XVI. The Protectorate of Muxal
When the banner of the Pillagers, taken from the slain patrol, was hoisted triumphantly on the Western Gate for all to see, the villagers of the neighboring towns began to flock to the walls of Sarfan in greater numbers than ever before. Word quickly spread of Alexius's miraculous defense of the village, and before long, the population of Sarfan doubled, then doubled again. Within two moons of the First Patrol Incident ending in victory for Alexius, the number of villagers within the Walls was estimated to be 200, surpassing the combined populations of Market Hane and Lourault, the two greatest villages of the Plains.
Alexius and his Council put those two moons to good use. Immediately after the three days of festivities had ended, Alexius ordered low barricades to be built in a ring around Sarfan, in order to deter future raids, an act of wisdom which would later save the village. The clay bricks which made up the top of the Walls were stripped and replaced with sturdier stone, and the bricks were used to build additional houses. And enough iron was procured to create adequate entrances for all four of the gates.
At the same time, Spayer called for a defensive organization to be made in order to have villagers protect themselves; when Alexius created the first modern military villager organization in history, he and Spayer devoted great care and time into personally training many villagers, both natives of Sarfan and migrants there, in the arts of swordsmanship, archery, and axe-fighting, which they practiced rigorously as the moons passed. Called the Self-Defense Combine in its founding charter, it became more widely known as the Iron Combine, due to its preferred material for armor and weapons. Eventually, volunteer soldiers in the Iron Combine, who were spotted often patrolling the Walls and the market spaces, their armor glinting in the sunlight, became known as Irons themselves.
Under their protecting eyes, farms were expanded by channeling the waters of the Mer outside the Walls; various trades blossomed as the central market flourished, turning into a brimming space full of tents and stalls; new houses were built daily with clay dredged from the riverbed and stone quarried by masons. And every day, ten minutes before sunset, the bells of the Ajor would ring out, signaling for all the villagers to return to their homes.
In that time there was not yet a standardized law which governed Sarfan, and order was kept in place by social conventions, a practice that became increasingly difficult as the influx of villagers from all corners of the world accelerated dramatically. The first official census of Sarfan, conducted around the same time as the Iron Combine was established, placed its population at 237, listing 24 different villages of origin, some hundreds of blocks away. Without a definite common tongue, language and cultural barriers often led to violence in the streets, which the Irons were called in for to halt frequently—though differences within the Iron Combine itself led to greater tensions still.
Ramaf and Hava Yal both recommended separating the migrants into different sectors of the village by origin, but for unknown reasons, Alexius strenuously rejected this proposal, opting instead to enforce toleration as a mandate throughout Sarfan. Though much grumbling about this came from both the natives and the newcomers, neither could deny their newfound prosperity, and the power of common law remained.
It was also around this time that the representatives of the small village of Muxal, which lay some three hundred blocks away from Market Hane, to petition Alexius for a solution to their problems which many considered radical: a Union of Villages.
"... plenty of wheat and potatoes, and our livestock are thriving well enough—I'd go as far as to suggest building new granaries within the Walls to ensure that everyone will have food, even during a time of crisis. That's all."
Virod sits back down and immediately gets hammered by Hava Yal's questions. "Where will it go, all this excess food?" he asks. "Wasting away in some storehouse in case of an emergency? No, we ought to sell it off, that way—"
Virod sighs. "For the last time, Hava Yal, the risk is too big for a village as large as this—a contingency's necessary just in case—"
"Waste of bricks," the fletcher snaps back. "I heard—" he leans forward and glances at Ramaf's empty seat "—the rich dogs out west in Market Hane—emerald-stuffed asses—I heard that they're planning to increase their share of emerald trades soon."
"But what does that have to do with—"
"Because we ought to sell it all off before that happens, don't you see? Wheat grows back, emeralds don't, man, you—"
Two knocks on the door and both Virod and Hava Yal shut up. Alexius, vaguely looking out the window at the hustle and bustle of the plaza, looks towards the entrance and frowns. He can see Ramaf's face through the door.
He stands up and opens it. Ramaf looks anxious as he mutters: "Guests, Alexius."
His eyes have a very particular glint to them, one that dances up and down. Alexius has seen it once, when Ramaf saw him kill that patrol some moons ago. It's the look of opportunity.
The circumstances of the village of Muxal, numbered at some twenty inhabitants, which led to its council coming to Alexius need not be elaborated on in this record. To truncate a longer narrative, the people of Muxal were terrified of the recent raids that had befallen their neighbors. Its council had seen the burned-out husks of the neighboring towns and saw Alexius and Sarfan as something of a boon to themselves.
It was because of this fear that the council of Muxal decided to propose a Union of Villages to Alexius.
There are two of them, Ciofo and Amil, both venerable old men in purple robes. Outside the council hall, Nerev leads their escort's horses away. Irons equipped with axes patrol the Western Gate; one of them laughs. Inside the hall: dark and still.
The two men sit opposite the five of the Council; Alexius, sitting at the head of the table, stares at them carefully, and both look away, embarrassed.
"But surely," Amil of Muxal says, "surely, good sirs, you must have received our letter, we sent it a moon ago, when we first heard of Sarfan..."
"We entrusted its delivery to our dear brother," adds Ciofo of Muxal, "Tharam the Fletcher, he should have arrived here two days ago... please, sirs, did you not receive it?"
"Tharam..." Arter squints and looks out of the window before speaking. "Yes, Tharam the Fletcher. I heard his name yesterday. I'm sorry, sirs, but..." He clears his throat. "The zombies—" He is cut off by the grieved wails of the old men, who murmur prayers under breaths and look upwards. More awkward silence.
