4.10 The Diplomat

Alright, It's 1 in the morning, so I can't promise the edits are clean. I'll go over it again tomorrow, but in the meantime, here's a chapter for you!

Edit 5/21 -- I did another round of editing on it and am significantly happier with how it turned out.

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The next morning, Bernt rose early to begin the long hike down the endless stair toward Norhold, stopping only to grab a loaf of fresh, still-warm bread stuffed with a mixture of fruits and herbs at the communal kitchen area where the acolytes were just setting up. The flavor combination was unfamiliar, but it tasted incredible. No one in Halfbridge would ever consider putting mint and… was that lavender?...  into what was essentially a fruit salad in a loaf of bread.

With the Conclave starting tomorrow, Bernt would probably be spending a lot of time hiking up and down these stairs. It was his responsibility to ensure that Count Narald and Iriala knew what was going on, and to do what he could to ensure that their interests were represented in some manner. Of course, plenty of other Beseri legitimators would be doing the same—often with the same interests in mind. Still, the assignment felt vague at best. The guild, and Besermark as a whole, couldn’t afford a full-scale war – at least not one so bloody that it cost the lives of a generation of mages. And somehow, he was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen.

Bernt knew that his influence was ultimately limited, of course. There was only so much he could do. Magister Pollock, his wizard mentor, had even advised him not to bother, offering only a token effort and letting the Conclave take its course while he focused on his sorcery. But the situation had changed. Most of the Halfbridge delegation had been killed, and something strange was going on with how the Temple of Noruk had treated Torvald. How could he ignore that?

Fortunately, Archmage Iriala had thrown him a lifeline of sorts. Besides going to see his friends and checking his mail, Bernt was going down to Norhold to meet his new ally from the guild, Minister Jesra. She hadn’t sent a response to his message up the mountain, but that was fine. Most likely, she just hadn’t come up here in the intervening days.

Getting down the mountain was quite a bit faster than going up, but that didn’t make it fun. Bernt’s knees ached by the time he reached the foot of the mountain. He was still sore from yesterday and he sincerely hoped he could spend most of the rest of the day sitting down. After all, he still had to go back up today if he wanted to be there for the start of the Conclave in the morning.

When he arrived at the guild, the place looked even busier than last time. A line extended out of the Scryers’ Office’s door, made up of a mix of mages, foreign-looking people who were probably other legitimators, and locals looking to send or receive messages. That could wait, for now. 

Ignoring the crowd, Bernt nodded to the same receptionist he’d spoken to last time and took the stairs up to the next floor, looking for the door that he’d slipped a note under last time he was here.

He found it standing wide open. Stepping into the opening, Bernt reached up to knock, but the room’s only occupant was already looking up at him from her desk. 

Minister Jesra’s eyes flicked from his robes to his face before returning to the paper in front of her, the scritching noise of her antiquated quill pen continuing uninterrupted the entire time. A few seconds later, she put the odd writing implement down and rose wearing a professionally polite expression, her back straight.

“You’re the underkeeper legitimator from Halfbridge—Underkeeper Bernard?”

She was a tiny human woman, barely taller than a gnome, and she was younger than he’d expected. Judging by her appearance, she couldn’t be much older than Uriah. If she represented the king to a foreign government, she had to be either incredibly well connected or a highly skilled diplomat. Probably both. 

He returned her polite smile and stepped inside.

“Just Bernt, please. You’re Minister Jesra? Archmage Iriala asked me to work with you to represent the guild’s interests at the Conclave. I left you a note the other day – I wanted to see if you had time to discuss the situation before things kick off tomorrow.” 

She nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat and sinking back down into her own. “Yes, I received similar instructions. I’m actually relieved that we have another legitimator from the guild here, even if you are a bit of an… unusual choice. If you’re willing, you’ll be responsible for keeping me apprised of what’s going on up there while I handle the more delicate diplomatic and political work down here.”

Bernt blinked. “How? You’re staying here the whole time? Don’t you want to talk directly to temple representatives? And aren’t most of the other legitimators up there as well?”

