Guild Mage: Apprentice

54. The Great Council

"This is such a convoluted way of running a society," Keri complained. He would have preferred to be wearing his armor and carrying his Næv'bel, but Sakari had argued repeatedly that it would give the wrong impression. Keri thought that being armed for war would have conveyed exactly the right meaning, but then again he was not the ambassador to Lucania.

Sakari Ka Edvis shrugged, looking quite relaxed on the opposite bench of the carriage. Keri supposed that living here for long enough, one could get used to anything. "It is a concession to the reality of politics," the ambassador explained. "Yes, the king theoretically has absolute power, but in actuality, if he does not get the majority of his barons to buy in on matters that affect the entire kingdom, he's going to run into problems. Hence, levying new taxes, declaring war, these things require a vote of the great council."

"It is a system that gives up the only advantage of a single point of leadership," Keri pointed out. "Decisive action during a crisis."

"Not entirely," Sakari argued. "The king has the authority to take immediate command in the event of an assault on the kingdom; the consent of the great council is only needed when beginning an offensive war."

"Shouldn't rampaging monsters of blood qualify?" Keri asked.

"You know as well as I do the wave of mana has receded," Sakari said. "There is no longer any immediate threat, and what threat there was never rose to the level of something like an invasion. What you need to convince them of, my young friend, is that they cannot ignore what is coming. Here we are."

One of the guards Sakari had brought south with him, a woman named Eila, opened the carriage door for them. Keri waited for the ambassador to climb out first, and then followed him. The two men joined the crowd of barons and their attendants making their way into the building where the council would take place over the coming days.

Like so many of the newer buildings in Freeport, Eastgate Court was built from red brick, laid in beautiful ornamental patterns, with great paned windows of glass to let in natural light. The largest of the courtrooms, in the center of the building, was where King Roland would call his great council to order.

Keri caught a glimpse of Baron Henry, with his wife and son, being shepherded through the crowd by royal guards. He grinned, and had to give credit to the woman's cunning. She'd probably requested the guards help clear the way for the strange chair in which the crippled baron was transported, but all anyone would see was the illegitimate daughter of the king with a royal escort, like the princess she might have been.

He was surprised to see that the girl, Livara, wasn't with them, and asked Sakari about it as they made their way into the box that had been reserved for their use.

"I would have been surprised if they had found a way to bring her," the ambassador admitted, once he'd settled into his seat. "Attendance is restricted to only the barons themselves, and their immediate heirs. Make yourself comfortable; this will not be quick."

The warning was prophetic, and Keri found himself irritable and uncomfortable as the hours dragged on. First, everyone had to rise for the arrival of King Roland, his son Prince Benedict, and their small council. Keri had met Benedict briefly before the duel on the beach two nights ago, but this was his first time seeing the human king.

Roland the Third had ruled Lucania, Keri knew, for forty-six years now, since just after his wedding to the queen. Ambassador Sakari's briefings had informed Keri that the man was actually twenty-one years younger than he was, and the man's obvious aging only made it more clear to Keri what a mistake that poor girl would be making if she wed a human man.

At seventy-nine years of age, Roland's hair was nearly gone. Only wisps of white hair lingered around his scalp, and they had apparently been impossible to tame. His crown, at least, held them back somewhat, and did something to conceal the spotting of age on his bald head. The man's nose might once have merely been considered strong, but with the sagging of the rest of his features, it now obtained a prominence like that of a lonely mountain in the midst of a vast plain. With his back hunched, and guards at each arm to help him walk, the only part of the man that remained impressive was his long, white beard. It seemed that baldness affected only the top of Roland's head, and not his chin or cheeks, for the beard was the healthiest thing about him.

"Blood and shadows," Keri gasped. "The man is at death's very door. In a year or two at most, we'll be dealing with Benedict, won't we?"

"And it wasn't so long ago that I took lunch with his father," Sakari said.

For obvious reasons, the king's part in the council was small. Everyone strained to hear while he weakly called the day's session to order, and then Prince Benedict took over, in his father's name, while the old man reclined in his chair.

"Friends," Benedict began, "countrymen. My father, in his wisdom, has called us here today in order to address the disturbing events that have taken place across our kingdom of Lucania, and to decide what, if any, response is warranted. We are honored to welcome guests from the north," he said, raising a hand to indicate the box where Keri and Sakari sat. "Who will be sharing with us a report from their own lands, presently. However, before we come to the issue of the day, I have been informed of certain procedural matters that must take precedence, regarding the composition of the great council. I recognize Baron Elias Howe and grant him the floor."

Amidst a great deal of murmuring, a man of middle age, dressed in a fine blue doublet worked with gold thread, stepped out into the center of the court room. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said, in a strong voice that cut through the chatter. "There will no doubt be days of debate regarding our best course of action in response to the recent disturbances which have threatened the peace of this great land. And yet, I would argue that this council is not a complete representation of the voices needed in order for us to come to the decisions that lie ahead."

