6
The knights’ mess hall had been hastily cleaned in preparation for Jaksen’s visit, but traces of its previous disarray remained. Someone with a vendetta against janitors had decided to carpet the floor of the hall, and Tayron could not tell what its original color had been – probably either beige or blue. The walls had been repeatedly repainted to cover up the grand tapestry of graffiti that – horror of horrors – would have actually given the place some character. The palace seemed to have the same problem as the rest of the world – they never managed to get the new paint to match the shade of the old. Some attempts to make the place more personalized had not been removed, though. Knives flung into the ceiling stuck there menacingly; the janitors had no way to remove them since only knights could legally bear weapons in the palace. Tayron was sure the commanders occasionally gave knights removal duty, but kept the frequency of that duty to a minimum to prevent discontent. Knights had a right to do what they liked with their own eating-place, after all, and only at mealtimes were they prone to relax and vent frustrations.
To avoid hinting at her newly built association, Anni separated from the other two and went in through a different entrance, armed with a note from Jaksen. Jaksen strode in confidently with a wary Tayron at his tail. He gestured for his bodyguard to wait by the door as he strode to the podium set temporarily on one side of the hall, remarkably devoid of knives hanging from the ceiling above it. Most knights applauded and cheered as Jaksen stepped up, but Tayron noticed a few that looked particularly menacing, already aligned with Quenari’s faction and only here to provide their masters with accounts of the proceedings. Tayron didn’t devote any special attention to them, knowing that those with less hostile expressions were more likely to be preparing an assassination.
“Esteemed knights of the royal palace,” Jaksen started amidst cheers. “Most trusted of the elite fighters of this land. I appreciate your enthusiasm, and from it can only assume that you are not aware of the dire situation we find ourselves.” The hall was silenced as if slapped into this realization. They must have had a dim awareness of the situation, but it had not been explained to them. “The king is perilously near death, and the line of succession is unclear. There are two men with equal right to the throne by hereditary law, and it is the king’s council that is left to decide which to elevate.
“I feel the proper way to proceed would be to select the man best fit for the duties – to select by merit when blood no longer serves to distinguish. If you agree with me, then it is clear that Lord Fenix should be declared next in line in the event that the king’s health finally fails. He has educated himself about the affairs of state; the council has benefited from his advice on multiple occasions, placing him in the echelons of this land’s greatest statesmen. He is also uniquely independent, a quality that allows him to take the middle ground between factions in court instead of allying with one side or another. For these reasons, among many others, I believe Lord Fenix deserves your support.”
Murmurs of approval rumbled encouragingly, and Jaksen gave them a few moments before continuing. “You may ask why I bring this matter before you. I will not dress the issue in flowery words – there are sharp divisions in court. There is every expectation that the court will not be able to agree on either successor firmly.” That caused a further rumble, this one worried. “The court is divided evenly between supporters of Lord Fenix and supporters of Lord Damial. Lord Damial, I will admit, has his strengths. He is a friend to industry and technology, and will ensure they will flourish. Free enterprise, which a powerful faction at court has long been clamoring for, will undoubtedly become a reality.”
Jaksen had chosen to emphasize these ‘strengths’ because the knights, being schooled in a traditional model, would be naturally antagonistic to the kind of freewheeling corruption that free enterprise usually implied. “But there are also outstanding weaknesses in Lord Damial which I feel are reasons to doubt his merit. He has deliberately avoided court life for a life of aloof comfort. Knowledge of the political practices of this land is shunned by him and the mere idea that he should study is mocked. Taking no action that does not benefit him, interested only in the methods he has developed to satisfy his gluttony, and willing to sacrifice long proven practices, Lord Damial is the most unfit potential king this land has seen in centuries, perhaps ever. To think that the gods would lift such a man to the throne is blasphemy.
“The choice is yours who you will support and, if indeed the council fails to resolve this issue, many will look to you to make that choice and enforce it. When discussion fails, trial by arms will inevitably follow, and the palace grounds will be the first battlefield. I hope sincerely to avoid that day, but my efforts cannot determine the future. I have great power, but am powerless in the tides of time.
