BECMI Chapter 244 – Source of Troubles

It was late, and there was a lot of singing and dancing going on. Briggs was seated back on his Disk in the corner, morphed into a chair that could take his size and weight, and even looked like it was using legs to do so at the moment.The Kladelanders had followers in Vascovune, mostly among the duelists and mercenaries of this land, who were snobbishly looked down upon by the ‘noble’ wizards whose ranks they could not join. Smiths and armorers were also at least neutral to the movement, if not friendly for fear of their masters, and so word spread of what Briggs was bringing, quietly and without fanfare.

The noble masters knew it, and some had sent assassins or spies out to dispose of or test this huge brute who was slaying werewolves, wererats, and wereboars alike with grim efficiency, and in doing so showcasing the ineffectiveness of themselves and their own arcane powers.

Indeed, two nobles had already been caught out as werewolves, forced to transform in front of their subjects very publicly, and Briggs had crushed them both with grim finality.

When the old man sat down across from him, Briggs glanced at him just once, and then his Source Aura flared out for just a second.

Like passing mists, the disguise peeled away from the fellow in a common shirt and leather pants, a work apron still on his chest and hands stained by dirt and wine. What was left behind was a tall, vital older man with dark hair, rich full robes, subdued yet sparkling jewelry, and manicured hands that definitely had not been working a wine press or tending grapes.

Briggs didn’t bat an eye as the wizard was revealed, although the fellow looked momentarily startled. Several eyes caught the transformation, but the light was low and Briggs’ lack of reaction meant those nearby watching out for him hesitated.

Briggs just took a drink from an over-sized flagon suitable for an ogre, ignoring the wizard and refusing to speak first.

“A decent trick,” the wizard acknowledged gravely. “Who are you, really?” he demanded firmly.

Briggs just grunted and raised a hairy eyebrow at him. “Where I come from,” he said in his rich and magnificently cultured bass, again startling the wizard, “one introduces themselves before asking for names, wizard.”

Suspicion gave way to grudging acknowledgment of the rebuke. “I am Nathaneal Jean-Arc, Prince of Nueva Vascovune and Grandmaster of the School of Magic,” he introduced himself formally and confidently. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“I am Briggs, no surname. Smith, warrior, maester, and former warlord and general, late of Siricil,” Briggs answered with a formal nod. “What business do you have with me, Your Highness?” He was completely unperturbed by the fact the most powerful man in Zanzyr had just sat down across from him, which raised alarm bells of its own. Most warriors would have been instantly wary in the presence of such an archmage, but he was completely unimpressed.

“You are no mere smith, sir,” the Grandmaster said, a flagon appearing in his hand. A bottle flipped away from the bar nearby and into his hand, which he poured into his own flagon, then offered to Briggs calmly. Briggs tossed back the dregs of his cup and held it out to be half-filled by the bottle.

“You are no mere Grandmaster, sir,” Briggs replied in exactly the same tone, as they toasted calmly and drank together. “I ask again, what business do you have with me? I know that I have none with you.”

“You have been taking the people of Vascovune in rather large numbers, Monsieur Briggs. I would know why,” the Prince asked after only a moment of consideration, instead of dancing around the point.

“I have been accepting volunteers, yes. I have been ‘taking’ nobody and nothing. You are one of the architects of this magocracy about us.” Briggs waved his big off-hand with lazy dismissal. “The spellcasters of your little province here hold no interest to me whatsoever. While they make good wine here, I am not interested in a backwater so isolated from the rest of the world, so you may keep any fears of conquest or insurrection stilled.

“I am only interested in the non-Casters among your people, Your Highness. Nothing a Headmaster like yourself need be concerned about. The loss of some dirt-scrabbling farmer’s sons aren’t going to make a bit of difference to enrollment in your School, yes?”

Prince Jean-Arc frowned slightly. “We still have an obligation to care for our citizens, Master Briggs,” he pointed out.

“And I will definitely be caring for them more than you and your nobles, given how few of the ruling nobles are actually in their lands helping out their people with their magical prowess, instead futzing around with politics and drama in Zanzyr City, Your Highness.” Briggs’ voice held no judgment, only cold fact as he sipped at his wine. “If that impacts your tax base, well, perhaps it will prod the nobles to make some money themselves, instead of surviving off the common folk.”

“I see.” The Prince’s expression was irked, but not overly concerned. “And this… hunting down of werefolk?” he asked carefully.

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“It shows I am serious and not to be trifled with, which are very useful when traveling, and it gets me free room and board, which is also useful,” Briggs replied smoothly. “The fact that it shows your magic-using nobility are too lazy to do likewise is their problem, not mine. We don’t permit lycanthropes to prey upon us where I come from, and that seems to be a commonly-held belief among those I am speaking with, whereas the nobility don’t care unless a pack of them start causing havoc on their doorstep, or something.”

Briggs pointedly did not mention that some of the nobility had turned out to be werewolves themselves, which doubtless contributed to this problem. He was also fully aware that the Prince was in fact Thaum, and doubtless aware of the fact that there were lycanthropes among the nobles… and did not care about that, as long as they were spellcasters.

