The+Governor

//"This arrangement saved lives, Essyn! Hundreds of Cyrans freed from Goblin shackles, with thousands more to come. Regent Kor honored the deal his brother made -- how easy it would have been to let thousands of his own subjects put New Cyre to the torch, and my people to the sword! All of that at such a minor cost -- me seeing reality, surrendering some of that stubborn Cyran pride. I'd sign that bargain every day of the year. Now if only more of my people understood...."// **~ Governor Oargev ir'Wynarn, 8 Eyre 998 YK**

**Oargev ir'Wynarn, 7 Eyre**

The sun had set, but with the cloud cover stretching to the horizon in all directions, it was hard to tell. So Governor Oargev ir'Wynarn, the last of his line, stared out of the west-facing balcony of his residential quarters in the combination town hall-slash-keep near the center of New Cyre, watching the dark gray bulk of Dejarn docked -- //Anchored? Parked? What's the proper term for a mobile floating fortress at rest?// -- west of town, on the other side of the north-south Orien trade road that ran straight and flat across the Brelish prairie.

After a moment he saw small fires and magical lights twinkle on, illuminating the dark bulk. From what he'd heard, this was highly unusual for Dejarn. Its normal routes were secret, its missions classified -- and when it traveled by night it was rarely lit and avoided populated areas, or so he'd been told. that is, until Dejarn had come to the rescue of his town and people four days ago. To be sure, Dejarn hadn't won the Battle of New Cyre, but its approach had rushed the attack by the Swords of Liberty army, and since then the King's Citadel forces stationed aboard had worked diligently to round up survivors and deserters, as well as raiding nearby villages that had colluded to support the Red Owl.

//How quickly the Swords' noble cause of supporting Brelish democracy had warped into genocidal fury at his people//, Oargev thought. //Let's oppose the Monarchy by killing the Cyrans! Madness!//

Someone cleared his throat behind the Governor. He turned to see his Seneschal Essyn Cadrel, as expected. Next to the taller, older man was a Changeling in his natural gray skin, which he hadn't expected. Gaz had been his body double since he'd been posted to Breland as Cyre's Ambassador, and before that he'd served his mother Queen Dannel the same way. For many months after The Mourning, when it was just the two of them, Oargev had asked Gaz to look like Dannel and speak with her voice. It had helped, and once New Cyre was under construction he'd stopped asking. Thinking of it now raised a flush to Oargev's cheeks. "What?" he said brusquely.

"My Lord Governor, the nightly bonfire awaits your presence. And you'd asked me to bring Gaz when he was ready."

"Yes, of course. Remind me of the plan, Essyn."

Cadrel looked at Gaz, who spoke in his natural soft voice. "My Lord, I have studied and interviewed a young woman, injured in the fighting. Shar was traveling with her sister to join her brother-in-law at a homestead south of town, but fled back when the enemy came north. The sister's husband is presumed dead." The Changeling relaxed, and then swiftly changed to a Human female, with dark hair and green eyes.

"I remember her. They were volunteers for the belwheat planting. I hate to ask, but..."

"The sacks of belwheat were brought back safely," Cadrel replied.

"Right," Oargev said. He paused to look at the Changeling. The clothes Gaz wore must have been borrowed form his subject, as they fit his temporary female form well. "So what will you do...Shar?"

"Seduce the Aundairian." Gaz' voice was now husky and sensual, more so than he recalled from his brief chat with the real Shar.

"Shouldn't be difficult," Cadrel said with a dry chuckle. "Our people have been...//very// grateful to the heroes who helped defend them. This Thomas has taken full advantage. My own assistant Jaesa had some interesting things to say after her night with him. I expect Ga- sorry, //Shar//, will be just as effective."

The Governor nodded. "Very well. Let's go." Oargev strode forward from the balcony, and the other two fell in behind him as they headed for the town square, where -- despite the near-constant drizzle -- his people were gathered around the day's bonfire of wooden debris collected from the buildings damaged in the battle. Thomas would be there, ready to use his arcane power to light the wet wood. Then Shar would come forward, shyly at first, to thank him for saving her city and people.

**Oargev ir'Wynarn, 8 Eyre**

"Daison is doing what?"

"Acquiring property rights in The Mournland from Cyrans living in Karrlakton, my Lord. My sources tell me sometimes the price is little more than a room in one of his tenements and some food."

