Margaret rose.
She was small at the head of her end of the table, her hair pulled back tight into a working knot, her dark coat buttoned to the collar. She was dressed more formally than normal. She had a folder in front of her open to a page she had marked with a strip of colored ribbon. Two aides stood at the wall behind her holding stacks of other papers.
"My lord. Council. I'll cover the forum activity first. After our latest posts, it's been a mess. I’m sure you’ve all seen the activity."
"The Grail Quest notification went out to every human on Gravesend from Earth. The reaction has been what we expected. Which is to say it’s been an instant uproar." A page turn. "We are estimating about 10 million lords left and we think there were about 12 million originally. Which would give us a rough number of 1.642 billion dead if we include the people they spawned with and the people that spawned after.” She paused there with a somber look. “It is easy to ignore the deaths on a forum post, but that number is about 10 times larger than the number of deaths for WW2 and WW1 combined.”A shocked silence traveled around the room while Harold just closed his eyes. It was hard to conceptualize such a large number.“So. The notification went out to all humans and the Lords are calling their peoples to the quest. The response has been varied, but on average. The pattern is that the quests, on the average, are hard."
"Define hard," Harold asked dryly.
"Hard enough that the lords with the quests are asking for help publicly.” She snorted. “And you know how hard that is for some people. That's just not something they do unless they have looked at the quest terms and are afraid." A small pause. "Most quests we have seen so far ask for a great feat — killing a region boss, claiming a natural wonder, recovering a relic, cleansing a nest. These require armies, in most cases. Some appear to require sustained campaigns. Some are easier, but for the most part these are hard quests."
Bethel's cane thumped the floor once. "This will force humanity to work together. Humans are driven by profit."
"While I agree, Bethel, these quests will be attempted, but they will lead to more death. And without knowing the rewards, I can’t tell you if it will be worth it." Margaret's tone did not change. "The forum has largely acknowledged so as well."
A ribbon over. "Praise for the Count is running high across most of the continent. The stated position of most of the responding lords is that this is the boldest single move any human lord has made since we arrived on Gravesend, and that it is a move the entire species is going to benefit from." A very small pause. "There is also a not-insignificant minority saying that the Count of the Landing has just handed a great many of his fellow lords a death sentence. That he has done so because it costs him nothing and gains him narrative advantage. That the surviving pool will look up when the dust settles and find him at the top of it, and that this may have been the point."
The room did not move, but Mark and Evan were whispering to each other.
"The count is welcome to respond on the forum directly if he wishes. I have drafted three possible responses, ranging from warm to cold, and left them on his desk. My personal recommendation is silence. Let them chase quests. Let the results speak for themselves."
Harold rubbed his face tiredly before looking at Margaret. "I agree with your suggestion. I knew it would lead to deaths. However, the boost humanity can get from it. As heartless as it is. Will make it worth it. Rewards will range from Path books, Gold, perk combination tokens, and other possible tokens. It will be worth it." Harold nodded.
Margaret looked Harold in the eye for a moment before slowly nodding. “I hope you are right, my Lord.” She murmured. She took a small sip of her water, and he noticed her hand shake slightly.
Margaret collected herself and continued. "For the lords and the adventurers in this room — Master Mark, Master Evan, Councilors, my lords — the forum threads worth your time are the following." She turned to the aides behind her, who unrolled the sheaf of forum extracts onto the table. The extracts were printed in careful hand-copies, marked in three colors. "Thread markers are keyed in red. The two-color threads are cross-referenced. My aides will provide anyone who wants copies with copies after the meeting. I know how hard it can be to scroll through some of those threads with millions of replies."
She turned to the dwarves.
"My apologies. The forum is a human function. My office is preparing dwarven-readable summaries for delivery to your quarters daily, beginning tomorrow. If there are specific threads or regions you wish briefed, name them and it will be done."
Bram tipped a knuckle off the table at her. "Appreciated, lass. Yer daily summary'll do fine."
