Machina Segnis
The suns seemed to have risen earlier on that particular day or at least the Castigator’s people definitely had. At every level of office and hierarchy, the living mechanisms of the Ministry, the Army and the Procrastinators were of a singular mind and purpose: The Castigator had announced that in two weeks time the wrathful military might of the Outer Territories would be ready to march for war, the likes of which had not happened in the past 25 years.
In every single office and chamber of the various organizations of people and ruling institutions, the situation was almost the same even if one cared to take into account the multitude of minor variations in disciplinary strictness, interpersonal roles and affiliations, as well as structural differences and the specific nomenclature of each branch of service.
Lesser officials busied themselves with arranging communiques, writing down orders and manifests and then calling for couriers or perhaps taking it upon themselves to forward the appropriate documents and even matériel to their intended recipients. It would be anathema to any one in that overwhelmingly complex machine of sorts should they singularly fail especially in simple orders.
If anything were to happen to this whole enterprise, this majestic war footing, this Holy Campaign that had been blessed by the Gods and commanded by the Castigator himself, it would not be because a lowly clerk or young lieutenant forgot to sent out some matériel requisition form or a call-to-arms teller. Indeed, if such a Campaign were to fail because of a human error in such a catastrophic way before it even began to put itself into motion, it would not be because of the lowly gears in the machine that worked above and beyond their human capacities.
Diligence was considered a virtuous characteristic and most Law-abiding parents tried to hammer that into their children if they had to, so as to become people worthy of upholding the Law whenever they could, whatever their place in society might be. Those that the Gods seemed to favor most were selected to enter public service as Ministers, Procrastinators, or Army officers, according to how well they performed at the Agogeia.
Select officials from these three embodiments of rule and order taught at the Agogeia, schools for those that could afford to become something useful in their lives. After the basics, such as obedience to Law, reciting scripture and fairly simple counting and sword-fighting skills, the best of each class of children were selected for progression: that was done according to the inclination, receptiveness, and skill they showed at the various tests and games carried out to separate those who were capable of serving the people and the Gods and those who simply could not.
Some of those who were better skilled in memory, oration, the use of language and emotion, and showed a certain ability to swaying the hearts and minds of their fellow students, were further trained to become Ministers. They were inundated into the teachings and trappings of the Law and were taught how to best interpret Law according to need. They learned the intricacies of teaching, enlightening, and chastising the layman. They were most importantly shown how to impress and guide hundreds, if not thousands of people as the Law, the Ministry, and the Ruling Council dictated.
They were responsible for the enlightenment of the people, teaching them Law and helping them avoid the temptations that would lead to blasphemy, heresy, eternal damnation, and a most probably gruesome, demeaning execution that would serve as a reminder and a lesson that All is Law and no one and nothing is above it. The Ministers also tended to the daily running of the Territories as administrative officials, collecting offerings and making amendments to the lesser decrees of the Law to better handle the multitude of people and the realities the land of the living required, with its needs of economy, trade, and resources.
The spending of coin for public works would be decided and then dispersed accordingly to those noble houses that could field enough manpower to make things happen. Things like roads, bridges, canals, buildings, walls, mills and workshops and every other piece of structure that would make the Territories grow and prosper, for the glory of the Pantheon. One day, one of their number would be chosen from the Castigator with the blessings of the Patriarch to be the next Arch-minister, the one blessed to be the voice and heart of the Ministry.
Those of the Agogeia students who were energetic, athletic students, and showed exceptional stamina and strength; those who exemplified martial prowess both with blade and bare hands, those who were blessed with possessing a sharp and decisive mind, those having proven their faith to be unfailing with a stone-hard dedication to the Pantheon, those were in the end chosen as fit for service in the Army.
Rigorous training in all the known aspects of warfare was their sole occupation unto death. Whether or not they would be called upon to act, to kill or be killed in service to the Gods, they would train with sword and spear, shield and horse until the ailings of old age would force them to continue serving by training others of their kind. In matters such as the planning and design of warfare where a mind should be much more fit than the body, their experience and long years of service were unmatched, and those traits they used when passing the torch to the ones that would succeed them.
Their training began with single combat techniques utilising many different weapons, under different situations and varying levels of duress. Then they progressed into infantry squad tactics in the open field against other types of units like cavalry, or steamers and artillery. And then they would rotate into the rest of the units in order for their training to be complete and be able to use everything from bare hands to a complex steamer machine. Such a practice also made them knowledgeable in the weakness and strength of each type of unit, making them able to select the best course of action and the kind of men, machines and animals it would require to be successful.
