City in the Sky (29 page)

The slapping sound of the two hands hitting the wood echoed through the chamber, and the sudden silence following it showed that every man there knew
just
what had happened.

“Speak of my mother again,” Erik said slowly, flatly, desperately trying to control his rage as Hiri's fingers held his like a steel vice, “and it will be your
heir
who pursues this path.”

Silence reigned in the Chamber for a long moment, and then another
septon
, Demar, stood. Tall for an Aeradi, but enormously fat with it, Demar looked like a little round ball of lard to Erik's eyes, but he was a close ally of Jaras, and Erik knew what he was going to say almost before the Aeraid opened his mouth.

“The
septon
Jaras has a point,” he said in a voice that sounded hoarsely squeaky, as if he was a child recovering from a cold. “For the child of
sept
to be
sept
, the marriage must be formally bound before the Gods of our people, the Masters of Wind and Wave.”

“You can't speak lad,” Hiri hissed into Erik's ear, his fingers tightening their grip as Erik opened his mouth to retort. “It's
you
on trial here, and you can't speak on that.”

“A motion has been made and seconded,” Adelnis, King of Newport said slowly, clearly unwillingly. “Will anyone speak to it?”

It was Hiri everyone expected to speak, but it took the burly Aeraid a moment to weigh whether Erik was calm enough to be released, and in that moment another – a most unexpected other – stood in his place.

“This is foolishness,” Admiral Bor
septon
Alraeis said loudly into the surprised silence. “Lord Pemmar,” he said, turning to the high priest of Hydra, the God of Water.

Pemmar was known for his devotion to his God, and his refusal to involve himself in politics as a
septon
. He attended these meetings only because he had to, and to speak on religious affairs when necessary.

“My Lord Alraeis,” the Priest replied, inclining his head in question.

“Hydra is our God, correct?” the Admiral asked.

“One of our Gods, yes,” Pemmar said, with a glance at the
septon
Idilmar, Newport's high priest of Aris.

“Could you tell me, your Excellency,” Alraeis said quietly, “which Gods would have been called upon in a wedding in a Hellitian city?”

“Edril and Hydra, of course,” Pemmar replied, and then paused.

“Would not a marriage before Hydra among our Hellitian allies count as a wedding in His eyes here as well?” Alraeis asked, the admiral's voice silky smooth.

For a moment, the high priest glared at Alraeis for putting him in this position, but he answered. “It would, my Lord Alraeis,” he said.

Alraeis looked over at Jaras and smiled, a cold and dangerous thing to see. “I think that rather undercuts your case, does it not?” he asked softly.

“Would any other speak?” Adelnis asked, his voice ringing through the chamber, silencing any answer Jaras made.

While Hiri had released Erik by now, this time the old merchant merely leaned back and made a slight gesture. In seeming response to the gesture, Idilmar, priest of Aris, rose to his feet. Unlike his fellow high priest, Idilmar was involved in factional politics. He – like most of his predecessors – was firmly welded to the merchant faction in Newport politics – Hiri's faction.

“A wedding before any of the four Gods,” he said quietly but firmly, “has always been viewed as a wedding before all of them. If, however, some see it necessary, I am willing to extend the approval of my church to the wedding, long belated as it may be.”

He sat, and Adelnis eyed the assembled
septon
s. Erik noted his monarch's gaze and followed it, appraising each of the members of the Council in turn. Those who would vote for him, Hiri's and – apparently – Alraeis' faction, were silent, knowing that their case had been made. Those who wouldn't, the purists, seemed to have run out of steam.

Adelnis seemed to make the same judgment. “Unless another would speak, we will vote.”

No-one objected, and the King gestured to the pages around the table. “For the interests of preventing acrimony in such a personal case, this will be a ballot vote,” he said calmly.

Erik shifted slightly, but did not object aloud. The Council had two forms of voting: voice and ballot. Voice was most commonly used, except in the resolution of personal conflicts between
septon
s, where secret ballots were used to, as Adelnis said, prevent acrimony among the
septons

The royal pages handed each
septon
a piece of paper, on which they wrote either 'yea' or 'nay'. The pages then collected the ballots and returned them to the King, who would only cast a tie-breaker vote. With one of the thirty non-royal
septon
s unable to vote, there would be no need.

Adelnis read the ballots, and eyed his
septons
calmly. “By a vote of twenty to five, with five abstentions, the motion is rejected.
Septon
Tarverro, take your seat,” he ordered.

Erik did, with a small smile. From what he'd been told by Hiri and Arien, as a rule, the merchants could poll twelve
septons
, the war faction eight, and the purists nine. The other four
septons
, including the
septon
Tarverro, the High Priest of Hydra, and the King himself, were traditionally neutral. At least four of the 'purist'
septon
s had abstained, while neither the King nor Erik had voted, leaving two of the neutrals of which one must have abstained.

Which one was clear from Arien’s briefing: Guildmaster Kirenis
septon
Mogan
always
abstained at
septon
meetings. He also met with the Council of Guilds and voted there, and refused – unlike Hiri, Erik knew – to vote in both. He would, Arien had told Erik,
speak
for Guild affairs in the Council of
Septon
s
,
but he would not vote there.

Jara's motion had failed, which should hurt both his prestige and confidence. Despite Erik's desire to refrain from making enemies, it appeared he had already found one. Whatever Erik wanted, Jaras seemed to hold him in unwavering disgust, and the feeling was rapidly becoming mutual.

