“Well?” Feoldor asked. “Any sign of him?”
Breen’s father shook his head. “We’ll have to keep looking tomorrow. Maybe Nyalis will find him.”
They barely had time to sit before three clacks from the chamberlain’s staff on the floor signaled the meeting’s commencement, and Overlord Barl stood to address the crowd.
“I would like to welcome Overlord Agnar of Keldor and Overlord Meyrose of Briston to Easthaven,” he said, gesturing in both men’s direction, “and hope you find your stay a pleasant one.”
Each overlord acknowledged this welcome with a slight nod, though Breen thought they didn’t seem too pleased to be there. Or perhaps this was simply the way overlords behaved when in each other’s company—no one wanting to appear any more eager than their counterparts.
Barl took his seat as Overlord Agnar stood and cleared his throat. “On behalf of the peoples of Keldor, I would like to extend my appreciation to Overlord Barl and the great city of Easthaven for their generous hospitality.” Sweeping back the gold-trimmed cape from his dress uniform, he offered a bow from the hip toward the head of the table and retook his seat.
Agnar was the tallest of the three overlords. His face was thin but hard, accented by his square jaw and angular nose. His sharp eyes and crisp actions gave him the appearance of someone with military training.
Overlord Meyrose, on the other hand, didn’t bother rising. “I, too, would like to extend my kingdom’s sincerest thanks for your generosity,” he said, lifting his half-empty glass in salute, “during these most difficult of times.” The overlord’s cheeks looked flushed, whether due to the man’s size or, perhaps, the extent of his drinking, Breen wasn’t sure.
Sheeva, who was sitting on the other side of Breen’s father, focused her attention on the back of Overlord Meyrose’s head. Breen noticed she had one hand around her knife. He had almost forgotten that Meyrose had once employed her and had since put a bounty on her head.
Sheeva must have sensed him staring, because she turned and looked directly at him. He smiled and turned back around.
Those amber eyes were unnerving.
Even with the time they’d spent in Meerwood while the wizard worked on Ty, Breen still felt like he didn’t know much about her.
Lyessa spoke softly to his father, and Breen leaned in as she briefly explained how the proceedings would go. Between the audience and the overlords were three desks. Each kingdom was allowed a single scrivener to record the proceedings. The scrivener on the right wore robes with the Sidaran green and gold, while the one in the middle wore Briston’s blue and white, and the far left had Keldor’s orange and gold.
Along with three separate scriveners, there were also three individual sections of seating for those in attendance, mostly consisting of the overlords’ personal entourages, along with a few members of their respective governance. Breen noted the wide, empty aisle between each section, wide enough that those sitting on the outsides could not reach each other.
Barl’s section held ten members of the Sidaran Assembly, including the very outspoken Cirian. The overlord had also invited the Easthaven Wielder Council—a risky move on his part—along with a number of other faces Breen didn’t recognize.
Barl cleared his throat. “Before we officially open this assembly, are there any grievances that need airing?”
The three overlords took a moment to glance at one another from across the table.
Agnar was the first to speak. “The kingdom of Keldor has no grievance to air with any here at this time.”
“The kingdom of Briston also has no grievances at this time,” Meyrose said, still clinging to his goblet.
Barl released a small sigh of relief. “Sidara concurs and makes a motion to proceed. All in favor?”
All three echoed, “Aye.”
Breen rolled his eyes. Could this get any more boring? He needed to be looking for Ty, not sitting here watching three men take entirely too long to establish that no one wanted to fight the other. The official formalities of this meeting seemed utterly ridiculous. He wondered if anyone would notice if he were to slip out.
“Excellent.” Barl folded his hands. “Now concerning the matters at hand.”
About time, Breen thought.
“I would be lying if I didn’t state that I find the reasons for this meeting, and the fact that we have two empty seats at the table, most disturbing.”
“Highly unconventional, to say the least,” Meyrose added with a small burp that had Breen shaking his head at the man’s lack of decorum. Having just finished what was in his glass, Meyrose held it out to the side, and one of his butlers rushed over to refill it, pouring from a crystal decanter.
“I’m afraid it can’t be helped,” Barl said.
“I agree,” Agnar said forcefully, his own goblet untouched. “Since the time of Torrin, not one of the kingdoms has been in subjection to another. This sets a concerning precedent, especially considering Keldor now shares unimpeded borders with Elondria.”
Breen thought Agnar made a good point. Sidara at least had the Razor Spine Mountains as a barrier between it and Elondria. Keldor didn’t.
“Dakaran is not his father,” Barl said. “He has no respect for the old covenants. He seems to care more for power than he does the rule of law.”
Meyrose took another sip of his drink. “Surely you don’t hold Elondria to blame for the defense of its people?”
“Of course not. Any one of us would have done the same, and rightly so. No, what I blame is what followed—the complete overthrow of Cylmar and the unprecedented usurping of power by the throne.”
“Aye,” Agnar said, tugging on the greying whiskers of his ducktail beard. “However, this isn’t merely a single overlord that has overstepped his bounds. We are talking about the High King.”
