“Your grace,” Latten Reed intervened with a thick voice. “My name is greater than that of Bellworth. Stonerunner Creek has the biggest levies next to Rivermark, as well as incomes… Rayken may have indeed saved you from sullying your hands, Soronius, but the bulk of that army was mine. The lords of Rainhall and Wellmoat have a history of changing sides, depending on how the wind blows in their favor.”
Bellworth made no effort to counter the man’s stinging words; to contradict his fellow streamlander. “The title of warden should be mine. While the lord of Rainhall’s crime was a service for you, your grace… he remains a turncloak in the eyes of the people – ”
“Your people,” Amarius cut him off in a stern voice. “But not in the eyes of the other realms. In any case, lord Reed, your honor is not that taller from his. My decision stands, and likewise, next to you stands your liege lord.”
“But, your grace – ”
“But nothing! Lord Reed, before all of us here and now, you will swear fealty to Rayken Bellworth – in his new dignity and honor as warden of the Midlands. You and all the other stream lords will answer to Rainhall. Is that clear?”
Latten Reed’s cheeks were red, as well as his ears and nose. Everyone else eyed the man with stern indifference, while lord Bellworth’s features betrayed neither kindness nor contempt. “I…” Latten Reed said with prideful difficulty. “Latten of house Reed, forth of my name, lord of Stonerunner Creek,” he sighed, “vow my fealty to Rayken Bellworth and his house, so help me gods.”
Amarius kept his humours in check; he made sure his eyes betrayed no sentiment of pleasure. However, he did feel a small amusement inside himself. “Very well done, my lord Reed. Be at ease. I do not wish to see you kneel, and I believe neither does our newly appointed warden. Now it’s time to reward your concert.”
Don’t worry, Latten. Your newly appointed liege isn’t getting all of it. It was always better to keep vassals in tension with one another. Thus, the Crown could mediate any dispute instead of opposing a coalition of disobedience. “Since Alder Abelbrooke has perished without any legal heir, you shall be granted Smalltown and one tenth of the incomes of all of Rivermark’s mills.”
In that moment, Rayken Bellworth’s eyes widened and his face turned pale. The lord of Stonerunner Creek, however, grinned in surprise and satisfaction. Before the new warden could open his mouth – to most likely protest – Amarius swiftly beckoned both of them to leave the council chambers. With one man smiling, the other frowning, the two stream lords did as they were bid. They got up, bowed and left… in silence.
Then Soronius turned his gaze to the lord of Ironmoat.
The son of Richard Tychos. The one who put Rivermark to the torch. Best not scold him for that on this occasion. “Ah, my lord… alas, your great father died a tragic death. A cursed arrow caught him in the throat at Oldmoons Gate. We had no idea then that lord Ceryl chose my brother’s side.”
Maynard Tychos, however, didn’t seem struck with grief at all; neither with the thirst to seek vengeance upon house Ceryl. In fact, he appeared very much indifferent to the news altogether. And who could blame the soulless cur for that? If his father had returned alive and well, Maynard would have been forced to relinquish the lordship of Ironmoat. No doubt the boy wouldn’t have liked that, not after tasting years of rule. Power is not easily forgotten or relinquished.
“He was a good man, your father – an honorable man. One who didn’t shy away from truth like others… like so many others.” Amarius looked directly at Valdez, remembering the day of his so-called trial. Remembering those lords who had turned their backs to him; while they had embraced Hagyai, the little usurper, as their new sovereign.
Though I’m required to forgive such transgressions, I will never forget them.
“I’ve arranged for his body, armor, and sword to be sent at Ironmoat for proper burial. I would also like to give you a purse of one thousand sovereigns… a token of my good will and respect for your house.” Amarius shifted uncomfortably in his seat before uttering the next words. “I will deliver the purse, as soon as I appoint a treasurer to make order in the imperial accounts. That may be some time.” A long time. “But I trust you are a man of patience, my lord.”
“Your grace is most generous,” said the young Maynard Tychos, though, in somewhat a crude voice. “I have a suggestion concerning Birus Mandon, if I may…”
Soronius nodded. “Let us hear it, then.”
