5.4 The Grand Council

Part V: Political Intrigues
Chapter 4: The Grand Council
Timeline: AO 295

Bureaucracy – don’t we all love it? Our leaders inevitably claim they are acting in our best interest, but in reality, it’s just their own pockets they want to line, right? Case in point, The Drokka Grand Council. While the public thought the Kon-Herr was their ruler, what they never knew was that the power behind the power was the council – a group of individuals from each of the seven elite families who purported to advise the king on what was in the best interest of the people (i.e. for the rich families). It’s now time to meet a few of these power players…

“Sire, the Derkka Prime Minister has said the price per log is going to increase this spring – she claims the transportation costs of Blackwood on their end are rising so we have to pay more.”

The speaker was Monty Redstone, The Coinmaster General for the realm, a representative for the Klyntz clan, and a key member of Baldur’s Grand Council — the group that helped the Kon-Herr Drokka manage the kingdom (and generate vast sums of wealth for themselves). Monty was a short blob of a man who stood barely four feet tall and was nearly twenty-five stones of flesh that jiggled with his every move – yet the middle-aged man with bushy red hair and shaggy beard was one of the king’s most trusted advisers and dearest friends (or so Baldur believed).

Although born among the commoners of the Klyntz clan, Monty had found a way to break into the inner circle of his family and then into the upper levels of the Drokka high society. How did he rise so high? Monty had unbounded energy combined, a real head for business, a calculated insolence in portraying himself as a man of means (even before he had any), and a never-ending determination to force himself upward in the ranks.

That Monty was a smooth talker in business transactions was quickly proven; that he was a man of his word was up for debate. Yet, his daring continually discovered new opportunities for Baldur’s kingdom, his energy overcame hesitation where others on the council might have faltered, and his ingenuity gave Monty advantages that others couldn’t match. Success eventually strengthened the faith of others in his abilities.Over time Monty’s advice was sought by all the members of his clan and others. Elites who didn’t like Monty called him shameless, but never to his face, because they oft found themselves coming to him for capital to finance for their own projects – thus giving Monty ever more power and propelling him into his current role. [But also making him a secret enemy of the Rukstinz, Gaatz, and Busz clans – all of whom despised Monty for his business saavy that was a direct threat to their own designs].

The king foolishly presumed that Monty was satisfied with his current station in life – failing to understand that greedy men never have enough. Baldur’s misjudgment of his ‘friend’ would cost him dearly in the future, but for now the naive king couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s colorful garb. I’ve never convinced him to tone down the attire, Baldur chuckled to himself – for the tunic Monty wore was so red it made his hair seem almost brown and he’d paired that with a wide-brimmed ranger’s hat that sported a handful of expensive eagle’s feathers flecked with gems around the crown for a show of wealth.

The king was about to reply to Monty’s latest news but it was Prince Hacktor – the newest member of the group – who spoke first, “Excuse me, sir, but did you say she when referring to the Derkka’s Prime Minister? Am I to understand that we are taking orders from a woman slaver now?”

“What’s wrong with a woman of power, dear brother?” Hacktor’s sister Hecla smirked as her brother sat back in disgust. Although she’d only been a member of the council for over a year, Hecla wasn’t shy about speaking up and her jab caused the other woman on the council (Ly’Mala Boma) to chuckle as well.

As for Hecla, although she was Hacktor’s twin, they looked nothing alike: Hacktor was a giant of a Drokka who stood well past five feet tall and was broad of shoulder, whilst Hecla was nearer to four feet, lean and lithe.

Dressed in a purple robe which hugged her curves and still able to forego the veil that most women her age wore, Hecla was the desire of every eligible bachelor in the kingdom (and she was secretly desired even more by its married men – with Monty Redstone among that group). Drokka men all sought to capture a glace from Hecla’s alluring green eyes and it was oft blissfully whispered of the princess that ‘her eyes are as deep as a mountain lake’ – yet no man knew what was at the bottom of those eyes and that was one of the many secrets that gave Hecla her charm.

“It’s not proper for a woman to command, Hecla, and you know it.” Hacktor shot back at his twin, before staring down Ly’Mala.

“I thought you were a history buff, brother,” Hecla teased. “Did you forget about Kon-Herra Kath–”

“That’s enough.” Baldor broke in, embarrassed at the scene his children were causing. I didn’t invite them here to engage in childish squabbles. “If you have something constructive to say, please do so, otherwise be silent at my council.”

“Tell me more about the Derkka wench that speaks on behalf of The Golden Hand?” Hacktor snarled.

“Her name is Marge of the Thatches. She comes from a wealthy family. She’s the current prime minister for the Drokka Parliament – and a real power in Gor.” The answer came from Varian Kyndyz – a middle-aged Drokka with a nondescript appearance, yet one that Baldur knew belied his cunning nature.

With a sandy brown coif of hair and a beautifully manicured beard, not overly long, Varian’s average build and height allowed him to blend into any crowd. Although he preferred to wear simple clothes that didn’t make him stand out, Baldur well knew that Varian’s cold, calculating blue eyes bespoke of his savvy political acumen.

The man is a master manipulator whose true allegiance is known to no one. The king pondered. I wouldn’t doubt that he’d remove me if he could – then again, most of those here would probably do the same.

“My prince, it may also be helpful for you to know that our intelligence reports that the Grand Marduk Garrick has been reduced to a figurehead now that diplomacy is the name of the game.” The speaker was the military commander at Hacktor’s right.

