Before the Storm: Act 1, Chapter 7

Before the Storm: Act 1, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“Well,” Frianne said, “this wasn’t at all what I expected.”

Since Corelyn Harbour had something like a temple university, she expected the public school to have similarities to the temple schools that educated the lucky few villages that were blessed – or cursed, as Jircniv would say – with them. Indeed, even the Imperial Magic Academy and the Empire’s universities took inspiration from the educational institutions of the Slane Theocracy, albeit the imperial product was thoroughly scrubbed clean of any religious influence and further altered to suit the Empire’s needs.

They stood at the entrance to one of the classrooms, much as they once had during their visit to the Imperial Magic Academy. Rather than classrooms filled with the best and brightest young minds that the Sorcerous Kingdom had to offer, however, the classrooms in Corelyn Harbour were filled with adults. The subjects being covered wouldn’t place them in the highest echelons of the bureaucracy – they were simply learning how to read, write, and perform basic arithmetic.

“Apologies for being somewhat underwhelming,” Clara said.

“I sense a healthy dose of sarcasm in your words, dear Countess,” Frianne replied.

Needless to say, it was the exact opposite of underwhelming. She was beginning to think that the word ‘impossible’ was not something that the Sorcerous Kingdom applied to itself.

When it came to what the Merchant Guild considered professionally viable literacy, the average rate across Re-Estize and Baharuth was somewhere under ten per cent. A tenth of that number was what the Imperial Administration considered the bare minimum for employment in its civil service, and the vast majority of those who met that standard were members of the Empire’s aristocratic establishment.

As stringent as the Empire was, however, it never seriously considered educating the general public to raise the ratio of qualified citizens. One was either suitable or they weren’t, and education was considered a private affair in the Empire. Its resource requirements aside, education was as potent a weapon as one could arm oneself with in civil society, so it was jealously guarded. The Temples, Guilds, and the Empire itself saw fit to regulate both its availability and content. It wasn’t out of the realm of expectation for unwanted scholars and ‘rogue’ artisans to be driven out of towns and cities, have their property and possessions burned, or just outright get assassinated.

“To what extent do you plan on educating your citizens?” Frianne asked after they withdrew from the door to walk down the hallway.

“For the time being,” Clara answered, “achieving what the Guilds consider suitable for a professional career, with the eventual goal of every citizen in possession of a basic universal education.”

“I can tell you with near certainty that the reaction of the Imperial Court Council to your stated objective would be ‘preposterous!’,” Frianne said. “Matters of cost aside, where do you find the staff to instruct so many pupils? What practical end does doing this serve when that level of education is unnecessary for the daily lives of most?”

“That assessment is understandable, as it reflects the practical realities of the region. At the same time, this ‘realism’ is possibly the greatest obstacle in understanding what the advent of the Sorcerous Kingdom brings. I can’t call it stubbornness–”

“Yes, you can,” Liane said.

“–but it’s a sort of inflexibility that I often see plague mediocre Merchants. Changes and trends wash over the markets, but they cling to their holdfasts as if weathering a storm. This same problem can become orders of magnitude worse when dealing with well-established Noble houses, as they are tied to their land and that land has become a constant for them. This sort of conservatism does often win out over temporary fluctuations in one’s situation, but the Sorcerous Kingdom is not a temporary existence. In their attempt to anchor themselves against what they imagine to be a rough current, those who resort to familiar methods will drown themselves in a flood.”

Frianne understood what they were saying, but, if she were to use the same analogy, the Baharuth Empire was the one used to being the ‘flood’. Few understood and fewer still accepted the Emperor’s sudden and unprecedented capitulation over a year previous, and he wasn’t in any way inclined to make himself look weak attempting to explain his position. Not that it would inform them of what Frianne had witnessed thus far.

“Then how would you explain what you’re doing here to the Court Council?” Frianne asked, “Or any Noble of the Empire, for that matter? To them, the sheer logistics that must be involved with your efforts would be dismissed as the folly of an ignorant and naïve girl. Everything flies in the face of what they know.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to grasp how my methods are accomplished,” Clara answered. “Once again, the problem is that certain connections aren’t made due to both preconceptions of practicality and attitudes toward the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Yeah, that trip to the Empire was a huge disappointment,” Liane said. “Somehow, Ludmila of all people managed to get them to visit when all of our faffing around in Arwintar barely got us anywhere. I thought our presentation would have everyone banging on the gates to get in on the deal.”