"But why? Even if the mists fell tomorrow, any given plot is likely to be full of glass spikes, or a lava pool, or..." Oargev ir'Wynarn scanned the parchment he held, a summary of recent expeditions he'd sponsored into the magic-warped land once called Cyre, and visibly shuddered. "A hilltop covered with hair? A forest of bones that...'whistle when there's no wind?' By the Nine, the very landmarks our royal surveyors once used to define property lines are moved, or gone."

"And I'm told Loyal Daison's own expeditions have found equally...disturbing sights beyond the dead-gray mists," replied Essyn Cadrel smoothly. The Governor's Seneschal didn't glance at the slim leather satchel he held with the sheaf of papers inside. "Nevertheless, my Lord, by putting value in the deeds he's buying, Daison is acting on his stated belief that The Mourning might someday be undone, or at least that the effects will fade and our people will get the chance to reclaim and rebuild. To a refugee in despair, such confidence adds to a powerful narrative."

"So he's lying to the starving and desperate to get them to //like// him? And what of my name in these camps?"

"In Karrlakton there are those who still defend you, but others have started to grumble that more hasn't been done in the last four years. Even before the bargain became known, some complained that we were Brelanders in all but name. But now..." Cadrel sighed. "One man said you were a 'traitor to the Cyran people,' another that you 'betrayed Queen Dannel's memory, and one woman even called you 'Boranel's lapdog.'"

Oargev chuckled at that. "So she's aware of the arrangement, but doesn't know my cousin has been dead for two months?"

Now Cadrel did open the leather satchel, and pulled out a folded parchment. Oargev could see writing in small, dense type, and assumed it was a copy of the //Korranberg Chronicle//, a broadsheet published in Zilargo that brought news and information to tens of thousands across Khorvaire. "My lord, each of those statements my agent quoted, and many more, appeared in this publication."

The older man unfolded the parchment and took two steps to hand it to the governor. Oargev now saw that the parchment was a poorer quality than the //Chronicle//, and the inks were smudged in many places. Unfolded it was a single sheet, about 12 inches wide by 18 high. //The Voice of Cyre// was emblazoned across the top. To the left was a narrow column of text reaching nearly to the bottom of the sheet, with the single word "BETRAYAL!" above it in large, heavier, narrower letters. Next to it across the top was another line in large, heavy letters: "Oargev crushes Cyran Dreams of Home...for a JOB." Below it were four parallel column of small text, which he scanned quickly. It was rife with grammar and spelling errors, but the story revealed many details of the grand bargain he'd signed with King Boranel and Lhesh Haruuc of Darguun...mixed with many other statements that were inaccurate or outright fabrications.

But dominating the sheet, below the article, were two large cartooons, side by side. Or rather, one cartoon with two panels; at the tops corners "Fig. 1" and Fig. 2" were printed in small letters. Oargev recognized the form; during the Last War Cyran artists had been the first to use simple quill-and-ink drawings as propaganda, to mobilize public opinion on behalf of Cyre's war effort. "Fig. 1" on the left depicted a taller, older man with a stocky build, head forward over broad, hunched shoulders, accepting a crown from a shorter, thinner man. The bigger man's extanded left hand was oversized, pawlike. Such caricatures of King Boranel -- the "Bear of Breland" -- as a kind of bear-man mix had been around for decades. Which meant the smaller man had to be Oargev himself. Like other caricatures he had seen, his hair was unkempt, his clothes patched, his cloak ragged at the hem -- an obvious jab at his reputation as "the Prince in Tatters." Unlike the two figures, the crown being handed to the bearlike Boranel was very detailed -- he had last seen it for real on his mother's head when Prince Oargev had left Queen Dannel's court at Metrol for the last time.

Then his gaze went to "Fig. 2" on the right. Now his mother's crown was on the ground, flipped over. The figures of Boranel and Oargev were turned towards the crown, but both turned their heads to look back at the reader -- Boranel over his right shoulder, Oargev over his left. Boranel's face had a devilish smirk, while Oargev's was a contorted sneer of contempt. Both were urinating on the crown lying between them.

Oargev felt blood rushing to his face, and he clenched his jaw with the sudden anger he felt. His voice was controlled, even as he felt a rage build up. "What is this, Cadrel? Who is responsible for this slander?"

"My lord, my man got this from a Cyran child in Karrlakton, outside one of Daison's slums. The boy said a tall man in a dark, hooded cloak had called him and three of his friends over. The man had a bundle of the broadsheets, tied with string. He cut the string with a dagger, then gave each child a stack and a silver coin, telling them to split up and hand the sheets out to anyone who would take them, When asked if he knew what was on the sheets, the boy replied that he didn't know how to read, but that the picture was 'nasty.'"

