reduced the world to a
scorched wasteland, and magic
simply ceased to exist.
A Millennium has passed, a thousand years
of rebirth and rebuilding.
Iron, gunpowder, and steam engines have
been rediscovered. Where once there
had been magic, there is now
Science, Industry, and Government . . .
Technology, Money, and Power . . .
Death, Greed, and Corruption.
Civilizations rise and crumble
in 1000 years, but one
thing remains constant:
People do not learn from past mistakes.
In a manner of speaking,
is magical power really different from
wealth or politics?
Do they both inevitably lead to
Death, Greed, and Corruption?
Can it be that those in power
are on the verge of
repeating a senseless
and deadly mistake?
This is the beginning of
Empire Built on Stone
Being the first part of
The Magicite War: A History of
Final Fantasy VI
Part I - Chapter 1: The King's Crutch.
In the days before the long journey to Doma, when the ships were being loaded with supplies, the guards' armour was being polished - again - and the final details were being arranged by carrier pigeon, the General Eric Gestahl was paid a visit by his king.
Anthony, King of Maranda, let himself into Gestahl's chambers unannounced. Despite the summer heat, he was clad in his finest royal garb, as always. His dark green, high-necked coat was buttoned all the way up the collar, and his deep red cape hung down to the backs of his knees, where his polished black boots met his duller black pants.
Gestahl almost shook his head in disbelief at the sight of the King. He himself had on only a pair of baggy, white pants, and sweat was rolling from him in buckets. Still, he quickly stood at attention.
"Good day, my Liege," Gestahl said in a steady, yet humble voice. "You honour me with your presence."
The King nodded, gestured for Gestahl to be at ease.
Gestahl immediately rushed to the large wooden wardrobe in one corner of the room. "This is an unexpected audience, my Liege." He grabbed out the first shirt he saw, a yellow one with golden buttons, and hastily pulled it on. "Had I known you were coming, I'd have been better-"
Anthony raised a hand, and Gestahl stopped speaking. "I won't be here for long, as I have business to attend to here in Albrook before I return to the Capitol. I just want to make sure you're ready, that you know what to say when you speak with Duane Doma." Anthony's eyes narrowed. "He can be a very hard man to negotiate with. Very adamant in his opinions. I suggest you mention my name as little as possible; he doesn't much like me."
Gestahl strode back to the centre of the room while buttoning his shirt. He stopped, and faced his King. "I will try to heed that, and all the other advice you have given me." Ha! Anthony's 'advice' over the last few days had almost been enough to make Gestahl laugh out loud. "Although, I will not be able to negotiate in your name without using it a few times. But don't worry. I know how to talk to such people. Sometimes, a little groveling over dinner can get you a long way."
The King blinked; he had never groveled. He didn't understand the power in groveling. "Yes. Yes, well remember that these are peace negotiations, but not a surrender." His voice lowered at that last word. He'd never surrendered anything, either. Especially before a war even started.
Gestahl knew what Anthony was thinking. "You know a well as I do that we cannot war with Doma. Their army of Samurai is the finest military force in the world, not to mention the fact that they are close with Figaro. We would be beaten in weeks. Sometimes, peace is the best strategy in a war."
"Yes, right." The King sounded disappointed! Gestahl wanted to roll on the floor laughing. But he managed to keep his cool. The King spoke again. "Well, as I said, I can't stay long. I must return to Maranda tonight, and I have other things to deal with. I will not see you again until after you return. Remember what rests on your shoulders, Gestahl."
Gestahl stood at attention and watched Anthony's back until the door closed behind him, then chuckled and sank back into a large leather armchair.
Anthony was a fool's fool, and Gestahl wasn't the only one who knew it. He had been born into power, but was too stupid to know how to handle it, even with his years of training in the affairs of state. He thought that being a King meant fighting in wars, constantly expanding his borders. Fortunately, he was smart enough to leave most of his responsibilities to others. Gestahl was one of those others: General Eric of House Gestahl, Commander of Maranda's armed forces and Navy, master strategist and leader of men. And the greatest diplomat the world had seen in generations. How many times had Gestahl saved Anthony's kingdom after the king angered other more powerful leaders?
And this time will be no exception, thought Gestahl. He stood up from the leather armchair; it was far too hot. Stripping off the shirt and throwing it over the back of the chair, he made his way to the huge bed and fell onto it. It was an extremely hot day, even within the grey, usually cool walls of his bed chamber in the Royal House, a sort of grand inn for nobles; every major city in Maranda had one. The large window on the opposite wall from the bed was wide open, as well. It was the kind of heat that made it difficult to stay awake, yet impossible to fall asleep.
Gestahl lay supine on the bed for several minutes, thinking of the recent past, and of the near future.
The Kingdom of Maranda, which occupied the whole of the world's southernmost continent, had fallen out of favour with Doma three years past, after refusing to honour a long-standing trade agreement between the two nations. The mountain region on the east of Maranda contained the world's richest iron and mythril mines. Doma had had access to these mines, in return for gold and silver from their mines. At least, that was what most people knew about the deal. In reality, Maranda's exports in that deal were much more valuable than Doma's; while not worth as much as gold or silver, iron and mythril were far more useful because they could be made into many useful things. Maranda's real benefit had been certain political promises from Doma, such as military aid, had there ever been a need.
The deal had been in place for twenty years before Anthony - against Gestahl's advisement, of course - refused to continue to honour the agreement, stopped allowing Doma to mine in Maranda. He had said that Maranda could use the iron and mythril more than gold and silver; true enough, but an immaterial point, since Maranda had its own mines as well, and more than enough of the resources.
As if that hadn't been enough, Anthony turned down two offers from King Duane Doma for meetings to discuss the dispute - including one invitation delivered by Doma himself, a great insult under Doman custom. Then, seven months later, when Anthony had finally agreed to talk with Duane, a fight broke out. Four punches were thrown: three by Anthony, and one by Duane Doma's retainer. Anthony's diplomatic immunity, and Doma's unbelievable respect for it, were the only reasons the King of Maranda was still alive today.
After that, tension had escalated until war became an impending threat. War with Doma meant almost certain defeat, and even Anthony knew that, as little as he liked the idea of not fighting, for reasons (maybe) known only to himself. The man truly was an idiot. He had tried to remedy the situation himself, but only succeeded in further offending Doma. Now, at the last possible time, he had charged Gestahl to make one last attempt to prevent a war. In two days, Gestahl would be on a ship to Doma. The journey would take three weeks, unless the winds at sea were especially strong. He doubted he would be so lucky. It would take all of his luck to mollify King Doma, as well as all of his skill.
At one point, Gestahl had considered defecting once he reached Doma, and letting Maranda be conquered. If any leader deserved to have his country taken, and his life probably ended, it was Anthony. He was simply a very bad ruler, and perhaps it would be his due for the countless mistakes he'd made.
No, thought Gestahl, turning over on the bed, trying and failing to find a cool spot on the deep purple pillow. When Anthony is deposed, it will not be Doma who takes his throne.
Laughing quietly, Gestahl turned his head to glance at the clock on the bedside table.
"Five-fifty-three," he read; he was one for precision. It had only been ten minutes since Anthony had come to the room. In the heat, it had seemed like hours to Gestahl.
Slowly, and with a groan, Gestahl sat, then stood up from the bed. He stretched his arms out to either side as he stepped across the room to the wardrobe. He picked out a white suit, not quite a uniform, but not casual. He would be going out that night, to make some final preparations for the journey. More responsibilities that came with being a King's walking-stick.
