Trial of Intentions (38 page)

Artixan smiled. “I'll no more be goaded into argument than you will, Roth. Let's not descend into groundless accusation. No one here is going to believe it.”

Cheyin continued. “With the help of General Van Steward, we've spent several weeks searching the mountains of the Lesule Valley. We've found no survivors and no evidence of any remaining books or journals. We did find, however, tracks we couldn't identify. A great many of them, actually. If they don't belong to creatures from the Bourne, then I don't know what they are.”

“There, now that's a sensible conclusion,” Roth said, with a patronizing lilt.

“But there's no question in my mind that Quietgiven are close and moving in secretive paths,” Cheyin finished.

Roth cleared his throat. “The loss of Qum'rahm'se is tragic. Even if I didn't share the purpose of piecing together a dead language, I supported the effort. And there were many scholastic pursuits at the library that the League even financed.” He looked around the table. “But we have, what? Some melted rock, some obscure tracks, and the written accounts of two criminals as evidence of the Quiet? Is this proof sufficient for us to stand before the leaders of nations and call for war? War against what?”

Roth paused, theatrically, and gathered himself. “Even if there are races in the north beyond the Pall, and even if they have passed the borders of a dozen kingdoms, we don't know that their intentions are malicious. And we certainly don't know that they bow to the will of a storied god sealed deep inside the Bourne.

“Don't you see? We're about to take actions that will impact the lives of a generation, maybe several, on the strength of little more than a tale told to corral the impetuous actions of youth. Let's not be impetuous ourselves. Our appointments to this council require that we have more wisdom than this.”

He'll formally call for my resignation, citing my age. Not today, Roth.

Helaina produced a copy of her succession letter and placed it on the table in front of her. “For once, I agree with our Council leagueman. Impetuous men plot in the shadows to advance their own political power. Some would even kill for it.” She fixed her gaze on Roth. “You will have seen that I've broadly published my regent succession letter. Many of you, I'm sure, find it odd that I should do so, particularly at this late stage in my appointment. I did it for two reasons. First, to assert my place in the governance of Vohnce, and to remind our people of that fact as we enter this age of rumor. But more importantly, it's meant as a reminder that the office of regent itself is not to be seized or assumed. It's filled by a majority vote of this very Council.”

Roth smiled. “Correct, a
majority
vote. And a vote we shouldn't call a moment before it's needed.” He nodded his head deferentially.

He needs a good horsewhipping.
Helaina put a hand on Van Steward's arm, indicating that it was time.

The general rose and rounded the Council table. He knocked at the chamber door, and presently two men-at-arms pushed through, carrying the body of Mendel, stripped to the waist.

Mutters were heard around the table. Helaina watched Roth's face closely. Would he betray anything with a look? The Ascendant showed shock.
A nice affectation, Your Leadership.

“Yesterday,” Helaina began, “I went to retrieve this letter.” She thumbed it forward on the table. “In my family's vault, my own brother tried to kill me.”

Several soft gasps were heard.

The general had his men shift the body, and pointed beneath Mendel's right arm. “This traitor,” Van Steward said, “bears the mark of the League. Can you explain this, Ascendant Staned?”

Roth stood up and went to the body, bending to inspect the tattoo, then the man. “I don't know him. Since I assume you mean to accuse me of conspiracy, General, I'll also assume you've found that this man was, in fact, a member of the League, and not just a pretender with a tattoo.”

The general nodded.

“Then I can tell you that he was quite mad. The tattoo itself is a sign of extremism, since it isn't required and is a practice of those leaguemen who are prone to … zealousness.” Roth turned to address the Council. “We're not a perfect order. Within our ranks, there are those who misinterpret our objectives. They're usually men who perceive some imagined wrong, and exploit League resources to try and correct it.” He looked over at Van Steward. “Did you find anything in his quarters? Men who plot often record their plans and ravings.”

