by Warren Fahy
Stunned whispers hissed in the hall as the fires crackled. Not one seconded his motion.
“Good Ameulintians, I do not mean to curtail our debate. I wonder, however, what debate there could be?” Blox waved the fish back and forth in his invisible hand, and Lelinair smiled mildly beside him. The image rendered listless both opposition and consent.
Nil glared at Blox, and Blox felt murder in the mariner’s eyes, for that kind of stare is unmistakable between men. Nil looked away from him at Lelinair, who once again refused to meet his eye, and the anger nearly burst his ribcage.
Artimeer rose and stole the moment. He held up his long-fingered right hand, the white opal glowing pink through his fingertips. “I do indeed debate not anything but everything in your statement, Mayor of Gwylor! And it would be best if you showed patience, therefore, and heard all argument on this matter as well as all the other matters set before us over these two days, as is custom and law. Congresses are formed so disagreements may be heard and violence avoided, after all. No, do not be alarmed, young man, at my talk of Ameulintian traditions or seek to make much of my candor. If you had lived as long as I, your ear would be as frank as my tongue.” Artimeer surmised that Blox was much older than him and therefore goaded him with it.
A fracture of laughter broke the frozen silence, encouraging a round of applause.
Blox smiled respectfully as Rishen wrote down the names of those who had applauded. Only Artimeer could clearly see the hateful frown on Blox’s true face.
Artimeer continued. “There is much to say on this matter you have chosen to begin with, O Mayor. And I, Artimeer of Nop, as well as many here I will call in due course, have much to say and much to argue. I agree it is most urgent—so urgent it requires this Congress’s fullest examination, in all its regards, in exhaustive detail, to avoid any missteps in its handling that could result from hasty votes. Those in favor of debating, now say ‘Aye!’” Artimeer raised his hand, and even many in Blox’s camp cried “Aye!” at his imperious gesture.
“Those against, say ‘Nay,’” Blox called, and a spasm of timid “Nays” spluttered out. “Motion carried by Artimeer of Nop.” Blox sneered.
Artimeer took his seat.
“Let me begin then!” Blox said. “It seems a review of the facts is necessary to some here at this table though the matter is settled in most people’s minds. Let us remind ourselves that our young King has not once set foot upon our shores since he was crowned. He doesn’t wish to be our King! He scorns Ameulis. Meanwhile, my great Lord Nekkros, in whose towering shadow we humbly wait, bends all of his power to make the way for his gracious descent to our abandoned throne. Ameulis has not left Nekkros’s thoughts since he gazed from on high and beheld our orphaned land. And he has chosen to come down from that realm of immortals to walk among us as our king. Do we repay his divine charity by dragging our own derelict King from the depths of his depravity to place in his way? Do we reject this great god who comes to us in love so that he must find insult sitting in his seat?”
“This great god you speak of, young man,” Artimeer grumbled. “You make much of your far away champion!”
There was a two-edged growl in the air.
“I make much of much more than I make, old philosopher,” countered Blox. “Nekkros shall come soon. And may mercy save the unbeliever from his terrible eyes.”
“Always the threat,” marked Artimeer. “The Ameulintian heart does not shy from threats, you should know, young Mayor. Nay, and call it foolish if you will, it does not even shy away from those threats made by gods. You would do better to remember it. But answer me why Nekkros demands love at the point of a sword if his heart is so great?”
Both of Blox’s faces flinched. I should have silenced this old man’s tongue long ago, he thought. “I do not judge Nekkros,” he said. “Perhaps there are those here who would. They will have their chance to make plain where they stand, and their names will be recorded in the Ledger and remembered.”
“Thank you, Mister Mayor, we are all aware of the consequences to expect from your god who would be King and who has his servant keep a ledger of his foes,” Artimeer said. “We know how eager he is to punish those who would not obey him, and yet we wonder what delays him? Does a god have affairs to close up when relocating to Hala?”
There was a wave of laughter.
Blox smiled. “You are old, Artimeer. It is easy to make such talk when the security of the grave is like an open door to the impregnable castle of death in which one might hide from harm. There are those younger here, however, and generations unborn. They should not do well to take your example and make light of Nekkros.”
