The Good Counsel of Alban
In the late 2100s Ardel Penaul, a young Ambassador, is sent to the Fastness of Alban to sort out a simple diplomatic argument between two states. It quickly spirals into something more complex.
The soul of this society, different than others in Europa, is under threat. A small group of people is thrown together by circumstances and chance, and working to protect the uniqueness of Alban. Loves are kindled and put under threat, friendships grow and come under strain; secrets of the past are unlocked.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot better than pretending we live perfectly.”
The Ambassadors’ League
As the end of that first century of peace drew near, by the year 95 of the Confederacy, the Secretariat of the Bloodline became known colloquially as the Ambassadors’ League, because of the ability of its emissaries to settle disputes peacefully. It was the main factor for maintaining peace within the Confederacy. Governing assemblies adhered tightly to the agreed Rules of Interaction. The League’s umbrella spread across Europa — as the lesson was reinforced that consensus was better than coercion. The fabric of the Confederacy of Civits and Fastnesses was held together with the League maintaining the necessary stitching, and all populations understood that.
By the Year of Confederacy 138 there had been as many years peace within the areas under the League’s guidance. During that time the number of diplargs concerning digressions had remained fairly constant. There were only a handful of cases of transgressions recorded, all of which ended before ultimate sanction was placed into effect.
Ambassadors were deemed important people. When leaving the comfort of the Cantons to settle a diplarg, they could look forward to being treated with due deference and respect. This was supported by the fact that Confederacy governments accepted that the League was strictly neutral. Answering only to the agreed Rules of Interaction.
The League had well known and clearly defined protocols for Ambassadors to follow. Support for Ambassadors included a system of patronage within the carefully balanced hierarchy of the League. This kept more experienced Ambassadors in touch with, but out of direct involvement in any negotiations. It was a system that worked.
With this in mind Ardel Penaul, a Noviate Ambassador on his first solo diplarg, had set out for the Fastness of Alban in the sixth period of the Year of Confederation 138. His mind was at ease, he knew what greeting to expect, and roughly how long the diplarg should take to solve satisfactorily. Yet now Ardel sat in a cannion over some unknown void. This was not the way to treat an Ambassador.
The Fastness of Alban
Low grey clouds obscured the sky when he arrived at the Keep. The Reever was not in residence right now. They would convey him to his quarters, the face on the vufoen told him, the only face he saw, and they had sent down a cannion. The cage door had locked behind him, his luggage in an outside pannier. The cannion had entered the Keep, speeding along dingy passageways. He had expected a warm and comfortable chamber, but that was not to be. Instead the way had led deep into the Keep until the light had disappeared altogether. The cannion had stopped abruptly, lowering itself on the end of its cable. And he was swinging above some unfathomable space
“I come here, into the wilds to try and help them, and get mishandled by a bunch of miscreants. There will be repercussions over this.”
He spoke loudly, not in the Ambassadorial manner, that way of leaving every word neutral and yet loaded, but in the Common Speech. It was the only way he knew to ease the unaccustomed build up of anger within him. The words echoed lightly before being blanketed by the damp air. Somewhere below him something splashed on the surface of the water. Momentarily he stopped breathing trying with all his senses to pick out the nuances and tones of the sound.
Trying to remain impassive he thought back over what had brought him to the Fastness of Alban.
Missing Trade Goods
Owen sat under some trees on a little hill at the end of a low spine of land reaching back towards his home and the mountains beyond. From this vantage point above the river he stared across the valley into Alban. There was something about the place that left people from outside the Fastness feeling uneasy. It was not just those bare hills and mountains in the distance. Cymru had bigger mountains of its own, mountains with legends of fanciful creatures and mystical doings in the dawn of the world.
No, the feeling came from the emptiness of the land on the Alban side of the river. There were no humans or animals for most of the time, often no birds either. It looked like good land in places, but it was shunned. A couple of traders — known locally — had been to Alban in the last couple of years, but had not been seen in Wrecsam again. Then that drige had gone astray, it was said. Iwan Griff had told him those things should know where they were. Not lose their way. As for its cargo bay coming open and raining goods around the place that too was queer. No, even he did not fancy crossing the river into the strange Fastness, let alone expect others to do it for him.
He bit into the cold pie he had in his hand, chewed at it thoughtfully, and swallowed. He had to decide whether to send people across, and how, and where. The border was there, at the riverbank, nagging at him. Owen picked up the vuglas and scanned the flatlands. He spotted two teams of his searchers close to the riverbank. He lifted his head slightly and looked into Alban, moving his field of view slowly along the track set way back beyond the far bank. He’d seen the occasional wagon moving along that from time to time, but not today. As he swung further round a group of people flashed into focus. That made him jump. The area was supposed to be uninhabited. What were they doing there so close to the river? Five of them altogether. What were they up to?
