7
Overnight, dozens of other knights had declared their allegiance to Fenix, with a constant flow continuing in the morning, but relations between Jaksen’s two guards were as strained as on the night before. Even though they ate breakfast together the next day, Bathis and Tayron didn’t say a word to each other. The awkwardness was broken when Bathis finally left to go to sleep, and Tayron took up guard duty. Tayron earnestly wanted to be in good terms with his fellow guard, but everytime he looked at Bathis’ sneering face, he found it difficult enough not to punch it again.
Tayron knew Jaksen must have noticed Bathis’ black-eye, and knew who had provided it, but the councilor kept his own silence through breakfast, reading some files and a collection of newspapers. Once Bathis left to sleep, though, Jaksen wasted no time asking, “all right, care to explain? Bathis didn’t say a word about it.”
The knight told about the odd encounter the night before with less self-justification than puzzlement, concluding with, “but how did it happen?”
Jaksen leaned back into the couch. A grin would have been on his face if other matters had been more distant from his mind. “The trickster god proves more powerful than the god of insults, it’s as simple as that. I think I’m beginning to understand why you have managed to get so far while others of your family have been plagued by Tayl.”
That got the young knight’s full attention. “Why?”
“Because Tayl likes to play tricks, and since until now your family members have allowed him no chance to do so, he played tricks on them. In you, he saw an opportunity, so he favors you.”
“But . . . I’m not really that type . . . am I?” Tayron grimaced. He had long come to grips with the fact that he lacked real cunning or wit, but didn’t enjoy being reminded of it. “I mean, Bathis is more of the prankster type.”
“Tricks need not only be for humor,” Jaksen said seriously, “we’ll soon be playing a great number of tricks, with our enemy trying other ploys against us. It’s called strategy, Tayron, and you may be the right person in the right place at the right time. Tayl seems to think so.”
Tayron mused. “Strategy?”
“I’d like you to sit in on strategy sessions. You don’t have to say anything, just don’t hesitate if you have a comment. You’re not the type to be afraid of criticism as long as you can think of these others as your equals. Remember that you are their peer and as much a noble as they are.”
“Right,” Tayron said, disbelieving but interested in the prospect, if only to see the look on Bathis’ face when he told about the strategy sessions.
Jaksen rose from his seat and the day officially began. Leaving a note on the door indicating to knights coming to declare allegiance to head for Fenix’s quarters instead, they headed for the meeting with the possible successor to the throne. Before they had gotten far, Tayron stopped short with a thought.
“What?” asked Jaksen.
“I just thought, would Lord Quenari have a note on his door, too, if he’s meeting with Lord Damial?”
“I’m sure he would,” Jaksen said puzzled.
“Then, what if we sent someone, every now and then, to take it down?” the knight grinned in full Jaksen fashion.
“My word! I think you’ve already got the hang of this.”
“We’ll have to have a mage put a charm on our notice.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll have one of the lesser nobles take care of it once we get to the meeting.”
“I could . . .”
“No, no,” Jaksen said, not quite willing to smile, but with eyes gleaming, “you’re too important. Such an obvious and simple idea that I’m ashamed not to have thought of it. Right idea, though. Anything to get an edge. Quenari already seems to have an edge – at least he acts like it – and we can’t afford to be high minded about things.”
Tayron understood. When the idea had first occurred to him, he had considered it too childish, but then he was compelled by a more inspired consideration – why not? And again, more distant this time, an echo of laughter rang in his ears.
Fenix’s quarters were fit for a king, but Tayron would only see one room, and it alone was totally unexpected. Flags and insignia of famous units covered the walls of what could only be called a planning room, since there was no sign that it was meant for living. Below the decorations, every inch of wall had in front of it a plush chair equal to many of those in the throne room. At the center of the room was a vast area with an assortment of maps and diagrams, with space on every side for people to kneel down for a closer look. The carpet was the same as that in the king’s audience chamber, and as Jaksen and Tayron entered, more men and women were seated directly on it than in the chairs.
There were fifteen including the two newcomers, and none had a calm look on their faces. In fact, only Tayron looked like he had gotten some sleep in the past two days. Heated discussion was the norm, and Tayron had to admit that he felt intimidated about joining in, and decided to wait for an opening where he could make a comment he was certain of. Or perhaps for a bout of inspiration.
Jaksen brought the knight over to where Fenix was discussing a color-coded diagram of the palace with two other lords. Evidently, the successor was not the type to sweep into a room and demand complete control. He was one of the few sitting in a chair, though.
