Those words birthed Kedrin’s epiphany. He knew exactly where the conversation had to go from that point onward. And, to his surprise, he wanted to hear it. Thus far, he and the other knights had preached a fairness that had led them to this point; and something about the whole situation seemed wrong. Ra-khir had explained Tae’s past and, along with it, Weile Kahn’s. Even knowing the Easterner’s ties to scoundrels and rogues, even hearing that his power came from his odd and uncanny ability to organize the lawless, Kedrin could not help but respect him. He would sooner attempt to tame the world’s most poisonous reptiles.
The king did not catch on quite as quickly. “But Erythane’s kings have dwelt in this palace, at this exact spot, since long before either of us was born.”
As always, Weile had an answer. “The same can be said for the Renshai and the Fields of Wrath.” He added, as if in distant afterthought, “Sire.”
Kedrin studied Saviar, who could no longer keep the smile wholly from his face, though he tried valiantly.
Humfreet shook his head. “But Erythane has sovereignty over the Paradisian Plains. The Paradisians are the original owners.”
Weile cocked his head further, as if confused by the king’s statement. “As a scholar of history, I reject that claim. However, for the purposes of the current conversation, let us consider it gospel.” It was the most words he had spoken at one time; and, by the time he finished, the attention of every spectator had latched onto him. Only the hearthfire dared to make any noise. Without it, Kedrin suspected he could have heard a beetle scurry.
“All right,” the king said cautiously, clearly seeking a verbal trap. “Easterners never occupied Castle Erythane.”
“Before the Erythanians settled here, who owned this land?”
“No one,” Humfreet shot back. “It was barbarian land.”
Weile nodded. “And Easterners are the direct descendants of those very barbarians.”
King Humfreet jerked his attention to Kedrin, who had absolutely no idea whether or not Easterners and barbarians bore any blood kinship. He had also never located a map that labeled the disputed territory the Paradisian Plains nor found a mention of Paradisians in scrolls that predated the current decade.
“Straight black hair, swarthy, dark-eyed . . . isn’t it obvious?”
Kedrin had never met a barbarian; he could not refute the description.
For all his education, King Humfreet’s grasp of history, in this regard, was no match for Weile Kahn’s. He dropped the argument and went directly to the point. “Surely, Weile Kahn, you don’t think I’m going to hand over my entire city to you because sometime in the unspecified past people who resembled you, and may or may not be distantly related, once owned the land it stands on.”
Weile shrugged, as if the answer was indisputable. “Sire, if you follow your own rules and laws, you have no choice.”
“What!” the king roared.
Kedrin made a crisp gesture, a plea for tolerance followed by a request to speak.
King Humfreet responded with a series of flighty movements that meant nothing in particular. “You have the floor, Sir Kedrin.”
Kedrin executed a formal bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He sprang from the dais to place himself nearer eye level with Weile Kahn. He wanted the ability to catch and hold his gaze, to try to read his intentions. “With all due respect to all parties involved, Weile Kahn, the Fields of Wrath were not taken from the Renshai nor given to the Paradisians. They were asked to find a workable compromise.”
Weile made a wordless noise that conveyed contempt. “And whenever the Renshai attempt that ‘workable compromise,’ your men arrest them.”
Kedrin wished he could read the Easterner’s mind. “Because the Renshai’s idea of a ‘workable compromise’ is to slaughter the Paradisians.”
Weile pursed his lips, obviously fighting a spontaneous emotion. Unsuccessfully, apparently, because a snort worked its way out of his nose.
That set off Saviar who started laughing so hard, so genuinely, it became contagious. Many of the spectators joined him, although most of them likely had no idea what he found so hilarious. Weile joined the mirth until it seemed like everyone in the room, aside from the king and his guards, was laughing.
Though thrown off his stride, Kedrin tried not to show it. His hands clamped to his hips. “I see nothing funny about innocents dying.”
