When Heroes Die

“One makes more appreciable gains through the failures of their enemies than through the successes of their allies.”

— Dread Empress Malicia

“Y’should stop pacing so we can start, Taylor.”

“Found a place for me yet?” I reached the panelled wall of the room, then turned and faced the seated redhead as I continued to pace.

“S’pose you’re not letting that go.”

“Definitely.”

“You’re gonna be up here whenever you’re working,” she huffed.

“Working and living are different. Yvie would feel uncomfortable. It’s why she is staying with Roland back in the city.”

“It is only appropriate for the captain to have quarters of her own,” Esme added from her table at the far end of the room.

I came to a stop behind Songbird at an artist’s rendition of a priest I didn’t recognize crowning one of the princes, then turned once again.

“Fine. I’ll find somewhere for you.”

“Good.”

“You should stop procrastinating,” Esme chastised.

“Speaking of Roland,” I ignored her good advice, “I know he’s spent a lot of money helping out. I’m sure the House of Light has some old magical artefacts confiscated and stored away somewhere. They’re probably accumulating dust and not doing much else. He’d put them to better use.”

Esme gave me a flat stare from the side.

“I’ll look into it. M’sure he’d appreciate the sentiment. Now, time’s wasting, Taylor. Lotsa people outside the door.”

“You really want me to leave the Holy Society alone?” I sighed.

“Y’know who they are. Means that you can control what they know.”

She raised her crystal wineglass off the table surface and gave me a salute with it, then took a small sip of the liquid within.

“Not if we give them positions of authority. They’re spies!” I stopped pacing.

“They’re also born nobles who have the skills that you need. ‘Sides, s’not as bad as you think.”

“Why?”

“They gave up their position in their family to serve the House of Light.”

“They still have prior loyalties.”

“Family ashore gives crew hope when faced with the darkest of storms. A split crew only matters when there is more than one captain aboard.”

“Think about what it means,” Songbird argued.

I stopped pacing and considered Songbird’s words. The Holy Society was not the same as Holies, although there was some overlap between both groups. It was an informal organization of former nobles within the House of Light who had — for one reason or another — renounced their noble title and joined the House of Light. Their members had no direct influence on official church policy unless they were also a member of the Holies. This was true even before I took over.

But… They had other problems.

They had existing loyalties to their families. I didn’t expect people to stop caring about their families because they joined the House of Light, but those families had so much power that it made matters complicated. Furthermore, Songbird had brought it to my attention that some of them served as informants to the nobility. Even though I wasn’t trying to keep my goals secret, I still didn’t like the idea of keeping somebody who was loyal to someone else so close to me. The idea of giving them a position of leadership was even worse.

There was more to it than that.

Some of them left their families due to bad blood. Others out of ambition. They were too low on the family totem pole and felt they could achieve more in the House of Light. A smattering of them joined the House of Light because they were genuinely faithful.

It left me conflicted when taken as a whole.

“Fine,” I sighed.

“Recall, Taylor, that the remaining candidates who are also members of the Holy Society showed themselves to be exemplary in the prior three stages of interviews. All of them have surpassed your expectations.”

“Come sit down,” Songbird pointed to the chair beside her.

I did as much.

Songbird stood up, dusted down her ankle length white dress, and proceeded to open the door.

The first of my potential advisors strolled in.

With close-cropped silver hair, an angular face and wily features, Brother Simon of Gorgeault looked like an aged fox. For someone who I guessed was in his early sixties, time had been kind to him. He was the leader of the Holy Society, and it was certain that he would share what he learned of me with friends of his among the nobility.

On the other hand… he dreamed of peace, and he was certain to be competent.

“Your presence brightens the house, Chosen,” the man sketched a bow.

“Morning.”

“Have you come to a decision regarding my eligibility for an advisory position?”

There were a few people who had excelled to a similar degree after the third round of interviews. I’d decided to take the top three in each category and spring their first actual major problem on them. All of them were talented enough that I would be happy with any of them advising me. I was doing the equivalent of dropping a natural disaster on top of them and seeing how they would handle it.

The one who performed best would be my final candidate.

“This is the rough draft of my planned hierarchy for the House of Light,” I pointed towards a pile of papers. “I want your opinion on it.”

Songbird picked it up and handed it to the man, then returned to her chair.

There were a tense few moments as he flicked through from one page to another.

“I foresee several issues with your proposal,” he began.

“Go on,” the tap of my boot against the cold stone floor rang out my impatience.

