Continuation of Government (open)

[Andrea Marsilia]

Timestamp: Early candlemarks of Solaria, 1 Immanis, Era XI, in the season of Winter during the Pax Imperialis.

The absence of Pirvan Kaldres, duly appointed Governor of Lauryl, was proving most distressing.

Effective government could only be had if the law was faithfully and judiciously implemented, which in turn would only come about through the consistent formulation of an established provincial policy.

Alas, in the absence of the chief policy-maker for the province—Andrea couldn’t really blame him, there was a lot of things on the Chief’s mind—matters of state within the beleaguered Lylles Kingdom of Lauryl took on something of a state of static despondency; bureaucratic inertia having yet again reared it’s ugly head.

The old adage was right, however. Nature, foul, tempestuous, and vile creature she may be (despite all the sweet things all her apologists had said about her), she, that patroness of Jorel and paramour of Ioannes, Materna’s gallivanting female child, hated a vacuum.

And the gods be dammed, didn’t they have one here and now.

***

Having come into power through force of arms (granted, of course, that Imperial Approbation had helped somewhat) it stood to belief that the Governor’s hold on power—while lawfully and legally stable—was, in reality, tenuous and shaky. The only certain constituency was Frigid River, which Pirvan had won over thanks to a hefty arcanic battle and the begrudging agreement of the local powers-that-be, both elves—some ranger prince and the most influential voice on the Council, Amelia Natali (though Andrea didn’t know that yet).

High Peak was typically in its solitary wilderness—most of the highlanders there perhaps content to hide in the mountains and forget about the telath outside—while in Zinn’Sunn, the malcontents festered. Eth’gantor, for all its credit, was as quiet as a mouse, with nary a peep—but that could change, as well.

As for Mystique, there was no doubt about it.

Mystique still seethed. By far the largest diamond in the provincial crown, if one looked closely, that gem was in a most tarnished state. Having been under the control of a ruthless archmage for so long, it had forgotten most of the rules to which its existence was based—specifically, Imperial Mandate.

Pirvan, no mean magic-user of some renown, himself (or so the rumors went around) had demonstrated the same in the fight that led to his then-questionable Thaneship in Frigid River. Like all good things, that, too, came with a simple caveat.

And there lay the rub. With Pirvan absent (or invariably, temporarily indisposed) and with no other member of the Provincial Council present, Mystique would most probably go its wayward self again, worshipping some of the old gods, and practicing more of that old, banned magickry, Necromancy—and in the Empress’ own backyard, yet—a direct affront to Her Most Imperial Majesty!

Heads would roll when She found out. Being Sovereign, no doubt word would reach her, sooner or later.

Better later than sooner, of course.

Here he was, though, an Imperial citizen, still titularly Chancellor of the province (a job that meant he ensured coordination among the agencies and ministries of the provincial government and undertook specific duties or functions to execute the policies and programs of the Govenor and his courts and councils, and assign specific responsibilities and duties to other members of the provincial council and their constituent offices), and that meant that he had a responsibility, particularly absent guidance from Above.

Sitting plainly at his desk, piled high with all manner of parchmentwork, he thought long and hard as the darkening passed, growing worried day after day after day—feeling very much like the overlord of Enamoria the very same brightening that the Xet attacked.

The barbarians were at the gate, and in the Governor’s Palace, the lights were off.

That’s what they thought.

With a menacing set of unfeeling eyes and a deadly, fixed stare, Andrea took out a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing.

The Empress would not be pleased with the manner in which Her province of Lauryl, a fief most dear to Her heart, looked at the present.

On the appointments book was a single scrawl for the first brightening of Immanis, which was but candlemarks passed, at present:

The decline stops now.