These were the core lessons they were taught: strength in knowledge, success in adaptability, glory in death. As they progressed through the standings of the Army always according to their merit and degree of success in their duties, they always kept in mind their faithful devotion. Through their accrued experience they learned more about handling men, matériel, and equipment; they became excellent organizers, designers and planners with tens of thousands of men in their mind as one day they might be called upon to lead the whole Army as Generals, in the name of the Pantheon first, and the Castigator second.
Those that did not excel in anything but showed average skill at wielding a sword and could learn enough of the Law as it was needed orally, those did not learn to read and write like the Minister’s did, nor did they train any further in order to excel into combat. These children were strictly chosen for their ability to follow the letter of the Law blindly and unerringly, to keep a watchful eye for signs of heresy and insubordination as well as any element that was an affront to the Pantheon and the Law, or anything that might defy the Law or its upholders in spirit or in letter.
These were the ever watchful eyes of the Castigator, the arm that made the Law reach into every heart, body, and mind: the Procrastinators. Their training was simple, crude, and effective. It hammered into them the utmost loyalty to the Law, and tought them how to use people in order to learn all that was needed: the rumors, the happenings, the weddings and deaths, births and oath-takings.
Everything that went on not just in Pyr, but everywhere in the Territories, they made it their job to know. If the need arose they disciplined and re-enlightened. At times they would bring to the Ministers those they deemed suspicious or knew to be genuinely guilty of sin. Then they would enforce the Law and the divine will of the Ministry with unflinching loyalty, following the credo that All is Law. If they performed their tasks impeccably, surely they would have a chance at being given the honor of becoming Procrastinator Militant: part of the Ruling Council, the left hand of the Castigator himself.
All that was a structure that had been handed down from the Gods themselves. That meant that its purpose and form were Holy, and any talk of reform, change, or deviation from the established norm was treated at best as bl
asphemy but usually it was deemed heretical, and was treated accordingly by public torture and death.
None were exempt from such punishment, especially the men in the Ruling Council who were meant to be the paragon of Law itself for all the people to see. Such a hideous concept was not unknown, that a man in the Ruling Council would denounce the Gods by committing or speaking heresy: it had happened long ago, in a past almost rightly forgotten and excised from the Annals of the Territories. Its memory still lingered though in the people’s minds as Shan’s Betrayal, a myth to frighten the children into obeying, a fable to instruct and put the fear of the Gods into the soul of men, but indeed part of a history long ago forcefully cast into oblivion.
Shan had been a General of the Army at a time when the Territories had not grown past the lands around Pyr. When the Ruling Council decided it was time to enlighten the nearby shores of Urfall, Shan was reluctant at first. The story says he was publicly chastised, with a hundred lashes to his back; the chastisement had brought him to the brink of death.
Because he was deemed an exceptional strategist and a peerless tactician, he was once more asked to lead the armies that would enlighten Urfall, instead of being stripped of office and rank and live on the streets as a beggar. He had been given the opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of the Pantheon, the people, and the Castigator. He acceded and the armies marched off, gleaming in their metal armor, the blessings of the Castigator sung over the Southern Gates of Pyr. Within a few weeks Shan’s armies seemed to have been lost, and no message of the war had reached Pyr; not a single messenger sent from Pyr ever returned.
One day, Shan appeared over the hills encircling Pyr, and had with him not only the armies he had marched off with weeks before, but horses as well, and men, catapults and hellish contraptions that spurted fire and death. He had spread his heresy to the armies like the mythic whores of old spread disease; like a cancer that spreads from the roots of a tree to its leaves and brings about its death. And he had the Urfalli with him, their machines working in ways unfathomable, the heinous products of heretical pacts with the forces of evil.
He reached the Gates of Pyr and demanded the surrender first and foremost of the Ruling Council. The man also had the ineffable audacity to accuse the Council of lies and crimes to the people, twisting the word of the Law and spewing forth horrific untruths. It was an attempt to poison the minds of every man, woman, and child in the city as well, promising that none of those who surrendered willingly would be hurt in any way, and that a fair trial would be arranged for all.
