by Brent Weeks
The White looked furious. But the sledge of her gaze had no effect on a blind man.
“Gavin,” she said, “your meeting.” You want to sow the wind? she was asking Andross.
His father’s hatred of the White and his contempt had pushed her too far. Presiding was a huge advantage, enough of one to give Gavin a fighting chance. He took a deep breath. “Clearly some things have changed in the time I was gone.” He stared at Tisis Green. “For all of us.”
“I was rightly appointed to this body—” Tisis said, bristling.
“Tisis!” the White said. “Gavin is presiding. All Colors will be recognized in due course and heard fully, but we are a collegial body, and interruptions shall not be tolerated.”
“As you are no doubt aware,” Gavin said, as if the interruption and counterinterruption hadn’t happened, “when last I met with you—that is, those who were present at that time, and those who were not have doubtless read the minutes of that meeting pursuant to diligent fulfillment of their duties—” That is, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re lazy and bad at your job, Tisis. Gavin had no doubt that his father had memorized the minutes from the last meeting. He’d gotten his memory from the old man, after all. He continued: “When last I met with you, I warned you that King Garadul had rebelled, and would doubtless seize Garriston. I urged us to prevent war, though in a way that proved too painful for this council to countenance. This august body rejected my proposal, and war did indeed follow.”
Klytos raised a forefinger, asking for recognition to speak. Gavin extended his hands out and downward, as if smoothing away the problem. “I don’t come to refight old debates. I understand that there were excellent reasons to be skeptical of what King Garadul intended and what he would be able to do. I have no intention of dwelling on the past.” Except to remind you all that I was right. “Merely summarizing for those who might not have noticed the nuances of the minutes.” He looked at Tisis, as though this last comment were directed at her, and indeed, she flushed.
In truth, his summary was for everyone else, framing the old conversation for his own purposes. He who controls the past, and all that. Gavin could do all this with his brain handing over control of the ship to the first mate. He was thinking furiously. Orholam, Lunna. After all the work I did cultivating her.
Andross Guile moistened his lips. If anything, he looked perversely proud of his son.
Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t yank the rug out from under Gavin as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
For a moment, Gavin wondered. What if Lunna Green had been murdered, but not by the Order? What if his father had done it?
No, that wasn’t Andross Guile’s way. He would bribe a Color, or blackmail her, but not murder. On the other hand, it would be vintage Andross Guile to have a plan to replace each and every one of them, in case they did break the halo or resign. Andross would be ready. That didn’t mean he would get an ideal candidate in place each time, only that he could steer the nomination. Perhaps that was why Tisis wasn’t fully his.
If Andross really was willing to murder a Color, he would have made sure that he murdered one whose replacement was fully his. Right? Otherwise, why risk murder?
Gavin was taking too long. Take the facts as they are, and work with them. Move forward. Figuring out the past can wait. What advantages did having Tisis on the council give him?
The Spectrum expected Gavin to head straight for the discussion of a declaration of war. Then they thought he’d ask to be made promachos again. So Gavin said, “In truth, I don’t think the first thing we should discuss today is the war raging in Tyrea and eastern Atash.”
Klytos raised his finger again. Gavin motioned for him to speak. “We’ve not established that the troubles in Tyrea and eastern Atash are war, Lord Prism,” Klytos said.
He was about to go on, but Gavin knuckled his forehead and said, as if mystified by Klytos’s stupidity, “Precisely. Which is why I said we wouldn’t be talking about it first. We are a deliberative council; such matters should be discussed, but not necessarily first. Like I just said.”
Delara’s orange/red-haloed eyes narrowed. She wanted to talk about war, too, immediately. She clearly hoped Gavin would be the last vote she needed. She never had been very good at the arithmetic of these situations.