Even as he said it, though, Bernt realized that wasn’t true. After all, he was the only legitimator staying at the Temple of Ruzinia. Doreen lived at the temple full-time, and it was possible that Song hadn’t brought one, but the Illurian priest wouldn’t have come alone, at least.

“Sure, maybe most of them,” Jesra said, shrugging. “But they don’t really matter. The most important legitimators are here—paying their respects to the duke at court. There are proprieties to be observed, after all. I’ve already opened channels with several high-ranking Madzhuri nobles, the second prince of Illuria and a Kallrixian senator who was appointed as a legitimator. The temples pretend like they are monoliths, but their priests are regular people with loyalties and interests just like anybody else. More than that, the patronage relationships of the Invigilation’s four gods to our countries make any real distinction between normal politics and the religious squabbling that’s going on up there irrelevant. It’s all intertwined, and I can exert far more influence on politicians than I can priests.”

Seeing Bernt’s skeptical look, she turned and snatched up a familiar-looking note—the same one he’d written to her the other day—and waved it in his face. “This is a perfect example, right here. The pattern was already emerging, but Sir Torvald’s experience here just confirms it. There’s a smear campaign going on against Besermark and King Renias’ family in particular, led by legitimators from Madzhur and more generally the priesthood of Noruk.”

Bernt nodded, taking her point. Noruk had been revered in the Madurian Empire as the unifier of humanity—the god who united the few small bastions of human civilization and forged them into an empire that dominated the continent and pushed their influence even across the sea. Madzhur today was only a pale shadow of what it had once been, but its people hadn’t forgotten their history. In a way, their culture and traditions were a direct reflection of their patron god. Of course they would be aligned politically.

“So… you think Madzhur and the temple of Noruk are conspiring against us.” Bernt concluded with a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What does that mean? What do we do?”

Jesra waved a hand at him and shook her head. “Let me worry about all that. Just focus on getting all of the latest gossip from up on the mountain. I need to know what each temple is pushing for, and the names of any influential legitimators that are staying up there. Do not try to talk to the Madzhuri legitimators or those priests yourself. Just be friendly to everyone and keep your ear to the ground. See what people are talking about and don’t get involved in anyone’s business.”

“You just want me to be a glorified messenger?” Bernt protested. He didn’t mind playing a supporting role, but he couldn’t help feeling that he was being sidelined here. “I was expecting a little more… involvement. Besides, we’re already involved. Everyone wants to know what happened—both with the attack on the city, and the ambush on the road. Torvald and I are the only people up there who were there. Blowing them off will make us look like we’re hiding things.”

“I’m aware of that,” she replied impatiently. “Just do your best—ask lots of questions and keep responses short and honest or they’ll run circles around you. I understand that the young Ruzinian is a distant relative to the king, but please try to impress upon him the need to avoid providing any potential adversaries with information they can use against us. Neither of you are prepared for this and you shouldn’t have been in this position, with most of your delegation dead, to begin with.” She met his eyes and tapped the table with a finger for emphasis. “This is an important job. I need you to trust me when I tell you that I am putting you to good use. The more information we can gather, the better we can prepare.”

Bernt wanted to argue. The Underkeepers deserved more respect than she was offering and besides, he wasn’t just an Underkeeper. But, if his few weeks of intensive study under Iriala had taught him anything, it was that he was out of his depth here. He wanted Jesra’s help, and she was offering it. So, swallowing down his initial response, he nodded.

“Okay. Do you know if there’s a messenger service up there? I’m not sure how much time I’ll have left to gossip with priests if I hike up and down the mountain every single day.”

“Every… what? No, no, don’t do that.” Frowning, Jesra opened a drawer under her desk and rummaged around in it, pulling out a small object. “Here. We’re mages, aren’t we? I can manage a short-range scrying spell. Just put that next to your correspondence. I’ll check it at noon and at sunset.” 

