Thaelon showed Toyl kind eyes, and nodded. A signal. The man was ushered around to the center of the stage. And there Thaelon brought to life something that had only existed as glyphs carved on the sides of deep, dusty stone.
There was no great tumult or rending. Just Thaelon and a few of the judges, who put their hands on Toyl’s body. The man shuddered as Thaelon removed the resonance that gave his life’s song more than a single note and vibration.
When it was done, Toyl shuffled back toward a woman and child who waited for him near a door.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
A Civil Argument
Civility? Means smiling and nodding politely to a bastard you hate.
—Response to a League survey on the meaning of “Civility”
Chatter filled the hall as Roth entered for the second day of Convocation. If all went well, there would be no third day. All the kings and queens and other leaders had already taken their seats at the main table and in the gallery. Roth had come deliberately late in order to avoid any conversation prior to the official talks, but also to capture some attention from several of the attendees.
No less than six of the critical voters had received a folded and sealed sheet of plain white parchment. Each one had a secret or two explicitly described in their note. At the bottom of the private missive, a promise to publish these indiscretions came followed by an invitation to oppose the regent.
Some of those who’d received the notes weren’t huge opposition risks to Roth’s plans. But making sure of their vote made good sense. A few of the others receiving notes this morning were unsympathetic to the League; the ink had flowed more liberally when crafting the messages to these fellows and one queen.
He took his seat, and cast his gaze around the table at each man and woman, lingering a scant second longer on the faces of those whose eyes had reviewed his messages this last half hour. It would be a fine day.
Helaina stood. “I thank you all again for being here at this critical time. Already what we’ve seen and heard has been historic. I would now hasten our deliberations. And urge solidarity among us. We cannot afford to make the mistake that Regent Corihehn made so many ages ago, when he sent Holivagh I’Malichael and the Right Arm of the Promise into the breach of war with no intention of sending reinforcements.” She pointed at the empty seat beside her. “The Sedagin do not join us. Our betrayal has cost us their kinship. We can’t afford to dissemble here. Let’s begin. I’m eager to hear your thoughts.”
An uncustomary silence held for several moments. Roth understood the reluctance—one he’d caused—of many to speak. He took it as a sign that he needn’t wait. This was his time. So he stood, and began to pace the outer edge of the table.
“My lady, perhaps it does fall to me to begin.” He looked at those seated around the table, then cast his gaze out to the wider encircling gallery. He thought briefly of his time in Wanship on the wharf, and the injustices heaped on those who had no voice in a place like this, with its vaulted ceilings.
Raising his voice in strident tones, he said, “I make no pretense of our open disagreements, Regent Storalaith. Nor do you. I will confess here, openly, that I’ve sought these last few days to remove you from your office. Not, I hasten to add, because of any dislike for you personally, or even as regent. I simply believe that your time has passed. The brand of leadership you offer has ceased to be relevant. We need to move beyond tradition, and it will take new thinking and the vigor of a younger mind and body to see these things done. We should venerate you for your service.” Roth stopped just strides from Helaina, modulating his tone to one of earnestness and near-compassion. “But I must challenge your stewardship over this Convocation.”
Helaina let a measured silence stretch before saying, “You have no authority here. Take your seat, Ascendant.”
“My lady,” Roth continued, with the same appealing tone, “there are no laws that govern this collective body. Nor are there rules for how we should guide our discussions. We’re all here of our own will. And I would ask if any of us is confident that you are stable enough to direct these talks, let alone capable of waging the war you would enjoin us to.” His voice became patronizing. “Come to that, do any of us really even believe in your purpose for assembling us here?”
A wild murmuring shot through the hall—some members appalled, some nodding as if they’d been thinking the same thing. Still others sat staring, waiting for Helaina’s response.
She stood, and slowly walked to face him. Tall as she was, she looked him eye to eye, and spoke in a clear, strong voice for all to hear.
“You distract us from important matters,” she said, “and what’s worse, you do it with your own political agenda in mind. Very well, let us put to bed the political maneuvering. This man,” she said, her words bitter as she glared at Roth, “this Ascendant of the League of Civility, is an ambitious man. I’ve no doubt he’s convinced of the creed he follows, a creed he would have us all adopt. But his ambition blinds him. Makes him dangerous.”
Still she didn’t look away, unflinching as she cast her aspersions on him. Roth admired her iron will. And he patiently gave her time to speak, before he would make his radical suggestion.
“Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for poisoning a child in order to advance the constraints of their Civilization Order. Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for the burning of the Bastulan Cathedral, a refuge and symbol not just to Recityv but to pilgrims from many of your own nations. Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for attempting to assassinate me just days before he called a vote of the Recityv High Council in which he announced himself as my possible successor.”
The regent paused, and Roth nearly spoke before she resumed. “And last night, after our first day of deliberations, First Sodalist E’Sau was murdered in his own bedchamber.”
Another round of wild murmuring rose throughout the Hall of Convocation. Roth realized what the regent would say next a moment too late to stave it off.