"Second thread the council should note." Margaret's finger touched a colored strip in the middle of the extract sheet. "The solstice auction. Councilor Caldwell asked last night that the announcement be made public. It went public at dawn. The auction is being run by the system but supplied by Earth-born sellers. Anyone can consign items — lord or commoner, adventurer or crafter. Anyone with funds and barter can bid. There are five tiers, keyed to the consigned item's value bracket. The auction runs at the solstice, and the announcement now on the forum has exploded with people asking for proof." A small look at Caldwell. "It has also produced a very loud thread of speculation about our motives; however, this thread is relatively minor compared to the next thread."
Bram set his cup down on the table, exchanged a look with Thessa and Hargen, and both of them nodded back at him with the same weight. Bram turned to Harold and gave him a small, dry, deliberate wink.
Harold's mouth pulled up into a smile he tried to hide. He knew Bram and his elders had taken additional oaths about his background that morning.
"Fourth thread of note." Margaret's finger moved along the sheet. "The trade shutdown announcement. The forum has responded in three modes — praise, which we appreciate, alarm, which we anticipated, and a substantial rising line of accusation that the Count of the Landing knows too much to have come by any of it honestly. The word cheating is being used. So is system-touched. So are less flattering terms." A pause. "The count is again welcome to respond. My personal recommendation is again silence. People speculating about the source of the information do not have any of the actual information, and we gain value by staying silent. We can let results speak for themselves."
"Yes, let's do that.” Harold said tiredly. “Continue, please, Margaret."
"The Velthari thread." Margaret's voice lowered. "This is the loudest thread on the forum this week. What we do know is that the Velthari raiders have been striking the northern settlements on the line of towns on humanity's northernmost border. Twelve settlements I’m calling destroyed. No forum posts from lords or handlers in the past ten days, which, by my read, means they were destroyed or captured. Casualties will have been in the thousands. The pattern of the forum silence indicates preparation for a broader campaign. But with our release of what we know about the Velthari, that thread has also exploded. We have released far too much information about the world too quickly."
She looked down the table.
"My office has posted an offer on the forum. Minor healing potions to any northern lord willing to coordinate a formal defensive response. Terms are on the thread. We have had eleven expressions of interest so far."
"Caldwell." Harold turned his head towards him.
Caldwell grimaced.
"Healing potion stocks are short, my lord. We must sell what we're producing to sustain the treasury and the trade program. If you want potions for the north, we can spare approximately three hundred. Any more than three hundred and we start bleeding into our own reserves."
"Mm, any explosive?"
Caldwell paused again as he went over his numbers.
"More of those, actually. We have six hundred in stock. We produce approximately a hundred a week. They are earmarked for the Legion. If you want to send some north, we would be taking them from the Legion's spring campaign allocation."
"How many can I send north without breaking the Legion allocation?"
"Two hundred, my lord. Without breaking anything. Tribune Cess would be the one to say if two hundred hurts."
"Two hundred is manageable," Cess said. "We can actually do more knowing production will increase between now and then."
Harold thought for a moment then replied. “Ok, send them the healing potions then send them 400 explosive. I want a stable Lord on the north, and we will need to create it if no one else will.”
"My lord."
"Margaret. Sorry to interrupt. Is there someone we can trust up there? To handle a coordinated response. I don't remember many names from the north — most of them died fast."
Margaret nodded once, and made a small gesture toward the aide at the wall.
The aide left the hall, and the room waited. Beth was whispering urgently to Josh.
He came back inside a minute with a second rolled map, and a second aide, and the two of them unrolled it flat over half the table. Margaret placed a small stone on each of the four corners, walked around to the map's east edge, and set her finger down.
"Lord Aldemar of Hallow's Reach." Her finger tapped the map. "His town sits in a valley pocket at the base of the Chainbreak spurs. Terrain is naturally defensible. Two river approaches, both narrow enough to force a battle. He hasn’t been hit yet, but if they maintain their schedule, he will be hit sometime this month. If you arm him properly — potions, and I would suggest a trade of a few of our mobile ballista — he can make a real fight of it. He has been publicly asking for materiel, quietly asking for support, and privately telling my sources that he is willing to pay in draft animals. He’s captured a significant number of hardy Northern oxen breed that we would find useful."
