The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “The eight would each receive, on average, only a sixteenth of what you offer – the remaining half divided eight ways,” Juhn continued though the ambassador made it clear that he understood. “To sway the five they need to stalemate the Callik, the Empire needs only bring five-sixteenths of the wealth of Liandria – about a third. Even destitute, the Palace of Rising Sun holds more than that.”

  “I understand now, so what can we do?” Ambassador Chulters managed to say when Juhn paused. “If the effort is hopeless, why should we continue to pursue it? There must be some other way. Is that why you have asked us here?”

  Nyel turned back from the window, face stern. “Guth,” she cursed, a word that even Cary knew meant ‘outsiders’. “You think that your money is the only thing that can sway us, that it is up to you, up to men, to save the Order. Arrogance. This battle is for the Mothers.” At the call, the women around her grew straighter, if that was possible. They looked on their leader as any soldiers would when called to battle. “That is why I cannot understand the thinking of this counselor. How can these guth men do what cannot be done by women?” She dropped back into her native tongue for a few more sharp questions.

  Juhn answered them with exaggerated patience, having obviously heard them before.

  “I don’t think I understand,” the ambassador admitted after the side conversation died and a long pause replaced it.

  “Nyel has called a Thull, a meeting of the Mothers,” Juhn explained. “These occur every few years, but this will be the first where real issues are decided since the Morgs split from the Empire, allowing themselves to be mercenaries in the Liandrin Revolt.” Ambassador Chulters darkened at the term. Even Cary felt his ire rise – it was referred to as the Liandrin Revolution where he was from, and there was great pride associated with it. “That Thull established that the Emperor was not, in fact, the Order’s embodiment, and that the lodges need not follow him. In this Thull, Nyel will seek to establish that the invaders are the Lost Sons, the Thurs, that their wizards are the Lawbreakers, that they are a threat to the Order and to every lodge.”

  “And if you do, your men will join us whether we hire them or not?” The ambassador seemed unable to help himself.

  Juhn cleared his throat and swatted at a fly. “Yes, but this is no obvious thing. Even if all the Mothers agree that the invaders are a threat, they may disagree on how to deal with that threat – when and where and how. Or the men may choose a different path. Only if the Mothers are perfectly unified will we get the outcome we seek. As an example, if your mother said that a wolf was a threat to your home and told you to find it and kill it, you would certainly do so. If she told you to take your neighbors with you to help, you would go to them and ask, but if they did not see the wolf as a threat or had decided to hunt it another way, neither you nor your mother could compel them to do otherwise. Further, if your father told you to wait or to not go to the neighbors or not to hunt the wolf at all, you would . . . .”

  “Both sleep in the stables. . . .” Cary said in what he thought was a soft enough voice to keep it from any ears but his own.

  He was wrong. The room fell silent. The ambassador scowled. Cary nearly flinched for the certainty that his superior would strike him. Juhn’s chuckle and Nyel’s smiling nod saved him. “The horseman has found the truth of it,” Juhn said. “The Mothers cannot control what the men do outside the lodge, but they can control if they’re ever allowed back in. If a Mother is strong and resolute, the men will do exactly as they are told because they know that the alternative is expulsion. But even that is undermined if another lodge will have them – if your father simply slept with another women when your mother cast him out, your mother’s punishment would be meaningless. Further, your father might just decide to leave, take another wife, and start another house. He may even take you and your brothers and sisters with him. The same is true here. If the Mother is weak, one of her sisters or cousins may take her outcast husband and start a new lodge or replace her entirely. For something like what Nyel proposes to succeed, every Mother must be of the same mind and they must have absolute control of their lodges.”

  “I see,” Ambassador Chulters said slowly. He cast a withering look at Cary to ensure he did not have any further comments. Cary could only marvel that his mother had apparently been a Morg all along – maybe that was why he found them so captivating. “So what can Liandria do to aid you? Can we negotiated with the Mothers? Can we strengthen you with our payment?”

