by John Marco
If Dakel does call me down, thought Alazrian anxiously, what then?
He would face the minister, try to tell the truth and hope it would be enough, that he would not share Elrad Leth's fate. From the murmurs Alazrian heard, most of the audience expected Leth to be executed. Alazrian held his breath waiting for Dakel to begin. He felt no pity for his so-called father, and he wondered what that meant about his morality.
At last, Dakel smiled at the audience. An electric charge raced through the room. Minister Dakel glided across the marble floor. He was on the opposite side of the chamber from the dais, but within a moment he was in front of Elrad Leth, regarding him. Elrad Leth looked down from his perch disdainfully, his lips curling in a sneer.
He's not afraid of anything, thought Alazrian. He doesn't have a heart.
Dakel turned away from the dais and back to the audience. "Welcome," he said. Alazrian had never heard such a crystalline voice. "Good friends. Citizens. It is warming to see this outpouring of interest. I am moved." Then, his voice boomed, "Elrad Leth, state your title."
Leth waited a long time before answering, hardly hiding his disgust. "I am Elrad Leth of Talistan," he said. "Currently Governor of Aramoor province."
"Governor," echoed Dakel, his eyebrows arching. "That's a title granted under authority of the emperor, isn't it?"
"The title was granted to me during the reign of Arkus," replied Leth. He knew exactly where Dakel was leading and wouldn't follow. "Not under the authority of Biagio."
"Do you know why you're here, Elrad Leth?"
"I have no idea," Leth scoffed. "But I know that this tribunal summons innocent men."
The Inquisitor motioned toward the crowd. "Well, all these people know why you're here, Elrad Leth. They've all heard the stories. They all know what a good and just governor you've been."
Leth said nothing. Nor would he, Alazrian knew. He was proud of the way he had dealt with Aramoor, and would never apologize for it.
"Tell us about Aramoor," Dakel continued. "Is it a difficult land to govern?"
Leth yawned.
"You can answer me or not, Elrad Leth, but to refuse my questions invites guilt. Such are the laws of the Protectorate."
That got Leth's attention. "It is not difficult," he said. "I have means to deal with the Aramoorians."
"Yes," drawled Dakel. "Such as?"
"They are a scurvy lot and need discipline. It is no less than Emperor Biagio does, I'm sure."
"The Aramoorians don't accept your rule, then?"
"They do not. But they will."
"When will they?" asked Dakel. "When they are all dead? You kill those who oppose you, do you not, Elrad Leth? Without trial, you execute Aramoorians you think are your enemies. You are on a campaign of terror."
"No," hissed Leth. "There are troubles and I deal with them. When there are crimes, I create justice. When there is chaos, I make order. I do not terrorize. I do not blow up churches."
The gathering raised up an exclamation. But Dakel merely smiled, unperturbed by the barb. Casually he walked over to the other side of the dais.
"Who are the Saints of the Sword?" he asked.
Leth shifted.
"Governor Leth?" Dakel probed. "The Saints of the Sword?"
From the redness of Leth's face it seemed an explosion was imminent. "They are a group of Aramoorian rebels."
"And their leader," Dakel continued. "Who is he?"
"His name is Jahl Rob," replied Leth.
"Tell us about Jahl Rob."
"I don't know much about him."
"You've never met him?"
"Once."
"Where did you meet him?"
Leth hesitated, considering his answer. "At a meeting," he said finally.
"A meeting? What kind of meeting?"
"It was a protest," Leth said. "Against me."
Dakel couldn't contain his grin. He turned toward the audience, projecting his voice. "Gentle folk of Nar, Jahl Rob is a priest. He is also an Aramoorian."
"He is also a rebel!" flared Leth.
"Yes," said Dakel smoothly. "He is a rebel fighting for Aramoor's freedom from Talistan. He organized the Saints of the Sword to oppose you, Elrad Leth, after you declared him an outlaw for speaking out against you. True or not?"
"Jahl Rob is a murderous traitor. He has killed members of my own brigade."
"But he was a man of peace before becoming a rebel, and respected by the people of Aramoor, yes?"