Helaina waited intently. Indeed, as Artixan had predicted, they'd found just such a journal. A perfect ploy to show that her brother had acted alone and was stark mad besides. But Van Steward had lit upon a brilliant idea: suppress the journal and see how the Ascendant responded.

“No,” the general replied. “We found nothing.”

Roth didn't hesitate a moment, his composure never faltered, but his reply revealed as much as she'd hoped his reaction might. “A very clever individual to leave nothing behind,” Roth said, and locked gazes with Helaina.

Helaina kept the smile off her face. “We'll need to be convinced that he wasn't acting at the direction of someone inside the League. You have three days to do this. If you cannot, your seat on this Council will be revoked.”

Roth stared back with smoldering defiance. But even that passed quickly. “As it should be,” he said. “Our disagreements, Regent, are political. Your personal safety is as much my concern as General Van Steward's. Please trust that it is so.”

Roth then returned to his seat, as Van Steward directed his men to remove the body.

Helaina looked down at her succession letter. The gambit had been elaborate, but it had produced the desired effect: Roth was on the defensive. Or so she thought, until he spoke again.

“I would like to come to my purpose today,” Roth said, his formal tone now more strident. “I've had this conversation with our regent in the privacy of her High Office. And I've called on her most trusted advisors, who, as you would suspect, have shown complete loyalty to her. But the time has come for new leadership. Regent Helaina Storalaith,” he said, addressing her directly, “in the company of this Council, I formally request that you step down as regent.”

Several of those seated around the table began simultaneously to speak. Roth raised his hands to quiet them. “Please, hear me out. I know it's not how things have been done in the past. The regent's office is a lifetime call. But do we believe it's in the interest of the people that the regent occupy her seat until her dying breath?” He looked around the room. “I want you all to understand, this isn't a bid to replace Helaina. It's a trying thing to be regent, something I don't think any man or woman would knowingly seek if they knew the demands of the office.

“But I look ahead at the challenges we face. And I worry that we don't have the right vigor in the regent's seat to meet them. Quiet or not, there is unrest. Our slums are growing. And there are obviously dangers in our countryside that we don't understand.” Roth brought his gaze back around to Helaina. “One might argue that the regent is at fault for the state of things. But we must share the blame, since we govern with her. We've allowed the slothful and lawless to go unchecked. It's time to put right the omission of our duty, even if it means rewriting the laws that have guided us for so long. It's a new time, and we need a new way of doing things.”

To Helaina's surprise, Ambassador Calon spoke next, turning to face Helaina. She addressed her more personally. “Helaina, I've served you for many years. I spend most of my time in the halls of leaders far from our own borders. You know how much I respect you. But maybe it's time for you to rest.” She glanced at Roth. “There's real tumult and question in the hearts of those you've called here. They wrestle with their own court intrigues, and conflict on their own borders. They hear reports of violence and the taking of women and children from their homes. There's discord in many of the nations you expect to uphold the First and Second Promise.” She paused a moment. “They may say no.”

Helaina held back her surprise at the ambassador's words. Not that she distrusted what Patrelia said. They'd been friends a long time.

Her ambassador wasn't finished. “Your example has set the tone for whomever replaces you, Helaina. You needn't feel you must see this through. It won't be done in days or weeks or months. These problems are deeply rooted. To cut them out will require more than you should be expected to give at this time in your life.”

Patrelia spoke with a warmth of affection, where she usually spoke with a diplomat's tone. Helaina believed the ambassador to be genuine. She didn't feel as if Patrelia was one of Roth's pawns.

But it didn't change her response. “Thank you, Patrelia. But I'm many years from being a feeble woman who can no longer direct these affairs.” She smiled graciously. “I'll be fine.” She turned to the rest. “In fact, I've never felt more invigorated by the work set before us. And I'll challenge any vote that tries to rewrite law pertaining to the office of regent.”

It was Roth's turn to nod to an associate. He turned to Jermond Pleades, First Counselor to the Court of Judicature. The severe-looking Jermond simply sat forward and began to speak.