“Jaksen! You really ought to take a break. It feels like we just managed to escape you, and here you are again,” Fenix greeted. He had been leaning over to view the schematic, and straightened up in an early morning stretch once Jaksen came into his peripheral vision. Jaksen sat down gingerly on a patch of carpet near Fenix’s right foot, and his guard took a place beside him.
“What are you looking at, Fenix?”
“Oh, the usual – plans for how we might fight for the palace. Haradr here had his people print up this nice schematic that shows the area populated by our friends in deep blue, and our enemies in deep red, with the lighter shades being neutral parties leaning to one side or another. This is very confusing since Haradr forgot that my own standard is red. Not to mention Lord Quenari’s standard is a sky blue. Haradr also seemed bent on making a few statements – Yithris, who is so far one of my closest allies, is not so much blue as white, and this might have something to do with an argument they had over some drinks a few nights ago.”
Haradr had a face too young for his age and looked entirely too fragile for the times. He looked apologetic when he said, “I got a little carried away, but he insulted my mother. You don’t have to rub it in, Fenix.”
“I have something for you to do to redeem yourself, Haradr,” Jaksen said, then plunged in to describing the door note ploy.
“You’re kidding,” was Haradr’s first response, then, on second thought, he decided, “I’ll get to it right away. It won’t take more than a minute. I’ll be back. I’ll tell my people to outright attack anything Quenari might have up anywhere in the palace – I’ve heard he might actually be putting up posters as if this was some sort of election.”
Haradr dashed off and the other lord Fenix had been conversing with, a sturdy but elderly man with a head devoid of hair but a strong chin, piped in saying “that’s not your usual style, Lord Jaksen. Lame tricks like this . . .”
“It’s very human,” said Fenix, “but let’s get to the serious planning, and I want no more discussion of style. There are no style points in this contest, and there are only two concerns – that we win, and that our victory shows an attention to means. That’s means, not style. Is it right to think that way, Lord Salubin?”
“You are right to think in any way you please, Lord Fenix.”
“Then we need to attack quickly. Damial and Quenari are getting a bit too confident for my comfort. What do you think, Jaksen?”
“The same. We have to take the offensive first and end this quickly. The knights that have declared voluntarily plus those who we have talked to and convinced to sign on are about two hundred all told. With those that have always been with us, that makes around three hundred, a little less than a third of the total palace complement. I doubt Quenari’s made as good a go at it.”
“And Damial never bothered to form a private army, even though it was his right as an heir apparent. Mine can be brought in at any time, so that’s a thousand. Granted, they aren’t knights, but even at five to one knight, it’d be like having more than half of the palace complement.”
Jaksen was staring reproachfully at Fenix. “I thought we discussed this. Under no circumstances should your troops enter the palace grounds. Those are the wrong means, and will anger the nobility. As long as the knights are the only military force in the palace, the faction with the majority will automatically have the most military backing, so no minority will be tempted to resort to force. A majority vote will stand. We’re in our current situation because there’s no clear majority in the ultimate of important debates. Bring a private army in, though, and you will indirectly be allowing others to do the same. Everytime a faction is dissatisfied with a decision, we’ll risk an armed conflict.”
“As you have already been told, Jaksen, that’s not how things work. We will not allow factions to build private armies. That’s for the heir alone – and the explicit reason for that power is to ensure that no usurper disrupts the succession.”
“Can we deal with this later?” Salubin interjected with a soft voice. “We have enough on our hands, and I think even Lord Fenix will agree that we should plan around the knights alone first of all, and only bring in other means if absolutely necessary.”
Tayron stared fixedly at the palace diagram and noticed that, while in the periphery of the palace the colors were placed randomly, closer to the audience chamber and the king’s quarters the colors were in solid blocks, with deep blue covering the eastern half, and blood red the western.
During a lull in a debate having nothing to do with Fenix’s private army, Tayron asked “is the audience chamber really this important?”
The others looked stunned. “Of course it is,” Jaksen explained indulgently, “it’s the only place the king can be crowned. The second the king is announced dead, there’ll be a rush to the room to declare the new king.”
“But no weapons are allowed there, right?” Tayron said, hoping he wasn’t treading the wrong course.
“So?” Fenix said, interested.
“So whoever goes in there is trapped. They can be completely surrounded and will have to surrender.”
“Good, Tayron, except for one thing,” said Jaksen, “whoever is declared king will get instant support, and many of those on our side will have to switch allegiance – they don’t have the stomach for opposing a declared king.”
Tayron nodded. Being on a roll was one thing, but too many successful ideas in quick succession could get scary.
“But . . .” Salubin said, “Damial will have to be present before he can become king, and he’s not the type to lead the capture of the chamber.”
