by JD Byrne
“As Antrey can tell you,” Alban was saying about something, “the work of the Grand Council can often lose its focus on real issues and devolve into minutiae.” He paused, expecting either of the women to pick up the conversation. Galenna looked nervously at Alban and Antrey, but said nothing.
“Yes, that’s true,” Antrey said, finally, to fill the silence. “But, to be honest, even the minutiae can be fascinating.” It was only a partial lie, one designed to inject some levity into the conversation. It didn’t help.
“Well, I suppose I’ll see firsthand for myself tomorrow,” Galenna said to Alban. “If you’ll excuse me, old friend, I’ve had a long day and will have a longer one tomorrow. I must be going. Good evening.” She turned and walked off before Alban could return the courtesy.
“Wait here for a moment,” Alban said to Antrey before rushing off after her.
Antrey watched as Alban caught up with Galenna just as she was about to leave the rotunda. He grabbed her arm and obviously surprised her. Alban promptly began to tell her something. Antrey couldn’t hear what was being said, but the tone was clear. He spoke quickly and gestured with his free hand more than usual. At one point, he shifted his feet to block Galenna’s view of Antrey, just as she tried to snatch another glance at her. When Galenna tried to get a word in, Alban cut her off. It was a tense exchange and it made Antrey nervous. She turned away, back towards the bulk of the crowd. Alban returned in a few moments, clearly upset.
“What’s wrong, sir?” Antrey asked.
He sighed. “I’m afraid that I must once again apologize for an acquaintance. And this time, I can make no excuses on her behalf. Galenna, given all she has accomplished in her life and the prejudice she has faced, should know better. I am truly sorry, Antrey. I trust that the entire evening won’t be like this.”
“You should stop apologizing for the acts of others, sir,” Antrey said. He started to say something else but closed his mouth without uttering a word. Perhaps Alban was surprised by her directness. “Neither you nor I can control how others behave or how they react to me. I am, like it or not, a curiosity, sir. It is enough to know that you are offended on my behalf.”
That seemed to please Alban. He looked about ready to start across the room to refill his drink when an elegant older man stepped in front of him. “Alban, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more,” he said, extending his hands.
“The pleasure is all mine, President,” Alban said, bowing his head slightly.
Antrey knew at once that this was Atilleo, the current president of the Grand Council. He was also a member of the inner circle of the King of Telebria. Quite possibly, he was the most important person in the city.
“President, I don’t believe you have met my assistant, Antrey Ranbren,” Alban said, presenting her for inspection.
“Why, yes, of course, I have seen her in the chamber many times,” he said to Alban before turning to her. “Good evening, Antrey,” he said, in a slower cadence and at a slightly higher volume than he had been speaking to Alban. “Does it find you well?”
“Yes, President,” Antrey said, somewhat self-consciously. “Thank you.”
The older man turned his attention back to Alban. “Are you ready for the start of the session?”
“Of course, President. Antrey has been hard at work making sure everything is in place while I finished my latest volume.”
“Ah, yes. You do us great honor with your work, Alban. It reflects very well on the Grand Council,” Atilleo said.
“Thank you, President,” Alban said, giving him a deferential nod.
“As does all your hard work, Antrey,” Atilleo said, turning to address her. Again, he spoke with a halting tone and talked to her as if she were deaf. “I know that Alban relies on all that you do.”
Antrey mimicked Alban’s nod. “Thank you, President. I have learned a great deal from working with Alban, both within and without the Grand Council chamber. I look forward to hearing the session tomorrow.” In spite of being treated like a dim-witted child, she did her best to match Alban’s eloquence.
The effort obviously threw Atilleo out of his comfort area. “Well, yes,” he said, before pausing awkwardly. Finally, he took Antrey’s hand in his and patted it, like one might pat the head of a small animal. “I am sure you will learn something.” He hastily turned back to Alban. “I beg your forgiveness, but I must go and say a few words. In the morning, then?”
“In the morning, President, absolutely,” Alban said.
Atilleo gave Antrey one last look, smiled nervously at her, and then bled into the crowd.
Alban stood for a moment, speechless. One of the wine servers started to walk past and Alban grabbed him, abruptly and without warning. He shoved his empty glass into the young man’s hand, then took Antrey’s from her and did the same.
“Come on,” he said, turning and walking away from the crowd that was gravitating towards where Atilleo was about to speak. “Galenna was right about one thing. We have an early morning tomorrow.”
Antrey said nothing and they walked back home in silence.
Chapter 5
The Grand Council met four times a year, once during each season, for eight weeks. The rest of the year the members of the Grand Council spent in their native lands, gathering information, fielding complaints, and formulating strategy for the next session. The spring session was the last one for the year and always had a feel that everyone was merely trying to get through the session and go home. New business was generally held over for the new year. Old business, either not very important or too inconvenient, simply withered on the vine.
