Disclaimer: It's probably quite clear that I have no ownership claims to the characters, world, etc. I'm simply playing in the world Ms. Pierce created.
Watch Your Step: Contains a rather heavy dose of my own ideas about Maren.
Author's Notes: Written for the Seanfhocal Circle challenges at The Dancing Dove. Once again I proclaim my deep and abiding love for minor characters. Inspired by a line in Squire in which Raoul says to Lerant:
"If your grandfather Eldorne waxes too outraged, tell him Barnesh in Maren is canceling all his nobles' land grants. They have to petition him to retain their titles and estates, and they get to pay through the nose."
"Civil Authority"
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King Barnesh had just decided that this year's chardonnay was going to be an exceptional vintage when his thoughts were interrupted. He heard the messenger before he saw him.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I must see His Majesty immediately!"
The voice, high with desperation and breathless with urgency, was accompanied by the sound of running feet on paved stone, the clank of the royal guards hurrying behind, and the queries of the courtiers in His Most Royal presence. His wineglass hit the servant's tray at the same moment a ragged man burst into the circle of nobles, tripped over the hem of the Earl of Whitehall's overcoat, and sprawled at Barnesh's feet. A lady screamed.
Barnesh half rose from his cushioned chair, one hand reaching for a knife that rarely left its scabbard. What sort of insolent—
He was surprised to look down at one of his own messengers, the royal tabard barely recognizable from the filth and damage. The man shoved himself to his feet and gave a wobbly bow. One hand clutched the opposite arm; a stained bandage wound around a leg. His very appearance was the epitome of the last thing any monarch wanted to receive information from: exhausted, dirty, sweaty, bloody—and exceedingly disturbed.
"Speak, man!" he ordered.
The messenger drew a breath and raised his head. "I bring news from the southeast, Your Majesty."
In one phrase Barnesh knew all that he needed to.
"Lords and ladies, we fear you must continue this afternoon's entertainments without our presence," he announced in a tight voice. To the servant at his elbow, "Take this messenger to the council chamber so he may give his full report, and inform the members of my council to gather immediately. I don't care if they're bathing, engaging in their husbandly rights, or entertaining company, I want them there now."
"Which council would that be, sire?" the servant asked carefully.
"The war council."
The servant executed a quick bow and backed away, imitated less gracefully by the messenger. Barnesh's eyes were drawn to the spot where the messenger had stood. Blood stained the paving stones of the garden his wife had loved so much.
So it comes to this at last.
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Shifting his bulky frame in the chair at the head of the table, Barnesh could not help but notice that his spymaster looked the least surprised out of all his privy councilors. Of course, the man had been investigating the matter for upwards of a year.
I should have listened more and made excuses less, but what's done is done and what's now is now. And right now I will not be remembered for lacking the ability to respond with swift and powerful retaliation as my father was!
"The southeastern provinces have rebelled against the Crown? All of them?" the head of his mages' council squeaked, incredulous.
"Yes, all of them," the prime minister snapped. "And it's not a rebellion, it's an attempted secession. There's a difference. They've sent a formal letter declaring such an intent as well as have written a pact of confederacy, if that wasn't clear enough." He jammed a finger towards the offending documents with as much distaste as he could muster. The letter had arrived as intended. The other papers had not been meant to arrive at any destination, much less their current one, but had due to a spark of initiative taken by the messenger.
"Neither of which declare why they're seceding, unless you count 'Great and Heinous Wrongs inflicted upon the aforementioned Provinces by the King and Governing Council,' " the lord chancellor pointed out.
"Why? There's hundreds of reasons why!" Papers scattered before the prime minister's hands. "K'miri immigration, tariffs on Carthaki goods, increasing pirate attacks, the new laws on the treatment of slaves. The entire sector is a pile of blazebalm waiting to explode."
"The lords of the southeastern provinces brought no more complaints to my attention than any of the other lords," Barnesh said. "This is a blatant act of treason that will not go unpunished. You all should know by now why I have called a war council. I have absolutely no intention of accepting the secession of an entire quarter of this realm." His gaze rested on the heads of the royal army, navy, and palace guard.
"Civil war," the high general of the army whispered uneasily.
A rumble of voices rose in the council chamber.
"Your Majesty, this realm hasn't seen a war in over three hundred years! Not since Norrin possessed the Dominion Jewel!" the navy's high admiral protested.
"Maren no longer possesses the Dominion Jewel, admiral," the spymaster interjected. "Three hundred years or not, you'd best prepare for war. They're expecting it. Our army is already small enough compared to the size of the realm, which is a small blessing considering there will be few contingents in the southeast, but I have firm evidence that the new confederacy is hiring free companies of mercenaries in order to assemble their own army."
The noise that erupted at the mention of mercenaries drowned out anything the spymaster might have said afterward.
"Compose yourselves!" Barnesh roared. Order restored itself with a chastised air, and he looked at each of his councilors in turn. "We have one clear need: the ability to match and surpass any army brought against us by this so-called confederacy in size and skill. We will fight fire with fire. I want a full accounting of funds in the royal treasury within the hour and delegates sent the mercenary companies of my choosing tomorrow with offers of employment in service to the Crown."
The complaints made before were nothing compared to the din that arose.
"Mercenaries? I understand hiring a company or two to keep off Gallan bandits, but for war? They'll loot our cities and ravish our women! They're naught but drunkards and gamblers, kill for hires! Your Majesty, I protest!" the captain of the palace guard shouted.
"I know of your dislike, captain, but I command you set aside your prejudice and realize that this is the fastest and only way to supplement our army," Barnesh said.
The spymaster lifted a hand for attention. "Allow me to make an addition?" Barnesh nodded and the spymaster continued, "Most of us are aware of the longstanding conflict between the free companies and those that associate with the Mercenaries' Guild. They're bound to become involved if the free companies attempt to overthrow a government that allows the Guild companies autonomy—dare I say it is inevitable?"
"It is my understanding that the Guild denies accusations of the kind you make against mercenaries, captain," Barnesh said to the captain of the guard. "Well, at least against Guild mercenaries, and has evidence to prove it. Free companies make no such effort. Would anyone care to offer an argument?" Barnesh asked, his tone bordering on the inflexibility of one who has already made up his mind.
No one dared a response.
"Very well. In the meantime, this unexpected act of high treason causes me great suspicion and to question the loyalty of the nobility of my realm. Before Mithros, I cancel all grants and privileges given to each and every man of noble blood and peerage and hereby reclaim all the land of the realm of Maren back into the possession of I, King Barnesh the Second, for it is my gods-given right as its sovereign. Until such time that I have been assured of the lord's loyalty and receive an oath of fealty, all land he once claimed as his own due to the beneficence of the Marenite Crown will remain in my possession.
"Such is my word. It is not negotiable."
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