16
It was a different palace when they returned after a week in the field, but Tayron couldn’t tell whether it was due to his own experiences, or if the palace really had changed. All he knew was that his fellow knights felt the same way.
“Smaller, isn’t it?” Yunas had said after an hour back. “The palace I mean. Feels a lot smaller.”
Tayron had just nodded – that much was obvious. Bathis was more vocal. “That’s nothing. I can’t pin my finger on it . . . wait, I think I can. The mood’s different – not so much in a bad way, but in a more dissipated way, you know, like nobody’s really paying attention or taking any care. They used to act a bit more picky about everything. Now I’d like to see what the throne room is like, since it used to be the center of uptightness.”
“Except for the seating arrangements,” Yunas pointed out.
“Except for that, yes.”
Bathis had definitely come closer to it than Yunas, but Tayron decided that he had noticed the sentiments behind the mood rather than this outward manifestation, which he was oblivious to. Well, that wasn’t quite true – it was pretty hard to ignore everything. The decorations haphazardly thrown everywhere, for instance. Constant sounds of parties permeated throughout the hallways, and more than a few lower level courtiers could be seen tottering drunk in the outer circuit of the palace.
None of that nonsense came anywhere closer to the center, to the audience chamber, and when they finally got to see what the hub was like, they were dulled into submission as if nothing had happened. The stability of the center defied the carelessness of the periphery, and promised to restore order as it had done over and over again through the millennia. The king kept a tight court, and for every issue brought before him, he rendered justice swiftly, and as far as Tayron could tell, flawlessly. To be sure, no one brought any objections, least of all Jaksen, who kept a puzzled silence. A lack of cases dealing directly with the issues the councilor was most interested in could have explained his silence, but Tayron kept a close eye all the same. Given the kind of high position the lord had outlined for him, he decided it was his place to do so.
Whatever warning signs he detected, the knight had to admit that the first few days back at the palace went exactly as it was supposed to. His job had a smooth quality to it that actually allowed Tayron time to think deeply about what he had experienced. Certainly, the occasional assassination attempt still cropped up, but the assailants always struck alone, with amateurish skills, and no magery, so three knights easily handled them in every instance. Besides, that was part of the job description. Without a reason for being, a bodyguard’s life can’t be called normal.
There had been a motto at the academy, possibly the favorite of the hundred proverbs – Be suspicious of normality. This had been the logic behind many tricks the commanders played on their students, tricks that would have delighted Tayl, now that the knight thought about it. In any case, knights had learned the hard way not to take the status quo at face value. The one benefit to calm times was that they afforded time to consider what disaster might rear its ugly head next. A pessimistic and wholly depressing view of life, to be sure, but it was a realistic one that many a knight learned to appreciate whether in the middle of a battle, or surveying grand schemes at work in the palace.
Tayron used this precious time alongside Anni, trying to find opportunities to address the commoner issue. Despite an utter void of success communicating their ideas to anybody but Bathis, who was characteristically unsympathetic, and Yunas, who was willing to help thanks to the way Anni framed the subject in terms of the commoner class being at an immense disadvantage in social and political life, discouragement never entered the picture. Successes on the personal front offset disappointments. For a while, Tayron had worried that his relationship with Anni could not stand independently from what the reporter chose to work on, but life in the palace brought things into a new phase. This new development meant real dinner dates in which both unwound from the work of the day and talked about trivial things.
Better reception from the other lords on the commoner issue would have been welcome, though. Within days, word had gotten around the palace what they were about, so many lords started refusing them appointments. Jaksen had not stopped them, and at one point said, “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. Keep plugging away at it. It’s easier for you to do it than for me to, because you have less to lose. I have to pick my battles carefully, to judge the right time for things. As you’ve already discovered, it’s not the right time. But if you can push things along, my involvement might come sooner than later. The worst that could happen is that you both get an education in politics.”
Jaksen was right, of course. The nobility and the lords, being the closest to the king, were constantly pelted with a stream of petitions, and they saw it as a symbol of their power that there was always a line of people waiting to see them. This symbol faded out at the true upper echelons, though, so that Jaksen and the king received very few visitors.