The convoy was a relatively normal trading group headed to the Sky City of Newport. A dozen black dragons, with six greens and eight browns for an escort. Unlike most trade caravans to Newport, however, the crews of three of the dragons were
not
traders.

At least, only three of the dragons that Brane knew about. He had his suspicions about the rest of the convoy, but his thirty men were the only ones he knew were Red Dragons. The group had kept company for two days now, flying northward out of Seije, and had finally reached its destination.

The massive cloud-like shape of Newport's sky isle filled the air in front of them, its massive connecting pillars vanishing into the spring fog beneath them. A pair of sky-frigates, medium warships, escorted the convoy in towards the massive pens on the southeastern side of the city.

Once the dragons had landed, the two warships peeled off, leaving the Draconans to the not-so-tender mercies of the Aeradi trade officials. They issued each member of the convoy a simple pass card.

“This card authorizes you to be in most sections of the city,” the official dealing with Brane informed him. “Any sections you are not allowed in are guarded, so you won't have to worry about straying into them accidentally. If you
are
found in them, however, you will be imprisoned and likely banned from the city. Understand?”

Brane nodded his silent acceptance and took the pass, suppressing his anger. Who were these arrogant, condescending, bureaucrats to tell him where he could and could not go? Not that they were likely to
catch
him, but the idea still rankled.

Finally getting away from the officials and entering the merchants' compound, Brane immediately began to look for the inn he'd instructed his men to stay at. Before he could find it, however, a voice spoke to him.

“Brane Kelsdaver?”

Brane turned to find a short-ish Draconan standing behind him. While the man towered over the Aeradi, a portly build lent to the impression of lack of height. The Red Dragon eyed the strange man up and down, and then nodded.

“I am,” he said shortly.

“I am Yard Master Pensi Diricas,” the short Draconan told him. “Come with me.”

Unwilling to expose himself by refusing to follow the man in charge of the merchants here, Brane followed the man into what appeared to be an office building. An attractive Draconan woman held down a desk in the front of the office, but Diricas led Brane quickly into the back office.

“Have a seat,” he instructed as Brane entered, closing the door behind him.

Brane remained standing, silently regarding the man. “Do you pull every trader leader in off the streets like this?” he asked.

“Enough that it’s not out of place,” Diricas replied. “But you're no trader leader, no matter what the Council says.”

“Really,” Brane said calmly.

“You're a Red Dragon,” the merchant replied bluntly. “So are your men. I've seen your kind before, but never in such numbers. What in Fires is going on, Kelsdaver?”

“That is my business, and that of the Dragon Lords,” Brane told him.

“Everything in this city is my business,” Diricas replied. “Our people here are my responsibility.”

“Our Lords apparently disagree,” Brane said calmly.

The Yard Master snorted. “They also apparently think I'm stupid. I know how many of your people are in the city. You're planning an attack.”

Brane stiffened in his chair, his fingers tingling with the urge to grab his crys-rod.

Diricas laughed. “I am many things,
Captain
Kelsdaver,” he told Brane, revealing he knew far more about the Red Dragon that he'd admitted, “but I am not a traitor. I just want to know why
now
? This conflict has lasted for centuries, and could drag on for centuries more.”

“To prevent it dragging on for centuries more,” Brane replied. “We have the resources, the plan and the will
now
. So we will strike
now
.”

The merchant sighed. “And that is all the answer I will receive, isn't it?”

Brane was silent, and Diricas nodded. “I do not approve, Captain Kelsdaver,” he said bluntly, “but our Lords have made their decision. What aid I can give, I will.”

“Good.”

It took Erik two whole days to track down Ikeras. It appeared as though the non-com was almost avoiding him, which made no sense. They worked together on the company, and were friends besides. But even at the training drill in those days, though Erik's sense of something wrong with the men was reinforced, Ikeras seemed to be very busy for the whole drill, and vanished quickly afterwards.

Finally, frustrated by his failure, Erik simply turned up at the house of the
hept
Ikeras and knocked on the door. It opened promptly to reveal a young Aeradi girl, who Erik recognized as Harmon's niece, Irenda, from the
kep
meeting so long ago.

“Good afternoon Irenda,” he greeted her, inclining his head. “Is your uncle home?”

The girl squeaked at finding her
septon
standing on her front doorstep, and nodded wordlessly before vanishing back into the house. Erik found himself standing on the front porch, waiting.

He didn't wait long before Ikeras arrived. The non-com just looked at him for a moment, and then sighed. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Good afternoon, Harmon,” Erik replied. “Can we talk?”

The ex-wing lancer nodded and stepped inside, holding the door open for his
septon
. Wordlessly, the two men entered the living area, and Erik took the seat he was gestured to. Ikeras took another of the half-dozen or so chairs scattered around the two couches in the plainly decorated room. The furniture and art were sturdy and plain, but of high-quality. Pretty much what would be expected of a low-level
hept
family.

“I think I know what this is about,” Ikeras said quietly. “I've been trying to avoid the issue. We were hoping to deal with it without bringing you in.”

“Harmon, something is affecting the men of
my
company,” Erik told him, equally quiet. “It is therefore my responsibility to find out what it is and deal with it.”

“Some wouldn't think so,” the non-com replied. “Some would think it was the responsibility of your non-coms and junior officers to deal with it.”