Requiem for the Sun (29 page)
Read Requiem for the Sun Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
“However difficult that may ultimately prove to be.”
He raised a hand to the assemblage; all those who were adherents of the Patrician faith of Sepulvarta bowed reverently. Only the Diviner, Achmed, Rial, and the King of Golgarn remained standing straight, in polite silence. The Patriarch then bowed slightly to Ashe, who, as Lord Cymrian, was titular head of both the church of Sepulvarta and the faith of the Filids, the nature priests of Gwynwood.
“Nielash Mousa will serve his nation well as the church's representative,” he said softly. “And I do not wish in any way to overshadow his authority here.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Well, then, Lord Gwydion, please commend me to your lady wife. I must be on my way.”
Ashe cleared his throat nervously. “If you would entreat the All-God on her behalf when you perform the midsummer ritual, I would be most grateful,” he said quietly.
The sharp blue eyes of the Patriarch narrowed. “Is she ill?”
The Lord Cymrian shook his head. “With child.”
Constantin considered for a moment, then patted Ashe's shoulder.
“I will offer prayers for her each day of her confinement until your child is born,” he said seriously. “If she takes ill, send for me. I learned some things long ago that might aid her.”
Ashe bowed deeply. “Thank you.”
The Patriarch, his face still solemn, signaled to his retinue and took his leave of Jierna'sid.
I
t was only matter of moments after the Patriarch had departed before the ugly nature of what was to play out became evident.
t was only matter of moments after the Patriarch had departed before the ugly nature of what was to play out became evident.
Hours into the discussions, that ugliness had taken root and begun to grow.
It began with the contention put forth by the nobility, the counts who had
been given right of stewardship of the city-states by the empress or her ancestors. Though unrelated to the familial line, the noble families had served for generations as titular heads of those states.
been given right of stewardship of the city-states by the empress or her ancestors. Though unrelated to the familial line, the noble families had served for generations as titular heads of those states.
The death of the empress who had granted them their titles had given them opportunity to cement that stewardship into something more autonomous.
“The empire is no more,” stated Tryfalian, Count of Keltar, the third-largest of the Sorbold city-states. “You heard the Blesser state it: the Dynasty of the Dark Earth has come to an end. Every man with so much as a drop of the dynastic line in his veins was been weighed, and to a one, all were found wanting. There is no emperor, no empress, to command Sorbold as a nation. The empire has ceased to exist. What remains now are only the twenty-seven states, each with its own governance. It is here in which order lies.” His eyes glittered as he looked over the assemblage. “It is here that it should stay.”
“What are you saying?” demanded Fhremus, commander of the imperial army. “Are you suggesting that Sorbold be broken into twenty-seven pieces?”
“Not twenty-seven. There are nine major city-states: Keltar, Jakar, Nicosi, Baltar, Remaldfaer, Kwasiid, Ghant, Telchoir, and of course Jierna. The others are too small to be considered able to stand on their own, to support an army â”
“You are proposing to dismantle the
army?”
Fhremus shouted over the dozen and a half voices that rose in objection from the counts of the smaller city-states Tryfalian had just invalidated.
army?”
Fhremus shouted over the dozen and a half voices that rose in objection from the counts of the smaller city-states Tryfalian had just invalidated.
“Not to dismantle, Fhremus, merely to reassign, reapportion.”
“You're insane!” The commander's chair screeched sharply as he leapt to his feet, only to be drawn gently back down into it by a tap on the shoulder from the benison.
“Actually, it has worked quite well for us,” inserted Viedekam, representative of the southern coastal region known as the Nonaligned States. “Penzus, like each of the other Nonaligned States, maintains its own army, its own naval fleet, its own tax and tariff structure, which differs substantially from some of the other states', particularly the landlocked ones. The autonomy has been extremely beneficial to each of the member states, allowing it to determine its own destiny.”
