The False Martyr (44 page)

Ipid looked at Jon
Cubbington, now his Chief Advisor, the man who would administer it
all. He had known Jon since the first year of Ronigan &
Galbridge, had hired him to run his third and largest mill. He had
proven himself time and again. By no means the smartest, most
imaginative, or most aggressive manager Ipid had hired, he was all
the more valuable for his lacking in those areas. Ipid had plenty
of ideas and ambition. Jon brought stability, organization,
tenacity, focus, and loyalty. He was never rattled, never deviated
from the plan, never failed to deliver. He had every quality that
Ipid needed.

But did he have enough of
them?
This was going to be very different
from running a mill. The scale of it was immense, the
responsibility overwhelming, the timeline insane, the margin for
error a razor. There was no room for sentiment or second guessing.
Jon would have to be every bit as ruthless as Ipid, would have to
accept that sacrifices must be made, that people were going to die,
that he could not save everyone. It was a nearly impossible task,
and Jon already looked like he might collapse under the weight of
it, like he might throw up on the middle of the table or run
screaming from the room.

Ipid suspected that his
words to the crowd that morning had started it. Jon had come
looking for his friend and found a monster in his place. He had
looked like he might jump from the moving coach after listening to
Ipid’s terrible speech, and all of Ipid’s attempts to describe what
had happened, what they had to do, and how he planned to do it had
only made it worse. When he’d finally asked him to serve as chief
advisor, Jon had stood as frozen and blank as a statue, mumbling
and sputtering like a halfwit. It had taken another hour to get the
man to accept, to talk him through the details, convince him that
he could do them, and impress upon him their importance. At the
time, Ipid had hoped that it had been enough, that he would take up
the task and run with it as he always had at the mill. Now, he
wondered if he had finally found a job that not even Jon Cubbington
could manage.

And that brought him,
finally to the other end of the spectrum. Commander Illich Landon
of the Chancellor’s Own had needed no convincing to take the
position Ipid had reserved for him. Ipid had barely entered the
room before the commander was on his knee swearing his allegiance.
After the struggle with Jon, Ipid had accepted immediately and
promoted the man on the spot to Field Marshal, commander of all the
Kingdom’s military forces.

At the time it had seemed
perfect. A tall, handsome man in his early forties, Commander
Landon had all the appearance of the noble families he represented.
His face was shaved clean, dark shoulder-length hair pulled into a
tail that seemed to heighten the arc of his sharp cheeks and long
nose. His teeth, showing in a serious smile, were straight and
white, his skin unblemished and tan. His uniform was somehow stiff
and straight, showing not a wrinkle or crease. And Ipid had no
doubt that all his men looked like him, that they were all
handsome, smart, confident, and able. They were all from important
families, were revered throughout the Kingdoms, could travel
anywhere and bring authority with them. But even more, they had
felt the invaders’ power first hand, were true believers, knew
exactly how futile it was to fight. They would do anything the
invaders asked, would not dare defy them again. But they had also
never been hungry, had never been deprived, had never felt
powerless. Their only experience with the workers in the streets
and fields was of their cheering as they paraded past. The common
people were, to Illich Landon, a faceless mass meant only to praise
him and his men.

And Ipid had only
reinforced their arrogance by placing them in charge of everything
outside the capital. Their confidence, their resolution, would know
no bound, and maybe that was what the Kingdoms needed. But Ipid
still feared the backlash that would result the first time that
resolve was questioned.

Too late
now
, Ipid told himself.
The pieces have been set; the game has started.
Already, it is largely out of my hands. I can only nudge them and
hope that they respond. The ambitious valati who supports me only
in as much as he can be the first at the scraps when I leave the
table. The soldier who will do whatever is asked, but only when
asked. The administrator with too little confidence. And the knight
with too much. By these four men will we live or die.

Ipid let out a long sigh,
received a nod of agreement from each man, then drew the breath to
continue. “You have each been brought here for a specific purpose.
You each have a vital role to play in the weeks to come. If any one
of you fails, everything will be lost. The mobs will claim our
heads, the invaders will destroy our cities, the Unified Kingdoms
will cease to exist.

“
Wallock,” Ipid turned to
the valati first because he was in many ways the easiest. “Your
lesson tomorrow will encourage the people to follow their leaders,
to maintain order, to do as they are told. After the lessons, your
counselors and acolytes will work with Jon and Commander Tyne to
register the people of the city. Jon is creating a list of work
crews. Every man in the city will be assigned to one. They will
report to these jobs on First Day, or they will receive no
rations.

“
Jon, you will create the
list of tasks and rosters for Di Valati Wallock. You will also
complete a survey of the food stores throughout the Kingdoms and
create a rationing plan that takes into account what must be given
to the invaders. All food will now flow through you and your
bookkeepers. You will take the invaders’ portion and pass the
remainder on to purveyors in exchange for the ration chits they
have collected. Workers will be paid only in those chits and only
those chit will be able to be exchanged for food and basic
supplies. Those chits will become the currency of the Kingdoms.
People should be encouraged to place their gold and valuables in
the banks for safe keeping. The banks will provide receipts and
store valuables for free. With the watches stretched to their
limits, this will be the best way to ensure against theft and
looting.”

“
Sir,” Jon interrupted,
voice timid. “That is all fine, but it will take us a few days to
create ration chits in sufficient numbers.” His eyes shifted, and
he licked his lips. “I have men looking for metal presses that
survived the destruction. I’m not hopeful, but even if we find
something that will do the job, it will take days to create a
decent supply.”

“
Use paper,” Ipid answered
in a moment of inspiration.

“
Sir? It won’t last. It .
. . .”

