Interlude

Arken

Guildmaster Arken strode purposefully through the Ironworks Guild offices. As he walked, he admired the elaborate network of iron pipes decorating the walls, pumping heated water through the building. A true wonder of engineering, a beautiful example of the turning tide in the use of runestones. And Arken’s ship was at the head of that tide. It was a stark difference to the fanciful brass pipe system that adorned the Arch Duke’s palace, an offensive display of the disparity of wealth in Rubane. Where the highborn control and squander wealth while the truly talented and innovative struggle to fund projects that can bring them into a new world.

He approached the heavy doors of Grimsworth’s office. He knocked loudly and entered when beckoned. Grimsworth himself stood at the window, overlooking the labour yard where workers extracted and separated valuable metals from stone. Master metalshapers and artificers working it into varying shapes. To Arken’s ongoing disappointment, it was primarily weapons both modern and old.

“Such a waste,” Arken said, shaking his head.

“Men will always want to kill other men,” Grimsworth chided, “no matter how many new innovations we achieve.”

“Steel makes blood, which makes gold.”

“Indeed it does. There has been an interesting development in our plan,” Grimsworth confided, turning from the window, “it appears there has been an attempt made on the cripple’s life.”

“One of the Dukes?” Arken asked, surprised.

“One of his own guards,” Grimsworth scoffed, “Edmund is trying to keep it all under wraps but he won’t be able to contain this for very long.”

“And the prince?”

“Rumours that he’s dead. Others saying that he’s under the Arch Duke’s protection. Nothing confirmed just yet.” Grimsworth’s unfathomable ability to always be aware of what was going on in the palace continued to astound Arken.

“Should we press ahead?” Arken asked worryingly, “Perhaps this is not the best time for you to be stepping down. We’ve already established you as an enemy of the prince, were we too hasty?”

“No, no,” Grimsworth dismissed, “for our plan to succeed the Dukes cannot suspect me of cavorting with the Reldoni. The stunt with the Prince will stand for that affirmation.”

“But does this feud with the Prince make you culpable to the assisination?”

“Nobody would think to blame me for this,” Grimsworth rebutted, “it’s brazen—yes—but a stupid move. The Prince’s death achieves nothing for me—no, we’ll continue with the plan. If the Prince is truly dead then it is indeed a setback. Make another copy of the journal, we will have another Reldoni ambassador soon enough. A dead prince won’t change the fact that they will want their steel.”

“The Reldoni might try to lay blame on Rubane for this,” Arken noted.

“All the better,” Grimsworth granted, “the pressure will push the Dukes to making rash decisions. They’ll be too busy looking at the sword pointed at them to notice the knife at their back.”

Arken grimaced, he didn’t like the idea of such violence, but as Grimsworth had told him time and time again, for change—real tangible change—to happen in Rubane then the highborn would need to be taken down. Their bureaucracy and rules overthrown, their amassed wealth shared evenly and fairly across the guilds so that they might truly help the people of Rubane.

“I’ll use my connections, try to uncover the one pulling the strings of this assassin,” Grimsworth continued, “if their goal is to sow discord amongst the highborn, then we might have an ally.”