This made the appearance of the messenger in the audience chamber even more puzzling. Somehow, he must have convinced the guards that he was on the list to bring his case before the king, but whether by bribery or trickery, nobody could be sure. The guards later insisted that it had been trickery, that the man had played mind games on them, hoping for a more lenient punishment. Since there simply wasn’t a post lower than door guard, they were stripped of their knighthood and cast out of the castle, probably feeling that they had gotten off lucky.
The court had just witnessed some pitifully boring cases. The last defendant took an anguishing time to explain himself despite repeated attempts by the king to hurry him up, and ended up groveling in a disgusting and completely unconvincing manner when the giant robed form appeared in the doorway to the hall. He carried a pitchfork, ignoring warnings that anyone who attempted to enter the door with a weapon would be instantly blown to a million pieces. Before stepping over the threshold he said, “I carry a tool, not a weapon,” and entered safely. The court spurred to life at the prospect that this apparition could bring with him some real entertainment. The king stirred in his seat.
The man was indeed an apparition. Standing a head taller than Jaksen, he was thin as his pitchfork with a hard gaunt face and prominent bone structure. Not the pale face of nobility, this was the starving face of a farmer with a string of bad seasons. Brown and tattered, his robe revealed rough skin pants and a bare chest underneath. No such sight had ever been seen in the palace’s tourist area, much less in the inner chamber. How the guards could have believed this man was welcome here . . . then again, how could such a man have bribed them?
Anni was scribbling on her notepad in the press corner, noting every detail of the man’s appearance for later reference. She had been given a permanent place on the writing staff of the newspaper owned by her news service. Munghel was still the top reporter, producing newsreels at an impressive rate, but knowing that the day’s audience was scheduled to be a yawner, he was not in attendance when the man entered, leaving another reporter, with a baby face and a heavy accent, to make the scoop and enhance his career.
And what a scoop it was. The man was a phenomenon from the first moment, and continued to amaze and astound.
“State your business here,” the king said, voice scratchy from the long morning.
Standing with a firm warrior stance, the man projected with an echoing voice “I have come to demand that you relinquish the throne to the one true heir!”
Scattered laughter filled the chamber. It was like a comedy, a play to amuse the assemblage after being placed on the brink of death by boredom. The king found the humor in it as well. “Not again! Who is it this time? What claim can he lay?”
For a split second, Jaksen and Tayron exchanged glances, both expecting to hear “the sister of Lord Damial, unjustly slain.”
But the actual response, instead of injecting seriousness into the proceedings, continued the comedic angle. “He lays the only claim, that from father to son. He is the son of the deceased king. He is Adenor, unjustly removed from the throne.”
Open laughter rang out from most mouths, but the king, Jaksen, and the knights simply observed. Anni, Tayron noticed, was also taking the matter seriously. For his part, he could not find amusement in a man who believed what he said sincerely. And, piecing things together, Tayron could see how enticing the possibility was. For so many years, the public had been misled to think that the king’s son was still alive, but on an educational retreat. Suddenly, a lord, nephew to the king, says that this son is actually dead, and takes the throne for himself.
The man with the pitchfork connected the rest of it up for the court after the king asked “but Adenor is dead. By what means does this man claim to be that son of the king?”
“You say he is dead, but we have known, we have been told by the old king, who was just, that his son was among the people, going about in secret to learn their ways. But the nobility has never been interested in the ways of the people, have they? The nobility only exists for its own self-interest, so it conspired to take the throne for itself, claiming Adenor dead to elevate the king’s nephews. Self-interest again dictated then, when each faction within the nobility picked one nephew as candidate, and used the wealth of the nation to provide the war material required to secure the throne. All along, the true heir, the only one with true justice, the only one who has true compassion for his people, has walked among us, shocked by the greed of the men in court when he saw it next to the virtue of the common man. Now, after struggling to secure his own material, not by simply seizing it or levying taxes, but by talking to the people, by convincing him of his case and asking them to contribute, he is ready to reclaim what is rightfully his. So says Adenor, who is the true king.”
