The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (12 page)

Jak frowned. The baron had spent more care wording his statement than a one-eyed, half-blind woman would threading a needle.

The soft, melodic voice of Duchess Aleece suddenly cut through chamber.

“I agree with Lord Treswell.”

Noticeably wary, Lord Treswell nodded his head, appearing surprised to have elicited the agreement of the duchess. Lord Tilas nodded as well, staring at the duchess as if he were a hunter wandering the woods, trying to remember where he had placed his own snare.

After a moment, Lord Tilas said, “You do, my Lady?”

The duchess nodded, saying, “Oh, yes. Quite so. Everett could never answer a request for aid if none were sent forth.” Her tone shifted, turning harder suddenly. “Which I can only conclude means Vanson has sent none.” Turning to stare directly at Lord Tilas, Duchess Aleece said pointedly, “Tell me something, Tilas. Why has Vanson not replied to any of the messages sent to him by Rholeb or me? We’ve been more than polite in our requests for clarification regarding the refugees.”

Jak sensed a trap being set.

Turning her stare on Joshmuel and Boah, the duchess added, “Also, it puzzles me why two Borderlanders would travel so far to beg for help if none were needed. You claim they are mad, Tilas. I think they look perfectly sound. Which means—if we are to believe your words—that they are lying.”

Lord Tilas shook his head vigorously, saying, “Lying or mad, my Lady, what difference—”

Swiveling her head, the duchess glared hard at the Borderlands baron.

“I was
not
finished speaking, Tilas!”

Lord Tilas closed his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together.

Duchess Aleece held her gaze on the baron, daring the man to respond. When he wisely remained quiet, she turned away, sweeping her gaze around the entire balcony. Jak had the sudden impression he was watching a playman’s show. Whatever was happening here was as much for the observers as it was for the council.

The duchess, her eyes scanning the room, called, “Ample evidence of a mass exodus from the Borderlands abounds despite Lord Tilas’ feckless denials! What could possibly cause so many people flee their homes?!” Pausing for effect, she sat forward, rested her elbows on the table, and asked, “A better question, yet, is why Lord Tilas would make claims that seem utterly contrary to the truth?”

Her words caused another uproar amongst the crowded gallery, louder this time. Duke Kyle began to shout through the din, trying to quiet the chamber.

As the crowd buzzed, Jak turned to Sergeant Trell and muttered, “What is going on?”

“It would seem the duchess is within a thread of charging Lord Tilas of lying.” Gesturing around the balcony, he said, “Based on their reaction, it would seem that is a rather serious accusation.”

Leaning forward, Zecus said vehemently, “But he
is
lying! I saw the oligurts and razorfiends there myself!” The passion in Zecus’ tone startled Jak. The Borderlander was normally a quiet, reserved man.

Sergeant Trell nodded and fixed a hard glare on Zecus.

“Yes, but nobody here knows what you saw. As it stands, it’s the word of two simple petitioners against a baron.”

Jak thought Sergeant Trell’s formal acknowledgement of Zecus’ father to be odd. The soldier certainly knew who Joshmuel was.

Duke Kyle, after demanding silence for a full minute, finally achieved it by threatening to clear the balcony. As none in attendance wanted to miss whatever might happen next, they quickly quieted. A scowl on his face, the duke swiveled his substantial girth about his chair to face the Southlands’ duchess. The overweight man’s forehead had a light sheen on it.

“Aleece, might you wish to withdraw your words? It sounded as if you were claiming that a member of this council is intentionally deceiving us.”

Duchess Aleece gave a polite inclination of her head and said, “I am quite sorry, Kyle. I should have been clearer with my words.”

The duke relaxed some, evidently anticipating an apology. Jak had the feeling he was not going to hear one.

The duchess leaned forward, eyed the balcony again, and said in a raised voice, “I did not mean to insinuate that Lord Tilas is lying. Rather, I am stating with
absolute conviction
that he is!” Glaring down the table, she added, “Along with Lord Treswell!”

The Great Lakes’ baron sat straighter, shooting a worried glance at Lord Tilas. The crowd’s whispers and murmurings forced Duchess Aleece to raise her voice.

“Moreover, I have cause to believe they are both acting under direct orders of Vanson and Everett!”

The spectators in the balcony began to cry out, prompting Duke Kyle to pound on the table, again demanding silence. As the nobleman shouted for quiet, Jak carefully watched the council table. The two Barons from the Great Lakes and Borderlands shared multiple, quick glances. Jak thought they looked guilty. A quick sequence glance—pleased and content—shot between Duke Rholeb and Duchess Aleece.