“And, judging by the wealth and influence the Nonaligned States exert on the world, you will only continue to consider that independence beneficial, I'm sure,” snorted Tristan Steward contemptuously, drawing glares from the counts, Viedekam, and Ashe. “It was precisely the example of the Nonaligned States that convinced Roland to band together under a single regency, so that we might not continue be a loose and messy conglomeration of conflicting laws and priorities. In the three years since the consolidation of the provinces of Roland, we have found great economy, efficiency, and, above all,
strength
in unity, while retaining the provincial autonomy. Sorbold has that now. Why would you compromise it?”
strength
in unity, while retaining the provincial autonomy. Sorbold has that now. Why would you compromise it?”
“Thank you, chieftain, m'lord,” said Nielash Mousa blandly, lifting a hand to forestall the angry chorus of replies rising from the nobility. “Mayhap it would be best to ask if there is any faction within Sorbold that would like to respond to the proposal that Tryfalian had placed on the table.”
“Allow me to do so,” said Ihvarr, the eastern Hierarch, smoothly, but with evident anger bubbling beneath his calm manner. “Talquist and I can assure you that a nation with the size and scope of Sorbold would fall to chaos under such a plan.”
“Why?” demanded Damir, the Count of Jakar. “As the westernmost province, I have had little to do with Jierna Tal for the last twenty years. I am all but autonomous already.”
“Perhaps,” acknowledged Talquist, Hierarch of the guilds and shipping compacts in the western region and, like Ihvarr, a heavyset man with broad shoulders and skin burnished in the sun. “And you have been a fair and well-respected ruler, Damir. But, for all that I have been the one supplying you with workers for your salt and sulfur mines, transporting your goods, and building your city, my trade agreement was with the empress. I worked for the Crown, not, with respect, for you. If I had to negotiate trade agreements, exchange tariffs, make security arrangements, and all other sort of terms with you, and each of the twelve counts to whom I supply these things, I would go mad.”
“As would I,” added Ihvarr.
“But think of the advantage your shipping lines would have under such an arrangement, Talquist,” said Kaav, the Count of Baltar. “You could sit in consultation with the rulers of the coastal states and persuade them to deploy a larger percentage of their forces to defend the shipping lanes, and they would be a more sympathetic audience to your request than the empress, who had to protect an entire realm, with far more land than sea.”
“Leaving my workers unprotected?” Ihvarr demanded. “I will brook none of that. Then who will you find to ply your copper, anthracite, and silver mines, Kaav? Who would transport your goods? For surely I will have no dealing with you if you cannot protect my assets with armed forces.”
“And where do you propose to find these forces?” Fhremus asked bitterly. “Remember, the might of the Sorbold army comes from two factorsâcommonality of purpose and love of our native land. Not to mention loyalty to the empress, may her soul fly freely among the clouds. I gainsay this plan because it will divide us, state to state, column to columnâand we are weaker divided.”
“Nonesuch,” said Tryfalian angrily. He glared at Fhremus, his eyes lighting on the foreign dignitaries assembled in the outer circle. “And I charge you, man, do not again utter such treasonous words in the presence of those who might wish to take advantage of them.”
Beliac, King of Golgarn, snapped to attention from what had previously been a somewhat drowsy state. “I resent that,” he bellowed, rising from his chair. “We are here in this damnable heat, listening to your endless prattle, because Golgarn is your ally, not your enemy. I came to pay my respects to my longtime friend the empress, and her son, and to offer my support to the new rulership. And for this you insult me.”
“Apologies, Majesty,” Nielash Mousa said quickly. “No insult was intended, I assure you; we are grateful for your presence, and for that of all of Sorbold's true friends.”
He turned, his eyes containing a clear look of despair, to the inner circle.
“I have a suggestion,” he said to the divided group of nobles, soldiers, and merchants. “The Scales can weigh ideas as well as men. When the first emperor was chosen at the end of the Cymrian War, a colloquium similar to this one met, with many of the same concerns, expressed by the same factions. A symbol for each of the factions was placed on the Scales against the Ring of State. The scales weighed in favor of the military, whose goal was to see a single, united Sorbold, so it was from there that the emperor was ultimately chosen. I suggest that, as it is almost midnight, this might further the discussion to a better conclusion.”
