Trial of Intentions (59 page)

What followed was not the roar of crowds. It was a booming silence in which Sheason remembered their oath. Thaelon could feel their hearts. Most of them, anyway. And from those hearts, good intentions. Or so he believed.

It stirred him. Made him proud. It would be a difficult path, these trials. But all understood now why they would travel it.

Slowly, he returned to Toyl. He looked the man in the eye for several moments. “There's just one question,” Thaelon said, his tone inviting Toyl to closely consider his reply. “Don't answer for those seated before you. Not for those you counseled with before taking this stage.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Toyl Delane, would you render at any cost, do anything, to make good on your intent … would you follow Vendanj, were he to ask it?”

With no defiance, Toyl said simply, “I would.”

These two words broke Thaelon's heart. For all Toyl's fine rhetoric, his dissent was genuine. He believed in a different way. A way that ran counter to the Sheason oath he'd taken. Close as he was now, Thaelon could see in Toyl's eyes how it all weighed on him.
A good man; even when he's convinced he's right, hates to disappoint a friend.

Toyl leaned forward, and repeated with a whisper, “I would … and, my Randeur, so should you.” The sound of it was like a plea.

Thaelon stood staring at him, his gut in a knot. How many? Half? Would he divest half of his people before these trials were through? Good people. All of them. But with an intent that went a shade too far. A dangerous shade. His order might not survive this. But what else could he do?

Thaelon stepped close, so that he might ask a question only Toyl could hear. He studied the man's eyes, his
own
words now a plea. “Toyl … what about your oath?”

They shared a long look before Toyl softly said, “Perhaps, my Randeur, it's time for the oath to change.” The words were genuine, even hopeful.

The words chilled Thaelon. In his studies he'd found that these very words had been spoken by those Sheason who'd gone into the Bourne … and become Velle.

Thaelon showed Toyl kind eyes, and nodded. A signal. The man was ushered around to the center of the stage. And there Thaelon brought to life something that had only existed as glyphs carved on the sides of deep, dusty stone.

There was no great tumult or rending. Just Thaelon and a few of the judges, who put their hands on Toyl's body. The man shuddered as Thaelon removed the resonance that gave his life's song more than a single note and vibration.

When it was done, Toyl shuffled back toward a woman and child who waited for him near a door.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

A Civil Argument

Civility? Means smiling and nodding politely to a bastard you hate.

—Response to a League survey on the meaning of “Civility”

C
hatter filled the hall as Roth entered for the second day of Convocation. If all went well, there would be no third day. All the kings and queens and other leaders had already taken their seats at the main table and in the gallery. Roth had come deliberately late in order to avoid any conversation prior to the official talks, but also to capture some attention from several of the attendees.

No less than six of the critical voters had received a folded and sealed sheet of plain white parchment. Each one had a secret or two explicitly described in their note. At the bottom of the private missive, a promise to publish these indiscretions came followed by an invitation to oppose the regent.

Some of those who'd received the notes weren't huge opposition risks to Roth's plans. But making sure of their vote made good sense. A few of the others receiving notes this morning were unsympathetic to the League; the ink had flowed more liberally when crafting the messages to these fellows and one queen.

He took his seat, and cast his gaze around the table at each man and woman, lingering a scant second longer on the faces of those whose eyes had reviewed his messages this last half hour. It would be a fine day.

Helaina stood. “I thank you all again for being here at this critical time. Already what we've seen and heard has been historic. I would now hasten our deliberations. And urge solidarity among us. We cannot afford to make the mistake that Regent Corihehn made so many ages ago, when he sent Holivagh I'Malichael and the Right Arm of the Promise into the breach of war with no intention of sending reinforcements.” She pointed at the empty seat beside her. “The Sedagin do not join us. Our betrayal has cost us their kinship. We can't afford to dissemble here. Let's begin. I'm eager to hear your thoughts.”

An uncustomary silence held for several moments. Roth understood the reluctance—one he'd caused—of many to speak. He took it as a sign that he needn't wait. This was his time. So he stood, and began to pace the outer edge of the table.

“My lady, perhaps it does fall to me to begin.” He looked at those seated around the table, then cast his gaze out to the wider encircling gallery. He thought briefly of his time in Wanship on the wharf, and the injustices heaped on those who had no voice in a place like this, with its vaulted ceilings.

Raising his voice in strident tones, he said, “I make no pretense of our open disagreements, Regent Storalaith. Nor do you. I will confess here, openly, that I've sought these last few days to remove you from your office. Not, I hasten to add, because of any dislike for you personally, or even as regent. I simply believe that your time has passed. The brand of leadership you offer has ceased to be relevant. We need to move beyond tradition, and it will take new thinking and the vigor of a younger mind and body to see these things done. We should venerate you for your service.” Roth stopped just strides from Helaina, modulating his tone to one of earnestness and near-compassion. “But I must challenge your stewardship over this Convocation.”

Helaina let a measured silence stretch before saying, “You have no authority here. Take your seat, Ascendant.”

“My lady,” Roth continued, with the same appealing tone, “there are no laws that govern this collective body. Nor are there rules for how we should guide our discussions. We're all here of our own will. And I would ask if any of us is confident that you are stable enough to direct these talks, let alone capable of waging the war you would enjoin us to.” His voice became patronizing. “Come to that, do any of us really even believe in your purpose for assembling us here?”

A wild murmuring shot through the hall—some members appalled, some nodding as if they'd been thinking the same thing. Still others sat staring, waiting for Helaina's response.

She stood, and slowly walked to face him. Tall as she was, she looked him eye to eye, and spoke in a clear, strong voice for all to hear.

