Chapter 40
Snow had reviewed every document and gently probed everyone to understand their points of view and secret aims. The agenda was written, most of it agreed in advance, and Snow had studied it like the Sol Lexic. Everything he had learned, surmised, or guessed was written in a personal notebook, with pages bent so he could quickly search through.
He was ready for his first Leadership Meeting sitting in the Shield-General's chair. He'd done everything he could. But why did he feel so nervous?
Well, this was premature: his ascension eleven days away, but these meetings happened monthly and Catch had decided it'd be best if people got used to Snow's leadership. Snow suspected his mentor really wanted to see how he would fare in the hottest seat outside of Aureu. That he'd arranged a trip to the Artificer's Proving Grounds to coincide with the meeting only added weight to that theory.
Snow went over his notes once more, then wasted some time pacing restlessly. He stopped only when he nearly walked into his mirror. The reflection showed fresh robes, uncreased and unsullied: he looked like a true Shield-General, a crisp and disciplined person, armoured and armed. Looked, but not felt.
He wondered how Scar had felt at his first meeting as a Shield-General. His Granddad had been much older though, had already proved himself to his fellows. Whilst Snow had killed more Disciples, Scar had fought with grit and determination only, which earned a different kind of respect. Snow wondered if he'd feel more like a Shield-General after a fight like that, after a victory when his life was truly at risk.
The tent flap was pushed open. In the mirror, he saw Wing, the Servants. “Five minutes, sire,” he said.
“Thank you, Wing. Allow our guests in.”
The young man acquiesced and ran from the tent.
Snow looked back at his reflection. “You're ready for this,” he lied.
Hollow words fading, he sat at the head of his long table. Two seats had been added since the set was built, elegant and felted where the others were staid and simple. Settings rested before each seat, silver triangles with etched names. Their original purpose had been to introduce newcomers: now, they showed people where to sit.
“Stupid as it is, seating is important,” Catch had insisted. “At the Council, the greatest Stations sit close to the Guardian: the Lords and, now, the Acolytes. Seating shows the hierarchy of the Stations, which means every other fucker sees great meaning in seating arrangements.”
His table was rectangular, so the heads were the most important. Snow took one end, Contegon Piety the other. Kick, Brace, and Tide – his Major Shields – took the seats beside him. A fellow Acolyte took the next seat: today, it would be Certainty. After that, the seating plan followed the order of the Stations in wartime: Doctor, Artificer, Mariner, Farmer, and Cleric.
Snow lay out his notes as his Major Shields entered. Kick and Tide had operated under a strange alliance for a decade, each making sure the other was praised for their efforts. It was a tactic that'd seen them advance quickly, but it soured them in Snow's eyes. They walked side-by-side, narrow, tall men who preferred the bow over close-fighting. Kick was dark-haired and well-shaven, Tide was red-headed with a close, neat beard. They approached the table together to ensure they got the seats beside Snow.
Brace entered a moment later, so used to Kick and Tide's behaviour she didn't expect a prime seat. She was built like a bull, taller than either, and she shaved her head to show off twin tattoos of Sol above her ears. She was a Brawler even as a Major Shield, but she knew to avoid pointless fights.
The Major Shields were surprised, then, by Snow’s seating arrangement: he had ensured Brace would be to his left, his 'west.' As Sol drove Lun away by diving to the west, being on the left was a privileged position. From what Catch had told him, Kick and Tide took it in turns to claim that place.
“Today,” Snow said as the Major Shields examined their placement, “Brace will be to my west. Next month, it shall be Tide. Then Kick.”
Kick took his unfavoured spot with a flicker of resentment. He did not like a woman being a Major Shield. His allotted seat was Snow's subtle way of showing his disapproval. The man might get the message, though Snow doubted it would do much good.
Acolyte Certainty entered then. A toned, vicious-looking fighter, she had been born with half legs, but one could not tell. She had been a Cleric when Maya interviewed her, stuck in a bed with a nigh-on endless supply of paper. Her unhappiness and despair had called to Maya, made her want to change the woman's life. And Sol had definitely changed her: for a start, her Servant used the Gift to help her walk, forming replacement legs stronger than any flesh ones.
“Certainty,” Snow said, rising. “It's good to see you.”
“Snow!” she replied with a grin that lit her up. “How are you, sire?”
“What have I told you about that? Call me Snow, damn you!” he joked.
Certainty shook her head. “I'm always going to address my Shield-General as sire, so you'd better get used to it, okay?”
“You respect him enough to call him sire, but not enough to listen to an order?” Kick asked.
