by Tony Donadio
“Good morning, class,” he said. The sun shone brightly in the garden outside, and a susurrus of birds twittering gave a fittingly cheerful background to his triumphant mood.
“Before one can undertake the study of any subject, one must first answer three fundamental questions. What is it? How do I know that? And why should I care?”
Orion smiled as a murmur of quiet laughter went through the room. “That last has no doubt occurred to many of you, and we will give it special attention. As we do, we will find that those three questions hold a special significance. Indeed, they are, in essence, the very subject of philosophy itself …”
Chapter 2 - The High Council
The Constitution
Lord Rugon paced before the balcony of the palace conference room. “Your Highness, I must once again respectfully protest this precipitous course of action,” he said.
“And I must once again insist on my resolve in undertaking it,” King Danor answered patiently.
The lord paused his pacing to look at him. For all his dignified manner — and the royal advisor was meticulous about maintaining it, no matter the circumstances — he was beginning to look like a trapped animal. The balcony was open to face the mountainside, and it framed him in the view of the High Council. The way the ground suddenly dropped away from the railing around it only reinforced the impression.
Nowhere to run, Queen Elena mused, naming the thought to herself.
Danor forced himself not to nod. Her magic had allowed them to develop a mental bond over the years that let them share each other’s thoughts and feelings. Few outside their family knew of it, and the advantages it provided made them prefer to keep it that way.
He’s been doing everything he can to delay this. But now he’s run out of options. And he knows it.
Danor spared a glance at her. She sat to his right at the great bronzewood conference table. The seating was deliberate. She had been his partner in ruling the Kingdom of Carlissa since their marriage twenty-eight years earlier.
Elena’s rosy skin, high cheekbones and elegant bearing betrayed her lineage from the elven royalty of the eastern continent. Her shining hair was tied into a long golden braid that reached to the small of her back. The daughter of Queen Talina of Elde and the Peregrine King of Mount Cassandra, she was beautiful even by the already high standards of her people.
Her deep blue eyes watched the lord’s consternation with a hint of amusement. That wasn’t unusual for her. She often wore an expression that hinted at a mix of kindness and humor, as though she were enjoying a private but good-natured joke.
Tall and powerfully built, the King’s appearance matched his reputation as the most formidable warrior in Carlissa. His neatly kempt mane and beard of auburn hair framed a face with dark eyes and hard features that were handsome, but not overly so. It was the nose — just a little too large, and a bit too hooked — that kept them from true beauty. Every element of his manner was commanding, and he exuded an impression of visceral masculinity.
He shifted in his seat, and the muscles of his upper body flexed visibly despite his ornate cape. He had chosen it to give added formality to the meeting, and to signal his determination that it would be the last before moving forward with his plan. That had seemed to work, at least. Lord Rugon, whose political subtlety was second to none, had not failed to notice the gesture.
The King’s sword lay at the center of the conference table where he had placed it at the start of the meeting. Guardian was an enchanted blade, a large, two-handed weapon of nearly pure bluesteel that had been handed down in his family for generations. It was a tradition of the High Council for the King to lay his weapon on the table before them, a symbol of the Crown setting aside force in favor of reason and persuasion in their deliberations.
“Also, you know as well as I that it is not being taken precipitously,” Danor continued. “Your wise counsel on the matter has been instrumental in ensuring that. Thanks to your suggestions, we have amended the new constitution so that some of the changes it introduces will be more gradual.”
Lord Rugon started to respond, but the King cut him off. “Even my father, the Archmage, was swayed by the prudence of your words about ‘avoiding social upheaval,’ as you so eloquently put it. Great time and care has been taken to address those concerns, but that work is now done. The time has come to review the document’s final editing, and to prepare it for proclamation.”
“It’s just that ...” Lord Rugon began. He paused, appearing flustered, groping for words.
“I’m concerned that these proposals need more study,” he continued at last. “With respect, my liege, customs and social institutions should not be changed without grave caution! They developed over the course of centuries, and have stood the tests of time. These new ideas … they are bold, to be sure, and some perhaps would seem to have merit in thought and on paper. But they are so untried! If you would hear my counsel, it would be to take the time to test them out first. One at a time, and in a limited way, under carefully controlled conditions …”
King Danor held up his hand. “Haven’t we already had this discussion, Cyrus?” he interrupted. “Nigh on a dozen times, I think, though I’ve long since stopped counting. Your trepidation has been noted. To the extent that it has been deemed prudent, allowance has been made for it. Further delay is unwarranted, unless the new constitution’s principles are to be brought again under question. And to that, I say they shall not. They have been debated, and the decision has been made. The vote of the High Council has spoken.”
Lord Rugon looked around the room. More than a dozen faces regarded him from their seats at the massive conference table. A few wore expressions of support and empathy. These included Salmanor Darden, he noted gratefully. The high priest and Lord Inquisitor of the Church of the Divine in Carlissa, he too appeared discomfited by the plan to say the least.
The majority, however, were clearly in sympathy with the King. A few — Prince Aron in particular, the King's eldest son and heir to the throne — were openly hostile. He would not find support here to delay the proclamation any longer.