"Yes!" roared Leth, springing to his feet. "And if you know it's all true why don't you just say so, dog? Jahl Rob is a traitor and a threat to Talistan. He never accepted my rule of Aramoor, a rule your Emperor Arkus granted me!"
Dakel remained placid. "People, Jahl Rob is hunted because he protests against the brutal rule of Elrad Leth. You've just heard the governor himself admit as much. But Elrad Leth wasn't content with breaking up Jahl Rob's protest. He rounded up nearly everyone who attended that meeting, then had them beheaded. Nearly one hundred people. Some women, some even children. This is the good and ethical governorship of Elrad Leth."
Elrad Leth glowered. Alazrian, who already knew the terrible story of Jahl Rob, felt his face flush. He was embarrassed by the belief that he was known as Leth's son.
Dakel continued, "And now Jahl Rob and his Saints of the Sword fight you from the Iron Mountains. They launch raids against your men and your rule, trying to get you to leave Aramoor."
"That's right."
"And in response you kill and take hostages, burn places that the Aramoorians value, send their women to Talistan as slaves, tattoo their children like chattel, take the profits of their enterprises, deprive them of food, and I could go on, Elrad Leth, but I will not, because I think my point is made!" Dakel gestured to the crowd, indicating their shocked faces. "And your defense is . . . what?"
"My defense is as I've always maintained," said Leth. "Aramoor is mine to govern by decree of the late emperor, Arkus. I deal with Aramoor as I see fit. And when there is a threat to my rule, I take measures."
"A threat," said Dakel, nodding. "So the Saints of the Sword are a threat?"
"Yes."
"And are there other threats as well? And to Talistan? Threats that warrant a build-up of your military forces?"
For the first time, Elrad Leth went ashen. Dakel chuckled.
"Let me refresh your memory, Governor," said the Inquisitor. "The armies of Talistan have grown in recent months, have they not? Hasn't your king, Tassis Gayle, been purchasing mounts for your horsemen from around the Empire? And hasn't he conscripted healthy men from Aramoor, the province you're supposed to be governing, to serve in his armies?"
Leth seemed unable to answer. "As I've said, there are threats."
"Threats like the Saints," said Dakel.
"That's right."
"And are there so many of Jahl Rob's men that you and King Tassis need to double the size of your army? And have them stationed in Talistan? Not in Aramoor by the mountains?"
"There are other threats," said Leth, straightening. "Talistan has enemies, Lord Minister. And as you know, these are dangerous times."
"Indeed?" said Dakel, feigning alarm. "Who threatens Talistan? Surely not Aramoor."
After a pause, Leth said, "The Eastern Highlands are a threat to us."
Out in the audience, Alazrian nodded, understanding. He had heard Leth talk in whispers about the Eastern Highlands, but didn't know why. Yet from what he knew about that territory, he couldn't believe the Highlanders threatened Talistan. Apparently, Dakel didn't believe it either.
"The Eastern Highlands are a vast territory to be sure," said the Inquisitor. "But a threat to Talistan? That's a bold statement."
"Nevertheless, it is true. Redburn and his Highlanders have been threatening us, provoking us by stealing our livestock, and harassing our herds. They have trespassed on Talistanian soil without permission. Why, I myself had to charter a ship to reach Nar City because Redburn and his savages would not let us cross
their territory."
"I see. And that is why Talistan has been building up its military? Because of a perceived threat from Prince Redburn?"
"I am Governor of Aramoor," said Leth evenly. "It's a difficult job, and leaves me little time to ponder other things. I do not know exactly what King Tassis does in Talistan, but I have told you what I've heard." He leaned back in his chair. "If you want answers to your questions, perhaps you should summon Tassis Gayle before your Protectorate."
A ripple of laughter broke from the audience. No ruler of any consequence had yet to be called before Dakel's tribunal. To do so was to invite more trouble. Even Alazrian, who had been preoccupied with his mother's dying, knew enough about the Protectorate to be sure his grandfather was safe. Lines were being drawn in the Empire. Alliances were being formed. And men like Dakel had to tread carefully, or be prepared for consequences.
