The Harvest is Good this Year.

The Harvest is Good this Year.

“Would you look at that, Elman. They’ve put another two by the Heartwell. Must be worried about something.”

Elman drew his cup closer. “Well, they’re not worried about me. I only care about my dinner and my next drink. I won’t be causing them any trouble.”

“There were six there yesterday,” Prien said. “Eight now, and a checkpoint at the storehouses. Who’s paying for all this? Hope it isn’t our taxes.”

“There’s always been a checkpoint at the storehouses.”

“There used to be just that funny chap with the lip, his pencil and his ledger. Now there are Guardians watching him fill in the columns.”

Across the inn’s small first-floor common room, someone laughed too loudly. With so few customers at this early hour, the sound carried. Both men glanced towards the door.

A Guardian stood beyond the window, her shape broken by the imperfections in the glass. Another waited on the opposite side of the street, looking back at her. Neither had moved since the men had wandered in and sat down.

“Perhaps the pencils are dangerous,” Elman said. “Need supervision. Very dangerous things, pencils.”

Prien smiled into his cup.

Outside, a Voice Casting from the Exchange Amphitheatre carried through the streets.

“What are those fools about today?” Prien asked. “More castings of less consequence every day. I’ve never even heard of half the speakers they book now.”

“The last one was about how security brings confidence to Kefarian businesses,” Elman said.

“Confidence brings commerce. That was it. Some rot. I’d have thought fewer controls would bring better business.”

“I do like the protection on the streets. Especially since the riots.”

“And the businesses are operating much more safely,” the barkeep interrupted. With only a handful of men in the room, he had heard every word. “Markets too. I can’t complain yet, so long as Kefar prospers.”

“Oh, good,” Prien muttered. “I was afraid we’d have to go a whole morning without hearing from the business sector. How about another drink if business is so good?”

The barkeep gave him a look. “I didn’t say it was going that well.”

Elman chuckled, then glanced through the window again.

“Mira says there are dozens of Guardians at the gates. She was searched three times coming back from the port.”

“The northern gate’s still open to traders,” Prien said.

“If you don’t mind passing through the gauntlet. They’ve added another checkpoint there too.”

Prien sat back. For a moment, neither spoke. They looked out at their city.

Then he asked, “When did you last see a councillor?”

Elman rubbed a thumb along the rim of his metal mug.

“Council’s not in session.”

“That’s what they said last month.”

“And the month before.”

“Exactly.”

Elman looked at him sharply, his raised eyebrows enough to stop the next question.

Behind the bar, the keeper bent to retrieve something that did not seem to require retrieving.

The Voice Casting continued.

“Business is the foundation of a successful Kefarian future.”

“Well,” Elman said after a while, “there’s bread.”

There was no arguing with that. The bakeries had flour again. Grain ships came regularly from the Virielia Bloomlands. Market stalls that had stood empty after the riots were crowded with sacks, jars and baskets.

“Mira’s working six days,” Elman continued. “Warehouse hasn’t been this busy in years.”

“And whose warehouse is it now?”

“She gets paid half a gold piece a day.”

“I didn’t ask if she gets paid.”

Elman’s expression hardened.

Prien lowered his voice.

“My cousin tried to renew his permit to import dried nuts from Solaryn. Three different offices, between Civic Square and the port. Four fees by the time they’d finished sending him round for their chops, and no promise the licence will come through at all. But the fellow who bought the store yard next to his down in Brink’s Harbour had everything approved by noon.”

“Perhaps his papers were in order.”

“Perhaps Fateese’s people helped put them in order.”

Outside, the Guardian turned her head towards the glass.

Both men fell silent.

The movement had probably meant nothing. There was traffic in the street. A cart had stopped nearby.

Still, Prien waited until the cart moved on before reaching for his drink.

“At least business is good,” he said.

This time, neither of them smiled.

• • •

At Alfadin, the experiments continued behind guarded doors.

Delrona’s force had settled into the Monk’s former place as though it expected to remain for generations. Approaches were watched though none of the Guardians truly expected an attack through the narrow passes and wild conditions that were Alfadin’s true defences. Their supplies arrived like clockwork and were counted and stored and distributed by Drell’s army of bureaucrats that supported his Guardians. His poorly trained guardians were stationed where ordinary soldiers might tire, grow careless or entertain doubts as their growing fanaticism and belief that Delrona was leading Sylvan Watch to a glorious new age, kept them vigilant.