Weile sobered in an instant. “With all respect, Knight-Captain, that’s because in order to prevent yourself from appearing to favor your grandsons, you are feeding into the popular bigotry. Which, in my opinion, is far worse.”
Kedrin fought down anger. It did not do for a Knight of Erythane to demonstrate negative emotions. “Are you saying I’m prejudiced against Renshai?”
Weile’s dark gaze flicked to Kedrin’s so swiftly, the knight could not have avoided the judgment in them even had he wished to do so. “You will find, Knight-Captain, my words convey precisely what I mean. Rephrasing is never necessary . . .” He added dangerously, “. . . nor prudent.” He continued, “You stated ‘the Renshai’s idea of a “workable compromise” is to slaughter the Paradisians.’”
It was, Kedrin felt certain, verbatim. He could hardly deny it. Even if he weren’t scrupulously honest, every man and woman in the courtroom had heard him.
“No one here would entertain the notion, for even a moment, that, if the Renshai truly wished to slaughter the renegade Erythanians laying claim to the Fields of Wrath a single one would still be breathing.”
Kedrin could not deny the truth in Weile’s statement. “You have a valid point, Weile Kahn.” He used Weile’s full name, aware that Easterners considered shortening an insult. “But my point is still valid, even if my phrasing wasn’t properly handled.”
Weile made a concessionary gesture indicating Kedrin now had the opportunity to correct his error without any argumentative penalty.
“I would better have said . . .” Kedrin paused a moment, looking away from Weile’s pointed stare. The gaze unnerved him more than he wished to admit. For an instant the idea of punching the Easterner in the mouth had flitted through his thoughts, something his knightly manners should never have allowed, even as a brief notion. “. . . the Renshai have responded to all of the Paradisian advances with violence.”
Weile pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully. “And these ‘Paradisian advances’ have consisted of . . .” He paused dramatically. “. . . sweet tea and welcome cakes?”
Even the fires seemed to grow silent in the wake of Weile’s suggestion. “In fact, wasn’t the first Paradisian proclamation: ‘We do not acknowledge the existence of the Fields of Wrath, and every man, woman, and child with Renshai heritage or blood must be purged from the world.’?”
“I’m not aware of any such proclamation.”
Weile pulled a strip of parchment from a pocket inside his cloak and passed it to Kedrin.
The knight accepted the parchment, scrolling it open to reveal multiple lines of flowery, Erythanian script and labeled, “The Proclamation of the United Paradisian People.” The first item on the list stated exactly what Weile had said it did, translated perfectly into the Common Trading tongue. Kedrin considered arguing the origins of the parchment but suspected he would lose. He had no idea where it came from but had no evidence Weile was lying, either. “Assuming this is exactly what you claim, it’s somewhat understandable that people who feel demoralized by occupiers might create such a document.”
Weile blinked. “So you would be equally understanding if the first line of the proclamation of the Eastlands was ‘We do not accept the existence of Erythane. Its kingdom must be forfeit; and every man, woman, and child with Erythanian blood slaughtered.’?”
A collective gasp went up from the spectators, and they muttered darkly.
Silent too long, King Humfreet pointed out. “But we are not occupying you. Y
ou’ve not laid claim to any part of Erythane.”
“We have, Sire,” Weile Kahn reminded him. “The first words I spoke in this courtroom were: My name is Weile Kahn, and I’ve come to reclaim the land belonging to my people.”
The spectators continued to speak out amongst one another as the main players now became quiet.
“But you know what you’re seeking is patently ridiculous,” the king continued. “Erythane won’t surrender its palace without a fight.”
“Yet,” Weile pointed out, “you expect the Renshai to give up their entire city and arrest them when they try to fight.”
“That’s different!” Humfreet shouted. “Anyone who can’t see that is an imbecile not worth reaching.”
The king’s raised voice quailed the spectators, and even Kedrin cringed. But Weile Kahn appeared unaffected, even by the intensity of an insult clearly aimed at him. “Sire, rare is the time I’m not among the cleverest in any room; and when it happens, I’m wise enough to hold my tongue. I could count on my tails the number of times I’ve been wrong.”