“House Gushmond thought they might be able to employ what you offered in its silver mines,” Frianne noted.

“Yeah, then they ditched you at the border,” Liane said sourly. “Don’t tell me they dumped all of their stuff on you.”

“They did, in fact...”

She had come not only to visit her friends, but also to see what could be done with her new title. Now, she had all of House Gushmond’s business to take care of at the same time.

“Since the Empire is more familiar with what magic could do for a country,” Clara said, “we thought that what we had to offer and its ramifications on imperial society would be self-evident...don’t tell me that was the reason why?”

“I’m fairly certain that it wasn’t,” Frianne replied. “I believe the Empire’s reputation abroad combined with what most visitors see in Arwintar has painted an exaggerated picture of magical integration in our country. The percentage of Wizards in the population is still minuscule and most of them go to the Imperial Army or work in the Imperial Ministry of Magic.”

“What about all of the graduates from the Imperial Magic Academy?”

“It pains me to say this,” Frianne said, “but those who don’t graduate from the magic stream to enter service as professional mages quickly forget what they’ve learned in class. I have a colleague in her thirties and she can’t recall anything at all from her academy curriculum. I’m of the mind that the entire Court Council is in a similar situation. My cousin doesn’t even bother trying to think about it – he just turns to me whenever there’s some magic-related thing he wants explained.”

Her three friends from the Sorcerous Kingdom frowned at her response. She did her best to mask her embarrassment. Most of the time, people made excuses about forgetting about one thing or the other until they got old enough to use a variety of age-related excuses instead. Frianne was reasonably certain that they were excuses for their lack of diligence – her grandmother was four times her age and she remembered everything.

“That academy education sure seems useful,” Liane said.

“What about the scions who go on to lead their houses?” Ludmila asked.

“If you’re asking about territorial development,” Frianne answered, “the best way to put it would be that they go with what’s popular. There are some bits and pieces that have embedded themselves in our common knowledge, such as contracting the Army Corps of Engineers to lay down infrastructure or perform flood control. I wouldn’t expect them to remember the intricacies of the magical side of things, however. Ordering magical lighting or building levees amount to little more than numbers on a page.”

“I suppose that’s one of the things that drove you to write that treatise.”

Frianne nodded. Most people knew as much about blacksmithing or sailing as they did magic, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Still, she wanted more for the Empire as a society, and so she doggedly pushed for the spread of magical knowledge and the slow process of reform that it made possible.

“Then, if we go back to your original question,” Clara said. “Does the Empire employ Golems in any fashion or at least know of their industrial implementation?”

“I have some knowledge on the subject,” Frianne replied, “but Golems aren’t used in imperial industry. For the most part, they’re valued for their military applications.”

“I see. In that case, one of the first challenges that we must address in light of our changing reality is the concept of the ‘spare’. With the plentiful supply of food and other necessities, increased effectiveness in health care, better security against deadly threats, and obsolescence of the levy, the Sorcerous Kingdom is facing an impending population explosion. An average rural household in the region has five children and rural households make up ninety-five per cent of the Human population. Thus, the number of Humans in the Sorcerous Kingdom will more than double with each generation.

“The conventional ‘use’ for spares in the region is menial labour in towns and cities. They are also employed seasonally in the country if there is a need for them. In the Sorcerous Kingdom, menial labour is a role fulfilled by the Undead, and they do so far more cheaply and quickly than Humans. As a result, not only will spares find that they don’t have work, but the entire web of industries that exists to service them will cease to be. Within the next four years, the full implementation of Undead as menial labour will be in place. Spares will not be able to survive as they do elsewhere.

“We are in a race against the future, and we are currently losing. Worse yet is the fact that, out of all of the territories in the Sorcerous Kingdom, Corelyn County is by far the furthest ahead.”

“Except for Ludmila's place,” Liane said. “But she’s a cheater.”

“Do you plan on expanding this new system of schooling to other parts of your demesne?” She asked.

“Once we get through a semester or two and work out the most glaring issues,” Clara answered. “We should have complete coverage by the end of next year.”

“Complete coverage?” Frianne frowned, “That’s including the rural regions?”

“Absolutely,” Clara said. “I can show you a map of how everything is laid out after dinner. It wasn’t terribly difficult to figure out.”