Dislodging her and her troops would require an enemy to break through the mountain itself and then the defenders before it could reach the work she had gathered there.

In Kefar, her hold depended on other arrangements.

Guardians occupied the streets, the docks and the mountain gates and patrols made sure that they were constantly visible along the sea walls. They watched the Heartwell and the storage yards. Grain arrived. Contracts changed hands all under the guiding hand of Fateese. The council remained out of session and would not be called back for unspoken reasons.

Delrona divided her time between the two strongholds, leaving orders that were obeyed in her absence and returning to find evidence of her will everywhere between.

She had begun to enjoy the small acknowledgements of her success.

A conversation stopping when she entered a room or approached a group of Kefarians or Argentians. A doorway cleared before she reached it. Fateese waiting until she had seated herself before beginning his report.

That afternoon, in the rooms she had taken for her administration in Kefar, Fateese stood before her with several pages arranged in his hands. The Astryx Arcanum scientist waited beside him, summoned to explain the latest report from Alfadin.

“The latest attempt at the tower produced a sustained response.”

“How sustained?”

“Longer than the previous trial.”

“That was not my question.”

Fateese consulted the page, although she suspected he knew the figure already.

“Less than a minute.”

“And the crossing?”

“No passage was established.”

Delrona looked towards the window.

Below, Guardians were clearing a space for an arriving wagon. People stepped aside promptly. None in the gathered crowd of audience seekers needed to be told twice.

“Read it.”

Fateese resumed.

“‘A visible boundary formed within the apparatus. Its stability could not be maintained. The attempt was terminated following.....’”

“Following what?”

“Damage to the testing chamber in the tower.”

She turned back.

“Damage caused by what?”

“The report does not establish.....”

“Then why am I listening to it?”

Fateese lowered the papers.

The scientist held himself very still.

Delrona looked at him.

“You said the tower could be made to work.”

“The ring Rahkhan entered was active, milady. That much we witnessed. Reproducing the passage through the tower is another matter.”

“And the pages were supposed to tell you how.”

“We had barely begun to read them.”

Delrona waited.

“The oldest scholar checked the opening line, then compared a mark and the line division at the bottom of a sheet against the volume in his sealed reference case. His junior confirmed the comparison. The pages continued precisely where the surviving copy of Syterra’s Book of Lyt ends.”

“So they were authentic.”

“Yes, milady. A lost continuation.”

“And you learned nothing from it?”

“The opening described the human direction of crystal power and its amplification through a joined supply. The junior scholar scanned a reference to a balance among participants.”

“What participants?”

“We did not reach that explanation. They thought Aethorians themselves might form part of the regulation mechanism.”

“Thought?”

“A hypothesis, milady. Based on the few lines they had time to read.”

His fingers tightened against one another.

“Then you do not know how to regulate it.”

“No. We can produce a response. We cannot yet establish what holds it stable enough for passage.”

“Were there instructions?”

“We had no time to find out. The sheets had not been inventoried. The diagrams had not been examined.”

Delrona’s gaze hardened.

“Before Rahkhan interrupted.”

The scientist hesitated.

“While you were arguing with him about the thirty-one monks and Guardians killed at the site. He swept the sheets off the table before the scholars could continue.”

“Fateese tried to stop him.”

“Yes, milady. A corner tore away when he reached for them. Rahkhan gathered the pages against his chest and leaped into the ring.”

Delrona crossed the room. The scientist resisted the impulse to step back until she stopped in front of him.

“You have damaged a testing chamber working from the beginning of a text.”

He offered no answer.

She let him stand with that.

Then she turned to Fateese.

“Every ring site in every crestrealm on Aethoria, no expense spared.”

He inclined his head.

“Every one we know, and every one anyone has neglected to tell us about. Question the people living near them. Watch the approaches. I want reports of arrivals, departures, strangers asking questions. Even the one in the Dereliction Lands of Ironroot Bastion”

“Rahkhan may have moved on Milady.”

“He may.”

She looked again at the scientist.

“But if he still has those pages, I want him found before he learns how to use them. Have the papers returned to me without him.”

• • •

The grain merchant intercepted Fateese in the square the following afternoon.