“And you should not make so light of the present King of Ameulis, Trevin Gheldron, the son of Selwyn and grandson of Elwyn, who vanquished the Red Wrath himself and banished that wicked god from Hala,” Artimeer said, rising and raising his Voice-Stone.
A cheer rose from many delegates now, and Blox was incensed.
Artimeer continued. “You have thought to digest that fish and spit out only the sharp bones, O Mayor! The King did not mean that fish to feed one but his whole Kingdom with his news. So it is good I have my own draft of the King’s missive. Now I shall read it for the record.” Surprised exclamations echoed around the table as Artimeer produced from his robes a small black nautilus shell that had been found in the belly of a tiger shark. He peered through a magnifying crystal at the spiraling white words engraved on the shell: “Ameulis, I have wronged you and myself to the profit of an ancient evil that preys upon us both. I have delivered myself to Drewgor, and can but warn you of his coming. If you brave my terrible sea and pull me from the Lightstone Tower beneath the waves off Dimrok, I promise you justice.” Artimeer lifted the shell for all to see as an uproar rose. “What great power hath the King!” he proclaimed. “Think of it! He called a legion of the sea’s creatures to him and embossed his message on their sleek hides, counting on the mariners of Ameulis to bring them forth inside their nets. And so we know that he has fallen into a trap most foul inside his toppled tower, the very quarry that the horrors in our southern seas were meant to trap! Between him and us lie the terrors, daring us to do a thing about it. Yet Trevin warns us of an ancient evil—indeed he uses a name not spoken in centuries, one Elwyn himself would never speak. For it was Drewgor who took Elwyn from us four centuries ago!”
An unforgotten fear passed through the room, and the undecided vote began to shift in Artimeer’s favor.
“We should heed such news from a Cirilen,” the old sage cried. “We must not forget who vouchsafed our freedom all those years ago with his life!”
Blox glowered at Artimeer, disguising his contempt from everyone else.
But Artimeer continued: “Imagine what advantage this ancient evil has had over such a young king. Nay, it is certain that Trevin is the prey of something cool, old, and wicked, my friends. A Cirilen may live a thousand years, and Trevin has lived but 24. Does it not seem uncharitable, and even uncivilized, for our Mayor to ready the next King’s dinner before our youthful lord’s breakfast? Indeed, the chances of rescuing him are slim as a further examination of the Terrors will surely show. But without Trevin the throne of Ameulis is vulnerable to any god who chooses to descend on us, good or evil. We must vote to give Ameulis any small chance to escape the tyrant Blox predicts will fly upon us willy-nilly without the courtesy Elwyn showed when he went down on bended knee to ask if Ameulintians would have him for their liege. Only with King Gustomeer’s blessing did Elwyn marry Gustomeer’s daughter Apricia, who was descended from Gieron himself. Even by denying his reign, our young King Trevin has proven his allegiance to us! Do we not owe that allegiance in return to the House of Gheldron, which has devoted itself to our protection for 500 years?”
The Loyalists clamored now, roused to confidence, and many Nekkrosites complained that Artimeer had spoken too long.
“Let Blox speak!” yelled one.
“Let Lelinair speak!” said another.
/> A mixed chorus agreed, and yet Blox did not yield his stone. “Artimeer should make stained glass,” he said. “So do his words paint windows with pretty fables and ancient history. Let us wipe the window clean and look together into truth’s garden, Ameulintians! After seven years our wayward King now invents a reason for us to attempt his rescue and invokes an ancient evil, easily enough, as his excuse. And not even an original story does he offer, but one all too ready to call to his service. And this supposes Trevin is really in some danger. I cannot but think he issues us an invitation only now that his hideous carnival is complete in order to amuse himself with our suffering. Are we to satisfy our morbid king by sending our best into the harm he has put in their way? I should think no Ameulintian would do this—not for a king or for a god.”
This shook the undecided, couched cleverly in Artimeer’s terms and Ameulintian tropes.
Artimeer interceded. “I call upon Marnik of the Highlands to give his testimonial,” the philosopher cried, and he threw the fiery opal with expert precision across the table to the Delegate from Wirtun Downs. Artimeer never used the grooves in the table to pass the Voice Stone, and Marnik caught it in one hand.