“And time will tell. Do not fall prey to pessimism and the belief that this will somehow unmake our nation. This land has endured and will endure far greater trials than this. No matter how selfish the factions in this matter might be, neither is prepared to preside over our self-destruction, and we will turn away from that course long before it appears on the horizon, you can rest assured. So I leave you to your decision. Choose wisely, not for personal gain, but for the future of us all. There will be a future – this is only a question of how bright it is. You have been taught to consider the good of others before your own, so I trust your judgment.
“If you feel you need further guidance or wish to officially declare your support, I will be willing to meet with you, as I am sure Lord Damial’s men will be. In the meantime, I ask you to pray and give offerings to the gods for the health of our king. He has proved a good and just king, and will hopefully continue to bless our land for years to come. Thank you.”
A stunned audience applauded politely. Even Tayron, who had heard most of Jaksen’s thoughts ahead of time, was unsettled the Councilor’s blunt candor. He followed a subdued Jaksen out of the hall. Anni caught up soon after, looking desperate to tell them something.
“I overheard some of the knights talking just before your speech and right after, Lord Jaksen,” she said. “One of them was trying to get the others to see Lord Quenari’s speech, which is supposed to start in just a few minutes and is being held in the palace’s banquet hall.”
The Councilor shook his head mournfully. “Here we go again – trading speeches. Except this time the king isn’t around to hold us back. Can’t see anything to do but to hear what Lord Quenari has to say, do you?”
Jaksen directed the question at Tayron, who answered honestly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m just one guard, and I can’t save you from every hidden blade that’s bound to be in a room filled with Lord Quenari’s supporters.”
Jaksen grinned, taking Tayron momentarily out of the troubled world they were in. The councilor’s silver hair was splayed like a flag behind him by the wind that dipped into the grounds between the palace and the knightly halls, returning even more youth and mischief to him. “You are obviously unaware of court courtesy, Tayron. Assassins never attack in a crowd – only when the target’s alone or with onlyvbodyguards – to save the assassinated man embarrassment, I think.”
“There’s no guarantee they’ll be that . . . courteous,” Tayron noted, forced to grin himself.
“We’ll take that chance. After all, Tayron, you still have to make your choice.”
“What choice?”
“Weren’t you listening to my speech? You have a choice, too. It’s best that you listen to Lord Quenari so your decision will be an educated one.”
Tayron stared uneasily at his charge, feeling that the conversation had suddenly turned less than humorous. His stride became a shuffle. Knights were free to build their own allegiances, of course, but if Jaksen thought that he hadn’t already made his choice . . . but no, Jaksen was still smirking, and it’d be foolish to take his comments too seriously. “I think it’s a bit late in the game for that.”
“You speak like you’ve been at my side for years. Wait and see the shifting alliances, Tayron. It will be like two bodies of water colliding – you’ll be lucky to pick out which side a drop had been on. Still, if you’re sure of your place, there’s no harm in knowing what your enemy’s about. Anyway, I have to go,” Jaksen concluded, “I can’t give Quenari free reign if I can help it. My mere presence will cast doubt on what he has to say. With every debatable word he casts, they will look to me and hear what I would have answered, though I stand silent.”
Anni, certain now that they were headed for Quenari’s speech, asked Jaksen “will I be able to get your reply to the speech? An exclusive interview?”
Jaksen smiled brilliantly, as if trying to be cheerful as long as possible before a long sorrow. “Naturally.”
Anni skipped a step with comic excitement. Then, more composed, she said “thank you, High Lord.”
“Tell me about yourself first, though. I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.”
In a job interview tone, Anni recited her short biography and qualifications. “I came from a farming family and decided to escape to the city to get an education. I studied at Amari Memorial and, during my last year, got an internship with the news studios thanks to my knowledge of the new phonographic and visual recording technology. I also know a bit about printing. After leaving school, I worked full time at the studio, which I have continued to do for the past two years.”
“Your parents – if they’re a farming family, do they believe in . . .” Jaksen seemed unsure of how to finish the sentence.
“They’re . . . not friendly to the nobility,” Anni answered awkwardly, but not without a measure of pride.
“And you?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t really decided yet. Even if I agreed with my parents on . . . well, you know . . . I still probably wouldn’t agree that it necessarily meant you nobles were unfit to rule. I mean, your speech was pretty good. How do you know about that, anyway? Didn’t think you nobles cared much about what we thought in the backcountry.”