He was a prosperous Kefarian with silver at his cuffs and the assured impatience of a businessman accustomed to being admitted as he needed. His Sylvan wife was an important asset to him as making connections and establishing trades deals happened mostly on the balconies of villas not in the ports, stockrooms or storehouse floors. Delrona recognised him before he bowed. His new import contract bore Fateese’s recommendation.

“I was told the deduction was an error,” he said.

“It is a revised allocation,” Fateese replied.

“But it was taken from my share of the profits.”

“Profits that most generously support and have been directed to the Guardian armament fund of The Sylvan Conquest.”

“Then pay it from the Sylvan's Crestrealm share.”

Several people nearby had slowed. A porter stopped beside a fountain, adjusting a load that had not visibly slipped.

Delrona could have kept walking.

Instead, she turned.

“The shipments will remain profitable.”

The merchant glanced at her.

“With respect, you have been given the figures. I have to conduct the business.”

Fateese’s expression changed.

“The allocation has been settled,” he said.

“Without consulting the people who understand the trade.”

“The Guardians secure your cargo,” Delrona said. “You benefit from their provision and from their protection.”

“I paid for security under the terms of my contract.”

“Then you will sign the revised terms.”

He looked around at the people gathering within earshot. Their attention appeared to encourage him.

“My family traded through this harbour before anyone here had heard your name.”

Delrona held his gaze.

“Then you will know the value of a reliable supply.”

“I know the value of allowing Kefarians to manage Kefarian affairs.”

“You are speaking to.....” Fateese began.

“I know who I’m speaking to.” The merchant’s colour had risen. “A Sylvan who arrives from elsewhere and thinks occupying an office makes her mistress of our trade.”

Water splashed against the fountain’s rim.

Delrona felt it answer her before she had consciously reached for it but was in complete control when she held it back.

The merchant glanced towards the sound.

Around them, the square had gone still.

She could have brought him to his knees. The thought arrived whole and effortless.

She saw, too, the porter watching her. A woman with a child beside the steps. Shopkeepers standing in their doorways.

They would remember what happened next.

Delrona allowed the water to settle.

“Your concerns have been heard,” she said. “Fateese will see that the terms are explained to you.”

The merchant gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

Delrona turned abruptly and walked away from the impertinent trader. She left him there to wonder what was next.

Only when they were beyond the square did Fateese speak.

“I can have his contract withdrawn.”

“No.”

“He should not have addressed you that way.”

“No,” she agreed.

Her voice was quiet enough that he looked at her.

“His ship arrives tonight?”

“The Virielian shipment. Yes.”

“And he attends the unloading?”

“He prefers to count the cargo himself.”

Delrona walked a few more paces.

“Have lamp oil delivered to that berth. Several barrels. Put them close enough for the night crews to use.”

Fateese said nothing.

“Use men who can follow an instruction without discussing it.”

• • •

By nightfall, the merchant had recovered his good humour.

His cargo had arrived intact. The holds were full, the grain was dry, and the captain had made better time than expected.

He stood near the gangplank arguing over the unloading tally, one finger planted on a line in the captain’s ledger.

Farther along the quay, a vendor turned zargos skewers above a charcoal fire. Sailors gathered around the stall, coins ready in their hands. Dockworkers carried sacks beneath the lamps.

Delrona watched from the shadow of a closed warehouse.

She had chosen a place from which she could see the merchant, the ship and the barrels beside the berth.

The time for Kefarian arrogance is over.

She reached towards the water.

A swell lifted against the pilings.

Delrona drew it into a narrow turning column between the quay and the hull. It broke apart at first, falling back in a scatter of pale drops. She steadied her breathing and drew again.

This time, it held.

Air began to move towards it.

A loose scrap of packing cloth slid across the stones, drawn towards the swirl.

At the stall, the vendor cupped a hand beside his fire hoping to shield it from the gusts.

Delrona sent water which pressed through the seam of the nearest oil barrel.

The wood creaked.

She remembered the merchant looking around for an audience.

Allowing Kefarians to manage Kefarian affairs.

The barrel burst.

A stave struck the quay. Oil splashed across the stones and over the merchant’s coat.

He recoiled, shouting.

Delrona tightened her hold on the air.

The little waterspout rose above the edge of the dock. Wind rushed between the warehouses, caught the vendor’s awning and snapped it loose.

His cooking fire flared.

Someone cried a warning.

Delrona pulled both her hands towards the quay.

