4.18 To Kick a Hornet's Nest

I realized as I was writing this that I overzealously cut out 2 bits of exposition from earlier chapters that I'll need to write back in for RR. I had a feeling I was being too slash-happy. I'm terribly sorry and will point you to the appropriate sections when I get them put up. For context in this chapter they are namely 1.) that representatives from Noruk are being oddly underzealous about getting the fight against the Duergar rolling and 2.) that loud and powerful voices in Madzhur see the demonic destruction of Loamfurth as an appropriate fate for a country with such a tolerant stance toward warlocks.

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“We’re always looking to make friends in faraway places, of course,” the richly dressed Illurian woman said with a broad smile. “I hear that Halfbridge has quite a remarkable leather industry. If you know anybody involved there, I’d love to meet them. We’re an underserved market, you see.”

The woman had introduced herself but Bernt had already forgotten her name again. She was the trade minister of one of Illuria’s smaller islands, and served as legitimator to a priest of Balarian. Bernt wasn’t a merchant and he didn’t think he looked like one, but as it turned out that didn’t matter. He was the only one from Halfbridge here, so of course everyone who was here to make trade connections with his hometown inevitably came to him.

“Look,” he said for what had to be the fifth time in the last three days, “I don’t really have any connections to our Mercantile guild, and this is really their area. You should just send a representative up the river to us, I’m sure they’d be glad to work with you.”

“Hmpf,” she scoffed. “I’m not going to trade with those rent-seeking vultures. We believe in personal relationships and supporting free, independent suppliers. While your guilds might hold trade in a chokehold within your borders, there’s nothing illegal about setting up profitable international relationships. Come on, I can make it worth your while!”

Bernt sighed. “I can ask around, maybe? I don’t – ”

Shouts echoed out of the Hall of Witnesses, and they both turned to look. Priests boiled out, some trying to leave in an orderly fashion as others shoved forward, shouting to get the attention of their waiting legitimators.

Bernt couldn’t make out what it was about, but he guessed this was Torvald’s doing – his and the cultist’s. He felt almost gratefuly for the interruption, whatever it was, and excused himself  to see what it was about.

Sure enough, his friend and the other Ruzinians came out a few moments later, clustered in a tight knot around Ranna. A few people followed them, including an irate, balding priest of Balarian who tried to reach over Doreen to snatch at the woman. Faster than the eye could follow, Song reached up and pushed the man’s arm off course, leaving him to grab at nothing but empty air. A moment later, the older man appeared to trip over his own feet, landing heavily on the ground with a loud grunt.

A familiar-looking priestess of Noruk followed at a safer distance and pointed at the group, shouting something unintelligible. A tall, uniformed man leapt up from another group of legitimators right next to Bernt and moved to get in Torvald’s way. Seeing this, Bernt adjusted his own course to cut the man off, shouldering in front of him while pretending that he hadn’t noticed him coming up alongside him. He heard a grunt from behind him, then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, roughly spinning him around.

Bernt looked up, disoriented at the sudden escalation only to realize that he recognized the man. This was the same soldier who’d given him the stink-eye on his first day here, when he and Torvald had gone to register their arrival and the news had broken of the death of most of Halfbridge’s delegation.

“You again!” he growled, sounding just as surprised. “What in the hells are you up to?”

There wasn’t time for this. Torvald and the others were already past, but the man’s attention was on Bernt, now. Whatever was going on here, he didn’t think he wanted to have a conversation with this guy about it. Especially considering that he didn’t actually know what was happening. He tried to shake off the man’s hand, but was rewarded only with an even tighter grip on his shoulder as the soldier’s glare sharpened. With a grimace, Bernt glared back and released his hold on the tiny sorcerous channels feeding mana into his flesh.

“Back off!”

A look of surprise flashed over the man’s features and a second later he let go with a low hiss that quickly transitioned to a string of curses as he shook his hand. He should have let go immediately – now he was going to need a healing potion. Glancing around to make sure he hadn’t drawn too much attention, Bernt hurried after the retreating Ruzinians. Most people here were just milling around, trying to figure out what the big deal was. Several of the priests were obviously incensed, shouting angrily about respect for their country and about the sacrifices of their ancestors. Looking back one more time, Bernt found the priestess who had called out before staring right at him. Her jaw was set and she glared as if he’d done something to her personally. 

Bernt turned the corner and jogged to catch up with the group. That was just great – she'd remember his face, now. He reached the others at the foot of the stairs leading up to their peak and tapped Song, who was taking up the rear, on the shoulder.

“Hey, what happened in there? Half of the priests coming out of there acted like you just declared war on them personally.”

Song looked back to flash Bernt a quick smile. “The truth is often painful to hear. Your martial brother has reminded them that their cooperation is not truly required for us to take action. They argue too much over who will lead and who will profit while disregarding the true purpose of our meeting – to cooperate against a grave threat. They had forgotten that, if cooperation failed, we could and would simply act on our own.” Then, he tilted his head to the side in consideration. “He also implied that Madzhur is harboring one of the largest demonic cults on the continent in their capital city of Matar.”