Jaksen exhibited some pride of his own when he said “I’m not your average noble.”
Tayron had no idea what they were talking about, but saw no reason to ask about it. Judging from the care they took to skirt around using more direct language, he guessed the explanation would be both unpleasant and lengthy.
The banquet hall’s tables had been moved to the sides of the room, and in the center stood a thin but powerful crowd. Whereas Jaksen chose to address the knights, Quenari placed himself in the front of the court nobility, with the few knights present outnumbered by the reporters flanking Munghel.
Anni immediately joined Munghel’s pack on entering, eager to inform a trusted producer of her scoop. Tayron and Jaksen chose to hang in the background of the room, where the high councilor was already receiving ominous glances. Tayron’s hand dwelt on his sword’s hilt. Weapons were not barred from the banquet hall, and while knights were schooled in effective weaponless combat, Tayron preferred a bit of metal to dispatch enemies quickly, and was reassured by the touch of the hilt.
Just as he was about to recall the academy lectures on the extent to which weapons could reduce a strength disadvantage, Tayron spotted the mammoth knight Karitan. Even among knights, Karitan’s rock-like formation was imposing. Here, in a room filled with a cunning rather than battle-hardy nobility, the giant figure made everyone uneasy the second he entered. More striking to Tayron, though, was the man Karitan was guarding: Lord Quenari.
“Seems like Quenari wanted to prevent anyone from even thinking about an assassination attempt,” Jaksen whispered, “but I would have expected Quenari to choose a bit more wisely – mere size and strength will impress at first glance, but true talent is what wins out. Perhaps he was a bit rushed.”
Half of Tayron wanted to retort, defending a fellow knight’s honor and upholding the value of their training, but the other half couldn’t care less. In fact, since it was dwelling on a worst case scenario that inevitably included a battle with Karitan, the latter half enthusiastically agreed with Jaksen, and optimistically reported a victory if things got messy.
Quenari ascended the step to a platform placed front and center in the hall, no doubt especially for this speech. As Quenari’s ardent supporters applauded, Lords Fenix, Fendar, and a dozen others crept in and stood alongside Jaksen.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Jaksen murmured tersely to Fenix as Quenari began gesturing for quiet.
“We’re all as interested as you are. After all, he might be right.” Fenix winked.
Blue hair and winning smile flashing in the intensely lit room, Lord Quenari made his staccato voice as smooth as possible. “Friends, our king, who has served us with grace for decades, has today shown distressing signs of his growing infirmity. He may yet survive, and we certainly all hope he does, but we are faced with this inescapable fact: we have delayed too long the choice of who his successor will be. Above all else, this land must not find itself kingless.
“Why then, you may ask, have we waited so long to establish the succession? I regret that I am forced to answer that the reason was little more than political wrangling – self-serving men battling in an even match. I also regret that this seems to be continuing, and that the deadlock between the two sides threatens to tear our nation apart. I am here in the hope that I can tip the balance and end this deadlock, and propose to do this simply by stating what Lord Damial, who I support as successor, believes in. Why should this change anything? Because this is the first time we have been able to speak openly of the matter instead of scheming in the background, we can throw open the doors to those previously left out, to get a true popular decision. For better or for worse, I am prepared to abide by the popular decision.
“You have probably heard from my detractors that I am hostile to tradition. I am not, and neither is Lord Damial. We do, however, believe that just because something is old does not place it above criticism. Take, for instance, an ancient bridge. To have stood for thousands of years, it must be of magnificent make, likely rivaling anything we could build today. It should be preserved, without question. It should be admired and even emulated. But should it be used? No. It cannot take the wear modern use would put to it. So, its greatness may be unquestioned, but its usefulness doubtful.
“This is my view of some traditions – not all, mind you, and not even most – but some which have lost their meaning and usefulness. Should we strike them out mercilessly, deny them totally, and dismiss their value? These are great institutions that need to be preserved in the annals of history, studied, and emulated. But not used. Innovation will keep our land strong and make us a shining beacon in this world.
“The structures I criticize are only those that hinder progress and this nation’s assumption of its proper role. First among those, and one which most of us here benefit from, is the emphasis of heredity over merit.”
