1730: The Pieces – Part 8 1730: The Pieces – Part 8 “Those are foolish words,” the old rchant said.
“You burned his land, killed his Generals, slaughtered his troops.
He would not cede anything willingly to you.” “I did not say willingly,” Queen Asabel said.
Only now did she understand the significance of the way her father had handed her the crown.
It was a gift that was difficult to see, but in the forum of such debate, it gave her a mighty platform to launch her attacks from.
“But in losing, he gave it to nonetheless.” “I fail to believe that any man would,” the young rchant said, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Do you have proof?” “Do you require proof?” Queen Asabel said.
“Or do you doubt the Pendragon House?
Do you look upon the sigil of the dragon that we have been allowed to bear since the ti of the First King, and do you expect from us the sa sort of pettiness that would follow normal disputes?
Indeed, rchant, my Kingdom is on fire.
But that is what happens when dragons fight – the kingdom burns.” Her words evoked a chill.
For the first ti in their argunt, the young rchant seed to be at a loss.
His eyes widened.
His fingers stopped their drumming on the desk, and he seed to realize sothing altogether different.
The enraged woman that stood before him was not fuelled by the spirit of hysteria, or petty outbursts.
It was the resolute certainty and strength that ca from the bonds of her ancient family.
It was the spirit that animated them all.
The spirit that had given rise to the Hero Arthur.
“…Word can be sent to the Pendragon estate,” Lord Idris offered, sensing that the mont was ripe.
“But they would scorn you for needing to ask – for needing that proof.
You should be able to tell, with the briefest glance at a history book, what their decision might be.
The old King Pendragon had his wars with Arthur as well.
But to the very end, to the very end, the Pendragon bonds hold strong.” “We are forged through fire,” Asabel said.
“We find purity through the flas.
We are a clumsy monarch, and we leave much destruction in our wake.
But that is our justice, rchants, that is our honesty.
You can be certain that all we are, we put on the table, and we dare you challenge us for what indeed we are.
You know my opinions now, rchants.
You know indeed how I see you.
You know indeed what I want from you, and how far I am willing to go in seeing it done.
Now, I dare you to challenge for what I am.” She glared around at them again, that little canine of hers protruded from her mouth, her eyes unblinking, and her presence suffocating.
Even Lancelot, being of the Second Boundary as he was, found the aura that she had about her almost crushing.
It wasn’t Command.
He knew Command.
It was sothing else entirely.
Sothing that ran parallel, and made him want to kneel, and declare his loyalty to her again.
They didn’t speak.
The rchants looked at each other, unsure of themselves.
They’d co in search of gold, and they’d been forced in another direction entirely.
Theirs were the expressions of n that wondered if their original point held any aning at all.
“Is it gold that you are after, again?” Asabel said once more.
“Or do you see this fiery path that we blaze forward for ourselves, and wonder, indeed, what the flas might reveal?
For rchants I have no respect.
But I could find so for n that would look for aning in fire.
For n that would take risks, for the sake of an ideal, beyond rely the accruent of comfort.
Such n I would not call rchants.
I would call them Traders of Royal Commission.” “Traders of Royal Commission…” the young rchant said carefully.
“And what would be the benefits of such a post?” “You would trade with the seal of the crown,” Queen Asabel said.
“The authority of that ought be enough for you.
You will help see this country of ours rebuilt.
For indeed, where there is much room for improvent, there is much room for opportunity.
I offer you not a mountain of coin.
I offer you, instead, the position in which you can make a difference to this country.” They were rchants that had climbed their way as high as they were for a reason.
They knew that at tis, there were offers that ought to be taken not for the gold that they seed imdiately able to accrue, but for the influence that they might be able to exert, that would otherwise lead to more opportunities.
“And if we lose this war?” Ca the question from another middle-aged rchant that had yet to speak.
“Then what would our efforts an?” “You ought be aware now, as much as I am, that a war is won just as readily with supplies and proper trade routes than it is with swords,” Queen Asabel said.
“So I will leave that question to you gentlen and your confidences.
Do you believe that you are so inferior to those rchants of the Capital?
Do you believe that you will lose to them, even when they are not given the authority to ask as you are?
Do you look upon these Pendragon lands and where we are situated, in such close proximity with the Verna, and do you declare that there is naught you can do?
I am an amateur in trade, but even I can see that the dissolution of the border between my Asabelian lands, and the reunion of it into Pendragon territory entirely should bring a degree of prosperity.” “…” There was quiet muttering amongst them, as the Queen appealed to their pride.
The young rchant sat, with his lips twisted, considering it alone, letting the hushed murmurs wash over it.
He was the first to speak out of all of them – a man that had seen his career rise so rapidly on account of the opportunities that he had so swiftly taken.
“If I wished to deal with the Yarmdon?” He said.
“Would you limit ?” “I would encourage you, and give you the soldiers that you require for safe passage,” Asabel said.
“Then I am in agreent,” the young rchant said.
“Grant this post, Queen Asabel, and the opportunity that cos along with it, and I shall be of use to you.”
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