Many in the place still cackled, but it was weaker this time – more people were beginning to comprehend that this could become a dire situation. The king had clearly seen the potential scope of the man’s words. “But this is outrageous! You must understand that this court withheld news of Adenor’s death to prevent panic in the populous. The records of the matter are complete and exhaustive.”
“You say you deceived us before and that you do not deceive us now. Adenor has not deceived us; he has spoken our hearts. We follow him less for who he is than the care he shows us. You show us no care, and have by your own admission deceived us about a matter fundamental to the state. You have presumed that simply because we are commoners that our intellect is addled and that we cannot possibly be expected to understand complex affairs of state. You would not expect, for instance, a commoner who could speak with an eloquence fit for court. We know what you think of us. Now know what we think of you: we do not trust you. We can’t trust you. This latest war has only proved that. The true king will purge the nobility, and create a new one that will represent the people. Will you yield the throne now?”
“No.”
“Then I have no more business here.” The messenger turned to leave when the king called out, “you have not been dismissed!” This did not stop the stride of the gaunt man. When the guards at the door barred him with their fists, he knocked them aside with a fluid motion.
Turning to face the king one last time, he said, “I am only a messenger. I believe you still hold to the custom that messengers cannot be held against their will so long as he has not committed a crime?”
The king thought this over. Technically, there were a number of crimes he could charge the messenger with, not the least of which was attacking palace guards. But doing so would only make matters worse. The king said, “let him go,” and the man turned and walked through the chamber door, leaving without impediment.
The courtiers and knights waited for the king to speak on the issue. The lords and ladies of the council were grim, facing a peasant uprising. The rest of the court – lesser nobles who, by the sheer effort they exerted to gain more position and more proximity to their sovereign, held lesser mortals in utter contempt – preferred to scoff.
Before the king could speak, a servant approached with a chalice of drink.
“This was not requested,” the king said, holding up the ornate cup to check the seal of the food testers, always immediately suspicious of attempts on his life.
The servant, not allowed to speak in the king’s presence, wore a puzzled expression and, with the cup in the king’s hand, looked unsure of how to act.
“Never mind, parched throats cannot ignore drinks when they are so conveniently offered. Off with you.” The servant bowed and exited.
Taking a sip, the king started deliberations. “A man has offered this court another war. This is a matter that requires the council’s full abilities to decipher. Long has there been silence on the welfare of the common people.”
“The welfare of the common people!” Noble councilor Briksaw, a bull of a man, said out of turn. “They come here with threats and insinuations and we’re concerned with their welfare! No respect, no appreciation for the fact that we have governed this land without disruption since time immemorial, and they send a man, acting as if he were our equal, to make demands on behalf of a pretender to the throne!”
“That’s enough, Briksaw,” the king said. “Calm heads, gentlemen, will come up with the true answer.”
“Permission to speak, great king?” Jaksen requested.
“Permission granted, high councilor,” the king replied, with a tone slightly more jaunty than anyone would have expected.
“I have held my silence on this for a long time, believing that I could gauge when the time was right. In this respect I have failed. Even after my own bodyguard showed an interest in the plight of the peasantry, I kept my distance, with the same old excuse. Now I feel guilty, as if I have transgressed in precisely the way the upright messenger who has just appeared before us suggested. I feel I have underestimated the common man’s humanity, and have assumed that he was somehow less human than we of the nobility are.”
“Less human, perhaps not,” Lord Haradr said, “but less divine, definitely. And even you cannot deny, Lord Jaksen, that they are less educated and less refined. If the one that appeared before us can be said to have refinement and an educated tone, there are a thousand alongside him that don’t.”
“That is neither here nor there, Haradr. It is the educated men among them, those like the messenger, that are the most disgruntled, that are most tempted to bring their grievances before us. Since they have been denied the chance to bring their cases before their king, they have found their own king. We only have ourselves to blame for giving them the perfect opportunity to do so.”