“The satrapy of Tyrea was a place of dishonor and war,” Gavin said. “Since Satrap Ruy Gonzalo sided with my brother Dazen, his satrapy was doomed. It waged war, and destruction was visited by its sons on others, and by others’ sons on it. After the war, Tyrea was stripped of her representation on this council and looted—” Seeing Delara’s raised finger, Gavin amended, “—forced to pay reparations that left her destitute. For many good reasons and a few ill, Tyrea became a husk. Satrap Garadul doomed that husk. He made war on Garriston and the Seven Satrapies and this council thereby, and declared himself king. I fought him in Garriston, and I lost. Of course, the good news is that the so-called king was also killed in the last battle.
“There are many things we need to do today and I apologize for the many hours we’re going to spend here—I’ve arranged for refreshments to be brought up in two hours—but the first item is very simple.” Every one of them hated these meetings, and every one of them except Blue and Superviolet hated the formal order to them that made even the simplest resolution take half an hour. By raising the specter of being stuck in the meeting all day, Gavin hoped to make them a little careless. It would especially needle a green. He also did have a history when the White let him preside of tackling whatever business was before them in a logical manner—first agreeing on what everyone could agree on, and then moving forward as efficiently as possible while letting everyone have their say.
“There are people in Tyrea who have now been deprived of their leader—people who didn’t care if he called himself satrap or king. They followed Rask’s father and most of them liked the old man. In the course of a life that is rarely touched by politics, most common folk will simply go along with whoever is giving the orders. They had no reason to think Rask Garadul was illegitimate, and no reason to think his successor is, especially if we who divine Orholam’s will say nothing against the new king—as this Color Prince will no doubt declare himself. So, before we get to the meat of today’s proposals, I suggest we draft a simple resolution, condemning King Rask Garadul for waging war on the Seven Satrapies.” Gavin opened the floor for comments and debate, as if he wanted to get this out of the way.
He stared at Tisis. Beautiful girl.
“It would certainly strike a blow against the legitimacy of this Color Prince,” Delara said. The woman had drafted enough red in her life that her rage was overpowering. Anything that hurt the Color Prince was something she would vote for.
“And the man we’re condemning is dead,” Sadah said. “So we wouldn’t be further alienating a man with whom we might need to make peace in the near future. If we’re able to settle things down in eastern Atash with this man, it would put us in a better negotiating position. We would visibly have to move farther to meet him in the middle, making the halfway point effectively closer to our side of things.” Ah, Sadah, seeing political problems as if they were points to be plotted on a graph. Orholam love her, the fool.
“No, no, no,” Klytos Blue said. “I see what you’re doing here, Lord Prism.”
Gavin lifted an eyebrow, like, What is this moron doing? “Yes, I’m trying to weaken a rebellion before it sweeps up half the lands in the Seven Satrapies,” he said.
“Which is a noble goal that I share,” Klytos said. He glanced over at Andross, but without eyes, Andross couldn’t give him subtle cues of whether Klytos was on the tack Andross wanted him to take. “But even if the man called himself a king, I think that gives him too much prestige.”
“It is what he called himself,” Jia Tolver said impatiently.
“We needn’t give him that moral high ground; he was rebel, nothing more,” Klytos said. In sub-red, he was clearly
warmer than before. But Klytos always got nervous when he spoke, even in front of a group this small.
“What would you prefer, then?” Gavin said. “Illegitimate king, so-called king? Illegitimate satrap?”
“Clearly,” Sadah Superviolet said, scratching at one psoriatic arm, “declaring oneself to be a rebel would vacate one’s legitimacy, thus ‘illegitimate satrap’ would be an accurate descriptor.” She clearly intended this as an olive branch to Klytos Blue.
Gavin turned his hands palm up toward Klytos, as if surrendering the issue to him. “Very well, we can back up further. Would you like to dictate the document, Klytos?” Gavin asked.
Klytos hated public speaking. As the Blue, he felt that he should get all the technicalities exactly right on the first try—and he never did. “No, please, go ahead,” he said, as if he were being polite.
Gavin turned to the chief scribe in the room. “By order of the Color Spectrum, with the full imprimatur of the Prism, blessed by Orholam’s radiance, etcetera.”
