The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 24
Starhaven, Sidor
Edmund sat alone at his desk in his private study, a single candle burning as night crept through the high tower windows of Starhaven. Reports were scattered before him, each sealed with the wax stamps of various barons loyal to the Crown. He reached for his goblet of Lynesian red, the corners of his mouth lifting as he read the latest dispatch from Baron Harald.
The rebels were crumbling, unable to keep their armies cohesive with the dissension caused by distrust and infighting, as happened with so many rebellions in the past.
Without someone like Aldric to unite them, they all vied for power, unable to control their baser instincts. Some, mostly barons from Shadowhold and River Mark, had pulled their men entirely. Some for the Maw season, but more left the battle than would have had to for just that. His sources indicated that some had left because of disagreements with either Pembroke or Sinclair. Or both.
He’d stirred the pot, sending out offers of pardon and amnesty, on the off chance that they were fed up enough to take it. Even if they didn’t, it would sow more dissent and distrust, keeping them weak while his army whittled away at them. And things were going well. Almost all of eastern Kingsheart had returned to Edmund’s control, either through force or through pardons he had no intention of honoring once the rebellion was crushed completely.
Only one dark cloud marred his otherwise perfect evening, the total failure of the Icelanders. Duke Cadogan had proven as useless as Edmund had feared. The northern forces had been driven back across the narrows, and Iron Keep was now firmly under Garris Sinclair’s control once more.
Edmund dipped his quill in ink and drafted a message to Baron Halsey, one of the more ambitious nobles under Cadogan’s command. The letter was carefully worded, nothing too outright or that could be turned against him later, but the implication was clear. Support for a new Duke of the Icelands might be forthcoming from the Crown, should the current duke find himself ... removed from his position.
Risky, to be sure, but he was tired of Cadogan’s failures.
A sharp knock interrupted his plotting. Edmund quickly folded the letter and pressed his seal into the cooling wax.
“Enter,” he called.
Orlan Rhys slipped through the door, his thin frame bent in perpetual deference.
“Your Majesty, forgive the late intrusion. Acolyte Tomas has requested an urgent audience. He says the matter cannot wait until morning.”
Edmund set down his quill. The archivist had returned from Werna with the Key weeks ago. Edmund had allowed him to continue his research, knowing that the man’s academic curiosity would reveal more about the artifact than Edmund could learn on his own. He’d begun to grow impatient but knew things like this needed to be handled gently.
He hoped this was his patience finally paying off.
“Send him in,” Edmund said, quickly rearranging the papers on his desk.
Moments later, Tomas entered the chamber, arms laden with scrolls and parchment. His robes were rumpled, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. The man looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, and he probably hadn’t.
“Your Majesty,” Tomas said with a hasty bow. “Thank you for seeing me at this late hour.”
“Knowledge keeps no schedule, Brother Tomas. Please, be seated. Tell me what discoveries you have made that couldn’t wait for the morning sun.”
Tomas placed his scrolls on the corner of Edmund’s desk and sat. He unrolled the largest parchment, revealing line after line of text, written so small it was hard to read, along with some hand-drawn sketches of ... something. Symbols, maybe.
“I’ve deciphered more of the carvings from the chamber where I found the Key. Using these as a guide, I was able to work through portions of that ancient document you showed me months ago, the one with the untranslatable sections.”
“The Wernan text? I was told it was written in a dead dialect.”
“It is, but the symbols on the chamber walls provided context.” Tomas pointed to specific markings on his drawings. “These represent concepts rather than words. They create a framework for understanding the text.”
“And what have you learned?”
“The Key was created as a tool for social control by a ... they don’t say renegade, exactly, but definitely a break-off group of the main power structure. I actually read an interesting treatise on this group several years ago. It seems...”
“I’m certain that’s fascinating, Tomas, but if we could stay on the subject of the Key.”
“Of course. I apologize. So everything I can find suggests it was designed to keep the lower classes subservient to those in power.”
Edmund kept his expression neutral, though his pulse quickened. “How exactly does it accomplish this?”