“She says that,” Ludmila’s voice came from the other side of Clara, “but she’s been planning this out for a long time. She was already starting to build all of the necessary infrastructure less than two months after the annexation of E-Rantel.”

“Every village in the County is an hour or less away from the nearest town by Soul Eater,” Clara said, “so it was simply a matter of making sure that the roads and facilities were ready in each town.”

“Clara thinks that most people somehow masterplan everything over breakfast,” Ludmila said, “and then she has people and resources moving all over the place the moment she finishes her meal. Even people from other countries aren’t safe from her.”

They left the plaza, walking up the ramp leading to the pedestrian route overlooking the highway. Frianne placed a hand on the railing as they made their way to the castle gazing down at the massive harbour that was the town’s namesake. Magical lighting illuminated a row of drydocks where a handful of barges were being assembled.

“Those barges are huge,” Dimoiya said. “Even the Death Knights look tiny beside them! They don’t look like they’re made out of wood...”

“They’re made out of steel,” Liane told her.

“Hah? But...”

Dimoiya adjusted her glasses looking back and forth in confusion.

“How do you people have so much steel?!” She asked, “Just one of those barges should take enough metal to fully arm and armour an entire Imperial Army Group!”

“It’s enchanted steel,” Liane added.

Frianne gaped silently at the claim. There was little reason for Liane to lie, especially since they would have plenty of time to thoroughly investigate everything they were shown over the next week or so.

“Where do these ships sail to?” She asked.

“Throughout the Katze River Basin and out into the Syrillian Way,” Clara answered. “Most of this port’s trade is with the Draconic Kingdom, but we plan on steadily expanding our network of routes. For now, we’re focusing on helping with their economic recovery.”

“Oh, oh!” Dimoiya turned around with a little hop, “I heard about that! The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was in an uproar when the news was delivered.”

“How did the Empire react?”

“It didn’t,” Frianne said. “The Court Council was convinced it was some sort of scheme, so the news was never released to the general public.”

Clara turned to look at her with a furrow on her brow.

“A scheme? Why would they think that?”

“Word of the Sorcerer King’s death in the Holy Kingdom arrived a few weeks before,” Frianne replied. “Half of the Court Council suspected it was a test to see how we would handle major events. The other half suspected it was a test to see if we would undermine the previous ploy with the new information.”

“What did the Emperor say?”

“He only snorted and said that Queen Oriculus was better off eaten.”

“Why would he say that?” Ludmila frowned.

“He greatly dislikes her for various reasons. How much freight would you say goes back and forth between the Corelyn Harbour and the Draconic Kingdom? I’m not familiar with what’s going on down there.”

Liane pointed over the railing to one of the barges sitting under the harbour’s gantry cranes.

“Each of those boxes can carry up to twenty tonnes of freight. One barge can ferry a dozen. That’s about as much as a small galleon can hold, but, as you can see, we load and unload ridiculously fast. A round trip between here and the Draconic Kingdom takes anywhere between two and three days depending on where it’s going. It’s mostly grain these days.”

“That’s fast,” Frianne said. “How do you manage sailing upwind that quickly? Is it part of the enchantment on those barges?”

“Nah,” Liane said. “We just use Undead to propel them. These ships don’t rely on the wind at all.”

“...and how many vessels make this journey to the Draconic Kingdom?”

“Three dozen,” Liane said. “It’ll be four come autumn.”

Alarm rose within Frianne as the last piece fell into place. The Sorcerous Kingdom was perceived as a clear and present danger in a military sense by every country in the region. What no one understood, however, was that they would soon be an economic one, as well. They would feed their exponentially expanding manufacturing base with their cheap and plentiful resources. Combined with the near-zero cost of their Undead logistics, they would rapidly dominate any country that kept its borders open through trade.

Liane grinned irreverently at her silence. For all of their tentative talk of experimentation and new frontiers, there was no way they didn't know what they were doing.

Willhem was more right than he knew. The Empire has been overtaken in the blink of an eye. By the time the citizens notice it happening, it will be far too late to react.

“So,” Clara smiled, “how do you think we should approach the visiting Nobles?”

Frianne smiled back despite herself. Everything they had seen and discussed was probably for the express purpose of wrangling her into their schemes. They appeared to be benevolent schemes, but they were still schemes nonetheless.

“That,” Frianne replied, “is a discussion that can wait until dinner.”