Maygrew’s first mistake. Drogue took his cue without hesitation this time, and rose from his seat. His tall, black figure seemed to cast a larger than possible shadow, which chilled the fervor of everyone on whom it fell. He stood where he was – still, quiet, waiting, confronting his adversaries eye to eye across the vast room, until everyone present noticed him, and a hush fell once again over the assembled delegates. “I contest.” He spoke in a cultured, slightly nasal tone that, nevertheless, carried clearly to every ear in the room. Then, without haste, or any hint of agitation, he began his own suit.
“Most of you know me. I am Lord Drogue, of the mountain regions. My family is also a very old and respected family, as distinguished as the royal family, or the Reys, or the Maygrews. You might remember my father, Lord Harrow Drogue, who was quite well thought of in every corner of this kingdom.” There were some assenting nods and murmurings. Apparently, Tvrdik mused, Drogue’s father was a decent man. There’s an apple that somehow fell an awfully long way from the tree. “My…love…for Eneri Clare is so intense, so over-arching, that I find myself unable to stand idly by and allow what seems to be happening here. Heaven knows I am not ambitious for myself – in my own fiefdom, I am called ‘Prince.’ I am Master of enough lands, power, and riches to last several lifetimes. I have no ulterior motive save my sense of duty, and a sincere desire to preserve the good of this nation.” Tvrdik gagged, and imagined anyone or anything that touched Drogue sliding helplessly down the oily aura in which he was wrapping himself; it was almost visible. The owl/mage cautiously flew to a beam nearer the speaker.
“My…esteemed and…distinguished peer, Lord Maygrew, urges many interesting points in favor of the Lady Regent’s sudden election. Lady Rey is indeed a fine and accomplished young woman, and has done a superb job of keeping the kingdom unharmed in this interim period. But, is it really fair of us to ask her to make further sacrifices for Eneri Clare? Lord Maygrew, you speak of spending happy hours with your grandchildren. And yet, you would saddle the Lady Rey with responsibility for the royal heir, and for the welfare of the entire land all the years of his minority. What of entertaining suitors and the joys of raising her own family, insuring the Rey bloodline might continue with strong new scions? The delights of maidenhood and motherhood, these are the careers for which our dear sister is infinitely better equipped, and likely more inclined to pursue, truth be told.”
That remark drew a wave of muted exclamations from the floor, some shocked, some sympathetic, and others downright disgusted. Tvrdik watched Jorelial’s face turn an odd shade of aubergine. If owls had eyebrows, they would have been raised high in alarm. The man was presuming to tell Jorelial Rey in front of the entire court what her personal and professional ambitions should be. The owl/mage braced himself for a spirited retort, but instead saw her jaw muscles ripple and her lips turn pale as she kept her feelings about Drogue’s remarks under tight control. The Grand Council was no place for a free-for-all, and Drogue had the floor.
The mountain lord continued. “And while Lady Rey is a bright and capable girl, no doubt having learned a thing or two at the feet of her father, the fact remains that she is but a girl. I fear it falls to me to point out that the future of this kingdom has been entrusted to all of you assembled here, and you are about to hand it over, in your idealism, to a four year old babe and an unseasoned young woman. Oh, my dear lords, where is your reason, your wit, your sound, sensible judgment? I am no longer a callow youth; I have seen the world. Many of you here have rarely ventured beyond your own estates, and have never taken it upon yourselves to explore what lies beyond our very comfortable borders. I have had the opportunity to travel abroad, and have encountered much to harden my heart. I learned war-craft, fighting in foreign conflicts. I have witnessed lands decimated by plague and privation, where crime and cruelty were everyday occurrences. I have met powerful men who were ruthless and untrustworthy, and having dealt with men of all sorts, I have learned that we are really all the same – opportunists all, just under the skin.”
Someone called out, “Sit down, Drogue! Must we listen to this?” There was a brief surge of commentary from the floor, but a firm rap on the tiles from the Steward’s baton, and a heart-stopping glare from Drogue himself silenced the crowd. He went on.
