Theft of Decks 4, CH 38

“I have lain the groundwork for a wonderful invention. Honored summoners, being able to get in touch with Guardians placed at fixed locations throughout the blissful lands. With an organized schedule and intense footwork, we will be able to get constant reports from throughout my nation on a daily basis. We will also be able to direct the Guardians in case of emergencies. They will be my Keepers, always alert to danger!” This part, we are most definitely copying. The system still exists. We just need a breakdown of the Guardians and their positions. (Book 2, Page 17.)

Lightborn camp, two miles south of Liberty lands

Euronimous Beforant was not a fan of hard work. That was something that happened to other people. Poor people, preferably. His attitude, he was aware, came as a surprise to most people who did not truly know him. He took that as proof of their limited mental capacities.

Why would you spend years working hard, sweating and panting, red-faced as a peasant, when you could skip straight past the preliminary work and earn the results straight away? Finishing a handful of panting Guardians, properly fixed down by loyal minions would net you the same Steps as would risking your lives to kill them yourself. Also, that would net you the attribute points needed, again, to skip said boring work. Of course, there were exceptions. Not everything could be handed off.

The whip cracked out with the sound of thunder. “Fifteen.” Beforant shouted, admiring the pattern on the soldier’s back. He passed the whip to an underling and strode forward.

The soldier, bleeding and pale-faced, flinched as he saw his Lord appear in vision. He looked down at the ground, wavering on his feet.

Behind him, his fellow soldiers were lined up in perfect ranks, all affecting to be uncaring. Most failed.

Euronimous Beforant knew power. There was power over death and life. Social power. The power of money. The raw power of cards and attributes. With each and every one of these, he towered over the soldier, a – his eyes flickered to check the soldier’s arms – piddling Tier-two soldier. Like a giant before an ant, he was capable of crushing him even with the passing of his movement. Many of his peers used that power indiscriminately, caring not one whit for those they smashed underfoot. Many of his peers, admittedly, were morons.

“Rise, Awakened Callem.” His voice rang out. Melodious. Powerful. Undeniably male, and attractive, to men and women both. He had trained it. “You were charged with conduct unbecoming an officer, is that not right?.”

The soldier got to his feet, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Yes sir.” His voice emerged, shaky, but getting stronger.

“Repeat your words, for all to hear.” He could practically feel the tenseness wafting off of the soldier.

“I said- I said that the Lords back in the capital wouldn’t know their pricks if they could find a mirror to spot the tiny things.” He bowed his head.

A series of barely-contained chuckles erupted around the grounds.

“You did.” Lord Beforant let his voice ring out sternly. “My fellow nobles back in Stradeburg are proud and powerful. The backbone of our society and the fount of most of the riches and manpower that we, out in the fields, use to advance the power of the Lightborn throughout all of Ordei. Do you see the errors of your ways? Do you understand why you should not denigrate the nobility?”

“Yes sir!” It was less an answer than an ingrained response, emerging straight, without any hesitation.

Lord Beforant reached out and raised the soldier’s chin, looking him dead in the eye. He enjoyed the hint of shock and fear. “Good.” He said. “Let us never hear you say anything like that again.” He lowered his voice so only the Awakened would hear and continued, mirth and cordiality intermingled. “Besides, most of them would need at least two mirrors, fat-bellied as the useless bastards are. We know how we feel about them, soldier. But we do not say it out loud.”

That look. That look of shock, turning to realization before becoming awe, and utter worship… if he could bottle the essence of that look, he’d never have to buy any wine again.

As the soldier shouted his agreement and shot him the crispest possible salute, disregarding his back which had been torn to shreds, he knew. From here on out, that soldier was his. Body and soul. He would relive this incident until it had grown ten times larger in his mind. He would repeat it to his fellow soldiers until it grew to epic proportions.

He saluted back and strode away, keeping down the smile that wanted to affix itself on his face. This was what most of the – admittedly mostly fat and decadent – so-called lords in Stradeburg failed to understand. Power was always wonderful and you could never have enough. Yet, the mightiest power was the one you allowed others to instill in themselves.

“Archbishop Desahl.” His voice rang out to the congregation. This was the same kind of power, applied with fear instead of love. He barely glanced at the dozens of inquisitors kneeling in front of their leader, knowing that this would show them somebody who was immune to their power. With the archbishop admitting that he could act as he wanted, whenever he wanted, he granted Beforant a higher rank and authority, ingraining it in their minds.