“Alive, I think he represents a threat to the Crown. I suggest imprisonment, if not all out execution. That would be more effectual and permanent – ”
“On what grounds?” Erasmus Verwick intervened, slightly coughing. “His grace has already pardoned the hawk, has already received his oath of fealty. Imprisoning him would be highly unpopular; not just with the nobility, but with the commoners as well. House Mandon is an old and great name of the Empire’s history. It would be most unwise to meddle with him thus; for it would tell everyone that the emperor’s pardons are… ahem…” Verwick coughed violently. “It would tell everyone that the emperor’s pardons are just empty words.”
“Fine, fine,” Tychos the young said dismissively. “How about a simple assassination? Either an elusive crossbowman who kills him at a village fair, or a roaming pack of brigands that slay him on one of his hunts. It wouldn’t matter, so long as the deed is done properly. I’d even offer to do it myself.”
“No,” said Verwick – his bony fist slamming the table. “The five realms need peace. Birus Mandon is in no position to threaten us in any way. He is defeated and warden no longer. You’ve had your vengeance, Tychos; leave the hawk alone.”
“I agree,” said lord Valdez. “Best keep matters clean and honest. Amarius Mero will usher in a golden age; I’m certain of it. Isn’t that right, your grace?”
Soronius bit his lip and frowned at them, all of them. Good Richard, you’ve made such an arrogant whelp of a son. And I can’t tell if Jean-Maria is half honest in his flattery or not at all. Still, I have to decide on the matter. “The hawk of Rivermark is no threat, young Tychos. And that is final. You may leave us.”
The master of Ironmoat released a sigh of frustration; no doubt, understanding the position of his sovereign, that of his warden, and the futility of his own cause. Maynard got up, gave a stiff bow and left. Then only three of them remained. Gods have pity. This is so tedious and can’t end any sooner.
He turned next to the lord of Griffin Height. Jean-Maria Valdez had a keen smile on his face. Satisfaction and pride, of these two things his humours spoke of.
“My lord, you were the one who turned the captains of the imperial fleet to my cause. Without you, I wouldn’t have landed safely as I did. Thus, I must struggle to find a proper way to show my gratitude...” As well as to abstain my enmity for your past crime, for your past treason. “Rest assured though, you shall be the most honored, the most wealthy, and the most powerful of the southern lords.”
“That I already am, your grace,” Valdez replied in a soft voice, trying to appear humble and large at the same time. He obviously felt no shame for his past deed; and the lord of Griffin Height made no effort to conceal his strong position. To brandish the seminal aid of his house that had returned both crown and throne to the lawful heritor.
“I swear by the Three, that I will serve you with all my strength and courage – in all your affairs and goals. My house shall forever be your most obedient servant.” The man’s eyes flickered with a shy spark of wickedness inside them.
But not shy enough to escape my gaze. For now though, Amarius needed to keep his ire in check. Judicious use of mercy was the mark of a wise ruler. And of course, vengeance could wait a lifetime if necessary. I won’t forget you, Jean-Maria. Neither you, nor the others. Honorless dogs on a leash are not true friends.
Soronius respectfully inclined his head and beckoned the man to leave. The lord of Griffin Height did just that with silent grace. Then Amarius changed his focus to the dog-headed serpent. “M
y lord of Stoneweed, your liege lord has told me of your exploits into the Streamlands. And news I’ve heard from the lower ranks, as well. Though your forces were ultimately put to flight, you managed to loot and burn Mandon’s own castle. There is one thing I’d like to ask you, however.”
“Ask, your grace, and I will answer.”
The man’s features are hard as rock. No wonder they call him the lord of rocks. “Was it truly necessary to commit that profanity on lord Abelbrooke’s corpse? He was but an old man, after all. And to my knowledge, he was surrendering the castle in exchange for peace and pardon; he was trying to absolve his liege from my enmity.”