  “No!” Nyel slammed her hand on the table. Her face was fierce. “We are not whores to be paid to do what you want. After this morning, you will never again see a Morg Mother. You will certainly not pay them or negotiate with them.” Cary could not help but see how Nyel focused on the ambassador when she mentioned seeing Morg women and how she emphasized ‘you’. She meant the word to apply only to him. So what about me? Do I get to see them? “Tell him,” Nyel said with contempt. “But know that this comes not from me.”

  Juhn took a long breath and looked at Nyel then the ambassador. “Remember, I said that it was you, personally, that we needed. The truth is that it is only him.” Cary’s attention piqued at that. He found every eye on him, including the ambassador who seemed lost between horror, repulsion, and fascination. “We invited you here, Ambassador, because it requires your approval. I am asking in front of Nyel so that you will know that I have the backing of the Mother of Torswauk and so that you would understand the importance of what we ask, but it is not you that we need. The Order has chosen the horseman. We need a spy and the Order has dictated that it be him.”

  Chapter 23

  The 23th Day of Summer

  “You are better at this than I expected,” Eia said from Ipid’s side. Her hand was gripped in his, her head resting against the side of his arm. Together, they stared out the tall windows that stood behind the desk in Allard Stully’s office and watched Valati Wallock step from the coach that carried him. He inspected the mob of Darthur that stood outside the main door then the growing numbers of the city watch that maintained a place closer to the gates. Finally, his eyes rose to the house and the windows where Ipid and Eia watched. He did not give any indication of being able to see them through those windows. He simply returned his attention to Captain Tyne and followed him to the door.

  “It’s not like I’ve never run anything before,” Ipid answered without looking at Eia. “My mills were in many ways like a nation.”

  “But machines will not hang you if you work them too hard.”

  “They’ll break down, though, and that’s just about as bad.”

  Eia looked at him appraising. “Easy to say when there isn’t a rope around your neck.” She broke from him and walked to the desk.

  Ipid turned and watched her leaning against the dark surface. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked. “You can still reconsider. Wouldn’t it be better to pull strings from the shadows?”

  “If there were strings to pull. But your friends killed every person in the city who might serve as Chancellor. I don’t have time to groom someone. My only chance to meet Arin’s demands is to take authority myself.”

  “They will hate you.”

  “I thought that was your advice all along? Isn’t the fact that I do not need to be loved my greatest strength?”

  Eia snickered. “Certainly, but all that changes when people think they can do something about the thing they hate. Right now you are a distant thing. You are like war. Everyone hates it, but no one can do anything about it. Being Chancellor will make you an evil that is before them every day, a source for all their frustrations, the focal for all the wrong in the world. And an evil that they can remove. Not some distant threat, but a real man with a real position that can be overthrown, assassinated, executed.”

  Ipid sighed. She was right, of course. He needed someone who could retrain the trust and loyalty of the people. Someone who could say, I hate to do this, but this bastard is making me. If the people felt something f
or that person, they would be slower to act, would wait, hoping that the evil would depart. Without that shield, their patience would last only as long as fear stayed their hands. It was tenuous, but Ipid saw no other way. And a knock at the door told him that he was out of time to consider.

  “Enter,” he called and returned to stand behind the great black desk.

  Captain Tyne opened the door, looking unsettled, and issued Valati Wallock in behind him. “My lord,” he announced, “Valati Wallock.”

  Valati Howland Wallock stepped cautiously past the door, his eyes darting to each of the half-dozen Darthur who were now arrayed about the room. While he was distracted, Ipid considered him as he never had before. He was a relatively young man from a well-connected family that had been blessed with an over-abundance of sons. Ipid did not know him well but knew that he had a reputation for being pliable and pragmatic with a good sense for politics. It was that reputation that Ipid was counting on, but now, he wondered if he had miscalculated yet again. The valati was thoroughly unimpressive man. He was of just below average height with a stocky build, short, sandy hair, dirty green eyes, and a face that would inspire neither men nor women. Even worse, he looked stunned, as if he were somewhat simple of mind and unable to grasp what was happening around him. His eyes darted about the room as if searching for an escape. His shoulders slumped, round head bowed, hands hidden as if he were hoping to disappear within his robes.