“The first is the conflation between positions of leadership and representatives for voting on overall House of Light mandate. Before I explain how I think you should resolve this, could you shed light on your intentions?”

I was about to retort that this was his chance to show what he could do and not his chance to interview me, but chose to bite back the words. Whoever ended up advising me would need to understand my intentions if they were to offer good advice. I needed to share my thoughts, even if I was predisposed to dislike the man due to his existing loyalties.

“I have the final word on all major decisions, but the day to day running of the House of Light is managed in each principality by the representatives. There are two representatives to create the opportunity for different perspectives from within the same principality to clash with each other. The representatives are elected from among the clergy in the capital city of each Principality.”

It would have been better to elect them from across the entire principality, but it was also not feasible to do. The people involved in the voting process would need a way to recognize the candidates, and there wasn’t an easy way to do that across such a wide area. The capitals had the most influence, which made them the best compromise.

I continued to lay out my reasoning. Brother Simon listened, his focus never wavering as I spoke.

It was a while before I finished talking, and my tongue was drier than a desert near the end.

“My first recommendation would be to issue a series of edicts declaring certain matters to be sacrosanct and beyond the authority of the elected representatives.”

“Example?”

“The representatives shouldn’t be permitted to address the Highest Assembly. Only you should maintain that right, or an appointed person that you trust to speak in your place. This would forestall them from using their ability to address the Highest Assembly as a tool to underwrite your own authority.”

It was a good point, but it was one that I had considered myself. I wanted to see if he brought anything new to the table. The problem with the idea was that implementing it would require a motion to be passed by the Highest Assembly that recognized me as the sole priest with the authority to approach them. There was nothing stopping them from approaching the Highest Assembly without my permission, unless the Highest Assembly itself acknowledged my authority.

I didn’t want to make rules that I couldn’t enforce.

“Anything else?”

“The representatives should be invested with the authority to appoint their own hierarchies within each Principality. The economy, politics, and culture of the Lycaonese principalities differs greatly from that of the Arlesite principalities. It would be folly to apply the same system to both regions. Limitations should be placed on how much power they could bestow upon others, but a leader needs to be able to delegate responsibility to others, and you cannot expect to govern the entire House of Light on your own.”

I wasn’t sure that I liked this idea. I’d already given representatives the ability to appoint a fixed selection of helpers into defined positions of authority. The representatives were tasked with the leadership of the House of Light within their own principality, but could not change the official policies without voting on them together at the annual meeting. Collecting taxes, ordering the construction of new infrastructure within budget constraints, maintaining existing infrastructure, trade negotiations, and similar duties all fell within the purview of the representatives and their allocated staff.

Any action which would place a significant strain on the House of Light’s coffers would require my approval first. This included ambitious civic projects, but was not limited to them. Large scale projects would remain within my purview for a while. The representatives were also incapable of adjusting taxation rates without making an appeal, or overturning any bans that I theoretically imposed on trading with unapproved outside factions.

The amount of minutiae involved in defining exactly who could do what was dizzying, and I knew that I needed help to look over it all.

“How about the budget?”

“I applied for the position of political advisor and not the position of financial advisor,” he replied, amused.

“Fair.”

“However, there is some criticism with regard to politics that intersects with financing which I believe that you need to be aware of,” he licked his lips then continued. “You have assigned representatives with numerous duties, but few privileges.”

“And you think this is a mistake,” I mused.

“Consider for a moment that the House of Light has thousands of priests counted among its ranks, but you are the only person who could make a credible claim at being a saint. I have not taken any oaths, and I am not alone in this. While the Servants of the Heavens should not concern themselves with the sentiments of mundane powers, and only that their acts are just in the eyes of Above, I fear that many do not.”

“Leadership is a responsibility, not a prize to be won.”

“The sentiment is shared, but the practical tarnishes my perspective. It is better for you to account for the nature of our fellow priests than to ignore it. I am not expecting for the rewards for the faithful to be as bountiful as they were under the tenure of the Holies. However, many among the priesthood will not serve in a position of authority if there is no additional benefit in doing so. You could enforce your dictates with force should you choose to act like a tyrant — indeed, I suspect that it may be the wiser course and the one I would likely follow — but it is laudable that you approach the challenge with more moderate intentions first.”

“The House of Light does not exist as an institution for the purpose of personal enrichment.”

“If you continue to hold others to the same standards that you set for yourself, Chosen, then there will not be a House of Light, only a House of One.”

You might be right about that, but it doesn’t mean that I have to like it.

“Your idea?”