Even Kedrin found his gaze falling to the seat of Weile’s britches, though he knew he would find nothing wagging there. Weile Kahn was not a man with whom he cared to trifle. Kedrin turned his attention fully on his king, his expression strained, his head shaking ever so slightly in warning. Unaccustomed to questioning, the king was growing angry, and Kedrin felt certain that the moment he lost his composure, he lost the battle of wills at least, and probably far worse. “I think we should hear what he has to say.” He added emphatically, “So long as he gets to the point.”
“My point,” Weile said softly, and the entire room went deathly quiet again in an attempt to catch every nuance, every syllable. Only the fires continued to flicker and crackle noisily, their shadows dancing over the aging Easterner and igniting fiery highlights through his jet-black hair. “My point is that the world treats Renshai differently than any other people, denying them the same basic rights automatically afforded others by virtue of birth, even those who contribute nothing of value to society. The Fields of Wrath have belonged to the Renshai for centuries, yet—suddenly—they are occupiers. The dregs of Erythanian society band together to steal the homes paid for by Renshai, the food stored by Renshai, the practice grounds built by Renshai, and the world coos sympathetically. They rain stones on the Renshai, steal from them, slaughter their infants in the dead of night, and the West remains silent, noticing only when the Renshai undertake their sovereign right to defend themselves, at which point the Renshai are condemned as the aggressors.”
Weile Kahn took a step in Kedrin’s direction, and the two men locked gazes for a second time. As he was clearly expected to speak, Kedrin did so, “It’s a matter of fairness, Weile Kahn. Of proportion. The Paradisians throw a few rocks, but the Renshai cut them down with swords.”
Weile turned to Saviar. “Young man, you recently visited the Fields of Wrath?”
Saviar stared straight ahead, like a soldier in ranks. “I did so.”
“How many rocks were thrown at you?”
Saviar did not miss a beat, “Sixty-seven.”
“And how many Erythanians did you cut down.”
“None.” Saviar continued to stare straight ahead. “I merely circled the fields.” He swiveled his head to meet Kedrin’s gaze, and the knight found his own strangely white-blue eyes reflected back at him. “As a citizen of Erythane, the law grants me every right to kill my attackers. But as a Renshai, I’d have been arrested.”
Kedrin’s brows beetled. “He coached you, didn’t he?”
“Not a single word,” Saviar shot back. “You see, the half of me that descends from Renshai wanted to defend myself, but the half of me that descends from Knights of Erythane knew I had to allow myself to get stoned to death out of ‘fairness.’ At that point, self-preservation took over, and I fled like a worthless coward.”
Kedrin said softly, “You’re allowed to defend yourselves, Saviar. Just at a proportionate level.”
“A proportionate level.” Saviar tipped his head, then started to pace, demonstrating all the humanity Weile seemed to lack. “What, exactly, does that mean, Granpapa? We’re supposed to sheathe our swords and throw the same rocks back at them? To make it exactly fair, I suppose, we could match our rock throws one to one. But what if we’re better rock throwers than they are? Would we have to hit or miss by the exact margins they did?”
Kedrin leaped in, “We’re not saying you can’t use—”
Saviar talked over him. “Or do you mean we can kill one of them for every one of us they murder? That’s fair, I suppose, but hardly proportionate. I mean, there are tens of thousands of Erythanians and only about three hundred Renshai. So a truly proportionate response would mean killing a hundred squatters for every Renshai.” His own words, clearly spontaneously spoken, made him smile. “A hundred to one sounds about fair to me.” His brow wrinkled in mock confusion. “Is that why you’re arresting Renshai? We haven’t killed enough Erythanians to make the response proportionate?”
Kedrin could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He had allowed the proceedings to get out of control, and he could not blame King Humfreet. The king was only following his advice. “That’s madness, Saviar. There may be tens of thousands of Erythanians, but only a small number consider themselves Paradisians.”