Catching the drift, Fenix added enthusiastically. “So instead of building our plan around directly capturing the chamber, we can let the lead elements of Quenari’s forces take it, then cut them off, trapping half of them in the chamber without weapons, while taking out the half guarding Damial.”
Tayron could barely believe they were taking his idea seriously. “But would they really drop their weapons and head into the chamber? Maybe they’d just surround the chamber, try to crush us, and then move in.”
“No,” Fenix said, “they can’t hope to fully surround the chamber as long as we have control of this side. They know that to surround would mean an all-out fight, which is one we’d win. So, they want to secure one entrance into the chamber, send thugs in to rough us up by hand, and declare Damial king, all immediately after the death announcement. We were always going to have to be the ones who had to surround the place, since we lack the kind of heavyweights Quenari can hire from his business friends. Our advantage is in weapons. Waiting for some of them to get in first, though, could be useful.”
“The timing, though – it’s too risky. They might sneak Damial in right under our nose,” Jaksen objected, making Tayron worry that the comment was creating more trouble than it was worth.
Salubin glared at the map. “I think that the key is to put up a daunting fight where they have the most control – here, in these corridors – and put up a deceptively weak fight in this corridor, where the two sides meet. Then, after enough leak through there, and we’ll make sure Damial doesn’t, we clench up, fall towards the chamber to capture this room, where they’ll probably leave their weapons, and we’ll eliminate at least part of the threat.”
They continued discussing the plan for a time, and Tayron kept himself passive, disinterestedly waiting to hear what the final plan would be. When the small group they were in reached an impasse, with Jaksen staunchly opposing this change in the plan, Fenix addressed everyone in the room to take their seats, and the dozen lords hammered things out between themselves, with Jaksen quickly overruled. The chamber’s significance was more than Tayron could ever have imagined. The lords supporting Jaksen’s position were mainly appalled at the thought of giving the room up to gain advantage. To the knight, it seemed absurd that they would quibble about this matter for so long, and wondered if Fenix would ever simply put his foot down. Then again, they were politicians.
But even politicians are sometimes forced to act. Midway through the debate, a rhythmic knock came at the door, and when it was opened a man rushed in panting and sweating. Without prologue, he recited, “the king is expected to die in half an hour. His doctors have kept it quiet until now, but he had a stroke yesterday in the audience chamber. They thought he would recover from it, but either he had another one last night or there were complications from the first that they had not foreseen. He will die within the hour.”
With chaos and uproar curiously absent, the lords hammered out the final plan in five minutes, the audience chamber plan included, and messengers were summoned to deliver the plan to absent lords, and to gather the loyal knights. Jaksen agreed to the plan on condition that he would be in charge of the vital corridor where the trap would be sprung. Tayron prepared himself to take part in the battle. Though the councilor hadn’t mentioned it, the knight guessed there wouldn’t be room for people standing around looking on. And with Jaksen leading the fight, he’d have the added trouble of keep his charge intact.
Jaksen’s messenger managed to assemble the hundred men tasked to the corridor long before the councilor and his bodyguard arrived. Bathis was with them, cheerful at the prospect of a good fight, but still not keen on striking up a conversation with Tayron. Some of Quenari’s spies had been present, but were cleared off before more than twenty knights arrived, scurrying off to tell their masters about the gathering.
The corridor was broad, and as elaborately decorated as any corner of the palace, with rooms on either side. Twenty knights were placed in the corridor to pretend a resistance to the enemy’s progress, and afterwards seize the weapons left in the room before the audience chamber, while the other eighty, including Jaksen and his bodyguards, waited in the rooms for the signal. They all had red armbands with Fenix’s standard, originally prepared for Fenix’s personal army, to designate which side they were on. Unless they wanted to risk getting killed by the swords of friends, the men on Damial’s side would have their own. Everyone was set just in time for the magically amplified message.
“Every piece of the palace was charmed and blessed before it was used in the construction,” Jaksen explained right before the message was heard. “One charm ensured that, when the king died, the very walls would announce his death. That’s what we wait for now.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the walls cried out and rumbled with woe. It lasted for a minute, and then outside the door a knight shouted, “Here they come!”
“Quick,” Jaksen commented. “Hope the rest of our men got into position.”
Tayron was itching for the fight, now that a fight was guaranteed. With men just outside the door battling, the irritation was intolerable. When a body slammed into the door, threatening to smash it in, it took most of Tayron’s self-control and all of Bathis’ to hold back. Thankfully, it was not for long – one of the knights outside shouted “for Lord Fenix” and the trap was sprung.
