Siege State

The Council Chambers were smaller than Tom had expected. Big enough to seat maybe a few hundred people. They were certainly stately though. Tom couldn’t help but be intimidated walking in.

The floors were marble, polished to a gloss. All of the furniture was ironwood, almost black, and every inch of it polished too. High, narrow windows let shafts of light stream in. The atmosphere carried the half-awake feel of an old library, wavering between gloomy and merely sleepy.

Chairs arranged in a great semi circle, ten rows deep and twenty or so across, filled half the room, and were separated from the other half by an ironwood bannister, intricately carved.

Tom was shown down the central aisle with Val by the clerk. They opened a small door in the bannister and ushered them through to a desk, bidding them to sit. Tom could hear the audience seating behind him filling up, but his attention was captured by the Council podium ahead.

A desk, carved from a single, massive piece of ironwood, dominated the rest of the room from a raised platform. Eighteen grand, high-backed seats stood ready behind it. The whole room radiated power like heat, and the enormous desk was the flame.

Tom turned to check the audience. His father and mother were sitting almost directly behind him, at the front, to one side of the aisle. Both looked utterly serious. Neither gave him anything more than a flat look. He gulped, trying to find his centre. Val squeezed his hand.

“You’ll be fine, Tom,” she reassured him. “Just be calm and you’ll be fine.”

He nodded at her, grateful for her comforting words. He actually felt a little calmer.

They waited nervously for some minutes more, and the audience continued to fill. It slowed to a trickle when it was about half full.

Word must have spread somehow, Tom thought. This many people wouldn’t turn up just to hear I’ve manifested. The Council must have invited the families of those in my unit, at least. Interested Nobles for the rest, I reckon.

All of a sudden the doors to the entrance hall boomed as they closed. Tom started slightly. The chatter in the audience ebbed and died. A small door to one side of the great desk, at the back of the chamber, opened, and figures began to file out.

There were eighteen members of the Council, three from each of the main factions in Wayrest. The Artisans, the Guard, the Church, and the Healers were all represented.

Tom tried not to goggle as the Archbishop of Truth shuffled out, resplendent in her pure white regalia. Two bishops followed her, their offices clear from the relative size of their huge white hoods and the amount of gold embroidery on them.

A small, unremarkable woman came next, also wearing white, although her dress was in the style of the Healers. She looked to be about fifty. Tom wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a crowd, if it wasn’t for her depictions being so common in Wayrest. Gauze was her name. She had stopped a plague in its tracks single handedly, commandeering a building for healing people, and instituting broad new public health measures. Since then she had worked tirelessly for the people of Wayrest, through both hands-on healing and reforms. Between the nature of her Ideals, and the tier they must be at, she was said to be approaching two hundred years old. Two more Healers trailed after her.

Three Artisans came next, all dressed exceedingly finely. Crafts as a trade when you had Ideals to help your work was lucrative, to say the least. None looked like strangers to hard work, although Tom would be surprised if any of them worked much themselves, now that they were on the Council. He’d bet an arm that all of them had a dozen journeymen running their day-to-day operations.

After the Artisans came the Nobles, utterly dripping with wealth. Tom could sense the mana radiating off their clothes from where he sat. It was a ludicrous expense to have formal wear enchanted. Enchanters were so rare that their time was usually reserved for more practical items. A very well off smith might have an enchanted apron or hammer, the most exclusive restaurant might have some enchanted cookware, and, of course, combat Idealists all strove to have their gear enchanted.

Tom recognised the three Nobles. They were the oldest and most prestigious Houses in Wayrest.

Lady Stone, a large woman, both tall and wide, and more than a little chubby too. The only thing she cared about was increasing the competitiveness of Wayrest’s quarries. A difficult task, given the quality and quantity of the stone produced at nearby Horizon. It was a personal matter for her, though, as she had interests in all of Wayrest’s quarry and mine operations.

