Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  Hairem regarded them all silently, blue eyes flicking from one expressionless, attentive face to the next. There was the twist of anxiety in his stomach, but his composure was deliberately relaxed. ‘I let them see only who I want them to see,’ he recalled Sairel’s stoically commanding words. If ever a male had been born to be king, Sairel was that elf.

  Hairem drew himself up against the back of his chair, tapping his finger once on the solid wood of his desk. “I see here there is a list of matters that we need to address… ”

  Several pairs of eyes regarded him cynically and several bodies shifted impatiently, as though his failure was somehow, already, unsalvageable.

  Hairem set the parchment down, leaning back with an inward sigh. The council would have no patience with his lead. Not at this time. It was true: he hardly knew what he was doing. Revealing the extent of this fact would perhaps be more detrimental than just… “Nilanis, if you would?”

  The speaker for the Sel’vi stood swiftly, moving around the circle of desks to stand in the middle of the room as though he had been waiting for Hairem to turn over command. And yet, Hairem could not help but be impressed as he noted the way the male walked—strong, brisk, and remarkably commanding. His experience was unchallenged. He stood silently for a moment, tension building. Finally he spoke.

  “Yes, my fellow council members. Today is the day that we must finally address the proposition by our Noc’olarian brethren: term limits on the council positions. Since this matter is clearly a primary concern for our Nocalarum, Yulairm, we shall let him express to us his people’s concern.” The tone he used was, without contest, passively aggressive and Hairem was taken aback by the unabashed bias with which he had already addressed the matter.

  Yet his inner emotions remained closed behind an outward composure of silent observation. He rested his chin on the back of his hand. No sooner than a few score words and the internal conflict of the council had begun. Or perhaps he had not accorded them enough credit—his mere entrance in the Council’s Hall seemed to have created a rather chilly atmosphere.

  Yulairm stood, grey eyes regarding Nilanis with open contempt. He transferred his attention toward Hairem. “My Lord, the Noc’olari wish to see term limits placed on the council members. Their concern is that there are members of the council who, once they have gained power, can, without repercussions, ignore the will of the people and pass laws applying to their own personal benefit. Let me remind you of 3514 P.E. when the council passed a yearly income increase of fifteen percent when there was no financial reason to do so—all council members were already earning ten percent more than the average elven home, entirely excluding their personal financial ventures. If a term limit—or a vote to renew the term—could be established, corrupt council members could no longer remain on the council for—” and here he paused to deliberately eye Nilanis, “three hundred years or more.”

  His eyes returned to Hairem as though he knew that a term limit was exactly what the king had been advocating to Heshellon for the last few weeks. Had Heshellon opened his mouth? Damn it!—this was too soon to bring it before the rest of the council for a vote! What had prompted the Nocalarum’s impatience? Did he fear that Hairem would become corrupted by the other council members? His father had certainly lost his sway over the council over time…

  Lost his sway to people like Nilanis. Leisum had been a respectable council member, but he had retained his position for one thousand five hundred years. And Nilanis was nothing like Leisum. Additionally, he likely had well over two thousand years left. It helped that the elven people were intelligent enough to appoint older elves as council members—to allow shorter terms by impending death—but when a younger elf like Nilanis slithered his way in, there was no extricating him. Especially when half the city’s commerce went through his docks.

  Hairem leaned forward on his hand, inclining his head to encourage Yulairm to continue. He would have to make the most of this unexpected timing. He knew his eyes were reproachful, however, rebuking Yulairm for bringing the topic to council without his foreknowledge.