A carrying ‘Aye!’ confirmed his pass as the stone glowed in Marnik’s hand.
The farmer swallowed. A clever but honest man who had invented a more efficient plow and gained a small fortune manufacturing them, he had gained his small constituency in the process. “If not for Trevin,” he said, “my own dear children would have been murdered by the Nekkrosites three years ago.” He raked his field-green eyes across the table. “Trevin scared them off, aye, on the night they were taken. My beautiful twins, boy and girl, told me that the King came out of the midnight sky and set upon the gathering who were about to burn them on a pyre. And he sent the Nekkrosites running over the hills.”
“Ho, ho!” Blox shook his head. “Thank you, Marnik of Wirtun Downs! We have noted your views, and your name. It seems that we may add children to Trevin’s witnesses now? Let us hear the testimony of adults now, if you please. Let us hear from our mariners and their tales of terror on the southern sea.”
No mariner would answer, thought Artimeer, grinning wide at Blox. It was a miscalculation. Yet Captain Nedry Skylar of the Green Ghost garnered enough votes for the stricken Poladoris’s stone and took it now from the former Mayor, rising from his seat.
“I can say as well as any mariner, Mister Mayor, fewer sailors have died in the southern waters since Trevin was crowned King.”
Blox rose angrily. “That is nonsense!”
“I have a copy of the King’s Maritime Almanac right here, Mister Mayor.” Captain Skylar showed the delegates the book and opened it to where his thumb marked a page, consulting a table. “There were 127 men lost in the southern waters in the last seven years. There were 368 in the seven years prior to that. In fact, the only time there were as few deaths in those waters was when Trevin was a lad living on the Dimrok, when the King’s dreaming spirit is said to have saved many a wretched sailor from the deep.” The captain winked and closed the Almanac. “The truth is no one ventures into those cursed waters unless brought there by misfortune, out of respect for the King. Those who have defied his warning have paid dearly, it is true. But more men die in the surrounding waters, and that is the fact, round and neat! His islands, if they are his, mark almost all the dangerous reefs where our ships used to founder. Adding to that, the sea monster Knot was slain by Trevin seven years ago. And Trevin’s ghost still comes down from the heavens to aid sailors in distress to this day. The truth is tallied! And the Almanac never lies.” Skylar waved the book as he took his seat.
Blox glared at the captain. “Statistics, speculations and superstitions we now have to add to the tales of children. Thank you for that, Nedry Skylar.” He nodded at Rishen, who wrote his name on his unspooling list. “Well then: commerce!” Blox cried, as if he cared about commerce. He did not, but Rishen passed him a note suggesting that he mention it. Blox quickly learned to use any argument that suited the moment. “Our fishers have suffered, our trade routes are blocked!”
“Bulgar Bedrosium,” Skylar shouted, and he slid his stone down the long table to the merchant who had chartered his trading expeditions to Norlania. A solid voice vote sanctioned the pass.
“I can speak to that!” Bulgar caught the stone and rose without increasing his height by much though he revealed his considerable girth. “As the largest trader of Gwylor—with the most ships trading—I can confirm that the obstacles guarding the Dimrok have been less harm to business than the endless storms and taxes besieging our business. The bad weather claims more mariners and the taxes more trade than all the terrors that have trapped our fair King put together.”
“Trapped? Trapped, did you say?” Blox seethed. “It seems Lord Bedrosium believes as does Artimeer and Captain Skylar that Trevin is the quarry of his very own trap!”
“You said it more neatly.” Bulgar bowed and took his seat to general laughter as Blox signaled Rishen to add Bulgar’s name to the scroll.
“Let Rishen speak!” A number of votes came from the Nekkrosites.
“Let Lelinair speak!” A growing number of voices agreed.
Blox finally passed his Voice-Stone to Rishen.
All the Nekkrosites seconded the motion, though all else scowled.
Lelinair smiled inscrutably beside Blox and even met his eyes reassuringly as he sat down. Many saw it and whispered dread around the table.