“The plain fact is that we are now vulnerable. Our king and queen are perished, along with their most trusted advisor. We reel in crisis. What will our neighbors be thinking when they see how unguarded we are, and ready for the picking? Do not let their sympathetic smiles and paper treaties fool you – there is no ruler on earth who would not look at a lovely ripe fruit sitting under his nose unprotected, and would not desire it for his own. You are too trusting and too complacent, my lords. The years of peace have made you soft. What will you do when the foreigners come streaming over our borders to burn our estates, take our sons as slaves, and our daughters, sisters, and wives to ravage?”
Delegates began to shout outright, and the noise level of the room rose to something just short of cacophony. Drogue seemed to take energy from the chaos, stirring up outrage, shouting over the din, underlining his points with staccato jabs of his bony finger. “I tell you, lords, I am afraid. As you should be afraid. So much talk we have heard today of loyalty to a family, of vision, innovation, new ideas… Well, none of that will be worth a fig if we do not first have a care for ourselves and our families. We must put self-preservation first and foremost on our agenda.” He paused to let his dark vision settle over them, for the Steward to bang his great baton on the floor, and the noise to die down. Then he smiled, without warmth.
“This is a time in Eneri Clare for older, stronger, more capable hands to take the wheel. If there is no other here today who understands what is at stake, who can take decisive action, who is willing to step forward to protect our land from threats within and abroad (You yourself are the only real threat here, thought Tvrdik, furious), then I humbly offer myself as candidate for regent, setting aside my own personal happiness and freedom in order to serve, as your leader and protector.”
There was a single bold cry of, “Hear, hear!” from someone at the table, a round man with curly hair. But it died quickly when few joined in. An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room as Lord Drogue bowed low and resumed his seat. Fear, Tvrdik fumed, he’s using fear to control people; stirring up phantom dangers with half-truths and imaginings that have no basis in reality. He’s even trying to convince everyone to question their earlier good instincts. How many of them will allow him to superimpose this false picture onto their psyches? How many will succumb to these despicable tactics? It irked him to stand by and listen to such an evil rant without being able to counter it in any way.
Jorelial Rey was pale and silent, uncertain how best to dispel the poison in Drogue’s monologue, and quite aware of the tradition that at Council, in the Great Hall, anyone was permitted to speak his mind, no matter how ugly its contents might be. Lord Maygrew, looking more like a defending lion now than a jocular uncle, his arm still circling Jorelial’s shoulder, broke the spell, his voice taut. “Right, then. Two strong candidates are proposed. The sun is sinking. Let us put it to a vote. Discussion?” No one uttered a sound. “Good. You all should know how this is done, but for you first-timers, each of you has been provided with a collection of colored wooden chips, the kind used in gaming. We will make the green chips for Lady Jorelial Rey, and the red for Lord Drogue, who has so unselfishly volunteered his services. We will all file in orderly fashion to the front of the room where our good steward holds a covered box with a slit in the top. He will be guarded at all times, so that tampering will not be possible. Drop in the chip representing your selection, and the results will be counted by an objective party agreed to by both candidates. Stand well back from the box to give your fellows a bit of privacy, please, and keep your own choice close as well. Lord Drogue, will you suggest someone to tally?”
A moment passed. Drogue raised an eyebrow,
“I trust our esteemed Minister of Justice would serve?” he ventured.
“Lady Rey, is that acceptable?”
“Of course,” she nodded.
At a signal from Bargarelle, the musicians returned to play some solemn background as the long line shuffled up to the box, each delegate making a final choice. During those agonizing minutes, no conversation was permitted. But, as the box was taken to be counted by Master Alanquist, everyone stretched and relaxed, gathering in small groups to discuss the day’s events. Whatever the result, they had all done their duty, and were already anticipating the banquet prepared for the evening’s finish. Tvrdik kept one bird’s eye on Jorelial Rey, who sat in her big chair ashen- faced, while Maygrew, her champion, stood several paces off, silent and supportive. The owl/mage’s other eye was fixed on Drogue, who had gone back to his original relaxed posture in his chair, equally isolated from interaction with anyone else. Around these two islands of stillness, the noisy bustle of a weary crowd eager to be quit of its responsibilities grew and circulated. There were, of course, those few who were deeply concerned about the vote. Tvrdik could see them assembled in corners, brows furrowed, talking among themselves in low whispers. He tried to memorize their faces for later need. The three lords who seemed to be in league with Drogue huddled together a few paces from him, faces solemn, eyes on the mountain lord, who ignored them.