Harold looked at the map for a long beat.
"Do it. Caldwell, handle the trade. Six ballista, 400 explosive potions, 200 healing. Payment in oxen — we take as many pairs as he can spare."
Caldwell actually smiled a little while talking urgently to one of his aides.
"That should quiet a portion of the accusation on the forum. If they see me arming the northern defense, it should silence a lot of the negative feedback."
"That’s my hope as well," Margaret said.
"Related to the Velthari — I am organizing a coalition summit for the Lords of the Peninsula mid-spring for your coming campaign. Location to be finalized, but the working plan is a site near the middle of the Blackjaws. I have soft commitments from over 100 lords and firm commitments from thirty-four. I expect that number to increase once the threat of the Veltheri
Margaret turned a page and took a quick sip of tea.
"Kingdom Alnor." A ribbon over. "I said the name in passing at Councilor Anil's section. I owe the room a little more."
The room settled.
"Alnor is a small maritime kingdom to the north and east of us, across the Cordant Strait. Not on our peninsula. Their landward footprint is substantially smaller than the basin — two cities and a strip of coastal territory maybe half of what we hold. Their power is on the water. They are a fleet-based power. They are seafarers by history and by necessity, because their landward border sits against the Rimwater Pass, which is the single largest breach point for the beast hordes." She let it sit for a beat. "Alnor holds the pass. Alnor has held the pass, without meaningful assistance, for four hundred years. Their fortresses along the pass are under siege on a near-continuous basis. Their reason for existing is to hold the pass."
Harold spoke. His voice had come down half a step.
"They are an upstanding kingdom. One of the best on our continent. In my other life they were breached in my second year and overrun by the third." He looked at Margaret. "I want to support them this time. We will not let them fall."
Margaret grimaced. "My lord, we can not do it all."
"There is a second reason." His hand went flat on the table. "Alnor holds path books. Their path lineage evolved from centuries of fighting beastmen at the pass, and the paths they've developed are among the most effective combat paths humanity has ever produced. They are the only paths humanity has ever produced to fight against beastmen. When Alnor fell in my other life, those paths went with them. I will not allow that to happen a second time. Their paths are as much of a strategic asset to humanity as anything the dwarves have offered us this week."
Bram made a small, thoughtful sound into his beard.
"The infiltrator," Margaret continued. "The man who came to us with papers three weeks ago claims to be from Alnor. He carries papers stamped with an Alnor customs seal. Without seeing the seal itself, I can’t tell whether it's genuine. He has not spoken beyond offering the papers and giving the port at which he traveled from — Farholt, which is Alnor's southern trading port. My office is holding him in the Landing jail. He is quartered comfortably, being fed well. He has not been pressed."
Harold rubbed the side of his jaw.
"Continue for now. I’ll meet with him tomorrow." He turned to Adeline. “Set up a time for me to see him, will you?”
"My lord," Adeline said professionally.
Margaret turned another page.
"Counterintelligence. Operations are expanding across the basin. The convoy that arrived from the swamps included several people with useful backgrounds who have joined my section, including a few people I used to work with. The intel network's coverage in the basin's outer settlements has substantially improved in the past few weeks. Details are on my desk and the count's."
"Two of the names the Count asked me to find." Margaret's voice did not change, but her hand paused for a half-second on the ribbon before she turned it. "Are located and in motion."
"Who?" he asked.
"The first is Taylor Vane." Margaret paused a half beat over the name. "Founder of the Vane Company. He agreed to relocate to the Landing when my representative reached him. He wanted somewhere his and his people's families would be safe. He seems very… competent. I looked into his background. He used to run a mercenary company on Earth."
Harold closed his eyes for a half-second in relief. "He's coming?"
"With his company, and their families. Total party of 131. They are traveling on a chartered Alnor merchant vessel that I contracted through the same Farholt broker who brought our Alnor man. The vessel is due into Three Rivers in approximately a month and a half, weather permitting."