“I think it necessary to point out the utter futility of debating this issue in the first place,” said Rishen. “The Wizard’s Archipelago is impenetrable. And we only know of a few of the Terrors that surround the Dimrok. The others we do not know of are surely equally horrifying. The Gyre cracks ships and feasts upon their crews. A crystal colossus snatches vessels in its claws. Some say that three islands peak from under a permanent fog from which no ship has ever returned. East of the Dimrok lie two islands, one of fire and one of ice, with a frozen strait that grinds like dragon’s teeth between them. Ravenous currents sweep wayward ships through the channel, where, if they survive, they are dashed over the southern reefs. With all of that, how little do we know?” Rishen raised his arms dramatically. “Captain Skylar has shown how seldom traveled these waters are. To sacrifice one life for this young King who has forsaken his subjects is outrageous enough. But to allow a rescue mission to be launched, knowing how desperate and futile the effort must be is senseless and cruel. Remember, there were three expeditions to the Dimrok, and all came to a bitter end.”
“Bah! It isn’t hopeless,” Nil growled, despite his better judgment and his lack of a Voice-Stone. No politician was Nil Ramesis.
Rishen thought he noticed Lelinair flinch at Nil’s voice, and he took the opportunity. “Please, Mariner. Nil Ramesis, of the august House of Martharr, our new representative of the southern mariners, what have you to add to this Congress?”
“Nothing. I speak without a stone and beg forgiveness,” Nil said, nodding his head to the gathering.
Rishen slid his stone over the long table, and Nil caught it as it passed. Both Nekkrosites and Loyalists carried Rishen’s motion.
“Tell us, Mariner, why you think the rescue of Trevin is possible,” Rishen said. “It is of obvious interest to us all.”
Nil rose and impressed the gathering, modestly dressed though he was. He leveled his dark eyes at Lelinair, who smiled, vaguely looking at the wall over Nil. “My tongue is too rough, perhaps, for this place,” he said. “But as a mariner, I tell you anything is possible on the sea. Let us hear what the Lady Martharr has to say. I wish to hear whether she approves of such a mission. What say you, Lady Martharr?” Nil slid the stone down the sleek groove in the table to her.
Lelinair took the glowing stone and slowly rose as the voice vote approved Nil’s motion. “I wish to hear from you instead, Nil Ramesis.” With a fluid stroke she slid the stone back along the narrow, polished groove to Nil.
Nil angrily snatc
hed the stone, ready to rise, when he felt its jagged edge.
He looked at her, but she still did not meet his eye.
“Mariner? Twice the stone has been offered to you and you do not use it,” Rishen said. “What have you to say with the voice of your constituency? We are all most eager to hear their voice today!”
“Bulgar,” Artimeer whispered. “Give your stone to Blox and let him speak.”
Bulgar’s eyes bulged in incomprehension, but, with another sharp look from Artimeer, he slid his stone from the base of the pyramid down the central groove. It spun backwards the length of the table to the Mayor. “Let Blox speak!”
Perplexed, Blox grabbed the stone but had nothing prepared, and that is when Artimeer rose with his stone, stealing the moment, again. “We are most fortunate to have among us an ambassador of great significance to this Congress, whose people, when Elwyn ruled our lands in common, called this hearth home. Rollum Skyaarmindu-Kaaryn, Prince of Norlania, has come a great distance, and not for idle purpose. Let us hear his tidings.” Artimeer flung his stone across the table to Rollum.
Rollum rose and caught the glowing pebble, looking around the room with a gentle manner as a near unanimous vote welcomed him. “Good Mayor of Gwylor and gracious host of this Congress, I am coming here to Gieron’s table to be telling of omens besieging the dreams of our wise women, who are feeling a great enemy preparing to be storming the world and hailing from the south. So disturbing their dreams are seeming to them that they are refusing to be eating for 40 days until Norlania’s Queen is sending me, her eldest son, so I may be telling their warning to you now.”
“Ah!” Blox said. “The prospect of Trevin’s salvation is dreaded by the prophets of Norlania. You were right to travel here, young Prince. We thank you! Your action might well have prevented these grim prophecies from coming true by convincing this council to give up the wild notion of rescuing Trevin.”
“The prophets are speaking of ancient evil,” Rollum said. “Even as your young King is speaking of ancient evil that we remember in Norlania, too well. Our wise women say the enemy’s color is blood-red—like Drowgore, long ago.”