Stony silence answered him. Then, after a moment, heads nodded grudgingly, and the various factions adjourned to select their symbols and plot their next moves.
A
chmed waited until the inner circle had dispersed, then rose from his seat, pushing his chair back into the table. Ashe, sitting beside him, with Tristan Steward to his left, ran a hand through his draconic red-gold hair, which gleamed with a metallic sheen in the torchlight, then put his forehead down on the table.
chmed waited until the inner circle had dispersed, then rose from his seat, pushing his chair back into the table. Ashe, sitting beside him, with Tristan Steward to his left, ran a hand through his draconic red-gold hair, which gleamed with a metallic sheen in the torchlight, then put his forehead down on the table.
“Gods,” he groaned.
“No, I have no doubt these are mere mortals,” Achmed said. “Well, best of luck with it.”
“You're leaving?” Ashe asked incredulously as the Bolg king gathered his belongings.
Achmed nodded. “I made an appointment with the master of the empress's stable, and a bill of tender for the benison to sign before he collapses under
the weight of all the stupidity being flung about here. I don't want to keep the stablemaster waiting any longer than I already have.”
the weight of all the stupidity being flung about here. I don't want to keep the stablemaster waiting any longer than I already have.”
Ashe sighed. “Well, then, perhaps we can talk when you when you return.”
“I am not going to return. I have a cramp in my leg, a horse to buy, and a few hours of sleep to steal before I leave for Ylorc on the morrow.”
The Lord Cymrian sat up straight, thunderstruck. “You're leaving? Before this is decided?”
Achmed took a breath. “It could be days, weeks, before a solution is reached here. I have some important things to attend to in Ylorc, and no time to wait around for these fools to sort out their petty differences.”
“I have to admit that I am amazed,” Ashe said, a tone of wonder mixing with the aggravation in his voice. “You, more than any single member of the Alliance save my paranoid uncle, are utterly distrustful of Sorbold â for good reason, given that it borders your lands. Don't you feel at least some need to stay and see what comes to pass here?”
“I don't think so. Whatever happens is going to be for ill,” Achmed said gravely. “Any outcome from this will be something with which we must deal, and prepare ourselves to survive. Watching it come about, being there at the moment it hatches, would only be deliberately dip the open wounds on my hands in salt water. While it's pretty to think that something I might have to say would tip the scales, it won't.”
“Well, there's a positive outlook,” remarked Tristan Steward, rising from the table as well and smoothing out his trousers.
“Go get another glass of wine, Tristan,” Ashe said sharply. “Your comments at this colloquium have been bothersome, to the point of being embarrassing.”
Steward stared at the Lord Cymrian in shock that molded in a matter of seconds into fury, then glared at the Bolg king and departed.
“Stay, please,” Ashe said to Achmed when Tristan was out of earshot. “Your counsel may be of great benefit.”
“No. I came to listen, not to speak,” the Bolg king replied.
“But what are your thoughts? I want to hear them.”
Achmed rolled his eyes. “I am not your advisor, Ashe. If pressed to weigh in, if you will excuse the expression, I would lean in favor of stability, at least for my purposes, because there are many trade agreements and peace accords in place currently that would need renegotiating. They were a bother to enact in the first place, so multiplying that nuisance many times over might insure that it does, in fact, not happen again.
“More than that, a united Sorbold is worrisome enough. Sorbold in tatters would be worse; one can only imagine what would rise from a broken land where the army considers itself a faction in the decision-making process of
selecting a new leader. If you did not shudder when that commander stood up and objected as if he were a head of state, you are a fool.”
selecting a new leader. If you did not shudder when that commander stood up and objected as if he were a head of state, you are a fool.”
“I did.”
“Well, you must understand, then, that no good is coming out of this. This dynasty didn't end because everything was going well. These tables aren't here because everyone is feasting a new monarch. Either the army will slaughter them all, or the merchants will have their thumbs on the scales, or the governors will break the empire by just going home. Whatever accord appears to be passed, whatever pleasantries exchanged, whatever support the losers in the contest demonstrate for the winners, this will end badly. It's inevitable.” He turned to go, looking back only for a moment.
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