“Ascendant Staned,” she announced with a clarion voice that rang out over the whispers and gossip, “and his League are under inquiry for the First Sodalist’s death, as well. Individually,” she said, “any one of these things could be named a tragedy or crime or unfortunate accident. But taken together, with evidence in each case of the League’s hand, they declare the maneuverings of a man bent on assuming a position of authority.”
Roth fought to control his mounting wrath. He hadn’t thought Helaina would soil the more stately proceedings of the Convocation with Recityv events or her own private battles. Always before, she’d shown a special decorum when leading large assemblies. Even as his anger swelled, he conceded more respect for the old bird. She’d adapted to his game. But her words were now threatening to swing opinions back in her favor. Whatever the congregants here thought of the old stories, they wouldn’t find much sympathy for Roth’s position if they thought him a political threat.
Before she could say more, he broke in on her litany of accusations. “Of course I’m under inquiry,” he shouted. “I represent the change that would unseat the regent.” He turned, starting again to pace, and to make his appeal directly to kings and queens and generals. “It’s a difficult thing to embrace change. It means giving up comfortable routines. It means finding new ways of answering the needs of those for whom you bear a solemn responsibility. In the past, we did this by arming men and sending them to war, instead of arming men to enforce our own civil peace. The war, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t out there somewhere beyond the mystical Veil.” He swept an arm out grandly. “The war is in your own streets, with hunger and poverty and the mistreatment of one man to the other. Yes, if an actual threat comes from a nation, we can address that, ride to meet it. But suppose the source of even that conflict is misunderstanding, assumed wrongs rather than actual hate or bloodlust.”
Roth stopped, turning a complete revolution before saying, “Wouldn’t any of you trade your seat at this
Convocation for real peace? Wouldn’t the success of a gathering like this be to forge a collective might that is never needed or used, except to police just laws? Wouldn’t that,” Roth concluded, softly, “be the mark of true leadership…”
The silence in the hall was deafening. The murmuring that had come before seemed to have turned inward. Roth kept his self-satisfied smile off his lips.
Only the regent would have the gall to break the profoundness of the silence his words had inspired. And she did.
“Roth,” she said quietly, using his name, her words carrying in the stillness, “your words are hollow, spoken to convince rather than instruct or inspire. The ring of truth is different from the truth itself. And I can no longer sit by while your words confuse and frustrate the hard realities that force us to meet here. I hereby revoke your seat at this Convocation. You are dismissed.”
Roth smiled. “My lady, of course you know you have no authority to do this. And even if you did, such a move would only validate our suspicion that you are unfit to lead these discourses. Since it would then be clear that you accept no opinion save those that align with your own.”
Helaina didn’t reply, but simply motioned. A contingent of spear-bearing guards filed in around Roth. It infuriated him, but only for a moment—this was something he had anticipated. With a raise of his hand, the doors opened, and Losol—leader of his newest faction—entered with a contingent of leaguemen, who encircled Helaina’s guards with steel of their own.
“You see,” Roth said, “it can only escalate. This is the way of the past, Helaina. Let us find a new road, together.”
He, of course, knew she would accept no such collaboration. But suggesting it was all that was needed. Around the room, attentive eyes awaited her response to his thoughtful, heartfelt-sounding proposal. While he, too, waited, memories of his boyhood stirred, days casting about the docks, looking for an easy mark to run a flimflam, or a loosely watched catch that could be pilfered for a meal. Perhaps there was some dissembling in his arguments. But he’d bring about the right kinds of change either way. He meant for there to be less need of hope, and in its place more bread and training.
But before Helaina could deny his offer, which would bring him to his ultimate motion for this assembly of kings, the sound of bootheels on the table drew his—and all the Convocation’s—attention. Looking to his right, Roth saw that a man, in supreme disrespect, had climbed up on the table itself, and was strolling its glistening surface. The fellow alternately glared down at those seated at the table, and then up into the ringed rows of second lords and princesses of lesser lands.
He looked familiar, this man with deeply sunned skin. But Roth could not place him, until he began to speak. Then he knew. This one had been expected.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Grant’s Defense
There is a time for social reform. But it is not when dealing with fathers who beat their children, or rapists, or in times of war.
—Language from the first League of Civility credo, redacted by Ascendant Roth Staned
Grant took slow steps, walking the surface of the venerated convocation table. His hard-soled boots clacked a measured beat as he stared down into faces aghast at his insolence or fretting some action he might take against them. But he only walked, capturing the attention of the hall as he strode the entire circle without a word. When he’d come around near to where Helaina and the Ascendant stood in the midst of their armed guards, he offered a bitter smile and continued to stroll.
“You are a circus of fools,” he began. “Answer the question of why you came here to begin with. If you no longer believed in the dangers that brought your forebears to this hall to discuss matters of war against the Bourne, you wouldn’t have come. And yet you sit here and let a politician mock that purpose.”
Grant shook his head in disgust. “Many of you may lack the grit your ancestors possessed, which would explain why this exigent hasn’t yet been thrown out on his ass. Or, maybe some of you are just like your forebears, and would let others go to fight a war on your behalf. Whichever is true, wake up! You stand at a crossroads and you can’t afford to waver. There’s too much at stake.”