Bernt accepted the proffered item—a small rock with a few numbers carved into it and a flat, broken face on one side. The mobile scrying anchor would allow the mage holding its other half to locate it and view its immediate surroundings. The range of the spell was limited only by the caster’s skill. Scrying with props like this was the simplest way for mages to communicate, and relatively common even among Academy students. Bernt hadn’t even considered it as an option, though. Back at the Academy, he’d never even managed to make this spell work outside his own line of sight. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“Thank you. I’ll come down every few days for feedback and to hear how things are going on your end.” It was a tacit admission that he couldn’t scry her responses in turn. Bernt tried to remind himself that there wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. Many skilled mages had few weak disciplines, after all.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you here in a few days, then,” Jesra said blandly, dipping her quill pen and turning back to her letter in dismissal.

He left, his face burning. She hadn’t said anything, accepting his limitations as a matter of course. Somehow, that only made it worse.

***

Bernt was in a sour mood as he approached the Inn where his friends were staying. His meeting with Jesra had left a bad taste in his mouth. 

It wasn’t that it hadn’t been productive. Finally, Bernt had a clear and achievable task ahead of him. No, it was the way it had been made clear and achievable that bothered him. Jesra had sidelined him, taking responsibility off of his shoulders and essentially putting him where she thought he would do the least harm. She was polite, even helpful, but she’d still treated him as a stereotypical Underkeeper first and a fellow legitimator second.

That was demeaning, but the worst part was that Bernt couldn’t help but feel like she might be right. He’d come a long way in a short time, but he understood the political landscape here in only the broadest strokes. What was he doing here? Why had Iriala even tried to prepare him, if he had so little to contribute?

Still brooding, Bernt stepped into the Inn. There, at the same table where he’d found Uriah last time, sat Nirlig, Elyn and Regin. The young baron spotted him first and waved energetically.

“He lives!” he called out, elbowing Nirlig to get his attention and then signalling the barman before turning back to Bernt. “Sit down! I’ll buy you lunch.”

Putting his worries aside for the moment, Bernt grinned. It was good to see some familiar faces.

Nirlig rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t quite suppress his own smile. “Don’t mind him, he’s been gloating for weeks. Regin insisted you were alive since before we even got to Goldwater. He found a butterfly on Uriah’s staff at dawn, or something. He hasn’t shut up since we got the news.”

“We do still want to hear the story from you, though,” Elyn added. “What happened? Did you really hunt down a bunch of demons and cultists by yourself?”

“Well,” Bernt scoffed, “only if you’d call getting ambushed a hunt. It wasn’t really as fun as you’re making it sound.” 

He exchanged stories with his friends until the food arrived. Regin had apparently been at the city’s temple to Balarian, hoping to build trade connections for his barony. He’d also talked to Olias about introducing him to Duke Renhild, but the old man hadn’t arranged a meeting yet. Elyn and Nirlig, on the other hand, had been working with Estrid and the goblin adventurers, taking quests at the local guild to earn some money while they waited in the city.

Just as Bernt started in on his encounter with Minister Jesra, the door opened and Olias strode in. He moved energetically and Bernt noticed for the first time that the he’d lost quite a bit of weight since he’d first met him in Locholme. Unlike the last time Bernt had seen him, he was also sober and his eyes were sharp as they locked onto him.

“Ah, you’re here!” he said, smiling as he approached the table, a little out of breath. “That’s good. Perfect. I left instructions at the Mages’ Guild, but you were gone by the time I got there. They should have asked you to wait.”

Bernt blinked, frowning up at the man in confusion.

“I didn’t check in at the front desk. Who would have… What? Why were you at the guild?”

“Well, Uriah wanted to have a chat with Lady Katrin about her Mirian novels to see if he could borrow the others, supposedly. I arranged it with Renhild—he’s an old friend of mine—and we got to talking about it and your new sorcery… situation over dinner last night.” Olias began. As he continued, though, he slowed down, as if unsure. “His court mage was there, a younger fellow named Dalbrand. Anyway, he got very excited. Apparently he’s heard of you – I had no idea you were so famous! There was a lot of talk about the military and the war… I had a lot of wine, I don’t remember all the details—” he cut off, shaking his head an then waved at Bernt impatiently. “What are you still doing just sitting there? Get up!”

Bernt rose automatically, still trying to work out what was going on. “So, the duke’s court mage wants to talk to me? About sorcery?”

“Dalbrand? Well, yes, him too, of course. Come on!”