“
It doesn’t have to.
Destroy it when it is turned in for foodstuffs. Issue new each
week. The machines at the mill can make more than enough. I believe
there is even a printing press there.”

“
Yes, sir. Two, in fact.
And I know of at least three others in the city.”

“
Commander Tyne, have them
seized. Jon, put them to work. Any other concerns?”

“
It will be tight, sir,”
Jon mumbled, looking down at a stack of papers before him. “The
grain harvest is just beginning. Beans are another month away as
are apples and other fruits. The livestock are still fattening.
They won’t reach maturity until the fall. If we slaughter now,
we’ll be trimming the yields by a third. And the Darthur demands,
sir. . . . I thought it was a misprint.”

“
No misprint, Jon. And it
will be tight, but only for a while. The sooner we get the invaders
out of here, the less they will eat. Once they are gone, we can
fall back on the beans, apples, and late vegetables. It will be a
hard year, no doubt, but the Darthur will have what they demand
either way, and a lot fewer people will die if we give it to them
rather than making them take it.”

“
Yes, sir,” Jon sighed and
rubbed his bald head. “We will do our best.”

“
No, Jon,” Ipid leaned
forward and brought his hand to the table. “Your best isn’t enough.
If it doesn’t happen, the city will be destroyed, everyone will
die. Failure is death.”

“
Of course, sir,” Jon
nearly moaned and turned an even darker shade of green.

Ipid took a long, deep
breath, looked at each man to ensure that had gotten the message,
and turned finally to Field Marshal Landon. “Marshal, you and your
men will ride out tomorrow. Your officers will take control of
every district and major city and enact these same
directives.”

“
It will be as you say,
Lord Chancellor,” Marshal Landon announced, cutting Ipid off as he
drew a breath. “I just finished briefing my officers. They
understand their duties and the importance of success. The
Maelstrom itself cannot deter us.”

“
Thank you, marshal,” Ipid
said with all the patience he could muster. “You will need to find
competent administrators to keep everything moving. Jon will
provide you with work orders, rationing plans, and quotas of goods
and men to be sent to the invaders.” Beside him, Ipid thought he
heard Jon gag. He ignored it, keeping his attention on Marshal
Landon. “It will be up to you and your men to ensure those are
implemented and followed. The same provision should be made for
people to store their valuables in the local banks. Finally, you
will create a means for communication. I will expect daily reports,
and Jon will need to be in almost constant contact with his
subordinates. It will require a network of couriers ready to carry
messages night and day. We must not fail because we do not know
what is happening.”

“
As you say, Lord
Chancellor,” Marshal Landon answered. “We will do whatever is
required.” He paused and looked over at Jon with passing unease.
“As regards communication, nothing like that exists now, but I have
seen it done in Liandria and am confident that we can replicate it
here. I have already written orders to conscript the private
services. We will start with that, streamlining, redistributing,
and supplementing as required to create a network that can meet
your needs.”

“
Very well,” Ipid
conceded. “Di Valati, after tomorrow, I want every temple in the
Kingdoms to deliver the same lesson on Teaching Day. You will write
and distribute them. I want the people to see that the Church is
firmly behind us. Field Marshal Landon will ensure that the lessons
are received and delivered.”

Wallock sat back in his
chair, raised fingers tapping his nose. “That is fine, Lord
Chancellor. It may buy us some time, but don’t count on it as a
solution to all our woes. The lessons a man hears on Teaching Day
are easily forgotten when his stomach rumbles on First.”

“
A little time is all we
need.” Ipid looked at the men arrayed around him one last time and
tried to summon some confidence that all this would work. He found
little.

Finally, he took a deep
breath. “There is one last thing. My son, Dasen.” He paused, and
Eia placed a cold hand on his arm. It summoned a memory of what she
had said just a few days before and made the cold seem to extend
all the way to his chest. “I tell you this because I trust you. But
know that I am talking about my son. He is more precious to me than
any power or wealth. Still, I see no other way.” He let out a long
breath and stared at the table. “My son, it appears, can use the
magical powers of the invaders.”

Carefully controlled,
barely audible gasps answered the admission. Ipid held up a hand to
cut them off. “I have only the slightest understanding of how these
powers work, but I have been told that he must be trained or he
could do terrible harm to himself or the people around him. Thus,
for his own good and that of the Kingdoms, I have decreed that he
must be handed over to the invaders.”

The men around the table
were too well versed in politics of one kind or another to react to
such an admission, but Ipid could see their thoughts depicted in
the shifting of their eyes, clench of their fingers, quickening of
their breaths.

“
To this end, I am
offering a reward if Dasen is captured and brought to me. The man
or men who bring him to me
unharmed
,” Ipid paused to emphasize
the word, “will receive his body weight in silver from my own
treasury. The same reward applies to his wife, Tethina. Fliers are
being prepared that you can place here and throughout the cities.
He was last seen outside Thoren but is thought to have escaped the
battle down the Orm. He could be anywhere by now. Know that this
demand is as important to the Darthur as any on their list. You and
your men will do everything within their powers to find Dasen and
bring him to me. Do you understand?”

“
Of course, my
lord.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
By the Order’s
will.”

“
It shall be as you say,
Lord Chancellor”

Ipid looked at the men and
found varying degrees of sympathy from Jon’s heartbreak to Illich’s
calculating concern. He held up a flyer. It showed Dasen’s face,
described the reward, emphasized that he be returned unharmed. A
print maker and his apprentices were already preparing the etching
that would be set into
one of the presses
that Captain Tyne was preparing to seize. Within days,
hundreds of copies would be ready for
distribution. Dasen would become the most wanted man in the
Kingdoms with a small fortune promised for his return. Ipid would
gladly pay it. He just hoped that he would be able to turn over his
son as easily as he would turn over the money.