This last comment caused an almighty murmur from an otherwise supportive crowd. Many seemed to be caught off-guard by this particular stand. The glances at Jaksen multiplied, all asking mutely “what’s the meaning of this? Am I on the wrong side?”
“I realize,” Quenari continued in a comforting tone, “that this may not be a popular declaration, but before you move to judge, let me make my position clear. I do not suggest that merit replace heredity, or that the way we were born and raised has no bearing on who we are and what rights we have. Remember that I speak as one of you, born into my position.
“But being born into privilege is no reason to be blind to the fact that many outside our number deserve to be our equals. If those who display their merit frequently are not recognized for their achievements, what reason do they have to continue dragging our nation forward? Some say wealth is reward enough, but who among us would give up noble title and protection of a god for money? Only a wretch who deserves neither. Wealth is an indicator of merit, not a reward for it. At most, it is a further chance to prove one’s merit, since the wise employment of wealth is a chief virtue while waste is to be condemned. Recognition is the only real compensation, for we only feel rewarded when we gain esteem from our peers, gain a greater group of peers, and are favored by the gods.
“Until now, the bulk of this nation’s most meritorious men and women have been excluded from our peerage. Those that are accepted are quickly removed. To an extent, the limitation of people gaining a particular recognition is what gives that recognition value, so we jealously guard the value of nobility by keeping people out. But how can our nation progress? It cannot, because we remain attached to those structures that we have only moments left to abandon. And don’t forget – if we leave this bridge as a monument, we must build another or risk moving backward instead of forward.
“Lord Damial proposes a dual nobility. The upper nobility will be those who hold title now, while the lower nobility will be selected by regular votes, the candidates being the wealthiest commoners in the year of the vote. The king will sit in his current position, with full powers and the sole discretion on who to elevate to the upper nobility, but the combined nobility will take more direct control over local matters, and manage this land’s economy, which has grown increasingly complicated, with more efficiency.
“I give you this vision for this future now, when it has a chance to be fulfilled. Our king may live on for years, but that is no reason not to start building. I speak now because a time of transition had been recognized – whether it will last for days or years it begins today – and it forces us to throw off our comfortable complacency for a time and consider what changes we will be willing to make. For those who would like to hear the comprehensive version of Lord Damial’s plan, I will send you a packet of information. If any have other plans for the future equally well thought-out, I’m sure we’d all like to hear them.
“Thank you,” Quenari said finally, glaring triumphantly at Lord Jaksen before exiting.
There was scattered applause, but most in the room were deeply thoughtful. Lord Fenix had a scowl on his face that was defiant instead of derisive. Jaksen’s face remained passive, but his fists were clenched at his sides.
“Let’s go,” Jaksen said through his teeth.
“We’ll join you in a bit for a planning session,” Lord Fenix said, then went his own way with his cadre behind him.
Anni caught up to Jaksen and Tayron without any difficulty, since they were both moving in slow contemplation. She respected their muted attempt to grasp the big picture, and Tayron wondered how he could ever have considered her a loudmouth.
Before they reached the refuge of Jaksen’s quarters, hopefully for the last time that day with the sun in its last glimmer, Tayron’s train of thought came to a conclusion. Seeing that the intense concentration on Jaksen’s face had eased, he asked, “so, what did it all mean?”
Jaksen’s voice was hollow when he responded. “If what you came up with is that Quenari just declared war, you’re right.”
“Excuse me,” Anni said with polite incredulity, “but did you just say that Lord Quenari’s speech was a declaration of war?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought. Can I quote you on that?”
“No,” Jaksen answered as he unlocked the door and led them in, “but it will become clear to the public soon enough anyway. Do you want to explain it to her, or should I, Tayron?”
“You’d probably do a better job,” Tayron decided as he reclaimed his traditional place on the couch.
Before continuing, Jaksen headed through the door to his private sanctuary, which Tayron guessed contained more than just a bedroom, and returned with a slip of paper. Handing it to Anni, he said quickly, “keep this safe – it’s your pass into this area of the palace. If you misplace it, there’ll be hell to pay, am I understood?”
“Absolutely.”
Settling himself down, he went on, “well, to put it simply, Quenari made no indication that he acknowledged Lord Fenix as a claimant to the throne. Also, instead of speaking of the actual merits of Lord Damial, he discussed their plans for the future, and further indicated that he would not accept any course of action that didn’t include his reforms. It’s all very subtle – I’m actually surprised Tayron picked up on it.”