When Bargarelle entered with the results, things had relaxed so that he almost wasn’t noticed. With a sense of great purpose he marched to the front of the room and rapped his heavy staff of office on the floor, shouting, “Order, order!” until he had everyone’s attention. He then continued, formally, “After three careful counts by our impartial representative, Lord Alanquist, the final tally is…Lord Drogue, twenty-three; Lady Jorelial Rey, one hundred two. Lady Rey is elected permanent regent to the king, beginning at once, and lasting until his twenty-first birthday, or the death of either party, whichever occurs first.”
Tvrdik heard an audible gasp from Drogue. (Amazing, the mage mused, he actually believed that he would be victorious.)
“Papers will presently be drawn up and signed vesting royal authority in the regent elect, and symbols of the office will be conferred upon her person by Council at the Royal Coronation, to be held one week from tomorrow, Saturday, at two hours past mid-day. We wish to thank Lord Drogue for his willingness to serve, all the delegates for their participation in this momentous event, and we salute Lady Rey in her new capacity. This Council is formally adjourned. A banquet will be served for your comfort and pleasure in this same room in one hour. If you will be pleased to vacate the Hall until that time to allow us to lay the tables…” He lowered his voice and, with a broad smile, extended a hand to the new regent, “and may I add my sincerest personal congratulations, Lady Rey. I am relieved and delighted at this result.”
It was done. There was no escaping it. She was regent, just as Xaarus had predicted. But now that the uncertainty was over and there was no turning back, her breeding took over and she stood taller, allowing a gracious smile and her genuine warmth to break through. She took Bargarelle’s outstretched hand and clasped it firmly, “Without you, my right hand, I do not know what I would do.” He flushed, basking in her praise. She looked around, coming to life at last, “Do you think you could get them to listen to a few more words, from me?” In response, the Steward began banging his baton again, shouting,“Order!” Groups had already begun to head toward the main doors as the musicians played, but most turned back to attend to this last summons. The music halted mid-song, and an expectant hush descended on the crowd. “Our Lady Regent would like a word…”
Jorelial Rey, newly-elected permanent regent to the king, and, effectively, ruler of all of Eneri Clare, took her place at the podium for the first time, looking every inch a leader of men. Tvrdik was again breathless at the instant transformation. Her voice rang out across the long room, “I have no wish to detain you all from your well-deserved refreshment; I will see many of you later at the banquet, and will thank you then in person for the confidence you have placed in me this day. For now, I will just say to all of you that I am humbled and overwhelmed at your faith in me, and I promise I will not fail you. I will strive to hold the throne as a sacred trust for our beloved Darian, and to keep his kingdom safe, just, wealthy, and at peace with our neighbors until the day of his ascendancy. Until that time, I rely on our High Ministers for their sage counsel, and I invite all of you present to feel free always to speak your minds. Tell me of your concerns, and know that you will always find a willing and concerned ear here. Do not be strangers in this place, where you are always welcome. Friends, I thank you, and send you with a full heart to your revels…”
“NOOOO!” It was a visceral, unearthly wail that seemed to issue from Lord Drogue, who had been sitting like a statue in his assigned place since the election results had been announced, his fists clenched and his gaze fixed on some inner landscape. But now, it was indeed as if something within had snapped, and all pretense of grace or propriety melted away. Instead of smolderingly handsome, his face now appeared frighteningly deranged, the features twisted in rage at the perceived injustice of his rejection. His voice cut through the room like the shriek of a wounded beast, “This is wrong. It cannot happen. The throne is mine. It was always meant to be mine. You fools…fools! You have trusted your future to a child in diapers, and a spoiled girl. It is folly of the highest order. You will all live to regret the mistakes of this day. The time will come when the strong will triumph, make no mistake. You will not get away with this travesty.”