  Still, the Nocalarum was fearless as he pressed forward. His lean body drew up sharply, as straight and tall and scraggly as a weathered tree, but his eyes were grey, deep, and fierce. “I have been advocating shorter terms on the council for over fifty years, Your Majesty. And every year the council votes against it. Three centuries ago, the former royal bloodline abandoned Sevrigel for Ryekarayn because of the corrupted state of our council. Silandrus went so far as to abolish any such council on Ryekarayn and now his son Sairel rules as sole voice for his people: King as well as El’adorium. I challenge any council member here to come forth with a reason as to why a term limit—or even vote of renewal—would be a negative addition to our laws. If the True Bloods deemed our shortcomings to be such a detriment to the people we serve, then perhaps we should find a way to—”

  Cahsari snorted and Hairem felt a rise of hatred toward the Helven at the interruption. “Of course the Noc’olari would propose this.” He rubbed the narrow ridge of his pale nose and then threw his hand outward in a broad, animated sweep. “With the shortest average lifespans of our peoples, one can hardly see a reason not to. And a term limit certainly does not affect Yulairm either. You have had your seat for what… sixty years? Seventy years? What sort of term limit are you proposing? Two hundred? Three hundred? It must be nice for you to see the rest of us removed while you retain power. Fresh, inexperienced blood for you to take control of when the rest of us are disposed. We all know Silandrus was a power hungry savage who shared your ideals. He allowed our elves to fall beneath the clutches of the sirens. Saebellus is a testament to what sort of prodigy he left behind with his ideas and affinities. I daresay such ideas even border on being treasonous! Like Silandrus, Saebellus would also see us all removed—except that he possesses the madness to follow through with his sword. He would take our heads first, the king not being withheld from the same fate.”

  Yulairm narrowed his icy eyes threateningly. “Silandrus was not only a True Blood, but a very well-respected king amongst the Sel’vi in Elvorium and the other elven cities throughout Sevrigel. That is your first offense. The second… How dare you suggest that I am as corrupt and manipulative as you, Cahsari. If I was, let me assure you that you would long since have been removed.”

  Cahsari stood, blue eyes flashing. “Is that a threat on my life? Last I recall, you saw Leisum last before he died. Perhaps you did not appreciate his traditional stance on the seat terms. I—”

  “ENOUGH,” Hairem spoke forcibly. He narrowed his eyes at both elves, noting how they hesitated to immediately comply with his order. “Sit. Both of you.” His voice rose in force, wresting control over the room.

  Cahsari sat back slowly as Yulairm muttered an apology.

  “First, I will not hear ill spoken of the True Bloods. Keep it to yourself in my presence, Cahsari. Now, it seems to me that the Noc’olari’s proposition is quite reasonable. If the council was to be renewed by vote every two hundred years, that would help to maintain a will of the people. In order to prevent a benefit on the timing for this proposition, council terms could be voted on for renewal next year and proceed to a two hundred year cycle thereafter.”

  Mikanum raised a hand slightly, gesturing to himself. “If I may, Your Majesty.”

  Hairem leaned back, smiling slightly. Mikanum would no doubt have a far more elegant method of persuasion on his behalf. “Speak.”

  The heads turned as Mikanum stood and pulled himself up to a straight, regal stance. Standing before his chair in the stiff composure of command, he appeared to Hairem as a far older version of the general. And his first meeting with the general had been a relief from the façade of polite politics. He was lean, pale, and even from the great expanse across the room, Hairem felt as though he could feel a chill emanating from his icy exterior. “Thank you, Your Majesty. No doubt every one of us is a strong elf of tradition. I would like to remind each of us of the council’s
tradition that even the True Blood king Silandrus would not usurp or alter—”

  “Your self-importance knows no bounds,” Yulairm spat. “Silandrus didn’t uphold tradition because he respected the council, he upheld tradition because he respected that the people elected you here. The same people whom you now exploit and ignore.”

  “Enough,” Mikanum retorted, his visage of venerability fading as irritation began to surface. “Now, in theory, the proposition for which Yulairm and his people so staunchly argue for seems in the best interest of the people—when regarded in first light.” Hairem could feel his smile quickly fading. “But has not tradition always been the best interest of our people?—A virtue necessary to the fabric of our society. If we do not have our tradition, than who are we but humans or dwarves? When the other races fled Eraydon’s side, who there remained but our elven brethren? It is our tradition that separates us from the lesser races: our tradition of racial bonds, of history, of gestures, of gods… of morality. And there is no tradition older than that of our council.