“I got the idea from the way people were responding to the speech. Just the look on their faces said everything.”
“Good point. But the hints Quenari sent out were really signals to the nobility, who have gotten used to cryptic speeches.”
After making a show of contemplation, she asked, “can I get your official comments – you know, the interview we talked about. My producer was very excited about it, and I don’t want to disappoint him. He promised to keep my connection secret, especially from Munghel.”
“Of course.” Tayron didn’t bother to listen to the interview, since what had already been said trumped it all. He relaxed unfocused, at one point musing on the quintessentially politic tone Jaksen was using, at another marveling at Anni’s note taking, which was quick enough to be taking down the Councilor’s words verbatim. His reflexes remained unaffected by his inattentiveness, though, and when a knock sounded on the door, he took the same position he had during Lord Fendar’s entry. Jaksen did the same, and Anni stood up in a ready position, though whether for fight or flight even she didn’t know.
When Jaksen opened the door gingerly and Tayron made his peek, Bathis was revealed, awaiting entry with luggage in hand. Tayron hoped in the depths of his soul that this would be the last surprise for the day as he ushered Bathis in with the tip of his sword, checked the hall outside, and closed the door. Keeping Bathis at bay with his sword, he let Jaksen do the questioning.
“Why are you here?”
“To offer my allegiance to you,” said Bathis nonplussed. Tayron gathered that his fellow knight had not gauged how serious things had gotten. “Unless . . . this isn’t a good time?”
“No, it’s fine,” Jaksen said, gesturing for Tayron to resheath the sword. “I remember you now, Bathis. Tayron, you know him, right?”
“A bit.”
“Well, I’m in need of another bodyguard, Bathis, if you’ll be willing to take the job?”
“Sure,” Bathis said, with a glint in his eyes that showed Tayron that the sly knight’s attitudes toward Jaksen had not changed.
“Tayron, take him to one of the empty guard’s rooms, tell him about the assassination attempt this morning, get something to eat, then get some sleep. I’ll have Bathis wake you up in the morning. Bathis, once Tayron is finished briefing you, you will be on guard duty throughout the night. You’re not tired, are you?”
“They’d already assigned me to night duty, so I’ve already reset myself.”
“Good, then go ahead. Make sure you don’t disturb our planning session that will start in an hour. You should probably take position in the hall outside during that time.”
Bathis bowed to Jaksen and followed Tayron to a room. The room slated for Bathis was better furnished than Tayron’s – containing not only the necessary bed, which in itself looked more comfortable, but also a desk, chair, dresser. Tayron had a pang of jealousy before reasoning that neither of them would be spending much time in their rooms anyway.
“Well, here it is,” Tayron said, “why don’t you take a seat while I get you caught up.”
The tinge of malice in Bathis’ grin set it apart from Jaksen’s. “So now you’re going to tell me about court politics,” he said, but he remained sour faced and silent throughout Tayron’s recounting.
Tayron had assumed that this sullenness was Bathis’ reaction to the dire circumstances being described, so when Bathis finally started to speak again, the words stunned him.
“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you know anything about what’s going on,” Bathis spat. “You probably think this is some tragedy. Well, I hope you keep thinking like that, because it’ll remove some of the competition.”
“What?” Tayron said bewildered.
Sneering with confused triumph, Bathis said, “this is an opportunity, Tayron, and the only reason I was happy for you when you got to be Jaksen’s guard was because I had no idea it would happen so quickly. Now that it has, only those shrewd enough will move on to become part of the new nobility. That makes us competitors.”
These words made no impression on Tayron, though on any other day they might have. “Whatever.”
He had turned to leave when Bathis said “we’re both trying to lift our family’s honor out of the mire, but I’m afraid that because you’ve only got half a brain your family’s name might never leave the dung smelling status.”
In total contradiction to his normal even temperament, Tayron moved in a flash and planted a punch directly against Bathis’ right eye. Both were completely taken aback. Somehow, Bathis’ god had failed to protect him when he had cast his insult.
It was all too much for Tayron. Feeling that his day had to end immediately, he just said the first thing that came to mind – “don’t mess with the trickster god” – and left with an ethereal laughter ringing in his ears.