The woman scribbled in a few lines, skipping space to fill in the official lines.
“I must confess,” Gavin said to the Spectrum as she scribbled, “I’m disappointed something so simple wasn’t done during my absence. Surely such a condemnation would seem pro forma—never mind. Please interject if you have any suggestions.”
There was still some niggling done over the word “war.” Gavin and Delara championed it, but eventually it was stricken in favor of a condemnation of “visiting violence upon the innocent peoples of the Seven Satrapies” and the illegitimate Satrap Garadul condemned, though the word “traitor” was also stricken. Gavin grimaced briefly, as if this were a setback, but not a huge one. It was a brief document, and he took care not to feign too much boredom.
The “war” bit was the canard. Let them think that he was angling subtly toward declaring war later in the meeting. But don’t overplay your hand.
As soon as the scribe finished, Gavin signed the document and sent it around the table for signatures.
“Now,” Gavin said, not waiting for the signatures, not giving them any weight. “The urgent matter. The reason we’ve come here today: refugees, and war. The fact of the matter is, I do have some personal investment in this issue. I’ll put that on the table. I failed to stop Garadul, and Garriston was lost because of that. I went to fight—perhaps rashly—without the full weight of the Spectrum behind me, and I lost. In losing, I lost face, and some of the people for whom I was fighting lost faith in the Chromeria. Obviously, the former isn’t a problem for this body, but the latter is. I feel a responsibility for the people who have fled. I would like to see this council make some efforts to provide for them. So, again, easy issues first: I’d like to draft another resolution that our satrapies send food, clothing, and supplies to those who’ve been displaced.”
He recognized Delara. “And arms!” she said. “Those refugees will join the fight—at least some of them will—against the Color Prince.”
“I agree with you,” Gavin said. “But I would suggest we put the more contentious issues into a separate resolution, so that we can do the sane and humane thing in providing for those who’ve been attacked by the late Rask Garadul as soon as possible. Will the Spectrum agree to address these issues separately?”
“Let’s agree to what’s immediately obvious to all of us,” Arys Sub-red said. “These refugees are doubtless starving. We can agree that we must send them help. Later we can argue about exactly how much of a share of that burden each of us should send.” Ah, the brass tacks. Arys was ruthlessly practical, even in her charity. Gavin liked that about her.
They agreed by acclaim to consider the issues separately. The first resolution had made it halfway around the room. Gavin had passed it to Klytos, who’d signed it. The White had passed it on. Because she only voted in the case of ties, she never signed any resolution until at least a majority had. Delara signed it and passed it on to Sadah Superviolet. She paused, and Gavin couldn’t tell if it was because she was thinking about the second resolution, or if she had some sudden qualm about the first.
Sadah Superviolet stared at Gavin. She didn’t say anything, but she handed on the resolution without signing it. Arys did, Delara did, and she slid it to Tisis. Tisis gave one more glance to Andross, got nothing, and signed it.
And Gavin had his supermajority. Oh, Tisis. Lunna Green was almost a friend. I never could have done this to her. Do you know what you can do to an enemy but not to a friend? Stab her in the back.
Carver Black slid the paper over in front of Andross. Carver had a voice on the Spectrum, but no vote. Andross whispered to Grinwoody, who responded. Andross asked him another question in a whisper.
Gavin narrowed his eyes to sub-red. And instantly, he saw his father getting hotter, though the man’s expression didn’t alter in any other perceptible way.
Andross started laughing suddenly, and signed his name. Given his blindness, his signature was only in approximately the right place.
The discussion stopped instantly. It was rare to hear Andross Guile laugh.
Andross turned to Tisis. “Do you know what you’ve done, girl?”
“What?” she asked, suddenly worried.
Gavin leaned over and quickly took the parchment from in front of his father and cocked an eyebrow at Sadah. “Will you make it unanimous?” Gavin asked.
“Of course,” she said. It was a moot point now. She signed it, handed it to the White, who sighed, and signed.
“What?” Tisis asked, more insistent.