The session did not officially start until seven before apex, but the chamber was a hive of activity well before that. None of the actual Grand Council members were present yet, but they were each represented by small armies of assistants, advisors, and hangers-on who milled about. Some were busy making ready for the session to start, while others spent the time renewing acquaintances with people they had not seen since the winter session had ended. Antrey was busy making repeated trips from Alban’s office to the chamber, assembling the supplies that he would need to record the day’s debates. She also brought out the freshly printed official record from the winter session so it would be easily available if someone needed to reference it.
There were no old acquaintances for Antrey to renew. Her presence in the chamber was simply an odd fact of life to those who did business there. It was only because she worked for Alban that she was able to set foot in the chamber at all. The events of the night before had driven that home.
He held an honored position and was held in great esteem by the members of the Grand Council and their staffs. Their sessions were not open to the public, so Alban was responsible for informing the masses about the debates among the Council members, how they voted, and what measures passed or failed. His attention to detail and obsessiveness with making sure the record was accurate were legendary. In addition to his current duties, Alban also went back through the records of his predecessor, who had a reputation for sloppiness and being too casual about his work, to try and make sense of some contradictions in them. In the decade Alban had been the clerk, he had made himself invaluable to the Grand Council.
The chamber of the Grand Council was a large, open, ornate room that looked and felt like the seat of great power. The vaulted ceiling was several stories high, allowing the chamber to unfold itself in a series of terraces beneath. A skylight on top of the vault, along with several high windows, allowed sunlight to fill the room all through the day. The room was outfitted with dark oak furniture, all brought in from the Arbor. Antrey had read about how that decision initially caused some stir amongst the Telebrians and Guilders, but they eventually decided not to fight about it. Instead, a compromise was reached, and most of the furniture was assembled by Guilders using equipment from Telebria and raw materials from the Arbor. It was the kind of arrangement that would become commonplace over the next century.
The only thing on the ground floor, aside from the speaker’s position, was Alban’s desk, where he took notes. From here he could provide the speaker with easy reference to what had been said before. The desk was large and covered in neat stacks of paper, arranged in Alban’s unique way. Antrey had a chair on the far side of the desk, where she sat and waited for instructions from Alban. It amused her that, for all the poor treatment to which she was subjected by the others, she was one of a handful of people who did their work on the floor of the Grand Council chamber.
Each member of the Triumvirate selected their members of the Grand Council differently. The Telebrian method made the most sense to Antrey. One of their Grand Council members was selected by parliament, one by the king. The third member had to be agreed upon by both parties. That division ensured a certain amount of sluggishness on the Telebrians’ part, because each of them represented a different faction in their government. When all the Telebrian factions agreed on one issue, however, they were a powerful voting bloc. It was nearly impossible to peel off one member to vote against his countrymen. The Telebrian members of the Grand Council were always men.
Given their situation, it amazed Antrey that the Confederation was ever able to select three people to represent them on the Grand Council. There were seven city-states that made up the Confederated States of the Arbor. Each had its own political system, some of them wildly different from one another. Every year, the leaders of the seven states met to select three people to send to the Grand Council. From the reports Antrey had read, the meetings could last as long as a week and had, more than once, broken down into hand-to-hand combat. Regardless, every year three new representatives from the Confederation made their way to Tolenor. Most of the Confederation members of the Grand Council were men, but Antrey had seen a few women take the post over the years.
As chaotic as the Confederation sounded when it came to its Grand Council members, at least Antrey could understand why. The selection method used by the Guilders baffled her to no end. Of the three seats, one was always held by the Master of the Guild of Soldiers, which represented the alliance’s birth in battle. For the other two seats, the Council of Masters, which ruled the Guildlands, did not make any attempt to select people to fill them. Instead, those seats were filled on a rotating basis by the Masters of two of the Guilds. The particular representatives changed every year. To Antrey, it seemed at odds with the Guilders’ reputation for rationality and the rigorous application of logic to leave the decision up to chance. Two of the current Guild representatives were women.
One member of the Grand Council served as president. On paper, the only power the president had was to organize the Grand Council’s agenda and oversee votes that were taken. In truth, the presidency was a very powerful position, if wielded by someone cunning enough to figure that out. It was unclear whether Atilleo, the current president, had learned that lesson yet.
~~~~~
The morning assembly, as was usually the case on the opening day of the Grand Council session, consisted mostly of routine procedural motions and meaningless speeches. Everyone involved knew that the actual business of the Grand Council would not begin until later that afternoon. It seemed like a waste of time to Antrey, the minutes given over to empty formalities. Alban had explained the importance of ritual to her before, the need for everyone involved to reorient themselves to the place and time they were in. It must mean more, and have more meaning, for those Councilors and staff who were new to Tolenor and the business of the place. At least Antrey knew what to expect.