“Incentives can come in many forms. I recommend considering the matter from at least two different approaches. The first would be setting aside a small portion of the overall budget for investing into indulgent expenditures. While the percentage of the House of Light’s total revenue it would account for would be small, the absolute value of it would be substantial. The second incentive would be to afford the leaders more privileges.”

“So you’re saying that I should just allow them access to a not insignificant amount of money for personal use?”

“That would be one possible interpretation of my suggestion,” Brother Simon sucked at a loose tooth before continuing. “You could also set aside the fund as a significant lump sum. The representatives would then vote on who is able to spend that sum once a year during the annual gathering. This would divert their attention towards fighting among themselves over a prize that has already been written off, rather than on attempting to undermine your authority.”

“Only the southern principalities would ever win.”

“I doubt that the north would care for it at all,” he shrugged. “If you intend for a more fair distribution of this fund, then you could cycle it between principalities on a twenty-four-year cycle, or divide it equally every year.”

Is there any benefit to doing this at all? This just seems like a way to sow strife.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Next, I suggest reducing the number of representatives per principality from two to one. Having only a single leader would increase the efficiency of the system by preventing any potential disagreements at the highest level of authority.”

It isn’t the highest level of authority. I am, and I can step in if squabbles ever boil over.

“You think that outweighs the benefits of having different perspectives?”

“There is nothing preventing those perspectives from being retained by insisting that the leader of each principality has advisors representing the interests of their people.”

“The advisors aren’t a direct challenge to their position of leadership, though.”

Is he right, or would more representatives be better? It would force all decisions to go through a coalition, which while requiring more work would be less prone to corruption.

“You should consider appointing the leaders of each Principality yourself, rather than requiring the priests of each capital city to elect them. The amount of paperwork organizing a vote like this would create is not insignificant, even when restricting the elections to occurring only once a decade and without insisting that every priest votes.”

I was hoping that Cordelia’s wizards managed to reverse engineer scrying. It would be a long time before it became commonplace, but having access to rapid communication would open the doors to proper voting, among other things.

“They can still make a more informed decision than I can.”

“Appointing them yourself would grant you a tighter degree of control. Those who were appointed would feel some measure of debt towards you, be less likely to turn on you, and have a higher chance of meeting whatever personal criteria you have for them.”

“That’s true.”

Is it worth it? I… don’t think so. Giving the priests the opportunity to vote on their leaders gives them the illusion of control. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t able to pass anything I disapprove of, if they can come to agreement on less pivotal matters of governance. Besides, I can step in if it becomes necessary. I’m more likely to make a bad choice when selecting leaders as well, because there is no way for me to spend enough time around all of them to learn who should be in charge.

“You must have dedicated an extensive amount of time towards outlining the process of removing representatives, considering how detailed it is. Your checks and balances in the form of both the inquisition, yourself and rival candidates are… adequate. However, the lack of a procedure to appoint another leader to your own position is an oversight which it is imperative that you correct.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

Brother Simons gave me a flat look.

“There will come times when you need to travel, or are otherwise indisposed, and another individual will be required to fill your shoes. This would remain true even if you were immortal.”

“Okay.”

Brother Simon continued to criticize my work for another half hour. I was lukewarm on many of his proposals. He had a heavy focus on making it easy for the representatives to undertake the duties that I wanted them to perform, while making it challenging for them to do anything else. He often suggested cutting away complications in governance, while he suggested adding complications to the voting process. Systems designed to force representatives to fight among each other. It reminded me of what I had read of the Highest Assembly. The intention was to curtail the power of the representatives rather than the First Prince, while still giving them scraps to fight over. I found it distasteful. It was a solution that was distinctly Proceran in nature. I could see where Simon was coming from, but that that didn’t mean that I appreciated it.

At last, it appeared he was reaching the end of his lengthy speech.

“My final recommendation is that you dismantle the Holy Society for the same reasons that you broke apart the Holies. You should then establish an official position within your hierarchy for facilitating the same channels of communications as the Holy Society, absent of the cloak and dagger theatrics that it presently operates under.”

I stiffened. That wasn’t disbanding the Holy Society so much as it was acknowledging that it existed and giving it my blessing.

He only phrased it that way to make it more palatable to me. I’m sure of it.

“A liaison between the House of Light and the nobility?”

“It is a role that you have overlooked during this selection process, and it is the one that I would much rather apply for should the position exist. I would like to serve as an intermediary between you and the First Prince.”

“You applied for the position of political advisor,” I tapped my fingers on the cool, smooth table surface in irritation, matching the rhythm to the bacon crackle of rain outside.