True to form, Dakel did tread carefully. Instead of responding to Leth's jab, he steered the conversation back to solid ground. Once again he questioned Leth about the Saints, tottering his opponent's smugness, drilling him about Jahl Rob and the massacre of his confederates. Dakel moved like a dancer across the floor. He had a feline's grace and fierceness, and whenever Leth stonewalled, he turned to the crowd like a jester, plying his comical smile and wit, turning the tide of opinion his way. Curiously, he avoided more questions about Talistan and its military, and Alazrian wondered if Dakel was afraid, or if he had simply gotten the information he sought. Alazrian tried to remember the last few months. Being in Aramoor had isolated him, and while his mother lay dying, he had seldom ventured out of the castle. Truly, he didn't know what was happening in Aramoor or Talistan, but he supposed that Dakel's charges were correct. Talistan probably was building up its forces. And as for Aramoor, well . . . Alazrian shrugged, wishing he knew more.
It was another hour before Dakel finally concluded his inquiry. By the end of it, even Leth looked drained. Dakel, by contrast, appeared refreshed and pleased. He told the audience that he was done for the day, then pointedly added that he might recall Leth to the tribunal tomorrow. The protective facade Leth had erected cracked a little at that news. Dakel flashed him a mischievous smile before stepping down from the stage. All around Alazrian, people were getting up from their seats, beginning to file out of the chamber.
"That's it?" he whispered. "Not me?"
Apparently, he had been spared the ordeal of facing the Inquisitor, at least for the day. On the dais, Elrad Leth was stepping down. He looked dazed as he surveyed the room, unsure what to do with himself. Alazrian didn't want his father to see him, so he sprang from his seat and turned toward the door only to find Donhedris in front of him, looking down with a smile.
"You!" Alazrian exclaimed. He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that his father was gone, then turned back to Donhedris and whispered, "I wasn't called before the Inquisitor. Was it you? I mean, did you do something?"
"Maybe."
"Who's your friend? What's going on?"
"Follow me," said Donhedris. He walked off without looking back, expecting Alazrian to follow. Alazrian's curiosity took hold and he did as the man ordered, hurrying after him as they descended the tiers. Most of the people who'd come to the trial were exiting through archways on the western wall, but not Donhedris. Instead, he led Alazrian to a darkened corner on the eastern side, slipped through an open door, and came out into a quiet hall that seemed to swallow every sound. It was marble, like the rest of the place, and frighteningly austere. Small, glass-covered sconces lined the walls, protecting candles. There were more Shadow Angels in the hall. The dark soldiers turned their heads as Alazrian passed.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To see my friend," said Donhedris. "The one who kept you from the Inquisitor."
Suddenly, Alazrian wasn't sure he wanted to meet this benefactor. But he had come too far to turn around now, and he was sure Donhedris wouldn't let him retreat. When they came at last to a plain, unremarkable door, Donhedris stopped. He knocked twice before opening it. Past Donhedris, Alazrian saw a spartan room with chairs and a few windows. The shades were open and sunlight played on the furniture. "Come in, Donhedris," said a silky voice. Alazrian froze. He recognized the voice at once. "Master?" said Donhedris, stepping into the room. "I've brought him."
Alazrian stood in astonishment, watching Renato Biagio inspect him from a chair, his long fingers drumming lazily on the armrest. Beside him were two more of the ubiquitous Shadow Angels. Biagio smiled. His hair was long and his clothes were splendid, and his skin still glowed a sunny amber. Yet remarkably, his eyes were dim.
"Emperor Biagio?" Alazrian asked.
"It is I, boy," answered Biagio. "It's been a very long time. I'm not surprised you don't remember me."
But Alazrian did remember him, because Biagio was unforgettable. Warily he stepped into the room. Except for the two soldiers guarding the emperor, there were no other Shadow Angels. In fact, there was not much of anything in the chamber, just the chairs and a few tables. The one next to Biagio held a crystal bowl of candies. Alazrian recognized the treats at once. Casrish delight. His favorite. He made a note of Biagio's effort, and his mother's voice came ringing in his mind, reminding him that Biagio wanted something.
"Thank you, Donhedris," said the emperor. "Go now, please."
Donhedris bowed and left the room. Biagio flicked his wrist at the Shadow Angels, commanding them, too, to depart. They did so at once, closing the door behind them. An enormous silence rose up in their wake. Unsure of what to do, Alazrian pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. Then, realizing his gaffe, he jumped to his feet.
