Argrave awoke long before Anneliese did, eager to seize the day. He was happy to have established the plan of action they’d be taking the next week or so. All that mattered now was adjusting the attitude of some of the parliamentary seats, performing well should debate arise, and executing things flawlessly.
He and his queen quickly prepared themselves for a long day of politics, then set out to meet with Elenore. Orion guarded them as they slept, but now he switched places with Galamon. They checked Elenore’s room first, but when they found she’d already woken up they went to her office in the parliamentary hall.
“Seems you always wake up before us,” Argrave said as he entered brazenly. Her office here was humbler than it had been in Dirracha, simple stone and wood alone. But it suited her, Argrave thought.
“There’s a lot to do. I don’t sleep well, anyway,” Elenore dismissed. “Ever since that ambush from the Unhanded Coalition deep in Atrus, I’ve been a very light sleeper. Frustratingly so. But, actually…” she trailed off. “No, never mind.”
“No, what were you gonna say?” Argrave insisted, sitting down.
“I…” Some color came to Elenore’s face. “I slept well at the Lionsun Castle, actually.”
“Oh,” Argrave nodded, then smiled when he realized what that meant. “Oooh, I see. Felt safe? Or was it something else you felt, maybe?”
“Not another word.” Elenore fixed him with a glare. “We have much to do. I believe we have a problem brewing.”
“Yeah? Go on,” Argrave leaned back in the chair, though still smiled as he suppressed more teasing.
“There’s a thin line between respect and fear.” Elenore placed her hands on the table. “With the parliament, you earned a lot of leeway from the nobles. With me, you’ve been able to effectively curtail the greater privileges this institution gives them. But this talk about waging war with the Ebon Cult, and consolidating our power further yet with an alliance of a roving horde of southern tribals… after Felipe’s misrule, some nobles are growing concerned by how we’re centralizing power. The standing army, the Stonepetal Sentinels, Artur and his Hall of Enchantment… and now that construction has resumed on Blackgard, we’re building a grand city and stealing peasants from their territory en masse—by their perception, at least. If your status is a scale between respect and fear… it is weighted toward fear. And so, people will test you.”
“Test me?” Argrave repeated. “I’m a good test-taker. Never needed to study.”
“I’m serious, Argrave,” Elenore insisted, maintaining her calm. “People talk about you all the time. They claim you’ve slain gods. I fostered these rumors because I sought a sterling reputation for you; a king is only what people perceive him to be, and so reputation is everything. You are remarkably popular. But save a few we can count on—the Archduchy of the North, the Margravate of Parbon, the Dukedom of Mateth, for example—many of the seats in parliament seek to retain their position. I think we can count on the burghers because they are ecstatic to simply be given a voice in government. That exuberance may fade with time, but the patricians of Relize and the mayors of cities can be counted on. Beyond them…”
“So… the nobles still foster ambitions? Really? After all this hell?” Argrave raised his brows.
“I’m not speaking of ambitions. I’m talking about preservation. And not just from the nobles, either—the Magisters we have sitting in are likely the most discontent. Artur’s Hall of Enchantment was a huge blow to the Order of the Gray Owl. There is a reason why the Order persisted—it was because people liked it, and it offered security in their lifestyle. Now, Artur’s Hall threatens this. The nobility and the Magisters believe their status quo is threatened. Preservation is a far more motivational tool than ambition. Avoiding loss of status or wealth comes before gaining it in priorities.”
“But the ruins,” Argrave pointed out. “I’ve done more for Order spell research singlehandedly than any other by pointing them toward forgotten ruins. Hell, the Order of the Rose library down in the Low Way alone is invaluable!”
“But gifts are inconstant things,” Anneliese reminded Argrave. “This influx of boons cannot last forever. It is stability and security they need.”
“Couldn’t have said it better,” Elenore agreed.
“But these are systems that should be eroded.” Argrave said. “The Order allows Magisters to hoard knowledge. And lineage, bloodlines, nobility… that’s all tripe. Might sound a bit hypocritical coming from a king, but I believe it.”
“Can you recall any non-violent revolutions, Argrave, that did not take centuries? If there was, you did not tell me of one.” Anneliese put her hand on his knee. “After Gerechtigkeit is defeated, we have time to erode them without radical, potentially unstable, changes. But for now… just as they want stability, so should we keep it. The people are most important.”
“She’s right again. I had intended to capitalize on the fragility after Gerechtigkeit to enact reforms. But for now… we need to bend just enough to get what we want.” Elenore shrugged.
“What are they proposing?” Argrave gestured toward her.
“The nobles want a law to prevent serfs and peasants from relocating.” Elenore read her paper. “They’re frustrated by the immigration to Blackgard.”
“We can’t afford that,” Argrave insisted. “We’re making this place a fortress to protect everyone that we can. I won’t jeopardize their lives.”
“Then come up with something better. Not just to this, but to all of what they proposed. There are other suggestions.” Elenore looked at him. “This is something you have to sell to them. What will they accept to content them? How will you convince the Magisters to cooperate?”
Argrave waited for Elenore to continue, but he realized that she was genuinely asking him. Meaning… Elenore didn’t have an answer. And thinking on it, neither did Argrave.