“I did so with the intention of using the application process as an opportunity to take the measure of one who would claim to be our leader.”

Really?

“What have you found?” my fingers stilled, and my eyes narrowed on the man.

“You are unschooled in matters of politics, but strive to amend that deficiency. You are idealistic and wish to build a House of Light that is both more involved in people’s lives, but also less entangled with the games of the nobility. I believe that you will serve as an adequate leader, but will make many mistakes as you acclimatize to the role. You are a true Servant of the Heavens, but expect too much of everyone else.”

Brother Simon chose every word with care. It felt as if I was watching someone navigate a field of landmines, rather than observing a man speak. I suspected that there was plenty he was holding off on sharing his thoughts about.

“I see.”

“I withdraw my request to serve as your political advisor. When you decide that you require an emissary between yourself and the First Prince, then you can consider this my formal application. I bid you good day, Chosen.”

I feel like him withdrawing from this isn’t a great start.

The man bowed then turned, before departing from the room.

“Thoughts?” I turned to the others.

“Brother Simon believes that you trust the Gods more than you trust people and considers the attitude to be distasteful,” Esme stated.

“Really?”

“Indeed. I posit that you remind him of a former lover in that regard.”

“Sister Dominique,” Songbird piped in after rustling around in her dossier on the man and holding a crumpled page my way. “The two of them fell out at some point. Prob’ly because of that.”

“The man can dislike me but still do a good job. Do you think his advice was offered in good faith?”

“Brother Simon is sincere when he speaks of his conviction that the House of Light should serve the Gods. However, Brother Simon is loyal to the nobility above the church and thus has cause to undermine your authority. I suggest that you remain cautious around him.”

“Brother Simon holds you in high regard. He’s conflicted because you remind him of his girlfriend before they broke up. Some of his biases shone through because of that. He was using this as an excuse to say things he would’ve wanted to say to her at the time, since they were tangentially relevant to your proposals. Y’should consider his advice,” Songbird grinned at Esme.

“Why does it not surprise me that Taylor’s pet snake suggests making her bed in a nest of vipers,” Esme scowled.

“S’pose it’s only fitting that our token dunce-”

“I will consider what he said, along with the advice of every other candidate today,” I interjected.

The two of them finalized their notes. Esme glared at Songbird while she gave her appraisal of Simon. Songbird hummed a merry tune.

It was only a few moments before the next candidate was called in.

The process was slow, but we gradually made our way through all the applications. They were each presented with the same set of proposals — I didn’t make adjustments based off of previous advice, as it would be unfair — and I got a glimpse of the kind of advice that each of them would give.

The criticism of my proposed hierarchy was the harshest, but adjusting my plans to account for it would require by far the least amount of effort. It was when the first person applying for the position of financial advisor started to tear into my ideas that I at last acknowledged just how much I would need to delegate if I wanted to succeed.

There was no easy or fast way to manage it all by myself.

Songbird had left by that point to handle other important correspondence.

Esme tried to remain seated straight, but every so often her head would droop, and her jet black hair would slip over her face. She looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Insisting that every church maintains a margin of safety is idiotic,” sister Jade complained.

“I’m trying to-”

“I don’t care what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to be nice about telling you this. If I let you think that you’re in any way qualified to spend the House of Light’s money with proposals this absurd, then we’ll run out of coins before the year is out.”

Her sapphire eyes bored holes into my robes.

“What do you suggest?”

Sister Jade had been one of the archivists in the Starlit Cloister. Her knowledge of finances was mostly academic and had been established over time from handling the older records when they were filed away. Despite lacking a noble upbringing, she still excelled in the interview process.

“Having an emergency reserve set aside is a good idea, but it should be maintained by whomever you appoint as leader of each principality and not the individual churches.”

“Why?”

“Most of our lands and holdings can sustain themselves. They don’t require outside funding to function and when they do, it’s in times of emergency. Famines, plagues, earthquakes, wars, and the like. Having money on hand won’t do anything when the world around them is falling into one of the many hells. It’s likely that the coin would just go missing instead. The individual churches can petition for relief in times of trouble instead of sustaining a fund themselves.”

“What about the risk of funds being misused?”

“It’s easier for you to scrutinize the work of a single person responsible for managing the finances in each Principality than it is to observe every House of Light. It also costs less and involves less busywork, which would help save on the final budget.”

“It’s still a single point of failure.”

“You can create a contingency for that contingency if you like, but excess preparation would be a form of stupidity of its own.”

“What else do you disapprove of?”