Lycanthropes among non-Casters? That was a nuisance.

“Indeed. Recruiting volunteers from the lower classes and giving them transport elsewhere is akin to raiding for population. But, here in Zanzyr, if you can accomplish it with sufficient wizardry, is not an invalid tactic,” he judged with great tolerance. “There is one issue you may not be aware of. The incidence of children born with magical people is very high among the people of Vascovune. You are, in effect, stealing future wizards from Zanzyr, and that is not a small matter.”

“It is an irrelevant matter,” Briggs replied with complete dismissal, making the Prince’s face fall. “In Zanzyr, I am aware that there are types of magic that quite literally can be learned nowhere else in the world. The children are always tested to see if they have magical capability, and unlike here, all of them are encouraged and trained to use it if they are capable of doing so. Directing them to Zanzyr to further their magical education and giving them the possibility of mastering what you call your ‘Secret Schools’ is certainly something I would be willing to encourage they learn, and to do so they must come to Zanzyr.

“Now, if you are asking for all the children to be given to you if they have magical potential, I think we will both agree that is tremendously egotistical of you and there will be violence beginning forthwith.”

There was no compromise in Briggs’ voice over that matter.

“You see to the education of all the magically gifted?” Prince Jean-Arc was a little startled at the statement.

“All the gifts, of all the people. Not just those with magical potential, like here in Zanzyr, Grandmaster.” The title seemed somehow vapid and demeaning in the mouth of the huge brute in front of him, talking about education of more than wizards to the headmaster of a magical school. “But such is not your concern, of course. Merely rest assured that in the future we will be certain to mention the potential of learning magical arts in Zanzyr, with the caveat that they will be exposed to the rather unscrupulous and hypercompetitive yet lazy Zanzyran wizard lifestyle, which, if we’ve done our job well, will likely be rather abhorrent to them. I rather doubt any of them would choose to remain here, but then again, it will be a choice left to them.

“I trust a famed educator has no problem with treating one’s students as responsible enough for their own future in this manner.”

“It is enough to know that they will be encouraged to embrace magic in the future,” the Prince agreed slowly, his gaze thoughtful. He said nothing about resources being wasted on educating non-wizards, of course. “I would ask that you center your efforts in the border territories outside of Vascovune in the future. We do need our people to work the land.”

“So your wizards don’t have to, and the dominion doesn’t collapse under lack of hands? That sounds impossible. Surely wizardry could do all the work, your wizards would just have to apply themselves to the basics of living, rather than partying it up with games of intrigue and snobbery in the capital.”

Briggs’ tone was not complimentary, but the other man was undisturbed. “Such frivolity disguises a very real element of competition that drives the study of magic further,” he pointed out amiably, as if the matter were of minor importance.

“It occupies the time and attention of powerful individuals who could be using their gifts to turn your nation into a true magical, political, and economic powerhouse of magical innovation, instead trapping it in a devolving cycle of who can bend the law the most, who can dare to have the lowest level of morals and not be caught, and who can bring down their enemies to advance their cause, instead of finding common cause to push the nation ahead.

“You have not built something here that is going to last, Grandmaster. As can be seen by how quickly the common folk are willing to leave.

“I anticipate the nation you have built is going to hollow out underneath you and you will be forced to employ increasingly draconian methods to control your non-wizardly populace, becoming a tyranny of magical repression that should be wiped from the face of the world. You betray your own ambitions of magical innovation and progress with the government you have founded.”

The dark eyes of Prince Jean-Arc glittered. “You seem remarkably well-informed of our nation for a non-wizard.”

Briggs’ expression was almost incredulous. “You think wizards are the only ones with intelligence networks? You think they invented espionage? Eavesdropping? Information interception? Infiltration? Seduction? Recruitment? Manipulation? Perhaps you do, being an archmage. But just because magic shortcuts many of those things does not mean wizards are good at the game, and they certainly don’t have the scale once outside parties start being interested in the truth of what is happening in Zanzyr.”

“And what truth would that be?” the Prince asked archly, interested now.

“The breeding of vampires and lycanthropes, especially in the forced absence of clerics to fight such things. The looming creation of an undead nation-state, all aided and abetted by the living as long as they are wizards, too. Potential recruitment of humanoid spellcasters in the future, effectively giving succor to the ancestral enemies of multiple races… as long as their arcane spellcasters are in charge. Advancing and encouraging the spread of necromantic disciplines and their development. The furtherance of hostile transmutative magicks, Curse magicks, spells and magic of mass area destruction, enslavement and charm magicks upon the unwilling, and the enslavement and subordination of powerful Summoned beings.”

He went on before the Prince could say anything. “You are young,” Briggs said bluntly, making the man blink. “These are not indicators of magical innovation and research. They are the signs of decadence and the seeds of self-destruction. Great societies have died while trying to fight the very things you are encouraging. They failed to stop them, and you are them. The instant you remove any moral restrictions on pursuit of knowledge and implementation of same, you have started down a road that always, ALWAYS ends badly.”