Except for the Council, who would be executed after their supposed lies had been exposed and their non-existent crimes against men proven unquestionably. Such heretic lies had never been uttered before and never would be again, their venomous treachery so base that the Castigator himself is said to have cried in desperation, for he had never thought a dearly loved brother like Shan could fall from grace like a star falls from the night sky.
The city was utterly defenseless save but a few procrastinators and old army tutors. The rest of its defenders were lowly farmers, herders, artisans and traders that had not yielded shield, spear or sword for once in their lives. The armies of Shan had cast away all form of decency or honor and had turned into a rabble of heretics. They had begun to scour the lands pillaging, raping, and burning, before they dug their teeth in what they thought would be the grand feast of Pyr itself.
But they never managed to sink their putrid claws into the immaculate flesh of the City of Pyr for it was protected by the Gods, as are all their faithful and humble servants. For when the time was nigh and all seemed lost, the Castigator Hanul Ofodor the 1st, retired from the halls of the Disciplinarium and went deep into the Sacred Vaults, where he and the Patriarch offered their blood to commune with the Gods and ask for deliverance in that time of need.
For a day and a night, while the heretic hordes of Shan looted and pillaged the lands, while the outer walls of Pyr were about to fall, an angel sent from the Gods appeared in their image, and cast brilliant rays of cleansing light annihilating the armies of Shan who had no other recourse but to flee like the vermin they were. None escaped the angel’s wrath, who spread the cleansing fire to every last part of Shan’s army.
When the Day of Redemption had passed, the City of Urfall and its majestic harbor and proud workshops were all extinguished in a ball of light so pure in its wrath that those who saw it with bare eyes went blind, and would forever be praised for the rest of their lives as Martyrs of the Wrath of the Gods, spreading the tale of Shan and what they had seen to everywhere they went. And such was the way the story was told from one generation to the next, as a reminder of the fallibility of even the most righteous and pious of men. The official Annals never admitted or recorded it, since Shan’s betrayal should never have happened in the eyes of the Gods; and so it seemed as it never really had.
Such was the tale of Shan Lagus, the Betrayer; proscribed from history, but alive in the memory of Law-fearing people. People like the Arch-minister La Vasse, a wide, big-boned man, dressed in an opulent surplice with holy texts in High Helican weaved around its sleeves and a Seal of Office hanging round his neck in a pendant made of platinum and emeralds, fittingly pure and clean to represent the qualities an Arch-minister should possess.
He was presently sitting at the Strategium Proper in the company of the General of the Army and the Procrastinator Militant. His embarrassing near-blunder at last night’s festivities at the announcement of the Last Holy Campaign as it was officially now named, had not gone unnoticed: it had become the subject of sarcastic comments and irony even at the lower echelons of the Ministry and the Army, but had only naturally been ignored by the Procrastinators in whole.
The General of the Army had not been present at the event due to having received news of the Castigator’s decision from beforehand: he had indeed spent the night hard at work putting his most trusted and capable people together, rousing them up from their sleep in order to lay down the priorities of planning and start orchestrating the massive preparations involved in such an endeavor as a Holy Campaign.
He had of course learned of the Procrastinator Militant’s blunder and even though second hand accounts rarely manage to do justice, he had exchanged knowing looks and smiles with the Arch-minister that had gone largely unnoticed by the Procrastinator Militant; a somewhat alarming fact if one would care to extrapolate the level of the Procastinators’ vigilance from the qualities apparent in its most senior member.
The three of them had been there from before dawn, the Arch-minister and the Procrastinator Militant arriving together even though they had ridden in separate coaches, having left from the Disciplinarium once proper etiquette was adhered to and the reenactment of the Pacification of Zaelin thoroughly completed, with all the bloodletting and the prayer that ensued.
They were now sipping fresh hot uwe tea comfortably seated at the General’s planning chamber, all sorts of charts and maps laid out over a grand table. Heaps of reports and still unsigned orders were amassed upon the General’s desk which was a utilitarian piece of furniture like most around the chamber, sturdy and well-made but otherwise unadorned and plain.
The Arch-minister was seated in the only luxurious chair available: plush velvet adorned its back and the sitting surface. Elegantly inlaid pieces of ivory, black granite and tether-wood intertwined in flowing designs on the stylish armrests. The Procrastinator Militant sat at a simple stool which was much more accommodating for a soldier in search of a few moments of peace for resting his legs, rather than a man of such an office as a Procrastinator Militant.