Alban very nearly missed the beginning of the afternoon session. Business could not proceed without him, of course, so when Antrey noticed his absence, she went to find him. Rather than being positioned in the Grand Council chamber well before the president gaveled the session into order, Alban was sitting at the desk in his office, lost deep in thought over some open book.
Antrey stepped into the office and knocked lightly on the door frame. “Is everything all right, sir?”
“What?” Alban said, looking up towards her. He looked as if he had been roused from a deep sleep. “Oh, Antrey, it’s you. No, nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“The Grand Council is about to resume for the afternoon, sir,” Antrey said. “You weren’t in the chamber, so I came to see if there was something amiss.”
“No, no,” Alban said, closing the book in front of him. “I was just looking up something I was curious about.”
“From this morning?” Antrey asked, breaking his train of thought.
“What? No, of course not,” he said with a laugh. “Did anything actually happen this morning? No, it was something that came up at the Hare a few nights ago. It had slipped my mind until something this morning jogged my memory. But now, for the life of me, I can’t find it.”
“Very well, sir. The Grand Council resumes in ten minutes,” Antrey said, turning to return to the chamber.
“Ten minutes, yes. I’ll be there,” she heard Alban say as she walked away.
Antrey returned to the chamber and sat down next to Alban’s desk. As the members of the Grand Council and others slowly found their seats, Antrey kept a close eye on the clock perched on the corner of Alban’s desk. Alban finally appeared and took his seat with less than one minute to spare. He looked absentminded, as if his thoughts were occupied by something far away.
When everyone was in place, Atilleo descended to the speaker’s circle and began the afternoon with an ominous note. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Grand Council, I rise to speak today about a grave threat which our alliance faces, a grave threat to its security and, perhaps, its very existence.” Atilleo’s voice rang out in the chamber with just enough volume to give it an extra layer of gravity. “I speak not of the great Neldathi hordes of the south. The threat I will discuss this afternoon comes from the north, from the Badlands and those that roam them with impunity.”
When Atilleo paused to let the weight of his introduction sink in, there were audible groans from around the chamber. Antrey had been here long enough to know that the Azkiri, the nomads who rode through the Badlands, were not a popular topic of discussion.
In spite of the initial reaction, Atilleo continued undaunted. “I speak of the Azkiri, those wanderers who dwell well north of the sources of the great rivers. For too long they have preyed upon our citizens who live on the northern frontier. Azkiri raids into Triumvirate territory leave nothing but death, destruction, and ruin in their wake.”
“Only in your territory,” said Demaris, one of the Grand Council members, breaking into Atilleo’s speech. “We have no problems with the Azkiri.”
Atilleo turned to face his inquisitor. “With all due respect to my comrade from the Confederation, your situation is quite different from that of the Telebrians or even the Guilds. You have no territorial interest in the Badlands, which is your right. It is no coincidence that the only permanent settlement of these people, Azkyroth, lies north of the Confederation.”
“What are you implying?” Demaris asked, obviously aggravated.
“I imply nothing,” Atilleo replied, as if he were personally offended by the accusa
tion. “I only point out that, to casual observers, perhaps, or members of the press, it appears that the Confederation may view the Azkiri as citizens of just another great city-state. In doing so perhaps they underestimate the threat the Azkiri actually pose.”
Galenna jumped in when Atilleo finished his response. “Putting that to one side for a moment,” she said, steering the conversation away from insinuations, “I’m afraid I would have to agree with my colleague from the Arbor. The Azkiri aren’t the problem you make them out to be, President. In fact, the Azkiri in Guild territory were pacified several years ago. They pose no threat to us now.”
“Of course not, not at this very moment,” Atilleo said in response, completely calm. “The success of your pacification program was based on driving the Azkiri out of your territory and into ours. Their strength is not diminished, only relocated.”
Galenna was having none of it. “Our research suggests otherwise, President. According to observers, not just those from the Guild, the population of Azkiri in our territory is roughly the same as it was prior to the pacification. Battle losses play some role in that, I am sure, but only a minimal one. I can provide you with the studies if you wish, President.”
“That will not be necessary,” the Telebrian fired back, the veneer of civility slipping just a bit. “I am aware of your data. Our analysts have reviewed it. They come to different conclusions, that is all. Regardless, we do not have time now for arguments about such irrelevancies.”
Demaris jumped back into the conversation. “If that isn’t worth our time this afternoon, President, what is?”
Atilleo turned again to face him. “Our time this afternoon should not be spent questioning the reality of the threat, which is without serious dispute. Our time should be spent considering a solution. What are we to do with the Azkiri?”