Slowly, and with an air of resignation, he bowed to the King. “Very well, Your Highness. It is as you say. Whatever my counsel, I remain your faithful servant, in this and in all things. If the Council is determined to proceed, then I recommend that each article of the new Constitution be read aloud as review. It should then be confirmed with a yea or nay vote to publish it as written.”
The room seemed to relax, and Danor nodded his approval. “I agree. Aron, my son, will you do us the honor of reading the articles for confirmation? Your eloquence will do credit to the enterprise, I think.”
“Of course, Father,” the Prince replied.
Several parchments were laid out on the table before him. He took one, and without pause, began to read.
“Let it be known that these are the words of the King and of the High Council of Carlissa, in proclamation this day, the sixth of May, in the year 1643 of the Taming.
“There are times when an evolution of thought among men of learning, of conscience, and of good will becomes so profound that it impels them to undertake a reform of the very institutions by which they order their lives. A growing recognition of the rights of reasoning beings, and of the freedoms to which they are by their nature entitled, is one such. It calls the people of today, and their leaders, to respond with this Constitution of the Kingdom of Carlissa, which is hereby proclaimed. Let all who hear or read it know that its articles shall not only have the force of law, but shall henceforth be the very basis of law in our land.”
Aron paused to wait for a response. No one spoke, but a few heads nodded absently. This was just the preamble, and no one seemed to think it needed a vote.
“‘Article One. The practice of involuntary servitude is hereby outlawed in the land of Carlissa. All slaves and indentured servants are immediately declared free. Anyone attempting henceforth to keep or traffic in slaves in any form or manne
r within the borders of the kingdom shall be prosecuted for the crime of kidnapping.
“‘Section One. Any person entering the borders of Carlissa, if they be declared slave in another land, shall upon request immediately be granted political sanctuary in the kingdom. Anyone attempting to forcibly interfere with the making of such a request within the borders of the kingdom shall be prosecuted for the crime of kidnapping.
“‘Section Two. No claim for compensation to former slave-owners from the consequences of this article shall be upheld or enforced by any court or branch of the government of Carlissa.’
“That’s the full text of the article. All in favor, raise your hand and say ‘Aye.’”
The assembled lords all signaled their agreement. No one was surprised; the article outlawing slavery had been the least controversial of the new constitution’s proposals. The sale of slaves had been prohibited by decree since the old Archmage had assumed the throne many years ago, and few vestiges of the institution were left in the kingdom. The problem that remained was chiefly because of travelers bringing them across Carlissa’s borders. Some diplomatic incidents had occurred as a result, especially with the Kingdom of Rayche, which still practiced it in its southern cities near the Tiberax Archipelago. The second and third sections were intended to give travelers to Carlissa a warning not to bring their slaves with them, and to take a clear stand with other nations that any who entered the kingdom would not be returned.
“‘Article Two. The Kingdom of Carlissa recognizes the right of all people to the peaceful exercise of freedom of speech, and of association. The government of Carlissa shall enact no law, nor shall those who administer its powers take any action, to prohibit the peaceful exercise of these fundamental liberties.
‘Section One. This article shall not be construed to protect non-peaceful speech and association. Such exercise in support of violent crimes or other forms of aggression against the people of Carlissa shall be considered and punished as accessory to, and conspiracy to commit, said crimes and aggression.
‘Section Two. This article shall not be construed to establish a prohibition of any kind on the peaceful expression of disagreement with the speech of others, or any refusal to associate with them. Peaceful ostracism and other acts of social disapproval shall be recognized as expressions of free speech and association under the meaning of this act.’
“All in favor, raise your hand and say ‘Aye.’”
This one was more controversial, and it was reflected in the vote. Salmanor Darden made a deliberate show of folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the prince in defiance. Everyone understood that this measure, if approved, would greatly restrict the power of the Church by neutering the blasphemy laws. Chaos and evil would reign, Darden had raged in their debates, if demon-worshippers were allowed to preach their sacrilege without fear of a warrior-priest’s sword. Yes, the Church had been known on occasion for an “excess of zeal” in such prosecutions, and a few had been put to the fire that were later shown to be innocent. But the right way to address these problems was through safeguards — ones that the high priest would be more than happy to oversee personally …
Other hands remained lowered, though in less dramatic gestures. Lady Rayne, recently appointed Chancellor of the Bard’s college in Lannamon, was an outspoken opponent of the “troubling new rebellion” against the classical arts developing in the land’s taverns and alehouses. It needed to be outlawed before it could spread further, she had argued, not given such an explicit sanction. Baronet Kuhl, representative of the Carlissan Trade Guild, had opposed nearly every article of the new constitution, and this one proved no exception. Lord Desmond had used his authority as the Marquis of Seacrest to have commoners disciplined for “impertinence” on a number of occasions, and no one was surprised at his ‘nay’ on the measure as well.
They were, however, the only dissenters. The article was quickly approved without need for a count of the vote.