“My lord Beforant.” The Archbishop inclined his head. His eyes didn’t quite show his hatred, but it was very much there.

Beforant knew, and approved. This, as well, would have consequences, at least in the minds of the onlookers. It would spread, like circles in water. To think that he had come from a minor noble house. His father had always cared about what his peers thought, and had taken great pains to teach his son how to read the signs. How the doddering old fool had never taken those teachings to the inevitable conclusion that one should always be the one to choose what others thought was a mystery.

“Have you sent the messages?”

That brought a shadow of a scowl to the Archbishop’s features, quickly buried. “I have, my lord. I admit, I would have waited for confirmation myself. This will set a good deal of wheels into motion. Motion, that we cannot easily reverse. As long as we do not know exactly what we’re facing, it could become a very costly affair.”

He almost laughed out loud. The Archbishop truly didn’t like his vaunted inquisitors being used as messengers. If it was that offensive to him, the Church should really stop granting a number of them cards and attributes that were perfect for runners. “Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, dear Archbishop. We know exactly what we are faced with here. An opening.” He put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, right on top of some of the, by now, healed scars. Just another unsubtle reminder. With his other hand, he indicated the incline on their northernmost flank, dead grass leading up and up toward a rockier slope and a low wall. “Those are, beyond a doubt, Liberty soldiers. Your people have confirmed as much yourselves. Not only that, but they are weak. Non-wielders, Tier ones and twos, with a single Tier three among them. And the fog that used to hide them? Has faded away, for miles and miles. Our three thousand would run them over in seconds.”

“My lord. I do not disagree with your words. I merely mean to emphasize what I find to be the largest risk. To me, this absolutely looks like a trap. They have, purposely, deactivated their defenses right at the moment when we were present, to lure us into their lands. Taking the bait will be dangerous.”

Lord Beforant laughed and clapped his shoulder. “I appreciate your considered thoughts – and your consideration for my well-being. However, you fail to remember one tiny detail. Our prey.” As he watched the archbishop clearly struggle to keep up, it was hard to keep from sighing.

“The wielders of the Deck of Darkness? How would that be pertinent in this case?”

Now, he did sigh. “Think about it. These are hardened criminals, who have repeatedly proved that they are capable, that they can make their ways past security that should be closed to them, defeat schemes and…” He shrugged. “Admittedly, form a rather annoying pain in my behind. We have confirmation that they’ve made it into the fogs bordering the lands of Liberty. Can you really go so far as to attribute the defenses failing now to coincidence? Really?”

“No, my lord. Only, that doesn’t really gainsay my argument. If they are as talented and insidious as you give them credit for – would there not be an increased risk that this is all a trap? That they have somehow infiltrated Liberty defenses and society to the point where they are able to turn off their defenses at will? Or that they have, somehow, managed to convince those in power that we, out here, are ripe for the taking?”

That… Lord Beforant had to admit that it was a well-constructed argument. If the Archbishop were back in the capital, the weakling might actually be able to employ it to some efficiency in order to take some authority back. Good thing that he’d had the foresight to bring the scarred old man along - even if it had only been so he could present the image of a united front between him and the church to the public. Right now, right here, fortunately, he had him where he wanted. “Ah. That is a very reasoned line of thought. Good thing, that we aren’t going to leap right in.”

The Archbishop actually looked relieved for a moment. How had he ever risen as high as he did in the church’s hierarchy? Possibly, his near-death and torture had ruined his command of the grand game. His voice was solid, though, properly ministerial. “I appreciate your consideration. It goes well in hand with our thoughts. The Circle has always argued for this. A strong church married to a strong and well-founded military. This is the basis upon which our prosperity has been built.”

Lord Beforant barely kept from laughing at the hypocrite. The church had tried, and failed, to take over the reins of power since time immemorial. When he decided to back Archbishop Desahl against the former Archbishop, he honestly thought that Desahl was wise enough to realize that the proper place of the church was in serving him. Now, he was learning that this wasn’t the case. Desahl was not strategically wise, simply weak and easily cowed. “Oh, I entirely agree. Alone, we are strong. Yet, together, using our separate strengths where they are required, we are unbeatable.”

The Archbishop caught it then. Finally. His eyebrows twitched, and eyes widened, ever so slightly. Too late, though.

Lord Beforant inclined his head. “My good Archbishop. Please lead the way into the unknown. Take your vaunted inquisitors and stride ahead, with the power of the Light in your able hands. Carve a path into the unknown, that we may follow in your footsteps.”

The Archbishop complied. Like he had a choice…