Lord Ember, a thin, frail old man, who would have looked comical buried in so many layers of robes, were it not for his eyes like coals, burning in deep sockets in his gaunt face. He had a reputation for fairness, in that he doled out an equal amount of spite to everyone. Although nominally a Noble, he was an ex-Guard captain too, and tended to side with them. Most of his House found employment with the Guard, given their proclivity towards fiery Ideals.

Lastly, Lord Hammer. He was an average man, of average build and looks. A far cry from his House progenitor, the singularly enormous man from legend. The current Lord Hammer was by all accounts a mild man, someone who cared for both his House and the people of Wayrest, and took his role as councilman seriously.

Seven Guards entered, four wearing full armour and carrying halberds. They dispersed to the corners of the Chambers. Their leader, Lord General Steel, and his two majors, all in their crisp military uniforms, marched to their seats. They moved with the self-assured air of men who’ve spent hundreds of hours in combat, and thousands of hours drilling for it. The Lord General was one of the most dangerous men in Wayrest.

Lord General Grahn Steel was famous in Wayrest and beyond. He had manifested at eight, almost the earliest anyone ever had in Wayrest, and had his fall by the time he’d turned nine. A lethal combination: Steel, Force and Hammer. The Steel family were old and well respected, noble, but in the lower echelons as such things go. Alternately smiths and soldiers - Artisans or Guards when they manifested - they were unassuming as a House. Until Grahn dragged them to prominence.

He had spent his childhood both training and smithing. He had secured a promissory place in the Guard by the time he was sixteen. By the time he turned eighteen, and joined them, he had grown to over six and a half feet tall, with shoulders to match.

Once he joined the Guard he began his meteoric rise to General. He did well fighting off several attacks on the outer rings, and was rotated closer in to Wayrest, and eventually to Wayrest city itself. An attack by a massive wood golem destroyed most of a village, and he was portalled out to it in the response unit.

The golem immediately killed his whole unit. It was large on a scale previously unheard of; it must have spent years, decades, in the Deep, slowly growing. Steel killed it. He was still the only person to have ever single handedly taken down a village-killer.

He had fought thousands of monsters since. Saved countless villagers’ lives. He was directly responsible for saving at least three other villages from being wiped out. He was a hero. Only the “Lord” of Blood, the notorious Hunter, could claim to have killed anywhere near as many monsters as the General and expect to be taken seriously.

Steel sat in his chair and stared at him and Val like a bird assessing whether a crumb was fit to eat. It was incredibly unnerving. Even Val would not meet his gaze.

There were another three seats for those they called Administrators too; the people who ran the Schools. Director Steppenson was a Council member, and he walked to his chair now. Tom didn’t know who the other two Administrators were.

All told, the Council leaned heavily towards the richer interests in town. Aside from the three Nobles, half of the Guard, Artisan, Church, and Healer representatives were Noble too. Every single councilmember was an Idealist.

They settled in their seats, some shuffling papers about, some staring at Tom curiously, others looking bored. He fought the urge to wriggle in his seat, to straighten his coat or brush down his pants. His heart began to beat faster.

A man stepped from the door. He was dressed in a neat green and brown coat. A large, golden medallion hung on his chest, fashioned in the shape of several concentric rings - the symbol of Wayrest. He carried an ironwood staff, taller than he was, tiny enchantments winding around its length. They seemed to whisper to Tom, and he stared at them with open curiosity.

He strode to the front of the desk and faced the audience. The council members stilled, and Archbishop White cleared her throat softly.

The man struck the stone floor once with his staff. All sound in the hall stopped like it had been sucked out of the room with a straw.

“A Hearing of the Council has been called to determine a matter brought to their attention by one Val Carver,” he pronounced. “Namely, the alleged presence of orcs in the Deep Green.”

Not a peep from the audience. Must be some kind of noise-dampening enchantment on that staff, Tom concluded.

The man paused for a long moment, then continued, “This Hearing of the Council is now in session.” And he struck his staff on the stone again, and sound returned to the room. He moved to stand to one side of the chamber.

“Silence,” said Lady Stone, her voice ringing out with finality across the room.