"Ok, I’ll trust you. Getting the Vane company is a big deal. The second name?"
"Rhian Ferris. She's a budding wind-crafter. Formerly of the village of Coldwell, on the southern coast; it was destroyed in a raid four months ago. She survived, escaped with a small group, and was traveling toward another town when my search reached her." A pause. "The offer she accepted was resettlement for her group. The group is fifty-two people. I never let her know that the offer was designed specifically for her. She only knows that the Potion Lord is providing them safe passage."
Harold nodded once. His hand was flat on the table as he tapped it in thought.
"How are they traveling?"
"They are traveling on a ship called the Long Reach. The vessel belonged to a lord of the far northwestern reaches, whose treatment of his crew and citizens has been the subject of complaint on the forum since our arrival here. One of my contacts commandeered the vessel two months ago in coordination with the crew and a group of adventurers from that lord's town. Approximately four hundred and eighty people, plus the crew, escaped with the ship. They dropped those people off here a week ago. Then I sent the Long Reach out to get Ferris. They will arrive at Three Rivers with the ship in two months, as I said, with a couple other groups I made the same offer to in order to conceal our motives." A small pause. "The builder and captain of the Long Reach I knew on Earth. He’s trustworthy. His remaining sailors will be training our first river-barge crews and our first port hands. I can arrange a meeting when he gets back."
"Mmm, ok good."
"With Mark and Evans' approval, I sent eight adventuring teams with the ship to safeguard it."
Harold nodded in thought.
"Do you think it would work if I posted a list of the names I'm searching for publicly On the forum?"
Margaret shook her head before he finished the sentence.
"For a few of them, my lord, it might. For most, no. They are frightened. They will assume the list is a lord's list of targets, because that is what a list of names posted by a lord on the forum has been since we arrived. " Margaret looked him in the eye. "Give me the year. I will find them."
He sighed and motioned for her to continue.
Margaret turned a page.
"That bribery case, in brief. One of the four cases Councilor Anil reported this morning traces back to a lord's holding immediately west of the basin. It’s a small territory. The man on our end who was approached — Councilor Anil's Landing customs official — has a sister in that lord's town. She is described in the lord's correspondence as a guest." Margaret let the word carry its own weight. "By any reasonable reading, she is being held. The lord approached our man through an intermediary and offered his sister's continued hospitality in exchange for the man's attempt to build a small intelligence network within the Landing on the lord's behalf. I talked with Judge Mendez, and the man is now on my payroll running a false network back to the lord."
Harold rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
"So one of my citizens is being blackmailed."
"It was bound to happen eventually."
"And the false network."
"Is producing exactly the picture the lord wishes to see, which is a picture of a large, poor and more fragile Landing than the one that exists. My office is preparing to gradually inflate the reports as I let him build his confidence."
Harold could see Henri rubbing his face down the table in frustration. It was exactly what they did to him before.
Harold turned toward Tribune Cess.
"Tribune. Find out who this lord is. Where he is. Family. Household. Trained troops. Vulnerabilities. I want to know everything about him."
Cess opened her mouth.
Margaret slid a stack of papers across the table.
"Already have it, my lord."
Harold looked at the stack, then at Margaret and smiled.
"Good to have competent people."
"I have suggested actions in the back, my lord. Take them or don't. It is your decision."
"I will read the file tonight."
Margaret turned another ribbon.
"The Templar Order." She looked down the table at Bethel. "My office pledges our support. If we are going to be working together better we start now. We are pleased to help."
"Margaret." Bethel smiled gently. "I appreciate your help."
"Hmph," said Margaret, and turned the next page.
Harold's mouth pulled again but he didn't comment. He knew the two were friends.
"The larger picture," Margaret said. "Alliances and coalitions on the forum. The state of humanity as a political map."
"There are approximately fifty large factions currently active on the forum with some form of joint military or economic coordination. Around those fifty, there are hundreds of smaller pacts, non-aggression treaties, trade unions, and informal alignments, which are impossible to fully count."
"Fifty?" Caldwell said thoughtfully. “That seems small.”