The first man out of the door cleared the body leaning against it for the rest. Tayron was gratified to see that, by the dead man’s armband, it was one of Damial’s men. Sword out, he was momentarily caught off guard by Bathis shouting a vicious insult nearby. Deciding not to think on it, he plunged his sword into a surprised body nearby, then kicked the limp form off to clear his weapon for the next attack. It came too soon, and he had to duck a sword coming at his neck. It felt like he got a bit of a haircut, but while down he swept the legs from under his attacker and, on rising back to full height, thrust his blade down into the prone figure’s chest.
It was then that the reason behind Bathis’ insulting screams came to him. Bathis was using the protection of his god. As long as he insulted the person first, that person would have trouble casting the next blow. Tayron spotted a man running toward an intended victim, and had an idea. He stuck out his foot.
The enemy knight fell flat on his face, knocked out. Inspired, but not stupid, Tayron fought normally with his next opponent, and even then it was a stalemate – he got a cut on his left shoulder, the enemy one on his arm, and they were then separated by a more intensely battling throng.
Breathing in the corridor was next to impossible after a minute of fighting. Minds were not registering all that eyes could see, filtering all but the most threatening information, which was the only possible explanation for why Tayron saw them first – four enemy knights surrounding a man between them who had his back against the corridor wall. Even though Tayron had never seen him before, the fact that it was Lord Damial, brought here because this had been deemed the most likely entry, was inescapable. But Tayron couldn’t think of a way to take out four knights by skill or trick. He was the only knight nearby not engaged in battle, and with nobody coming at him he needed something to plunge into.
Then, with providence fit for the gods, a battling pair rammed into two of Damial’s guards, stunning them. While they took their time to recover, Tayron hurtled at the two still standing. Both were still in full ready stance and neither gave ground. Guessing that one would stay to keep up Damial’s guard, Tayron crossed swords with one and pulled him away from Damial. He picked the wrong one. The knight facing him was a half-foot taller than him with a daunting muscular advantage and only a slightly shorter sword, meaning that, given equivalent training, Tayron could not outright win.
Tayron kept calm and thought fast. The most moronic plan came to mind and, given the circumstances and his recent luck, he decided to try it. With the burly knight in tow, he ran straight for the other knight guarding Damial, now rejoined by the stunned two. That knight brought his sword to bear, inviting Tayron to keep running and impale himself on it. Behind, the burly knight was picking up momentum with all his might, struggling to keep up with his prey, seeking to drive the sword right through. At the last minute, playing a most unlikely game of chicken, Tayron dropped and rolled away, leaving the two enemy knights facing each other.
The results weren’t exactly what Tayron envisioned, but not completely futile. Able to stop faster than expected, the pursuing knight’s shorter sword only scratched the other guard’s chain armor. However, the steadfast guard had an exceptionally long sword, which slid right through the other knight’s hide armor, injuring him in the right side. The injury brought him to his knees, and Tayron took a breath before continuing.
The guard stood frozen, horrified at what he had done, but not so stunned that when Tayron went at him he failed to counter. It cost him a searing slit in his sword arm, but Tayron knocked out the guard with the flat side of his sword. The other two guards were already fighting with some of Jaksen’s men, giving him a clear view of Damial. The heir was portly, with a mat of brown hair topping the face of a man built to be thin, but fat anyway. The second they caught sight of each other, Damial bolted away from the fight, only to come face to face with Jaksen, who had clearly been hanging back for just this occasion. One of Damial’s remaining guards was able to disengage to try to save his lord, but Bathis, insults blaring, kept him from the Councilor. Jaksen held his sword dramatically to Damial’s throat, and for a breath Tayron thought that the heir was a dead man.
“Everybody stop fighting,” Jaksen hollered, “I have Lord Damial captive. Stop fighting.”
Most battles ceased almost gratefully. A few others were so intense that they took no heed.
“Tell them you surrender or I’ll run this right through you,” Jaksen muttered, only barely within Tayron’s earshot.
“What . . . what am I surrendering?” Lord Damial squeaked. “My right to the throne is mine by blood. It cannot be surrendered.”
“You surrender in this battle. You accept the fact that you cannot win, and will retreat.”
“Very well,” Damial said, and then shouted, “all forces supporting myself and Lord Quenari will fall back to headquarters immediately.”
The last of the clashing ended, and after the enemy troops passed them dejectedly, Jaksen released Damial. “Cease your attempts to take the throne.”
“I’ll take your advice into advisement, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t follow it,” Damial said, trying to reclaim lost dignity.
“I won’t.”
“That’s your choice. But the palace fight is yours, Jaksen. I’m sure your master Fenix will be pleased.”