“I have to take care of half a thousand different things—among them, I’m going to set up some meetings with people I believe you need to meet.” Elenore leaned forward and looked through many papers—she had enough work to overwhelm anyone, but seemed as steady as a mountain. “If you can come up with good ways to get them in line, excellent. If not… frankly, Argrave, we have to meet their demands. They’re scared of letting their lives slip through their fingers. Not everyone is ready for a revolution.” She held out the paper of proposals for Argrave to take for review.
Argrave swallowed a deep and long sigh—he didn’t want anyone to know he was lost in the dark. He took the paper, then rose to his feet.
“If you need me, I’ll be—” Argrave paused. “Well, you can find me.”
“Yes. Yes, I can,” Elenore agreed. “Good luck. I’ll send someone for you, likely at midday. Pour some silver over your tongue, brother, even if it hurts. We have need of it.”
#####
After leaving, Argrave and Anneliese discussed ideas about what to do. Argrave felt there was a missing link of inspiration about the solution. Nothing that felt truly right came to mind. Unlike all the other times before, he could fully understand the opposition’s position. Asking someone to surrender rights and privileges was much different than denying their ambition. He had effectively stolen their tax base. And Argrave’s consolidation of power had been especially aggressive. Even Felipe had never had this obscene amount of personal power.
In the end, Argrave felt he was wasting him time but coming up with no answer. As consequence, he decided to bring Galamon to overview the training army. They stood on the walls of the mountain fortress outside the tunnel leading to Blackgard.
“These are the men?” Galamon watched, white eyes wandering the land where the army drilled. The Veidimen honor guard sent by Dras were monstrously diligent. “They’re doing well. But it is summer, and these are summer soldiers.”
“What does that mean?” Argrave looked at him. “It’s summer, sure, but… is something wrong with that?”
“It’s easy to fight when the sun is out and your body is warm.” Galamon held his hand out, then clenched it into a fist. “But when the cold comes biting, things don’t work as they ought to. Your limbs are stiff and heavy, and things outside your control happen. Snow. Chilling winds. Natural disasters. But winter is a metaphor, too. It exemplifies experience. A veteran is far superior to a well-drilled soldier. You should bear in mind these are summer soldiers when developing your strategy.”
Anneliese looked at him curiously, eager to learn. “What commands would you give for this type of fighter?”
“Strategy is much different than commanding an army. In command, you react, predict, and respond to the flow of the battle as it occurs.” The big elf turned to look at Argrave. “As for you… you’ve only ever been a soldier.”
Argrave briefly grew indignant, but as he reflected he truly had no issues with the term. Putting one’s life on the line for a cause—to be a soldier was a noble thing. And the most commanding he’d done was perhaps on the coast of Mateth, when the Veidimen had first attacked. Beyond that, it had always been fight, fight, and fight. He had allies, sure, but he seldom needed to command them in depth.
“Fair enough.” Argrave turned his head to Anneliese. “Anneliese has done more commanding than me. Any army we lead, I’d want her in charge of.”
Her amber eyes widened in surprise, but Galamon nodded. “True. When you fell unconscious in the wetlands, her command warded many thousand enemies without a single death. But what we’re talking about today is strategy.”
Argrave listened raptly—Galamon was rarely so talkative, and he felt the need to absorb every drop he could get.
“Strategy is merely a plan formed in the uncertainty of war. It is the foundation atop which commanders command and fighters fight. Though the actual results can differ greatly by unforeseen circumstances, strategy is the act of leveraging what is available to achieve desirable results. Retreat is a strategy. Combat is a strategy. Skirmishing is a strategy. All three, though different, move toward the same end: a desired result with the resources on-hand. Or more simply… victory.”
“Well, what is our strategy, then?” Argrave headed right to the point.
Galamon looked at him. “We are defenders. This gives us several decisive advantages… and I recommend we obtain more. We lose the ability to choose when the battle happens and who it is we fight. If we act quickly… we can choose where the battle happens. Our people, elves and humans, build fortresses in vital locations. Why? Because they offer a defensive advantage, and because the enemy cannot easily ignore them. To that end, we can force the Ebon Cult’s hand if we do the same.”
Galamon looked back to where the tunnel headed into Blackgard. New refugees walked in even now. “The best location to force combat would be there. The tunnel where you and Anneliese retrieved her A-rank ascension—it’s been sealed, but it should be reopened. Let the Stonepetal Sentinels establish themselves strongest there, that we might choose that place as our battlegrounds. They must become a presence that the Ebon Cult cannot ignore. Then… we endure. We endure, gaining in power for the push to Mozzahr himself.”
Argrave brought his hands up, clenching one into a fist while the other ran its thumb across his knuckles. “It’s… going to be a difficult adjustment, leading from the rear. But things as they are, this time it’s absolutely necessary. I can’t rush blindly in.”
With that, the three of them grew silent. Argrave ran through all of what Galamon had said. In time, once his mind was full, it wandered back to the subject that had brought them here: namely, the unrest in the parliament. Argrave started to laugh.
“Well… I think you’ve given me an idea, Galamon. I think I have a strategy for my war. Not the one you might know… but the political war. And there, I know how things work. That’s the battlefield I’d choose.”
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