Margaret nodded "It is small. The peninsula holds four by itself. People are keeping their circles small."
“We are the largest power on the peninsula, but that also means every one of these four alliances has been watching us closely. They both have sent out feelers to people over the forum."
Margaret's voice came down another half step.
"Threats. Two immediate, one rising."
"Immediate one — the Velthari."
"Immediate two."
"The Blackjaw goblins." Margaret's finger tapped the map. "Estimates run about one hundred thousand will invade early next year. So roughly the same window the Velthari move on the north — late spring or early summer next year."
"The rising threat is broad and diffuse." Margaret turned a ribbon. "Across the forum, across the continent — the volume of posts about unusual monster activity is up substantially in the past two months. Everywhere. Adventurer parties reporting stronger versions of familiar creatures. Lords reporting incursions from monsters they have not seen previously. The trend is rising." Margaret shrugged and looked toward Harold who just motioned for her to continue.
"The threat that has already happened." Margaret closed her eyes for a beat and opened them. "The region to the south — across the sea, has fallen to a nest that they have been fighting since we sent out the forum post about nests. We have been supplying them with potions and with our supplies they won three major engagements. Without them they would have lost all three. However — they lost every other engagement they fought, at increasing casualties, and last week they withdrew their remaining lords and citizens from the region entirely. The region is gone."
The room was quiet.
"And it is beginning to happen again in another region."
"Where," Harold said. His voice had gone soft.
"West of the peninsula," Margaret said. "West of the elves."
Harold's face changed in recognition.
"West of the elves?"
"Just so."
"Fuck," Harold said.
Caldwell's coin had stopped on the back of his hand a paragraph ago.
Harold looked at him.
Caldwell looked back at him. He shook his head, one time, and looked at his ledger.
"We can't," Caldwell said.
"We can if you order it, my lord. We cannot if we intend to march on the Velthari."
Harold rubbed his hand over his face.
"They've asked for supplies," Margaret said.
"Through the forum and they have already begun evacuating the outer settlements ahead of the nest advance." A smaller pause. "Which suggests they intend to fight it correctly this time."
"It's the gnoll nest," Harold said. "Isn't it."
"Just so, my lord." Margaret said taking a quick sip of her tea. While an aide placed a couple biscuits next to her as well.
Harold pulled the map on the table toward him. He looked at it for a long beat, and then he turned to Adeline.
"Get me the western map please."
Adeline turned to her own aide, who was already moving. He was through the side door and gone.
The room waited. Harold looked at the western edge of the map in front of him. His face gave nothing away.
The aide came back inside two minutes with a second, larger map, and set it flat over the first with Beth's help, and Harold traced the coastline west of the peninsula with his index finger, past the elven forest, into the plains beyond it, and stopped his finger at a point on a shaded high country north of a small river.
He tapped the map twice.
"The nest is here."
Margaret leaned over. She wrote the coordinates on the margin of her working sheet in a fast steady hand.
"Give these coordinates to the lords," Harold said. "Tell them we cannot support the campaign directly. We are stretched and tell them we regret it."
"However." Harold sat back. His hand did not leave the map. "Post on the forum, from my office, over my name, the following. Effective immediately, the Landing releases the recipe for minor healing potions to the public. The method, the ingredient list, the correct sequence, the standard mana technique. Everything."
Caldwell's head came up in shock.
Harold did not look at him.
"With our production capacity where it is, we will still lead potion output and more importantly quality. Nobody else has our pipeline. What we lose in monopoly position we more than gain in humanity's ability to fight what is coming. Every party that survives an engagement they wouldn't have survived is a party that lives to fight the next one, and there are going to be a great many next ones."
Caldwell did not answer for a beat. "I hate this decision, my lord," he said.
"I know Caldwell but we don't have a choice. We have to stop the chain of failures somehow."
Caldwell grimaced but replied. "I know."
Margaret was already writing the notice.
"Post it before nightfall please." Harold said.
Margaret sat down and daintily picked up one of the biscuits.
Harold set both palms flat on the table and looked down its length.“Alright, my turn.”