Ready to have the matter settled and with the initial intention to rush the coronation through that very afternoon, Mar dictated a summons to Phehlahm, ordering the Privy Council to appear within the hour. Ignoring the fact that the Khalarii'n officials had requested the meeting, he took some small pleasure in making the summons as perfunctory as possible, disdaining even the most remotely civil phrase.
One thing he did do was to submit to Captain Mhiskva's suggestion that he meet with the Khalarii in the audience chamber of the Palace. Knowing it to be thoroughly spiteful and not caring at all, he expected to gain a considerable amount of satisfaction from lording it over those who had once been the bane of his existence.
After the officers had gone, he tried to convince Telriy to attend the audience also, but she flatly and resolutely declined, telling him that she was going to go to Number One to check on her crew.
"I'll show up for the ceremony, but I have better things to do than play nice with a bunch of tyrannical aristocrats, gouging merchants, and toadying sycophants."'
Mar just laughed.
However, he made no other concessions to the pageantry of the occasion -- his first official function as Emperor of the Glorious Empire of the North -- arriving in the audience chamber in the same clothes in which he had dressed in that morning: sleeveless shirt, battered brigandine, and abbreviated and already fraying trousers. Phehlahm had hinted that a sash or overtunic might give him a more imperious appearance but Mar had just ignored him.
He found that the Resplendent Hall of August Audiences was neither as opulent nor as awe-inspiring as it name had implied. It proved to be a long, narrow room somewhat like a temple nave with near featureless, plastered walls painted eggshell white. Beneath overarching domed skylights four manheight above, two parallel rows of arches framed azure-tinted windows that added a soft blue highlight to everything within. The entrance gave onto a green-carpeted aisle that advanced through a few rows of uncomfortable looking chairs and then across a long expanse of empty floor. At the business end, a round dais only one step high supported a frilled rug stitched in the modern Mhevyrii'n style. At the center of the rug sat an, from all appearances, ordinary ladder-backed white oak chair with a red plush cushion.
"That's the Viceroy's throne?" he asked Phehlahm.
"Accordin' to the palace staff, the Viceroy never used the hall and the chair was sort o' a joke. Said the Privy Council handled most o' the day to day affairs. I was told that he spent most o' his time with his toys."
Mar had seen the "toys" of Ghreghten XI. The former Viceroy had had a room the size of a small plaza filled with all manner of intricate scale models: working siege engines, mechanical devices both real and fanciful, ships, boats, and all manner of barges, and replicas of temples, monuments, and significant edifices. That last category had predominated, including elaborate recreations of the New Palace, the Blue and Red Fortresses, and the Library. Interestingly, the Viceroy himself was reputed to have built most of them with only minor assistance.
"Would you like me to have it taken away, my lord king?"
"No, I think I can make use of it." He stopped, studied the front row of spectator chairs for a few moments and then floated on. Just as he reached the dais, he heard the echoing tramp of many boots and turned to see Captain Mhiskva enter, leading at least a half troop of marines in full armor, including helmets. Each also wore over his armor a sea blue tabard with an embroidered blood red crown at center.
The big captain gestured and the armsmen split into two columns that flared left and right to march down the walls, stopping when the first man reached the end and then adjusting to be equally spaced, one hundred to each side. The first file of each column was armed with crossbows and these they immediately cocked and loaded.
"Trying to make an impression?" Mar asked with half a smile when Mhiskva arrived at the dais.
"Aye, my lord king. I wish to reinforce the conception in the minds of the members of the Privy Council that they continue to draw breath only at your whim."
"The ones I know much about are too arrogant to be greatly moved by the threat of armed men."
"No doubt, my lord king, but no amount of arrogance is powerful enough to deflect an armlength of seasoned wood and half a fingerlength of razor steel."
Mar could not argue with that. "So, are we already then? Where's the Privy Council?"
"I've had them held at the Palace entrance until everyone is in place, my lord king."