“You distract us from important matters,” she said, “and what's worse, you do it with your own political agenda in mind. Very well, let us put to bed the political maneuvering. This man,” she said, her words bitter as she glared at Roth, “this Ascendant of the League of Civility, is an ambitious man. I've no doubt he's convinced of the creed he follows, a creed he would have us all adopt. But his ambition blinds him. Makes him dangerous.”

Still she didn't look away, unflinching as she cast her aspersions on him. Roth admired her iron will. And he patiently gave her time to speak, before he would make his radical suggestion.

“Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for poisoning a child in order to advance the constraints of their Civilization Order. Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for the burning of the Bastulan Cathedral, a refuge and symbol not just to Recityv but to pilgrims from many of your own nations. Ascendant Staned and his League are under inquiry for attempting to assassinate me just days before he called a vote of the Recityv High Council in which he announced himself as my possible successor.”

The regent paused, and Roth nearly spoke before she resumed. “And last night, after our first day of deliberations, First Sodalist E'Sau was murdered in his own bedchamber.”

Another round of wild murmuring rose throughout the Hall of Convocation. Roth realized what the regent would say next a moment too late to stave it off.

“Ascendant Staned,” she announced with a clarion voice that rang out over the whispers and gossip, “and his League are under inquiry for the First Sodalist's death, as well. Individually,” she said, “any one of these things could be named a tragedy or crime or unfortunate accident. But taken together, with evidence in each case of the League's hand, they declare the maneuverings of a man bent on assuming a position of authority.”

Roth fought to control his mounting wrath. He hadn't thought Helaina would soil the more stately proceedings of the Convocation with Recityv events or her own private battles. Always before, she'd shown a special decorum when leading large assemblies. Even as his anger swelled, he conceded more respect for the old bird. She'd adapted to his game. But her words were now threatening to swing opinions back in her favor. Whatever the congregants here thought of the old stories, they wouldn't find much sympathy for Roth's position if they thought him a political threat.

Before she could say more, he broke in on her litany of accusations. “Of course I'm under inquiry,” he shouted. “I represent the change that would unseat the regent.” He turned, starting again to pace, and to make his appeal directly to kings and queens and generals. “It's a difficult thing to embrace change. It means giving up comfortable routines. It means finding new ways of answering the needs of those for whom you bear a solemn responsibility. In the past, we did this by arming men and sending them to war, instead of arming men to enforce our own civil peace. The war, ladies and gentlemen, isn't out there somewhere beyond the mystical Veil.” He swept an arm out grandly. “The war is in your own streets, with hunger and poverty and the mistreatment of one man to the other. Yes, if an actual threat comes from a nation, we can address that, ride to meet it. But suppose the source of even that conflict is misunderstanding,
assumed
wrongs rather than actual hate or bloodlust.”

Roth stopped, turning a complete revolution before saying, “Wouldn't any of you trade your seat at this Convocation for real peace? Wouldn't the success of a gathering like this be to forge a collective might that is never needed or used, except to police just laws? Wouldn't that,” Roth concluded, softly, “be the mark of true leadership…”

The silence in the hall was deafening. The murmuring that had come before seemed to have turned inward. Roth kept his self-satisfied smile off his lips.

Only the regent would have the gall to break the profoundness of the silence his words had inspired. And she did.

“Roth,” she said quietly, using his name, her words carrying in the stillness, “your words are hollow, spoken to convince rather than instruct or inspire. The ring of truth is different from the truth itself. And I can no longer sit by while your words confuse and frustrate the hard realities that force us to meet here. I hereby revoke your seat at this Convocation. You are dismissed.”

Roth smiled. “My lady, of course you know you have no authority to do this. And even if you did, such a move would only validate our suspicion that you are unfit to lead these discourses. Since it would then be clear that you accept no opinion save those that align with your own.”

Helaina didn't reply, but simply motioned. A contingent of spear-bearing guards filed in around Roth. It infuriated him, but only for a moment—this was something he
had
anticipated. With a raise of his hand, the doors opened, and Losol—leader of his newest faction—entered with a contingent of leaguemen, who encircled Helaina's guards with steel of their own.

“You see,” Roth said, “it can only escalate. This is the way of the past, Helaina. Let us find a new road, together.”

He, of course, knew she would accept no such collaboration. But suggesting it was all that was needed. Around the room, attentive eyes awaited her response to his thoughtful, heartfelt-sounding proposal. While he, too, waited, memories of his boyhood stirred, days casting about the docks, looking for an easy mark to run a flimflam, or a loosely watched catch that could be pilfered for a meal. Perhaps there
was
some dissembling in his arguments. But he'd bring about the right kinds of change either way. He meant for there to be less need of hope, and in its place more bread and training.

But before Helaina could deny his offer, which would bring him to his ultimate motion for this assembly of kings, the sound of bootheels on the table drew his—and all the Convocation's—attention. Looking to his right, Roth saw that a man, in supreme disrespect, had climbed up on the table itself, and was strolling its glistening surface. The fellow alternately glared down at those seated at the table, and then up into the ringed rows of second lords and princesses of lesser lands.

He looked familiar, this man with deeply sunned skin. But Roth could not place him, until he began to speak. Then he knew. This one had been expected.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Grant's Defense

There is a time for social reform. But it is not when dealing with fathers who beat their children, or rapists, or in times of war.

—Language from the first League of Civility credo, redacted by Ascendant Roth Staned

G
rant took slow steps, walking the surface of the venerated convocation table. His hard-soled boots clacked a measured beat as he stared down into faces aghast at his insolence or fretting some action he might take against them. But he only walked, capturing the attention of the hall as he strode the entire circle without a word. When he'd come around near to where Helaina and the Ascendant stood in the midst of their armed guards, he offered a bitter smile and continued to stroll.