Jak’s eyebrows drew together. Peering around the gallery of spectators, he muttered with quiet wonder, “They planned this…” He looked to Sergeant Trell. “This was all a show, wasn’t it?”

The soldier leaned over and said softly, “Theatre and politics are two sides of the same ducat, Jak.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Try to remain silent for a little while longer. I think I finally understand what Lady Vivienne has planned.”

Jak stole a quick look at the baroness. She was staring past him, straight at Zecus, a cold, calculating glint in her eyes. It took all of Jak’s confidence in the sergeant to reluctantly mutter, “Fine.”

This time, Duke Kyle needed twice as long to quiet the crowd. Once he did, he bellowed, “Might I remind all of you that you are here at the pleasure of the council? I will not tolerate such outbursts from anyone, regardless of stature or class! If it happens again, I shall order the balcony purged!” Pausing to let his instructions sink in, he turned to face a very calm Duchess Aleece and said, “The accusations you have leveled, my Lady, are beyond severe. I pray to Tirnu you can substantiate them.”

Before she could answer Duke Kyle’s question, Duchess Adnil of the Long Coast interrupted.

“Pardon, Kyle. But I would like to give Lords Tilas and Treswell an opportunity to respond first. Before we hear of evidence, should any exist.”

Duke Kyle hesitated briefly before saying, “Fine.” He set his gaze to the pair of barons. ”Have you anything to say in response to the duchess’s statement?”

Chairs creaked as every council member twisted in their seats and stared at the two barons. Every pair of eyes in the balcony also shifted to the men.

After a few tense, deathly-silent moments, Lord Tilas stood from his chair. Staring directly at Duchess Aleece, he said in a voice dripping with acid, “With all respect due to you, my Lady, I assert your accusation is wholly without cause.” He peered down at Lord Treswell expectantly.

The baron of the Great Lakes glanced up to meet his stare, frowned, and offered weakly, “I stand with Lord Tilas, my Lady.” He looked as if he might get ill. “Your words are without merit…”

With a firm nod, Lord Tilas pulled his gaze from the baron and stared up to the balcony, exclaiming, “Duke Vanson is an honorable man! He will be both saddened and offended by your statement, Duchess Aleece.” He stared hard at the noblewoman. “You understand it is my duty to inform him of what has transpired here.”

Duchess Aleece nodded, saying calmly, “Oh, I was hoping you would. Please, tell him
exactly
what I said, Tilas. Word for word. In fact, if you like, I can have a scribe write them down for you if you do not trust your memory.”

Lord Tilas stood straight as a rod, glowering hard at the duchess as she pressed on, a hard edge to her voice.

“As you will be corresponding with Vanson, might I ask a favor of you? Since the man will not respond to me or Rholeb, add the following question to your missive: ‘What were you promised?’”

Lord Tilas stiffened but remained silent.

Lady Jonda, the elderly baroness of Yar, leaned forward and asked, “Pardon me, my Lady, but what do you mean by that?”

Duchess Aleece raised her eyes to the crowd, paused for effect, and then called, “If one of the ten sovereigns has betrayed us all to conspire with Sudash, I would simply like to know what was promised in return!”

A hushed gasp rippled through the balcony, but was quickly cut off after a sharp glare from Duke Kyle. Jak was in awe of the duchess. She was fearless. Or mad.

Finally finding his voice, Lord Tilas shouted, “How dare you! Being duchess does not give you the right to impugn the honor of my liege! You have yet put forth any evidence of this supposed treachery. It is Duke Rholeb’s word against mine and that of Baron Treswell. And I swear upon the Gods and Goddesses themselves, there is nothing to fear in the Borderlands!” Pointing a finger at the duke of the Marshlands, a near-unhinged Lord Tilas shouted, “I ask Duke Rholeb for proof of his claims! I am wondering if he perhaps mistook a trade caravan for his perceived ‘nineteen thousand refugees’ in Demetus! Perhaps the duke is growing addled in his old age?”

Jak’s eyes widened.

“Oh, my…”

Duke Rholeb sat straight, his face turning bright red. Jak expected him to leap up and punch the baron, but after a moment—and a few harsh, direct glares from Duchesses Aleece and Adnil—he crossed his arms and remained seated.