Mar started to ask who else was coming, when the answer to the question arrived nearly on the heels of the last of the marines: Lord Hhrahld, Wilhm, and the thirteen most fit of the surviving pirates. The Lord-Protector marched with an almost regal calm down the carpeted aisle with Wilhm, as always, his silent shadow, but the corsairs swaggered with conspicuous disdain for the supposed dignity of the occasion, each one festooned with all manner of knives, daggers, axes, swords, and polearms. Lord Hhrahld approached the dais, stopped to bow low, then he and Wilhm advanced to take places alongside Mhiskva. The pirates scattered out to either side of the throne, taking positions that would allow them to overwhelm anyone who might approach the dais.
Mar swung over to the chair, rotated above it, then lowered himself into it, letting it bear a portion of his weight. Sitting caused his abbreviated trouser legs to hike up, making the raw ends of his amputated legs clearly visible. As if to make himself more comfortable, he tucked the frayed wool up a little more, carefully insuring that the most hideous scars showed. Then, quickly spelling the chair, he levitated it to half an armlength the rug.
Mhiskva watched all this without comment, but Mar, still having to look up at the Gaaelfharenii, grinned and said, "I'm going to make my own impression."
"You always do, my lord king."
"If you'll send for the Privy Council, I'd like to get this over with."
"The Queen sent me a missive indicating that she had decided to send representatives, my lord king."
Mar grunted. "I suppose that we'll have to wait for them."
The delay proved not long. Less than ten minutes later, Quaestor Eishtren appeared, bearing his strung bow, whose store of ethereal flux had not diminished one dram, along with Recruit Aelwyrd, who bore four full quivers, two back and two front.
Mar sucked in a sharp breath, not at all pleased. There was enough flux compressed into Eishtren's deadly bow to destroy the entire palace, if not half of the Old City.
At the foot of the dais, the quaestor bowed from the waist, then moved up to Mar's right, displacing a cooperative Phehlahm. Aelwyrd immediately handed him an arrow and he laid it to string, though he did not draw.
"The Queen has commanded me to stand at your elbow, my lord king," he explained, "with arrow nocked."
"What if I were to countermand that order?"
The quaestor's expression did not waver and he did not move. "The Queen has commanded me not to hear any such order, my lord king."
"I see. Well, you try not to get in my line of fire and I'll make good and sure not to get in yours."
"Of course, my lord king."
Mar turned back to Mhiskva. "Is that all or do we have to wait for Lord Purhlea and the entire population of the Monolith?"
The big officer did not crack a smile. "I can dispatch Ulor to summon them, if you feel it necessary, my lord king?"
"No, if this host doesn't put the fear of the Gods into the Privy Council, then we might as well just execute them all and have done with it."
"I have contingency plans in place for just that possibility, my lord king."
"I'm sure you do. Send for the Privy Council, Captain Mhiskva."
"Aye, my lord king."
The Viceroy's Privy Council, by some counts, numbered as many as a hundred, including honorary members, ancillary members, retired members, alternate members, and even -- it would not have surprised Mar at all -- imaginary members, but real power was exercised by only six and it was this elect group that he had commanded to attend him.
He knew
them all by sight, of course, having often observed them in public spaces, frequently spied upon them from rooftops, and occasionally stolen from them or their auxiliaries. Ushered in by Vice-Captain Berhl, the six came unaccompanied, without guards, attendants, or scribes, as Mar had specified.
Patriarch Erhtrys led them. The Chairman of the Privy Council was a black-haired bull of a man whose family fortune rested in timber lands, the barge trade, and extensive farms in the upper river valley. His face was closely guarded but his quickened pace suggested a man that felt palpable fear for his own safety. Mar had not once seen him outside of his villa with less than a dozen guards, and no doubt the presence of all the armed Mhajhkaeirii did nothing to contribute to his comfort.
Second came Patriarch Hwraldek, and Mar felt his expression harden when he recognized the man. Hwraldek had apparently decided that his best course of action was to present himself as the obedient servant of the Emperor, and wore a confident smile upon his face, sincerity in his eyes, and a cooperative, non-confrontational demeanor in the swing of his shoulders and hands. It was a good performance, but only a performance nonetheless.
Commandant Erskh, reportedly the first to proclaim Mar as emperor and on the face of it his ardent and loyal subject, made a good show of appearing confident and relaxed, but Mar could see the sweat starting to coat his brow.