Tvrdik, who had watched Drogue working up to this for some minutes, now flew in haste to the Lady Regent’s shoulder and perched there, flapping his great white wings to steady himself. Such a move would have turned quite a few heads had they not already been turned in shock and horror toward Lord Drogue. “Let me do something,” he whispered frantically in her ear, “let me take him down now…he’s clearly insane.”
Jorelial shook her head, “No, you can’t. We can’t. It won’t change anything.”
Lord Maygrew, oblivious to their brief interchange, stepped forward, “What are you saying, Drogue? Are you threatening to override the will of the Grand Council by force? If so, it is treason, sir – I could have you arrested on the spot. Guards.”
“Wait, no!” Jorelial called, “Lord Drogue, I am sorry you are displeased with the election’s results. I shall do everything in my power to try and change your opinion of me. But for the moment, it seems I am made regent. It is our policy, our time-honored tradition, that in this room, council members are free to express their honest opinions, even if they are unpopular ones. I cannot arrest you for expressing your disappointment. However, draw your sword or threaten us at your peril. I beg you now to regain your composure, and put aside any rancor between us. You are our honored guest, and we invite you to enjoy our hospitality.”
Tvrdik marveled at her poise, generosity, and good sense, not to mention how easily she seemed to drift into using the royal ‘we’ in formal speech. There was a moment when it seemed as though not a soul drew breath, awaiting what might happen next. And then Drogue snarled, looking much like a rabid dog, and made his reply, “Do not attempt to silence me with honeyed words. You are too late for that. You have taken what is rightfully mine, and I warn you, I swear that you will not hold it long, Lady Jorelial Rey.” He spit out her name syllable by syllable, as if committing it to memory for some future evil incantation. A chill ran through her, Tvrdik’s claws digging into her shoulder muscle.
Maygrew gestured to the door, his rich baritone ringing out for everyone to hear, “Leave this place, sir. You shall not be harmed or detained, as the Lady Rey wishes, but neither shall you stand here before me with impunity, and make threats and insults against our monarch and his chosen regent. Go now, while I still have some control over my temper, and do not show your face here again.”
“Or else wha
t?” Was Drogue actually laughing? Time slowed as he turned to survey the room, taking in the appalled expressions on every face. Then, in a soft and chilling voice that every ear nevertheless heard, “I promise each and every one of you, you will regret this day’s ill-begotten work. You have not heard the last of me.” He turned on his heel, and strode from the room. Not a soul stirred, not a sound was heard, but the echo of retreating heels on marble floors. Then, in that emotion- charged pause, one by one, three other lords turned to the door and stalked out after Drogue. Yes, they were the same that Tvrdik had noticed earlier as sullen or suspicious. Not good at all.
Again, with remarkable poise, the Lady Regent quickly took it upon herself to diffuse the tension, “Let him go, friends. We are confident he will cool down and come to his senses. These are stressful times. Please go now and find your families, and return in an hour for a good hot meal and a little entertainment. I can’t promise you as exciting a show as we have just had, but it will at least be worth returning for.” That quip, and her veneer of easy grace, generated a ripple of laughter all around, and started people moving out the main doors once again. As the hall emptied from one direction, serving men and women began scurrying in at side doors, racing to set up for the massive party. Jorelial Rey blew out her breath, releasing the tension in her shoulders. Corbin Maygrew stepped over and laid a hand on her free arm in a comforting gesture, then almost as an afterthought, raised an eyebrow at the white owl still perched at her other ear. “I’ll explain later,” she told her recent champion. Bargarelle, the Steward, a few paces off and white-faced, was standing stock still, leaning on his official staff, and staring at her with an expression midway between horror and worship on his face. Tvrdik preened his feathers with his beak, thinking, Oh, Xaarus, it was all as you said. Everything, exactly as you told me. It has most certainly begun.
The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare Page 21