The General had briefly apologized to the Procrastinator Militant for lack of a better seating apparatus, and had at length explained that any and all equipment deemed to be of an extraneous nature was being dismantled to be put into other uses with the preparations for the campaign demanding every last bit of reusable material. That even included finely crafted chairs made from young sycamore wood and inlaid
with ivory, granite, and tether-wood, not unlike the last one available for seating persons of importance, of which the Arch-minister seemed to be putting to such good use.
Not that he implied at any point, the General had continued, that the Procrastinator Militant was not a person of incalculable importance but alas, the Arch-minister had seniority according to the Law of Founding. It was Law that essentially demanded the Arch-minister to be seated in the proper way, while he would have to make do with what little was available at such a time of need.
At that, the Procrastinator Militant withdrew from any thought or intention of protesting, and simply accepted the proffered stool graciously. By looking at the Arch-minister, if one didn’t know better he might have misinterpreted his slight grin as an indication of silent enjoyment of the unfortunate predestinations of the Procrastinator on his behalf. Such a man though was beyond base thoughts of that sort; he was certainly merely grinning at the studious labor going on around the Strategium Proper, indirectly praising the high spirits of everyone involved and personally congratulating the General of the Army for kicking off the preparations in a way that was only expected of him:
“Well done, Tyrpledge. I see that you are already thinking of using all the available material. Even using the ivory and granite in such a fine chair. Hard to find materials, are they not?”, the Arch-minister inquired with his nose delicately poised over his cup of uwe, letting the aromas seep in of their own volition. The General replied in earnest:
“I am more than honored, indeed I feel blessed, to hear such praise from your Excellence. Yes, they are most valuable, as well as the tether-wood and the sycamore. From what I know of the artisan’s techniques, the ivory is used in delicate steamer parts without which the damnable things would blow up before going on for ten feet. The sycamore and tether-wood are used in the construction of the siege engines, and the granite is turned into pellets for the steamers’ slingshots.”
The hint of a smile formed on the General’s face and his eyes darted back and forth between Gomermont, the Procrastinator Militant, and La Vasse, to whom he added as an afterthought:
“Is the uwe to your liking? I can always call up the cook to present himself and receive proper chastisement if he has failed you. He was specifically instructed on the required quality of the uwe and your precise likings. It would be an affront to the Council if he could not serve uwe of the proper quality.”
“There will be no need, General. Please, call me La Vasse. We rarely meet on official business as it is, with you spending most of the time on exercises away from Pyr and me always busy at the Ministry and the Disciplinarium. I believe that in such an important time, we should dispense with the tiring mannerisms of protocol and etiquette and get on with the business at hand to better serve the Law and the glory of the Pantheon, naturally.”
The Arch-minister’s tone was polite, level, and straightforward. He seemed to regard the General as his peer, which was strictly speaking, not so.
Tyrpledge was visibly as well as pleasantly surprised; his look widened and his face brightened up a tone. Gomermont seemed to fidget uncomfortably in his stool, unable to arrange his body in a manner both sufficiently comfortable and befitting of a Procrastinator Militant.
La Vasse and Tyrpledge largely ignored Gomermont’s discomfort and Tyrpledge replied in kind to the Arch-minister:
“I am more than grateful for that dispensation then, La Vasse. It does help a great deal when going to war to not have to devote precious time on finding the right chair, serving the proper tea and using the protocol-bound appellations of rank and office all the time,” the General said while easing up on his chair, his body assuming a more relaxed position.
“Oh, make no mistake Tyrpledge; my rank, office, and related trappings of my status as Arch-minister still hold and I expect you to diligently administer the proper respect. At least in public, when we are not planning together, exchanging information and agreeing to our next best course of action. Be reminded of course, that the Castigator is always briefed on our meetings and though we have been given executive control of the Holy Campaign, whatever course of action we decide on has to be ratified by His Piousness. In grave matters of battle that is, since currently I have been empowered with freedom to act as the Castigator’s proxy in these preliminary stages of the preparation.”
La Vasse’s voice had assumed a harsher tone, the weight in his voice and words punctuating his heightened status of authority. His strict but fair tone was indicative of his intentions: He would be reasonably cooperative and would dispense of the pleasantries and honors where applicable, but that would not bring Tyrpledge up to the same level as him, the proxy of the Castigator.