“Only ourselves to blame,” Haradr repeated incredulously. “People are not forced into rebellion every time the occasion arises. This situation rises out of malcontents that have been given too much allowance. If we have failed, it is in cracking down on these people, failing to haul them away before they do damage, infecting everyone around them with their seditious intent.”
“The issue is not who’s at fault,” the king said, “but whether these people pose us any immediate threat. Can we take our time to deal with them, or must we act swiftly to quell them with force?”
Finally, the last of those who hadn’t taken the messenger seriously choked. The court pondered the question thoughtfully, knowing that one answer led to another war. Having no more stomach for war, the council surprised no one by speaking uniformly against taking the peasantry with brutal gravity. The different ways they presented this same answer, though, spoke volumes to Tayron about why the campaign started by Anni and him had failed to gain momentum.
“Of course they’re no threat,” said Lord Gertain, “they lack training or weapons, and our forces are at the highest state of readiness in years.”
“Permission to speak, highness?” a nobleman not on the council requested.
“Granted.”
“Frankly, I don’t think our people are so foolish that they will believe these people over their tried and true leaders, so I doubt this is a serious threat. They simply will not be able to mobilize many people. As far as we know, its only a one man threat so far.”
Jaksen leaned forward and said, “I don’t think we need to consider military action yet. What we need is to talk to the people, extend the consideration of the nobility to the remote areas of the land, and show them we care. We must open a dialogue with the country, listen to their concerns, and thereby undermine those who would use the discontent of the masses against us.”
Haradr was the only dissenting voice. “We need to crush them and make an example of them. The longer we leave them alone, the more support they will gather. Most of you have not had experience with peasant rebellion; I have. Let me tell you, they can get out of hand quickly if the peasants perceive that you are reluctant to act.”
“Haradr,” Jaksen said, exasperated, “I don’t suppose it even occurred to you that the reason you have so many peasant rebellions is because of the force you always use to quell them, and that it is the cycle of violence that gives you trouble. We cannot make similar mistakes on a nationwide level. If we act violently, it will only escalate the situation – these people have already proved that they are willing to risk their lives to make the changes they desire, and to all those who sought similar changes, they will become martyrs if they die or are detained for the cause. We must resolve the underlying factors first, and only then, when few people seek these changes, can we risk arresting those who continue to create trouble.”
Nods around the room confirmed Jaksen’s assessment. Haradr looked mutinous, especially after the jab at the way he handled his own lands, but kept his thoughts to himself, knowing Jaksen could easily counter his arguments and make him look even more foolish.
“It is decided then,” the king finalized. “The council is thanked for its blessed wisdom. Your king will request your counsel to deal with the details at a later time.”
Jaksen was not satisfied. “My king, it would be more prudent if we at least task men to investigate the matter now. If the threat is not immediate, it is still certainly near, and we must develop a plan of action here.”
“Patience, Lord Jaksen. Others demand our attention now, and it would be wrong for their king to ignore them. Send in the next person seeking our audience.”
Anni accosted Tayron, pulling him aside at the first opportunity with a pained look on her face. She had waited until he was free of Jaksen so that she could say everything on her mind without censoring herself for propriety’s sake.
“Did you hear them? I can’t believe they could be so thick! Jaksen, too. Tayron, we might be the only sane people in the palace.”
The knight wearily nodded. He had never been much for sorting out politics, feeling like he’d have enough of a job getting his own life in order and achieving his own goals. If Anni hadn’t been Anni, he wouldn’t have been concerned about any of this at all – not until it affected him.
“I mean, it’s not like commoners are incompetent,” she went on, “Jaksen was right that the best way to deal with the situation is by listening to the complaints and doing something about them, and that it has to be quick, but even he got me pissed by making it seem like commoners couldn’t pose a danger.”
“You want a war?”
“No. But there’s nothing the average man wants more than respect. The False Adenor is leading men who won’t be satisfied by tax breaks or land grants.”
“We can’t be sure that he leads many men, though.”
“Yes, we can,” Anni said haltingly. “The messenger . . . was a certain type of person that anybody from the countryside would recognize. He’s a headman, and with his bearing must be the leader of a town, not a village. Headmen take responsibility for the actions of their village or town. If a headman is speaking for the False Adenor, then the entire town is behind him.”