“Hello Kick, Tide,” Certainty said, ignoring the barb. Her eyebrows rose when she realised where Brace was sat. “And, of course, Brace. How are we all?”
“Fine,” Kick and Tide said almost in unison.
Brace rolled her eyes before nodding that she too was okay.
“Good. Glad to hear it,” Certainty said as she took her seat.
The remaining guests entered in a group. These Stationed men and women finished their small conversations and welcomed those already present. Many visibly noted Brace's seating position.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Snow said.
Contegon Piety surprised him by acquiescing in response. “Please, Contegon Piety, do not acquiesce,” Snow said. “My Station at these meetings is that of a Shield-General.”
“Forgive me, sire, but your Station as one granted Sol's Gift is never removed in my eyes.”
Others started acquiescing then. He watched his Major Shields share concerned looks, try to determine whether they should bow too. There would be no use to a meeting where everyone treated him like this: he needed these people to challenge him, not to accept what he said as some plan handed down from Sol. He had to be a mere Shield-General in these meetings for them to work.
My, wasn't that a weird sentiment? Scar would have laughed hard at such a comment.
Scar... Snow reached into his robes and pulled out Scar's signet. The attending leaders acquiesced again, shying from an item infused with Sol’s Gift. Snow examined it for a moment, the image of Sol made to show Scar's power, then threw the necklace onto his table.
“I am not an Acolyte at this meeting,” he said. “My Gift is for battle, not for war. I beg you not to view my opinions and options as directly from Sol: view them as coming from your Shield-General, something to be challenged rigorously. Am I understood?”
“Understood, sire,” Contegon Piety said. Then she gave him a flickering ghost of a smile.
When everyone was settled, Certainty asked, “Then what am I?”
“You are still the Acolyte representative,” Snow said. “But you are subordinate to me.”
“And your comments will be considered on that basis,” Kick added.
Certainty smirked, not a pleasant expression. “Will they?”
Brace leant forward, her tattoos obvious to all. “Yes. They will.”
The Acolyte’s smile became more pleasant. “Very good.”
In all, the meeting went well. By the end, though, Snow understood how ridiculous his comment that meetings weren't battles was: everyone attending had their own aims, agendas, and prejudices, as well as rivalries nursed over years. The Doctors resented how the Clerics recorded their losses. The Farmers felt unappreciated. And everyone mistrusted Certainty with her Station still unproven to people who'd been on the Front their entire lives. Snow had to use his wiles and intelligence to reach any accord.
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In spite of this, everyone agreed their priorities for the next month, and that the supply lines were solid enough to support a push into the Moenian forest once the Eastern Front had caught up. The way from there would be difficult, but they decided that large tracts of the primordial trees would be felled, leaving enough for the forest to recover eventually, but not so much that Disciples could use it as cover. Only the Artificers relished this prospect, for they would have quite a surplus of wood.
Two hours and many harsh words had passed when he called the meeting to a close. Servants brought through water and food then so the attendees could share a small meal and informal conversations. Bread, fruit, and water were passed around, and chatter began between his direct reports.
After a few minor conversations, small talk or questions about his Gift, Snow saw that Contegon Piety was alone. He excused himself and went to talk to her.
“Acolyte Shield-General Snow,” the Contegon said, her eyes falling to Scar's signet.
“Contegon, the next time you want to make a point like that,” he said, his voice low, “can you do me the courtesy of talking to me in private first?”
“I don't know what you mean, sire.”
Snow took a breath. The Contegon had acquiesced to make him remove Scar's signet, establish herself as the voice of Sol in these meetings. She was probably right to do so – after all, Snow had not wanted to be viewed as a flawless tactician – but her underhanded methods riled him.
He held the signet, looked at it pointedly. “I think you do, Contegon Piety.”
Her eyes fell to the signet. They both stared at it.
The Contegon cracked first by smiling. “I suppose I'm used to Catch's way of working. I should not have assumed that you would be like your mentor. Please accept my apologies.”
“I don't want them,” Snow said. “I'd rather have your assurances.”
She gave him another flitting smile, this time somewhat genuine. “All right. I assure you that I will make that sort of point to you in private next time.”
“Thank you,” he said, dropping his signet against his chest.
The Contegon straightened, rolled her shoulders. “This all went better than you feared, no?”
“It did,” Snow said, feeling some of the tension drop between them. “But I think everyone was on their best behaviour to impress me. Tougher challenges await.”
“Of course they do,” Contegon Piety replied with a nod. “Why else would Lun continue, if he didn't think he could make things harder, more difficult, for us?”
Snow eyed the Contegon. He didn't say that Lun had nothing to do with his fears.