“Let us go to your slave market this afternoon,” Zagiri said. “Poor Jonah will need to be distracted after today’s council meeting. All this talk of the Hierarch will have upset him, I am certain. Do you think such a person really exists, Farah?”
“I do not know,” Lady Farah admitted. “But whoever he is I hope he does not come into The City before we can get the populace calmed. It would only cause more troubles for my son, and the council.”
Her hopes were not to be realized because despite the council’s promise to pay the magnates for their grain, the magnates refused to open their warehouses so that the food might be distributed. Word had spread throughout The City that there would be food, and when there wasn’t, several small riots broke out, which had to be put down by the Mercenaries. Jonah was fit to be tied. He called Cuthbert Ahasferus and Aubin Prospero to him. They would not come, for they feared the wrath of the people. And then it happened as crowds gathered outside one of the largest warehouses and granaries in The City.
As the hungry citizens led by Mikhail, son of Swiftsword, demanded in the name of the council that the warehouses be opened, there was a sudden burst of bright light. And there before the warehouse stood a tall young man who thrust out his hand toward the warehouse door, which immediately burst open. The crowd surged forward, but the young man again held up his hand.
“My children, there is food for all here, and I know you are starving, but the distribution must be done in an orderly manner. Everyone will be fed, I promise you. Your own elected councilman, Mikhail, son of Swiftsword, will guide you. Do as he says, and all will be well.”
“It is the Hierarch!” a voice in the crowd cried out.
The people surged forward again, but this time it was to touch the hem of the Hierarch’s dark blue robe. Some began to weep. Others cried out for his blessing, and the Hierarch obliged them, touching their heads, clasping their hands, offering a kind and gentle word of encouragement.
Councilman Mikhail ordered the workers in the warehouse to prepare to feed the people who stood behind him. Frightened for their lives, they hesitated.
The Hierarch came forward, and spoke to them in low and soothing tones. “My children, you must feed your brothers and sisters. It is my wish you do it.”
“My lord,” the foreman of the workers said, “we do not know you, and our masters will punish us if we allow their goods to be stolen.”
“I am the Hierarch,” Cam said, “and I have come to lead Hetar back to its glory. You have strayed, my children, from the path of noble tradition. You must restore the old ways, and I will help you. Your masters will hear me, and they will follow my ways. But first we must feed the citizens of this great city. They will need their strength if we are to rebuild Hetar. Help us now, brothers, to distribute the grain.”
It was as if the foreman and the workers had been touched by magic, for, nodding, they began immediately to gather the people outside the warehouse into orderly lines, and the grain and rice began to be passed out. Hearing of this, several of the magnates came to the warehouse to protest, but the Hierarch approached them, assuring them that they would be paid for their goods.
“Did not your own council promise it?” he asked them.
“Aye, they did, but then they formed a committee to decide how much we will get,” one plump magnate said. “Do you have any idea how long it takes a council committee to make a decision? They will argue over the smallest point for weeks. It will be months, if not years, before we see a single coin.”
The Hierarch smiled. “The monies you will get from the grain in these warehouses is nothing to what you will gain if you will but listen to me. I know how difficult it has been these last years for you, but Hetar is to return to its old ways. A time when each citizen had a purpose, and a place. When all were fed well, and housed, and sickness was rare. A time when profits were as fat as a Winterfest goose. I have come to lead you back into your righteous ways. Has my coming not been foretold to you?”
“It was thought by most that the Hierarch was legend,” one of the magnates said.
“Legend begins in truth and fact. Then as the centuries pass it becomes blurred until it is believed nothing more than fantasy. But I am real, my lords. And if you will follow me we will together return Hetar to its former glory, and your vaults to their former wealth.” He smiled a brilliant smile, and to their surprise the magnates gathered at the warehouse felts their own lips turning up in an answering smile.
The distribution now under way, Mikhail, son of Swiftsword, quietly departed the warehouse, making his way to the Golden District where the Lord High Ruler lived. Easily recognized by the guards at the gates to this district, he was passed through, and made his way through the beautiful parkland whose flowering trees were now coming into bloom. There were beautiful homes scattered throughout the woodlands, and Mikhail frankly enjoyed the walk, almost feeling regret as he reached the palace, where he was admitted immediately.
Once the home of Gaius Prospero, it had been enlarged when its former owner had managed to make himself emperor of Hetar briefly. It would not have been considered a large palace in other kingdoms, but it sat upon the largest and finest piece of property in the Golden District, and commanded a fine view.
“Tell the Lord High Ruler that Councilman Mikhail, son of Swiftsword, awaits him,” Mikhail told the majordomo who had come to greet him.
“At once, my lord,” the majordomo said, bowing obsequiously. “At once!”
“Thank you,” Mikhail replied, amused. It was hardly his position on the council that gained him such courtesy. It was because he was his father’s son.
John Swiftsword held the distinction of having been the greatest swordsman in the Kingdom of Hetar. He had been the greatest Hetarian hero to fight in the battle of The City, losing his life, but helping to gain the victory. And, more infamously, he was the father of the faerie woman Lara, Domina of Terah, a legend in herself. Mikhail smiled to himself. It had been some time since he had seen his half sister. His mother was jealous of Lara, and had hidden her existence from her younger brothers for many years. But Mikhail remembered the lovely girl who had played with him, because his father had quietly seen that he remembered. And then when they were both grown they had met again, and the rapport had been immediate between them.
The majordomo returned. “The Lord High Ruler bids you to await him in the library. He will be with you as soon as he can.” The servant led Mikhail to a beautiful book-lined room. “I will bring you refreshment, my lord Mikhail.”
“It is just Master Mikhail,” the councilman said, and sat down to await Jonah.
The majordomo left, and when he returned he was accompanied by a serving woman who carried a small tray, which was set on a nearby table. “If you need anything else, Master Mikhail, you have but to call out. The servant will await outside the library door.” Then he lowered his voice. “Refresh yourself. It will be a while before my master can come to you.” Then the two servants bowed themselves from the library.
Mikhail poured himself a goblet of strawberry Frine. He set it and a small plate of crisp cheese wafers next to his chair. Then, choosing a book from the library shelves, he sat down to await the Lord High Ruler, immersing himself in a rather interesting small history while nibbling upon the wafers and sipping from his goblet. He did not often have the opportunity to read in quiet with such delightful refreshment. He lived with his mother and brothers. His siblings were all Crusader Knights, each striving to match their father’s reputation, and none coming even close to it. He himself was a scholar. His father had been a fine man, but Mikhail had discovered young that he had no talent for weapons.
He did not know how long he sat reading. The plate with the wafers was empty, as was his goblet, when the Lord High Ruler finally entered the room. Jonah was garbed in a house robe. His hair was tousled and he looked tired. The councilman rose to his feet, and bowed to Hetar’s sovereign. “My lord.”
“What do you have to tell me that is so important?” Jonah demanded.
“There are two things I thought you would want to know, my lord,” Mikhail said.
“And they are?” Jonah asked.
“The distribution of the grain has begun at long last, my lord.”
“And?”
“The Hierarch has come, my lord.”
“The Hierarch has come, my lord,” the councilman repeated. “It is he who managed to get the warehouses opened when even the council’s orders could not.”
Jonah grew pale. His worst fears were being realized, but he swallowed his fears, saying to Mikhail, son of Swiftsword, “I must meet the Hierarch. Can you arrange it, Councilman?”