  Ipid sighed. Though he needed a man that he could control, he also needed one that would give him credibility and support. He needed someone who could manage the Church, who could turn that powerful institution to his side. That required an iron will and the resolve to use it. Valati Wallock appeared lacking in both. Ipid was just about to dismiss him and call for another, when the valati’s eyes came up. They cleared to become calculating. His shoulders rose. His head came back. His every feature seemed to stiffen. And he was transformed. He went from looking like every bully’s favorite target to the small, clever boy who stands back while his gang does the bullying. This, Ipid thought, I can work with.

  “Valati Wallock,” he greeted.

  “Lord Ronigan,” the valati responded cautiously. “May you find peace in the Order.”

  “And you,” Ipid responded with a slight bow of his head. “Please, come in. I am sorry to have summoned you in this way, but I am in desperate need of your council regarding the Order’s will.”

  The valati moved cautiously into the room, eyeing the guards. “I will do what I can. This seems a time when the Order’s guidance is much discounted.”

  Ipid caught the barb but refused to react to it. “That will be all, Captain,” he said as he came around his desk. “You may return to your duties.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The captain saluted, bowed, and ducked back through the door with a look of relief.

  Valati Wallock watched the door close behind him then eyed the room as if looking for an escape should things go wrong. Finally, his eyes stopped. It took Ipid a moment to realize that he was watching Eia, who had come to his side. “I am sorry,” Ipid caught himself. “Valati Howland Wallock, may I introduce my wife, Eialia Oie Alliera of the house Eieniette. You may refer to her as Lady Ronigan. We were joined by the Darthur after the Battle of Testing in Thoren.” Ipid followed the introduction with its opposite in Darthur for Eia.

  The valati stepped forward to meet Eia. “May you find peace in the Order.”

  “The only peace your Order offers is in death,” Eia responded in Darthur with a light tone that belied the words. She followed it by stepping toward the valati with pursed lips.

  Surprised, Valati Wallock took a step back. “I am sorry. She does not speak our language,” Ipid said. “And it is her custom that when people are introduced they kiss. If you do not feel comfortable, you need not participate, but to her, it will be as if you have never met.” Though he dreaded the prospect of seeing another man kissing Eia, Ipid took this as an opportunity to unbalance the valati and test his pliability. Much to his delight, the man gathered himself, stepped forward, and kissed Eia lightly. Ipid’s heart fluttered at the exchange, but Eia kept the kiss as chaste as possible – the fact that she did not kiss the valati as she had him in their first meeting gave him a small sense of satisfaction.

  To Ipid’s further satisfaction, Valati Wallock looked thoroughly flustered, not the fear and doubt he had shown when he entered, but the disquiet of a man who has never known a woman in the presence of an especially flirtatious whore.

  “Please, Your Excellency, will you join me?” Ipid saved him from Eia’s languorous stare. “It appears they have set out tea by the hearth, and we have a great deal to discuss.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” the valati said with a smile though his eyes remained on Eia as she walked back to stare out the windows. Ipid followed his eyes and watched the triangle of her stark-white back that the dress revealed before ending in the hideous great bow that concealed everything below.

  Finally, he placed his hand on the valati’s shoulder and steered him to a leather chair. He took the one opposite and poured two cups of tea. “Tea?”

  “No, thank you,” the valati responded absently as he again eyed the warriors arrayed around the room.

  Ipid took a cup for himself and sipped at it before returning it to its saucer and placing both dishes onto the small table at his side. “I am sure you are wondering why you have been brought here.”