"Our kingdom is not unchanging," Howe continued. "And that is a good thing. The only things that do not change are those with no life: a stone, perhaps, or the unending sea. It is only natural that a living kingdom should grow in the fullness of time and experience. In the day of my grandfather, perhaps a great council consisting only of the barons truly did represent us. But over our own lifetimes, we have seen what a vital force for growth our guilds have been. Who among us has not enjoyed hot water, provided by enchanted pipes? Food imported from distance lands, brought to us in cold storage for transport? Irrigation pipes, glass windows, bricks and mortar - the list is nearly endless. In recognition of this shift in our society," he concluded, "I propose that each guild recognized by royal charter be granted a single voting seat on this council, equivalent to that of a baron, and with the same rights to speak, and to propose and second matters brought before us."

"Is there a second for this proposal?" Prince Benedict called out, as Baron Howe returned to his seat.

"Then what?" Keri asked. "War? They can't possibly be mad enough to fight themselves while the cult is threatening us all, can they?"

"Do not ever expect humans to take the long view," Sakari warned him. "If you do, they will only disappoint you. Their lives are brief things, and so they think only of the moment. Come, let's get back to our box before the crowd gets too thick."

Leaving what passed for food was no great loss, Keri agreed, and so they rose together and made their way out into the hall. By the time the king called the council back to order, the two men had been settled for quite a while.

"Now that procedural matters have been settled," Prince Benedict said, "I would call for the representative from the north to speak. Ambassador Sakari?"

Sakari stood in their box, looked around the room for a moment, and then began. "Thank you, Prince Benedict," he said. "And I wish to thank also King Roland, for allowing us here to address the first day of the council's deliberations. We are grateful also, to the assembled council for taking the time to hear the voice of the Eld on matters which concern us all. I yield my time to Inkeris ka Ilmari kæn Bælris, who is more qualified to speak on these matters than I am." He sat, and Keri rose to take his place.

"I am a man of plain words," Keri said, "and so I hope you will forgive me if I cut straight to the heart of the matter. For nearly twenty years, now, I have hunted out nests of a cult that has infiltrated the north - the Cult of Raktia, Vædic Lady of Blood. Her worshippers call her the Great Mother, and it is that form that her priests recruit. They lure those who are barren, who long for a child and have been disappointed, with the promise of a blessed womb. Who can blame them? I am a father myself, and I can sympathize with the heartbreak of those who want a child, but cannot have one."

"But the price," he continued, "is most foul. The favor of the old goddess can only be bought with blood sacrifice. They begin with animals. It's little different from hunting, of course. Who would balk at the idea of giving the blood of a hare, or a stag? We all eat them anyway. But such sacrifices are never enough. Sooner or later, the worshippers are asked to show their faith with something more substantial."

"I have seen the bleached bones of my own people," Keri said, looking around the chamber, trying to catch the eyes of the assembled barons. "The bones of legs, or arms, even skulls, all resting in the sacrificial pits, while the icon of the goddess looks on from above, painted in fresh blood. It is a cunning, loathsome, seductive cult, and it spreads its tendrils unseen beneath the surface of our people."

"I do not think it is coincidence," Keri continued, "that we find ourselves assaulted by monstrous manifestations of blood magic. And I have learned just yesterday," he said, extending his hand across the chamber, "after lunching with Baron Henry and Lady Julianne, that an idol of Raktia was stolen from his lands eighteen years ago by one of the Great Bats. Again, I do not think this is a coincidence."

"Can you confirm this, Baron Henry?" Prince Benedict asked, his voice cutting through the whispers of the assembled barons.

"I can," Henry Summerset said. "And at the time, we sent word to Freeport to ask that all ships departing for Varuna be searched, that the thief could be seized. She never was."

"I recall that," King Roland wheezed, to the surprise of the chamber. "My daughter lost no time in calling to me by mirror. But the royal guards never found the thief. What are you asking of us, Lord Inkeris?"

"Simply this," Keri said. "To recognize that the Cult of Raktia is the most likely culprit behind what has happened, and that it is a threat to both of our peoples. Search it out in your own lands; I cannot imagine the mountains are much of a barrier to such wickedness. Guard your waystones and ports, for they are moving. When questioned, our most recent captives claim they have all been summoned west, to Varuna."

"Thank you, Lord Inkeris," Prince Benedict said. "As the Eld are not empowered to propose a matter for the consideration of this council, is there anyone willing to stand forward and do so in his place?"

Keri took his seat. "We have someone lined up, I assume." Sakari nodded, but then frowned as a man Keri did not recognize stood.

"The crown recognizes Duke Thomas Falkenrath of Courland," Benedict said.

"We do, but this isn't our man," the ambassador murmured.

"This matter is surely a vital one," Falkenrath said. "And yet it is, fundamentally, one that is concerned with places outside of our kingdom. The Eld of the North, Varuna across the sea. I am concerned first and most importantly with Lucania, and everything my court mage has told me indicates this threat has passed. Let us focus on putting our own house in order."

"My great-grandfather was the younger son of a king," the duke continued. "As was an ancestor of Duke Richard." He exchanged nods with another man in the crowd. "It has long been the custom to grant surviving members of the royal family such titles, if they did not enter the service of the temple or, more recently, the mages' guild. But one of my distant cousins has, for reasons I cannot fathom, not been treated with the same honors."

"What is he doing?" Keri asked.

"I propose," Thomas Falkenrath shouted above the rising volume of the crowd, "that Lady Julianne Summerset, natural daughter of King Roland, be named Duchess of Whitehill, the title to be inherited in perpetuity by her heirs."