“Your grace, I am a blunt man and do not shy away from killing. All flesh bleeds the same; it makes no difference to me. Orders were given and I followed them. Savagery occurs in nature with very little respite, but no end. And I believe man is the most barbarous of creatures.” Tobias Findley cleared his throat before continuing. “The desecration of lord Abelbrooke’s body was not my idea, but that of lord Tychos. He had a personal feud with Birus Mandon. And thus, wanted to cause him grievous pain. It was both irony and tragedy at work, treachery and barbarity – slaughter and fire. Such was the nature of the order given, cruel, and the deed crueler still.”
A perfect devil of a subject, Amarius mused; lips curled in truth behind his stern humours. “My lord of Stoneweed, your words impress me; but at the same time they grieve me. I do not pretend to know the truth about the world and the vast sky beyond. The truth about men and gods. Rest assured, however, that I will bestow upon your house new rights and incomes. And I also add a yearly pension of one hundred sovereigns for the remainder of your days. I trust you wish to live long.”
“And well, your grace...”
That comment made Isador smile, though, it was a rather restrained effort on his part. He was not among equals. For now, at least. “We are done, then. You may leave us. Your liege lord and I have to discuss further on matters of state and intrigue.”
The dog-headed serpent got up, bowed respectfully and left the spire chambers.
“At last, we may talk freely, your grace,” old man Verwick said with a heavy voice. “It’s been so long since last I served you. Why, it’s as if yesterday I was your chancellor – begging you not to start that invasion of the Eastern Kingdoms. You didn’t listen…” He coughed. “You were always headstrong, but you turned more stubborn as you grew older. Eh, now you know where that got you.”
Amarius knew what the man was aiming at, and he didn’t like it. Erasmus Verwick had been his tutor, his guardian. He had helped him much from within the Empire during his exile. But the time spent in Harpool had changed him.
Humbled by his condition and having seen the realities of a slaver society, Amarius was ill-tempered no more... The teachings of the harpoolian religion were fatalistic. They claimed that all life was suffering, that the strong had the right to live as they pleased. And that the weak – by law of nature – had no power, no freedom, no rights… only a mandate of existence from their betters. Their sole purpose was to serve their masters without ever living a life of their own.
Any religion hostile to the idea of slavery was outlawed. Amarius had seen a few missionaries bearing the words of the Three, as well as the words of other gods from foreign lands, being burned at the stake in the town squares. Being stoned to death. Raped to death. Or thrown in the arenas to fight men and beasts alike in a bloody spectacle for the amusement of the crowds – of highborn as well as commoners. Since all life was suffering; humans, while cruel in their acts, were just following the law of nature. There is no good and evil, only fortune and poverty preordained. Or so they’d like us to believe such false a creed. Having had a slave of his own, Amarius finally understood the world and himself. Of course, he didn’t treat Isador like scum; the man was more to him than just a mere servant. He was a friend.
“Now, your grace,” said Verwick. “We must discuss what you owe to your lenders, the harpoolian slavers. What any plutocrat wants is freedom to do his business, his trade. No doubt there will be opposition; from the clergy, from the commons, and from some nobles. We can’t please everyone, now can we? But it matters not. Whoever possesses the necessary coin shall benefit from this change, from this new kind of trade of most valuable goods.” Verwick said the word with utter ease.
Too much ease...
“Now then, your grace; the Patriarch and Matriarch will arrive later this day for your audience to discuss your coronation. And no doubt, you will desire of them to give you a triumph. It might not go as quiet after you tell them of our plans, of our reforms. But they will have to accept, nonetheless. We are the ones holding all the swords, are we not?” The lord waited for him to chuckle, but Amarius felt no reason to do so.
“Well, then,” continued Verwick. “If there’s nothing else, I will go to my quarters and resume my work in the office of the chancellery.”
As the old man made the hard effort of raising himself from the chair, Soronius cleared his throat in disapproval. “Not just yet, my lord,” he said coldly. “I’ve a mind for other arrangements...” The old lord frowned, then frowned some more as the cough took over him. Unimpressed with the man’s affliction, Amarius continued to speak his mind. “You are not imperial chancellor, Erasmus, not anymore. And you won’t be my steward either.”