Flame streamed from the brazier. Burning coals scattered across the quay, and the oil caught with a sudden rushing sound.

For a moment, she felt all three forces distinctly: the weight of the water, the air turning around it, the fire struggling upwards.

Then she brought them together as she had been practising.

Flame wound around the spout.

It climbed through the spray, feeding on a spray of oil torn from the stones. The turning column thickened until she could no longer see the merchant clearly through it.

People along the docks were horrified and ran.

A sailor reached him first and caught his arm.

Delrona saw the man try to drag him towards the gangplank and the safety of the water.

She turned the spout into their path.

Fire struck the ship’s side. Rope caught overhead. A burning line fell across the gangplank, and men on the deck stumbled back from it.

The merchant disappeared behind a churning column of fire, air and water.

For a few breaths, Delrona continued to hold the turning column, feeling how readily the forces strengthened one another.

Then a warehouse bell began to ring.

She released them.

Water crashed against the hull. Wind swept down the quay, carrying the burning sparks and flaming oil into the rigging.

The fire continued without her.

Delrona stepped back into the passage beside the warehouse.

Behind her, someone was calling for a child.

She had no need to turn back and kept walking, satisfied with the knowledge that she was more than just a Water Mage.

• • •

Fateese brought the first account in the morning at breakfast. Delrona was wiping clotted gulather cream onto fresh scones topped with fruits and berries that had been in Virielia Bloomlands just a week ago.

“The merchant is dead.”

Delrona set down her scone and picked up a fine porcelain cup gesturing to a servant to have it filled.

“Oh my.. Were there others too?”

“We have not finished the count. Many Virielian sailors, some dockworkers. The vendor nearest the berth.”

“The ship was insured, I hope. I would hate for our Virielian partners to make a loss this year?”

“I will confirm the insurance, milady. The hull has burned through, and part of the quay has collapsed.”

“And the grain?”

“Much of it was still aboard.”

“Pity.” That displeased her. She had wanted the grain.

Fateese waited.

“What are people saying?” she asked.

“That oil caught near the cooking stall. Others say a waterspout struck the berth first.”

“Harbour weather is so very unpredictable.”

“Yes, milady.”

Fateese straightened the edge of the report.

“The harbour master is taking statements. I have appointed men to assist him. Each witness will be heard separately.”

“How thorough.”

“The official account will distinguish what they saw from what they imagine. Lamp oil, an open cooking fire, a sudden wind. There is ample evidence for all three.”

“And the waterspout?”

“Will be recorded. Speculation about its cause will not.”

Delrona took another sip.

“The men who delivered the barrels?”

“Have other duties away from the harbour. Their instructions were to supply the night crews. Nothing more.”

“Then I trust the account will be clear.”

“It will.”

He paused.

“People remember the square, milady.”

She looked at him over the rim of her cup.

“Do they?”

“The connection may occur to them. No witness has placed you at the berth. My men will ensure no rumour enters the report as testimony.”

Delrona set down her cup.

“How fortunate that we are being so careful with the facts.”

“Yes, milady.”

She rose and went to the window.

Below, the market was opening. Word would already be travelling between the stalls. By noon, everyone would know someone who had been there, or someone who had lost a relative.

“Declare a day of mourning,” she said. “Have the names recorded. The families will receive grain from the city stores.”

Fateese nodded.

“And issue a decree concerning lamp oil. No storage beside cooking fires or unloading berths. Harbour supervisors will be held responsible for breaches.”

“I’ll have it prepared.”

“Make the penalties clear.”

Later, she visited the damaged quay and delivered flowers to the site of the tragedy.

People moved aside to let her through. Some bowed. Others watched her with the exhausted attention of those who had been kept awake all night by sounds of rescue or distress.

Delrona listened to the harbour master’s account. She stood beside the blackened remains of the ship and promised assistance to the families of the dead.

A woman thanked her.

Delrona took her hand and consoled her.

“We must do better!” she told the crowd.

A few people murmured their agreement. Nearly everyone else remained silent, afraid to speak. Those who had heard of the confrontation in the square kept their eyes lowered. Along the edge of the gathering, the Guardians watched.

Thy Quest: The Harvest is Good this Year.

Why do some Kefarians welcome Delrona’s rule while others fear it? Use one detail from the inn conversation and one from her response to the harbour fire. Explain how her public promises compare with her private actions.