Looking over at Sergeant Trell, Jak asked in a whisper, “All three are in on this, yes?”

Sergeant Trell replied softly, “Good eyes, Jak.”

“Quiet!” hissed Lady Vivienne. “Both of you!”

Frowning, Jak eyed the noblewoman and was surprised to find that she was not looking at him or the sergeant, but rather staring in Zecus’ direction, a tiny, content smile resting over her lips. Confused, Jak turned to his friend. The man was seething, his eyes burning, his hands clasped into fists, his lips pressed so tight they were white.

Jak glanced back to Lady Vivienne, eyes narrowed, but the baroness had already returned her attention below. After a moment, Jak did as well.

Lord Tilas was still staring at Duke Rholeb, a confused look upon his face. It seemed he had expected a fiery response from the sovereign and did not know what to do now.

After letting the man drift in the wind for a few moments longer, Duchess Aleece said calmly, “To be clear, Lord Tilas, this is not a case of your word against that of Rholeb’s.” Gesturing to where Joshmuel and Boah still stood before the table—both men appeared quite uncomfortable by this point—she continued, “We have two men here before us, citizens of your duchy, claiming their home is under siege. Why would they say such a thing?”

Lord Tilas’ gaze turned to the pair, hate simmering in his eyes. “Are you going to take the word of two goat-herders”—the baron sneered—“over my own? A lord of the land? I am a
baron
! They are nothing!”

Jak glanced over at Zecus just in time to watch the dam holding back his friend’s emotions break. Zecus launched himself from his seat, stood tall, and began to yell.

“I have seen the Sudashian camps! I have smelled the roasting flesh of their victims! I have been beaten by oligurts and watched razorfiends slice through men like a sword through water! I have stood, face to face, with a demon of the Nine Hells!”

Jak did not have to look about the chamber to know that every pair of eyes was focused on Zecus. Lord Tilas stared upward, utterly baffled by the outburst. Zecus glared back with a fervent, passionate loathing.

“Baron or not,
Lord
Tilas. You are a
liar
!”

Zecus’ words echoed through the chamber, fading quickly, and leaving the room feeling empty and oddly quiet. A lone call from a seagull outside made its way through an open window.

All at once, everyone in the council chamber began to talk and shout. Duke Kyle started yelling and gesturing about, directing guards throughout the room to usher people from the balcony. He pointed up to the balcony, his glare locked on Zecus.

Standing up, Jak leaned close to his friend and said, “Well, you certainly kicked the beehive.”

Zecus turned to stare at him, his eyes still burning.

“Pardon?”

A lopsided grin on his face, Jak said, “I think that was exactly what she wanted.”

The intense heat drained from Zecus’ eyes, replaced by an equal amount of confusion.

“She?”

Jak nodded to the table below. Duchess Aleece was staring up at Jak and his companions, a satisfied smile on her face.

Zecus muttered, “I do not understand.”

Jak sat back down and tugged Zecus’ arm, encouraging his friend to do the same.

“Have a seat, Zecus. I expect we’ll be here a while.”

Kenders placed a hand on the oaken door, paused a moment, and said a silent prayer the hinges would not creak as normal. Her plea would go unanswered.

She pushed gently, wincing as a long, drawn-out screech filled the mages’ hall, announcing her arrival to those gathered in the room. The soft glow of candles and mage lights greeted her, along with half the faces in the room as people stared at the intrusion, looking up from their work or twisting about on their benches.

Meeting the gaze of a few nearby mages, she frowned and said softly, “So sorry.”

Her apology was brushed aside with quiet, almost reverent whispers of “No trouble, Progeny” or “Welcome, Progeny.” Their politeness threatened to turn her frown into a scowl. She could sing as loudly as she could, interrupting everyone’s studies, and the mages here would still smile and tell her it was no bother. It was unnatural.

She stepped into the long hall and shut the door behind her, sending an encore of creaking through the chamber. Once the door softly thudded closed, she breathed a sigh of relief and studied the room, hoping Gamin was here.

Thick ebonwood rafters crisscrossed overhead, each one as thick as a well-fed man’s torso. Two dozen dark wooden tables filled the hall, half of them occupied by mages in the midst of researching, practicing, or reading. Books and parchments lay strewn about the tabletops, illuminated by candles or simple Weaves of Charge or Fire hovering overhead the mages who could touch those particular Strands. The soft undercurrent of magic filled the hall, crackling inside of her. As always, she was reminded of the sensation of crumbling straw.