“Regent, Council, at the Ascendant's request I have reviewed the laws that govern the office of the regent. Indeed, Helaina, the succession letter is a critical document that seals the vote of the High Council and gives testimony to a process that departs from the way of kings that preceded it. However,” he cleared his throat, “in my research of the details around tenure, I've found no evidence that the calling has a duration, either short or long.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, beginning to feel a tightening in the pit of her stomach.

Jermond stared back, unblinking. “It's my opinion, based on the procedurals I've read, that the office of regent can be voted upon at any time.”

“That's outrageous!” Van Steward said, his voice booming in the chamber.

“In fact,” Jermond continued, “it makes sense to me, since it would ensure that the regent, whose discretionary power exceeds that of the other Council members, would feel compelled to remain collaborative and benevolent, so as to retain the office.”

Cheyin spoke next. “Lack of lifelong tenure for the regent would create a frenzied political environment. Council members with aspirations would be constantly vying for position and leverage.” She then gave Helaina a remorseful look. “But it
is
reasonable that those who departed from the line of kings would have wanted to avoid the entitlement that lifelong tenure might create.”

“The point is moot.” The words rang with inarguable intonation—Belamae. “Who here would vote to unseat the regent, besides the Ascendant? Some of us have only returned to this table because she still occupies her chair. And I can tell you that we don't have seated among us any that can take her place. I can hear the songs created by each of you as you move and talk and think. I respect these stirrings. But they're not the songs of one who can unify us in the way we must be unified.”

Roth chimed in. “It's no surprise that you cling to these myths. The only reason for your group of singers is to preserve the memory of our shared history. But look at the very house of those songs, Maesteri. Dilapidated and pissed on. It's a forgotten shrine at the heart of our slums. The poor cower in its windbreak, recalling fanciful stories of no use to them in finding another meal or warm bed. It's a beacon that leads them in the wrong direction.”

Belamae listened patiently, his gentle old features unflappable. He even offered a smile. “I might suggest, young man, that the light of your youth is the beacon that misleads.” The Maesteri stood and with a soft, deep voice sang his next words.

The sound of his voice and the lyrics he chose were a music made uniquely for this moment, for each of them. In a strangely right way, it was
their
song. The Maesteri gave it life, gave it resonance. It seemed he was singing a part of them, making them feel a value they might have left behind when their own youthful lips ceased to sing.

When Belamae finished, the room fell to utter silence. The power of song had conveyed more than all their debates ever might. But Belamae didn't leave it there. Into the silence he said just above a whisper:

“The Veil weakens because the Leiholan are too few to sing constantly with the strength that is needed to maintain it. While you talk of convocations and squabble over where to sit at a table, while some prepare to commit countless lives to war, we cling tenuously to the only thing that separates us from the Bourne itself. We're balanced on the tip of a knife, and something must be done. Who here has the experience and wisdom to stand in this breach?”

Helaina watched Roth allow Belamae's words to dissipate before he, too, rose.

“Maesteri, your song is rousing. I believe in its message to remind us of where we've been. We should remember the past as we illuminate a better path forward.” Roth let out a mild sigh, perfectly offered. “I mean no disrespect. There'll always be value and a place for the exceeding talents you possess. But you must know that more than once I've called for an end to the Song of Suffering.”

The prelate gasped.

“Too many of our people listen for the song like a miracle that will redeem their ruined lives. Rather than deal with their own fears and admit their poor treatment of others, they blame the threat you sing about. The Tract of Desolation that you use to create the Song of Suffering is itself a document that gives our criminals an excuse not to reform, and our slothful an excuse not to aspire.”

Roth purposefully looked around the table at each member of the High Council. “Just as I've called for Helaina to step down, I likewise call again for a vote to end Suffering. Bringing an end to this song will signal a bright moment in our people's acceptance of their own responsibility. It will breed enlightenment and enthusiasm. A new era of scholarship and hope will replace the rumors spoken of—”