"So you think Loyal Daison is //The Voice of Cyre//?"

"He would have motive to discredit you, my lord. But this same publication was also seen in High Walls -- posted in taverns and blowing in the streets. And as far as I know, Daison has no influence in Sharn."

His anger cooled, Oargev flipped the sheet. The back was a confusing mix: Merchants announcing their wares for sale; a series of short pieces, each a paragraph or two, briefly describing crimes against Cyran refugees in Aundair, Thrane, Karrnath and the Reaches; and in very small print, appeals of a more personal nature. A woman looking for the children she'd last seen in a camp at the Thrane border, a veteran of the Eston 4th Regiment hoping to reunite with other survivors from his unit, and dozens of others, each taking up no more than four lines. It was nothing like the vitriol on the front.

Essyn cleared his throat and Oargev looked up from the sheet to see him pulling another broadsheet from his satchel that looked just like the one he still held. "There's something else you need to see, my Lord. A contact in the King's Citadel gave this to me and said his people had picked up several dozen at the Swords of Liberty camp at PrairieHearth, had taken others off the bodies of the dead and confiscated still more from the villages harboring Swords of Liberty collaborators."

"Why would Brelanders be carrying copies of the //The Voice of Cyre//?"

"They weren't," Cadrel said as he gave Oargev the second broadsheet. The governor's eyes widened in surprise at the title: //The Voice of Breland//.

Taking both sheets he stepped closer to the nearest //everbright lantern// and held them up, side by side. The same low-quality parchment, similar ink smudges. Both featured the word "BETRAYAL!" in the same heavy lettering at the top left, below the title. The article below it appeared different, but Oargev skipped that to look at the art. The large two-panel cartoon was in both papers, drawn by the same artist. In fact, the "Fig. 1" part was exactly the same, raggedy Prince Oargev giving the Cyran crown to the bearish King Boranel. But "Fig. 2" in //The Voice of Breland// was very different: This time the Boranel figure had turned and was walking off-panel, holding the crown respectfully in both hands...but the Oargev figure was sneaking up behind him, about to plunge a huge knife into Boranel's back. His face was twisted, demonic, and for good measure the knife was dripping with little black ink spots. Poison, maybe, or blood. He let both sheets fall to the floor, then looked at Cadrel with a shrug showing ink-stained hands.

"Whoever is behind these is looking to provoke anger, my Lord. //The Voice of Breland// is telling its readers that you've betrayed your late cousin, taken advantage of his hospitality, and that Cyrans -- described as lazy, deceitful, ungrateful thieves, among many other insults -- were now taking jobs and land from the good, honest, hardworking and trusting people of Breland. Oh, and we're apparently raping their women and stealing their cattle.

"On the other hand, //The Voice of Cyre// blames you for not having undone The Mourning or given our people a new homeland. The deal with Breland is the last outrage, as you've literally pissed on your mother's legacy and sold out the Cyran people for personal gain and a Brelish title. There's also a litany of complaints and accusations against thugs and bandits in Aundair, Karrnath and Thrane for abuses and crimes against innocent Cyrans seeking peace and refuge. Apparently, they're raping our women and stealing our cattle, or whatever else they can take from us. I can only imagine what's appearing in //The Voice of Aundair// or //The Voice of Karrnath//."

"What does the Citadel think?"

"They agree it's suspicious, and my contact says they've opened an investigation to find the publisher. By itself this paper, hateful as it is, could not have incited thousands of villagers and veterans to take up arms and march dozens or hundreds of miles to kill us. //The Voice of Cyre// didn't invent the discontent so many of us feel. It's more subtle than that, my Lord. It's like each paper has taken sentiments that already exist and amplified them, turning the most negative interpretations into emotional appeals that go right past our ability to reason. Think back: What did you feel when you saw that cartoon?"

"Rage. I remembered my mother wearing that crown, and seeing it defiled like that...." Oargev's voice trailed off, and he slumped into the overstuffed chair under the lantern.

"It's masterful propaganda, my lord. That boy in Karrlakton can't read, but it still stirred something in him. I can't help but feel it's all connected somehow: King Boranel's death, this Red Owl raising an army against us, the Goblins crossing the mountains and raiding our farms riding Vadalis-bred wolves...even the threat to Sterngate and the things those adventurers have told us about battles in Sharn and Wroat. Cults and aberrations. Not to mention this growing feud between Regent Kor and Prince Bortan. This battle for New Cyre might simply be the start of an all-out civil war."