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "May I sit?"
Biagio laughed. "Of course. Please, be at ease, my friend." He held out the bowl of sweets, offering them to Alazrian. "I remembered these. They are your favorites, are they not?"
"Yes," said Alazrian. He reached out for one of the confections and placed it on his tongue where it melted like butter. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for remembering."
"You're apprehensive," observed Biagio. He put the crystal container back down beside him. "Don't be. I only want to talk to you. I have . . ." the emperor groped for words, ". . . something of a favor to ask."
"Anything," answered Alazrian before he realized what he'd said. But it was too late. Biagio was grinning.
"I remember you being a very good boy. No trouble at all to your mother. Or your Uncle Blackwood. You were rarely about when I was in your home, never underfoot. I appreciated that."
"Thank you, Lord Emperor."
"A great shame about your mother," Biagio continued. "She was a fine woman. A credit to the House of Gayle. You must miss her very much."
"I do," said Alazrian. He didn't bother keeping the sadness from his voice. "She was very important to me."
Biagio nodded. "A mother protects her son," he said. "And Lady Calida protected you, I know."
Alazrian frowned. "Lord Emperor, please tell me. Why am I here? What is this favor you want from me?"
"Donhedris tells me you were at the library last night. Impressive, isn't it?"
"Very."
"You were looking at a book about Lucel-Lor." Biagio's smile shifted a little. "Why?"
"Just an interest," Alazrian lied. "Something that fascinates me. I've grown up so near Lucel-Lor, yet I know almost nothing about it. It's a mystery to me."
"Is it, now?" mused Biagio. His quick mind seemed to be taking notes. "I've never been to Lucel-Lor myself, but I'm something of an expert on it, having worked so closely with your Uncle Blackwood. If you have questions, maybe we can discuss them." He spread his ringed hands. "Feel free to ask me anything."
"All right," said Alazrian. "Why am I here?"
Biagio laughed. "Hmm, you've grown up to be a bold young man. Direct, like your whole family. But I am answering your question, young Alazrian. I'm just doing it slowly. Be patient with me. We're unraveling something here."
Alazrian's h
eart began to race. He wanted to be anywhere but in this tiny chamber with this mind reader. He took a breath to calm himself.
"I'm not angry with you, Alazrian," said Biagio. "As I said, I have a favor to ask. It's one suited to you, I think. And one you will appreciate, if I know you as well as I hope I do."
"Know me?" blurted Alazrian. "You've hardly met me. How--"
But then he remembered who he was talking to, and how Biagio had once headed the Roshann. It wouldn't make sense for him to lie to Biagio, because Biagio might already know the truth.
"Lord Emperor, I'm confused," Alazrian confessed. "I don't know why you summoned me here, and I can't begin to guess at this favor of yours. If you want me to talk about my father, then I'm afraid I can't help you. I don't really know what's going on in Aramoor and Talistan. I was too busy helping my mother--"
"Stop, please. And listen to me. The short answer to your question is this: You're here because of Belle."
"Belle? Who's . . ."
Alazrian's voice shrank to nothing. He locked eyes with the emperor and for a moment shared a moment of awful clarity. Belle wasn't a person. Belle was a goat.
"How do you know about that?" Alazrian whispered. "Who told you?"
Biagio leaned closer. "So it's true?"
Alazrian was trembling. "You know it is, or you wouldn't have me here."
"I want to hear it from you. Tell me about the goat. Tell me everything. Did you heal it? Its leg was broken, yes? And you mended it? How?"
The barrage was too much. What Alazrian was about to admit was unthinkable, yet Biagio already seemed to know.
"I . . . I can't tell you," Alazrian stammered. "It's nothing."
"That's a lie," said Biagio. He was out of his chair now, on one knee before Alazrian. A slender hand reached out and took Alazrian's chin, turning it toward him. "The truth, boy. Tell me what I want to know. You healed this animal when your father said it would have to be slaughtered. You did it with your mind, didn't you?"
"Yes!" Alazrian cried, tearing loose from Biagio and springing from the chair. "Is that why you brought me here? To go on questing for your magic? Aren't you done with that yet?"