Damial departed, and Tayron wondered whether it would have been better to kill the heir or imprison him. He supposed that it would be against tradition, and a stickler like Jaksen would not abandon the necessary formalities. The knight wondered what Fenix would say about it.
Jaksen immediately ordered knights to send the word to the other corridors, just in case Damial decided to take another route. The remaining knights stayed ready. Bathis sidled up to Tayron and said, “what happened to guarding Jaksen? You just plunged into the thick of things.”
“I thought that it’d be better if I killed them before they got anywhere near to Lord Jaksen,” Tayron responded. “Besides, I figured you’d take care of him.”
“Good thing I turned up last night, then,” said Bathis good-naturedly, as if the fight had satisfied the hostility he showed the previous night.
“Yeah.” Tayron was in no mood for an argument.
Jaksen came over, in waiting mode himself. “You two did excellently,” he panted, with his normal post-battle reaction of unadulterated excitement. “Your fighting was inspired, Tayron, especially with the attack on Damial’s guards. I’m glad that my presence didn’t hold you back. I can usually take care of myself – wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise. And Bathis, delightfully insulting and your choice of words painfully creative.”
“Thank you,” Tayron and Bathis said in unison.
“It seems I have managed, in a short time, to get some excellent bodyguards. I’m always worried that maybe I’ve lost my judgment. Age makes you start doubting yourself.”
It was another half an hour before the all-clear was sent. During that time, medicals were brought in to deal with the injured, and honor guards for the dead. Eight of Jaksen’s hundred were dead and fifty were wounded, of which twenty were near death. Losses for Damial were heavier, but they had concentrated their forces in this hall with numbers far greater than a hundred.
Fenix himself appeared triumphantly and greeted Jaksen. “Fifty were trapped without weapons in the chamber – you wouldn’t have survived otherwise. Turns out that they had planned to strike with most of their effort here in the first place, so you bore the brunt of the attack. There were two feints, and after you defeated Damial they regrouped and tried one more, but that was that.”
Jaksen shared Fenix’s jubilation. “Well, we can celebrate today at least. Tomorrow, who knows?”
“No mages, though.”
“No. But that’s no surprise; they usually stay out of these kinds of fights. We certainly didn’t think of asking them to join up.”
“With the assassination attempt on you, it seemed possible that Quenari might have had a surprise for us. An incorrect assumption, it turns out.”
“Thank the gods,” Jaksen said.
Fenix made an indistinct sound of agreement, and then said, “Though the thought of killing Damial crossed my mind, Jaksen, you did the right thing. We don’t want any to say that the throne was gained by the killing of a possible heir. That’s no way to start a reign. And it’ll be difficult for them to mount a new offensive now that we have the throne and legitimacy.”
“I don’t know . . .” Jaksen said, suddenly sour.
“None of that,” Fenix insisted, “today’s the coronation.”
They wasted no time. Hasty preparations were made to ensure some sense of nobility and grandeur was present. The press was invited, but only in limited numbers of trustworthy journalists – Fenix didn’t need any bad press on his first day. Munghel was conspicuously absent, but by Jaksen’s recommendation Anni was allowed to represent Munghel’s network instead, making her new connection to the court as official as it could be. Most of the knights kept guard in the corridors leading to the audience chamber, but Tayron and Bathis were both allowed to accompany Jaksen.
A full third of the land’s lords had fled the palace, fueling early rumors about a coming civil war. Fenix made it a point not to allow those rumors to touch his ears, and Jaksen kindly didn’t press the issue. The rest of the nobility was present at the coronation, which was predictably swift, with a marked eagerness to get the crown on Fenix’s head. Compared to the fight only hours before it, the ceremony was hopelessly boring, and Tayron was thankful for the rush.
But late in the coronation, Tayron’s interest stirred. A white glow, dim but brightening, surrounded Fenix. The walls were rumbling again, at first incomprehensible, but then clearly “Fenix is king.” Finally, the diamond crown was prepared beside Fenix. Dubbed kingmaker, Jaksen had the honor of crowning Fenix. As he lifted the crown from its cloth, the heir’s glow lit the room more than the candles and electric bulbs. When the symbol of sovereignty finally took its place, all the light in the room save that from Fenix was extinguished, allowing the new king to light the room alone, accompanied by the singing of the walls. It was a magnificent second, but not more time than that. The glow faded, and the room was pitch black as the walls quieted. When the candles and bulbs were relit, the room bowed to the new king.
After that, further ceremony was pointless. The banquet relieved those who had eaten sparsely the past few days, and afterwards, all but the normal guard was dismissed. Acknowledging that Bathis would not be able to stay on his feet for much longer, Jaksen allowed both his bodyguards to sleep.