He also seemed to limit this dispensation to Tyrpledge alone since Gomermont, apart from being a relatively useless dolt which was widely regarded as the most common type of Procrastinator, his office also was not immediately pertinent to the Campaign; he and his men would remain in the cities and townships, ever watchful for signs of insurrection and heresy when the Castigator and the complete armed might of the Territories would be in the Widelands.
Tyrpledge was simply a soldier, a sword to be wielded like a tool, bending to the master’s will. He had never had any misconceptions of his status, and the Arch-minister’s words didn’t carry a different message: he would still be following orders diligently and respectfully, he just didn’t have to stand at attention the whole time.
Once La Vasse’s words settled in, Tyrpledge said in a simple, straightforward manner and a genuine voice of calm acceptance:
“I understand perfectly, Arch-minister.”
Gomermont was standing up having given up on the stool and he was languidly peering over the milling mass of soldiers, artisans, and laborers outside at the huge staging fields. He was sipping on a freshly poured cup of uwe. He asked no one in particular, in a rather rude manner without turning to face either one of the men he was supposed to be working closely with:
“These are the Army’s infamous steamers then? They do seem clumsy and unwieldy. They lack that polish I thought the Army insists on fervently. How do you fit the horses inside that? How do they breathe, is it through those pipes? I’m quite curious.”
General Tyrpledge rolled his eyes in an almost shocking expression of unadulterated lack of esteem. The Arch-minister was smiling, sipping almost indifferently at his uwe when the General sighed and replied in as much seriousness as he could muster:
“They are called steamers because they use steam, which is very hot water. They do not use horses. They are not polished because if they were, they would give away their position hours away before reaching their intended targets, giving away the position of our forces. The pipes are part of the system of steam-works.”
Gomermont was as adamant as he was ignorant:
“Ah, I see. Still, clumsy pieces of machine. I’ll never understand why you insist on using them.”
“I can accept that in good grace, Procrastinator Militant,” said Tyrpledge and left the dead-end exchange of words at that. Tyrpledge resumed his thoughts even as Gomermont took in more of the vast area where work intermingled with a large camping area. At an opportune time, the General asked the Arch-minister:
“La Vasse, I need to know. You are closest to the Castigator. You are his proxy, as well as probably the only reliable person I can talk with meaningfully. The Widelands are wild lands, there are no people living there. No sane people that I know of, at least. No cities, no towns to speak of; nothing to capture and maintain. With no population to enlighten, no known forces arrayed against us, what objectives should I designate? What provisions will I require? What manner of equipment should I gather, what should the disposition of our forces be? How will our forces move? What, exactly, will we be going up against, Arch-minister?”
Tyrpledge’s tone showed his anxiety. Some of the words burst forth rapidly behind the others. He was not scared, La Vasse could see that. He simply needed a target to focus on. He was a sol
dier after all.
“I am much at a loss as you are, General. I have had little foreword of the Castigator’s decision, and though privy to most of his thoughts and discussions, I have to say that the Patriarch is better informed than I am. All I can tell you is that you should commit the totality of our armies, for a reconnaissance in force.”
Tyrpledge frowned in disbelief before asking to make sure, the surprise in his voice more than evident:
“The totality of our forces? In two weeks?”
“I have not been known to impart His Piousness’s words imperfectly. The sum of our armies Tyrpledge, in two weeks time.”
“But.. There is no precedent of such a mobilization.. The artisans and laborers at my disposal cannot cope with such a workload even if I drive them to death thrice over! It is not a matter of ability, it is simply a matter of-”
The general’s protests were politely interrupted by the Arch-minister waving a dismissive hand and saying as he reached for another cup of uwe:
“The Army has been granted special dispensation to use any and all capable men and resources that can be found across the lands, for the period of time up to and including the Holy Campaign with the blessings of the Ministry and the cooperation of the Procrastinators.”
Tyrpledge was stunned in silence and was instantly awed at the power put forth by the Castigator, effectively forcing every able bodied man to serve as labor and offer his belongings for the express purposes of this Last Holy Campaign. Truly momentous times they were living in, he thought. Then he started mentally calculating the manpower he would need to use to have everything ready in time, when the Arch-minister commented on his tea:
“Fine uwe, Tyrpledge. You have a fine cook. If the rest of the army proves as capable and as willing, the Pantheon will smile upon us.”
The Procrastinator Militant spoke then suddenly out of turn, sounding morose:
“I prefer keplis to uwe, really. It upsets my stomach.”