“Another friend of the regent’s,” Roth exclaimed. “Is it any wonder that civility is lacking under her rule?”
There were a few low chuckles.
Grant whirled and strode back toward the Ascendant, causing the leagueman’s band of armsmen to raise their weapons toward him. He lifted his gaze and looked at the wide round gallery of secondary seats. “Did you know that this leagueman has called for an end to the Song of Suffering?”
The muttering of voices now came louder than any that had come before.
“Yesterday, when Maesteri Belamae addressed this Convocation so eloquently, the Ascendant decried his testimony but carefully omitted this detail. Why? Because even if everything else Roth says is true, he would find it hard to convince you that we should let go the singing of the Song.”
He looked at Roth, expecting rebuttal. None came. Grant showed the Ascendant a crooked smile.
“Why should we listen to you?” said Queen Ela Valstone of Reyal’Te. “You occupy no seat among us. Who are you?”
“I am Grant,” he announced in a deep rough voice. “Known before as Denolan SeFeery, Emerit guard … and husband to Regent Helaina Storalaith.”
Rather than a rise of gossiping voices, Grant received several narrowed, critical stares. He’d expected as much. His irreverence was part of the reason others wanted him here. But some couldn’t accept what they were seeing when they looked at him.
Grant laughed bitterly. “Those of you who knew me before don’t recognize me, because your own eyes have grown old … while mine have not. Friends,” he said, softening his voice in appeal, “change is coming. The march of time in the Scar … has slowed. It’s an effect that follows from when the Quiet stripped those lands of life. The natural order of things is changing.”
“This is foolishness!” Roth cried.
Grant turned on the man. “And it grows!” he declared. “The borders of the Scarred Lands are expanding. The silence of the heavens takes root in the earth beneath our feet. Soon—not today, or tomorrow, but soon—even the possibility of war as an answer to these changes”—he looked around at those seated at the convocation table—“will be lost to you. To your people.”
“Fear,” the Ascendant said, coolly. “Fear is the last refuge and manipulation of those who have no other argument left to convince you. It’s the tool of dictators and religionists, and has no place in the halls of civilized men. You, yourself, Grant,” the Ascendant said, pointing an accusing finger at him, “take your name from the defiance and denial of arcane practices. You are a hypocrite to stand before us and argue that we should bow to the same myths you rejected.”
Grant leapt from the table. Roth’s guards gave ground as he strode by them. In a quiet voice, he said, “Don’t ever again twist my past to help your own argument.” He then strode by the leaguemen to the open floor nearer the gallery. “You here in these outer rings, you’re a step closer to the men and women and children who will die first when this tide of Quiet comes. What do you say? Will you condemn them to the life I have led, walking in dry places, waiting for death?” He looked back at the convocation table. “Or will you have greater wisdom than those whose chairs are larger and softer and further removed from the hard realities that common men must face?
“Because, make no mistake,” he said, coming around again to the cluster of armed men surrounding Helaina and Roth, “a sea of trouble is coming. You have only to decide how you’ll defend against it. Will it be as it has been in times gone by? Will you make a promise to each other? Or will you ignore the past, silence the Song and Sheason, and hope that this arrogant leagueman and his untrained, dispersed army can answer the threat when it steals into your homelands?”
As Grant glared at Roth, the other’s face grew suddenly relaxed. He turned, and in mockery of Grant’
s dramatic walk around the outer ring of the hall—appealing to the gallery of second seats—he began the same walk, retracing Grant’s path, and offering his own argument.
“The exile is a powerful speaker,” Roth complimented. “If I were sitting where you are, I’d be moved to consider his words. Certainly, you are nearer the families whose protection we are all entrusted to provide. But let me tell you something about this man who would ask your allegiance to unsubstantiated myths and rumors of war.”
Roth looked down at his feet for a moment as he paced, holding his chin thoughtfully, as though considering just how to say what he needed to say. Then, raising his gaze again, he began in a solemn, almost regretful tone. “I think you mean well,” he said to Grant. “Yours is a bitterness I understand. There is nobleness in how you care for children whose own parents cannot or will not. But your methods of guardianship make me wonder.”
He raised a hand, whereupon the doors to the Convocation Hall opened, and a man entered. The stranger slowly came into focus, and Grant realized it was the adoptive father of one of his wards, whom he had visited not long ago. An abusive man. Roth pointed at the one-armed adopter now standing beside him.
“This gentleman took in one of Grant’s foundlings, brought the child into his home and cared for him. Without provocation or explanation, Grant returned to this man’s home and cut off his arm, because he believed him an abuser. He never sought to understand the circumstances in the home. He simply came and dealt his own brand of uninformed justice. And this is the gentleman whose persuasive tongue we have just heard call for your sons to ride into war without a hint of our foreign neighbor’s intention. Never mind the question of whether there’s an enemy at all.”
Roth strode back to his seat at the great table and pounded his fists on the lacquered surface. “No! The regent and exile may mean well, but their sordid past has compromised their wisdom. And now they would compel us to wrong actions, uncivil actions.”
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