  “When our races first united on Sevrigel after The Last War, a Sel’ven was appointed king of all the elven people in honor of Ephraim and Eraydon’s heritage. When the True Bloods abandoned the throne three centuries ago, a Sel’ven was appointed to replace him. To this day, a Sel’ven has always been the king of all elven people—just king or unjust. You, Hairem, are a figure of tradition. Although you are not of traditional royal blood, your father’s Sel’varian heritage and his position as the El’adorium made him the next king without contest. Would you give up your position—tradition—to allow the people to vote for who they wished to be made king? Do you believe that the people know best? Or do you, Your Majesty, know best?” He paused here briefly, challenging Hairem to consider.

  Hairem did consider. Of course he believed he knew best. Did not every elf? And the idea of giving up power to a vote…? The thought was comical at best.

  “The council is like our king. Yulairm is the king of the Noc’olari. Cahsari is the king of the Helvari. Fildor is the king of the—”

  Yulairm shook his head sternly as his voice sharply interrupted the Darivalian from continuing. “If we are like the kings to our respective peoples and not Sevrigel as a whole, then why are, say, the Lithri not represented?—the Lithri may live near Mikanum’s people, but the Darivalians had never feigned camaraderie with their kind. We are required to be so much more than the representatives of our races and we have an obligation to serve all of Sevrigel. Reducing our time ensures less risk of corruption in serving our own interests, or those solely pertaining to our own kind—”

  Cahsari laughed, a burst of sound so sharp that it projected as though it had been long contained through Yulairm’s speech. Hairem grimaced once more. Gods, did he ever let anyone finish? “The Lithri?! No one gives a damn about the Lithri.”

  “And let’s be honest,” Fildor joined in with a soft tone that the room hushed to hear, “Murios once prophesized one of their kind would wrest the throne from beneath the king and slay his followers by the hundreds. The further they are from this capital, the better.”

  “A Lithri born of Lithri blood but not of Lithri parentage?” Yulairm repeated in disbelief. “It doesn’t even make sense. That prophecy is millennia old and Murios is nothing but a mad—Wait, by Noctem this is an entirely diverging topic! My point was that too much power is being attested to our positions and our races when—”

  Mikanum raised his hand, even as Hairem leaned forward in interest. The reason for excluding the Lithri from the council was rarely spoken of, and yet this prophecy was regarded as unquestionable truth. And that it had come from a suggested necromancer had not weakened its weight of fear over past kings. “I’m sorry to interrupt you as you so rudely interrupted me, Nocalarum,” Mikanum spoke, taking hold once more of the conversation, “but I’m afraid I was not finished in making my point. As I was saying, we have been appointed to represent our respective peoples. What is good for our people is good for the Lithri and those alike—surely they are not above our needs. And each of us kings stand in the shadow of our one king—King Hairem of Sevrigel.” He turned away from Yulairm to focus his gaze upon Hairem. “We are appointed by vote to take on the responsibilities of a ruler—a king like yourself, Your Majesty. Just or unjust. And like a vote cannot strip you of your position, neither should a vote strip us of ours. The tradition of elves dictates your position as it dictates ours. As such, I must stand with Nilanis in refusing to grant the Noc’olari their proposition.”

  Hairem was quiet a moment. It was difficult to refute the tradition. No, impossible. Mikanum was accurate on all accounts. It was even tradition itself that had long since barred the Lithri from sitting on the council—even if the prophecy extended another millennium, the Lithri would never join them. But there were traditions of virtue that had been present since Sel’ari… and those traditions that the elves had created themselves. And the council was… “Well spoken, Mikanum.” Hairem stood, finding it difficult to follow Mikanum’s disappointedly elegant opposition. “Let us not forget that even we make mistakes. And that tradition not defined by Sel’ari is not above change. The Noc’olari’s proposition is not unjust. Nor does it change that every council member would still be appointed by vote. And unlike myself, none of you are truly kings. What this proposition accomplishes is checking the seat’s stance against that of the will of the people. You are appointed to uphold their will, are you not? Tradition first appointed you to do that.” He could see Cahsari’s scowl and Heshellon’s smile of approval as he shifted his eyes to the new male. Heshellon rarely spoke at the council meetings, making it difficult to find verbal support on matters. But perhaps this Ruljen… His spirit rose as he reflected on his earlier prayer request to Sel’ari. “Ilrae, what is your view on this matter?”

