“Lord Phylacus, here are the scrolls you requested on the agricultural output in the southern sector.” The paige delivered yet another stack of scrolls upon the desk of the slim, pale faced man. Within the study already lay countless rolls of paper, cascading over desks and chairs, leaving little room to maneuver.

“Thank you for that, you may leave now… Make sure no one disturbs me.” Bowing his head, the young aide carefully crossed through the mountain of scrolls and shut the door as he left. This had been the sight within the crown prince’s study for the last few weeks, which had been the case since Lord Phylacus’s investigation into the nobles.

Conflict within the surrounding regions, raids upon the countryside domains by remnants of the Althaiin Civil war was causing repercussions throughout the League. The damage had been kept to a minimum; however, the aristocracy was already found to be exploiting these disasters. Claims of decreased agricultural production, raids by bandits on tax collectors, and increases in those falling into debt slavery. It was known that the nobles were purposefully raising taxes upon the lower classes, using their inability to pay to call for their enslavement to pay the debt.

All to further enrich themselves and fund their lavish lifestyles, yet without evidence of their crimes there was little Phylacus could do. This was especially true since the Archon, his father’s health had taken a turn for the worse in recent years. Thus, he had turned to the methods of the previous minister, Caedyrn Amyntas, the Grand Scholar, his implementation of double-entry bookkeeping had assisted in the growth of the League banking system.

Yet after his fall from power corruption had begun to fester within, the beautiful marble image of the Capital masked the rotten core underneath. Reports came in regularly regarding the growth of trade and introduction of new luxury goods like soap from the southern frontier, the Scholar’s new domain, once a destitute and ravaged land was being eyed by many greed obsessed nobles.

However, the economic situation was only the first concern for the sickly prince. His brother Hyllos had been tasked with ending the tribal raids near Sidene, loss of the city and its timber exports would be a great blow to Phylacus’s goals of naval expansion. On the other hand, his brother’s growth in power was worrying, he possessed the staunch support of the army, and he had been seen recently hosting the nobility at his manor.

Phylacus unfurled another nearby scroll, peeking at the contents, an intelligence report from the League’s agents on the Rustikan peninsula. The Ociri republic’s war with their southern neighbors was intensifying, gone were the border skirmishes, the report detailing the armies being deployed across the border. Tens of thousands of men marching south, cities and fortresses aflame, their inhabitants butchered or enslaved.

The confederation of native tribes was fighting fiercely, but reports were stating that the Perenti, one of the largest tribes of the confederation were hit hard, targeted in the Ociri march. With their leadership momentarily crippled the confederation response was disjointed, leaving individual tribes to be crushed piecemeal below the heel of the Ociri Legionnaire’s. It was also easy to anticipate the natural course of things, the Ociri would not be content with merely south and central Rustika.

If the Etruski in the north were to get involved in the war and attack the Ociri, although it would mean further disruption to trade, it would create a check on Ociri expansion. Phylacus was able to see that if the Ociri gained dominance in the south, they could easily cross the straits of Merlab. Syroneika as it currently stood would be easy prey, unable to unify the League and the other smaller independent powers would be caught between the Ociri Republic in the east and the Kurtian Empire in the west. Phylacus held no illusions as to the sincerity of the alliance with the Republic, they may be friends for now, but that was only the case for as long as a shared border did not exist.

Jotting down notes upon another scroll Phylacus stared at the numbers. He needed to find a way to increase revenue, they needed more ships and soldiers, better weapons, and armor. Yet finding the money was the most difficult part of the process, searching the documents would yield some results, nobles could be found not paying their share and squeezed for a few hundred extra talens, but it wasn’t enough.

The difficulty lay not in discovering the corruption, that was easily found, it was in enforcing the laws. Rushing into a city and arresting the lord, or collecting taxes by force, such methods would put the central government at blows with the nobles. It was possible they would rebel and plunge the entirety of the nation into a civil war similar to their neighbor the Althai Federation. Any such conflict a sign of weakness, and an invitation for others to intervene.

Phylacus laid his head upon the wooden desk, groaning in frustration, his hands grasping at his curly brown locks, threatening to tear them out from the root.

“Why does father favor Hyllos, I am the one who keeps these lands running! Without me everything would fall into disrepair! Yet why is it that I am treated worse, my accomplishment unrecognized. Damn those nobles, why did father bow to the pressure and remove the Scholar. If only we still had him to keep the cursed ticks in check! I HAVE NOT SEEN MY WIFE AND SON IN WEEKS BECAUSE OF THOSE PARASITES!” Phylacus was so engrossed in his rant that he failed to realize that his paige had entered the room moments before. It was only when their eyes met that the prince gained some color in his face, rapidly regaining his earlier calm and acting as if nothing had happened.

Looking awkwardly at his lord the boy walked forward and handed Phylacus the scroll within his hand. The seal upon which lay the golden chalice of House Mercan designated it as a high priority report, meant for when a dignitary or someone of stature is to arrive.

Upon breaking the seal, Phylacus skimmed the report, then read through one more time as if to confirm the report. A smile crept up his lips, slowly growing wider and wider until he was beaming with joy. “Quick prepare my wing to receive guests, my former teacher is about to arrive in the capital, and I expect only the very best accommodations… Don’t just stand there hurry along!”

Resting at the very bottom of the letter was the guest’s sigil, a crimson flower resting upon a silver stem.