At the mention of civil war Oargev suddenly sat upright. He leaned over and picked up //The Voice of Breland// from the floor, and looked at the articles on both sides. Essyn stepped behind the chair to read over the Governor's shoulder. After a long moment, Oargev looked up and back at his chief of staff. "Look, this was published last month. See below the title? '15 Therendor 998 YK'...but there's nothing here about either Bortan or Kor. Whoever it is, //The Voice of Breland// hasn't taken a side."

"Until four days ago, those opposed to the monarchy //were// a side," Cadrel replied. "Now, Lord Ruken ir'Clarn has resigned from Parliament, and I'm told the Swords of Liberty are being rounded up all over the country. As word of what happened here spreads, it seems the more good-hearted Brelanders are turning in the collaborators in their midst."

Oargev ir'Wynarn, 9 Eyre
After more than five days of overcast skies and intermittent rain across all of central Breland, with massive cloud banks piling up at the Seawall Mountains and dropping their loads before crossing over into the Goblin land of Darguun, the sun came out for good on Eyre the 9th.

The clouds and rain hadn't stopped the celebrations in New Cyre, but they did hamper the ongoing search for Swords of Liberty deserters and stray mercenaries trying to evade the patrols -- Cyran militias exhausted after the brutal sige of their city (aided by the small Brelish Army unit stationed there since the Dark Hands incursion almost three months ago); Brelish Cavalry who arrived too late to break the Siege but were now fully engaged in securing the region; and King's Citadel agents operating from the floating fortress Dejarn, still anchored just west of New Cyre's battered walls.

The other impact from the springtime weather had been incidental -- for five nights the cloud cover had obscured the night sky, such that most people completely failed to notice what was happening with Eberron's 12 moons. But now, with the sun setting directly behind Dejarn as seen from Governor Oargev's keep, the truth could no longer be hidden: The moons had stopped following their normal orbital cycles around Eberron. Bright silver-grey Eyre and the dimmer, orange-red Aryth were still full; King Nymm, Barrakas and Therendor in gibbous, waxing or waning unchanged; the waxing crescents of tiny Rhaan and the orange disk of Olarune the Sentinel; the waning crescents of lavender Dravago, white Lharvion and dim Sypheros; and the two half-moons, faraway Vult and the closest Moon, pearly-white Zarantyr. They would appear the same this night as they had a week ago, rising and falling at the exact same times and showing the exact same phases as the day the Siege had been broken.

After The Mourning, Prince Oargev ir'Wynarn had been the sole survivor of Cyre's royal family. That much was still true, and if through some miracle of The Sovereigns the dead-grey mist lifted he might yet reclaim his homeland...but the deal he'd signed had stripped away the rest of the fiction. He had renounced his claim to the throne of Galifar, as well as the former Cyran lands now known as Darguun, and had sworn fealty to the Brelish crown. Though the deal had been negotiated with his second cousin, the late King Boranel, it had been his brother, Regent Kor, who'd held up their end.

"What can I say to my people?" Governor Orgev ir'Wynarn asked the assembled guests in his audience chamber. Present were his senior staff; Prince Julian ir'Wynarn, representing both his uncle, Regent Kor, and the King's Citadel, which Kor still commanded as he had when his brother Boranel had ruled Breland; and the 11 adventurers who had done more to win the Siege and break the Swords of Liberty than any others:

Agent Ariel Elenwyd of the King's Citadel Lady Aiwyn Elenwyd of Thrane and the Church of the Silver Flame Golandar Kolkarun of the Mror Holds and The Aurum Choraan of the //Taarka'khesh// (Silent Wolves Clan) of Darguun Warden Nina Moondown of the Eldeen Reaches Jarvis Black of Zilargo Thomas Lee Moore of Aundair Elatzi d'Medani of House Medani Nediar d'Lyrandar of House Lyrandar Colden Torbald d'Orien of House Orien Ivan Ho from Parts Unknown

The approach of the Swords of Liberty had disrupted the spring planting, as hundreds of homesteaders retreated back to the relative safety of New Cyre. This morning there was to be a quick ceremony for a dozen families heading back to their farms.

Oargev smiled at the thought. "Not every trip into The Mournland is for treasure and magic," he said. "One of the expeditions last year brought back ten sacks of Cyran belwheat, the finest grain in all Galifar, the secret to our famed breads and pastries. Five of the families volunteered to plant two sacks apiece."

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