Again, Weile laughed loudly, which restored the spectators’ attention to him.
Kedrin jerked his head to glare at the Easterner. “I don’t see anything remotely funny about this situation.”
Weile sobered so quickly, it caused a sudden and intense shift in the demeanor of the entire courtroom. Somehow, he seemed even more dangerous for it. “That’s because you’re still looking at it with the bias of the world behind you. You have to because, when you put anyone else into the position of the Renshai, it exposes the worst in all of us. And the joke becomes horribly, painfully obvious.” His words fell like lead. No one dared interrupt what came next. “We’re currently preparing for a war with the Kjempemagiska. Let us say those magical giants arrived on our shores this very afternoon. Would you rein in our warriors? Would you tell them not to attack until the Kjempemagiska killed one of us, then to make certain the response was proportionate?”
“I might,” Kedrin defended. “So long as the chance for parley still existed.”
Weile stared at him with withering disdain. “Very well, Knight-Captain. Clearly, rhetorical questions are not your strong suit, so I will use an actual example. When the pirates invaded Béarn, did we temper our response? Or did we obliterate them?”
Kedrin sensed a trap, but he would never lie. “We obliterated them, thank the gods. But they had killed several of us first and made it clear their sole intention was to destroy each and every one of us.”
Weile lifted the Paradisian charter. “And how is that different from what the squatters intend for the Renshai?”
“But,” Kedrin started and stopped. “It . . .” He shook his head, suddenly realizing Weile had a point worthy of long consideration. To argue now meant clinging to a side from stubbornness rather than its veracity, value or fairness; and that was something no knight, especially a captain, could do and still maintain his honor.
The king picked up where Kedrin left off. “But that’s a different situation. The pirates weren’t throwing rocks at us. They had weapons at least as good as our own, an organized government intent on destroying us and stealing our land, and they refused to compromise.”
Weile turned his attention back to Humfreet, still clutching the Paradisian charter. “Would you have compromised, Sire?”
“Of course.”
“You would have given up land to the servants of the Kjempemagiska?”
“We would have worked something out.”
“Would you have given up . . . Erythane?”
Kedrin could practically hear ever
y head in the room turn in the king’s direction. Though accustomed to his subjects’ attention, the suddenness and intentness of it appeared to unnerve even him. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and his dark gaze pinned Kedrin. “Of course not!”
“So, Sire, you would have compromised with some other country’s land and resources? Left the Pudarians homeless, perhaps? Cleared sectors of the Eastlands?”
Kedrin tried to look casual as he climbed back on the dais. His king needed him at his side.
King Humfreet watched Kedrin’s every movement. “You can’t expect me to voice the details of a prospective plan that would have taken weeks or months to hammer out, with the input of all of the kings and leaders and advisers involved.”
Weile did not back down. “And yet, Sire, we demand that each individual Renshai understand what a ‘proportionate’ response is to being beaten by sticks, shoved over cliffs, and stoned to death? I can only speak for myself, Sire, but if someone had, as his charter, the intent to murder me and every member of my family, I wouldn’t wait until he attempted to kill me, no matter what weapon he used. I’d come at him with every lethal trick at my disposal. And, if I may be so bold, I believe with every fiber in my being that you would do nothing different if a killer came after you or your son.” Weile gestured at Humbert, who shrank under the sudden attention. Humfreet jerked his gaze to his son, and Kedrin felt certain he had wholly forgotten the boy was there, watching the proceedings unfold in this most unusual manner.
King Humfreet sat up straighter on his throne. “Is that a threat, Weile Kahn?”
The guards, always attentive, became even more so. The ones in the back of the courtroom moved a step or two forward. The ones on the dais closed in on their king.
Weile’s expression suggested the king’s question had taken him aback. Kedrin almost expected him to stagger in exaggerated surprise. “Certainly not, Sire. You’ve already agreed to compromise.”
Fields of Wrath Page 51