“The artifact grants its user influence over the minds of those who hear the wielder’s voice, although the effects are limited. It doesn’t appear to work in one-on-one situations. It requires a crowd, a mass of people. The texts describe it creating a form of collective influence, a shared suggestion that sweeps through gatherings. But it doesn’t provide absolute control. The Key cannot make enemies into devoted friends or force people to act completely against something they believe strongly. It merely pushes people in directions they might already be somewhat inclined to go, or at least are not strongly opposed to.”
“So it enhances persuasion rather than creating obedience?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tomas pulled out another scroll. “This document describes instances where the Key was used to quell rebellions in ancient times. A ruler would address angry crowds, and their rage would mysteriously subside. Demands for change would be forgotten or postponed.”
“Fascinating. Have you tested it yourself? Purely for academic purposes, of course.”
Tomas’s expression shifted, discomfort evident in the tightening around his eyes. “No, Your Majesty. That would be ... inappropriate without proper authorization from the Council of Elders.”
“Of course, of course,” Edmund said quickly. “I merely wondered about the practical applications as described in the texts. Tell me more about its limitations.”
Tomas relaxed slightly. “This is why I came tonight. The Key has a critical flaw in its design. It gradually corrupts its user.”
“How so?”
“The mind and soul of the wielder change with use,” Tomas explained, flipping through several pages of notes. “Even the group of ... agitators who created the Key used it sparingly because of this dangerous side effect. According to these texts, even benevolent rulers became cruel over time when they relied on the Key. There are references to several instances of this happening.”
“These could be exaggerations, cautionary tales to prevent misuse.”
“Perhaps,” Tomas conceded. “But every mention of its ability is accompanied with warnings of these dangers. The corruption seems tied to how often the Key is used. Sparing use might cause minimal harm, but regular reliance ... the texts are quite clear that no one escaped its influence entirely.”
“I see,” Edmund said. He stood and moved to the window, looking out at the darkened city below. “Where is the Key now? I assume you’re keeping it secure.”
“In my temporary office in the eastern wing guarded by the men you assigned to me,” Tomas said. “I’ve placed it in a locked case, wrapped in lead-lined cloth as the ancient texts suggested. Tomorrow, I plan to transfer it to the archives at the Grand Hall for proper documentation before arrangements can be made to transport it to the Gray Isles. The Key is too dangerous to remain in circulation. It must be studied only under the most controlled conditions.”
“Your diligence honors the Acolytes, Brother Tomas. I commend your commitment to protecting the world from such dangers,” Edmund said, walking toward the door. “We should inform the proper authorities immediately.”
Tomas gathered his documents, visible relief softening his features. “Thank you for understanding, Your Majesty. Few rulers would have spent such resources to push forward our understanding of the past.”
“The burden of rule is knowing what is truly important,” Edmund said, opening the door and calling out. “Orlan, bring the guards.”
Four guards entered the chamber, Orlan following behind them.
Edmund’s expression hardened as he turned to face Tomas. “Seize the acolyte and take him to the bottom level of the dungeon.”
Tomas stood frozen, confusion washing over his face. “Your Majesty?”
The guards moved forward, grasping Tomas roughly by the arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” Tomas struggled against their grip. “Your Majesty, I haven’t done anything.”
“No, you’ve done exactly what I needed. But now you are an obstacle which must be dealt with.”
“You can’t do this!” Tomas’s voice rose as the guards dragged him toward the door.
“Take him away,” Edmund commanded. “No one is to see or speak with the prisoner except myself or Orlan.”
“Your Majesty, please!” Tomas shouted, digging his heels into the floor as the guards pulled him through the doorway.
The door slammed shut, cutting off Tomas’s desperate pleas.
Edmund turned to Orlan and said, “Go to the eastern wing. Retrieve the Key from Tomas’s rooms, and anything else he has there. Then, clean out any sign that he was ever there. Bring everything directly to my private chambers, but make sure not to touch the Key directly. Keep it enclosed in the cloth Tomas put around it.”
“At once, Your Majesty,” Orlan bowed.
“And Orlan,” Edmund said, gathering the parchments Tomas had left scattered on his desk. “Absolute discretion is necessary. The Acolytes would certainly try to reclaim an artifact of this significance.”
“No one will know, Your Majesty,” Orlan promised with another bow. “What of the acolyte himself?”
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