Urban Praefect Mwyrlzhre, of the House of Ser, was a thin man of advanced age but an incongruously full head of flowing auburn hair. The common joke on the streets of the Lower City claimed that the hair had originally grown on the tail of a horse rather than his own pinched scalp. Mwyrlzhre was a bureaucrat pure and simple, with no significant authority beyond his own hierarchy, but was the prime implementer of the Viceroy's -- the Privy Council's -- civil decrees.
Supreme High Priestess Seoralye of the Temple of Miyra, Goddess of Love, and representative of the Forty-Nine by means of an annual vote of their chief priests, priestesses, heralds, scions, advocates, and sundry servants, probably held the least sway in the council. She was well beyond middle age, conspicuously overweight in her skimpy odalisque robes of office, and though reputed to have begun her service to Miyra as an unclothed Moon Dancer in the bacchanalian bi-monthly observances, tended to waddle as she made her unconcerned way down the green-carpeted aisle.
Lhyt, an ore and metals trader, spoke for the smaller factors and manufactories of the Lower City, a collection of mine owners, and several metal working guilds. He was the first and only inhabitant of the Lower City to hold a seat on the Council, and gossip ascribed his appointment to a dedicated campaign of bribery and extortion. A tall, neatly bearded man, he had dressed in a fine suit of tailored clothes cut in a severe, modern style and well made white leather shoes.
Mar knew that Lhyt had begun life as a bondswoman's son, had taken bond himself before his sixth birthday, and had slaved for almost a decade in a copper mine before repurchasing his freedom. Driven by insatiable ambition, he had soon afterwards fought his way into an education, ownership of properties and mines, and eventually relative affluence. Not satisfied with mere wealth, he had aggressively leveraged his considerable assets to purchase interests in numerous large metals operations and was now reputed to heavily influence or control more than seventy percent of the production of the Lower City.
One thing Mar did know for certain: Lhyt's meager beginnings had not predisposed him to be charitable or compassionate toward the poor or downtrodden. He was famously known for spurning beggars and evicting invalids from his rental properties.
Berhl waved the councilors to a place a few paces shy of the dais and retreated -- notably without turning his back on them -- to a station directly to the rear of the group, his hand placed at the ready on the hilt of his sword.
Mar floated his chair forward slightly, raising the stump of his left arm, and made a complex, purposefully theatrical, though entirely meaningless, gesture. The six chairs that he had prepared flew toward the dais and positioned themselves precisely behind the members of Privy Council.
Only Seoralye, Mwyrlzhre, and Lhyt showed any reaction, being, respectively, startled, curious, and bothered. Hwraldek, Erhtrys, and Erskh simply took their seats as if flying furniture were an everyday occurrence, though Erskh betrayed an almost unnoticeable quiver in his hands as he lowered himself down.
Patriarch Hwraldek, usurping Erhtrys' prerogative of primacy, opened his mouth to speak. "Emperor, it is my --"
"Quaestor," Mar said without heat to Eishtren. It would be gratifyingly necessary to demonstrate exactly who was in charge.
The marksman's bow gave off a moderate sound of restrained tension as he drew, aiming precisely at the patriarch's chest. The skritch echoed loudly through the quiet hall. A ghost of quick anger evaporating before it fully formed, Hwraldek snapped his mouth closed immediately, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
"The coronation will be tomorrow afternoon," Mar told the other suddenly very attentive and tightlipped members of the Privy Council. Having acknowledged to himself that it was unrealistic to insist that the affair be arranged in only a few hours, he had relented of his earlier decision to push it forward it immediately.
"There will be no unapproved embellishments and it will be held in the Plaza of the Empire on the portico of the Library. The bridges will be opened and all the inhabitants of the city invited to attend."
If any of the councilors had objections, they did not feel strongly enough about them to put them to voice.
Having planned no further than this, Mar leaned down and rubbed one of his stubs as if it pained him, contemplating the six in turn while he did so and considering their possible motivations.