The other council members focused as one on Tom and Val. The combined weight of their stares made him want to shrink in his seat. Some of their stares had an almost physical weight, and Tom was certain some must have perception skills they were using. The only thing propping him up was his father’s stare boring into his back.

“This is a most unsettling claim,” said Archbishop White. Her face was deathly serious. “Two days ago, a Hunter, one Val Carver, returned from the Deep with a survivor of the unit that was recently destroyed in the Reaping, one Tom Cutter.”

She cleared her throat gently. Looked around at the audience. Tom swore he could hear heartbeats in the audience. He could definitely hear his.

“Ms. Carver claims to have rescued Master Cutter from an attack by orcs. We are here to decide the truth of these claims,” finished White.

Immediately the audience began to shuffle and murmur. For that matter, the council members did as well.

“Silence,” Stone called again, and the chamber fell quiet. “Miss Carver, could you please recount for us your tale?”

Val gave Tom a quick glance, then stood from her chair.

“Honoured Council,” she began. “I had just finished a delve, and resupplied at Corin’s Grove. I returned to the Deep the next morning. After midday I heard the sounds of fighting. Having heard about the unit lost in the Reaping while resupplying, I ran to help.” She stopped, as if unsure as to how to phrase what she saw.

“Please, continue,” Lord Hammer said, regarding her with interest.

Val nodded. “I found Master Cutter fighting for his life. Against …orcs.”

The chamber exploded into a hubbub of noise. Disbelieving and derisive, panicked and shrill, righteous and angry. The deluge fed off itself, growing, until it snapped like a thread at the tap of the silencing staff.

“We will have order in the Chambers,” the Speaker said. He paused for a full minute to allow the audience to collect themselves. For that matter, some of the council members looked to be struggling.

“Please, continue, Ms Carver.” and the staff struck stone once more.

Val’s voice was steady as she spoke into the new silence. “As I said, orcs. Red and wild, tusked and fanged, just like the stories. I’d have trouble believing it too if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“There were half a dozen or so. It looked as though they had already been fighting for some minutes. Master Cutter was tackled to the ground as I came upon them. When I intervened, the remaining orcs fled back into the Deep,” she finished.

The words fell into quiet, but the room swelled and turned and swayed, like an in-drawn breath taken to steady oneself against dizziness.

“Nonsense -” “- can’t be -” “- Hunter, not to be trusted..” The council members babbled over each other in a scornful burble. Val stood still, her mouth slightly open, a look of confusion on her face as the council dismissed her story out of hand.

“Truth,” said Archbishop White, her voice cutting through the hubbub. The council, the audience, stuttered, the wind in their sails guttering and dying as they registered White’s proclamation. The Archbishop of Truth was notorious for having a skill for sifting falsehoods from facts.

No one spoke, all at a loss for how to continue. Tom could see the council members’ minds working furiously, looking for some flaw, some way to regain momentum, a way to posture or profit. The murmur of the audience began to rise again. Lord Ember cut them off.

“Ms. Carver believes she saw Master Cutter being set upon by orcs,” he clarified. “Discounting the fact that they were exterminated thousands of years ago, to suggest this boy might have fought off over half a dozen of them alone - absurd.”

“It is the creed of every Idealist to do the impossible,” said Lord General Steel. “Although I find it likely Ms. Carver has mistakenly identified the assailants.”

“What proof do you have, aside from your word, Ms Carver?” Lord Ember said around a snide look.

“None,” she replied simply. “Master Cutter here was near death. I had no idea if there were more orcs nearby, let alone the usual creatures of the Deep. I thought it best to get the lad back here for help as quickly as possible. It is well known that the Church of Truth is named so for a good reason. Do you doubt the Archbishop, Lord Ember?”

“Perhaps we should ask his story before we make any further judgments,” Director Steppenson said mildly, cutting off Ember, who had a face like a thunderhead. “Master Cutter…?”

Tom stood, surprised to find his legs solid underneath him. Val gave him a reassuring nod as she sat. Tom felt like he stood at the lip of a yawning canyon, and he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Cutter,” Lord Ember sneered.

Tom steeled himself, and launched into his story.