“‘Article Three. The granting of royal monopolies, including those over participation in trade and commerce, is hereby abolished …’”
The morning wore on as the High Council approved, one at a time, each provision of the new constitution. The result had not been in doubt; indeed it had been known ahead of time by everyone present. The most controversial proposals, which had proved too liberal even for the majority of reformers on the council, had already been set aside, and the remainder re-worked endlessly until they could command the needed support. Whether they thought it for good or for ill, everyone in the room knew that the winds of a profound change were stirring in the Kingdom of Carlissa.
Council Interlude
“I’m going to need a nice, stiff brandy when this is over,” Lord Rugon said.
He stood before the balcony doors of the palace conference room. The view overlooked the descending shoulder of Mount Cascade and the bluffs on the north side of the valley. Waterfalls fell in places along the sheer rock-face to his left, ending in a series of pools designed to gather their waters into the city’s elaborate system of aqueducts. Channels and arcades ran from the pools, their waters racing like rapids to feed into the palace and the city below.
“When it is, I think I’ll join you in that drink,” Danor offered, coming up to stand beside him. He looked out at the morning sunlight shining on the mountain and the falls, and put a hand on the Lord’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind the company.”
Lord Rugon turned to look at him. “I will always be honored to drink with you, my liege,” he said quietly.
“I’m glad, Cyrus,” Danor replied. There was a hint of gratitude in his voice. It was just a hint, and as much as the King felt he could allow himself to show.
Lord Rugon smiled weakly and nodded. He had instructed the King as a boy in the art of proper conduct at court, and he understood the gesture and its meaning.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he replied. “This has been trying for us all. I regret that we have so often been on opposite sides of this debate.”
“As do I, my old friend,” the King agreed. “And I will not forget your loyalty despite our disagreements. I will need your help and your wise counsel now more than ever..”
The pair lapsed into a reflective silence. The conflict arising from Lord Zomoran’s attack on the Church five months earlier was still fresh in their minds. The debate and recriminations that followed had polarized the kingdom, and helped lead to the morning’s events.
Salmanor Darden had wasted no time in portraying the attack as a vindication of his accusations against the Lord of Westreach. He and his associates had proved themselves demon-worshippers and traitors to the Covenant, he had declared, when summoned to answer for his actions before the rest of the High Council. Not only had the magus’ rampage killed seventeen guards and injured a dozen more, but he had tried to murder both princes of the realm in cold blood. Far from calling for an explanation, the Crown should have been thanking and commending the Inquisition for ferreting out such a blasphemer from the highest ranks of Carlissan nobility. The civil government was likely infested with cells of demonic acolytes, and more investigations were needed to root them out.
Danor had flatly rejected the high priest’s interpretation. His evidence certainly seemed to show that Zomoran held — and regrettably, taught — ideas that were repugnant to the Church and its doctrines. What it failed to demonstrate, the King had declaimed with barely restrained anger, was any proof that he intended rebellion against the Kingdom of Carlissa or harm to its people. Had the high priest sought to coordinate its actions with the Crown — as it was obligated to do by law in any prosecution involving a member of the civil government, much less a lord of the realm — then the resulting tragedy might have been averted.
That was ridiculous, Darden had countered imperiously. Zomoran’s actions proved what his intentions had been all along: to undercut the morals of Carlissan society, undermine the Covenant, and lead the people into the darkness of demon worship. He and his
accomplices had doubtless been plotting to overthrow the Crown for some time. Had it not been for the actions of the Inquisition, his treason might not have been unmasked until it was too late. Zomoran was a villain and not a victim. The King’s naiveté regarding the seductive dangers of demonology displayed a serious lack of responsibility and vision.
It was the Inquisition’s zeal to murder anyone who refused to bend to its teachings that was the true danger, Danor had countered. Had the council forgotten the kingdom’s own history? How the Church had tried to kill his own ancestor, Aldran Killraven, for attempting to bring the ancient knowledge of Janthala back to the world? Had the adventurer mage and his allies not won the resulting civil war, the last two centuries of flourishing and enlightenment would never have happened. Was the council prepared to surrender that legacy now, to the resurgent forces of intolerance and dogma?
The King’s harsh rebuke had stunned the Church and its supporters. A division had quickly appeared among the people as they took sides in the developing confrontation. Few defended Zomoran, but many supported the growing reform movement. The Archmage himself had begun many of those reforms while he sat on the throne, and his son Danor was determined to continue his work. Others — Lord Rugon among them — had defended the Inquisition, declaring that its sometimes and regrettably harsh prosecutions were necessary to defend the kingdom from the forces of evil. Freedom of thought might be good in theory, but it had to have limits. Opposing factions that had been developing for years beneath the surface of Carlissan society had been forced suddenly out into the open.
Lord Rugon’s gaze wandered over the King’s shoulder to the other council members. Most of them were milling around the room or sitting at the table to take refreshment. They had finally finished ratifying the new constitution, and the document had been signed. The Office of Royal Proclamation had it now, and its clerks were hard at work magically duplicating its pages for distribution in the city. The council remained in the conference room, ready to take up the rest of its business after their break.