“Yes,” Barl said. “But it was for this very reason that High King Torrin divided Aldor into the five Provincial Authorities in the first place. To prevent the rise of a single dictator.”
“There’s no need for a history lesson, Barl,” Meyrose said.
Breen hated to agree with the slovenly overlord, but Meyrose was right. Barl needed to get to the point. The sooner they were able to figure out a solution, the sooner he could go look for Ty.
“We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already see the need. What I want to know is what can be done about it.”
“Yes,” Agnar agreed. “Elondria now possesses the largest force of armsmen in Aldor. We need to be careful how we approach this.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Meyrose said as he held out his empty goblet once more, and once more the same skinny butler hopped from his seat to fill it.
Barl sighed. “And I agree with you. We need to be careful. But we also need to be judicious, which is why I’ve asked one of our historians of the law to apprise us of what rights we hold under the Aldoran Acts of Alliance.”
From the back of the room, an elderly woman stood and made her way to the front. White hair cupped her angular face and draped across her shoulders like a winter’s cloak. It looked long enough to sit on. In her arms she cradled a large leather tome, carrying it much like one would a child.
“Gentlemen,” Barl said, motioning to the approaching historian. “I give you Alberta Trendall, our Keeper of Books and Historian of Provincial Law.”
Alberta bowed.
Breen thought the older woman was going to fall over, but she managed to right herself and make her way to a podium at the opposite end of the table. She opened the book, pulled the long curtain of hair back from her face, and began to read.
Breen quickly discovered he couldn’t easily keep up with the highly complex legal jargon. In some places, he felt like he understood what was being read, but in others, it was as though the woman were speaking a completely different language. The overlords didn’t appear to be too bothered, though, occasionally nodding at the passages.
Breen’s eyes were glazing over as the historian spent more than a qua
rter hour reading from the large tome in one of the most monotonous voices Breen had ever heard. Finally, the old woman came across a few statutes that Breen did understand.
“The voting majority of the Provincial Authority has the right to suspend or nullify any edict or action not agreed upon by the voting majority of the Provincial Authority. The Provincial Authority is thereby granted the power to reverse any ruling set forth by the High King, provided that ruling is deemed not to be in the best interest of any kingdom other than Elondria, over which the king has complete authority.”
Simply put, from what Breen could tell, if the king made an edict that affected more than just the kingdom of Elondria, and the remaining overlords unanimously voted to reject it for their kingdoms, the edict could be reversed. Why hadn’t she just said that in the first place and saved them all the headache?
“It appears we do have the rule of law on our side,” Agnar said, sitting stiffly in his seat. “But what good does it do if those who are duty-bound to uphold the law not only disregard it but also hold it in blatant contempt?”
All eyes were on the old historian as she stuck her sharp nose back in the pages of her book. She ran her finger across several heavy vellum pages. “Ah!” she said finally. “It says here on page four hundred and thirty-two, section eight, that the Provincial Authority, when by unanimous vote, and having been able to clearly prove that there has been an infringement of those statutes written herein, is granted the right to . . .” Alberta lifted her head from the book and glanced across the table at Barl, her face worried.
Breen held his breath, anxious to hear the verdict.
“Well, go on,” Agnar said, sitting on the edge of his seat. “What does it say?”
“They are granted the right to . . . to unseat the reigning king.”
Chapter 78 | Breen
THE ROOM WENT SILENT as Alberta left the podium and carried her tome back to her seat.
Surprisingly enough, the first to open his mouth was Meyrose, as he burst into a fit of laughter. “Yes, I can see it now as we walk into the throne room and demand Dakaran give up his crown.” The obese overlord laughed some more. “We would be toting our newly severed heads in our laps on the way back out.”
Breen almost laughed himself. The thought of any king being willing to give up his throne was preposterous, let alone Dakaran. Breen didn’t know much about the man other than rumor, but from what he’d heard, Dakaran would be about the last person to ever give up his seat.
“Yes, well, I hardly think we will be approaching the matter quite in that way,” Agnar replied, lifting his hand to rub his neck.
“No,” Barl agreed, “but there needs to be an official response. We cannot let this go unanswered. That would only further weaken our position as the Provincial Authority.”
“Which is what Dakaran has already done by his own actions,” Agnar said. “We should strike now while we still have the ability. With Sidara and Briston standing beside Keldor, we could put an end to this.”
Barl leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Breen wondered if it would come to that. A war of the kingdoms. There hadn’t been a war like that in . . . well, he wasn’t sure.
“War could be a likely outcome,” Barl said. “But I, for one, would rather see a diplomatic solution reached first, if possible. A list of formal grievances should be drawn up and sent to the king to see if he will concede, one of those being to restore Cylmar to its rightful place as one of the five provinces of Aldor.”
“That’s all well and good,” Agnar said, “but we all know what the response will be. Our only option is to start preparing for more aggressive action.”
Barl leaned back in his seat. Breen noticed that he didn’t argue with Agnar’s statement. Probably because the overlord was right.
Breen’s stomach tightened at the thought of going to war with Elondria. Didn’t they already have enough to worry about? Again, his thoughts shifted back to his brother. They had more pressing matters that needed fixing than the king.