  “Captain Tyne and his men were a bit short on the details,” the valati said with a quirk of the lips that might have been a smile. “I am sorry to say that I have very little idea what has been happening. I, like most of the city, thought we were going to be destroyed just as the Capital and East Bridge districts were. Those of us that remain are simply glad to be alive.”

  “The attack stopped because the acting Chancellor accepted the invaders’ terms of surrender. I have been sent to ensure that those terms are met.”

  “The acting Chancellor? Not Kavich?”

  “He and almost the entire Bureau were killed in the destruction of the Capital District.” Ipid felt his guts clench at the reality of those words. “Only Lord Bellon survived. As the last remaining member of the Bureau, he became acting Chancellor.”

  “I see.” The valati steepled his fingers and tapped the middle ones on the end of his pointed nose. “So Lord Bellon is the one who had the sense to surrender. I assume the terms are better than wholesale destruction?”

  “If they are met. Otherwise, they will be exactly the same as wholesale destruction.”

  “Is that what happened in Thoren? We heard that you negotiated terms with them, and the city was destroyed despite their compliance. Is that what is to happen here? You take what you want and destroy us just the same?”

  Ipid felt his anger rise at the implication and fought to control it. As much as Thoren was an open wound, it could also be an asset – proof of what the invaders would do if their demands were not met – but not as the valati had depicted it. “Thoren was a show of the invaders’ power. It was their hope that it would keep them from having to destroy additional cities. As misguided as it may seem, they saw it as a mercy.”

  The valati leaned forward, fingers falling to his lap. “A mercy? But you had to know that Kavich would not surrender without a fight.”

  They didn’t ask me, Ipid barely kept himself from saying. “Kavich was a fool,” he growled instead. “He brought this on you. It all could have been avoided if he’d just swallowed his damn pride.”

  “I see. And you think you can keep it from happening again? Rumor is that those captured by the invaders are made into slaves. Some have said that is what you are, a slave whose loyalty to his masters has outstripped that to his country. Is that true? Are you a slave, and if so, how can a slave possibly save us from his masters? What is to keep the invaders from destroying the city no matter what we do?”

  “Would the invaders place a slave in charge of a country?” Ipid snapped. His hand bashed t
he arm of his chair to punctuate the words. “I have this position because I am the one that can save this country. I am the only one who can do it.” He prayed that was true.

  The harsh words had no effect on the valati. He tapped his fingers on his nose and quirked the very edges of his lips. “Alright,” he said after a long pause. He released a great rush of air that he must have been holding. “I am with you.”

  “You are with me?” Ipid asked before he could stop himself. He hadn’t asked the valati to do anything.

  “I am no fool, Lord Ronigan. I know why you brought me here. I know that di Valati Rylan is dead, that you need a new di valati. I suspect that you want me to elevate you to Chancellor and validate your rule.” The valati sat forward, stating every facet of Ipid’s plan as if he had made it himself. “What I didn’t know was if you had the temerity to pull it off. I did not know you well before this, but – and I apologize – I did not see you as a man to lead a nation. A corporation certainly, but a nation? No. I needed to see that you were willing to embrace power, that you would not shy from responsibility, that you would not hide behind others when hard questions were asked. The worst thing that could happen here was that you would have one of your men kill me. At least, I assume they would do it quickly. I doubt that the mob will provide me such a courtesy.”

  Ipid was stunned. All this had been a test, to see if I was worthy to follow, and somehow I passed. “So you agree?” It was the only thing Ipid could think to say after the valati stole all his lines. “You will confirm me as Chancellor and assume control of the Church? You will help me to keep the people in line while we meet the invaders’ terms?”

  “You can do it? You can keep the rest of the city from being destroyed, can hold everything together and satisfy the invaders’ demands?”

  Ipid took a deep breath. By the Order, I hope so, he wanted to say. “I can,” he said instead. “It will be difficult. I will be honest with you, the invaders’ demands are extraordinary. Meeting them will require great sacrifices, but if we succeed, they will move on. They will leave, and we will have our country back.”