At last, Ramaf clears his throat and breaks the silence: "We've discussed the issue enough amongst ourselves, sirs, and we recognize your struggles and plights, which I'm sure must be grievous..."
Ciofo of Muxal's eyes light up. "Then you'll help us?" he says eagerly. Amil, his companion, nods fervently: "Please, sirs, we don't want to suffer the same—"
"He wasn't finished," Alexius says from his shadowed chair, and the old men are struck silent. Ramaf shoots Alexius a look before continuing. "However—please, sirs, just a second—we recognize your struggles, but we at Sarfan ourselves are... ah... unable to enter into a Union at this time. I'm sorry," he says as the two old men speak up in anger, "I'm sorry, but—look, we barely have any soldiers, you're too far away to realistically defend—you'd all have to move here—no, it's just—"
"Please, sir," Amil says, this time directly to Alexius, "Please, have mercy, sir, at least some help would save us from these dogs—anything, sir, please..."
"No Union," Alexius says sharply, standing up. "And get up. I won't host beggars in the Council. We can't help you right now—I tell you the truth," he says, holding a hand up to silence Ciofo's protestations, "so listen, please. We can't help you. It's simply impossible." He pauses and watches the old men hang their heads in sorrow; Ciofo looks mutinous, Amil heartbroken. "Unless..."
Everyone in the room looks up at him sharply: the old delegates have hopeful disbelief written on their faces, the Council members pure surprise. Alexius kept this plan away from them: they wouldn't get it until it finished. He pretends to stare off into space and think. "No," he says at last, shaking his head, "no, that wouldn't work... you're free to go, sirs," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
The old men are practically clambering over the table in excitement. "What, sir? What was it?" Their eyes glimmer with hope.
Alexius puts on a show of thinking again. "It's just... well, I had a plan for defending your town, and I would, if... no," he says determinedly, "no, you would never agree to that."
Ciofo's hands are clasped tightly as he says, "Tell us, Alexius, Axe of the People, we'll agree to anything if only you save us from this menace, please, we'll do anything..."
Alexius pauses. "Anything?"
The old men nod enthusiastically and look as if they're about to prostrate themselves before him and the Council. Ramaf stares at him in betrayal; Alexius fights to ignore his glare as he says, "The solution would involve subordinating Muxal before us. You would be a Protectorate. Of course," he says hastily, "you would still have autonomy, you would choose your own leaders—"
"Done," Amil says, and Ciofo nods enthusiastically. "Protectorate, Union, it doesn't matter, sir, just please give us your help, please, sir..."
Alexius blinks. He had a whole speech drafted in his head, defending the Protectorate. That was easy, he thinks. He puts on another show of staring into the distance before speaking: "Come to this spot tomorrow morning. When you sign the charter, Muxal will be a Protectorate of Sarfan. Then we will send Iron Combine soldiers and masons to you, so that you may defend yourselves with us."
"Thank you, sir," the old men say, their eyes brimming with tears of joy, "blessed be your name in Heaven, Alexius, thank you, truly, thank you—"
"That's enough," says Alexius, flustered, and gestures to the door, through which the delegates exit hastily, still saying thanks as they leave the hall. Ramaf whirls around to face Alexius. "What the hell was that? I thought we agreed that we couldn't defend them! Spayer here—" he points to the armorer, who looks equally upset "—he said that there weren't nearly enough Iron Combine soldiers to patrol even half of Muxal—"
"We have a riot on our hands almost every day, Alexius," Spayer says, his face dark, "we can barely keep them down as is, to reduce the number we already have is nothing short of ridiculous—"
"Muxal's less than three hundred blocks from Market Hane, you know that, right?" Hava Yal interrupts, pointing aggressively to the map on the table and drawing nods from Virod. "They'll be pissed to hell about this, are you trying to provoke them—"
"Maybe I am," Alexius snaps. "Look, we can't go at them first, we need some sort of justification—they're already trying to sabotage us, we might as well—don't give me that look, Hava Yal... and didn't we agree that the main reason people fight in the streets is because they don't understand our laws?"
"Yes, but the Common Law isn't anywhere near finished—"
"Listen to me! Forget all that, what we need above everything else right now—anyone here know what it even is we're trying to do here?" Alexius throws up his hands. "Don't you see? We can't best the Pillagers until we unite everything—no, everyone—under our banner, one great village, a league of villages..."
"You and your empire again—"
"Trust me with this one, Ramaf! We'll never beat anything other than little patrols until we can unite everyone across the Plains—"
"—which is why we need to maintain order here before going out to assert—"
Alexius slams his fist on the table. "Enough. Muxal is the first step. That's final."
Spayer and Ramaf throw up their hands. "Unbelievable," Spayer says, and the two of them stand up. Alexius stands, too: "So you won't help us? You—"
"Of course I'll help you," Ramaf says, his hand on the door, "but—" he points to Alexius as he steps out "—don't expect us to take the blame when this goes to hell!"
Slam. Alexius sighs and slumps in his chair. He suddenly feels incomprehensibly tired, worn out. "Why can't they just listen for once..."
"You could try listening as well sometimes," mutters Arter, and Alexius shoots him a glance. "Not helpful." The mason shrugs as he shuffles around his diagrams and schematics. "I say it as I see it, Alexius."
Alexius sighs deeply and sinks deeper in his chair. So much to do, he thinks, so little time... He glances out of his window and sees Spayer and Ramaf speaking amongst themselves, joined by Hava Yal, who's stormed out as well. They mean well, he thinks, and his anger subsides a little. True, they mean the best.
But they don't know the best, Alexius says to himself. If only they could see his vision...
He groans and gestures to Virod. "Bring me Saracid," he mutters.