The whole world seemed to be spinning out of control. First, they found out the Tower was hunting them, then they were set upon by a Tallosian war party and a dark witch with her horde of giant spiders, and just when they thought they might make it through, Ty goes and gets himself possessed, and now there was talk of a possible war between the five kingdoms.
Barl tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “A more direct action is a possibility we should consider, but—”
“It’s more than a possibility,” Agnar stated, looking puzzled by Barl’s reluctance. “It’s a reality.”
Barl reached for his goblet but didn’t drink. “If we are to consider such actions, we will also need to discuss another growing concern, one that might be the reason behind our new king’s rash decisions.”
Breen leaned forward anxiously. Lyessa had hinted that her father might address his newly acquired position on magic during the meeting, but Breen was hoping he’d forgotten. The last thing they needed were more eyes on them.
“You are referring to the White Tower, I take it?” Agnar finished the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth. “This new Archchancellor has me concerned. He has more than quadrupled the Tower’s size and influence in the short time he’s held the position.”
Breen noticed Overlord Meyrose fidgeting in his seat at the mention of the White Tower and its Archchancellor.
Agnar pushed his goblet aside. “I don’t know how it is here in Sidara, but their presence is growing throughout my kingdom. There’s hardly a city or township that hasn’t been visited by the white riders. Honestly, I’m beginning to feel that the Black Watch are more of a nuisance than the wielders they hunt.”
“Death to all those with magic, I say.” Meyrose tilted his head and finished another long pull from his drink and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Magic is a plague on this land. The sooner it’s destroyed, the safer we’ll be.”
Breen clenched his fists. If there was any justice in the world, Meyrose would choke on his drink. People’s willful ignorance never ceased to astound him. Apparently, being an overlord was no exception to such ignorance.
“I hardly think magic is to blame for all of Aldor’s problems,” Barl said with a quick glance in the wielder council’s direction.
Breen took a deep breath. This was it.
“In fact, I have recently had my eyes opened concerning the plight of the ven’ae.”
“The plight of the ven’ae?” Agnar scooted forward in his seat, eyebrows drawn together. Even Meyrose lowered his drink long enough to listen.
“I can assure you that what I’m about to say is not something I have taken lightly, considering my audience. Agnar, you mentioned earlier that Keldor was being inundated with white riders. Unfortunately, it has been the same here, and worse.”
Agnar cocked his head. “Worse?”
“Not three weeks ago, Easthaven came under attack, and I found myself fighting for my very life. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of a group of local wielders, I wouldn’t be here today.”
“Wielders?” Meyrose stiffened, his face reddening even more than normal.
“Yes,” Barl said. “We were attacked by a Tallosian war party.”
Agnar grunted. “Tallosians? Is this a joke? The Northmen haven’t stepped foot on these shores in at least a hundred years.”
Barl leaned forward, his expression serious. “They’re kind of hard to miss. We managed to capture one and are currently holding him for questioning. But that wasn’t the worst of it,” he said, his expression growing even more solemn, if that was possible. “What was really disturbing was that they were led by a representative of the White Tower . . . a sorceress.”
Meyrose spit his drink. “Don’t be absurd, Barl. The White Tower doesn’t hire wielders; it kills them.”
“The witch called herself Mangora. Not only did she have great power at her fingertips, she also commanded a horde of arachnobes.”
Agnar di
dn’t respond. He had appeared skeptical before, but now he looked to be doing his best to keep from laughing. “Far be it for me to ever agree with Meyrose. But even I’m having a hard time believing such a story.” Agnar dropped back into his seat with a heavy sigh. “Perhaps we need to call you a physicker.”
Meyrose waved his goblet. “Barl, you’ve gone completely mad.”
Barl didn’t say anything. He simply leaned back and folded his arms.
Breen knew what was coming, and he tapped his foot anxiously as he waited. Even Cirian, the head speaker for the Sidaran Assembly, was leaning forward in his seat.
Barl twisted around and motioned toward the entrance. The doors opened and a handful of lancers carried in a large wrapped package.
“What’s this?” Agnar demanded as the five men positioned themselves on the other end of the table.
“For the love of Aldor, Barl, what in blazes is that flaming awful smell?” Meyrose started to choke as he pinched his nose and waved his hand in front of his face.
With a heave, the armed guards swung the wrapped item up onto the table, leaving Meyrose to quickly snatch his goblet before it overturned.
“Here, let me show you.” Barl stood and walked around to the other end of the table and grabbed the cloth. Not waiting for his lancers to finish untying it, he took a deep breath and ripped back the material. The spider’s legs came flopping out.
Agnar leaped from his seat and grabbed his sword as he stumbled backward. Meyrose, on the other hand, didn’t even make it out of his chair. He squealed as it overturned with him still stuck inside. All of his attendants but one—the man who had been refilling his drink—left him on the floor as they ran in the opposite direction.
Breen laughed out loud before covering his mouth with his hand.
Men and women from the other sections flew from their seats, screaming. There was a stampede for the doors. Not one person took into account the fact that the creature wasn’t moving. Those still seated in Barl’s section tried their best not to look too amused as they watched the mayhem.
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