“But, Amarius – ”
“Your grace!” Soronius replied sharpish; glaring at this old man whose ambition still writhed even in his frail health. “Look yourself in the mirror, my lord. You are old. You are feeble. But you are a most formidable adversary. With you in power, Rovines overthrew me. When him and his son failed to take any of your girls to marry, you had him unseated to favor my cause and claim. Nothing else. You are a vengeful man, Erasmus. Now I understand that strange bond between you and the lord of Stoneweed. Tobias Findley somehow managed from that backwater seat of his to secure in your name the allegiance required for my return. It takes a devil’s heart to know another, I guess; to recognize prodigious cunning.” Amarius paused and sighed. He didn’t wish to appear an ingrate; but neither the fool.
“Things won’t be as you’ve imagined them, my lord. You should retreat to your own estates and there tend to your health. Mayhaps contemplate the pure white clouds in the blue sea above, or watch a peaceful meadow being caressed by the soft wind, or see a beautiful red sunset. Tend to your orchards and vineyards. The Empire is now in my hands; and rest assured I have good and honest council to guide me in my rule.”
“Whom do you have!?”
“You see him standing next to me.”
Isador inclined his head, eyes lowered.
“What!? Your slave!?” Verwick shouted in scornful astonishment, his hands trembling from weakness and anger. “A lowly menial cannot serve in such honor and station!”
“But of course, you have the right of it.” Amarius turned to the quiet and humble Isador. “My friend, you are no longer my slave or anyone else’s. From this moment on, you are a free man. Will you serve me as imperial chancellor?”
Short and middle-aged Isador knelt with all due reverence. “There will be no creature more truthful, loyal, and helpful to your grace than this humble one who stands before you now, head bowed and eyes lowered. I so do swear.”
“Good man.” Then before Erasmus Verwick could cough some more in protest, Amarius rose from his chair and uttered the words of the last boon he would give. The boon he could honor, for it didn’t require money. “My lord warden, you will abide by the emperor’s will, for mine is law. To return the favor you showed me, I will marry one of your daughters. I know you have many. The rest of them may come live at court as members of my wife’s household.”
The last time Amarius had seen the Verwick girls had been many years ago. And his memory of them was quite hazy. He hoped that at least one of the unwed flowers would prove decently fair. If not, he could always find himself several paramours to amend such insufficiency in trait and aspect.
“We shall discuss more on the matter after I settle the affairs of the realm. I know you desire a wedding as soon as possible, but that would be improper. It will have to wait until after my coronation. My lord Erasmus, that is all. Come, Isador. You have to be properly instated in your new high office.”
With that said, they left the old man alone at the table. In the poor state he was in, Verwick had to call for several grooms to help him on his feet. Amarius was tired of giving so many promises to ambitious lords, but there were still two more people left; special people who, no doubt, would demand boons of their own. There was still enough time before the arrival of the Empire’s holiest faces, and Isador would require a list of the emperor’s orders to carry out.
After the former slave was granted appropriate garments alongside the chain and seal of high office, Amarius invited him to his private chambers, to discuss the matters over a hot meal. His dealings with the six lords had left him hungry. They had rabbit baked in milk, mildly seasoned in salt with onions and green peppers. The dish was a common choice for the high clergy’s sensitive stomachs, for that was what they usually ate when they didn’t keep to their fasts. It was either that or fish. The Patriarch and Matriarch would be served the same, whilst staying for the night at Castle Spire.
His cupbearer, Anthony – the youngest son of lord Lukanus – poured them the wine. Isador wanted only water, but Amarius insisted. “Drink. Your emperor wills it.” And he drank; one small sip at a time.
“Your grace, we must discuss matters of finance between yourself and the harpoolians. ’Tis a debt of one million sovereigns, and that’s not counting the money owed to your mercenary bands; that figure alone is one hundred thousand. A good thing there was no actual war for them to fight in, otherwise the sellswords would have demanded higher recompense.”
An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1) Page 32