“Your inquisition is a good idea, however it will take time for them to learn the necessary skills for proper investigative work. You need to organize the House of Light such that their burden is minimized. You cannot afford for them to always be gallivanting across the entirety of Procer if you want them to be effective. I suggest that they perform routine visits at each appointed leader, then randomized visits throughout the decade. There is also the-”

“In terms of budgeting,” I raised my hand and interrupted.

She raised a wrinkled hand, pushed back her greying blonde hair, and gave me another glare.

“You seem to be under the misapprehension that we are able to consistently tax all church holdings. The Starlit Cloister only contains records for Salia itself. There are many places that cannot be taxed for one reason or another. This could be because they are too small and too far away for it to be cost-effective, but there are other reasons. Smaller agricultural holdings under our purview produce enough to sustain themselves, but little more. Some of our lands also have income that varies dramatically from year to year based on elements outside our control and will be taxable in some years but not during others. The church owns no land in the Lycaonese territories and are not allowed to collect taxes there either. Do you understand the point that I am trying to make?”

I already accounted for the Lycaonese. I acknowledged that they have to pay rent to the princes, and it wouldn’t be sensible for us to treat them the same as anywhere further south. It’s on page fifteen of my proposal. Agriculture is on page twenty-two. It makes provisions for seasonal changes and dramatic rises and falls in crop yields. But sure, I understand the point, even if you didn’t read as carefully as you should have.

“I do.”

“It is still possible for us to estimate how much it would cost to provide aid to those holdings in the event of a disaster, but expecting reliable income from them is utter idiocy. The sheer quantity of excess work it would generate is unjustifiable and would cost the House of Light more than it would be worth to tax them. Furthermore, any holdings which are taxed should receive some benefit as a result. The purpose of a tax is to provide services to the people you are taxing. If you are not providing them with any services, they will revolt, and they would have every right to.”

“Who should we tax and why?”

Sister Jade continued to criticize my ideas. Everything from how I had divided the budget to what it would require in terms of manpower to implement. The next potential advisor came in after she was done and provided a similar tirade.

It was draining. It was also educational, although there were often times when the would-be advisor missed details from my proposals.

Songbird came back in by the time I was done with a sickle for a smile.

“Good news?”

“Got word that the fighting came to an end at Cantal. Cordelia won.”

“Then we’re on a time limit.”

I wanted to have the House of Light in order before the new First Prince was officially crowned.

“Don’t s’pose you could put your seal on this for me?”

I took the parchment and looked at it.

The House of Light is the only institution that has my permission to redistribute ‘A Stranger’s Guide to Names in Calernia.’ Penalties for failing to adhere to this include.

“Include what?” I raised an eyebrow.

“S’not specified on purpose,” she grinned.

“This isn’t how stories work, you know that?”

“Put your seal on it anyhow,” Songbird waved her hand my way as if she was dismissing an insect.

“Only on official documents,” I shook my head. “Best you’re getting is my name. Anything more would be irresponsible.”

“It would be ideal if you ignored this bedraggled clown’s jests,” Esme sniffed.

“Y’know, that might be even better. Nobody’d believe it’s real.”

I shrugged, then reached across the table, picked up a quill and signed it.

“Here. What are you even going to do with it?”

“Put it in the first place someone will look for things.”

“What, why?” I blinked, meeting the brown of her eyes.

“That way, nobody snooping around for hidden secrets ever finds it.”

That made absolutely no sense to me, but it also wasn’t worth worrying over.

“Did you find records on the Order of the White Hand?”

The Order of the White Hand was Callow’s paladin order until the current Black Knight did them in. I was mostly interested in how expensive it was to fund them, but I doubted I’d have any luck finding out. I still wanted to know as much about them as I could. It was the best way to avoid repeating any mistakes that they might have made.

“M’still having people look.”

“Ask sister Jade to look into it if you need to. She’ll definitely know where to find the records I’m looking for, or she’ll know who to ask. I’ll need to know as much about them as possible to make a proper argument.”

“Have the two of you made up your mind yet?” Songbird changed the topic once more.

I turned back to Esme and the notes on my table.

“There is little more to discuss before we set sail,” she stated.

“Yeah… I’ll go over all the notes we made one last time, but I think I’m ready to decide how I’m going to be organizing the House of Light.”

I knew that I would make some mistakes along the way but… I hoped they weren’t unrecoverable.

There was far too much at stake for me to make a mess of things.

I didn’t want to worry about my own house burning down when I finally approached the Highest Assembly with my concerns.