As the brother of Bane, Herr of Kel-de-Kaba, Ortwin Strongbow was from the Busz clan. Although he was a few fingers shorter than Baldur, but the little man had long served as Baldur’s lead general at Rhokki Pass. While his years of service under the peaceful king had required little need for military activity, even still Ortwin took pride in his position. As such General Ortwin was dressed, as always, in his military blacks, along with his ever present good luck charm on display — an old-timer’s boiled leather breastplate with the Fist of Rhokki carved into the chest that the old man daily glossed to a high sheen. He continued. “It seems the Derkka’s Parliament decides their fate now.”

“And ours too, eh?” Hacktor huffed. He too was dressed in the black colors of the Drokka army, but with a velvet cape lined with ermine at his back.

Thankfully Hacktor didn’t try to carry a weapon to the council chambers today. Baldur mused. He looks fearsome enough already — see how he towers over the rest of us.

“Be that as it may,” Baldur commented aloud to the group, “what are our options?”

“We can pay the extra prices if need be, my king.” Monty offered, his jowls jiggling with each word. “Derkka trade agents have always dealt fairly with us and it’s been a few years since they’ve increased the price of blackwood.”

[What Monty didn’t say is that he’d already made a backdoor agreement with his Derkka counterpart to split the extra profit].

“Aye. Truth be told, sire, our shopkeeps have already taken multiple price increases each of the previous two winters.” Thork Drivingstone chimed in. The master mason was chief of the merchant’s guild on behalf of the Gaatz clan. As such, he was also the voice of the various Drokka traders who conducted commerce throughout the realm and to the lands abroad.

Thork had inherited the position from his father before him and was older than the king by some twenty-five years, yet somehow he looked younger than Baldur. The mason’s well-oiled black hair and beard didn’t show a single gray hair, and his skin was smooth. Unlike Monty’s over the top flair-filled wardrobe, Thork was always dressed in the latest finery that was the picture of good taste. He continued, “I think the guilds have expected this for some time so there is room in the profits to account for increased prices.”

[What Thork didn’t say is that he knew all about Monty’s secret agreement, but since he was getting a cut of his own, he was all for it.]

“Does Iztak agree?” Baldur looked at Malchior Der Naves – the representative of the priestly family of The Naves.

Tall and slender with a severe, ascetic look, the ecclesiastic did not at first reply. His sharp eyes were a stark contrast to the serene expression he displayed on his face. Wearing priestly robes of deep crimson, adorned with intricate gold embroidery symbolizing his high rank within the Naves clan, Malchior’s long, white beard and hair gave him an aura of ancient wisdom like his master Mikrir. After briefly looking under veiled lids at Hacktor, the cleric turned towards the king and nodded his silent assent.

Baldur smirked to himself at Malchior’s charade but pretended not to notice. The king was smart enough to realize that Malchior had his own reasons for supporting the price increase. It was obvious The Naves would gain significantly from any economic strain placed on the commoners – since more desperate times meant more people flocking to the temples, seeking solace and paying tithes.

The Kon-Herr dared a glance to his right, to the individual who was seated by himself in a high backed chair and who as yet had not spoken. The Drokka was Lord Aric Rukstinz, the eldest son of Lord Thane Rukstinz, the wealthiest and most influential man in the Drokka kingdom. Although Aric was not an official member of the Grand Council his presence was one of undisputed authority – for the Rukstinz clan controlled the vast majority of the capital of the kingdom. Yet Aric didn’t deign to acknowledge the king and instead continued to display an interest in the book he was reading.

Baldur coughed to hide his embarrassment at the clear affront, but it was the scribe Grak who broke the silence. “Shall I enter this in the records?”

Mild-mannered and calm, the king’s record keeper wore a simple brown robe with a thin gold chain around his neck — the mark of his position – as prescribed by the Gaatz clan that oversaw all things scribe related.

Yet before the king could answer, it was Ly’Mala Boma who now spoke up. An unusual Drokka with olive skin and coiled black hair, the representative of the Boma family was dressed in an elaborate and colorful gown to emphasize her high status.

As usual, the language that spewed from her mouth made little sense. “On behalf of the Boma’s I believe we as a people should unburden ourselves of the pedantic displays of power so often on display at these illustrious meetings and rise to the occasion presented by this exclusive Derkka partnership presentation.”

She even dresses like Derkka. Baldur grunted to himself. The king well knew – as did the rest of the council – that Ly’Qeena was a fervent advocate for the Derkka – to the point of excess. Like the rest of her clan, she dreams of a future where the Boma clan will rule over both races.

Yet rather than reply to Ly’Mala’s comment, Baldur saw Hacktor shaking his head in disgust and turned to him. “Do you have something to say, son?”

The big man frowned so deep that the gold bands that held his oiled beard apart nearly touched, “So that’s it? We are just going to keep our tail between our legs and let the Derrka steal our wealth?”

“What does your vast experience in international trade tell us to do?” Hecla taunted.

“As I told you, Prince Hacktor,” Baldur worked hard to hide the embarrassment from his voice, “your voice will always be heard. So what do you suggest?” Although I already know the answer.

Hacktor’s shoulders were ramrod straight, “Weak people want infinite accommodations; only powerful ones are spurred on by opposition. The Derrka can’t raise the price of an asset they no longer control. Let me lead our army into the outerworld and I promise you I’ll take control of Blackwood Forest for once and all.”