Tayron thought this over reluctantly. “So, you think the councilors knew that he was a headman?”
“Jaksen and Haradr did, I could tell by the way they looked at him, but the rest didn’t, I don’t think. Anyone who laughed at him definitely didn’t – you just don’t laugh at someone willing to bear that kind of responsibility.”
“What about the king? He was sort of laughing at the start of it.”
Anni shuffled. For a commoner to even see the king was a great honor. The headman not withstanding, a person had to strain against ingrained impulses to criticize the king. The nobility usually bore the brunt of attacks meant for the monarch. “I would have expected him to know, but he seemed not to. The king . . . hasn’t really been acting normally, has he? At one point, I could have sworn he was a different person.”
“When he gave Jaksen permission to speak?”
“Yeah, that was it. You noticed, too, huh?”
Tayron shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it. He’s human, too, you know, and I’d guess that the strain of being king, especially the first year or so, will be tough on him. Can’t expect him to be perfect all the time.”
Hurriedly, Anni said, “of course you’re right. I didn’t mean that . . . anyway, what do you think we should do about this?”
Tayron just exploded. “How should I know? I’m no politician over here. They ask me about strategy, fine, but this is out of my league.”
“Don’t give me that. Time to buckle down and think. Now I don’t think we can keep going around petitioning the lords and nobles.”
Wide-eyed, Tayron said, “Are you kidding? Of course we can’t. They’ll think we’re traitors or something.”
“Just checking,” she said, as if disappointed by Tayron’s cowardice. “You do have an opinion on this, so don’t tell me you don’t have any ideas just because you’re not a politician. I feel like campaigning even harder since this has happened, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t be up for it. I know it’ll look suspicious, but people might be willing to hear what I have to say, since I know a lot about farmers and their ideas. Most people here can’t even recognize a headman when they see one, and now that this messenger has come to their doorstep, they might realize their ignorance and want some hard information.”
Tayron gritted his teeth. “Anni, there’re nobles in the palace who won’t want others to know what you know, they’ll want to keep everybody in the dark while they use the ignorance to their advantage, and they won’t fret over killing a lord, much less a commoner, to make sure their plans work out. You’re not talking about being hauled before the king for questioning here, this is about the knife in the dark.”
“But if you really believed in something, had something to fight for, you’d risk your life for it, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve never really had anything . . .”
“But say you did - you have enough imagination to know how you’d feel, so tell me, wouldn’t you risk your life?”
She was right, of course. “Yes, but . . .”
“But I’m a woman?” She stormed. “I’m a commoner? I’m not a knight? I’m not fit to risk my life?”
“That’s not what I said,” Tayron said stiffly, annoyed by her irrationality.
“But you were thinking it real hard.”
“No I wasn’t. You should know me better than that by now. Now listen to me, what I was about to say was that you don’t have a sword to defend yourself with. Some training would be nice, too, but the first thing is some weapon. You can’t just carry a sword around with you in the palace since you’re not a knight, otherwise I’d get you one since you’re bent on putting yourself in danger.”
Anni smiled. “Cute of you to worry about me,” she pulled out a stiletto from the sleeve of her blouse, and a flat blade dagger from a compartment in her skirt, “but I learned after being robbed my first week in the city that I had to learn basic self-defense. The first thing I do once I get out of the audience chamber is arm myself again, just in case.” She put the weapons back in their places. “All right?”
Shrugging, he said, “better than nothing, I guess. I’m impressed, but still worried.”
“But you’re not going to try and stop me?”
“No, but you can’t expect me to help you, either.”
With determination and a false sense of cheer in her voice, Anni said, “well, that’s fine. You just better not stop me from talking about it to you over dinner. I don’t think there’ll be time to cool down much for a while, so don’t get on my case if I’m all business talk.”
“Fine. Just don’t get on my case if I can’t tell you everything I know because of security reasons.”
“Fine. See you at dinner?”
“Hopefully.”