  Ilrae stood, stormy eyes shifting as he met Hairem’s. His lips, which had drawn as tight as his eyes, loosened. “I stand with Nilanis, Mikanum, and Cahsari. I am not a king in name. But it is what I was appointed to act as. If the elves wanted the council to be voted upon, they would have declared so at the formation. I am not about to change a nine thousand year-old tradition for the sake of some nocturnal savages who still live in canopies and run about half-nude.”

  Yulairm leapt to his feet. “You dare insult my people, you river rat? While your people were still living in tents my people cured the Amondos Plague. While your people were shitting in the same water others drank, my people made the year and the day and the stars to navigate by.”

  “Oh? Your people made stars, did they?”

  Hairem put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his brow as Ilrae lashed back. ‘Thank you for nothing. I asked for only half the male Leisum had been.’ “Council,” Hairem raised his voice in exasperation, but Heshellon and Cahsari had entered the argument as well. “Council! COUNCIL!”

  They quieted, turning towards him slowly as though challenging him to come up with a reason as to why they should remain silent.

  He could not afford to lose them further on the matter. It pained him to have to adjourn the topic when it was so solidly a loss. “Clearly the discussion of this matter has come to a close. Nilanis, if you would take the vote.” Things would change, he reassured himself. The council was smugly comfortable right now. Let them think so. He would shake things up soon.

  Nilanis bowed, the silence in the room remaining so at the king’s command. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He moved from council member to council member, allowing them to sign their names in support of the new proposition. He stopped last before Hairem, setting the parchment onto the wooden desk.

  The king sighed. Only Yulairm and Heshellon had signed the Noc’olari proposition. Even with his signature counting for two of theirs, the vote still rested in the opposition’s favor. He picked up his quill and signed regardless, an overwhelming sense of discouragement settling in. It had been one thing to know the proposition would fail—another to see it happen. This proposition had aris
en so quickly after his father’s death. He had had no time to win the council outside these aggressive meetings! He had been far too naïve…

  Nilanis held the parchment up then, turning slowly so that each elf might see the signatures—as though the action was at all necessary—and spoke with a rather satisfied smile, “The Noc’olari proposition has been opposed. My regrets to your people, Yulairm.”

  “Better luck next year,” Cahsari sneered under his breath. “Maybe your people will invent some poison we can test on you before then so we do not have to endure this yet again.”

  Yulairm shot him a venomous scowl behind his fierce, gray eyes and remained silent.

  “Now onto our second vote,” Nilanis prefaced, smiling broadly as though the first topic was solidly behind him. He patted down the red silk of his shirt as though un-ruffling from the last tension. “No doubt this topic is something we can all find agreement on. The celestial phoenixes’ territory is being encroached upon again. As most of you know, this creature is almost extinct and now only inhabits the southern end of Sevrigel, specifically in the Sevilan Marshes. This happens to be the same territory where the centaurs have their savage little ancient burial grounds. Over fifty graves have encroached farther in the last 10 years. The burial grounds can be moved. The phoenix cannot.”

  Hairem held up his hand and Nilanis fell silent. “You will have to forgive me—no doubt this topic has been a matter of importance while my father was still on the throne—but what exactly is being proposed here…?”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Nilanis spoke with the faintest impatient undertone. “Firstly, money for their conservation. Secondly, and most importantly, moving the centaurs.”

  Hairem blinked, his mind refusing to grasp the proposition. “Excuse me? Moving the centaurs? Exactly how do you propose that they are moved? Drop a saddle on their asses and ride them out?” The thought caused him a laugh, inappropriately so.