Patriarch Erhtrys was fundamentally a merchant. His participation in the Council and the Assembly were a means to ensure that the Merchant House Rhesdin continued to prosper and he had never been known to deeply concern himself with matters that did not involve coin. Mar knew little else about him, save that he had once kept a particularly fine set of silverware in an unlocked cabinet on the second floor of his riverside summer house.
"Patriarch Erhtrys, the drydocks, barges, and facilities of the House of Rhesdin will be placed at the convenience of the Empire." The Mhajhkaeirii needed a much larger skyship fleet. As Berhl had suggested, the barge works would accelerate its creation.
Erhtrys bowed his head. "You honor us, Great Emperor."
The councilor was no doubt pleased of two things: one, that Mar had not outright seized his family's properties, and, two, that the declaration was not accompanied by sharp steel placed at his jugular.
Patriarch Hwraldek, staring intently at the point of Eishtren's arrow, which still pointed unerringly at the center of his chest, was not pleased at all, and, in fact, had started to pale. The quaestor had the immobility and intent stare of a statue. Strong ties of flux bound the bow to the marksman, and spontaneous modulations had been created by the interaction. Mar did not understand how or why these chance spells could generate targeted beneficial effects -- it smacked too much of the intervention of some unseen influence -- but he had no doubt but that the magic would permit Eishtren to hold his aim indefinitely.
The thought occurred to Mar that he should just have Hwraldek killed there and then. The Patriarch had had Sihmal slaughtered, had caused the Guard to drive Mar into the Waste, and was in league with, if not an outright supporter of, the Brotherhood of Phaelle. As long as he retained commercial and political power in Khalar, he would be a potential danger, and Mar could not simply strip him of his wealth and positions by fiat. In the Old City, both sorts of power were conveyed not by merit or achievement, but by heredity and marriage. Convoluted, interdependent obligations, both financial and familial, would insure that Hwraldek remained Patriarch of Korhthenr in point of fact, regardless of any enforced public demotion.
However, his elimination was unlikely to make any actual improvement in the situation, as the unavoidable process of succession would only bring another of similar ilk to the pa
triarchate. Moreover, it was possible that Hwraldek's death could make things worse. The new Patriarch might feel compelled to exact revenge for the insult done his House.
And, as deserving as Hwraldek might be of death, Mar was not yet ready to coldly order an execution. Eishtren and his bow -- at least as far as Mar was concerned -- was just an intimidation tactic.
Still, Mar found he had nothing constructive to say to Hwraldek and was half-afraid that if he did open his mouth to speak that the words would be an order directing Eishtren to fire. Dismissing Hwraldek, both mentally and physically, Mar turned his eyes to the Urban Praefect.
Mwyrlzhre might be of use. The efficient administration of civil functions was something that no large city could neglect and by all accounts Khalar's bureaucracy functioned well, if in normal times slowly. The man himself was innocuous. Having practically no direct interaction with the common citizenry, he had no reputation for either largess or despotism.
"Praefect Mwyrlzhre," Mar announced, "I will appoint one of my staff to monitor your performance on a daily basis."
The official squirmed minutely for a moment as if repressing an outcry, but then smiled agreeably and said, "Of course, Great Emperor. I welcome the assistance."
"The Praefecture will immediately undertake engineering projects in the slums of the Lower City. Drainage, sewage, water, and the like. The local inhabitants will be employed to do the work. The tenements and ruins between the Concourse of Imperial Glory and Mud Street will be cleared and proper housing constructed. You will prepare plans and specifications to bring the entirety of the Lower City up to Imperial standards."
Mwyrlzhre continued to smile, but his eyes smoldered.
Mar moved on. "Commandant Erskh."
The leader of the Viceroy's Guard dropped to one knee and saluted. He obviously had been practicing. "I live to serve, Great Emperor!"
"The retraining of the Emperor's Own Guard will begin today. Vice-Captain Berhl from my staff will supervise. You will obey his orders as if they were mine."
"Yes, Great Emperor!" Erskh's reaction to the name change and de facto demotion was entirely positive. He, likewise, was obviously happy with any arrangement that would allow him to not have an arrow pointed at his chest.
Key to Magic 04 Emperor Page 7