Your Essians will never
commit to a land war. What can they do but accept their
fate?”

“
Anyone desperate and
abandoned will lash out.” Pallas turned to look at Vander, “Not
just at those in front of them but those that allowed it to
happen.”

“
Best we keep that
assertion to ourselves, brother.” Vander had gotten what he wanted,
“We all know that our Patriarch is touched by the Light and
infallible.”

“
I realize your little
order,” Pallas tried mitigating the contempt in his voice, “has
benefited from the Patriarch’s largess. But even you have to
concede that allowing the Spires to rise to such heights is
worrisome.”

“
Clever turn of phrase.”
Vander snorted and Pallas remained stone-faced. “But the
Patriarch’s favor for we Covenanters has had little to do with his
infallibility or the situation with Essia. So I don’t have to
concede anything.”

“
A thousand warships each
from Dystos, Pyrgos, and Elvos and there is talk, I believe, that a
handful of Dystosi shipbuilders were stolen away to Bandra to
direct the building of more vessels for the Silvincian’s
armada.”

Vander shrugged, “A good bit of business for
the Adrenia nation, and I’m certain the Merchant Fleet also made a
pretty penny.”

Pallas shook his head as he turned back to
the map eying the reddish brown oaken circles that represented the
Adrenia cities along the southern coast of the Novostos Sea. A
dwarfish people that barely stood five feet tall as adults, the
Adrenines stood out. Their brown skin and wiry golden blonde hair
was enough of a contrast to mark them as other. Yet they were the
greatest shipbuilders and seafarers in the world. It was suspected
that the Spires didn’t so much as buy their fleet as extort it,
although no one had the true details. All anyone knew was that
though wealthy, Silvincia didn’t have the treasure to buy so many
ships.

“
I remember when I first
heard about The Blockade,” Vander now stood shoulder to shoulder
with Pallas gazing at the map and tapped his finger on the three
golden triangles stacked upon each other to represent the gilded
pagodas of Bandra.

“
Recruiting?”

“
After a fashion.” Vander
smiled, “It was here that the first envoys from Essia had come to
contest the Spires’ action.”

Pallas raised an eyebrow, “I hadn’t realized
you were present then.”

“
Few here did, it was
before the Vicegerent saw fit to bring me into his
circle.”

“
The reports I heard were
that the Essian’s were in the right legally but that some obscure
reference was found to allow the Silvincian aggression.”

Vander laughed, “Of a sort.” He circled
Bandra with his fingers and then stepped back, “The Spires made a
simple case—Essia needed to relinquish its monopoly for the greater
good, to let the hardworking men and women of the realms make a
better living and not eek out a life as feeble parasites.”

“
That worked?”

“
Oh, Light no.” Vander
shook his head, “It was clearly the most hypocritical thing I had
yet heard… Outside of our circles.” He winked.

“
But that was the excuse
accepted?”

“
Not quite. I was able to
point out the…obscure reference, which exempted The Cathedral from
involvement with the internal politics of the realms we
serve.”

“
Nation we serve.” Pallas
murmured, “So we weren’t swayed enough to intervene or
denouncement.”

“
We saw no break in our
bithumin from Lappala. In fact, it would come cheaper. Adrenia had
been paid in full and its Merchant Fleet had consented knowing it
wouldn’t suffer a break in its trade and might still expand its
borders. The Lappalans had no pause in their exporting and the free
cities were glad to be ignored.”

“
Essia had no
allies.”

“
The Blockade
stood.”

“
Not worth the effort to
end it.”

Vander and Pallas stood in silence gazing at
the map. Finally, Vander turned away from the wall and from Pallas
gliding down the corridor he had come from. As he did so, he called
back to Pallas, “We are expected in the Islan chapel come
lauds.”