Bernt missed a step and nearly fell on his face before catching himself.

“What?”

Song nodded seriously. “In my culture, such an accusation would be considered a mortal insult. I counseled against it, but Doreen assures me that such things are interpreted differently here.”

Bernt wasn’t so sure that was true. Madzhur prided itself on its harsh stance against warlocks and its people had little tolerance for aberrant behavior of any kind. Suggesting that their clerics were too incompetent or complacent to enforce their own most sacred laws was a slap in the face. They didn’t have solicitors, which meant the Madzhuri clerics here – especially any high-ranking ones – were the very people responsible for finding and eliminating cultist activity in their country.

Torvald and Ranna hadn’t just pointed out that Madzhur was vulnerable to the Duergar, they’d publicly called out and potentially humiliated some of the most important people here.

“Song,” he called after the cultivator, who had begun heading up the stairs again. “Wait! Why did he do that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” he called back. “Why else? Our allies bicker while their house burns. Is it wrong to point to the fire?”

***

“Are they going to come up here after us?” Bernt asked, peeking down the stairs out of the front door of the temple. “I thought they were about to start pulling out weapons for a moment down there.”

So far, they’d been left alone, but he wasn’t so sure that would last. Down below he could see people going about their business, though every once in a while he could see a messenger jogging along, probably to bring news down to Norhold. Still, that soldier hadn’t hesitated to lay hands on him at the say so of a single priestess – he couldn’t have even known what it was about, yet.

“They can’t,” Doreen explained with a small, satisfied smile. The cultist had retreated to her room with the Illurian priestess, Margo, leaving the rest of them in the sanctuary. “Ruzinia gave her sanctuary, which none of them will dare to challenge. Besides, we formally inducted Ranna as an acolyte last night. Acolytes don’t work for any specific god, so traditionally all of the temples are responsible for her safety and wellbeing. Any angry Madzhuri nobles among the legitimators will have to go through the temples to try to censure her for ‘lying’, and that’s not going to get them anywhere. Madzhur is a big country, but they still only make up about a third of the people here. They would need to make a very compelling argument.”

Bernt very much doubted they were just going to let this go. Sure, rules and procedures could provide some protection, but that didn’t mean they were going to hold up to the collective grudge of a nation’s worth of people. 

Torvald must have seen the doubt on his face.

“Relax. This is a good thing. We’ve publicly exposed the threat in their own cities – they can’t ignore it now. There’s no way that there haven’t been rumors and demon sightings with a cult as big as the one Ranna described. She was exactly what we needed. Everyone at this Conclave was treating the Duergar invasion as a faraway kind of threat, more of an opportunity than a real danger – despite the fact that their own gods called them here!” Torvald’s voice rose as he spoke, releasing days of pent up frustration. “Not anymore! Now, the dowager queen will be forced to launch an investigation in her own capital to quell the rumors. And, since it’s the same cult as the one supporting the Duergar…”

“Ah,” Bernt perked up, catching on. “They’ll have to be more proactive about fighting the demonic threat in Besermark, as well as the Duergar. That’s good!” But… something still bothered him about this. It didn’t match what he’d learned from Jesra about the Temple of Noruk and Madzhur at all. “I thought the Temple of Noruk and Madzhur was supposed to be eager to lead the fight. Why were they dragging their feet to begin with? I thought we would have to work to keep them from launching an all-out attack against the entire Duergar Empire in the Depths.” 

That was, after all, what high priest Hannis had wanted to do in the first place.

“We don’t know,” Song replied. “All the representatives of the Temple of Noruk, and Madzhuri representatives of other temples who have spoken in the Hall of Witnesses have called for war. They just… lacked urgency. None put forth practical measures or any kind of timeline. When other did so, they quibbled, asking logistical questions and making theological arguments about the Conclave’s process and procedures. They were stalling. Now, they can’t.”

Bernt frowned, considering. “Maybe, but that’s not necessarily good, either. If they get more aggressive, are we still going to get the opportunity to try to make diplomatic contact with the Duergar Empire? What if they actually do go down into the Depths and start attacking Duergar outside of King Grundrik’s realm – wherever that even is?”

Torvald shrugged. “It’s a risk, but the other temples still get a vote. I can’t imagine any of the Temples agreeing to launch a war without attempting diplomacy, or at least trying to minimize its scope. For all we know, this Grundrik and his warlocks are a rebel faction, or maybe the Empire has broken up and there are other Duergar states down there – potential allies, even. Blindly striking at them would be idiocy, and Noruk isn’t the god of fools, even if some of his clerics seem to act like it sometimes.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bernt agreed, getting up. “I need to write up my report for Minister Jesra. She’s due to check in soon, and she’ll want to prepare a response before all those messengers running down the mountain reach Norhold.” 

He wasn’t sure what the rest of the conclave was going to bring, but he seriously doubted he’d spend the next few days fending off trade inquiries now.