“Why don’t you explain, son?” Andross Guile suggested.
The head scribe brought the resolution to Gavin, who brought his stick of official sealing wax up to his finger, drafted sub-red directly to it, and pressed his seal on the document, making it official. “Of course, father,” Gavin said. He handed the document to the head scribe, who handed it off to a secretary who would enter it in the annals and publish it.
When the door closed behind the man, Gavin said, “The fact is, we are at war. None of us wants this. I don’t want it. You don’t want to admit it because you’re afraid I’ll press you to declare me promachos again. I understand that fear. Surrendering power is terrifying, though Orholam knows I’ve not given you any reason to distrust me. Tyrea is gone. I suppose that’s just as well. We can fight about what to do next. We can fight about how we fight. But while we bicker, the people who fled Garriston have lost everything. I’m sure you know by now that they’ve found refuge upon Seers Island, and I will report on that fully later today, but winter is upon us. There’s no time for them to plant a harvest. If we don’t provide for them, they’ll die. We brought this on them, and even if you reject that, they are still the subjects of the Seven Satrapies. It is our duty.”
“The point being…” Andross growled.
“The point, dear father, dear friends, is that I won’t stand for these people to suffer any more than absolutely necessary to make their new lives. In the resolution we just signed unanimously, this council has declared Satrap Garadul’s satrapy illegitimate. Rask Garadul was installed legitimately, was corresponded with as a legitimate satrap for a time. If he became illegitimate, but not through his personal treason, it is because his satrapy itself is illegitimate. Which is a simple acknowledgment of truth. Tyrea has not been a real satrapy in sixteen years. It had caretakers in its former capital, and its seat on this council was seized by another satrapy. So this is as it should be. However, a satrapy can only be dissolved by a supermajority vote of this council. We have so voted.”
“That’s a lot of interpretation you’re layering onto a simple document,” the White said. She didn’t, Gavin thought, necessarily disagree with him, but she didn’t like at all how he’d done it.
“Yes. But it is the Prism’s prerogative to define satrapies, and I have already done so. I settled the refugees of Garriston onto Seers Island—a place where they will not be flooding your cities with their destitute tens of thousands, for which
I hope all your satraps thank you endlessly. And me. And I declared Seers Island a new satrapy. The new satrap, I’m afraid to say, could only be Corvan Danavis.”
They knew he hated Corvan. They knew he’d fought against him, and had lost friends in those fights. That Corvan might be the new satrap was at least one thing that undercut Gavin’s personal power—so they thought.
“By endorsing that we are indeed still seven satrapies, you’ve endorsed my new creation.”
“This is an outrage,” Carver Black said.
“I think we can all agree that what you’ve just tried to do is, is, is unacceptable,” Klytos Blue said.
“Surely he doesn’t have the power to establish new satrapies on his own,” Tisis said. “High Lady Pullawr?”
The White shrugged. “Look at any history, it will tell you the Prism established the Seven Satrapies. Of course, things have changed greatly since those times, but it clearly was in the Prism’s purview, of old.”
“And has never been removed from the Prism’s purview, as you put it, High Lady,” Gavin said. Of course it hadn’t. There wasn’t anywhere else to put another satrapy, and no one would ever agree to splitting their own.
“Let’s just vote to undo this,” Tisis said.
Several other Colors voiced their approval.
“I agree,” Gavin said, “but pardon me, I’m still presiding here today, and we’ll still follow the proper procedure. You wish to dissolve Seers Island as a satrapy?”
“Yes!” Tisis said.
“Then you’ll need a supermajority to pass your resolution. As we’ve just said, dissolving a satrapy requires a supermajority.”
“Fine.” He could see others looking around the table, sliding the beads. Would anyone hold out on this?
They brought the resolution. Several of the Colors looked at Gavin like he was insane. Why would he pull such a thing, and then allow it to be rescinded immediately?
The White knew. He could see it in the tightness of her face. And Andross knew. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose, where his heavy dark spectacles had worn lines into his skin.